Penny

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

The Highlander settled against the hull of the mega freighter with a soft clang. Powerful electromagnets, intended to tether the smaller vessel to docking platforms in low G or otherwise unstable situations, powered on and locked the ships together. Indra looked around incredulously.

“You mean you didn’t know it would work?!” she demanded. Junebug shrugged her shoulders.

“The scientific method in action,” she responded as diplomatically as she could, wondering if the woman would have preferred to stay on the ground while Sven and his men stormed the ship. Indra was her employer however so she maintained her professional demeanour.

“We could have all been killed,” the beautiful woman hissed.

“But we weren’t,” Junebug replied. It was also true that the most dangerous part of this experiment was still ahead of them, though there seemed little point in advertising that to the already skittish Indra. Sayeeda glanced at her console, the holographic read out showed a pair of schematics in wireframe. One was the Karma Hazu as read by the Highlanders gravimetric sensors before they attached, the second was the post attachment read. The gravity rings rendered the Highlander essentially massless and the readouts confirmed that there was no significant difference in the Karma Hazu’s mass to four significant figures. That in theory meant that the bigger ships RIP drive should carry them safely, but there was a world of difference between theory and practice.

“How long till they jump?” she asked Taya, correctly assuming that the girl had already penetrated the aged mega freighters onboard computer. Taya touched a button and a countdown clock, three hours and twenty five minutes flashed up on her screen.

“We left a little earlier than we planned,” Taya reminded her.

“You don’t think Sven will send ships to stop us do you?” she asked, glancing at the sensor board nervously. That was a reasonable enough concern. Under ordinary circumstances she would have said there was no chance that they could be traced to the Karma Hazu. Hahn had no orbital satellite network or sensor array but Junebug wasn’t willing to bet that the crafty cyborg wouldn’t be able to piece together what they were doing, his superhuman ability to synthesize trivial facts had just been demonstrated afterall.

“Taya can you make the Karma Hazu think its getting a broadband transmission from the planet?” she asked, turning her chair to face the blonde woman. Taya nodded and touched several keys.

“Its done,” she replied. Sayeeda smiled, previously Taya might have asked questions before taking action. She was learning that in a tense situation there wasn’t always time for a debate. An icon to engage a transmission appeared on Sayeeda’s console and she touched it.

“All ships currently in orbit of Hahn, you are hereby the property of Sven Khan, planetary overlord of the Hahn system, heave to and prepare to be boarded!”

Junebug cut the comms with satisfaction. Indra stared at her with shock, her face suggesting that Sayeeda might have lost her mind.

“Taya cut, their receiving gear so they get no response to any hails.”

Even as she spoke the big ships drives kicked to life and its bow began to swing ponderously. The countdown timer dropped to fifteen minutes as the freighter prepared for an emergency jump away from the perceived danger.

“Always bet on people running away if they have a chance,” she explained with a satisfied smile.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

"I am certain his priests would assure me that Sigmar is everywhere," she responded ironically.

Emmaline sank gratefully onto one of the worn cushions. It had been a long and grueling day and her muscles felt like they were turning to water. Charmon still raged around her under the malign influence of the Chaos Moon and there was more than one scream or strange cry that carried to her ears alone. She knew that right now Araybian cults to the Dark Gods must be meeting and that strange and fell things might stalk the sandy wastes, but it seemed somehow less threatening without the tall ramparts of mighty forests closing in all around.

“Well, whatever your motives, I thank you,” she told the handsome stranger truthfully. Running through a strange city at night was an excellent way to get cornered and there was no guarantee she could have escaped the Satrap’s guards and while she might have used magic, she was less confident in her abilities after a year of disuse. Taking a plain knife from the top of a table she cut the grapefruit into four quarters, then sliced the half moon of pinkish red flesh away from one section and began popping sections into her mouth.

“My name is Emmaline Elspeth Von Morganstern,” she told her rescuer, the Arabic preamble clashing with the guttural consonants the Imperial name. She ignored his comment about all Imperials having thick skulls, particularly as the Imperial sterotype of all Araybians being unwashed thieves was being demonstrated at this very moment. During her apprenticeship she had seen the tools of this particular trade often enough to recognize them

The fruit was tart and delicious and the citrus burned her sinuses slightly. She finished one piece and began on the next, pondering whether there was any advantage into lying to her rescuer. Eventually she decided there was not.

“I was a slave to Emir Omar until this evening,” she admitted, wiping juice from her chin with the sleeve of her stolen garment.

“I killed him and fled his palace,” she went on, a slight smile crossing her lips at the feeling of his neck cracking beneath her silken garotte. She didn’t consider herself to be brave and tried to live her life by the maxim that she who fought and ran away, lived to run away another day, but a certain satisfaction was undeniable.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

Hello?

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline smiled down at the guards who were shaking their fists in consternation. One of the men raise his spear as though to cast it, but obviously recognized the effort a futile and settled for shouting a curse.

“One can only hope,” she responded in Riekspiel, it felt curious and stilting to speak it again after so long. The Emir had a handful of slaves from Tilea or Estalia, and had routinely had them beaten for speaking in their own tongues. Emmaline had learned the lesson quickly and in any case there had been no other Imperials to talk to.

A dog began to bark and and lights began to appear as the denizens of the building around the jewelers square woke to the racket. Though she had no idea who this strange man was, it was at least certain that he wasn't working with the guards. He was handsome in a rugged looking way and dressed in little better than rags. That did beg the question of who he was and why he had helped her.

During her so called apprenticeship her master, a lecherous and avaricious wizard named Willhelm Grafton, had introduced her to many of Altdorf’s thieves. Among the other various scams he ran, he provided enchanted lockpicks, vanishing powders, and other alchemical substances that could be used for less than honest purposes, always with the stern warning that if they were caught they never heard of him. This man had the same lean hungry look as they and she unconsciously checked to make sure her small store of loot was still in place. If he was a thief though, it begged the question of why he had risked his neck. She supposed that would have to wait till the threat of imminent capture had passed. If she was caught she doubted that it would escape anyone's notice that Emir Omar had been murdered by a blonde slave.

“Thank you,” she told the stranger, “Is there somewhere safe we can go?”

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline, moved furtively through the streets of Lashiek. It was the first time she had been in the city, save for when she had been auctioned off to the Emir but fortunately most port cities shared a number of similarities. Her stolen clothing didn’t make her particularly inconspicuous and her pale skin and golden hair were a problem as well. It was doubtful that the Emir’s guards would pursue her, right now the Emir’s several sons were no doubt fighting for their father's inheritance, and though they might eventually seek out their father’s murderess she intended to be long gone by then.

Like most of the night shrouded city the Goldsmith’s quarter was not particularly busy at this late hour. Stoney faced guards holding spears and vicious looking cudgels stood at street corners, each bearing an armband of deep green that identified them as belonging to the Goldsmith’s guild. It was easier to dissuade thieves with a community effort it seemed. A few of the shops, either more enterprising or working late to finish particular contract, remained opened, the light streaming from their white washes doorways and curtain shrouded windows giving them away. Picking one at random she stepped inside, pleased and surprised at how much cooler it was. The store was a single large room, filled with tables atop which a variety of jewellery mostly brass and copper but with occasional pieces of gold, were laid out on rather moth eaten fabric trays. A dripping clay urn hung from the ceiling suspended by slime slickend ropes, acting to cool the room. A seedy looking shop keeper in a red fez looked up from behind the counter where he was working on a pendant of some kind, a cracked monocular on one eye.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a voice as dry as the desert wind.

“I’d like to sell a piece of jewelry,” she said, they shopkeeper looked surprised at her arabic, but a year as a slave had given her plenty of time to master the language. She withdrew the ruby ring, the smallest of the pieces she had taken from the body of her former owner and held it out for inspection. A crafty look crossed the old man’s face and he glanced out towards the guards on the street.

“I wouldn’t,” Emmaline warned, “I might be a forgiener, but im not stupid.” She drew back her cloak to reveal the hilt of the stolen scimitar.

“If you call out to the guards to claim I stole it from you, I might be in trouble, but you WILL be dead,” she promised. The shopkeeper looked a little sulky at that.

“No need for threats mistress,” he whined.

“Not if you deal fairly with me at any rate, it will be much easier for both of us,” she returned. It took about a quarter hour, and she allowed the man to cheat her slightly to salve his pride, but she emerged from the store with a bag of coins and a satisfied expression. Now if only she could find some local clothes that fit her a little better than the stolen guard uniform.

“Stop in the name of the Satrap!” a voice barked from the end of the street. A guard, this one dressed much more grandly than the bored looking mercenaries, stalked towards her with a scimitar in his hand.

“Uhh…” Emmaline temporised.

“Is there a problem?” she asked, edging back away from the man. Surely he wasn’t from the Emir.

“The satrap was robbed, we are rounding up suspicious people, such as Godless foregin whores abroad in the middle of the night,” he snarled. Emmaline resisted the urge to scream in frustration and forced herself to stand very still.
“I see,” she said in Riekspiel, “and may Ranald take your bloody balls.”

The guard clearly didn't understand the words but seeing she intended no resistance, stepped towards her and reached for her with a gauntleted hand. With a scream she bought her knee up and drove it into the Arabyian’s crotch with all her might. He let out a scream of agony and doubled over. Without a second thought she turned and bolted down the nearest alleyway as fast as her legs could carry her.

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

The effect of being left alone in the empty warehouse was sobering. The cavernous space seemed somehow completely inappropriate to the two of them and Rene had to work to suppress a shiver. They had known from the beginning that reaching a PEA alive was a long shot. Frankly their chances of getting off New Concordia had been slim to none and the odds had only grown longer since. There were many things Rene wanted to say, but as Solae had pointed out, now that the plan was in motion there was little time.

“Let me help you,” he told her, helping her out of her regular clothing and into the black body stocking that underlay the lightweight combat armor. Ironically Solae seemed to have few difficulties adjusting the various straps and closures to strap the ceramic composite armor into place. Perhaps years of the tyranny of Imperial fashion gave noblewomen mastery over all types of clothing. He helped her to affix her webbing as well, and was pleased that Ten had been thoughtful enough to leave most of the pouches empty. A full load of tactical gear was well over thirty kilos and there was no need to weigh Solae down. If this took more than an hour they were likely dead or worse.

“You even make that look good,” he joked, feeling a need to lighten the tension, though not succeeding particularly well.

Rene’s own gear was within a few kilos of regulation, belt and pouches laden with grenades, breaching gear, extra ammunition and the half dozen other staples that any marine carried into battle. He picked up the electromagnetic carbine and slung it over his shoulder, then clipped his plasma pistol to his belt. Finally he picked up the light weight automatic he had requested for Solae, the calibre was small to keep the recoil down but the rounds themselves were heavily pressured and armor piercing. He would have prefered Solae not carry a gun at all but he supposed if he was getting wishes granted that wouldn’t be where he started.

“Its lightweight and stabilized,” he told her, flicking the safety catch on and off to demonstrate.

“There are thirty rounds in the magazine and if you need to reload they are in that large pouch at the bottom,” he explained tapping on of the pouches. He gave her a quick tutorial on how to reload, walking her through it twice and watching her do it on her own. When he was satisfied he picked up a second carbine and draped it over her shoulder.

“This is just for show,” he explained to her, it would look very strange indeed for a soldier to be without a long arm, but there was neither time no real need to instruct Solae in its use.

“If things go bad, just drop it,” he advised. It was a lot of information to convey in a few moments but there was no more time left. If things went well, they would be incontact with the Stellar Empire in a matter of hours. If things went badly… well Rene doubted he would live to see it. He put a hand on each of Solae’s shoulders. He didn’t want to have to put her in danger, but only her DNA would allow them to cut this disastrous rebellion short.

“If things go badly or if I … if I get hit, I want you to promise me that you will run, get back to Ten if you can and get far away from here,” he entreated.

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Book 2

A freed slave is like a loosed viper ~ Arabyian Proverb

“Yazmina!” Omar Nadeer Al’Nekarri croaked, through his blackening and swollen lips. Despite his white silken robes, golden jewelry and impeccable pedigree, The Emir of Keshram did not make an imposing sight as his ankle ankles drummed on the polished golden floor of his bed chamber and his face slowly turned purple.

“My … name… is…. Emmaline!” the woman sitting atop his chest, twisting a red silk shift around his neck with both hands. It was the first time she had spoken her name in over a year and it felt, really, really good. Naked from the waist up, her shift currently being put to more profitable use than concealing her considerable assets, she was a statuesque woman, with long blonde hair and pale skin that marked her as hailing from the distant and fog shrouded Empire. Arab corsairs, may Mannan rupture their bowels, had captured her ship of the coast of Estalia and sold her into slavery. She had been taken to the great port city of Lashiek, where among its stinking slave pens, she had been sold off to Emir Omar Nadeer. Blonde pale women were a rarity in these lands, and the Emir had crowed with delight to add such a beauty to his harem. Emmaline imagined he was regretting that choice right about now.

“Please!” the Emir gasped, his fingers clawing at the silken garrote she was tightening around his neck by means of turning a length of stout metal she had taken from an ornamental iron gateway. He had tried hitting her at first, and though she would have bruises to show for it tomorrow, he hadn’t been able to dislodge her before she began to close his airway. Greenish light streamed down from the twin moons as Mannslieb and Morrslieb blazed in the clear desert night, illuminating the balcony atop which the, very nearly, former slave girl asphyxiated her master. The south balcony was a favorite of the Emir’s, with large palms growing from white washed pots providing shade from all but the fiercest of the desert sun. In the distance the lights of the city glittered against the backdrop of the great ocean and a cool breeze carried the gentle sounds of distant waves against the shore. Against the wall of the palace stood pedestals and display cases holding curios and artefacts for the amusement of its master.

“Please?” she mocked, straining till her pulse throbbed in her temples to turn the iron bar another quarter turn. Omar Nadeer’s face was nearly black in the greenish moonlight though his fingers still scrabbled at the improvised garrote, cutting deep into his flabby neck. She felt the bulge of his manhood beneath her, a biological reaction to the asphyxiation and nothing to do with desire, but she laughed none the less, the indignanty and humiliation of a year in the Emir harem filling her with hatred so pure she could taste it like copper on the tongue. Deliberately she writhed her hips back and forth grotesquely. The Emir had voided his bowels and the warm wetness of his trousers showed he had lost control of his bladder as well. There was a banging on the large wooden doors now, the strangled cries of the Emir having finally alarmed his deliberately incurious guards. They wouldn’t be in time.

“One... more.. for... old... times ...sake?” she mocked, turning the bar a quarter turn as she bit out each syllable. Then, with a scream of determination, she gave the bar a final twist. There was a sudden snapp of collapsing cartilage and the Emir coughed a spray of blood from his grotesquely swollen lips, spraying her naked chest and face with blood. He spasmed once more, and then was still.

The heavy wooden door, locked from the inside by the late Emir, splinted as the two guards finally managed to split the ancient timbers. Emmaline stood up, spattered with gore and half naked above the body of their dead master. The stars blazed piteously behind her, their cold light almost washed out by the green radiance of the Chaos moon. The men paused for a moment in horror and then leveled their spears at the harem girl. Emmaline slipped the iron rod from her ruined shift and opened up her inner eye. Charmon whirled in a tempest around her. She wasn’t much of a wizard, hardly more than an apprentice, and the Emir’s palace, unbeknownst to him, was built on a foundation that had been laid with ancient wards in the time of Nagash, proof against all but the mightiest of enchantments. They had held her in bondage for almost a year now, but no longer, not now, not on Geheimnistag. In the Empire people would be inside, door bolted against the nameless terrors of the night, in Araby it seemed, people had forgotten that wisdom.

Her green eyes flashed gold and, with a screamed incantation, the metal rod dissolved into a ball of white hot light and then lashed out like forked lightning burning through the hearts of both guardsman in less time than it took their ears to register the sound. Emmaline sagged with the effort, fighting through the wards was no trivial task, and it had been so long since she had used her powers she had been half afraid they would fail her. Moving as quickly as she could she stripped the Emir of his jewelry, and one of the guards of his tunic and heavy scimitar. There were other shouts now and it was time and past time she was away. Emmaline headed for the balcony, but paused, her eyes drawn to a piece of papyrus preserved beneath glass. It was a map of some kind, though of no land she could readily identify. The arcane symbols inked around its borders drew her attention, demonstrating that it was valuable, and no mere travellers curiosity. Drawing back the scimitar she smashed the case and seized the map, hastily rolling it and tucking it within her stolen tunic. Pausing for a final moment to spit on the corpse of the Most Honored Emir Omar Nadeer Al’Nekarri, she leaped over the balcony and vanished into the hot desert night.

The Sunday Group - Paranormal Detectives

bump

Star Crossed: The Duke's Rebellion

“Yes Mistress Solae,” Mia chimed in. Rene started slightly, unaware that the AI had been listening in to the communication circuit. The communication was audio and the girl looked up from beating her unconcious tormentor at the sound.

“If you and Sir Rene are ready, I shall begin the transmission,” the computer purred.

“Go ahead,” Solae responded and Rene gave his affirmation as well. Under normal circumstances there would be no way even an expensive AI like Mia could break military grade encryption. Fortunately Zatis did not possess a governmentally controlled satellite constellation and Duke Tan’s forces were forced to rely on the commercial system. Mia was more than capable of commandeering one and using it to route a signal so that the receivers inside Ralch’s compound would see it as originating from a familiar source. Furthermore, the wide variety of voice settings that came with Mia’s software, plus the voice prints she had picked up over the years, made it almost disturbingly easy for her to match the voice of the communications officer of the Decameron, whose transmissions they had been able to intercept passing through the satellite. A trained signals intelligence officer who was watching for it might still have spotted the ruse, but any spooks the Duke had bought would be on the Decameron itself, not in the compound where the transmission was received.

“Are you a knight?” the girl asked curiously. Rene glanced down at her to uneasily notice she was still holding the neural switch. Her tormentor had a dozen burns across his face and his bald pate, that would require medical attention when he awoke. The wise move may have been to shoot her and take the switch away, but Rene found he didn’t have the stomach to stun a fourteen year old girl, even if it made tactical sense. If she hit him with that whip though, his opinion might change.

“A knight?” he asked, somewhat perplexed by the question for a moment.

“The lady on the communicator called you Sir Rene, and you look like an aristocrat,” the girl observed. Rene nodded in understanding, the girl must have had some education in history and seen enough holograms to recognise the genetically tweaked perfection of his features.

“It is a long story,” he explained, “and we need to get out of here. Mistress Thorne is unlikely to be pleased when she realises that I have rescued you.”

“How very knightly of you,” the girl observed, though her expression remained skeptical.

“Is that what you are doing? Rescuing me?” she spoke with a directness and incisiveness beyond her age. She might be young but she had clearly seen a lot.

“Is that what you want?” he asked, glancing meaningfully at the bruises and welts on her arms and then to her supine tormentor.

“How do I know you aren’t dragging me off someplace worse?” she demanded, though she seemed a little less sure of herself now. Rene patted the receiver of his slung sub machine gun.

“If I wanted to stun you and carry you out of here I could have,” he explained.

“I don't exactly know what we are going to do with you, but I do know that if you want to come back then I will let you come back, and if you don’t want to no one will make you,” Rene explained. He was growing increasingly impatient, as it was certain that Thorne’s first act would be to send men to the townhouse but he wouldn’t get a second chance to make a first impression and that might be important.

“Mistress Thorne will make me come back, she will take me from you and you will die screaming,” the girl said, the resigned matter of fact tone chilling Rene’s blood.

“No one will make you do anything you don’t want to,” Rene repeated, “but if we don’t walk out of here in the next few minutes, I’ll have to shoot my way out.” The girl cocked her head curiously.

“Can you do that?” she asked. Rene smiled a mirthless predatory smile.

“It is one of the things I’m good at,” he admitted, “though it rather depends on how many men she sends.” The girl looked around the training room, shivering with the effort of making what must be a momentous decision.

“Very well Sir Rene,” she said at last. Rene winced and held up his palm.

“Rene is fine, it causes enough confusion as it is,” he told her.

“What should I call you?” he inquired as he turned and led her at a trot down through the townhouse.

“Rosaria,” she told him, glancing in some interest at the dead man who had fallen from the balcony. From the way she regarded him it wasn’t the first corpse she had seen.

A half hour later they arrived at the rendezvous, an unobtrusive warehouse owned by one of Ten’s many front companies. Rene, Rosaria and the driver were all crammed into the front compartment of the delivery van as it pulled to a stop amidst containers of what appeared to be food stuffs. Solae and Ten were already there standing over a lightweight air cushion jeep. Rene opened the cab before the vehicle stopped moving and swept Solae up in his arms, hugging her close. He didn’t enjoy being apart from her under what passed for normal circumstances, and he most especially hated for her to take risk while he wasn’t beside her. It had been necessary but it hadn’t been pleasant. In the back of the jeep lay a variety of gear, including two sets of the gray lightweight body armor that the Duke’s forces wore, or at least a close enough facsimile to defeat casual inspection. Fortunately Duke Tan’s forces, unlike many of the GIDs, included both male and female soldiers, and though Solae was a little short for the role, her sex wouldn’t be a huge detriment. There was climbing gear and web belts loaded with equipment, grenades and other supplies. It didn’t seem like so very much to be taking on a compound filled with soldiers, but if they were lucky they might not need to fire a shot.

“Thank the Stars you are ok,” he whispered to Solae.

Grim Galaxy: Shots and Chances

“I think we are good to go,” Junebug declared with satisfaction. The gravity coils hummed with power as Lonny continued the diagnostic. The schematic pulsed above a holographic display unit charting the flux and coverage of the grid as an asymmetric bubble around the hull of the Highlander. At present the current in the coils was only at a few hundredths of a percent of its full capacity, but it was enough for Lonny and Neil to diagnose and detect any faults.

“This is going almost too well,” Neil commented as he pulled away his mask and wiped the sweat from his face. It was well after dark but the pair hadn’t taken a break since their awkward lunch with Taya and Indra. Although Junebug found it almost sacrilegious to suggest such a thing, an old soldiers superstition, she had to agree. Taya had managed to talk her way onto the Karma Hazu’s cargo shuttle and install the program without difficulty, and with the repairs completed they were ready to lift and leave Hahn behind. Sayeeda took a moment to glance out over the settlement, the market was still busy as people took advantage of the relative evening cool. The arabesque minarets of the main settlement seemed to glint in the silver moonlight and the palms waved in the gentle breeze.

“I bought dinner!” Taya called as she hurried out of the crowd, hooded and caped. In her hands rested several bags of food, purchased from local street vendors. Though her stomach rumbled a sick feeling passed over Sayeeda and the hair on the back of her hands prickled as it often did before things really dropped in the pot.

“What?” Neil asked, evidently knowing her well enough to sense the change in her demeanor, even if he didn’t know exactly what it meant.

“Get inside, we are lift…” A gunshot rang out from somewhere in the crowd and one of Taya’s bags exploded in a shower of rice and meat. People began to scream and scramble away from the freighter as more gunshots tore through the cool evening.

“Run!” Junebug shouted to the girl, pulling a heavy pistol from her webbing belt and firing at one of the gunmen, a tall, brutal looking man in leather armor and carrying an old fashioned chemical slug thrower, as he was revealed by the parting crowd. Plasma blew the sand around the man to shards of blackened glass, but at this range it would have been a minor miracle if she scored a hit. Taya cast an open mouthed look back at the crowd, a half dozen men were rushing forward most carrying rifles, though a few carrying shock prod and other close combat weapons.

“Run!” Junebug screamed at the girl, dropping from her elevated position on the ships hull to the improvised workbench. The fibre board bowed and flexed, but held her weight as she braced herself in a proper shooter's stance, gripping her pistol with both hands with one knee to the work bench. One of the shock rod wielding toughs had reached Taya and was rasing his weapon for a blow when Junebug’s plasma bolt caught him the the neck, blowing his head from his body in an arc described by his own burning hair. The shock seemed to break Taya from her daze and she dropped the remaining food and bolted across the sand in an ungainly lurch. There as a hollow booming above her as Neil opened fire with those ludicrous heavy pistols he always carried and another man spun to the dirt, vomiting bright pulmonary blood. That was luck, but it was good luck for the Highlander and her crew. A bullet ripped into the workbench and split it, dropping Junebug to the ground in a sprawl.

“Junebug!” Neil yelled dropping to the sand beside her.

“I’m not hurt,” she reassured him as she pushed herself to her feet, her arms and face covered with sand where it clung to her sweat. Taya raced up the ramp as it sparkled and rang with bullet impacts, miraculously avoiding being cut down as she was silhouetted against the hatch opening. How Junebug and Neil would managed the same feat she had no idea. A pair of thugs tried to rush the boarding hatch but the two mercenaries cut them down with a hail of pistol fire, toppling their corpses to the floor with flashing plasma and crashing bullets.

“The starboard hatch is blocked by the rings!” Neil shouted as though reading her mind. The configuration of that anti-grav rings had given them no choice but to block the starboard side cargo hatch, fortunately it was slightly forward of the port one in order to allow for proper compartmentalization of the ship in case of a hull breach.

“Umm…” Sayeeda temporized, but before she could think of anything a reptilian roar echoed from inside the ship. Saxon crashed down the ramp, still completely naked and sex organ displayed prominently. In his hand he held a six foot length of metal tubing. It was an off cut from where they had been forced to reroute some of the internal ductwork and it was sliced to a wicked mitred point. His other hand held the short stubby tube of a concussion grenade. Leaning forward the Hex roared a battle cry, his jaw all but unhinging to display several rows of razor sharp teeth, then he hurled the tubing like a javelin at the nearest opponent, a heavy set man with a squad automatic weapon. The pipe wobbled slightly before punching into the man's chest, hurling him six feet before pinning him to the side of a wooden stall like an insect in an entomology display. The Hex almost negligently tossed the stun grenade at the surviving gunman and Junebug only had enough time to open her mouth to diffuse the blast before it went off with a shattering crash and a vast donough to dust and sand.

“Well, you don’t see that everyday,” she remarked her voice tinny and attenuated in her own ears as she and Neil scrambled to their feet.

“Yeah thankfully,” the pilot responded as they darted up the ramp followed by the naked Saxon. Junebug took a moment to slap the hatch closure switch and the hydraulics whined to life, pulling the hatch closed with the slow majesty demanded by its half ton mass. Gunfire began to snap and crack against the hull, though it wasn’t of my threat to the ships armored plating.

“Go! Go! Go!” she yelled at Neil but he was already scrambling up the ladder to the cockpit. Saxon was making an odd sound that might have been a laugh, and his neck was pouchy and red in what Sayeeda remembered was a mating display among his people. Whether it was directed at her or he was merely excited to kill something she wasn’t sure but she gave him a measuring glance before racing up the ladder after Neil.

To her credit Taya was already most of the way through the power up sequence when they arrived, though she looked shaken and unsteady.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she repeated over and over has her hands flew over the controls.

“I got it!” Neil yelled as he took the controls, fingers hammering at switches and controls.

“What happened, what did I do wrong?” Taya wailed.

“You bought food for four humans,” Junebug responded, the answer appearing in her head as though summoned by the question.

“There are only three of us and Sven noticed,” she explained.

“How is that…” but her remaining words were bloated out as the Highlander’s powerful engines roared to life.

“Hold on to your ass,” she advised clinically.