Penny

Damned to the Depths

Calliope leaned back, considering the question. Outside the storm raged at full force, lightning crashing around the keep, rattling the sconces. They had signaled the Weather Witch with a flare of arcane light to let them know that the keep was secure and had received the acknowledging flashing of lanterns from Sketti. It would have been impossible to transfer the cannons now, even if they had wanted too. The seas were too rough for the Witch to leave her sheltered anchorage, though if the wind shifted direction radically Sketti would have no choice but to cut the anchor loose and head out into open water to ride out the storm and then find his way back when the weather settled. When things calmed down it should be possible to bring the ship into the main dock, where the derrick would make bringing the cannon down the cliffs much easier.

“I had planned to cast my eye to the south east and the cities of Arayak and Kushdi on the Arad Luin coast,” she explained as she leafed through a dry chronicle of life in the colonies. If the keep had a magical literature she was yet to find it.

“The emirs of booth those cities have an overabundance of ambitious sons, I had been writing to them, encouraging them to plot with promises of support.” Calaverde didn’t have a strong army but it had gold enough that she could have raised mercenaries for the purpose. Now that the wars were over the northern lands were swarming with unpaid men at arms looking for an outlet.

“Once they were ready to move I could have betrayed them to their fathers and waited for the civil wars to weaken them, then swept in and taken the cities,” she went on, swirling the wine in the goblet. Such a plan would have been her a chance to refill the treasury of Calaverde long enought to make her rule absolute and put every corsair from the Teeth of Mubara to the Vrettonian Coast under her banner. Who knows what she could have accomplished with a fleet like that. It seemed like an impossibly distant goal now. Well she had started from nothing before and she could rise up again. It was a game of a sort, though a hard and brutal one. Just like a sword fight, a single step could mean death.

“Funny thing about power,” she mused, “the more you have, the more you want.” It must have been her imagination but she could have sworn she felt the amulet at her breast pulse in agreement with the sentiment.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The red turbaned man whistled and the guards took a step forward, though they weren't threatening, Neil and Sayeeda instinctively spread out to block access to the ship. The guards paused, glancing at their chief. The man made a brushing gesture, fluffing his mustache in what was clearly meant to be dismissive.

"We must search the ship, to assess your cargo for the Pasha's tribute," the officer said, his tone was still friendly but it had hardened a little with an avaricious look in his eyes. Sayeeda cast a glance over her shoulder at the Highlander. The freighter was clearly worse for wear. In addition to the crash damage, the emergency RIP jump had added further scars. The hull plating was cracked and heat worked and several of the external electronics blisters were cracked and burned.

"We are empty," Sayeeda said in a level voice that was flat enough that the nearest guard tensed and gripped his weapon. The turbaned man made an elaborate bow filled with mock obsequiousness.

"I wouldn't impune your honor mistress, but less honest people than your august selves have been known to claim that they are empty when their holds are full of slaves or precious items the seek to sell without the bother of the Pasha’s duties,” the official said with an oily smile. Junebug wasn’t sure if the half finished mechs, the arsenal of weapons, or the presence of her additional crew would cause a problem but she didn’t particularly wish to find out.

“I give you my word of honor that we have no cargo that would interest your Pasha,” she said raising her hand as though to shake. After a moment the official smiled shrewdly and reached out and shook her hand.

“Well then perhaps that shall be sufficient mistress, call on Ali son of Ali should you require any assistance,” he said with a smirk before turning to his guards.

“Ayalah, Imshe!” he called and the colom of men turned and headed back towards the fountains that marked the end of the main street, tramping up a cloud of dust as they made there way across the open air market. The official business completed, the hawkers began to press in, calling the virtues of their wares and their ludicrously low prices. There were no aliens that Junebug could see and most of the women were more conservatively dressed than either herself or Taya. Here and there a leather collar wrapped the neck of an individual marking them as slaves. Junebug frownd in distaste and looked around at the other ships landed in the broad bowl that served as the starport. Most of the ships were battle scarred and all were armed, she suspected that the only difference between a pirate and a trader in this distant sector was opportunity.

Once it became clear the the new arrival didn’t have any cargo to discharge or much interest in doing business the crowd began to recede back to their stalls, leaving the newcomers in relative peace. Junebug sighed and turned to Neil and Taya. As she did she saw Sven walk down the ramp and vanish into the crowd on some bussiness of his own. Saxon it seemed was content to stay on the ship. It seemed unlikely that the lizard would try to steal the Highlander, not least because it was in no condition to jump away.

“Well I don’t supposed a few hours one way or the other will make much difference,” she said unwilling to contemplate the damage to the ship after 3 days of nearly constant work.

“Let's find a drink.”

It had, Junebug realised, been an unusually long time since she had a drink. She wasn’t a lush by any stretch of the imagination but rare were they days she abstained from alcohol completely. Still, the last time she could remember drinking anything was at Aiden’s coronation party which seemed like a lifetime ago. The Terrans didn’t offer liquor aboard ship and their hadn’t been time on the Smugglers moon. The three of them sat at a table of smooth synthetic that had been finished to look like polished wood. The Akir Julan was a reasonably quiet establishment just on the edge of the settlement. It was open to the air on three side, though covered with a roof and sectioned off with a series of limestone bollards that were roped together with braided cabling. The single serving area was filled with small table and at the back there was a large open air hot plate upon which meat sizzled in oils and spices. Rows of carefully tended plants sectioned the place off into natural sections and also leant it a cool dry atmosphere that was very refreshing in such a sunbaked place. It wasn’t packed, it was the afternoon and the lunch rush had passed but there were enough people here to keep the kitchen busy. In one corner a group of old men played a board game Junebug didn’t recognise while they sipped at cups of rich coffee sweetened with molasses and cream. At another table a young women with beautiful golden skin and dark exotic eyes sat with an older man. The girl was reading something on a primitive hand held terminal while her companion, Junebug figured him for a bodyguard, merely looked board.

Sayeeda siped the spirit the serving boy bought her and felt it sting the back of her throat, even as its sweetness cloyed in her mouth. Taya took a much less cautious sip of her own drink and immediately began to choke her eyes watering. The boy giggled and then headed back to the hot pate, returning with three plates of heavily spiced meat in a herb gravy, heaped atop hard unleavened bread.

“Stars what is this stuff,” Taya croaked hoarsley. Junebug grinned with amusement. She was dressed, more or less per usual in a white cotton t-shirt with the logo of some half forgotten band splashed across the front of it, and her combat pants and boots. A utility belt, currently draped over the corner of her ornately carved, if rather battered chair, held a plasma pistol and a pouch of extra reloads. Her only concession to local fashion was a hooded cape she had bought from a street vendor on a whim. It was black with intricate swirling patterns of gold and silver laid into it with metallic thread.

“Palm wine I think, the have something like it most places that have Earth plants,” she explained. In her former career she had found that palm wine, a misnomer because it was more like a moonshine than a grape wine, was almost a universal constant.

“Its usually pretty roughly distilled so be careful drinking it unless you want a terrible hangover,” Junebug cautioned, though judging by the way the girl was eying the drink, that didn’t seem like much of a risk. The local fashion for tobacco seemed to be by water pipes or by cigars that were almost comically huge. Junebug split open her cigar with a neat cut of her knife and rerolled it at a more manageable size before holding it between her teeth and lighting it with the chemical igniter that the staff provided.

“You want caffeine lady?” the boy asked hopefully. Junebug shook her head and breathed a thin stream of smoke. It was rough stuff without the synthetic flavorings she was used to but it wasn’t unpleasant. Drawing a coin from a pouch she flicked it towards the child, who, with incredible reflexes, snatched it from the air and made it vanish in the same motion before heading off to his next table. Junebug picked up her cup and raised it to Neil in salute. She wasn’t exactly sure what she expected of the pilot, he had been through alot these past few days, and she hoped that his head wasn’t too scrambled from whatever had transpired on Saavran.

“Here is to the Highlander and her gallant crew, still alive if slightly worse for wear, and several million credits poorer,” she toasted ironically.

Penny's Egregious Overreach

Bump

Damned to the Depths

Calliope barely managed to avoid the rock as it crashed into the doorway sealing it with the bone crunching finality of an avalanche. Fragments of razor sharp rock sprayed the gnome and the human but blind instinct had already led them to turn their back and thus avoid the worst of it. There was a bestial roar from the otherside of the portal and the two women heaved against the stone uselessly for a moment.

“We have to find another way in,” Grimey cried over a second massive explosion or rock. Hundreds of seabirds alighted from the battlments above cawaing raucously as they wheeled away into the storm. Calliope looked up at the hundred foot tall wall of the keep. It might once have been smooth but centuries of wear had left great cracks in the mortar that provided excellent hand holds.

“Uhh,” Grimey said following her gaze uneasily, “don’t you like have some sorcery that can teleport us through the wall.” Calliope's gaze fell on the gnome, considering the question, her hand unconciously closing around the hilt of her dagger. The gnome took a hasty step back.

“Fine fine!” she squeaked and began to climb the wall. Calliope followed along taking hand holds carefully as she slowly ascended. On the other side of the wall she could hear Sron roaring and the troll howling. Rain sleeted down in stinging sheet as the climbed and above them the sky was rent was jagged flashed of lightning. The capelet she had worn flapped and snapped like a pennant, threatening to tear her from the rockface. Against her chest the amulet was hot even as the rest of her body shivered and she was filled with a wild exhalation and an odd compulsion to fly up into the tumult.

At last she reached the parapet, pulling herself over the top before Grimey, who, owing to her smaller size moves slower. The fortress wall was a long cylinder that joined to a blocky central keep. Around the circle stood a dozen long 12 pound guns, most of them still blocked with wooden tompkins. There was rust at the pivot points of the guns but Calliope suspected they could be made serviceable. On one side of the circle projected a great wooden derick which must once have been used to haul supplies up from the outside as well as being shot and powder up to the gunners. The place was as abandoned as the rest of the fortress so far as she could tell.

Glancing down into the courtyard she could see Sron and Markus battling with a great howling troll, the thing swung a vast wooden club, it must have began life as a gallows, in great arcs, any one of which would smash even the might gnoll to jellied meat. She was about to begin muttering a spell when the door that lead to the keep proper exploded in a shower of splinters. A second troll, smaller than the first but still massive burst forth casually tearing a stone the size of a small child from a half ruined arch and hurling it down into the courtyard. THe motion was oddly simian, a bit like watching a trebuchet fire. The stone struck the wall ten feet above the battle showering all concerned with gravel.

There was a sudden pop and the troll let out an irritated bellow. Calliope realized that Grimey had fired her pistol at the thing, an action as brave as it was pointless. The demons only knew how she had managed to keep the powder dry enough to fire, Calliope was soaked to the bone. The troll looked up at them and charged, screaming and spraying spittle that steamed in the cooling air. Calliope had ony a moment to react and she snapped a quick and simple spell. The rain that slicked the battlements between her and the troll froze with a sharp crackling sound that rimmed the stone in white. The troll, already at full charge slipped on the ice and slid across it like a beer stein on a polished bar. It made a futile attempt to grab at the ledge and then tumbled thirty feet to the stony ground with a bone shattering crash. Calliope hoped she hadn’t just crushed Markus and Sron beneath the trolls stinking body.



Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Hahn wasn’t a world Sayeeda had ever heard of, though that wasn’t surprising. According to the navigational chart they were a staggering distance from Saavran, that too was unsurprising, the Terran cruiser was able to brave much stronger currents than the Highlander could have managed. If they had tried to enter the RIP stream themselves, the energy gradient would have ripped them to atoms. Once they were in they had plunged, unguided by the nav computer through the maelstrom of the RIP without any of the normal station holding navigational corrections. Junebug was just as glad to be far from the reach of the Terrans. Whatever bounty had been placed on them had gone up exponentially after they had gunned down York and half a dozen marines, not to mention destroying invaluable data.

The sector they were in was extremely poorly charted. Most worlds were little more than alphanumeric designations with a few keywords attached to them. Breathable atmosphere, fresh water, dangerous biota. Even places that had larger write ups were years out of date and compiled from the records of tramp freighters and free traders rather than anything like a regular courier service. It would take months to work their way back towards the galactic core, although Junebug didn't have any particular reason to do that. When she and Neil had bought the Highlander, she had a vague notion of making a living as a free trader, but beyond that her goals were vague and ephemeral. She was rootless after Andor’s Armored had disbanded and adventure in general was more important than any abstract goal.

“Lets hope that people don’t take one look at us and decide to put on a Xenos invasion or launch a coup in our honor,” Junebug said smiling wryly for what felt like the first time in days. There didn’t appear to be any orbital control or landing beacons of any kind. The only transmissions that the Highlander was picking up were low powered radio broadcasts meant for use within the atmosphere. Sayeeda touched a few holographic keys and accessed the navigational data from the atlas. As she suspected, the entry contained the landing coordinates of the last ship that had contributed to the charts, she imported it onto the navigational display and a slow pulsing green bead appeared on the display, at the terminus of one of the older ship tracks. Neil eased the Highlander onto the new course with uncharacteristic care.

As they descended into the atmosphere it became apparent that Hahn wasn’t quite as desolate as it appeared from orbit. The deserts were largely stoney rather than sandy and here and there green oasis appeared, ringed with plant life. Some of the swales too sported green fringes of tough looking succulents and twisted looking trees with broad spiny leaves. Here and there vast formations of orangey yellow rock thrust into the sky forming impressive mesa. There were no obvious roads though Junebug thought she spotted plumes of dust which must have been raised by human vehicles.

Their destination was a broad canyon that ran roughly south east. The canyon ran for hundreds of miles down towards the equatorial sea and it varied in width from a few dozen meters at its narrow choke points to several hundred meters at its widest. It was well over a hundred meters deep, making it difficult to view the interior until one was directly over it.The settlement wasn’t visible even to sensors until they were within a hundred clicks or so. It was built entirely within the canyon at one of the wider points, with only a few antennae projecting up over the lip. As Neil bought the Highlander into balance over the canyon they could see that the settlement, calling it a city stretched the point, was built up against the walls of the canyon with a broad boulevard that ran down the center of the chasm and twisting side streets meandering back towards the canyon walls. The buildings were of adobe and yellowish sandstone and most of them were low only one or two stories, save at the canyon wall where they grew higher to abutt the rock faces. Most of the buildings had flat roofs that were topped with greenery in roof gardens and the roads were lined with what looked to be Terran date palms. Large dericks were sunk into the central road at intervals and they rocked back and forth before gouting up water like fountains. The path of the canyon must have been drawn by an ancient river that had since vanished underground. In the center of town, surrounded by gardens and fountains were larger building with large domes and minarets that had been gilded with golden metal, though Sayeeda thought it was probably brass rather than pure gold.

To the southern end of the settlement the canyon flared to a width of nearly half a kilometer, several ships, many much the worse for wear, were landed on the dusty stone. Tarps of stone bleached canvas covered stalls and shops or just provided shelter for ships crews that wanted to be off their own vessels. Men and they were almost all men, milled about trading and buying food or other provisions from the vendors, many of which were nothing more than a cart with a canvas shade. There was nothing that even approached a shipyard but there were enough ship components scattered on rugs for inspection that Sayeeda could at least hope they could affect some meaningful repairs.

No one appeared to be particularly concerned by the hovering freighter although several people were pointing up at them as Neil set them gently down in the shade of the canyon wall. The whole crew let out a sigh of relief as they touched down and the engines shut off.
“Looks like there is a welcoming committee,” Junebug observed pointing to a group of men that were making their way towards the ship. Like most of the civilians their skin ranged from Junebugs olive to pure ebony. They were dressed in layers of cloth and turbans which was probably meant to be a uniform. Each of the men carried a long spear that ended in a shock rod and they carried a variety of antiquted firearms that seemed to follow no particular pattern. At their head was a paunchy man with drooping mustaches, set off by his bright red turban. There was a gold chased pistol at his hip, though even from this distance it looked more ceremonial than practical.

“Customs inspectors maybe?” Taya asked uncertainty. Junebug shrugged her shoulders. The newcomers looked bored rather than threatening which meant they probably didn’t anticipate trouble.

“Maybe,” she said noncommittally, eliciting a hissing grunt from Saxon.

“Lets get our party clothes on and go out and say hello.”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The Highlander shuddered out of the RIP gracelessly. Junebug felt the hull torque as the insertion charge dispersed unevenly and she held her breath for long moments until it became clear that the freighter wasn’t going to break up entirely. This time at least she hardly noticed the discomfort of dropping out of the RIP.

“Alright someone tell me we aren’t all going to starve to death?” she said, her implant transmitting to all receivers that hadn’t made a point of blocking her. Currently Junebug was wedged into one of the access crawlspaces, wedged in tight with a nest of wiring conduits and junction boxes. The space was too tight for her helmet so she had borrowed, stolen really, a pair of glasses from Neils tool box. The glasses didn’t have the range of inputs her helmet had but they did allow her to link to the Highlander’s database and to read basic electronic information from the circuits she observed. She had been in the process of troubleshooting a sort that was preventing the power cells from draining evenly. The problem was that each burnt out chip she found only lead to another burnt out chip, each sequentially fried by the surge when the ship had hit the alien shield.

It had been three days since they fled the November Sky. Exiting a ship already in the RIP had been risky but the Highlander had managed to extract into real space long enough for them to jury rig the power cells and take star sights. The sights only gave them a forty percent likelihood of an accurate fix on their position even with Savran as a reference point. The best they had been able to do was point themselves vaguely in the direction of civilization and jump again before the Terran cruiser could return and snatch them up.

“Well it ain't exactly Gremadine, but I think it's settled,” Neil shouted, his voice unaided by communications gear. The thumping beat of his repulsive music echoed up the shaft from the cockpit. SHe had no idea what or where Gremadine was but she took his meaning. They hadn’t talked much since they made their escape, they hadn’t had time, even with all five of them working they had only just managed to keep the half crippled ship together long enough to take another star sight which suggested a likely settled world and make a last ditch jump. Sayeeda hadn’t been kidding, if this world was uninhabited and there was a very real possibility the Highlander would never be able to leave it.

Surprisingly Saxon had found his way into her company more frequently than Neil did. The lizard alien seemed to be making a point of it, though Sayeeda couldn’t imagine why. He made a few cryptic comments about her being cold which seemed a positive change from his usual threats against Neils life but the change still left her baffled. Junebug pulled a screwdriver from her belt and worked free the fried chip with a click. She removed a chip from her pouch and held it up in front of her goggles, allowing the computer to confirm it was the right unit for the job before slotting it into place. The chip flashed green as the built in ameteres registered the connection was good.

“Alright,” she said, wiping her sweaty face on the shoulder strap off her tank top and then slithering her way back to the access port above the cockpit. With lithe grace she dropped through the port and landed on both feet and one hand just behind the pilot's seat. Neil must have expected the movement because he didn’t jump or react other than to make a gesture at the forward view screen. The planet before them was largely arrid, mostly desert except for a few unenthusiastic strips of greenish gray near an unhealthy looking equatorial ocean.

“Sensors show habitation,” Taya chimed in from her customary seat.

“Lony says there are even ionization tracks that indicate starship landings, though it doesn't look like they get a ton of visitors.” As the girl spoke long curving arcs appeared on the view screen with estimated times of the tracks. The most recent vector was over two weeks old. There didn’t seem to Junebug to be any pattern to them other than they all ended in broad canyons that criss crossed the desert.

“Any radio traffic?” she asked Neil.

“This dirtball have a name?”

Damned to the Depths

Calliope quickly ascended the rope ladder. She had not been in the rigging nearly as much as Markus but she had made a point of climbing and descending to terrorise John with cryptic statements and sudden appearances. Some obscure instinct was irritated that she couldn’t simply fly though she dismissed the bizarre notion as the exhaustion that followed her spell. Any weather magic, even something as simple as slightly calming the waves was no trivial undertaking.

As she emerged from the trapdoor the first raindrops of the storm began to fall to the flagstones. They were in a large circular courtyard perhaps a hundred feet across. Several dilapidated shacks stood in various stages of repair, in place of one or two of them were charged piles of blackened timbers, though the fires that consumed them hadn’t been recent. A circular stone wall enclosed the courtyard on three sides, the forth being made by another section of cliff. A small stone gatehouse allowed the area to be closed off though it was obvious that in case of real trouble the people living here would withdraw to the keep proper. The main keep lowered overhead, accessible by a steep cobblestone path that wound its way up the rocky outcropping. Like many structures of its day it had been built with the aid of elven mages, often times mages that had been enslaved or traded to humans for just such work. Hewing the keep out of the rock would have been a gargantuan undertaking for unaided human hands.

In the other direction, the stairway extended down towards the main harbor where, according to the charts, a combination of headland and an ancient mole allowed two or three ships to dock in relative safety. Supplies then had to be hauled up to the keep via the stairs. It wasn’t an efficient way of doing business, but it certainly made for a secure one. It was probably possible to hoist supplies up via derricks that overhung the walls, though at the moment none of these were visible. The cobble stones were slick with algae, a testament to the weather and the lack of recent foot traffic.

Sron wrinkled his nose.

“I don’t smell the stink of other humans,” the Gnoll ground, his trade tongue sounding to Calliope like two strong men ripping canvas. She closed her eyes for a moment and opened them again, the shimmer of mage sight overlaying her normal vision. There were no illusions, wards or other spells worked here, it was just as it seemed, an abandoned village.

“There are no ships in harbor,” Grimey reported, having scuttled over to the edge of the wall to look down at the bay.

“I didn’t see a single soul,” she confessed, looking a little uneasy. Calliope pressed her lips together and squinted up into the rain. Though she could see the lofty parapet her magesight granted her no insight. There were no torches or watchmen visible.

"You suppose they just packed up and left?" the Gnome asked, though she couldn't really have believe that was the case.

“Well… I suppose we should go up and take a look…” she took several steps towards the stone cut steps and then paused. There was a trail leading up towards the keep. A trail of dark crimson blood, as though a badly bleeding man had been hauled up the stairs some time ago. Already water from the strengthening rain was beginning to wash the trail away, cascading slightly pinkish water down the stairs towards the harbor.

“That is more blood than one person has in them,” Calliope stated uneasily.

“We are just going to ignore exactly how you know that,” Grimey put in from her waist.

“Well Captain, if we want guns we have to follow the blood trail to the keep…”

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda didn’t have the same sort of experience with starships that Neil did, but she did have strong survival instincts. Everything screamed to her that, if they didn’t get out of this system in the next few minutes, they weren’t getting out at all. The Highlander probably wouldn’t survive a RIP jump in any case, judging by the damage they had taken back on Saavran. Or the planet formerly known as Saavran. Junebug wondered if the sleeping thing would have woken up if the Chalcedon’s hadn’t bombarded it.

“Steer for the Sky,” she called to Neil to which York nodded emphatically. The Highlander curved gracefully into the hangar bay and the moment they cleared the magnetic shield the ship leaped into the RIP. Sayeeda’s mind filled momentarily with spiraling neon designs which extended to the infinite without losing resolution. For a moment she hovered on the edge of madness and then she was back in the Highlander as it set down on the deck. The captain had taken a risk jumping while they were still airborne. If Neil had gone into a spastic fit they might have wrecked the freighter, but even that would be a small price in the mind of the battered warships captain.

“You have done a great thing for humanity today,” York said smugly as they all walked shakily down the gangplank. A squad of marines in full combat gear was waiting for them and Sayeeda didn’t get the impression that they were an honor guard. York stepped over to them and turned with an apologetic smile.

“Unfortunately… we cannot allow Mr Edwards to depart, that tattoo of his might be the key to more knowledge than we can imagine.” Junebug stiffened at the words, although part of her had expected them, a mercenary always hopes that the contract will be honored, even when her guts told her otherwise.

“You are free to take the rest of your people and leave Mistress Cyckali, with the thanks of Terra and a hundred thousand credits in compensation,” York declared magnanimously. Woods stepped off to the side clearly intending to cover Junebug incase she decided to do anything stupid. Junebug glanced at the marine and lowered her rifle, Neil shot her a look of mute betrayal. Junebug sighed heavily. She didn’t know if Sven or Saxon would back her up and Taya looked terrified beyond words. The smart thing would be to leave Neil and go. She would have full rights to the Highlander then and she and Taya could probably pilot well enough until they could hire on another spacer as a helmsman.

“It is Captain Cyckali,” she said in a flat voice and she was suddenly moving. With her off hand she cast her plasma rifle at Woods as an improvised missile and whipped a hand out from behind her back Neil’s old style revolver in her fist. She had taken it from him when he started acting weird back in the temple in case he tried something when he wasn’t in his right mind. The marines were expecting something, but they were so shocked by so suicidal an action that they hesitated for a fraction of a second. She shot York in the chest, the bullet smashing the disk in his breast pocket. Taya screamed and threw herself back towards the boarding ramp as half a dozen weapons opened fire. Junebug dove towards Woods, placing a second shot into a bandolier of grenades one of the marines wore. The hangar erupted in white fire as the bullet punched into the flash bangs, gang firing the whole bandolier and sending the charred remains of the marine smashing into a nearby cargo container. Junebug hit Woods around the waist, sending the woman sprawling.

The Terran was no newcomer to hand to hand but there was literally nothing you could do when two hundred pounds of body armor hit you at full speed. The tumbled along the deck in a ruck. Junebug struck at Woods face with a flat palm but the Terran caught the blow and twisted into a throw. Gunfire chattered deafeningly as Sayeeda spun over Woods shoulder, catching a grip of her backpack and slamming the Marine into the ground. Junebug kicked her in the hip, using the motion to shove herself away from Woods, trying to clear enough space to use the pistol, but the other woman rolled with the blow, skidding behind one of the lowboys that transported heavy equipment. Even though she didn’t have a shot Junebug put a round into the vehicle before firing the remainder of the clip into the marines more or less at Random.

The soldiers were dragging the stricken body of York backwards towards one of the armored hatches. It was only the shock of attack and the flashbangs that had kept them alive so far. Junebug knew that in another heartbeat they would cut down the Highlander’s crew in flurry of rifle fire. Woods was rising from behind her cover to line up a kill shot on Junebug. Screaming a curse Junebug swung Neil’s pistol to bear and pulled the trigger. The final round cracked out and there was a sudden electrical discharge that painted the hangar with couscating static sparks. The bullet hit an invisible surface halfway between Junebug and Woods and dropped to the floor with a clang. Fire from a dozen weapons clattered into the same invisible barrier, limbing it with blue fire and revealing a cylindrical disc around the highlander. Junebug could only stare in wonder as bullets bounded to the deck and plasma bolts spattered impotently across the protective barrier. Taya had activated the Highlander’s void shield inside the hangar. That was an insanely dangerous choice that might have just as easily killed everyone in the hangar in a massive generator failure. Well as they said in the Armored - Any one you walk away from.

“HA!” Junebug crowed and turned to dash towards the Highlanders landing ramp. There was a hollow boom behind her as one of the soldiers fired a shoulder mounted rocket into the shield, though he needn’t have bothered, the Highlander’s shields were built to take fire from another ship and there wasn’t much a man could carry that packed that kind of firepower.

“Junebug we have maybe five seconds before the shield fails!” came Taya’s voice tinny and terrified.

Damned to the Depths

The winds continued to rise as Calliope came on deck, her black tresses whipping madly despite the shelter of the imposing cliff before them. The green black sea rock reached high into the sky where faint twinges of sickly dark green vegetation to could be seen. Great sea birds whirled and pinnoned above from hidden eeries in the cliff side, though none saw fit to investigate the Weather Witch as she paid off to port before snugging up against her sea anchor. The loose canvas snapped as men went aloft and began to gather the sails, tying it in tight bundles against the yards.

Since the incident with John, Jim had been off two minds about her. There was some more fear in his eyes when he looked at her but he still seemed just as flustered. Humans were complicated creatures, capable of holding a multitude of conflicting emotions. The rest of the crew was equally wary though Grimey and Sketti had returned to more or less their previous demeanors. She craned her neck to look up at the keep, barely visible atop the imposing clifftop.

Wyvenwatch was an old keep, dating back to the early days of exploration and colonization, when square rigged ships had first forced their way across the sea of swords. Improvements in technology meant that landfalls like this were less important than they once had been and many places like it had fallen into disrepair. That didn’t mean it was unoccupied though, even unimportant outposts often maintained a garrison, if for no other reason than the threat of being posted there kept other people in line.

“You said that there had been no word from this place?” Calliope demanded of Grimey. The former tyrant was dressed in a vest of dull black leather and brown hose off soft doeskin. A bandolier that secured her sword belt and held several small potions was draped across one shoulder. A capelt of strom gray was wrapped around her shoulders which provided a little warmth, though at present it was snapping in the breeze. As always her amulet hung concealed beneath her atire.

“Well that was true a month ago,” the gnome said defensively. According to Grimey she had a friend in the Andreed navy who had gotten drunk and mentioned that the fort hadn’t been in contact for nearly a year and that nobody had even noticed, it being such a benighted backwater. Grimey figured that plague or famine had done for the garrison and that it might be ripe for looting. The fact that no raven had been sent with a distress call was very strange, though even if two or three birds had been sent it was possible they had all met with accidents. Calliope had initally been suspicious, thinking that perhaps it had been taken by pirates, looking at it know though she found it hard to believe that even the craziest pirate would even attempt it. A half dozen drunks with broomsticks could hold this place to Calaverde was dust.

There was a stir as Markus came up on deck and headed for the long boats. Calliope joined him and climbed into the boat as they began to lower it.

“Assuming there are even guns here, its going to take us hours to load them,” she said as the boat touched the choppy water.

“If the storm strands us here we could be trapped for days.” The seasons was already growing dangerously late for westward voyaging and she was growing concerned they might not be able to beat their way westward against the storms if they didnt start soon. They had to reach the western waters before the storms closed the passage or they wouldn’t have much chance of finding the treasure convy in time to even think about raiding it.

Dark Streets - Urban Fantasy Noir

@Fetzen

Sadjic smiled, an expression that conveyed no warmth for all the perfect ivory teeth he showed. With a roll of his wrist he made a gesture to the car, that was both courtly and theatrical.

“I would be pleased to provide you with a ride,” he said in his oily, too smooth voice. He dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his immaculate and doubtlessly expensive Italian shoes. The door to the car opened and a man in a neat black suit stepped out and opened the door for Othen, waiting for the gargoyle to take his seat before moving around and opening the other door for Sadjic who gracefully took his own place, crossing a leg to his calf and leaning back into the corner as though lounging at a cafe.

“As for your question about finger pointing,” Sadjic said, returning to the previous thread of the conversation, “I don’t think any will land on me no.” The car pulled away from the overgrown park jouncing over the decayed roadway for all the drivers attempt to be careful.

“I didn’t do it and it isn’t worth anyone's time to pretend like I did,” he said with a secret smile.

“I know where too many bodies are buried you see,” he explained as the car made a gentle turn onto one of the major roads. Although Sadjic hadn't asked where Othen was headed, they were clearly on their way to the gargoyles domicile.

“But you… well who knows. You were, afterall sighted near the scene of the crime as the Americans say.” He held up a hand as though forstealling a response.

“And no, not just by me. Still, I hope that you have alibi that no one can question. That won’t be a problem I trust,” Sadjic went on, his eyes suddenly growing considerably more intent.

“Afterall, its not as though you can teleport from one place to another now is it?”