Penny

Penny's Interests

Let me preface this by saying I hate writing interest checks…

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18+ advanced writers.

Communicate - If you don’t like something, or you have an idea for where to go with something let me know. That way I don’t step all over your plotline or drive us off a cliff.

Innovate - I need a partner, which means I need someone who is comfortable generating plot.

Accept setbacks - Good stories are about triumphing over adversity. Bad things happen.

I don’t usually outline plots in advance, that way we can grow them together.

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Settings:

• Urban Fantasy - What goes bump in the night? Us?
• Fading Suns - It’s a space fantasy!
• Sci-fi - Something picaresque in space.
• Something else… Something mysterious… Xenoarcheology? No one knows.
• Pulp - Its 1920 somethings. There are hard boiled PI's, crazy cults, globe trotting adventurers, the mysterious east and above all there are guns, fist fights and dames with legs that just wont quit. Also there are probably Zeppelins, just figured I should mention that.

Specific Sci-Fi ideas

Anabasis - Thats right based on the famous story we all know and love by Xenephon but in SPAAAAACE. For the tiny minority who aren't familiar with Anabasis, an army of Greek Mercenaries is stranded in Asia Minor after the death of their paymaster and have to fight their way home. The Lost Fleet is an obvious sci fi riff on this story.

Shipwreck - Passengers on vessel which crashes/is sabotaged by pirates on a primitive world. Deal with locals, escape pirates, try to survive the hostile environment.

In The Navy - Peacetime in the Navy isn’t all its cracked up to be. You won’t have to fight any fleet actions (or will you…) but you will need to suppress pirates, rescue VIPs from coups, and foil plots from local potentates, all on a shoestring budget at the ragged end of lines of supply and command.

Making Ends Meet - We all got our skills serving the Imperium, maybe the marines, or the navy, maybe the army or some spooky organisation we don't talk about, but wars end, people get discharged, for injury or discipline, drink or dereliction. But those skills don't just go away, and people need things, things only people with skills can do. Plus the rent is due.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla dragged her eyes off the eerie woman with an obvious effort. Her throat was thick with a strange taste, like gravedust mixed with lilacs. The common folk spoke with terror of necromancy but this was the first time she had ever seen it up close. From the dark came a sinister chuckling sound, though it sounded more like that of a hyena than anything human. Camilla revolved on the spot the point of her elven sword held low, watching for attack. Who was this woman, why was he belly pierced with a sword. She must be some distant ancestor of the current Lord of the castle. Is that why he had turned back?

There was a knocking at the great doors. Then a second fist joined the first and another until the panels themselves began to shake with the hammering. Dust rained down and Camila fought back a sneeze as she backed from the door. Glancing over he shoulder she saw the spectral lady was sitting on her throne, hands folded placidly over her belly.

“My husband’s men at arms I fear,” she commented with gentle regret.

“How can we lift the curse on this place?” Camilla demanded. Timber splintered and a rusted sword blade thrust a foot through. Before it could be withdraw Cydric kicked at it, warping the blade and trapping it in the timber despite its unseen wielders best efforts to wrench it free. The ghostly woman looked up at Camilla in surprise.

“What curse?” she asked in puzzlement. The door flew open as though struck by a vast cannonball of dark energy. Cydric only survived being smashed to jelly by virtue of being located so centrally that the doors opened around him. On the other side of the door was a hoard of men, all armored in rusting mail and moth eaten tabards. Camilla was no judge of such things but some of the armor looked new, and others looked like they had been taken from a painting of days long past. Baleful green witch fire glowed in empty skeletal eye sockets, and leathery tendons stretched and popped as the phalanx of dead knights pushed forward.

“Back!” Cydric yelled, lashing out to amputate the arm of one of the knights as he thrust. Severed bracer, gauntlet and sword fell to the floor with a clatter but rather than falling back in agony like a human foe the undead knights other hand shot forward seizing Cydric by the rim of his breast plate. Camilla sprang forward, slicing her blade down through the things elbow before reversing the thrust and whiping it up through the knights neck. Links of rusted chain mail exploded in a shower of tinkling metal. The witch fire in the thing’s eyes went out as its head clattered to the floor.

“Back!” Cydric yelled again and the fell back from the onrushing horde of undead. Camilla cast her eyes about her. There were no obvious exits on the three enclosing walls of stained glass but in the corner of the wall which housed the door was a dusty wooden stair case, rising in a tight spiral to a balcony above.

“Go!” Cydric shouted, as his eyes followed hers and Camilla dashed up the stairs at a sprint. Cydric parried a thrust from a sword, skipped back and bolted. Camilla pulled her pistol from her belt, hesitated for a second and then thrust it back. She only had powder for one shot and there was nothing in so homogenous a horde to inspire her to waste it. The dead moved fast, but not so quickly they could catch the fleeing Cydric. A statue of a knight stood on a central plinth that reached towards the ceiling. Camila leaped to it, bouncing back and forth between the statue and the wall to give herself height and then thrust out her legs and arms. Her boots were on the statues shoulders and her arms pressed against the wall. She heaved with all her might and the great stone statue shifted and began to topple. Cydric reached the top of the stairs just before the ponderous statue tumbled from its plinth striking the stairs with an explosion of splitters and a great cloud of dust. A half dozen of the knights were crushed beneath the weight, though their arms and legs of some continued vainly to drag themselves forward.

“What now?” Camilla demanded, wiping dust from her eyes. Hallways led from either end of the balcony though to where they couldn’t be sure. Below them the evil chuckle sounded again and the horde began to shamble out of the throne room, proof that there was another way to reach their position despite the momentary respite.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

Sayeeda sat at the holotable of the Highlander, her elbows propped on the ceramo-plastic surface. Taya, Neil and Canek as at their own places while the waited for Taya to find what she was looking for in the databook they had taken from the former Pasha. Sayeeda was still wearing the harem girl outfit, though she had taken a few moments to wipe the grime away from her skin with cleaning wipes and she had added a jacket to the ensemble in deference to the cooler temperature created by the environmental control system.

“I’m not finding any records pertaining to the treasure ship,” Taya said with a frown. Canek looked at her suspiciously. The mercenary captain looked considerably worse for wear. His right eyebrow and the hair on the side of his face had been singed away, and his skin was the unnervingly uniform color of a synthetic spray. Sayeeda, who had been severely burned during her time in the Armored, had some sympathy for him, but the fact that his goons had hit her over the head a few hours ago did someone dry that well.

“It won’t directly mention the treasure ship,” Canek prompted, “But there should be something, lights in the sky, unusual activity, strangers in the port.” It stood to reason, if the Pasha or his ancestors had known the location of the treasure ship, they would certainly have claimed it long ago.

“Wait…” Taya said, tapping a few keys. The holo table sprang to life in a stylized view of the night sky above Hanh. An accented voice began to speak.

“I can seldom remember when the Lyre was in such opposition to the Queen of Darkness,” the voice mused self importantly.

“These are astrological readings performed by the court Astrologer during the time the treasure ship was supposedly lost,” Taya explained.

“Lonny can you do a search for any references to shooting stars or local variants of the term?” she asked.

“Aye Aye Lassie!” Lonny chirruped. There was a warbeling burst of sound which Sayeeda interpreted as the records being played at many times normal speed. The screen split into three, each recording a shooting star caught be the astrologers vid pickup. To Sayeeda’s eye they all looked the same but Taya cooed in triumph and selected the right most screen, expanding it to the full size of the display.

“What's special about that one?” Canek demanded, leaning forward in spite of himself. Taya touched a few more keys and the display marked the track across the sky as a continuous line. There was a very slight arc to it which Lonny highlighted in red.

“Breaking thrust,” Neil exclaimed, as a pilot he grasped the essentials faster than either Canek or Sayeeda did.

“Not much though, probably just the emergency systems, wouldn’t have stopped a crash,” he added, glancing down at the data scrolling past on the screen. Sayeeda frowned.

“Can we compute a vector from this information?” she asked, “A likely crash point?” Obediently the screen shifted, highlighting an area of several hundred square kilometers with a larger area around it highlighted in a lighter shade.

“Thats a big area,” she said dubiously.

“We have nae information bout thruster discharge closer to the crash site Cap’n,” Lonny explained, “We cannae be more precise than that.”

“Its better information than anyone has had in a hundred years,” Canek said with a grin.

“So we cant search this area with sensors or something?” Sayeeda asked, still dubiously. Canek shook his head.

“Unfortunately the poles are fairly heavily irradiated. There was water here once but a large uranium and soluble iron ferrite based asteroid blasted the planet some time in the distant past. Most of that radiation was sequestered in the water, which was drawn to the poles after the asteroid destroyed the original orbit. It's not dangerous in short bursts but it's enough to fox most sensors.”

“Huh,” Sayeeda said, shaking her head.

“So all we have to do is head up to a radioactive wasteland where an unknown number of psychotic treasure hunters are already scouring the landscape and hunt for a ship we can't use sensors to find in an area the size of a small country?” she asked. Canek spread his hands.

“I never said it would be easy, but if we pull this off you get your share and the parts you need to get off this rock.”

Post a random fact about yourself.

I will probably die a millionaire.

Damned to the Depths

Calliope reached out her hand to pet the leopard but the creature rocked back on its haunches growling a warning. The beast flared its nostril and lashed its tail angrily. Calliope raised an eyebrow but drew her hand back, not willing to risk a nip from the cats sharp fangs. The wine and meat she had consumed made her feel pleasantly full and she reclined back on the comfortable seat. Pondering the Vizer’s words she wondered if it was really true that the spell she had cast in Calaverde was still causing the wind to gale in the harbor. That wasn’t true of a normal spell, but who knew what secrets the Codex held. She was certain that her ‘prophecy’ that the gale would last until she returned to her rightful place, would find its way back to Sebastian on the next ship to make the passage, what his reaction might be was anyone's guess but it was always worth keeping people of balance.

A brassy metallic music accompanied by soft drums sprang up as two eunuchs began to play. A third unlimbered a strange looking lute and began to strum a low rhythmic melody. As though on cue the doors opened and three beautiful girls, each swathed in gausy silks which covered their midriffs and hips and little else, wove their way sinuously towards a cleared space before the great table. Each of the girls were lovely with dusky skin and dark almond shaped eyes. A profusion of gold bangles hung from their wrists and they began to gyrate slowly to the music. The dance was sensual in the extreme, rolling hips and long stretching movements that drew the eye and set the heart pounding.

Calliope lay back in her chair and watched the performance, her blood stirring in spite of her best efforts. One of the eunuchs refilled her wine as she watched entranced by the increasingly frenetic dancing. The girls seemed to be able to roll their hips in a way that was almost unnatural, compelling the attention like a charm spell. Several times she dipped into her mage sight to see if there were any magical undertone to the dance, but it was pure natural skill and grace rather than anything that snared the senses using arcana.

By the time the dance ended with a soft clang of brass both Calliope and Markus were equally disappointed. The girls lay themselves prostate on the tiled floor in a pose of supplication. Calliope stood up.

“Can we serve you mistress?” one of the Eunuchs asked. She shook her head. Arad customs were a deal more restrictive than those even of the Sea of Swords and she was in no hurry to offend the sensibilities of a man who killed people just for laughing in his presence.

“No, I will retire to my chambers,” she declared, turning and leaving Markus to the attentions of the girls. It really was best not to take any chances.

Calliope dreamed. In her dreams she swept from the sky, plummeting like an ebony lightning bolt. The wind rushed passed her in a torrent, exhilarating her as the gray green sea rushed up to meet her. The mage on the deck below was chanting desperately trying simultaneously to defend his vessel and destroy the opponent to the south. At the last moment Calliope’s wings snapped open and her jaws gaped. The mage, a dirty looking man in a turban looked up, his visage carved in shock and horror as her fangs snapped shut, her talons tore the deck as she sprang upwards of the deck in a shower of splinters, great wings beating her skyward, the delicious taste of hot blood filling her mouth.

She swam amidst the wreckage of a great fleet. Even as she watched a galleon, its sides stared with cannon fire and its timbers burned from spell fire, hit the sea bottom, with a thrum of compressed sea water instead of sound. A trail of detritus followed it down like a veil behind a bride, loose objects that had tumbled free when it went under, shattered timbers to heavy to remain above,, food with their limbs shattered and bodies pierced with steel, others fell more slowly having drowned after delaying the inevitable for a few short minutes. She swam past them, the sharks and creatures of the sea bottom would eat well, but her interest was in something more than feeding. Reaching the galleon she tore into its hold, worming her way into the fibre of the ship. Chests lay scattered everywhere, some already spilling their sparkling cargos of gold, silver and jewels, others she tore open, gathering the riches of an empire to her, allowing the gold and gems to slide over her body like oil running over her before a massage.

Calliope’s eyes snapped open and she sat up gasping, a yellow taste in the back of her throat. Her body was soaked in sweat and she trembled blissfully her body quivering. The dragon amulet, the only thing she was wearing throbbed between her breasts, though, perhaps, that was merely her own hammering heart. Staggering out of bed she crossed to the window where a silver pitcher of water sat, glinting in the moonlight. Without bothering with the goblet beside it, she seized the pitcher and bought it to her lips gulping the cool water greedily, so eager was she to quench her thirst that the fluid spilled over her chin and ran down her body. She ignored it, continuing to drink in long gulps until she finally sat the pitcher back on its tray.

Out the window the moon was high in the sky and the stars shone pitilessly down through the clear sky. The heat of the day was somewhat ameliorated as the sun's fury seeped from the rocks into the sky. Through the window she could see the ornamental gardens at the center of the villa, vibrant greens rendered into odd grey tones by the moon. As she watched she saw a bush shiver, a moment later a figure emerged from behind it, stealing stealthily across the gardens towards the wing opposite Calliope, where Markus was staying. It was the girl who had been introduced as Prince Achmed’s bride to be, she realised with a shock. The woman’s face was hidden but her grace and attire were unmistakable. What could she want with a pirate captain?

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Camilla kept close to Cydric as she peered into the gloom. Experience had taught her that the safest place was as near as she could be to his great wolf hilted sword. Camilla was a dangerous opponent, but her skills were in speed and agility, her weapons too light to be a serious threat to heavy opponents. More than once in the north her only option had been to try to hold off heavily armored Northmen until Cydric could cut them down. Similarly with orcs and chaos dwarves, come to think of it most of their enemies tended to be much bigger and better armored than she was. The thought tugged her lips into something like a smile.

“What?” Cydric asked casting her a glance before returning to searching the darkened hallways.

“I was just thinking that it is funny that I’m still alive,” she replied, a nervous giggle escaping her in spite of her best efforts. Cydric gave her a look as though she had lost her mind but this was no time to stop and explain. Whatever clawed thing was stalking them ceased its movement, giving no sign of its presence beyond the putrid odor of death, not distinct enough to pick out from the background reek. She had no real way to know where to go, but considering this place was built by Brettonians, it was a fair bet whatever troubled this place could be found in the heart of the great hall.

“Lets go,” she whispered and they moved forward. Cydric glared around him as though daring whatever was in the darkness to attack. The moved down the gallery at a walk. Though the hall was dusty, it looked as though it had been sealed up in perfect order. Tapestries hung in moth eaten glory, tables were laid out with mouldering books of hours and quills set in long desiccated inkwells. There were a few suits of armor, display pieces rather than true harness, that stood back to pillars, empty visors gaping like skulls. Now and again Camilla though she caught the sound of claws, though each time she tried to locate it the sound stopped. She gripped her elven blade tight, bunching and losing her muscles as the elves had shown her.

At last the reached the great wooden doors that opened onto the great hall. The massive wooden doors were bound with verdigris bronze and stood open only a few feet. Camilla dropped back slightly and turned slightly to watch behind as Cydric slipped through the gap. It would have been a perfect moment for an ambush but only silence came from beyond the door. With a quick step Camilla too was beyond the door, stepping passed Cydric who turned to heave against the door. The great hinges screamed, the sound blasphemously loud in the gravelike quiet, and the door swung shut with the ponders weight of an avalanche. At least nothing could take them from behind without making it obvious. Since they had arrived in Brettonia Camilla had been subtly uncomfortable with the architecture. For all their silk and tapestry the castle was an ugly thing, a creation of necessity, built for war and inhabited only as a very distant secondary concern. The Great Hall changed her mind. Vast stained glass windows rose on all three sides, suspended by traceries of stone that seemed scarcely capable of supporting the intricately carved ceiling. The main window on the back of the wall was clearly that of the Lady of the Lake extending a sword to a kneeling knight. The changes of color were so subtle as to be almost painted, though each shard of glass magnified and refracted the light. A field of white lilies rose from the bottom of the scene in a work which would have been the culmination of any artists career, winding into the Lady’s gown as though she was clothed in them. The other two windows, each of them showing feats of arms, were equally beautiful, though slightly less grand. Camilla realised that they showed the three stages of Knighthood, the beginning of the quest, the search for the Grail, and its final fulfillment.

“It’s beautiful,” Cydric breathed, as surprised as Camilla was by the beauty of the place. At the center of the room was a small dais, a rich carpet making a walkway to a pair of small thrones. One, the larger one, was empty but on the smaller throne sat a woman in a gown of gold embroidered green velvet that was thick with dust. Her face was pale and beautiful and her brown hair was wreathed in a coronet of gold and emeralds that could have paid for a small mansion. Her eyes snapped open.

“Yessss….” the woman spoke as though her throat was dry with the dust of centuries. She stood up. Camilla started back in horror at the unexpected turn of events. The womans face seemed to flicker into semi translucence before hardening again, like a reflection in a pool of water that has been struck by a raindrop. The woman was heavily pregnant, a fact that the dress had concealed until she stood. A sword was buried in her belly, the gold chased hilt protruding a foot from her, the point exiting her back. The dress below the wound was black with ancient crusted blood. Her hand grotesquely cradled her belly as an expectant mother might do.

“Beautiful,” the woman-thing agreed.

“Have you come to right the wrong my husband has done me?”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Both of the men watched Solae go in something of an air of shock. Tychon, who hadn’t seen her take down Vitger was reacting to seeing her in her full persona as a noble of the Stellar Empire for the first time. The previous evening they had been mostly in the dark or concealed by clothing and the pair of them had left before Solae awoke. Rene’s shock was like that of a man who had narrowly missed being hit by a car, or, more accurately, narrowly watched the woman he loved being struck by it. A rush of relief flooded through him, relief that she was ok, and relief that he wouldn’t have to murder Vitger in cold blood, he would have done it had it been necessary but he was immensely relieved that Solae’s plan solved the problem.

“Seas,” Tychon breathed in the tone of a prayer.

“Right?” Rene agreed before checking Tychon over. The fisherman had a dozen punctures and plenty of minor wounds and small electrical burns but beyond that seemed to be ok.

“Rene, I’m sorry I know you said to run but I couldn’t just leave…”

“Forget it,” Rene advised, “anyone you walk away from right?” Tychon nodded in agreement.

“Right,” he concured, obviously relieved that Rene wasn’t angry with him. Glancing around Rene found a roll of cargo tape on one of the cluttered work benches. Snatching it up he opened the container that Vitger was trapped in, stepping back and pointing the pistol as Vitger should have done. The precaution was needless however as the merchant lay moaning incoherently. Rene stepped up into the container and grabbed the man roughly, trussing his arms with the cargo tape with practiced ease. The tape had a synthetic adhesive with a tensile strength of several hundred kilos and had to be removed with special chemical solvents, it wasn’t something that Vitger would be able to get out of without significant aid. Rene quickly rifled the man's pockets and retrieved a small folding knife a few credits and some candy of dubious quality all of which he tossed out of the container. Vitger stirred and moaned but Rene ignored him. He opted not to tape the mans mouth, he had no love for Vitger but he didn’t want him to panic and choke on his own vomit, not when the container was almost sound proof. Stepping out he closed the door and replaced the chain and lock sealing the merchant as effectively as any holding cell.

“Alright, lets get to work,” Rene said, ignoring the pain in his chest where eletrical current had violent spasmed his muscles.

“Maybe once your dressed,” Tychon grinned and tossed Rene’s boot to him in an underhanded throw.

Rene’s initial concern for finding a suitable transport proved unfounded. While the storm had driven most of the coral gathering fleet to ground, the gas emporium had its own vessel, safely stored in one of the warehouses on a demountable trailer. Tychon explained that the plant here made deliveries to smaller island communities once or twice a year and kept the vessel dry between runs. Coral gathering boats had to be cleaned every few weeks to remove molluscs and chaining algae that grew on the hulls, a process which was frustrating enough to justify removing a boat from the water if you didn’t use it regularly. The transport boat was not dissimilar to the barge Rene and Solae had used to cross the straight, save that its midsection bulged with three large tanks and there were a pair of large diesel electric motors mounted on retractable outriggers.

In short order they attached long hoses to the tanks and began to fill them with liquid fluorine from reservoirs built into the foundation of the building. As the pumps chugged a thin sheen of condensation appeared on the metallic skins of the tanks, running down the sides in rivulets. Rene was once again reminded how narrow his education was, or at least how lacking in the basic skills of the world. Without Tychon he couldn’t have managed the fairly simple task but the fisherman’s rough and tumble life gave him familiarity enough to operate all the machinery with Rene acting as unskilled, if willing, hands. Rene supposed that in their own ways they were both specialists, though Rene’s specialization was far more esoteric and far less useful in the lives of most people in the Empire.

“How much fuel do you think you need to reach this Pi-ay?” Tychon asked, having misheard PEA and assumed it was a world of some sort. Rene rather wished he hadn't overheard that but if the man couldn’t be trusted they were already lost.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, as yet he didn’t even know what world they would make for, that would have to wait for an analysis of the data Solae had pulled from the communications center.

“But I plan to fill the tanks with as much as we can carry.” Before they had left Mia had given Rene a run down on what exactly was required and how much they would need, if his calculations were right they had more than enough here to make several jumps and landings.

“You said your ship is inland, can you move it?” Tychon asked as he through the last closure and began disconnecting the thigh thick black rubber hoses from the tanks. Rene shook his head.

“No its mired in mud, or volcanic silt at least,” he explained, visualising the Bonaventure and her precarious position. Once the water had run off, which might have happened already, they could run up the plasma thrusters and bake the ground hard but that would trap the landing skids beneath baked clay rather than simply mud.

“Poppers,” Tychon said with a shrug when Rene explained this. The solider blinked, taken aback by Tychon’s dismissal of a serious problem. When he saw that Rene didn’t understand he went on.

“Your spaceship is fairly hardy yes? Just dry out the ground and then use a few poppers to shatter the clay,” Tychon went on as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What is a popper?” Rene asked, still puzzled. Tychon reached into his pocket, possibly looking for cigarettes, realised that Vitger had taken everything of him before he tossed him into the container and abandoned the effort.

“Small explosives we use to break up coral,” Tychon explained.

“We have dozens on the boat, you can take them, it will be along time before we are ready to gather again.” Rene shook his head in bemused wonderment.

“Tychon I could kiss you,” Rene declared, elated to see a complex problem evaporate before his eyes.

“Your fiancee might misunderstand,” Tychon said with a chuckle.

“We still need to get the fuel to the ship,” Rene said feeling a little of the excitement drain out of him. He wasn’t at all sure they had enough fuel left to run the thrusters long enough.

“There are several hundred meters of hose here,” Tychon said, making an expansive gesture at the warehouse. They began to gather up coils of hose, stacking them in neat towers on the exposed decking. Once they reached a certain height Tychon secured them to lugs with tie downs.

“Can we leave tonight?” Rene asked as they finished the task. Now that the bounty was posted locals might be looking for strange ships and while Rene doubted that any surveillance system on Panopontus was up to spotting the Bonaventure from orbit, there was little sense in taking chances. To his disappointment Tychon shook his head.

“The currents are against it,” he explained, nodding towards the sea, or what Rene presumed was the sea as they were inside.

“You would have to spend hours fighting them and landing would be tricky, better to wait for tomorrow,” he counseled and then flashed a broad smile.

“Besides Julia and Damaris would have my head if I let you slip away without saying goodbye.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

Rene felt his heart slide back out of his throat as Vitger slumped to the ground. He had already been in motion as Solae closed the gap on the would be kidnapper, cognizant that the moment of maximum risk was when the two combatants met, and he reached her side in a heartbeat. With mechanical reflex he kicked the stunner away, sending the little weapon skittering over the concrete and out of reach of a sudden lunge. Fortunately, such a lunge seemed beyond Vitger who was totally cowed by Solae and his sudden reversal of fortunes. Rene resisted the urge to kick Vitger in the stomach, he had a momentary flash back to Bowie giving him a little remedial hand to hand training, explaining that the first rule was to always kick a man when he was down. As the adrenaline of the the situation burned off, the background emotions of anger and embarrassment flooded up within him.

“I’ll be happy to,” he growled, seizing Vitger by collar and belt. The merchant thrashed as Rene’s picked him up and pitched him bodily into the back of the container in which he had been imprisoned. Vitger wailed, his arms flailing before he hit the interior wall of the container with a crunch. Without ceremony he pulled the chain tight and snapped the lock closed. Turning, he swept Solae up in his arms crushing her to him and kissing her passionately.

“Thank the stars!” he breathed, “you are ok.”

Solae laughed incredulously at the statement, carefully slipping the pistol into a pocket on her garment.

“You were the one locked in a container,” she reminded him, her nose crinkling from the fluorine residue that coated his body. Rene waved the distinction away, although his face was on the wanted notice, he was small fish, of no value save as a stepping stone to her and although he would never say it, he would gladly sacrifice his life to save hers.

After a moment, he reluctantly let her go and knelt down over Tychon. The fisherman continued to twitch but his breathing was steady. Rene carefully began to pluck the metallic needles from the other man, feeling the last flickers of electricity as tingle between his fingers. Small spots of blood stained Tychon’s tunic where the needles had struck his chest, but he didn’t think the injuries were serious.

“He will be awake in a few minutes,” Rene reassured Solae.

“How did you find out we were here?” he asked as he straightened, wiping his palms on his pants, before reaching into the duffle bag and pulling a pistol from it. He checked the load by rote and tucked it into his waistband. Solae gave him a quick run down of her adventures this morning and Rene’s eyes widened both at her skill and her audacity. In spite of knowing better, it was easy to fall into the trap of imagining her to be helpless. Yet again she had given the lie to that assumption. Rene smiled and Solae cocked an interrogative eyebrow.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said with a nod towards the shipping container. Thinking of Vitger made his face settle into a blank mask. Back on New Concordia, Rene had executed a slaver who had kidnapped and trafficked Syshin, and tried to do the same to Solae, but there he had a clear if technical legal authority. Vitger couldn’t be allowed to live, his existence constituted a threat both to Solae and to Tychon and his family, but in his own mind he had been obeying the law. Rene didn’t relish executing someone, even someone as apparently despicable as Vitger, in the name of security.

“Why are you only wearing one boot?” Solae asked, unexpectedly jolting him out of his grim reverie. Rene glanced down at his sock and snickered.

“Anything is a weapon if you're willing to make it one,” he replied, glad to have a moment to avoid thinking about the next move. Given the condition of the warehouse he was glad that he had been given the standard round of inoculations and shots. He wrapped Solae in his arms again.

“Thank you for saving me,” he told her, “you were amazing.”

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

“How can you stay so calm?” Tychon demanded. Rene opened his eyes though the interior of the container was still pitch black. The soldier was sitting leaning his head into a corner and dozing, a trick everyone learned during basic lest they suffer a mental breakdown from lack of sleep.

“Who says I’m calm,” Rene asked. Truthfully he was worried sick about what might be happening to Solae but if there was one thing you learned in the marines it was that no matter how much you worried or fretted, rest was not to be denied.

“I suppose they train you for this sort of thing?” the fisherman asked more to have something to do, and to hear a voice in the darkness than out of real curiosity.

“Not exactly,” Rene admitted but further conversation was interrupted by the rattle of metal against the outside of the container. Rene stood up and wrapped the wire loosely about his wrist. It was unlikely there had been time for anyone to reach them from off the island but time was difficult to judge in the darkness of the improvised prison cell.

“Keep out of the way and be ready to run for it when you can,” Rene whispered and squared his shoulders.

“Get back!” a voice Rene thought was Vitger’s sounded outside though he hadn’t heard the man speak enough to be sure.

“Get back against the back wall or I swear I will stun you both again. Rene shifted slightly though he didnt move all the way to the rear. Every inch was important for what he had planned, but it was a non starter if Vitger hosed the inside of the container with stunning needles because he felt threatened.

Blinding light seared Rene’s eyes as the door opened. It was mid afternoon and overcast besides but compared to the pitch black it might as well have been noon in the desert. Tychon cried out in pain but Rene merely squinted making out the dark shape of Vitger at the far end. His heart sank as he picked out the man against the brightness. The container was up off the ground, just over waist height on a man, presumably because it was on wheels of some sort, a factor he hadn’t considered.

“I’ll give you one chance,” Vitger growled. Rene’s eyes were adjusting quickly and he could clearly see the nervous man and his pointed stunner now.

“Tell me where the blonde bitch is and I’ll let you and Tychon go!”

Rene felt hot anger blaze in his chest but he fought the emotion down with some effort.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Vitger growled. He waggled the pistol in his hand in emphasis, a foolish and wasteful motion that added no threat save that it might accidentally go off.

“The bitch you are travelling with, information on you is worth something but she…” Vitger’s voice trailed off into a purr.

“It says here that any man that captures her will be made a baron and get her as well,” the lusty growl in his voice made the pulse in Rene’s forehead pulse like a trip hammer.

“I’ll be a bloody noble and i’ll be breeding blondie to boot!” he cackled gleefully.

“Even if I did know where she was, do you really think that Duke Alexis Tan is going to give the most powerful woman in the sector to a stinking peasant from who the fuck cares?” Rene asked with all the scathing aristocratic contempt of a dozen generations of Imperial nobility.

“It says so right..” Vitger began but as he opened his mouth Rene struck. He flicked his foot forward and the boot he had unlaced flew of the tip of his toes like a missle. It was slightly misaimed but it had the desired effect. Vitger yelped and shied away rather than emptying his weapon into the container. Rene was across the intervening floor like a flash. Vitger realising his mistake tried to slam the door shut. It was a foolish effort, he would have done better simply to roll away and shoot Rene as he cleared the container, but Vitger wasn’t a soldier trained to think that way. Rene hit the door with his full weight, aiming his shoulder opposite the hinges for maximum leverage. The door flew open smacking Vitger aside cursing and squealing in pain and shock. The needle stunner chattered out a short burst but it was Vitgers finger clampinging on the trigger rather than an aimed shot. The metalized ceiling rang with the needle impacts like a distant bell. Rene tumbled from the back of the container, hitting the floor hard despite his attempt to roll. Coarse concrete cut his palms and scraped his shoulder as he sprawled ungainly across the floor. He was inside the metal walled warehouse he had seen on the way in, a half dozen long white containers, identical to the one he had been held captive in stood on integral wheel rigs.

Ten meters away Vitger struggled to his feet, his lips bleeding profusely and with an ugly pressure cut across his left arm. The Panoponti aimed his weapon, for a wonder the stunner was still in his hand, at Rene and fired but the marine was already diving behind the nearest container. Stunner needles clattered of the side of the container and Vitger screamed a curse. Rene dashed to a bench against the wall and snatched up a heavy wrench as the nearest he could find to a weapon. There was a scream and another burst of needle fire followed by the sound of a body hitting the concrete. Rene dashed back down between two containers flattening himself against the side of of one of them to present a smaller target.. Tychon lay on the concrete, body twitching spasmodically from the stunner needles. Vitger stood over him point the little weapon down at the fallen man. The fisherman must have tried to rush Vitger rather than abandon Rene which was both admirable and foolish.

“Come out with your hands in the air!” Vitger roared.

“Or I swear i'll put a half dozen needles into his face!” It was a foolish threat to make as nintey nine times out of a hundred it would have failed. Still, you only had to be right once. Rene vacillated with indecision, unable to abandon Tychon and unwilling to give himself up and thrust leave Solae at risk.
“You have three seconds!” Vitger shouted.

Damned to the Depths

Contrary to Calliope’s expectations the eastern wing of the palace wasn’t part of the main building. Instead long covered walkways ran through palm gardens, weaving up a small hill to where a number of large villas reached towards the darkening sky. Already a sickle shaped moon was rising into the blue black of early evening. Below the lights of the city and the harbour winked and glimmered, though from this height it looked less lively than the energetic chaos Calliope had seen from the back of the elephant.

Their villa was a large two story building with three sides wrapped around a central court of immaculately laid hexagonal stones. A handsome fountain of worked bronze depicted three stylized desert women with water jars on their slender shoulders. Water bubbled from the mouths of the water jars kept under pressure, probably, by magic. The villa was lit with magical lumin crystals which hung from carefully worked wire made to resemble ivy vines. Servants, clearly alerted by runners from the main palace, stood in a pair of long lines. One of the lines appeared to be oiled eunuchs, dressed in silk pantaloons and vests of red silk, the other line was comprised of willow beautiful Arad women. Calliope wasn’t sure if they were member of the Sultan’s harem or if he merely employed particularly beautiful servants. As they entered the court both lines threw themselves flat in obeisance groveling before their guests.

“Well I guess the Sultan is taking us seriously,” Markus observed eyeing the women. Calliope snickered, though the groveling made her lip curl a little. It wasn’t something that came naturally to those not from Arad Lind.

“What do you suppose the crew is doing?” Calliope asked as Markus escorted her through the main door and into a large central room. Inside stood a long table piled high with food of every kind. There was roasted pheasant and joints of beef as well as dates, melons, currants, candied apricots, cheeses, cherries and a dozen other things less identifiable. Large carafes of silver held sweet smelling wine or perhaps ale. Calliope found she was suddenly ravenous.

“Getting rip roaring drunk I shouldn’t wonder,” Markus chuckled.

“I gave the boys their wages and if any of them have a crown to their name when they come back aboard then they are no sailor.” Markus took a seat and threw a boot up onto the table.

“Why did you give them that line about Umberlee?” Markus asked as Calliope took a seat across from him. She took a pitcher of wine and poured it into a goblet of chased silver. Calliope took a long drink and smirked her familiar smirk.

“Perhaps it is true,” she replied doing her best to look mysterious.