Zod

Tracer rays of searing amber burst through the artificial night as the Enforcers brought to bear on the latest desperate wall jumper. Erratically dodging and spinning, the unknown pilot dove for freedom in an ever more daring course of screeching spirals that spliced the air in billowing white columns that glowed softly with the glare from make-shift fires in the ruins below. The mile high perimeter fence that kept out as well as in was never quite reached though and the unfortunate craft, clipped on its wing by an errant blast, slammed bodily into the unforgiving steely surface in a bloody red swan song. It was brief yet brilliant as successive explosions from the core rocked the colony and offered a brief daylight; but in the end, left the wall, as always, undamaged. The Enforcer ships jostled about the impact zone, hovered briefly, and then, seemingly spurred by some unknown antagonist, lanced out again, with blinding rays that plunged into the populous below. A hitherto unseen shape, drifting slowly to the base of the wall, caught their fury and in a flash, surrendered its existence.

Reflected in the water heavy eyes of Oda Kropp, this was a familiar, long remembered and yet still painful sight. She had learned, but one means of escape existed for the Empires penal planet; treachery or death. Or was it two ways. Anyway, soulless, devouring treachery that in the quite hours of the night gnawed at the chill depths of the mind; and now, it was very cold indeed.

Crouched as she had been, so many years before, older now, wiser, more deadly, her thoughts drifted to that first contract; a resistance leader, rousing support and preparing to storm the Enforcers. He trusted her, with more cause than she deserved. Yet in the end… Water pooled in the rim of her black eyes and threatened to run across those dark smooth cheeks in endless guilt cleansing torrents. She recalled the questioning look he bore and the soft gaze, still lovingly at her eyes, his lovers eyes. But there was little comfort for him, in the pit of her dark calculating soul. Fingers gripped the metal and squeezed closer until…

“Until… so long ago,’ she sighed. ‘Forgive me.’ The bite of a hover cut through the night air, closing on her heat signature, its searchlight, beyond the visible spectrum and invisible to all but the pilot, scanning across the rooftops that reached to the sky like broken crowns; but she was gone.

Flipping backwards in a graceful arc and across and onto the aged and buckled frame of a fire escape that snaked its way to the ground, she leapt, floors at a time in near silence. The creak of supporting girders, rusted from a lifetime of neglect and corroding rain cried out like watching sirens and threatened to reveal her either to the hover above, or worse, to the ‘under things’ that dwelt below.

A muffled tinkle and a basement window collapsed. A moment later Oda’s lithe black-clad body swung in and through; and waited, chest heaving with the exertion.

The whine of the hovers repulsors entered the alley and paused, undoubtedly scanning for the cold echoes of her footsteps; they must have glimpsed her, yet they would find nothing. Just another roof runner, they would think. The advantage of being enslaved, or officially, an operative of the Empire, was that you knew what they knew, and despite her struggles, she was still, one of them.

Her breathing calmed and her heart beat abated; they were powering up to leave now. She quietly thanked whatever deity had led her to wear her glide-boots²⁶ for this evenings excursion. The hover whined on, her pilots, frustrated no doubt at the lost pay for a missed kill in their curfew enforcement which was incidentally, a permanent one²⁷.

Oda looked to her wrist and in particular at a large and swollen vein that pulsed slowly. It’s ready, she thought, and began to survey her immediate vicinity. Ragged shards of metal littered this basement, which had once, very once, possibly been a fine hotel, and undoubtedly fed and cared for the glamorous and fashionably wealthy that haunted it. Now? Just a hideout. And a pretty obvious one at that, for ‘Joe’s Joe’s’: a collection of vicious space-pirates that more often then not ejected their victims to vacuum rather than give them mercy. What better place to lie low they must have thought, than a penal colony? Who would look there?

Gripping a long and rusted bar that dripped brown water as she lifted, Oda pressed it firmly against her wrist. A deep, slow breath of determination and then with a single deft action, ripped the serrated edge across her delicate flesh. Blood poured, but only for a short period as she quickly applied her lips to the wound, sucking out any infection; and waited.

A pool frothed where the drops had fallen and painfully slowly, something began to take form. Snapping the bar in two and dropping it into the churning midst, she stepped back.

Getting into the colony had been hard enough, Oda had to pose as a prisoner, a role at one time familiar to her, and as such was subjected to the usual rigorous scans and abuse of every kind. The token knife, crudely taped to her back with fake skin was found, of course, and gave the guards a chance to work her over; and think themselves superior. What they didn’t find, nor think even existed, were the cell-sized organic- coated robots injected into her blood stream. This had all better be worth it, she hoped, and recalled the credits this hardware had cost.

The metal bars had now dissolved and the miniature life forms appeared to have now finished. Oda reached into the residual bubbles, fished around briefly and then tossed the newly created object from hand to hand, shaking it dry and testing the weight. Turning its dial to silent mode, she took a casual aim and emptied the contents of the assassin’s weapon of choice, the KLR-006 into a nearby barrel. The first shot smashed its metal girdle and the rest piled harmlessly into the cascading water.

She smiled and waited for the gun to re-charge.

Not bad, not bad at all, she thought. Sknarf came round last and her head followed a good few seconds later, though it seemed to get lost on the way.

An argument that had began construction a few minutes previously, was now onto its second dual carriageway and overpass and unfortunately for Sknarf’s throbbing ears, sounded like it was rush hour. ‘—wasn’t dis fault!’

‘No, no, no, I don’t think it was anyone’s fault, in fact, I applaud the genius that got us into this situation,’ cried Yeldarb, ‘one of your finer plans perhaps Spiff?’ He paused for effect. ‘Here were are, buried beneath bleep knows how many miles of rock and—’

‘And?’ asked Sknarf groggily.

‘—and well, that’s all I can think of right now, but surely that’s bad enough?’

‘Hey, at least it gives us a chance to get to know each other a whole lot better eh?’ Spiff grinned innocently. There followed happy whelps of joy, or at least there was in Spiff’s version.

Sknarf’s eyes rolled to the ceiling of Deep Chima, she could make out the dark clumsy shapes of the avalanche that lay above them.

‘How long was I out?’

‘Hours!’ said Rafe.

‘Hmm. So, what do we do now?’ asked Sknarf.

‘Die?’ suggested Yeldarb.

‘Dig our way out wi’ da bare hands?’ said Klaus.

‘Find a novel and highly unlikely ability of this ship that we’ve not exploited yet?’ completed Rafe, ‘Man.’

‘Hmm… possibly’ said Spiff, ‘but I think whatever, a nice motivating sing-song would help us ou—’

‘I wanna live!’ wailed Yeldarb, who now took to battering the floor with his fists.

Tink. Tink.

‘Wassat?’ asked Yeldarb between sobs.

Tink. Tinkity. Tink. Tink.

‘Sounds like someone outside…’ said Sknarf.

Spiff, casually, yet completely obviously, drew the zap-stick he’d found conveniently in the store.

‘But… were buried, right?’ asked Yeldarb, ‘no one can get to us.’ Klaus raised his bulk slowly to a crouched position and then with as much stealth as a packet of crisps, stalked, behind Spiff, towards the source, which was now becoming all the more demanding.

‘Chima? Who is it?’ No reply yet from the ship, the explosion seemed to have seriously

damaged her. ‘Fair enough,’ pointing to Klaus, ‘on the count of three, we open the door and jump whatever’s outside.’

‘Door?’

‘Hmm, good point.’

Spiff took his zap-stick and drew a rough rectangle on the wall.

‘On three. Ready?’

Klaus shifted his weight awkwardly.

‘Spiff?’

‘Klaus?’

‘Could we try a smaller number?’

The hatch blew inwards with a sudden and unexpected ferocity that stationary inert objects don’t often exhibit, and blew Spiff and Klaus into a collective heap, and showered them in the strange material that used to be Deep Chima.

‘Greetingssss… gentlemen… ladiessss… sssmall monkey like creature,’ hissed a voice slippier than a box full of snakesss doused in oil.

‘Pleassse, pleassssse, my mossst diligent workersss, return to the minessiss now. You’ve all had your little bit of… funnnn.’

‘Whaat!’ said Spiff, wiping his dust caked eyes.

‘Yesss, a brave little attempt, but I’m afraid I want you all back at work right now. Ssschedules y’know? Chop, chop!’

‘But we’ve obliterated your base, vaporised your men and… well, I hope you don’t mind our saying, but truly kicked your lordly behind.’ Pontious seemed to consider this.

‘Truuue, but I would ssstill appreccciate you all returnning to work… all the sssame.’

‘But we’re not sslaves anymore,’ prompted Rafe, ‘we’re free men.’

‘Ahem.’

‘Women also, persons basically.’

Pontious considered this also.

‘True, ssso, that’sss it then, you won’t keep working then?’

‘Nope.’

‘Fair enough, ssstill, worth a try eh?’

‘Certainly old chap, feel free to pop by any time,’ said Spiff.

‘Ssstill, hope you don’t take mind if I take it persssonally,’ producing a zap-stick, ‘but I’d like to kill you. All the sssame. Starting… with you.’ He pointed at Spiff.

‘Certainly, don’t mind us, fire ahead,’ replied Yeldarb. Pontious raised and fired.

‘Noo!’ bellowed Klaus who launched himself towards the ray and caught it full blast in what was no longer his chest. He spun backwards and onto Spiff, flattening him thoroughly, and blocking Pontious’ aim, preventing any further shots, which he fired anyway into Klaus’s twitching frame.

‘Ratsss,’ hissed Pontious. He turned and was gone.

Scar flung a loose collection of cards that in his case comprised his hand, or possibly just a few fingers, across a circular green baize table that sagged visibly as he leant on it. They landed with a dull flop that somehow managed to capture the essence of his entire life.

‘I quits!’

A great fleshy pink tendril with swollen purple suckers dragged the cards to a cluster of multifaceted eyes; and scrutinised them closely. The creature looked back up at Scar and laughed uproariously, great clouds of pink smoke erupting from some unspeakable glands and into the air. ‘Xi vrain zacumuus, vo low?’ it asked, followed by, ‘Zur zur zur hur!’ It slammed a triple of tendrils on the table and with another extracted the last remaining credits of Scars.

‘Wharra you laffin’ at ya Scwid!’

‘Vi vlay vors van xi monkey! Zur zur zur!’

Scar reached down to his waist and activated his body pump. Fresh waves of ‘Aggression Pour Homme’ flooded his bloodstream as his muscles and bulged, great veins threading their way down his neck. He rose from his chair with laboured slowness, leaning heavily on the table and snarling at the tendril creature. His eyes bulged insanely white against the pumped red of his face. The Scwid’s utterly alien eyes flickered slyly back and forth from behind three layers of swirling lids as it evidently reconsidered life and the pleasures to be had from the continuation of it.

‘You callin’ me a bleeping what… bhoy?’ said Scar politely. In truth, he had little knowledge as to the sexual orientation, if any, of his opponent, though ‘bhoy’ was always a good phrase for standby antagonism. Assuming of course, the recipient understands the same language, but that didn’t really matter either; aggression applied to any word in any language is always understandable.

A diminutive yet imposing figure, wrapped in a black robe that allowed a forest of chest hair to spill out, in a manly way, spoke with the authority of one that pays the wages, ‘E’ said, ‘Bad luck’ ya great ape!’ Now sit down and shurrup; they’ve got eye’s and most particl’ar, they’re eares. A few more outbursts and this’ll come our perm’nent residence. Now shuurit!’

Scar, his face like a swollen red balloon that someone had scrawled an imitation of a face (with they’re left foot), deflated slightly. ‘A’rite Joe. I justs wishes he’d speak a decent language! I mean would it be too much to ask for of these alien bleepers to speak sense?’ The tendril creature slammed an undetermined limb into the table, rattling its stock of virtual credits that glinted through the smoke infested air ‘Xiv iv-zult I!’

Scar didn’t understand it, but decided it was probably best to snarl a bit more in retort.

‘You are callin’ me a whatfor aren’t ya!’

Joe looked wearily at the now offensively and violently gesticulating Scwid, all nine arms and the one deadly black stinger unfurling and swinging about it like particularly unpleasant vipers; not that there are many pleasant one. He groaned and patted the well-formed rump of the triple buttocked beauty that sat on his knees.

‘I’m sorry m’dear, off ya goes, I gorra sort out these clowns, fore they start throwin’ cust’rd pies!’ She wiggled off with a last stolen wink over her shoulder at the Scwid.

‘No one sayin’ nuttin to anyone. A’right? An especially not you two!’

The silence hung for an age.

Slowly, and in a thousand small stages, accompanied by meaningful stares, the henchmen re-attained their seats, at precisely the same instant, nether wanting to sit first; an obvious sign of weakness.

‘Good,’ said Joe. ‘Now shurrup and play ca—’

The word lingered unfinished, Joe’s mouth still forming its phoneme.

‘Ca— Joe?’

Scar looked at the Scwid thing, which in turn looked indeterminedly.

Joe plunged forward into the table, blood vomiting from his agape mouth in viscous glurps that soaked the felt a deep olive.

The babe screamed shrilly, Scar jumped to his feet and a mighty tendril flung the table aside.

Scar held his Joe’s face and slapped the soft cheeks forcefully, pleadingly. No! he thought, not da Boss.

A shadow gave itself form and sprung forward.

Scar caught a blast through his forehead spilling his brains other attractive body innards and knocking him backwards, stunned, but otherwise undamaged. The Scwid in a flurry of ‘which arm do I use?’ went for its guns and almost managed to raise one before Oda Kropp’s foot slammed into its lower chin; or something. It flopped to the floor, its tendrils thrashing wildly. Oda spun and emptied a further volley through the barrel like form of Scar who danced erratically with each impact; but was still otherwise unhurt.

A shot rang out and clipped her shoulder, narrowly missing her left ear. The noise stunned her briefly and gave the Scwid time to bring its stinger to bear. Now, her training kicked in, and her boot exploded in a violent backlash, catching the Scwid, fully in the groin area. Unfortunately, this wasn’t a groin on this particular species, and in too-quick retaliation, it lashed out, swiping her across the face, suckers ripping at her flesh. Stars swum before her and the Scwid, confidently, lunged in for the kill.

Enough playing about she thought, and flipped open the second chamber; Blue circles of plasma pumped out in techno-fury, again and again. The Scwid’s body spun backwards and lay on the ground in a spreading pool of purple fluid, twitching sporadically and then not doing too much.

A frightened gasp brought her attentions to The Beauty, clad not even scantily, as she quivered behind the upturned card table, knuckles white, clutching it like a shield.

Expecting mercy from one of her own sex, she hoped to be allowed to slope off crying in a feminine manner to recount this tale to whomever bought her attentions next.

Oda raised her shooting arm and took careful aim at the table centre.

A single, abruptly terminated scream rang out as she slipped to the floor.

She turned round to face Scar, standing mostly headless and very motionless. She reached out with a lone finger and delicately prodded him; with a concrete cracking thud, he joined the ground.

Silence.

Oda turned, disgusted at the scene and herself and walked to the door. She stopped. Something blocked the exit. Something that her senses, inexplicably, didn’t pick up.

‘What the ble—?’ she gasped as she struggled to raise her shooting arm in the sudden cold.

‘Miss Kropp, a most splendid display. My client, whom I represent, has some employment, suited most specifically for one of your calibre. I believe you will find it most… challenging.’

A cold wind caught Spiff’s hair and whipped it across the forced sterness of his features, for which he was glad. It hid the tears that lingered in the corners of his nose. Searching across the liberated assemblage, the sole remaining humans on the planet, probably, he wondered about the future, but mostly, about his lines.

‘My dearly beloved, we are gathered here today, to celebrate,’ he paused and hastily turned a few pages, ‘to commiserate the death of our good brother,’ hollow wails, ‘Klaus,’ more wails. It was a shallow grave, and was probably only concerned with the deepness of its walls, the type of coffin etc, but in no way reflected the love felt for Klaus.

Liberated from the mine, by the opening dug in a plot saving gesture by Pontious Marcus, the ex-oppressed-by-alien-slime-mine- workers stood amidst the blasted land that once they lived upon; and openly wept. Not just for Klaus, but for their homes, lost in an instant of the fury of the stars. More than one had mentioned, that next time, Spiff should perhaps acquire a less destructive means of freedom. One that possibly left something worth having.

‘Klaus was a brave man. A man, undoubtedly, brave, yet above all… perhaps as we will all remember him, brave.’ Spiff repressed a sob and struggled on.

‘—and intelligent,’ mild gasps, ‘a philosopher and a great thinker,’ wilder gasps, Spiff beginning to panic, ‘an armadillo rustler… a rabbi… a goldfish. In deed, the lord god almighty himself.’

There was a deathly silence. Sknarf stepped forward and gently took Spiff’s arm.

‘I think we’ll all miss Klaus,’ she whispered, ‘goodbye.’ A full half dozen buglers did their best without bugles and hummed a mournful ditty as Klaus’ coffin was lowered.

Spiff stared blankly at the pit.

Zod sank deeper into the velvet folds of his transparent pink inflatable throne and swished his naked feet merrily in the warm ocean currents. Waves of strictly regulated amplitude lapped peacefully against the side and propelled him at a leisurely pace across the infinite shallow sea. In a soothing, bobbing motion he rocked ever closer to the world of dreams, which it has to be said, was boring in comparison to his real life. Zod sighed, this is the life; well, actually, it was someone else’s life, and Zod had stolen the body, but in this moment of unparalleled tranquillity, petty morality didn’t dare approach. Suddenly, a sudden something, suddenly occurred; Zod’s nose began to get just a tiny little bit too warm on its tip. Irritatedly, he clicked his fingers and pointed idly towards the sun beaming down happily overhead. Moments later and it began to darken. Another click, and the process stopped, the world now swathed in a mid-afternoon glow.

Most manic dictators would have been satisfied with an Olympic sized indoor heated Jacuzzi, perhaps sprinkled with a handful of full time bathing beauties; not so Zod. Taking an entire planet, Voidos, for his entertainment, of which composed 99.9% water and precious little else, he set about moulding it to his desire. First, all indigenous forms of life were ‘relocated’ to somewhere else. This was followed by a levelling of the ocean floor to achieve a constant sterile depth of six feet; everywhere. Gone were the mile deep trenches of sheer and dramatic gradient that harboured a menagerie of unknown and now quite ‘relocated’ life forms. Gone were the violent whirlpools that roamed the surface, and gone also were the lush forests of seaweed that at one time, swayed calmly in the cloudy teeming shallows. Zod for his part populated the oceans with countless inflatable platforms, random floating caskets of fine wines and food, a dozen castles and a few pink bubble thrones. This was adequate for a time, but eventually, the systems Sun began to annoy with its furious outpouring of radiation; so, Zod installed a thermostat and regulated its temperature to within more tolerable limits.

His advisors, so called scientific, do-gooder environmentalist advisors, had warned that such behaviour would destabilise the star’s core and undoubtedly cause a supernova within a thousand years. This would, catastrophically, destroy the second and fourth worlds both of which boasted sources of potential sentience and which would more importantly be a further source of potential tax. However, Zod decreed that, any such race stupid enough not to have chosen the third world to evolve on, simply deserved all it got. Same advisors pointed out that if they had chosen said third world, Zod would have obliterated them anyway, to which reply, Zod would point out that the Mac Zod dungeons always had space for a few more.

Spinning slowly in a gentle breeze, Zod floated like a blemish in an otherwise perfect turquoise of ocean, oblivious to the very much larger blemish, skulking directly towards his sleeping frame. It was a dark drifting shadow that lurked just beneath the surface, with a bulge about its middle that stretched to a long and oscillating tail. Water churned in its wake as a dark and ragged dorsal fin grew ominously in its swift approach, before, silently, it dived (though, not very much, the water being so shallow).

Not many rubber inflatables are fitted with ejector seats, and Zod’s was no exception. Bursting from the deep, slavering rancid jaws agape, the spoon head shark slammed into and, unexpectedly, glanced off the throne with a ‘pfwing!’ Stunned, its tail thrashed violently, slamming the water and issuing mighty jets of mist into the air, as it spun and prepared to bite again. Basking in the comparative safety of his throne’s force field, Zod clicked his fingers again.

Less than an instant later, perhaps just an inst, a dozen identically clad battle marines materialised about the attacking shark, promptly laid into it with their combined zap-sticks, saluted and then dematerialised, all before even the first piece of shark debris fell from the air. One particularly shabby man remained, crouched on his floating disc, knuckles wrapped about its edges and staring wide eyed at the demise of such an expensive creature.

‘Another failed assassination attempt, it appears, Mercurius. What do you make of that then, eh?’

Any seething, if present, was well hidden as he floated before his Emperor.

‘Extremely unlucky sire.’

Zod cocked his head sideways, and gave him a questioning look. It was certain who was behind these comical attempts to take his throne, but after millennia of ruling, at least it made life interesting; and kept Zod careful.

‘Mercurius, come closer.’ He did so. ‘Ah, I see a difference in your demeanour, a slight darkening of the hair, I believe.’

‘Yes sire.’

Zod grinned inanely.

Does he know? Mercurius worried.

‘Now, to business. Mercurius, pray tell, what burdens thee, and it had better burden to warrant this interruption on my vacation.’

‘Sire… the spoon headed mega-shark…?’

‘Spoon headed was it? Hmm… no Mercurius, my guards can handle such matters. Why are you here?’

Mercurius fumbled for words, ‘Erm… I err…’

A glass of multi-layered coloured liquid complete with spiral straw and a virtual animation of a twirling umbrella pinged into existence. Zod took a long languished slurp and reclined. ‘Come now Mercurius, what news? You know you can tell your good old friend Zod anything. Forget that I’m the emperor of the galaxy and at the merest desire could bring an end to your sad little life. Here, it’s just you and I Mercurius; and of course the orbiting battle fleet.’

Mercurius, knew enough to be deceived by this phantasm of relaxation, and so drifted backwards, casually, until he was out-with immediate and even determined reach.

He cleared his throat, this is going to be bad, he thought.

‘Well, my liege, you will of course remember Fingol?’

‘Ah yes, yes I do indeed. The invasion budget for an entire day was redirected to the construction of that base, finest in the Empire, some of my best people are there you know; my nephew also. Great young chap, ruthless as bleep. Indeed, I was planning a small trip there on my return to Galleous. The garrison commander there makes a stunning J’nash soup, and I was certainly a bit partial to a young lady there also… Celon I believe she was called. Ah yes, eyes like the stars…’

Zod’s eyes drifted off to another time, but probably not another place.

‘Fingol…’

Mercurius fell so silent, he considered having his vocal chords donated to some deserving body.

‘Well, what of the jewel of my fleet?’ sighed Zod dreamily.

‘Erm, it’s a bit… that is, no longer… well… its gone my liege. The first reports suggest it may have been an attack from out-with your domain; The Unknow.n’

Zod straightened, the glass toppled into the ocean spilling its colours to intermingle with the putrid slick of shark juice.

‘The Fingol base was under your command Mercurius.’

‘Was it?’ ‘It was now; you’ve been promoted. And already, you’ve lost your command. Come closer Mercurius.’

He backed off further, instinctively.

‘Closer Mercurius, I’m not going to hurt you… I want to discuss this great loss. Closely.’

Mercurius allowed the disc to drift closer; and closed his eyes.

Zod reached forward, took hold of Mercurius’ nose and brought the man’s face so close that they almost touched. He could feel his cold dead breath.

‘Open your eyes Mercurius… Good, now look at me!’

Zod stared deep into the nervous face.

‘Let this happen again, Mercurius, and it will be you, who will be gone; and remember, I can still cut your pay further and give you a still worse Kube to live in, before I even get around to sending you to the recycling pits!’

Mercurius doubted any lot worse than his was possible, but nodded meekly all the same.

‘Yes milord, I apologise deeply for whatever it was I did regarding the demise of Fingol.’

‘Good. Now, I want you personally, to arrange for my finest fleet… no, scratch that, second best fleet to go to this,’ he spat, ‘Unknown! —and find out what in the unholy name of the seven armed god of deodorisers happened. I can’t keep losing ships like this. First Drydos, and now Fingol. Mercurius, we’re running out of ridiculous names. This is a crisis.’ ‘Yes milord. I shall invoke the bureau of naming.’

A darkness crossed his face, ‘Don’t fail me again, Mercurius.’

Sknarf and Spiff sat on a partially melted rock and stared sadly at the mound of soil that was now Klaus’ permanent residence. Spiff still wasn’t convinced his friend was dead and Sknarf could hear him mutter the occasional ‘C’mon old chap, you can do it. C’mon, just one hand signal and we’ll pull you out. Just one.’

‘Spiff, he’s not going to make a miraculous escape from the coffin. He’ dead.’

‘But still, he might be trying to get out.; just a few more minutes. We need to give him time to try something.’

‘Spiff, he’s dead, the only thing he’s trying to do is decompose.’

‘Ha! You said it yourself, he could be trying something!’ ‘Spiff,’ she said, getting impatient, ‘we all loved Klaus.’ She paused, ‘well, we all liked him at least, but to be quite honest, Rafe didn’t like him at all, but still, we’re sad to see him go. But, that’s just it, he’s gone. You need to realise that.’

Spiff, uncharacteristically, was quiet.

The image of Yeldarb and Rafe digging a short distance off grabbed her eye.

‘What the…?’ said Sknarf, ‘Spiff, wait here, I’ll be back soon,’ he didn’t even seem to register.

Sknarf ran off, choosing her steps carefully amongst what ruins had escaped the attack. She reached them just as they hit a metal something with a resounding clank.

‘Whoop!’ they cried as a circular door, fully a metre wide, extracted itself from the soil and slowly tilted upwards until it pointed towards the morning sky. Its blue metallic shape glittered softly in the early sun and in stark contrast to the charred and blackened landscape about.

‘What’s is it?’ she asked, ‘something escaped the explosion?’

‘I think,’ said Yeldarb, assuming the knowledgeable air of the scientist completely out of his depth, ‘that we’ve found the Leech Lords bunker, one that he apparently didn’t think was safe enough to use. We saw a glint of it and decided to investigate. Looks like the light activated the locking mechanism.’

They stared into the gaping blackness below.

‘Do you think its safe to go inside?’ she asked at the same instant Rafe leapt feet first through the gap and was quickly swallowed by the darkness. There was a pause of at least a few seconds during which nothing happened. Then, a few more seconds. Finally there was a considerable thump.

‘Mmph!’ cried a distant voice.

‘Let’s get some rope,’ suggested Yeldarb.

The whine of a laser cauterisor and the marginally louder whines of its unwilling target made Mercurius shiver as he entered the underworld domain of Dr Aargh and his ‘experiments.’ From the sounds, the mad doctor was at his hobby again: ‘body reconstruction,’ which needless to say involved considerable ‘deconstruction’ also.

Mercurius waved his hands under a glove dispenser and waited as the thick green plastic formed around his bony fingers. With trepidation, he prepared to touch the door handle, smeared as it was in the entrails of some unfortunate. Dr Aargh specialities were usually restricted to ‘special agent’ operative work, but more often, was applied on deserving individuals that had displeased the Emperor so much, a trip to Mac Zod’s wasn’t bad enough for them.

Mercurius pulled open the door, peeked around its blood streaked edge; and promptly collapsed.

He came too, some unknown amount of time later and strangely found his arms to be no longer in the operational condition he had taken for granted for most of his life. His eyes were shut but even through the wincing lids he could easily discern the trio of spotlights focused on him that burned like phosphor in his mind. A misshapen form leant across him and provided some degree of comfort from the intense beams. Comfort until Mercurius realised who it was, where he must now be, and what was probably about to happen. His eyes jolted open and beheld the manic grin of Dr Aargh, his inch deep glasses beadifying his eyes until they were bare singularities.

‘Ah, ziv hav came avound, I zee. A pity, for I have no tranquilizers left. Ah vell…’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Tranquilizers. Not that I ever have zem anyvise. Still, vou should feel much pain.’

‘Really?’

‘No! Zar, zar, zar!’ he cackled like a crazed pervert, ‘I must apologize, zust a little choke—joke us torturers use!’

Mercurius was already deathly pale, but still, he found some further colour to extract from his cheeks as Dr Aargh busied himself with what seemed a combination of rusty saw and power tool.

‘How did you earn that ‘Dr’ anyway?’ he said, teeth chattering with fright as he struggled with his bondage.

‘Hmm?’

Dr Aargh had scuttled off to another room now, but could still be heard, clanking with some arcane machinery.

Mercurius in one desperate, eyes bulging with the effort attempt, managed to raise one arm briefly off the table. There was a corresponding whine from the gravity generator under the table as it sucked him back. Worryingly though, the whine didn’t stop; then Mercurius realised, it was coming from the other room; and getting nearer.

Oh bleep, he thought.

‘Erm, what are you doing Doctor, surely we can reconsider? I mean I’ve not even paid you yet. In fact, my credit rating is mostly virtual.’ Dr Aargh reappeared, clutching a dismembered arm n one hand and a half-full white bucket in the other.

‘Credits? No, no, you zust velax. Zis is a freebie. Never have I been asked to perform such intervesting vork! It vill be an honour!’

‘Never the less Doc, I’d still feel better if you let me out just to get some hard credits.’

Dr Aargh laughed and approached the table.

‘Now, ziz vill only take a moment… Vemmember, ziz vill hurt vou a lot more that it vill hurt ve. Ya?’

‘Dr Aargh, I’ve suddenly changed my mind.’

‘Zat also is no problem, I can get you a new one easily.’ He produced a pad and added a note. The whirring blade type thing, the source of the whining was now being lowered unstoppably towards his groinal region.

Mercurius cried out, ‘Stop!’

His cries echoed off the heavy walls. No one would ever hear him. His head thrashed around and unfortunately caught a glimpse of the first piece of surgical equipment.

‘What the BLEEP are you doing with that… garden strimmer?’

‘Ze modifications require a larger proportions of body sculpting. Zis may take hours. But luckily, I have plenty of spare parts.’ He pointed to the ominous white bucket containing something that really would do better by being undescribed.

‘Please stop!’ whimpered Mercurius.

The lone whine of a modified garden strimmer was the only reply.

‘What is this place?’ asked Sknarf as she stared disbelievingly down the rack lined corridors that ran endlessly to the vanishing point of her vision. No one answered though, Spiff, Yeldarb and half a dozen other space-filling villagers were already rooting through the mutitudinous boxes that towered in tottering piles and gasping occasionally at their success.

‘A pulse plasmoid grenade… in the forty watt range,’ Spiff paused, reaching further back into an olive green metal case, ‘stacks of them. Wow!’

‘What do they do?’ asked Sknarf.

‘Haven’t a clue, but they make a funny ticking sound when you shake them.’

Yeldarb was next, ‘gravity well inducers, with these you can warp ships off course or even prevent them from leaving… Cool!’ Not to be outdone, Rafe hobbled forward, cringingly injured from his tragic fall onto a crate of bayonettes, and picked up a small translucent cube that sparkled when rotated. ‘Hey people, look at this. Coool!’

‘Looks like a… memory crystal, used for accelerated learning’ replied Yeldarb, grabbing it from Rafe’s hands and holding it to the dim light that shone balefully from the fluorescent lighting²⁸. ‘If you can find a learning machine, we can see what’s on it,’ he paused, ‘Y’know, these things are strictly purple market only²⁹, possession, never mind use of, can end you up in some really bad places.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Keep the masses simple; that Zod’s motto. Feed them game shows, public exec’s, Intergalactic Hospital and lots of officially sanctioned news, sprinkled with a garnish of lies and everyone’s happy; particularly the Empire. Knowledge, such as this,’ rattling the crystal, ‘if it got in the right hands, well… could start a rebellion.’

‘So it’s banned?’

‘Yup, can’t have the population starting to think, y’know. Ignorance is bliss, particularly when shared in large numbers.’

‘But… now we’ve got ‘em. We can spread enlightenment to the stars!’

‘Yup, so let’s find that learning machine, although, I wouldn’t bother with this one… says its called Zodinetics, save the lifestyle changing for later.’

‘Fair enough man,’ said Rafe and tossed it back in the pile, ‘besides, wait till they here about Rafimetrics!’

‘Hallo!’ cried a familiar voice, ‘everyone, come and look at this.’ The light clack of footsteps on the hard, unusually devoid of dust floor, brought Spiff his desired audience.

‘I’ve found a door!’ he beamed proudly, pointing at, what could only be described as, a door.

‘Congratulations… is this the first time you’ve recognised one?’ asked Yeldarb, who was now strapping on what seemed to be a world war one pilots flying cap, complete with inch deep goggles.

Ignoring him, Spiff rolled in the attention and caused the baiting of breath by announcing, ‘I’m going to open it…’ Grating like the opening of a million year old jam jar filled the air as Spiff, ripped muscle and veins bulging, levered the heavy bulk open. Squealing also, as it dug in to the metal flooring caused more than one to look about warily lest they awaken some long forgotten thing that would stalk out of the darknesil

Unfortunately, they did just that and a strange clunkning, mingled with a sound like spinning metal brushes was heard far, far off down the eerie black corridor.

Everyone turned, bar Spiff, who continued to wedge the door further open, oblivious to the large handle shaped object he was using as leverage.

‘It’s coming closer,’ whimpered Sknarf, who attempted to take up a defensive position, at the rear, but found everyone else there already. A pinpoint of light appeared, which resolved into two red piercing eyes that undulated rapidly towards them.

‘Spiff, the door open yet?’ inquired Rafe politely, ‘now would be a really good time.’

With an inhuman grunt, Spiff slammed the door completely open, only to be knocked senseless by six bodies in their rush to examine whatever lay beyond, and same rush not to examine what approached outside.

‘Quick, shut the bleeping door Spiff,’ they cried, wailed and begged. Spiff looked at the twisted metal frame. ‘Sorry chaps, I think I’ve damaged it.’

Whirring, clockwork style grew louder and a shadowy form approached behind Spiff’s shoulder.

‘Aargh!’ they screamed as the hateful blood red eyes took position behind and loomed over Spiff.

‘HELLO,’ an insanely merry voice chimed, ‘I’M RODGER.’

‘Aargh!’ screamed Rafe whose knees buckled and dropped him to the floor.

‘HELLO,’ it repeated, ‘I’M RODGER.’

Rafe peered between his fingers that for some reason where obscuring his vision. He coughed in a testosterony manner and regained his composer, ‘It’s only a robot man, hey, nothing to be afraid of eh? Seems friendly enough…Peace o metal brother.’

‘Bet it’s a psycho’ pitched in a voice from the back.

‘Well, hello old chap,’ boomed Spiff who pumped the secretion dripping claw-like arm of Rodger in a long-lost-buddy fashion, ‘been here long?’

‘HELLO, I’M RODGER.’

‘That long eh?’ whistled Spiff, aside, ‘don’t mention ‘psycho,’ the RDG series had a few… problems in that respect.’

‘HELLO, I’M RODGER,’ a small metal disc shaped implement began to whirr. It raised its mighty wire criss-crossed arm menacingly.

‘Steady on old chap.’

‘HELLO, I’M RODGER.’

‘Think we’ve got a live one here chaps.’

The arm plunged down towards Spiff, who promptly propelled himself backwards into the room and beyond its reach.

‘Quick, close the door,’ he shouted.

‘Man, if only you’d listened to us in the first place,’ said Rafe pettily. ‘HELLO, I’M RODGER,’ it cackled manicaly, head spinning around like the lights on a lightning struck police car, as its square shouldered bulk hovered through the door frame.

‘Hello Rodger,’ spoke Sknarf softly, ‘perhaps you’d like a nice game of chess, hmm?’

‘HELLO ,’ it turned and propelled its arm towards Sknarf’s suddenly whitened features; and shuddered to a halt.

‘Much better,’ said Yeldarb, proudly, seated at one of a trio of cabinet sized consoles that flickered 50’s style with random patches of fairy lights. He tapped another button, which happened to be flashing.

‘DESTRUCT ACTIVATED, GOODBYE, I WAS RODGER,’

hastily tapping the button again, ‘Oh well, perhaps its time to read the manual.’

Spiffs attention, short though it was, was now firmly focused on the banks of glittering beads and space charts that littered the walls. ‘It appears, chaps, we’ve hit pay soil³⁰.’

Lady X stood, swathed in a pearl white shroud that danced over naked shoulders and glided pleasingly over fine curves to delicately embrace the floor. Motionless she stood like a slim pillar of stone watching over the cascading mountain tops, bright as the stars, cool like a moonlight pool and yet troubled by a deep ageless pain. She sought solace from that pain in these still pre-dawn hours, immersing herself in those first trickling rays to break the dark reign. She often reflected on just how far she and of course, her people, had came; but still, the pain wore on. Of short years was her life, but held within her gaze was an eternity.

A freckled girl of ten punished years, she stole a piece of bread and paid with her family; the only justice democracy could offer, with the workhouse was reserved for the attentions of lone orphans. Endless days for small fingers assembling mines in frost bitten dank chambers that graduated abruptly to the loveless streets, a woman outgrown her task. Her lust for survival, entwined with a hatred of the Empire, found her with a floundering resistance movement, and gave, for the first time in a life of twenty years, reason. They didn’t belong to the charade of legalised token rebellions that fed on false hope; no. Poorly funded indeed, yet uniquely they had a moral purity. It was this same purity that led her to devote what she called a life to their and now her cause: Freedom. Other ideas in time also found themselves under their banner, not least of which would be the removal of the cannibalistic Mac Zod burger chain and an end to compulsory free labour, but plain old freedom would do for now.

And now, she thought, we are so close.

Arrays of fighters were, even as she dreamt, piling onto the heavy duty G’tok cargo ships which would deliver their message, terminally, to Zod on his black throne. The cargo ships when full, would idle via low stealth warp to Galleous, and finally, rendezvous with the timed jump of all her mighty squadrons in one decisive onslaught.

For months now, they had enacted petty attack after squabbling petty attack, and to some degree, had diverted resources from the Galleous system, but still, she had doubts. Would it be enough? Would they bring and end to his reign and would that zap-stick, gently placed against her back, fire?

‘Turn slowly, babe,’ spoke a cold and professional voice. She did so, and came to face a bronze-black-skinned woman, with short piercing white spiked hair, perhaps close to her own age, but with considerably more developed fire-arms about her lithely clad person.

‘We’re going for a little walk… just you and me… to Galleous. A friend there would like to… speak with you.’

The thought to some may have occurred to point out that you can’t just walk to Galleous, and that some kind of ship may have been in order, but the wavering zap-stick, dampened further curiosity.

‘You can’t get away with this, my people will catch you as soon as you leave orbit,’ spoke Lady X, over-loudly, hoping to awaken the sleeping sentry, slumped against the tele-jump pad.

‘Maybe so, but if this,’ strapping a device to Lady X’s wrist, ‘fails to receive my body signature, within ten feet of yours, then…’

‘I get the message.’

‘Good, then if you’ll just follow me,’ casually over her shoulder, ‘and don’t fall too far behind,’ as she stepped onto the pad and waited at the rear of the device.

‘NOW sister, get on the pad… were taking a short jump to my ship, and then, we’ll be off.’

Lady X stayed put, one hand reached out for the pads control disc. ‘I’ll jump if you don’t get on. My bounty doesn’t need you alive, although it may affect you conversational skills.’

‘Then I’m afraid,’ she spoke with a small smile, ‘you’ll just have to go on without me,’ as she leapt to the floor, one hand swinging to activate the pad and the other placed as close as possible the now shimmering perimeter.

Oda’s wide-eyed figure dematerialised, in frozen shock, as Lady X clutched her now severed hand.

There was a faint, distant explosion.

‘That’ll take care of her I think,’ she said coldly.

‘Not that easy sister, I had a second jump lined up,’ spoke a now familiar voice that in a gust of air had appeared behind her.

The sentry jumped to a start at the muffled explosion, and, upon seeing the seriously clad woman, reached for his firearm, only to find the rest of his body gone in a crackle of neon green.

Oda blew away the smoke from her silencer, a purely decorative affair, and offered, this time, a collar.

‘Let’s see you try it now… bitch.’

One hundred (give or take a few) shadowy hulks blasted through the void of in-between or somewhere-to-the-side space, in regimented formation. Dimensional ether swirled in mesmeric clouds about their severe, dagger like spikes, atop with pulsing warning lights, almost like, no, exactly like a fleet of luminous space hedgehogs. They careered, seemingly motionless, past the dark funnel of the occasional black-hole, and ever closer to that boundless region, known, or rather, unknown as ‘The Unknown.’

Captain Plesiosaur, legs akimbo, glowered at the ever unfurling tunnel that constituted their jump and immersed himself, in the memory of the good-ol’ days.

The glory’s all gone, he thought, and dreamt of a bygone era when the vessels of war sailed the seas and then eventually, the spaces, and all at a leisurely pace. Battle in those days was something you prepared for, over a period of woodcarving vitamin-starved months. Now? a quick hop, and your there.

A boy of ten approached and babbled on about something along the lines of ‘contact lost… unusual… investigate?’ With the air of maturity, Plesiosaur waited for the child to finish, left an uncomfortable pause to unnerve and then, with a discriminating eye, surveyed the figure, they’re enrolling foetus’s now, he thought.

‘Sir,’ the pre-life entity repeated, ‘shall we investigate?’

‘Will it take us a bit longer to get to The Unknown?’ ‘You of course mean code-name Walrus sir?’

Plesiosaur stared, ‘I don’t care what its bleeping called, will it take us any longer if we investigate?’

‘Yes sar. Will delay us approximately a day, whatever that means in space.’ The figure paused, dreams of promotion clouding its eyes, ‘sar!’ Plesiosaur looked at him disapprovingly.

‘Possibly two days… perhaps even more if we should encounter some completely unexpected and unusual phenomena… maybe an entire month’

Plesiosaur beamed and took out his wood carving knife. ‘Bring us back to normal space then me lad.’

‘Well, well, well…’ Spiff paused, ‘well, well, well.’

‘You don’t really know what your doing, do you Spiff?’ asked Yeldarb, whose fingers were gliding across Empire script coated buttons in a flurry of activity.

‘—Nope… not at all, haven’t a clue, possibly even less, not even a whiff of an idea.’

A beep and a list of options scrolled into view on the main holo- viewer.

‘Ah-ha!’ grinned Spiff, his random key punching, having achieved something.

‘Lets hope its not the self-destruct again eh?’

Yeldarb propelled himself across the floor on a trundling chair and analysed the output.

‘Looks like you’ve got through to the galactic news my friend…’

An incredibly false young man with paint-on pearl white teeth was barking on about compound share investments whilst in a small box in the upper right corner, film of a recent penal escape attempt and subsequent termination were being cyclically broadcast.

‘Is this what the rest of the galaxy gets to watch?’

‘I think so Spiff, although our lifetime incarceration in the mines has limited my knowledge somewhat, although I can able tell you, the news informers name is Nothing-but-the-truth Norman, and this is his slot called… from distant memory, ‘Good Morning Faithful Dependees Of The Empire.’’

The worrying pictures of the penal escape and ensuing battle were now replaced with the news that Mac Zod’s Happy Meals had just been voted official (or was it offal) food of the Meruvian Monks hunger strike. A hyper-drug-induced person of oriental appearance bounced about the meditating monks, ‘tempting’ them with a grease-drenched tray of triple Mac Zod’s, much to the amusement of an animatronic audience that laughed abruptly at forced stimulus.

‘What a load of bleeping bleepocks.’

‘You said it Spiff, my man.’

‘People actually watch this?’

‘Not so much watch as stare.’

‘We’ve got to put a stop to this sort of thing.’

A used-up swollen sun cast creeping shadows over the water stricken savannah and watched wearily as all it new gradually became a lifeless desert beneath its unstoppable glow. Thickets of sturdy and gnarled Gor’s sprawled under the comforting shelter of an aged Juniama tree and succumbed their few tasty buds to the family of grazing striped B’duc’s that, in turns nervously scanned the to-close scrub. The cackle of flocking Che-che’s echoed over the otherwise silent terrain, as they scattered in worried droves through a crimson sky as something disturbed their hive nest. The oldest B’duc snorted and clawed a foot at the dusty soil pensively as the birds droned off.

A pair of intensely focused citron-yellow eyes stared unblinkingly, lest any small movement reveal them, as their owner, with painful slowness, crept forwards. A barely perceived purr caught the wind and caused the B’duc’s to start and, en-masse, they tensed to bolt, as a shock of black fur burst from the scrub.

Heart pounding, speed-sac hormones flooding its system, and all senses honed for the kill, the Panthion, wind forcing back its fur and revealing triple rows of white-red daggers—collapsed. The singular shot rang out from the camo-shrouded vehicle with professional aim as, at the same instant, the prancing B’duc’s, froze, rippled and then faded to the virtual nothingness that bore them. The bait was gone, and as for the Panthion, the game was up. Slick oil-black boots ground into the dirt and issued a flowing cloak which would have caused undue heat to its owner, had he been alive. The towering figure stood by the gently snoring Panthion and with a fleeting gesture, motioned for a bank of blue-skinned slaves to begin hauling the famed beast aboard.

He knelt and stroked the long fine hairs and could feel the ripped muscle that powered a beast so rare their home planet was kept under close orbital guard. Each animal lived its life in a state of discrete monitoring, and, kept safely from the threat of poaching, the population was beginning to rise again.

Who then, who would attempt to snare such a predator? Who, but Zod, the man who made the laws.

‘Such power Mercurius, invincible, and yet,’ his gloved hand, in sudden ferocity, grabbed its sleeping maw, ‘so fragile.’ Mercurius stood, at an adequate distance, ‘It’s… pretty big.’ Zod’s head rotated slowly, a full circle, Mercurius could hear the brittle tendons snapping, probably time for a new body I’ll bet.

‘Big? Is that all you can say?’

‘—impressive also. Sharp teeth…’

‘It’s the deadliest animal in this galaxy… it has the ability to colourise its fur to blend with the surrounds, sprint to a hundred clicks through hormone-sacs and has greater percentile jaw power than anything else in ever…. If it were a…’

‘Cheese?’

Zod looked at the wretched features of the creature that so desperately wanted to be in his place.

‘Mercurius, you have to appreciate it, the power…’ ‘—is a bit wasted next to the might of Emperor Zod and a loaded zap-stick milord.’

A thin smile curled across Zod’s bronzed features.

‘Perhaps you would appreciate it better… in the arena perhaps?’

‘Hmm, maybe not… sire, after all, this is such a fine specimen, and is a fitting replacement for that other superb specimen, Bruticus. Will this one also be guarding the main gate?’

Zod inhaled the chill fresh dusk air, ‘No, this one, I have something special in mind for…’

‘A certain lady perhaps?’

‘Yes, Mercurius, astute of you… for a change. This fine animal shall be either a fitting pet… or…’ He smiled coyly.

‘You think she’ll sleep with you then sire?’

‘Sleep? You underestimate your Emperor sir! She is to be my wife. She, like this,’ gesturing at the Panthion, ‘is the finest of her species and truly is fit for only the best. Who else could resist my determined aims to capture her for so long. She must be a specimen indeed.’

‘But will you be removing her claws also sire?’

‘Mercurius, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you are verging on sarcasm… of a sort,’ he hissed. Glancing at the beast, ‘perhaps your loyalties are not the same these days?’

‘No, no, no sire!’ grovelling now, ‘I simply meant that, as with the Panthion, one must, at all times, be aware of the danger.’

Zod sighed, ‘oh yes, I’m aware of the danger alright… I can hardly wait.’

‘Mercurius?’

‘Milord?’

‘The bandages. What in the name of bleep happened to you man.’

Mercurius shifted uneasily.

‘Personal matter sire. I had an awkward… blemish.’

‘All over your body?’

‘Err, yes sire, Dr Aargh helped me remove it.’

‘I see…’

The sky rocked as a shiny triangular vessel screeched from hyper- sonic to a bare hover above their heads. Emitting a low frequency hum, and emitting a myriad of swirling colours about its highly magnetised surface, it drifted slowly, extending feeler like legs, to settle just beyond the Juniama. The colours faded with the whine of dying engines as a slip- plank melted out of the lower hull, and formed into a succession of steps, which bore some familiar and not-so figures.

There were three in all, and were accompanied by a hover-stretcher, which constrained a white clad female, even now struggling furiously at her imprisonment. The first two approached Zod, bowed not so low as to offer respect, and indicated their burden.

‘My client, Mr Sanguinario wishes to convey the capture of the terrorist and down right bad character, ‘Ms X’’ spoke the tall ghoul, who uncharacteristically, was sporting a wide brimmed hat.

Zod, ignoring the salutations, strode past the two, beyond an arrogant sneering dark-skinned woman. Later, he thought, and strode to the stretcher.

‘Lady X, my lovely, we meet at last. How you have avoided my attentions!’ gesturing to the ghoul, ‘release her at once!’ The ghoul grabbed Lady X by the throat, and pulled her bodily from the stretcher, ripping the bonds eventually, as he increased the pulling power. Dropping her to the dirt, she gagged for air and, clutching her throat with one hand, managed to produce a defiant and most impolite hand gesture.

‘Such spirit!’ mused Zod.

‘I’ll show you spirit fiend,’ clutching at one of her teeth, she extracted it with a scream, ‘eat this!’

Oda Kropp, with a deft motion, quicker than the eye could analyse, brought her pistol to bear on Lady X and fired.

Blood spurted from the wound across her remaining wrist, and her grip on the tooth loosened, which now fell to the ground.

‘What the bleep is happening!’ cried Zod.

Oda strode forward purposefully, swiped Lady X with the back of her hand and collected the tooth, ‘high focus, fusion concentrator, apply enough pressure and… bye, bye life.’

‘Sire!’ barked Mercurius at the bounty hunter.

Zod raised a hand to silence his puppy, ‘Quite commendable, on both counts… what remarkable women.’

‘Kropp…’ the bounty hunter turned to face the broken woman, ‘we’ll meet again one day.’

‘Now, now ladies,’ commanded Zod, ‘we’ll have lots of time to talk at my palace, where I believe,’ glancing at a yellow-painted servant, ‘a banquet is already being prepared.’

The ghoul coughed.

‘My client wishes to know how payment will be made.’

Zod, annoyed at the distraction, wheeled on the much taller figure, ‘pay? Pay! I would be dead… we’ll, undead, no, probably just non-existent if that thing had gone off. And I take it, it wasn’t even you that captured her in the first place?’

The ghoul looked awkwardly at the ground and mumbled, ‘out first attempt, met some degree of non-success, so we employed Miss Kropp…’

Zod, with another one of his glances that his staff are trained to recognise, looked at Mercurius, who in turn, waved forward, the red- skinned and heavily muscled security slaves.

The ghoul surveyed the powerful figures that surrounded himself and his client; who sighed.

‘Take them away… far away’ slithered Zod, turning, ‘now ladies, if you will accompany me?’

Spiff, channel flicked through another thousand of the million or so non-stop information wells that broadcasted themselves about the galaxy from the galactic core.

‘We receive the news about two hours behind most central regions,’ said Yeldarb, ‘it simply takes that long to route the information through all the jump points.’

‘Hmm,’ replied Spiff thoughtfully, who was now being thoroughly mesmerised by the changing channels.

‘Spiff, you do know they transmit subliminal messages to pacify the audience?’

A long pause, another hundred channels flashed past.

‘Spiff?’

Eyes glazed over, Spiff’s grip on the control, ever the more desperate, great veins bulging on his wrist, ‘I can’t stop, help me!’ Yeldarb wrenched the device from Spiff, and turned him away, the channel selection stopped.

‘You okay?’

‘Hmhmhhmhhm naked elves!’

‘Ah, you’re fine!’

The broadcast interrupted his speech, as he turned, shocked at what he had just heard.

‘Replay last ten seconds, filter any piggy-back signals also, don’t want to get sucked in.’

‘REPLAYING.’

The newsreader, a lilac faced being with yellow flowing tendrils, recounted the following:

‘—is believed to harbour an advanced race of unknown origin, and so far has resisted all attempts to establish peaceful contact with the region of space known as ‘ZD-Q6,’ or ‘The Unknown’ as local space salvagers call it. A heavily armed task force as been assigned to make first contact, but waylaid, to investigate the loss of communication of Klapo 3…’

Oh bleep, panicked Yeldarb, that’s us, Klapo 3.

‘Spiff, ‘violently shaking the mumbling man, ‘snap out man, were going to have visi—’

‘PROXIMITY ALERT.’

Oh bleep!

Footnotes:

²⁶ Named so because of the unique soles that deflect gravity waves slight ly and permit the wearer to float, infinitesimally above the ground, and as such leave limited foot prints or heat traces.

²⁷ Taking curfews to their logical conclusion; if a short curfew cuts the crime rate a short amount, then a permanent curfew, cuts it completely. Generally, unpopular with the oppressees, but, as their not around to complain anyway, who cares!

²⁸ Fluorescent lights are even crap in the future also.

²⁹ A sort of legal illegal black market for buying goods only usually available to the aristocracy; or anything remotely interesting.

³⁰ A sore point for the water bound inhabitants of Girangu 5, for whom, dirt was the accepted currency.

Aphelion Letter Column A place for your opinions.

Return to the Aphelion main page.