Penny

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

“Well I suppose they shall have to write some stories about us,” Mave said. With Emond’s Field and Deven’s Ride behind them the road had faded away to almost nothing. The map showed that it continued south into Gheldan but that was either a relic of an earlier time or merely wishful thinking. Where the Westwood had been a tranquil place, the Forest of Shadows had a dark unwholesome look. Great oaks towered into the darkening sky and vines strung between aged and decaying trunks made passage difficult.

“To that end…” Mave took a leather wrapped bundle from her saddle and handed it to Ali. He took it curiously and unwrapped it. Inside was a bow of sturdy yew almost five a half feet long along with a pair of coiled and waxed bow strings and two dozen long feathered arrows. It seemed to Mave to be ridiculously large compared to the short cavalry bows she had seen in Arad Doman but the fletcher had assured her that was what the locals used.

“I know its not a staff, but I saw some of the locals using them at Beltane and I thought you would probably know the basics,” she went on, curiously embarrassed and anxious at the gift.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Shes a bit older than he usually likes them,” the slavemaster grumbled as Canek’s mercenary, an affable man named Alverez handed Junebug through the wrought iron gate. The slavemaster was a fat man and years of drink and dissipation had left his nose red and crinkled with spider veins. The decision not to send Taya had been a tough one. The girl had been willing enough and her youth and coloration as well as her technical skill made her better suited for the deception. Taya had been more than willing but Junebug had shut her down, not because she herself was a glory hog, but because she knew in her heart of hearts, that Taya wasn’t really an operator the way she and Neil were. It wasn’t a matter of being willing in your mind, you needed to be able to do it in your gut, put the knife in without mercy. Junebug suspected it wasn’t a good comment on her mental health that she didn’t feel you could really trust someone until they could kill without compunction, but she had survived over a decade in a business that didn’t give many second chances.

“Yeah well, if his nibs doesn't go for her then you can sell her yourself right? Alverez prompted and the slave master grunted. He passed a pouch to the mercenary that jingled significantly. Junebug made a mental note to get the money off Alverez when this was over. She was dressed for the occasion in the dark grey cloth that the locals wore, the garments covering her almost completely though they hugged her figure sufficiently as to leave no doubt to her gender. Taya had spent most of the afternoon carefully concealing Junebug’s tattoos and scars with cosmetics. The effect wasn’t perfect but hopefully she wouldn’t need to pass close inspection. It was late evening now, and the business of the palace was done for the day. Canek believed that she would be stored in the harem wing tonight and presented to the Pasha in the morning. If not, well thats what Neil was across the way for.

“Fine,” the Slavemaster said looking her up and down with approval.

“Looks like she has some fight in her, the Pasha likes that sometimes,” he noted, earning himself no points in Sayeeda’s book. The Slavemaster took out a scanner from his robes and passed it over Sayeeda’s body though for what purpose she wasn’t exactly sure. Perhaps it was merely a check for weapons and other contraband. Satisfied he took her by the arm and closed the door on Alvarez, leading her back into the palace.

The Harem was a lushly appointed series of chamber arranged around a central courtyard of intricately designed mosaic tiles. Sayeeda thought it might have been meant to represent a lemon tree light by two moons but it was difficult to appreciate it from so close. Dozens of small chambers appended to the courtyard, each sectioned off by latices of artfully rendedred carved wood that had been poished till it shined. The slave master half lead half dragged her to the center where a severe looking woman with grey hair was waiting.

“You may go Haseem,” she directed the slavemaster curtly. The man growled but departed without incident. The woman stepped forward and matter of factly stripped Sayeeda naked with a couple of quick practiced jerks. She shivered in the moonlight and tried to lean forward slighty in order to conceal her abdominal muscules. Junebug had always been fit, but since her encounter with the Terran bio enhancements her musculature had become more prominent. Even leaning forward the ghost of her stomach muscles was visible. The woman sucked a breath in through her teeth.

“Well you aren’t the usual are you,” she mused, slapping Sayeeda experimentally on one dusky hip.

“Fit arent you, a bit on the heavy side” she went on, circling Sayeeda like a hawk. Junebug said nothing, uncertain of if there was an appropriate response.

“Well I suppose we will see what the Pasha think in the morning,” she said decisevely and gestured towards a room. Junebug snatched up her clothing and awkwardly made her way to it.

“Status?” Neil’s voice buzzed in her ear. Junebug sighed philisopically.

“Well I’m apparently too heavy and too old for a harem,” she responded wrly, “but so far, so good.:

Damned to the Depths

So I dont lose it

We are invited as heroes to the palace of Prince Achmed, who is son of the Sultan "Ha-Ha" (if you laugh in his presence and are not of suitably high station, he will have you executed). The vizier is named Rashem. Achmed is quite taken with Calliope for her beauty, and for saving him, in that order. The vizier has been given leave to hire the Weathered Witch to attack the Blooded Axes secret cove, where we do so against the Prince's council, only to find out it is a trap by the traitorous Vizier. We are captured, Markus is set to be executed publicly in the cove, Calliope is placed into the harem with golden "cuffs" that lock her magic, and the crew is to be executed. Markus escapes, frees Calliope in the 'throne room' of the Corsair King where Calliop is and they both slay him, and they save the crew. They find out why the Vizier had hired the Blooded Axes, because of a sacred map that leads into the desert that is said to hold wonders beyond imagining. They were to be the ones to find the map, but now we have it.

We sail back to the city, called Dalib Shara and are hailed once again. When there, the Sultan announces he will marry Calli, as he knows who she is and plans to create a trade route in the northern seas. It will be against her will if she refuses, but in a few nights his son Achmed kills him in jealousy, having grown mad from his captivity and lust for Calli and power. Markus in turn kills him, then they flee into the desert while the crew returns to the ship with as much swag as they can. Markus and Calliope make it to the cavern and fight a few mythic beasts before finding the key of the Genie, with little knowledge on what this means, along with a ring that summons a less powerful Djinni. Along with a vast pile of Gold and Jewels that both Markus and Calli would obviously be interested in, though as soon as they grab the key and the ring the cavern collapses and they must escape Indiana Jones style.

Now they have a Key for an adventure hook, a ring to use in dire circumstances, and a fled Vizier that would be a nuisance in the future.

WoT: The Dark One's Own Luck.

Mave folded her arms beneath her breasts, appearing calm though she had already embraced the source. She wasn’t sure exactly what the gleeman was playing at but he clearly new more than he should. Could he have deduced her identity from some sign she hadn’t noticed? Was this all just some elaborate bluff?

“I think you may have mistaken us for one of your tales master gleeman,” Mave said after a moment.

“I’m sure it sounds a good story to talk of Aes Sedai and Ta’veren but really. It was bad enough that everyone assumed I was some foreign chit here to steal away Ali,” she scoffed. The Gleeman shrugged as though unconcerned with this defense.

“Stolen him you have, it would seem to me, won’t young Evelyn be devastated,” he went on with a theatrical sigh.

“Our business is our own master gleeman and we do not care to share the road with you.” She channeled a thin wisp of air, just enough to cut the tether that held his horse in place. Then she switched the beast gently on the flank and it started off at a brisk trot. The gleeman turned and glared at the departing horse.

“Fair well sir, I hope we wont meet again,” Mave said placidly as Ali swung awkwardly up into his saddle.

“Aes Sedai! The Eyes of the Dragon see much! We can help you!” the gleeman called as the turned and cantered away northward. As soon as they were out of sight Mave drew her horse into a trot.

“Im not sure what is going on, but we need to get as far south as we can by nightfall, we should make for Jehanna.” Ali nodded and led them off the road, circling back south.

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you need to tell me?” she asked after a moment.

Damned to the Depths

Although Calliope congratulated herself that she had been right about Achmed, she also kicked herself for not having anticipated the need for more formal clothing. Nothing irritated her more than being underdressed. Fortunately the prince was in much the same position as her, dressed as he was in a set of clothing scrounged from Markus. One of the servants who accompanied the elephant quickly dressed the prince in a silk robe, draping it over the simple pirate clothing before winding a turban around his forehead and fastening it with a ruby the size of a thumbnail, set into a gold band.

They moved through the city with considerable fanfare. Ahead of them the guards moved in an armored wedge, beating aside those who moved too slowly for their liking. The trumpets blared as they moved into a great open air bazzar where men and women of a dozen races bartered and traded. Every imaginable good appeared to be for sale. Fruit, carpets, brass, wonderous instruments, maps, swords and armor, arcana, perfume and a thousand other things beside. They were crammed into booths of canvas or wood, or simply piled in squares marked out by the flagstones. Smoke rose from brazzers where meat was being roasted, pungent spices assailed her from small eateries and cook shops. Suddenly she wanted very badly to be down amongst it all, exploring, but instead she sat beside Achmed as his elephant swayed its way up the slight hill towards the great arabesque encrusted gate which marked the entrance to the Pasha’s palace.

They passed through into a large paved courtyard which was surrounded ornately maintained gardens. Water ran in tiled channels to fill elegant fountains which were fringed with lilies or large sinuous lotus blossoms that filled the courtyard with a subtle perfume which banished the dust. Dates and palms curled from the walls towards the sunlit center creating covered walkways that were shaded from the sun. In the center of the courtyard a large tamaron tree stood majestically, greyish brown seed pods hanging from its branches in neat manicured clumps. A long set of steps lead up towards the palace itself. Rose petals had already been strewn along the sand stone steps and at each level a guard stood with a spear held at a perfect vertical.

“Ahhh My Lady Calliope,” Achmed said extending her a hand which she took.

“Allow me to repay your hospitality.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Currency

The currency of the Stellar Empire is technically known as the Soldaei although it is colloquially referred to as a credits. Hard currency is in common use far from the urban. A credit chip is worth a certain number of Soldaei and is a thin circle of metal which holds a holographic diffraction grating with its value, a picture of the Empress and and its verification details. Counterfeiting is all but impossible. A credit is updated each time it passes through official hands and the hologram updated to the current monarch.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene shoved against one of the concrete beams as three other men hauled on a makeshift pulley line. There was grinding of stone on stone as the friction broke and the great block of stone began to rise, showering grit wich Rene did his best to keep from his eyes with a raised hand. There was a curious flash of dejavu as he remembered how he and Bowie had helped the farmer on New Concordia free his oxen from the rice paddy. That act of charity had saved Rene’s life now that he thought about it. What could have driven the beast into the water in the first place? He would certainly never know, nor, he supposed did it much matter. A small void opened as the beam rose revealing a sniveling young woman and a child of perhaps four years of age. Both were so coated with mud and grit that they appeared almost alien to Rene’s eyes.

“Your safe,” he declared, “can you climb through?” Above him the beam began to slowly rotate seeking the neutral point on its new found fulcrum. The woman looked up at him, her face was caked with dirt save for thin lines that tears had drawn through the grime. Unsteadily she came to her feet and passed the child through to Rene, who took the boy and passed him up to other waiting hands. The woman reached out and took his hand and began to climb through when there was a sudden shout of alarm and a twanging of parting wires. Someone shouted a warning but Rene jerked the woman free with a strength that might have dislocated her arms. She screamed in pain but cleared the area a second before the cable gave out completely and several hundred kilos crashed down. Rene spun, putting his back to the shower of concrete chips that lashed him and jumped as far clear as he was able.

“Rene?! You ok?” Tychon yelled and strong hands seized him and the girl hauling them out of the ruined house by main force.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” Rene assured the coral gatherer as he was unceremoniously dumped on the grass beside the ruined house. A wet cloth was shoved into his hands and he gratefully wiped his face clean. Dirt and mud caked his body and, though the temperature was moderate, he was sweating from his exertions. It was nearly mid day and the rain had stopped, though not enough for the sun to be any more than a bright spot in the grey cloud coverage.

“Here, Drink.” Tychon commanded, thrusting a canteen full of water into his hands. Rene drank greedily, allowing the cool clear filtered water to run down over his chin and onto his chest. The fifteen men who formed the ‘crew’ that Tychon was leading all looked exhausted, though Rene doubted that even a marine platoon could have worked harder than they had this morning. With the aid of the goggles they had pulled a half dozen survivors from the ruined houses using little more than the strength of their hands and a few old winches.

“That's everyone accounted for on this street,” Tychon said with a somber note in his voice. Most of the men working here were friends and associates of his, and these houses had been their homes. More than one man was morning the loss of a family member, though like Tychon had done when Damaris had been among those presumed lost they buried the pain and worry in the work. At Tycon’s suggestion Rene had given his goggles to one of the younger men so that he could scan other houses. The device was a fairly simple one and there were others aboard the Bonaventure, but they might well save lives here.

“So where next?” Rene asked. Tychon shook his head and lay a restraining hand on Rene’s shoulder as he tried to rise.

“That's it for now, you push yourself too hard and you will break, it is the wisdom of the sea,” Tychon said. They had been at if for several hours and as he looked around Rene could see that the men were mostly played out. Even he, blessed with genetic augmentation and a history of brutal physical training couldn’t go on like this indefinitely.

“Let’s go clean up, then we can see about your fluorine,” Tychon suggested, clasping Rene’s forearm and helping him to his feet.

“The seas know you have earned it.”

The seaward section of San Roayo was, paradoxically, in better condition than the more inland ares Rene had seen. The buildings here were constructed large of concrete and prefab industrial polymers that had withstood the surge of the sea better than the flimsier structures had dealt with the wind. The structures, mostly one or two story workshops or warehouses, were scuffed and battered by debris but Rene doubted they had been much to look at before the storm either. The streets were littered with seaweed and stank of rotting fish, many of which were visible among the detritus, buzzing with flies. The fish life here appeared to be four eyed with four sets of fins spaced around the body, though Rene was no naturalist to judge such things. There were people around, but few of them were on the streets, mostly they seemed to be proprietors or workers who were in the process of cleaning up the damage to their businesses, or perhaps merely preventing looters from helping themselves.

The building they were looking for was only a block back from the waterfront. Masses of barges had been driven onto the numerous docks and jetties and formed a barrier of debris and shattered timbers. Rene supposed that the boats would be refloated once the more immediate rescue work had finished. Perhaps by then help would arrive from the planetary authorities, or perhaps, with the Eastern Cross in rebellion, they people would be left to fend for themselves. Even if the Duke’s rebellion were put down tomorrow resentments like this would linger for years or decades. It irritated Rene, who, despite everything, remained a child of the aristocracy, that even an Imperial victory wouldn’t be complete.

AV-GAS, proclaimed by a large sign suspended above the doorway, was a shabby looking place. A small office was appended to a large warehouse building that seemed mostly devoted to housing a mass of pipes and tanks that were visible through tears in the metalized sheeting that served the place for walls. A large loading dock shelted what appeared to be a forklift and a pair of large trucks, both clearly damaged by the floodwater. Large portable cylinders for gas transport were scattered around in haphazard piles which Rene hoped where the result of after the fact scavenging rather than any normal habit of stowage.

The interior of the office was grimy and dark. Several chemical luminators had been stuck to the wall and an unpleasant looking bald man with tattoos on his arms brooded behind a large metal counter. The walls were covered with pornography which had been pinned up wherever calendars and tide charts didn’t already occupy. It ranged from the obscene to the unbelievable but Rene imagined that it had long ago lost its shock value for anyone who came here regularly. An ashtray filled the room with smoke for the remains of a half dozen cigarettes of a type Rene couldn’t identify. There was an automated dispensing machine, covered in bright advertising slogans, in one corner, though without power its many lights were out and it looked dead and lifeless. The proprietary was watching a broadcast on a portable screen about a meter wide that he had wired up to a portable power source. It was similar to what Julia had been using to monitor the missing persons lists when Solae and Rene had first met her, though it was of better quality and clearly less well cared for.

“Tychon,” the tattooed man grunted in a tone without much warmth. His beady eyes flicked suspiciously to Rene but he made no comment about the presence of the stranger.

“Heard your daughter had been swept out to sea,” the fellow said, placing his arms on the counter and leaning forward. Tychon smilled, unaware or simply to relieved at Damaris’ safe return to notice the cruelty with which the comment was delivered.

“Safe and sound praise the seas Vitger!” Tychon told him with a broad smile.

“But that isn’t what we are here about, we need to buy some fluorine,” Tychon explained, pointing to Rene to make the ‘we’ clear. Vitger narrowed his eyes at this pronouncement.

“I got some in the tanks, but what do you need it for? Surely you don’t have coral you need to treat?” he asked shrewdly. Rene shrugged his shoulders as if the matter was of little consequence. He drew forth a few Imperial credit chips each worth several dozen Soldaei. Rene didn’t know what the daily wage was on Panopontus but he was willing to bet that the credit chips represented a fortune. The greedy glitter in Vitgers eyes told him he was correct.

“I need about 250 litres, with a 6h or 7h delivery system,” Rene explained. Vitger nodded, picking up the chip and examining it between thumb and forefinger.

“We can work with that, how are you planning on moving it?” the merchant asked. His eyes ficked between the pair of men and his view screen and Rene frowned. Something about this was starting to make him uncomfortable.

“Thaddeus has a barge he will loan me,” Tychon said, referring to one of the men they had helped dig out of the ruins earlier in the day.

“He had his barge out for maintenance when this all happened,” Tychon explained, as though the matter were any clear to Rene. Vitger nodded though it appeared to Rene that he wasn’t really listening.

“Ok head out back and grab the dolly will you?” he directed Tychon. The boatman nodded and turned to head through a door sectioned off by hanging strips of plastic sheeting. Rene was very fast his hand went for the gun he had in his hip pocket but Vitger had been ready. WIth a yell of fear he pulled a needle stunner from behind the desk and fired a half dozen rounds in the space of a heart beat. Even so, only two of them hit Rene, one in the breast and one in the upper thigh. The crystalline metallic darts pulsed reversing polarity with the speed of a strobe light. Powerful electrical currents ripped through Rene body sending him sprawling to the floor in spastic contractions. Pure luck stopped him from biting his own tongue. Tychon spun in the doorway just in time to catch his own spray of needles and be sent twitching to the floor. Rene flooped nervelessly on the ground as the grinning Vitger came out from behind the counter. In one hand he held the stunner and in the other the vid screen. Rene had just enough time to make out a picture of himself and Solae with the words: Dangerous Rebels, Reward Offered, before Vitgers boot crashed into his head, and he knew only blackness.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla slipped silently through the porte-cochere and in to the inner keep. She found herself in a large room which must once of have been an entry hall. Holes in the ceiling, and carven arrow slits in the walls would have made this chamber a death trap for men attempting to force the inner walls. At the end of the chamber was a large door of golden oak, polished to a sheen and bound with intricately worked metal. Two figures flanked the door. One was a marble worked effigy of The Lady of the Lake. Tileans had a natural contempt for Brettonian artisanship but even Camilla had to admit that the statue was heart stoppingly beautiful. The other figure was a somber looking knight with a beard of steel grey. Camilla was unsure of how old the man was but he had a vitality and energy about him that was almost unnatural. He wore a suit of simple armor and no surcoat or livery and although he had no sword there was an axe propped against the wall that would have done a Norscan Reaver proud.

“Ah, visitors,” he said, looking up from an illuminated manuscript he had been reading. Camilla who had made no sound, looked slightly affronted that she had been noticed.

“Two of you is it?” he went on in a friendly tone and Camilla glanced behind her to see Cydric had joined her, clearly realising that stealth was a lost cause at this point.

“We have come for the sake of the quest,” Camilla declared, walking up the hall towards the old knight.

“Ah.. yes, people genuinely do,” the Knight said with a sigh.

“I am Sir Cavic,” he said with a formal bow. Camilla performed a slight curtsey, looking completely ridiculous in her vandalized red dress.

“Camilla and Cydric,” she said with deliberate lack of formality. The knight watched her approach for a moment and then put his eyes on Cydric, clearly measuring the Imperial as a worthy warrior.

“The quest is no place for a woman,” he said, his eyes traveling to the sword at her waist.

“Even one armed as you are.”

“Right because you men have been having such great luck with it?” Camilla asked innocently. Cavic paused, his mouth opening and closing for a few moments before he threw his head back and laughed.

“Well spoken m’lady,” the Knight declared.

“What do you know of this quest?” he asked assuming a more formal stance before them.

“Only that some evil lurks at the heart of the keep,” Camilla said. By now Cydric had reached her and stood by her side, watching the knight with his wolfish eyes.

“An evil, yes…” the knight said his face grim.

“Born of foul magic employed by the vain and foolish, a splinter in the festering wound that ails Aquitaine,” the knight intoned sonorously.

“So you know what it is? Cydric asked in Riekspiel, clearly following enough of the Brettonian to get by. To Camilla’s considerable surprise the knight switched to the Imperial tongue in a heartbeat, his accent sight compared to other Brettonian’s she had met.

“I do Sir Knight,” Cavic confirmed with a nod of his head.

“Well? What is it?” Camilla demanded, folding her arms beneath her breasts. Cavic looked apologetic.

“I cannot tell you, m’lady,” the Knight appologised, bowing slightly.

“Cannot, or will not?” Camilla demanded. In response the knight turned to the statue of the Lady.

“I have made a vow not to speak of it. Knowing too much might doom you, if you are not doomed already,” the knight explained.

“Myrmidia’s Tits is there something in the water that makes everyone so difficult to deal with,” Camilla complained. Cydric swallowed a laugh with an odd snorting sound.

“You Imperial’s are a direct people,” the knight remarked. Camilla didn’t choose to object to being lumped in with the Empire in this respect.

“Much of what we do is out of habit, but I assure you, in this case the facts could lead to your undoing, as they have to so many others who have known or suspected them.” Camilla shrugged her slim shoulders. The situation made less sense to her by the moment, but the longer they wasted here the further ahead of them Keffman would draw. Their slain friends could not rest easy while the wizard lived.

“Fine whatever, we are going in,” Camilla declared. The knight raised a hand in bar and Cydric’s hand went to the hilt of his sword instinctively. With a slow motion, obviously intended not to seem threatening the knight drew a golden key from his armor, hitherto suspended by a chain around his neck.

“Are you both here of your own free will?” Cavic asked formally. Cydric and Camilla both nodded.

“Enter then, the door shall not open for you while the evil resides within. The Lady be with you.” He turned and placed the key in the large ornate lock and with a whisper of long stale air the doors began to swing open onto a darkened hallway.

The Voyager

“Stars she is really banged up,” Vanderbeak declared as the Voyager swelled to fill the main monitor. The vessels hull was scared with weapons fire and charing from hits with energy weapons and blast damage. Something about it seemed wrong to Slade as his hands played over the controls. As the captain had directed he and six other crewmen including Vanderbeak who had volunteered, as much to get away from the captain, as for any real need for another officer, were aboard one of the boarding craft. The Sexy, more properly the C-EX-3, was a small all purpose cutter, useful for landing men, providing fire support to ground troops and the other ash and trash jobs that took crewmen away from the Cartagena. It had a pair of nose mounted pulse cannons, a bank of four thrusters mounted, on the tips of each of its four wings on gimbels, and a single jump capacitor in case of emergencies. The Sexy, as the number implies, was one of three such craft assigned to the Cartagena, but due to maintenance shortfalls, it was the only one currently operational.

“She’s taken alot of hits to still be in one piece like that,” Slade observed, touching the controls and gimbling the forward thrusters into a slight tangential opposition to the rearward pair. The maneuver pushed the crew into their acceleration couches as the Sexy’s nose lifted so that she flared like a swooping bird.

“Captain must be a stubborn bitch,” Vanderbeak agreed with a note of admiration in his voice. Slade opened his mouth to agree, but there was something about the damage that didn’ts sit quite right with him. Why had the captain not surrendered to the pirates earlier? Perhaps she had felt that she could run for Ceres? It was only half a million kilometers away, a mere stones throw in astronomical terms, but she must have known she couldn’t bring the ship through the atmosphere while being fired upon from a high guard. That was impossible even for a warship. Panic might have been an excuse, but if you panicked you were more likely to surrender than to risk being blown to atoms.

“Stand by to de-cel,” Slade said over the unit push as the rangefinders spun down towards intercept. He touched a series of control kicking the Sexy into alignment with the hangar bay at the aft of the vessel.

“Burning.”

The deck seemed to punch up into their feet as he fired all four thrusters in a series of syncopating bursts, bleeding off the residual acceleration without losing his heading. The small shuttle slid through the magnetic containment field no faster than a man could walk and there was a slight slap as they encountered the air inside the bay. A moment later they touched down with all the force of a feather fluttering to the ground.

“Show off,” Vanderbeak muttered as he began to unstrap himself. Slade winked at him and stood up. He was wearing a set of fleet standard body armor, segmented grey ceramic plates over a vacuum rated polymer suit. The integral air supply was mounted in the slight bulk between his shoulder blades, feeding the maneuvering jets built into the arms and legs as well as providing air to the occupant. He fixed his helmet over his head with a hiss of engaging seals and bought the HUD live with a flick of his tongue. Slade had done his rotation in zero-g operations, though he didn’t claim to be an expert. In the Fleet most long term G-heads were female, whose lower metabolic rates and muscle mass gave them an advantage where oxygen consumption was a factor.

“Do you really think you are going to need the monkey suit?” Vanderbeak asked. He, like the rest of the boarding party were dressed in grey T.R.O.Y coveralls, a far more comfortable choice. They had tactical webbing on though with the exception of the holstered pistols and the odd knife, they weren’t armed. This was a rescue operation after all and tools were likely to be more useful than weapons.

“The last thought of every poor bastard blown out an airlock has probably been ‘I wish I packed my monkey suit’ right?” Slade retorted, picking up a small sub machine gun and hanging it from an attachment point on the front of the suit, before opening the hatch to the crew compartment. Six crewmen sat on jump seats along a central isle. The looked excited and were babbling among themselves, which was understandable, this was the most exciting thing that had happened in the months since Slade had joined the crew.

“Alright,” Slade declared, his voice cutting through the babble of voices with a clear not of command.

“We know these people have been robbed by pirates. Pirates who we can’t be sure are all gone, keep your guard up and follow protocol. We will locate the captain and then give them what assistance they need to get to the ground on Ceres.” He paused for a moment uncertain of what else he should say.

“Keep your eyes open, something doesn't smell quite right,” he added at last. More than one set of eyes rolled, but they dutifully stood to allow him passed. At the end of the gangway he pulled the retractor switch and the rear facing ramp dropped under hydraulic pressure. There was a slight rush of air as the pressure differential between ship air and shuttle air equalized and then the ramp clanged down. The air in the hanger smelled like lubricant and burned engine casings, though some of that was the thruster wash from the shuttle. Crates of tools and half repaired pieces of machinery were scattered about and cables and hoses were stowed in untidy loops. There was no gravity in the bay and bolts, trash and globs of lubricant floated in the air. Slade used his magnetic boots to walk down the ramp and onto the deck. Behind him the spacers tramped down the ramp, pulling on helmets to shield their eyes.

“This is S2 to Cartagena,” Slade said, the words tripping the microwave link back to the ship.

“We are on deck, but it doesn't look like anyone came to meet us. Ill update you soonest S2 out.”

Damned to the Depths

The Witch swept toward the coast on a soldiers wind. It was a stroke of good fortune, for the winds off the desert coasts were notoriously fickle. Many a ship had been pinned up against the arid rocky coast to fight the wind for hours to keep off the rocks, or trust the dubious sandy bottom to hold a storm anchor until the winds shifted again. The great harbor of Dalib Sahara yawned before them, the natural points of stone had been expanded with vast moles of of roughly cut sandstone. Here and there the thirty foot wide arms bulged with platforms like jewels on a string. Each bulge housed a weapons platform manned by two or three bored looking guards in turbans and archaic looking chain mail lounged. Most of the weapons looked old and in poor repair, though if even a fraction of them were functional then attacking the port was a chancy proposition. Whether time, lack of interest or graft had weakened the defences didn’t really matter, the fickle winds were a better defence than man could devise.

Inside the harbor dozens of ships were anchored. Tall square rigged ships from Vrettonia, massive teak built galleons with huge lateen rigs from Punt, and the distant semi mythical trading kingdoms in Sylon’ika and Kushapti. There were a pack of corsair galleys with their banked oars and large forward mounted bombards, trader or raider depending only on how the captain calculated the odds, and how far from port they got. Smaller craft of all description moved between them, loading and unloading cargo, and peddling local goods. If the arrival of the Witch was even noticed it wasn’t visible as they swept towards the break waters. A disreputable looking galley began to pull out towards the witch. A man in ornate but dirty robes stood on the prow yelling in Arad through a bras speaking trumpet that made the words attenuated and basso.

Before Markus could speak Achmed cupped his hands and began to yell in Arad back. The conversation went back and forth for several minutes and it grew increasingly irrate as it went on. Calliope, who spoke Arad well enough to get by snickered.

“What is he saying?” Jim who was on his knees scrubbing the deck asked, looking around in eager excitement. Calliope cleared her throat.

“The price says that if this camel turd does not turn around and inform his lord and father that he has returned, that the vultures will feast on his genitals while he lives, that he will be strung up with his own guts, that his asshole will be seared with red hot…”

“I think we get the gist,” Markus said with an amused grin at Jim’s widening eyes. The steersman in the approaching galley was apparently also getting the gist and began yelling and gesticulating back over his shoulder. The disreputable little vessel turned a slow circle and shot of back towards the harbor. Achmed folded his arms in satisfaction.

“How is it that the land support so many people?” Jim asked as they swept past the breakwater. Achmed had directed them to a long wooden pier near the center of the harbor. Already men in gold chased armor with veils of chainmail and rich silk sashes had gathered. As Calliope had suspected Achmed must have been the real deal, otherwise the men gathered on the pier would function as executioners as easily as an honor guard. Jim’s question was a fair one, the hills behind the city were of sear rock and scarcely a thing grew upon them. Heat shimmered up in waves, that danced like witch fire on the air.

“There is a great spring that rises at the base of the hills, it feeds a short river that doesn't quite reach the sea, it's all diverted to canals,” Calliope explained, pointing to the green fringes where palm and date trees grew along the boulevards and greenery dotted the room.

“All of the cities of the coast have a spring like it,” Calliope went on, the attention of the crew and even Achmed focused on her as she spoke.

“Legend has it that each spring erupts from a spot where Hayashim conceived a son,” Calliope went on, oblivious to her audience.

“Do you think it’s true?” Jim asked in breathless wonder. Calliope snickered.

“I doubt it, if Hayashim was like any other priest i’ve met there would be rivers spurting out of every brothel and knocking shop from her to Poitan.” The remark bought a gale of laughter from the crew and bought a flush to Achmed’s sun burned face.

“Best keep such thoughts to yourself once we reach the shore lad,” Markus declared in a voice that was loud enough to carry to the whole crew.

“They take such things seriously in Arad Lind.”