PROLOGUE: Doctor Hayato Tsugumo stood in the darkness of his sanctum holding a small crystalline mass in his hand. His onyx eyes held the crystal in deep contemplation. Perhaps this time he would see something deep within. If it chose to show him anything. He had grown accustomed to the crystal's mannerisms in the last 1400 years, and knew that it was a capricious thing. The crystal, for its part, glowed faintly pink, and the sounds of thousands of tiny chimes could be heard if one listened very carefully. Doctor Tsugumo listened. The crystal was saying something to him. It might even have been a secret. He'd learned so many others from it over the span of centuries. Not this time, however. What the crystal sang to him in its tiny voice was no secret at all. At least not to him. He said as much, and the crystal tingled in his mind at the rebuke. It then fell silent. It could be decades before it decided to speak again. Taking great care, Tsugumo set the crystal in a small box made of an iridescent black metal surprisingly heavy for its size. He closed the box, and placed it in a small vault much like a sacramental tabernacle, or the organ casket for an Egyptian king long dead. He locked the vault and turned to the window. The window was polarized black. At a verbal prompt it faded to transparent, and soft light spilled into the room. The sky was pink, with fleecy white clouds. The walls of a castle were below, and several towers and minarets probed the sky before him. A tone sounded, and Tsugumo bade the visitor enter. It was Hexenkessel. Hexenkessel was wearing his long white lab coat, looking like he had slept in it again. His pockets were crammed with pens, probes, laser pointers, tools, and spools of optic line. Data discs and scraps of printout threatened to jump ship with every step he took towards Tsugumo. He affected his usual nervous smile as he entered. "Ah, Johann. Please set those down or you're liable to drop it all," Tsugumo said. Gratefully, Doctor Johann Vander Hexenkessel set his armload of data upon a table. He sifted through the pile for a few moments, but couldn't find what he was looking for. "Just a moment please, Hayato. I have the results from the tests right here." "I'll look at them later, Johann," Tsugumo replied. "How did it go?" Hexenkessel looked truly pleased with himself. "The engines set up perfectly; all operational dynamics were well inside the tolerances, and all gravimotive forces are stable. I was holding my breath for a minute or two, but everything came out as calculated." "Splendid!" Tsugumo cried, truly pleased. He was worried that it would prove to be difficult. The principles involved worked in theory; application however was often far different. "We'll be ready for the Initial Light-Off test tomorrow morning," Hexenkessel continued. "I don't foresee any problems, and we can probably commence the power ramping tests by the end of the tenday." "Excellent. And the Converging Beam Gun?" The frazzled doctor rubbed his hands together with excitement. "We mate the focusing booms after the Light-Off tests. Initial firing tests utilizing a normal fusion furnace were satisfactory; yielding about seven terawatts. We hope to achieve fifteen to twenty terawatts when we complete the linkup." "Johann, you never fail to exceed my expectations," Tsugumo said fondly. Hexenkessel gave a curt nod and flashed his nervous smile again. It seemed that he had more to say, but was reluctant to broach the subject. Tsugumo was centuries accustomed to Hexenkessel's mannerisms, and did it for him. "You're wondering who we are going to get to pilot it, aren't you?" Tsugumo asked. "Well, yes actually," Hexenkessel replied, grateful to have Tsugumo bring it out into the open for him. "You aren't still considering the heirs of Solomon, are you?" "I am," Tsugumo answered. Hexenkessel sighed. They'd been through this argument for at least fifty years. "Your men approached Jasper Reno, and he wanted nothing to do with us. He even gave up Solomon's sword to you. His son, George, hasn't the psych profile we need. What makes you think James Reno will do this?" "He will. He's like Solomon reborn. Abraham would have been pleased to see him, to know that his work has survived the tests of the ages." Hexenkessel went silent for a moment at the mention of their long dead partner. "James is just a boy," Hexenkessel pressed at length. "By the time Blackshrike is completed, he won't be." "Do we even have the time for this? Events seem to be unfolding faster and faster in the last fifty years. The Apparat grows bolder, and it would seem that our destinies are rushing towards us." Tsugumo's eyes narrowed. Hexenkessel would be better off staying with engineering and leaving the soothsaying to the psychics. "Pfagh. You know I don't believe in predetermination. Our 'destinies' are what we make them," he replied. Hexenkessel took the mild rebuke as intended, without malice. "Very well, Hayato. I don't pretend to understand the half of your designs, but my support shall continue unfailingly for you." "And I thank you for it, Johann. We must make our final preparations, and commit ourselves to this course." ________________________________________________________________________ J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present: THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT -Part One- By J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S. Super Critical Reactor Axe Man Fission Park Press wildeman@psn.net Copyright 1998 The characters and situations of THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT are the creation and property of the author, who would ask that any reproduction of this work, other than for the purpose of critical review, first receive his written permission. This is a work of fiction intended for eventual publication (I hope), and while I couldn't afford to sue anyone for infringement at the moment, it wouldn't stop me from finding out where you live and breaking your kneecaps... :p As this is a work intended for publication, Comments & Criticism would be greatly appreciated. A good literary agent wouldn't hurt, either. _________________________________________________________________________ CHAPTER ONE 23 Neptune 4193, Berent Station, Within the Necklace Unrestricted Commercial Zone. The Zoetrope Club was nestled into the entertainment district of Berent Station's Alshain City. Berent was inside an asteroid; a fifty kilometer diameter sphere hollowed out of the rock. Berent rotated on one axis to create artificial gravity for its inhabitants. Cities, farmland, and parks curved gracefully along the inside wall, and if you weren't accustomed to it, you'd feel a little uneasy to see more cities, farmland, and parks kilometers over your head. 'Up' was towards the center of the sphere, 'down' away out into space. Berent was big enough to have its own weather system, and the early evening rains had come and gone at their customary time. Zoetrope was currently on the night side of Berent, as huge mirrors reoriented sunlight piped in from space towards other districts. Crowds of nocturnal creatures prowled the rain slicked streets and balcony flyouts. Neon shone red and blue against the macadam, mingling with the dancing lights of holograms from the clutter of billboards that lined the rooftops. The traffic was mostly on the ground, though the occasional flyer zipped by overhead with enough frequency to keep the air moist with tiny droplets swept up in their wake. In keeping with its heritage as the one time seat of a powerful pirate kingdom, the people of Berent were as varied as the stars of the Cluster. Belters and rockjacks fresh from a tour in the vast asteroid fields of the Necklace caroused with sailors flush with liberty cash. Corporate types getting away from the mundanities of life on nearby Lodestone mixed business with pleasure in the sound insulated booths. Mercenaries and merchant marines spun yarns of their travels and drank the night away. The music pulsing from the speaker stacks was mostly core-ward big label offerings. Berent's local scene was in a bit of a decline of late as the talented newcomers left home for the Core Systems in the Mercer Kingdom and the 7SF. It was also far too loud, but that was the standard in nightclubs everywhere. Escape from the noise was in the form of one of the club's various alternative rooms such as the ambient room, the gaming room, and the smoking lounge. A young knight strolled into the club with his brick red cape and the smell of rain from outside billowing in behind him. He wore a magnificent heirloom sword on his belt next to a sleek black machine pistol. A beautiful Angel strolled with him arm in arm. She was young, as was her master. More than likely they had grown up together. Angels cost a great deal of money, and to keep them in their maturation chambers until they grew up was too dear a price for many these days. As the couple walked past the bar, a headhunter with too much jet juice for so tiny a brain made a lewd comment to the girl. With a whirl of silk and steel, the knight's sword was pressed against the mercenary's throat. The drunk stammered an apology, and the blade was withdrawn wordlessly. The two may have been children compared to most in the club, but they were also deadly warriors raised for combat. Merl Dryzwicke, the owner and proprietor of Zoetrope, replaced his lightning pistol into its place under the bar. Alimikesh was supposed to keep trouble out of the club. The Nssgrnn and his staff were supposed to be the best security on Berent. They kept the wealthy corporate types happy and safe among Berent's volatile populace. It wasn't but a few moments after the knight had passed when Alimikesh appeared next to the drunk and offered in a deep rasping voice to get him a cab back to the docks. A bipedal reptilian over two meters tall was a hard being to ignore, particularly when the normally blue beaded scales on his neck became a bright salmon pink, and the drunk and his companions complied without a scene. Merl grumbled and went back to work, swearing that one day he'd get tired of barbacking and retire to the manager's office like a normal person. James Reno sipped an ice water and lime from his upper deck booth and watched the free fall dance zone with half interest. He had a fall of blonde hair over his right eye. A long pink scar ran down his left eye from his socket to his cheekbone. The faint glow of reflected stage spots glimmered in the left orb. While the deep blue of the left iris matched the color of the right perfectly, it was not difficult to determine that the left eye was artificial. It was simply too luminous at odd times to miss. Seated next to him was a hulking bronzed Giant with shoulder length red-brown hair and an outrageous handlebar mustache. He gulped greedily from a four-liter iron tankard containing his beverage of choice: Olde Blog Dark Bheer. He belched, and the booth shook appreciatively. James was used to his comrade's odious habits. He complimented the Giant on his fine form, and returned his gaze to the dance zone. He spied a character dressed in a motley pattern jumpsuit. The man floated up to the booth. There was no doubt, it could only be Phineas T. Boggsworth. He grinned his usual happy grin and doffed his floppy green hat to James and his companion, revealing a frizzy brown globe of hair. The burly man harrumphed, and took a massive hit from the beerstein. "Well hello to you too, Griswold!" Phineas said in his cheerful singsong voice. The yellow smiley button on the breast of his dark green cloak fairly glowed in the pale blue light of the upper deck. Griswold belched again. "Ah didn't say hello to ya!" He slammed the beerstein down on the table, sloshing the dark foamy brew. Phineas smiled a radiant smile guarenteed to raise the Giant's blood pressure a few points. "Sure you did! Your way of saying hello is unique!" He then leaped backwards several meters as Griswold's massive fist lunged out at him. James laughed. Some things were a constant with Phineas, and Griswold baiting was one of them. The Giant's fingers dug into the black stone of the table next to him. Time for Phineas to leave. "Phineas, see if you can round up the others." "Ayup," Phineas replied. He bowed low for them, especially for Griswold, and floated down to the lower deck. Griswold muttered a few choicer curses into his beer, and was restrained from leaping over the table to kill him by the promise of another round from James. James found it was easier to keep his mouth shut when he was filling it with something. Phineas found Floyd with Weird Harold and Crazy Eddie in the club's ambient room. The old psionic and the two spacers were relaxing to some of Zoetrope's more sensual sounds. Floyd was smoking something not exactly tobacco, and seemed a bit more laid back than usual, which is to say he was feeling fairly toasty. He was so loose that his long white mustache and beard and his bushy brows seemed to wilt on his face. Weird Harold adjusted the lavender shock of hair that fell past his nose to regard the motley dressed man. Crazy Eddie cocked his head. "What's going on, man?" Harold droned in a slightly stoned monotone. Unlike Floyd, Harold didn't need recreational psychotropics to sound that way. "James wants us," Phineas replied. "Work?" Eddie asked. "Ayup." "We'll be right up," Eddie grinned. "Harold, gimme a hand with the old man. He's nodding again." Weird Harold helped Floyd to his feet. The old psionic brushed his black sunglasses up from his eyes, then thought better of it. Even in the dimly lit ambient room, his dialated pupils let in far too much light. "Whoa... Too bright." The sunglasses went back into place, and he gave the two spacers an unnerving grin. Phineas left the two to deal with Floyd as he continued on his errand. He found Andy Seraphim at a booth talking shop with a few engineers from the CNS Robin McCoy, a frigate in the Coalition Navy. There were times when Phineas wondered if Andy was completely satisfied with his decision to muster out with Eddie and Harold after the war. Andy paid for the last round of drinks, and made for the upper deck as Phineas made his own rounds for the rest of the gang. Despite the annoyingly peppy Spacetones sounds of ROY G. BIV pulsing over the focused sonic stacks, Phineas' keen ears picked up Antonio Dominique's flirting with phenomenal precision. His latest attempt at conquest was a salarymaid who worked for one of the big mining conglomerates on Lodestone. She had an end-of-tour hungry look, and the handsome Antonio was doing an impression of a wlling supper. Phineas hated to interrupt, but he had his orders. Antonio took it better than he thought. Perhaps he wasn't as interested as Phineas believed. Then again, because he fancied himself a lady's man, Antonio preferred a challenge now and then. Paul, Axley, and Virgil were playing cards with some rockjacks in the noisy gaming room. The two ex-marines and former gunner's mate were cleaning the rockjacks out. Paul looked up from his hand and blew a blue-grey smoke ring over Phineas's head. "What's up, Funnyman?" Paul growled. "James wants us all on the upper deck," Phineas replied cheerfully. "We gettin' paid?" Paul asked gruffly, brushing his hand through burrs of short salt-and-pepper hair. They'd been a little short on cash after repairing the latest breakdown on their starship, The Antichrist, and no regular source of income had been available. "I think so!" Phineas replied. "Well then, we'll be right up," Axley said, and finished his beer. "Not yet, Arclight," Paul scowled. "We have a game to finish." Phineas bowed for them and left the back room to find the last of their number, R'Mallo. Phineas found the ratalsha along the main bar with a few other ratalshas. Their spider silk fine manes wafted in the breeze of the ceiling fans, and their tails swished lazily at their cleft-toed feet. R'Mallo was easy to distinguish from his comrades by his huge and luminous green eyes and his calico mane. The tattoos around his eyes accentuated the natural coloring of the skin and short fine hair on his face. They were Tarshiiran tattoos, the mark of a warrior clan. His comrades were of a darker color, and their eye tattoos, Phineas recalled, were from the Sir'pan Ra warrior clan. Sir'pan Ras were a rare sight this far from the Ratalshan Sphere, but then again, so was a Tarshiira. R'Mallo was engaged in a song with them. Phineas hated to interrupt, but again, he had his orders. R'Mallo didn't seem to mind. He excused himself from his Sir'pan Ra comrades, and followed Phineas back to the upper deck. As they waited for two men to rise up the gravity lift, R'Mallo caught sight of someone maddeningly familiar. Phineas nudged him. "What is it, R'Mallo?" He asked. "I thought I saw someone in the crowd. I'll be with you in a minute." Phineas smiled and floated up the lift. "Ayup!" R'Mallo turned and started for the crowded dance floor. **If she's here, just what are you going to do?** he thought to himself. **Probably nothing. What could you do? It's been years and she's probably forgotten about you. Besides, she's trying to *expose* you.** On the dance floor scores of people were moving to the eclectic Gyre sounds of Nowhere But Up. R'Mallo didn't care for the band himself. He didn't see her anywhere on the floor, or floating in the free-fall zone above. He sighed, and started back to the upper deck lift. **With any luck I'm imagining things.** James and Griswold made room for the others as they gathered around the table. Paul puffed absently on his cheroot as they waited for R'Mallo. The serving girl came up to the table with a huge tray of drinks for them. She set them down at each place. She hefted another huge iron tankard of Blog for Griswold, and another ice water and lime for James. She winked at James when he saw the folded slip of paper under his drink, then rubbed seductively against Phineas as she set down a glass of pink lemonade for him. The motley dressed man turned scarlet and nearly oozed to the floor. "Aw get up, ya' stoopid git!" Griswold bellowed to him. His voice shook the glasses on the table. "Ya gets hit on by a good-lookin' broad, and ya' gets all weak in th' knees!" Phineas continued to blush furiously as the girl laughed and left them with a bouncy stride. From their vantage at the end of the booth, Antonio and Crazy Eddie watched appreciatively as she left. She was an Ayra, one of the engineered races of humans from an ancient time before the colonization of the Cluster. Her ears were flared and pointed at the tips for better hearing in low density atmospheres, and her violet eyes fairly glowed in the blue lighting of the upper deck. Violet eyes were the giveaway of Ayra heritage. They were a manufacturer's trademark. It wasn't so much the exotic color of her eyes the two were interested in, as much as it was her long slender legs and the tight miniskirt she wore. "You guys finished drooling at our contact?" James asked with a grin. "And you weren't..." Eddie riposted. "Never said I wasn't," James said with a smile. "I just asked if you were finished." "Maybe," Antonio said, catching one last glimpse as she drifted down the lift. "Don't bother," Axley chuckled. "She only has eyes for the Funnyman." Phineas blushed again. "Ye gods, whut a waste," Griswold rumbled. Paul finished his smoke and crushed it out on the sole of his boot. "That our next job?" he asked in a voice made gravelly by years of breathing powered armor suit air and cleaning chemicals. James looked at the slip of paper. "Seems that way," he replied. He continued to read. "Looks like we might be heading dockside on this one." "Local? I like it already." Virgil chirped. "Yeah, until the inevitable disaster happens, and then we become personas non gratas on Berent for awhile." Crazy Eddie added. "Well, just what does it say?" Antonio asked. If this was going to waste his time, he'd leave and go down to the floor again. "Our client wants to retrieve an item from a competitor that was stolen from him. It seems the offending party is the Badlanding Mercantile Co. That name ring any bells for you?" "The Ork Nazis?" Antonio cried. "Dear Lord, I thought we had enough of those guys!" Griswold cracked his knuckles. "Nope, ah never kin get enough o' those clowns." "How much?" Paul asked, bottom line as usual. "Two hundred thousand in Juno Crowns for safe return of the item, an Optical Holographic Memory block. The OHM is being held in their office down on the docks. The fourth floor according to this. There's a map to follow if we take the job." "They know so much about it, man, why don't they get it themselves?" Weird Harold drawled in a monotone voice. "Harold has a point," R'Mallo observed. His tail swished in agitation. "They probably don't want to risk expulsion from Berent. Why should our client get involved when he can pay a third party to take all the risks?" Crazy Eddie said. "Not that I'm complaining, but ain't two-hundred thou' kinda steep for a little breaking and entering?" Paul observed. "What's the catch?" "Well if you'd let me finish," James said, and waited for everyone to pay attention. "It seems our client wants us to cause a lot of destruction in the process." "Terror and Mayhem Op?" Axley chirped excitedly at the thought. "It's political," Paul warned. "Mark my words; we're playing someone's power games for them." "Ah could bust some ork heads fer two hunert thousand," Griswold rumbled. "You'd do it for nothing," Antonio shot back. "I say we take the job. It's the only thing we have lined up at the moment," Andy offered. "Work has been awful slow in case you've forgotten." "Sure, man, let's do it," Weird Harold droned. "Fine," Paul said with a puff of blue smoke. James looked around at the others. They all nodded in agreement. He wrote on the slip of paper and touched a sensitive node on the table for service. The Ayra girl came up minutes later. She smiled at Phineas, who turned red again and squirmed in his seat. James handed her his empty glass with the paper in the bottom. She took it without a word and left. Ten minutes later she was back with another round of drinks. A certified credit voucher and a small data disc was placed casually next to James' glass. The girl asked if there was anything else she could get them, then brushed against Phineas again as she left. James had to laugh. In combat, and just about any other time, Phineas was absolutely fearless. The only thing that scared him was the opposite sex. He was hopeless when it came to a pretty face. "Well, we're on the job. I say we pay the Badlanding building a visit." James said. He threw some plastic coated silver coins on the table for a tip. It was bad luck to get stingy right before a mission. * * * Merl looked up from the bar to see a dozen hulking green ghahorkhas in black synthleather and chains come in. Alimikesh was nowhere to be found, and neither were the bouncers at the door. He undid the safety catches on his lightning pistol once again. Ghahorkahs, commonly known as orks both for their appearance and general stupidity, were little more than stone age tribal gangs that didn't get a chance to develop a culture of their own before the human race threw them suddenly into the interstellar age. As a consequence they became an even more violent parody of humanity; aping them enough for a handout, and stealing and killing when they couldn't get that much. On the rare occasion where a particularly intelligent ork came along, he was usually beaten to death by his simpler cousins. Rarer still was the intelligent ork who could slug it out as good as he got. Because of this, most ork gangs formed and collapsed in a constant whirl of anarchy and despotism. These orks were different. These were Ork Nazis. The Ork Nazis were started by that rare breed of intelligent and strong ork that fortunately don't come around very often. His name was unpronounceable, and so he went by the puzzling nickname of 'Hotsie Totsie.' Totsie became the leader of a tribe of orks and forged them into a huge criminal syndicate. Because he could actually read (thanks to a human sponsored welfare project aimed at making the shiftless orks productive members of society), he had studied the humans he meant to conquer for a means of controlling them. Fear and force were the great motivational tools of the ork mind, and so in his searches through human history he came across an ideal model for his gangs. He kept them unified under a common identity, making them 'nazis' from ancient human history. These 'nazis' had managed to sweep the whole of human civilization into war, and shaped future events for centuries after their fall. The name 'nazi' had become part of the human language synonymous with evil, ruthless force, and terror. They symbolized power and the idea of a 'master race' that was destined to rule above all. This was precisely the idea Totsie needed to keep his gangs together. He gave them 'uniforms,' a belief that they were the 'master race,' and set them loose to fight their their way to the top of the slums and ghetto sections of human space. From there, Hotsie used the resources he'd acquired to launch himself into organized crime. Smuggling, drugs, hijacking, extortion, he did it all, and his organization spread across the stars of human space. Now his gangs were on the loose in Berent. The Badlanding Mercantile Co. was their front, and Totsie paid too many bribes for anyone to get his company kicked off the station on a whim. Merl wished someone would come to their senses. Alimikesh still hadn't shown. Something was wrong. Merl was starting to get worried. Zoetrope wasn't even paid for yet. The orks marched in and headed for the booths on the far side of the dance floor, pushing and shoving their way through everyone. "Speak of the devils," Antonio said as they came down the lift. "Don't start anything in the club," James said, holding Griswold's bulging arm. "Merl might not forgive us this time. Let's get back to the Antichrist." "Ah won't starts nothin', but ah'm ah gonna finish it if it happens," Griswold replied. The young knight and his Angel chatted with two Emerald Dragoon mercenaries. The appearance of the Ork Nazis went unnoticed. The orks spotted the Angel, and moved in. The leader came up to the table. He held a swagger stick that buzzed and threw sparks when he slapped it against the callused palm of his hand. Two orks flanked their leader, each with knuckle-bangers in his fists. "Give ya good price fer her," the ork leader said. "Six hundred; not bad for used goods." The Angel clutched her master's arm worriedly. The knight appeared uninterested. "She's worth far more than you can hope to pay, my friend." "Oh ho!" cried the ork, his beady red eyes lighting up. "So we're friends, is it? You'll give her to me for nothin' then?" "I suggest you take your companions elsewhere," the knight said. His youthful face hardened in warning, and under the table, his sword came loose in its scabbard. The ork thought this was hilarious. He laughed coarsely at the young knight. His two flankers rushed them. The Angel knew when the orks would come before they did. Her mind was one with her master's, and his sword was out before they took half a step. He jumped up onto the table as the Dragoons jumped up with him. The blade cut into the closer ork's belly in a splash of black ichor. The second ork swung his fist in a haymaker that failed utterly to connect. The knight jumped out of the booth and up onto the seatback, his Angel's hand in his. The first ork gurgled a curse before falling over. The leader and the other flanker yelled angrily for their companions to help. The club became a riot in an instant as patrons yelled and screamed and ran to get out of the way. The DJ's cries for calm went ignored. Merl pulled the lightning pistol and came around the bar. Two of his girls ran into him trying to get away from the melee and bowled him over. **Where the hell is Alimikesh?** James couldn't stop Griswold. The 2.3 meter tall Giant was rushing into the fray before he could say a word. He couldn't stop Paul, Axley, Antonio, or Phineas either. He shrugged and ran after them. Maybe they could stop this and get out before the police arrived. The knight was grabbed from behind as the orks rushed from all sides. He cut one down with his sword before they dragged him to the floor. His Angel screamed as they took her from his grasp. The Dragoons were also grabbed from behind and pinned. Merl got to his feet and leveled his lightning pistol. His shot was a deafening thunderclap. A low power laser beam ionized a path of air from the muzzle of the pistol to the leader's skull. A millisecond later a bolt of electrons shot from the muzzle and into the ork's head. Spirals of blue light swam around his body. His eyes lost focus for a second, then he coughed and looked evilly at Merl. **Sonofabitch has a shielded nervous system!** Merl thought, and set his pistol to from 'stun' to 'blast.' The knight's sword was stripped from his hand by one of the black garbed nazis. The ork raised it over his head to chop the knight down the middle. As the blade fell, a rapier reached in and turned it aside. Antonio Dominique smiled daringly as the orks stared in disbelief. Then Griswold barreled through them, throwing them around like toys. The leader decided Merl and his silly lightning pistol would have to wait. He drew a long knife and faced off against Antonio. Axley and Paul got in close to the orks that were beating the fallen knight, and worked them over with jump kicks. The satisfying sound of boots on bone was followed by orks flying off their feet and hitting the parquet floor with heavy thuds. They got back to their feet as the two ex-marines helped the knight, getting Paul and Axley's attention with guttural snarls. "Shoulda brought my guns," Axley muttered to Paul. "Ain't hindsight a bitch?" the older man replied, cheroot hanging from his lip. "If you can't dazzle 'em with your brilliance..." "...flatten 'em with your fists," Axley finished, and opened up on his playmate with a one-two combination to the face. Phineas leaped from table to table as the two orks with the Angel made their escape. He was unarmed, but that didn't concern him in the slightest. He slipped past the fleeing patrons with liquid ease. One great tumbling leap put him ahead of the three. He spun around on his heels and held his arm straight out -palm striking the larger of the two orks. The ork staggered as his nose gave way, but it wasn't the first time he'd had it broken, and he held his ground. The second tried to duck past with the Angel, but Phineas threw a spin kick that stopped him in his tracks. The first ork, undaunted by the streams of hemocyanin blood flowing from his nostrils, leaped at him with a scream. Phineas stepped aside easily. The ork grabbed at empty air as he flew into a table to the accompaniment of shattering glass. Antonio had the skill, and more importantly, had the reach over the nazi leader. He turned away the long knife with practiced ease. The ork however had strength and speed, and managed to deny Antonio any debilitating strikes. Antonio had cut him several times, and greenish black ichor flowed freely from his wounds. Lacking a firearm, James drew his plasmasaber. With a squeeze of the haft, a telescoping blade of titanium-tungsten-nickel alloy flicked out. A crackle of crimson plasma suddenly sprang from the blade, sparkling in the dim light of the club. One of the braver orks came at him with a curved shortsword. James cut the sword and the ork's forearm in two with a sparkling stroke. The shrill scream of the ork was drown out by the sirens of the police outside. Paul dropped his ork with a knifehand strike to the bridge of the nose. Axley decided to stop tap dancing on his playmate's face when the cops came charging in with stun batons and pepper spray. With the odds a bit more even, the Dragoons managed to turn the tables on their assailants. "Time to go!" James yelled. "It's over already?" Axley complained. James and Company snatched up the knight and Angel as the cops fought past the last clusters of fleeing patrons. The Berent Police were covering the entrance. The orks were staggering to their feet. They didn't have many options left to them. James looked to Merl. "Sorry about this, Merl," he offered. The owner and proprietor of Zoetrope gave them tired looks and pointed to the door into the kitchen. "Beat it already." They didn't need to be told twice, and leaped over the bar and into the back of the club. Merl Dryzwycke holstered his lightning pistol. "Thank God! Another few minutes and my club would have been destroyed." "Orks, huh?" A police sergeant said. He certainly wasn't going to trouble himself to look very hard when he had an easy scapegoat. More police entered the club and began shackling the orks. The sergeant looked around. "They start fighting amongst themselves? I can't imagine who'd do this to them." "You'd be surprised." Merl muttered. "How's that?" The sergeant asked, half hearing him. "Nevermind," Merl said almost to himself. Crazy Eddie and the crew of Antichrist waited out in the street with Floyd and R'Mallo. James and the rest walked out of the alley with the knight, his Angel, and the Dragoons. Crazy Eddie shook his head sadly. "You guys just can't resist a fight, can you?" "Aw hell, ah wuz jus' gettin' started when the cops came," Griswold grumbled. The knight was spared serious harm. His Angel was shaken but fine. Weird Harold hailed them a cab from the flyer balcony, as the Dragoons parted company and drifted off into the night. James helped the two into the cab. The Angel noticed the ring he wore on his right hand. A ten pointed crimson starsword made of tiny rubies lay over onyx on a ring of gold. "You're a Crimson Sword Knight!" she cried in surprise. "We won't forget this, Sir," the knight added. "My brothers in the Order of the Juno Cross won't either, I promise." "Just forget about us if the police happen to question you later on this," James replied. "We will. Go with Light," the Angel said as the cab started up into the flyer traffic. The cabbie wrenched his flyer around in midair to avoid the higher level airblocks set up by police cars floating above the nightclub. "Let's beat it, man," Weird Harold said. More police were arriving outside the Zoetrope as he spoke. CHAPTER TWO Antichrist was a war surplus Horizon class scout. The Horizon was common as a shuttle and in-system transport, and there were at least two hundred Scout models plying interstellar space as tramp freighters. This particular Horizon had seen action in battle dating back twenty years. Crazy Eddie had been its pilot and Captain since the Coalheart Pirate Campaigns ten years previous. They walked up the nose ramp. The smells of old paint, hydraulics, and the odd smell from the air recycler greeted them. The Antichrist was not even close to factory new, but in testament to the durability of the Horizon design, it was still going strong. "I'll check our messages," Eddie said, and climbed the ladder from the nose compartment to the cockpit. The rest headed aft into the centerline compartment. The centerline compartment was a long and wide passageway that had a kitchenette, a small living area and two sets of double bunks set into the starboard outboard. The deck was littered with dirty laundry. The compartment reeked of eau de locker room. Further aft were four small staterooms with double bunks. A head with shower and a storeroom were aft of the staterooms. A ladder well led up to a defunct gunnery blister, and another led down into the armory/docking compartment. Farthest aft was a tiny Engineering workstation and a fold-down machine shop. In The Antichrist's final incarnation prior to its life in the private sector, the docking compartment once held a very large superluminal starfighter, a Mantis scout. Now it held two starfighters; Blackshrike, and the Flamechaser series fighter, J'Razin Kan. Forward of the docking compartment was a small cargo bay for holding their vehicles and large equipment items. James immediately went aft and below to the docking compartment. Blackshrike sat ready; black, white and silver trimmed might. The ten pointed starsword of the Crimson Sword Knights was painted on the armored canopy shield. Blackshrike was a gift to him by King Edgar Falke of Burimundia, the head of his Order, and Doctor Hayato Tsugumo of the Lullabye Mountain Group, the fighter's manufacturer. There were certain obligations placed upon him for accepting it, such as being at the King's call on a moment's notice. James had balked at first at the thought that his freedom could be cut short on Falke's whim, but the thought of going without Blackshrike was enough to get him to agree. * * * Phineas and R'Mallo sat down on the lower bunk. Phineas pulled a harmonica from the drawer under the rack. He started to play a few bars when he noticed the look in R'Mallo's eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked. "Nothing," R'Mallo replied. "Did you find her?" Phineas asked. R'Mallo's eyes widened in the ratalshan equivalent of the blush reflex. "How do you know about her?" "Well I don't know her by name, but I know it's a she because I could sense your change of scent in the club. It's a sex pheromone," Phineas replied. "Your heart rate increased significantly as well." "No use trying to conceal anything from you," R'Mallo said. "Yes, I did see her. But not until the fight started in the club." "What's her name?" "Jintana..." R'Mallo said, and Phineas could feel the emotion behind the words. "Jintana, daughter of Sol'ytzahn, son of Rishata." Phineas jumped up. "Waitaminute!" he exclaimed. "Jintana Rishata? The journalist for CNDW? The one that's been stalking us since the Lowman Spur Strike?" R'Mallo nodded sadly. "The same." "R'Mallo! She's the one who started calling us 'Damage Incorporated.'" R'Mallo nodded once again. Phineas' voice dropped an octave. "How long have you known her?" "Since we were children," R'Mallo answered. "Oh," Phineas said. He paused before speaking. The thrum of the recirculation fans mingled with the sounds of heavy equipment jostling far aft and below them. "You love her?" R'Mallo's eyes widened in the the blush reflex again. "I did... I haven't spoken to her in nine years." * * * Jintana Rishata made her statement for the police, then went straight to her hotel room to hyperwave a report to Santiago. The city of Miroirs on Santiago was the home office for the Cluster News Data Web (CNDW). It wasn't much right now, but her instincts told her that the fight in club tonight was the start of a war. The Ork Nazis controlled a large percentage of the dockside business on Berent through their Badlanding front. It was possible someone was trying to muscle them out. There were elements in the government of Berent that were as likely as any. She faxed in her report in text format to the local affiliate. Then she dialed up the manager on the personal line to request an A/V man. The manager was eager to assist her, and promised her his best man. She inquired if Jack Holland was on station. He wasn't. Jack Holland was on assignment somewhere core-ward. She thanked the manager for his cooperation and disconnected. Jack Holland was the best A/V man in the business as far as Jintana was concerned. They worked well together, and had done some bang up work in the past. It was Jack's talents that had made Jintana's career on her first major assignment, covering the Treaty of Manassas negotiations several years ago. She decided she would browse around down by the docks tomorrow. Interesting things had a way of turning up when she was around. The Firelords looked after her. * * * "What's going on, Nathan?" Crazy Eddie asked. Antichrist's Artificial Intelligence answered over the cockpit speakers. "I have a message for you." "Me specifically?" Eddie asked. "No, Captain Edward, the message is addressed for Damage Incorporated," Nathan replied. "Put it up on the swing arm." Eddie said. He took a seat in the pilot's chair. The swing arm display over his head crackled to life. The picture was snowy and garbled. Crazy Eddie slugged the display, which turned the picture upside down before righting itself and clearing. He read the message to himself. Then he punched a button on the commo panel to print it out. "The money isn't great, but I think we'll look into it," he said to himself. Crazy Eddie took the printout and went below. Paul was there at the bottom of the ladder supervising Axley and Virgil performing maintenance on the chin turret quad laser array. The Antichrist could expect trouble at any time in the Necklace with Coalition patrols few and far between. Having the ship's weapons and defensive systems in full readiness had saved them twice in the last two months. "What's that?" Paul asked. "Seems we have a job lined up," Crazy Eddie answered. "How's the money?" "Nothing big. A decent advance, all expenses paid. As far as cash goes it's not very much, but it's steady work and a chance to get out of here for awhile. The other side of the Divide is always nice when you have to make a run for it." "Where?" Paul asked, lighting up a smoke. Blue clouds billowed from his nose and mouth. "Dantiin system. Third planet. Locals call it Galloway. It's a joint Rim States/Jasrecht colony under the Manassas Treaty. Seems the Rim States colonists are having trouble with the Jasrecht colonists, and they want us to come over and act as 'advisors' for their militia. I'll have Nathan pull up a profile on the Dantiin system, and ask around on the newsnets for any skinny on what's going on." "Sure. James know about it?" "Not yet. He's probably aft with his fighter." "Well go an' tell him about it. I don't think he'll have any problems with it. Meantime, we need to prep for this Terror and Mayhem Op tomorrow." He thumped Axley on the head. "Goddammit Arclight, you kludge that buswork up an' I'll have yer ass! After you and Virge finish up that nightmare you call maintenance, I need you in the armory to lend a hand with the armor detail. And spread the word that I need everyone to drop by for a few minutes to make sizing adjustments and preload setpoints for the actuators." Axley's face brightened. "We're gonna try out the Mercury suits?" "Might as well, they're paid for." CHAPTER THREE The Docks occupied the volume of Berent's sphere six kilometers from the sunward end bulkhead to the first habitation areas. Starships lay at anchor floating within the zero gravity area at the center of the sphere's axial rotation. Shuttles and launches sat on landing pads on the inner surface of the sphere. Workbees, tenders and other flyers danced an exotic zero gravity ballet around the starships as they plied freight, crew, and passengers from the surface to the floating ships. Massive connex boxes were stacked in the yards waiting for shipment. Most bore the marks of the big freight hauling and industrial companies, the rest were a multitude of independents or "indies." Berent was a free trade zone, and indies prospered in the station's lessez-faire atmosphere. The station's Port Authority was a large tower with long branches that split off into numerous finger piers like a giant steel tree. Starships docked with these piers ranged from short range interstellar shuttles to the larger passenger liners. Beyond the tower tree, dominating the end bulkhead, were eight massive double access doors. Berent could have utilized exotic force field technology to hold in its precious atmosphere, but exotic systems didn't work out to be as reliable as doing things the hard way. The lives of four million inhabitants weighed heavier on the station's managers than the dubious convenience of a force field lock. Because of the massive manual airlocks, arrival and departure schedules on Berent were set in stone. Miss your departure time, and you were stuck inside the space station until your turn came around the next time. This was usually a thirty hour wait, and so they had to plan the timing of their visit to the Badlanding building down to the minute. Weird Harold's spindly fingers played across his touch sensitive display panel. He contacted the Port Authority Operations computer and sent it their priority departure pass. The pass cost good money, but would give them top priority on the departure time block of their choice. The computer returned his request with a Departure Clearance number for the time they had chosen. James, Paul, Phineas, and Axley were dressed out in their Mercury IIa powered armor suits. The suits were used by Coalition Pathfinders and by the Ranger Anti-Terrorist Teams. They were light (for powered armor), had high mobility and gravity drive propulsion, and were proof against small arms fire. R'Mallo wore a IIr suit, which was adapted for the ratalshan physiology, and Griswold had the oversize IIg for his Giant's frame. The Mercury surrounded it's wearer with an exoskeletal frame and synthetic musculature to augment the wearer's strength and endurance. Over the frame and muscles were plates of hard ceramic and polycarbonate armor. Sensors consisted of a telescopic bifocal unit with IR-Visible-UV spectrum range, lowlight magnification, and floating gunsight display. A twin parabolic microphone suite gave the Mercury's wearer excellent hearing capability. A small phased array radar in the crown of the helmet could track thirty-six fist sized targets to a range of two kilometers. Standard armament was a hand held heavy weapon such as a 20mm automatic cannon, heavy plasma gun, or a particle beam rifle, plus leg mounted grenade launcher tubes, and an optional 12-rack RPG over the shoulders. The powered armor team slipped down the nose ramp of The Antichrist and disappeared into the relative darkness of the docks. Berent's rotation would keep it on the nightside for another hour. They wanted to attack in daylight to ensure maximum terror and chaos, as per their employer's wishes. Antonio and Floyd would leave at daybreak for the Badlanding building. Early morning on the docks was quiet, only a few craft flitted around way above them in the kilometers high 'sky'. Clouds began to form in fleecy white whorls as Berent's climate system introduced fresh moist air from massive circulating fans on the spaceward end of the station. The breeze picked up, cool and refreshing to early morning risers. A regular joke on Berent's local news and info channel was the wind speed and direction: the wind always came from the same direction, and yet every day someone entered it into the data bank. The Badlanding Mercantile Building was an uninspiring six story structure that looked as if someone had built the thing like a stack of ferrocrete pancakes; throwing a floor on, then another and another. Warehouses and huge pallets of connex boxes surrounded it. Fantrucks and powered loader suits sat idle in a lot next to the building. No one was about at this time in the morning, but then orks weren't notorious for being morning people. Antonio and Floyd made long circuits around the docks for another hour or so. Floyd smoked his pipe. Antonio looked around for trouble. Vendors began to set up kiosks, hawking everything from breakfast to pirated computer software. The two men decided they would frequent the booths near the Badlanding building and wait. The powered armor team waited on nearby rooftops. James scanned the building and its surroundings with his telescopic bifocal unit. R'Mallo covered the opposite side of the building. Axley and Paul scanned in through Badlanding's windows. The time for the attack would be 08:00 local time. It was 07:55. Antonio clicked his commo mic twice, the signal for all clear. Phineas floated over to the Badlanding building's fourth floor using his suit's gravity drive. Axley and Paul primed riot gas grenades in their suits' leg mounted racks. James and the rest waited, watching. At 07:59.52 R'Mallo spotted something down on ground level. He zoomed in using his bifocal suite. An attractive ratalshan woman in a swan grey bodysuit was making her way through the crowds. Trailing her at arms length was a human with an assortment of electronic gear; A/V recording equipment. The CNDW logo was plainly visible on the gear. Antonio spotted her at once, admiring her sleek form and unconscious grace as she moved through the crowds. Her mane reached down to her slender waist in golden brown waves. Her tail swished lazily at her feet. **Truly a magnificent specimen of ratalshan female,** he thought. **Too bad she wants to put our faces on every newspage in the Cluster.** Before he could offer warning, the clocks ticked 08:00.00. Phineas blew open a window on the fourth floor with his particle beam rifle, Nemesis. Plastic shattered with a thunderclap that startled everyone on the ground below. Phineas tumbled in through the window. Two stunned orks in black synthleather went down to swift punches in the gut. Phineas followed up by blowing down the door with another blast from Nemesis. R'Mallo followed close behind to cover him. Paul and Axley crashed through their respective windows to end up in a common hallway. Both launched riot gas grenades, which made loud pops as they went off. They converged in the middle, kicking down orks who came out to investigate. Armor shod boots to the stomach ensured that each ork got a good lungful of the stuff, which was a nasty mix of tear and vomit agents. Tear gas that incapacitated humans was like breath spray to an ork, but the vomit agents proved especially deleterious against them. They began a chorus of heaving and retching that Paul and Axley ignored in favor of the howl of their chainswords. Chainswords were the close-in weapon of choice by Coalition marine Stormtrooper Battalions. Stormtroopers had the dubious honor of spaceship boarding and the repelling of boarders. The chainsword was useful in cutting down doors, airlock seals, and of course, people. The diamond edged tungsten-carbide steel cutting bands whipped around swordlike blades a meter in length. Paul and Axley made short work of the doors, cutting them into large slabs of plastic that clattered to the floor. Orks inside met them with automatic rifles. The roar of six fully automatic weapons cut loose in the small room. A hail of bullets slammed into them, careening off the heavy plates of laminated polycarbonate and spraying everywhere. Two orks went down with their own bullets inside them. Paul launched another grenade point blank into an ork's chest, bowling him over. Riot gas belched from the grenade and filled the room as Axley, not wanting to be outdone, launched himself at full jets into the other three. The three ork nazis were bounced against the far wall with heavy thuds and toppled over in a retching heap. James and Griswold stormed the third and fifth floors respectively. Griswold bellowed laughter as he beat the ork nazis senseless with his armorshod hands and threw them out of windows. Within minutes the orks he couldn't reach immediately had fled into the chaos of the fourth floor. James found the electrical panel on the third floor and severed it with his plasmasaber. The lights went out, to be replaced by a few battery operated emergency fire lights. The thunder of heavy boots on the floor below him warned of reinforcements. He decided to wait at the stairwell for them. When the ork nazis rushed up the stairs wearing gas masks and hastily donned suits of mesh armor, James kicked the inward swinging stairwell door into them. The heavy door stopped the lead nazis in their tracks with wet thuds. Their comrades rushed blindly into them from behind, piling them up against the door. Guttural curses sounded over the din of Axley's wild whoopings and the howl of chainswords above. James shut the door, and the orks recovered enough to get steaming angry at him. They beat on the door and tugged at it with all their immense strength. It wouldn't open. James held it shut with his suit limbs, locking the joints. The synthetic musculature didn't fatigue, so endurance wasn't a question. When the orks became angry enough to actually start to force the doors open in spite of the suit, James triggered the jets, slamming them shut once again. With his right arm he jammed the lit plasmasaber through the door. The plasma wreathed titungstenel blade cut through the door with a hiss. A high pitched squeal of pain followed, and the orks let go of the door. Jintana Rishata was the first to hit the ground when the thunderclap of Phineas' beamrifle echoed across the docks. She was also the first to get up, collaring her A/V man to get on his feet and start recording. Smoke poured from upper story windows, and the sounds of pandemonium could be plainly heard. She took a small A/V 'corder for herself and started for the front door. The ork nazi reinforcements from other parts of the docks came in flyers and fancars. A large black flyer sedan with red flags on the hood made circles of the building, its occupants firing randomly into the windows as it orbited the fourth floor. Two fantrucks loaded with Hotsie Totsie's black synthleather Gestapo pulled up and disgorged two dozen orks. Far in the distance, the sound of the Port Authority and Berent Police sirens wailed. Phineas found the safe exactly where he was told it would be. He cut it out of the wall with his flamberg�. He blew open the safe with a small lump of plasmex while R'Mallo covered the door. Within were four OHM cubes. He stuffed all of them into an armored compartment on his hip. "Okay guys!" He sang cheerily. "I have the goodies!" That was good enough for James. He abandoned the stairwell door and shot down the hall on his suit's jets. Orks burst through the door howling obscenities and spraying random gunfire everywhere. James angled around the corner with his jets in time to avoid a blast from an ork beamrifle. The bolt of charged particles blew a hole through the exterior wall thirty centimeters in diameter. Axley cackled over his suit's external mic as he chased panicked orks in circles around the fourth floor with his chainsword. Paul stood by in an open door as they ran past, his helmet faceshield open to allow him to light up a cheroot. The riot gas had cleared with all the broken windows and holes in the walls, but there was still enough left to give Paul an unusual flavor to his smoke. He found he rather fancied it, and puffed away as Axley chased the orks past him again in another lap. He collared Axley as Phineas' commo came across the net. The orks continued on without him in their circuit of the building. Axley cocked his helmeted head at Paul in a questioning posture, his faceplate was painted with a leering skull. "Time to go, Arclight," he puffed. A beamrifle bolt exploded through the wall close by. "Aww, I was just gettin' into it, too," Axley groused in reply. "Shag it before those morons figure out that you ain't chasin' 'em," Paul ordered. "Aye," Axley said dejectedly, and jumped through the window. Paul spat out his cheroot and replaced his faceplate. Then he jumped out the window as well. Griswold barreled through two orks armed with auto rifles, laughing at them as they spent their magazines uselessly at him. He clotheslined them with his massive armored arms, and jerked them out the window with him. His Mercury IIg had a gravity drive, which allowed him to stay airborne. The orks weren't as fortunate, and took a five story ride to the pavement below. The black flyer sedan whipped around the building as Damage Incorporated jumped clear. Plasma guns from two orks hanging out of the windows launched white hot shells of ionized matter in random bursts. The two orks yelled for the driver to slow down so they could get a decent shot. The Mercury suits hung in midair as James and the others whirled around to shoot back. Jintana trained her A/V 'corder up to capture the fight on disc. She cursed to herself that the raiders were wearing powered armor, which made it impossible to tell who they were. She was practically beneath the flyer as it stopped to hover in midair. Phineas came bursting through a window to land on the flyer's hood. The smiley face painted on his faceplate glittered in the morning light. The orks leveled their plasma guns at him, but not before he triggered Nemesis. The beamrifle blew apart the passenger compartment in a storm of charged particles and flame. The thunderclap report stunned Jintana below as the flyer fell from forty feet above her. Jintana looked up in senseless panic; ears and brain still ringing from the beamrifle's report. An armored form swooped down, whisking her up into its arms as the flyer crashed to the pavement where she had stood a second earlier. The flyer's crystal battery exploded as the vehicle crashed, showering them with shrapnel and bright pink sparks of molten metal. The figure in the Mercury suit sheltered her with his body as the shrapnel rang off his armored backside. "Let 'er rip, Axley!" James called as the flyer exploded. "Aye!" Axley returned. Rocket-propelled grenades primed themselves in his over-the-shoulder racks. He launched twelve HE grenades into the building. The grenades' explosions ripped the building face off and collapsed half the structure moments later. "Time to bag," Paul called out, and they zipped away on gravity drive into the heavy traffic of the busy docks. * * * He set her down on her feet some blocks away. She looked at his faceplate, trying to see who her savior could possibly be. The bifocal suite shifted focus to look back at her. The figure released the locks with a hiss, and lifted the faceplate for her. It was a ratalsha, and as she looked into his luminous green eyes she knew who it was. "" she asked haltingly. "" he replied. "" R'Mallo closed his eyes. "" He placed armorshod hands on her shoulders. "" Jintana flinched at the contact. R'Mallo removed his hands in a rush of embarassment. "" "" He looked at her and knew that he still loved her. Jintana tried to contain her shock by asking questions. "" He looked away. "" **I love you!** He wished he could say it to her. He replaced his faceplate so she couldn't see the look of longing and pain he felt just then. The police sirens were louder now. He began to float on gravity drive. "" she cried. It took every bit of reserve he had to continue rising in the sky. The police were just blocks away now and closing fast with a phalanx of ambulances and fire engines behind them. "!" she cried as he cleared the warehouses. He waved his hand to her and shot high into the sky, losing himself in the clouds. Jintana watched him go before walking back to the burning ruins of the Badlanding building. Sometime during the confusion, her A/V man had run away. She thought about punching him in the face when she caught up with him. **Where was Jack Holland when you needed him?** As she recorded the destruction of the Badlanding Mercantile building she knew in her heart who was responsible. It was none other than Damage Incorporated. There were even the letters 'D.I.' burned into the pavement with a laser. She wondered if she should sue for proprietary rights over the name she had given them. What trembled within her more than anything though, was that R'Mallo son of Mandiir was one of them. **How was that possible?** she thought. There were no answers forthcoming. * * * Antonio dropped off a pouch containing the OHMs they had stolen from the ork nazis. A few minutes later a woman sauntered by in a red bodysuit. As Antonio eyed her appreciatively, she collected the pouch and casually dropped a card on the ground. She caught a taxi moments later and was gone. Antonio collected the card, the credit voucher that was the other half of their money. They couldn't access it for 48 hours while representatives from their client inspected the OHMs for the one they wanted. Damage Incorporated's fixer held the OHMs and the credit line they would be paid through. The use of the fixer insured against double-crosses, and they had one of the most reliable fixers on Berent working for them. The swordsman pocketed the voucher and joined Floyd in a cab back to the Antichrist. They walked up the ramp as the Pier Services crew finished disconnecting from the Horizon scout. James and Phineas greeted them at the ramp. "Everything turn out all right?" James inquired. "We are flush," Antonio replied, holding up the voucher. "Grand. We're lifting off in a few minutes, so get everything stowed." Antichrist rose from the tarmac and into the crowded skies above the docks. Crazy Eddie piloted the Horizon past the giant tree of the Port Authority and into one of the station's eight airlocks. Air cycled out of the huge lock, and an outer door opened into space. Antichrist drifted clear on gravity drive before engaging its triplex main engine cluster in huge blossoms of white plasma flame. After an hour of flight the Horizon was cleared for superluminal transit. Crazy Eddie engaged the hyperdrive, catapulting the scout into a phenomenally higher energy state and disappearing into hyperspace with a flash of hard radiation and light. END OF PART ONE Author's Excuses: I began crafting this story in 1991 while I was a nub in Orlando, Florida attending Naval Nuclear Field "A" School. It was my first significant work of fiction. When I "finished," around 1995, it was handwritten on about 1500 pages of notebook paper, and STUFFED into two 3" d-ring binders. It was close to 500,000 words in length. Needless to say, when I went back to it not too long ago, it LOOKED like a first work... I found myself asking the question "I *wrote* this crap?" Even my wife, bless her heart, said that my writing had grown a great deal since THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT first crawled from the graphite sticks of my mechanical pencil onto the paper. Writing a novel length original work is much more difficult than writing fanfiction. I am sure of that. In fanfiction the details of characters and their interactions have been worked out by their creator; all you have to do is give them a story of your own and go. Your readers already identify with the characters, and so you don't have to go to the trouble of creating them from scratch. With any luck you managed to get into the story, and developed a preliminary feel for the characters. You know I write BIG stories, and many details about the characters won't come out until later in the story. I ask you to please hang in there, and hopefully I can keep things interesting for you as these details come forth.