Between Darkness and the Void - Part One
02 Nov 2017User1355
Fort Crimson (Unregistered Settlement)
Chun A 4
Chun System...
It’s been nearly two years since I was last here, and it hasn’t gotten any warmer.
I pull my overcoat closer around me as we walk across the frozen tundra towards the hangars. Idris strides beside me, impervious to the night’s chill. Despite her heavy furs, Apollonia shivers uncontrollably; does her thin frame feel the cold more keenly, or is she terrified?
Either way, she has good reason to be.
For the past week we have been fugitives, hunted from the moment we left Clair Dock’s no-fire zone. All three of us have bounties big enough to set any reaper up with a comfortable early retirement. In the face of the Clair Dock bombings and the slave rebellion, DeVerre has tightened his iron grip on Black Omega’s holdings; his agents lie in wait at every port, watching us, scanning our wakes and relaying our path to the enforcers. The Wrach Du is at breaking point, its hull warped and buckled from the constant strain of interdiction. I’m in just as bad shape myself; my wrists and teeth ache and I’ve hardly slept.
Our only respite was the short stop at Rabat’s Legacy; our stalkers had either given us up as dead, or lacked the nerve to attempt to get anywhere near the molten, hellish surface. But it had become routine for me, a place where I had regularly sought solace. Even in the smouldering ruins of Rabat’s shrine, defiled by Von Steuben, I had found renewed strength and vigour. It seems that in the darkest places, against all odds, the Void shows me the way...
We come to a halt outside a small hangar. Apollonia blows into her shaking hands to warm them, before plugging her dataslate into the control panel and running an override. Behind me, Idris waits, burdened with several large packs of essential equipment. The frost on the entrance seal cracks as the massive doors slide apart. Darkness greets me from within, but a voice in my head steels me for the challenge ahead
Doors will close. But new doors will always open to you.
I walk through into the hangar, smiling at the new voice; once gruff, harsh and male, now a gentle, feminine whisper with a soft hiss. We’d taken everything we could from the ruins, selling the treasures within to the first black market we’d found. But the real treasure had been the data disks, telling my forgotten ancestor’s tale. The only setback is that they themselves are antiques, incompatible with modern devices; it will be some time before I find a way to access them. But that’s a problem for later.
Apollonia runs another override, bathing the steel cavern in a wan, flickering light. Hastily, she withdraws her hands back into her furs, still shivering. But no matter. Even amid the freezing air, the sight before me is enough to warm my blood.
There she is.
In the centre of the hangar stands a Cobra Mark III; a thick layer of frost and a patchwork of tarpaulins cover what once was a sporty orange and white paintjob. Her hardpoints are vacant, stripped out a long time ago, her lightweight bulkheads exposed at less critical points; any and all excessive weight has been given up for speed and agility. This is a professional smuggler’s ship, fit for a trade which I had left behind long ago.
Freyja.
Apollonia hands me her dataslate, already running a diagnostic on the ship’s systems. I nod satisfactorily.
“Would you believe it? She’s as good as the day I left her here,” I murmur, keying in my access code.
With a whining creak, the boarding ramp lowers. Apollonia stops whimpering over her freezing hands and runs up into the ship, hastily starting the power-plant’s booting-up process to get some warmth going. Idris begins unlashing the cables of the tarpaulin, releasing the ship from its icy shroud. Soon we’d be on our way, fleeing Black Omega-held space and possibly Outer Pegasi itself.
“Marrakech of Clan Morgan!” booms a voice across the hangar.
I whirl around to face the entrance.
“Solomon Adisa,” I hiss, as the Pirate Lord and a dozen of his henchmen fan out to encircle us and the ship. Just behind them is a hover transport, floating in place and making virtually no noise. So the old lech had been waiting for us.
He grins widely, his arms outstretched. He’s grown fatter since we last met. It seems life without the rivalry of his brother has been good to him. And he has me to thank for that.
“Daughter of Rabat, did you intend to come to our humble palace and leave without so much as gracing us with your presence? Does Pegasi hospitality mean so little to you now?”
I let my overcoat fall open, planting my hands on my hips, close to my weapons.
“Once again, Adisa,” I call back out, “I only come for what is rightly mine.”
“Then once again, you will make an offering worthy of what you ask!” he booms in return, wry amusement in his voice.
I shake my head, noting the position and armament of each of his men, knowing that Idris is doing the same. “Not this time. No warrior-matings, no imperial alliances, no fucking cow’s blood. This ship is mine. I’m taking it back.”
Adisa drops his arms, his tone becoming sly and mocking.
“You are the only thing being taken back, Daughter of Rabat! DeVerre must be missing you. He’s promised a generous bounty for the man who brings you to justice.”
Despite the danger, I grin. “There’s only one man who’s ever brought me any kind of justice, Adisa. And it isn’t you.”
The Crimson Camorra soldiers raise their rifles simultaneously. A stillness descends on the hangar; the only sound being the soft thrumm of Freyja’s systems powering up. Idris and I take measure of the crescent of goons surrounding us, knowing we’re outnumbered and outgunned. I might be able take down three or four, Idris probably twice as many. But with any luck, we won’t need to.
The deathly calm is pierced by a startled cry from within the ship:
“Cherie! Scanners online… Fer-de-Lance incoming!”
I close my eyes, trusting my fate to the Void. Doors will close. But new doors will always open to you.
No sooner than I can draw breath, the hangar is plunged into darkness.
The tell-tale zip-zip-zip of a high-velocity weapon breaks out; in a flash, half of Adisa’s goons have been torn to shreds by ship-class weapons. The survivors are returning fire at whatever is killing them, Adisa himself bolting away for cover. I’m already sprinting back up the ship’s ramp, the thump of Idris’s heavy strides right behind me.
I hammer the ramp’s control pad and fling my overcoat off, barging into the Cobra’s mini-bridge where Apollonia is already starting up the engines. From the canopy we can make out muzzle flashes here and there, but who’s killing or dying is anyone’s guess.
Throwing myself down in the pilot’s seat, I pull hard on the thrusters, raising the ship several meters and breaking the remainder of the tarp cables. I yank the stick back, nosing up sharply and boosting upwards into Chun A 4’s cold, thin atmosphere. A few Taipans are patrolling the space around Fort Crimson, but they can’t stop what’s happening. Only the gods know how many of Adisa’s men make it out alive.
It’s only when we leave orbit and go to supercruise that it feels safe to breath again. Apollonia still trembles, glancing over at me from her co-pilot’s seat. Idris remains standing, holding an emergency handle to steady himself against the ship’s acceleration.
The waif’s eyes widen as she looks behind us. “The Fer-de-Lance… was it… her?”
The ship’s display indicates an incoming message and the answer to her question. I open the channel to a congenial face with a cocky smile, a peculiar mix of relief and anger washing over me. I’m relieved to have had the man’s help. I’m angry that I needed it in the first place.
“Well, that’s a new one,” beams Captain Phisto Sobanii, “I’ve never rescued a pirate princess in distress before!”