Penny

Out on the Rim

Leyla was jolted around violently as the ship maneuvered. Cursing she thrust out both hands, attempting to brace herself against the walls of the shaft. The slick metal rendered this only partially successful but she was able to avoid having the side of her skull caved in against a bulkhead. The shuddering of the shields being hit was unfortunately familiar but there was no sound of circuits overloading or consoles exploding which seemed to her to be a positive sign. The deck vibrated with return fire, though the ship was clearly very heavily gunned for its size as the weapons seemed to shake the very frame. When she choose this ship to escape Moff Parnel's troopers she had picked the most beat up looking freighter she could find, the logic being that the more out of place a ship looked, the more likely it was to be headed into the outer rim. She might yet be proven right in that assumption, but she hadn't considered she might be blow to floating atoms as the result of some battle she knew nothing about.

After a few minutes the ship abruptly steadied and began, what she imagined was a decent into the atmosphere. There was a brief buffet of turbulence, but even the most under-powered of freighters had no trouble except in the worst weather. She was about to breath a sigh of relief when there was a sudden snap of arcing electrical energy and her right leg convulsed, slamming her into the side of the maintenance sharp. The pain bought tears to her large eyes and she instinctively tried to wriggle away from what she thought was an unfortunate short. A chittering binary war cry followed her retreat and she managed to look back to see a beat up R5 unit advancing on her with a sparking electrical arc.

"Cut it out!" she commanded, but the R5 trilled in victory and charged in for the kill. Leyla kicked out with her numb leg and fetched the droid a blow to the body that flipped it into the air. Her sense of smug satisfaction evaporated as its wheels hit the roof and stuck fast so that the R5 hung from the seeling like a stalactite.

"Oh you have got to be kidding ..." the R5 trilled its war-cry again and drove into her, the electrical arc catching her across the chest and sending her stumbling out of the maintenance shaft, gasping for breath and clutching her chest where tendrils of smoke rose from the burnt polymer of her dark gray field jacket.

"I said cut it out!" she yelled and the droid fell from the ceiling, before it could hit the ground, there was a hiss of propellant as the droids thrusters, intended for maneuvering in zero g, fired. The droid rocketed up the passage way and hit her across the chest, driving the air from her lungs with an audible whoosh and pitching her halfway across a cargo hold to crash into a heavy plastic packing crate.

"That is so it!" she snapped, whipping both her pistols free of her belt and leveling at the droid which froze in mid charge, electrical arc still snapping. Leyla blew a lock of pinkish white hair out of her eye in exasperation and the looked up to find a figure standing in one of the circular hatches that lead to the cargo hold. The Zabrak looked between her and the dented droid. The R5 appeared to be leaking coolant from where she had kicked it, and her face had an irritating tick from the electrical shocks she had received.

"Well," she said somewhat lamely, "this is awkward."

Dogs of War: Old World Mercenaries

Emmaline looked at the tattoo that appeared to have been magically inscribed on her arm. For a moment her eyes flashed gold but her witchsight revealed nothing beyond the faint shimmers of the arcane workings that had been employed. Arabyian wizards, like hedge witches in the old world tended to draw on a variety of ethereal winds rather than on a single wind the way the Imperial College instructed. Drawing from all the winds risked straying into dark magic, but it did allow some strange and wondrous spells to be worked. How the map had been imprinted into her skin she couldn’t guess nor was she sure she wanted to.

“I saw a city in the eastern deserts,” she said to Amal as they hurried around a corner and began to walk at a more measured pace, her eyes glittered with avarice as she remembered the vision of ancient treasure chamber and the forgotten wealth of Empire’s that had crumbled to dust before the birth of Sigmar.

“I think I can find it, we just need to…” Further conversation was cut off as bells began to ring from the top of minarets. Emmaline froze uncertain what the bells portended. Amal however gripped her arm urgently.

“Slaves have escaped, they will be hunting them,” he said urgently. Emmaline swallowed hard, they had only just escaped a couple of sailors, she was under no illusion of what an organized search would be like. As though listening to her though hounds began to bay at the slivered moon above and a clamor could be heard as armed men moved through the city.

“We need to hide,” Emmaline said, looking around. By chance, or Amal’s instinct to head towards loot, they had strode into a wealthy section of the city. White washed palaces were set back from the dusty street by stone walls and intricate wrought iron arabesques. A pair of guards stood before a gate that looked rusted and unused. Emmaline tugged at Amal’s arm and they hurried over. As they approached the guards roused themselves from their leisure and put their hands on their swords.

“Is the Emir at home?” Emmaline demanded in accented Arabyian. The guards looked at each other and one spat in the dirt.

“He is in his palace at Kandar of course, everyone knows that Emir Rana…” Emmaline cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“I am an agent of the Emir and a soothsayer, you will let me in,” she commanded trying to appear meancing. One of the guards scoffed and spat in the ground.

“Begone street whore or I’ll…” the guard trailed off as Emmaline raised her staff holding the snakes emerald eyes in front of the mans face. He blinked in confusion and tried to speak but it seemed he was having trouble making his mouth work.

“You and your friend will let us in and then forget you saw us,” Emmaline commanded.

“Let you in and forget…” the guard mumbled, taking his hand from his sword and reaching into his arak stained tunic to withdraw a large metal key.

“Rashid what are you…” his partner began but Emmaline turned the staff on him in turn.

“We are agents of the Emir. You are going to let us in and forget you saw us,” she repeated. The second guard blinked and then nodded twice, once uncertainly and then more decisively. A minute later they were inside the palace grounds and the gates closed behind them.

“How did you know that would work?” Amal asked in a whisper. Emmaline shrugged.

“I didn’t,” she admitted, though in truth her study of the staff had given her some inkling as to its purpose. Amal arched an eyebrow.

“What would you have done if it hadn’t worked?” he demanded. Emmaline hefted the staff in one hand.

“It’s pretty heavy, I suppose I could have hit him with it.”

What are you reading?

Milk Run (Smuggler's Tales From The Golden Age Of The Solar Clipper Book 1)

*Minor Spoilers*

A very strange book. The title character is accused of murder and has to run away into exile. This murder charge is never referenced again even when she is literally talking to cops in a place that is supposed to care about it. After that there is a good deal of discussion about coffee. The book is evidently called milk run because they spend so much time talking about coffee that they run out of milk. Eventually the plot happens. The plot is largely concerned with spare parts inventory and auditing. So... much ... auditing. If you are interested in thrilling tales about how parts are scanned in and out of storage, this is the book for you. At the end something happens, but still not really very much. More coffee is consumed.

I managed to get through the whole book because there is something compelling about the protagonist although I'm not certain what but it was almost bizarrely barren of any kind of action or excitement.

One thing is certain, in space, no one can hear you make coffee.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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