A genre shifting experiment, featuring the Tantalum, and various Althanas characters in a space-opera vignette.
Cataclysmic crack,
Mercury’s rising call,
Slithering tones of metal vigour,
That rise on high and tall.
Engine’s grind and blade’s demand,
The sound of our world flies,
Across the silver screen of air,
Where metal touches skies.
Our world once was so silent,
Yet now rings right with sound,
We make a new world bound in silver,
Which drives nature underground.
The Prima Vista
Last edited by Duffy; 03-22-13 at 10:03 AM.
On time, and in good repair, the trade freighter Prima Vista drifted over the territorial border without fanfare. The crew, in darkness and cold, broke neither stride nor duty to observe the event. There were no welcome messages, no escort, and no congratulations amongst the men. For the fourth time this solar cycle, they simply slipped into the Bad Lands as if nothing had happened. Diving head first into the unknown dangers of the lawless fringes of the galactic empire had become part of the everyday.
“We have entered uncharted Raiaera airspace, captain,” said a young officer. With her task complete, she set about tying her hair back with a simple black clip. Her face immediately broadened, as did her smile.
“Excellent,” the captain replied absent-minded, tired, and troubled.
“What are your orders?” She leant back in her chair, shook it side to side idly, and waited to receive further instruction. Her companion at the foreword console could only role his eyes beneath the auburn fringe of his long, unkempt hair.
“Instruct the chief engineer to activate the combustion drive,” he replied. His ageing features broke into a toothy grin on his tired, worried, and forlorn face. “We should make up for lost time in any way we can.” He pushed himself wearily out of his own seat.
“Aye aye, captain.” She nodded.
“If we miss another shipment, we will not be welcome back at the Brae space port…even if the cost of the fuel for that infernal contraption could bankrupt us on its own.” The price of their technological advances was a sore point with the traditional space faring opinions of the captain. He was from a different generation, a time when space travel could take a lifetime, not a few meagre hours. From the lines of age furrowed into his brow, he had been travelling far too long.
“Yes sir. Will that be all?” she pressed, looking him over as he rose to depart.
“You have the bridge, lieutenant,” was his only response. There was an air of dismissive neglect about him as he made to leave. A wave of excitement and responsibility washed over the young officer, who span on her chair and began to lay out the route of their journey across the ill-chartered region. She instinctively knew the way to their destination.
“The Prima Vista is in safe hands,” she said aloud, though only her colleague heard. She tapped her ear comm and went about following her orders at the same time. Somewhere in the bowls of the ship, a sister comm received the signal, and the channel opened.
The bridge continued to bustle with activity as its captain nodded his farewell. He slipped out of the port bulkhead into an adjacent corridor. They had grown used to his informal ways, and simply learnt to get on with their duties as he came and went. They did not observe militaristic protocol anymore, not since the First Officer had died.
He doubted they would do so again, even if he ordered them.
All the same, this was his ship, no matter their employer, or their hierarchical and beurocracy rules.
Captain Leopold Winchester was a native of the Brae port where she had died. He had taken the news well, part in parcel because of the sheer overwhelming support he received from the people he knew. Extolling tributes aired over the commercial tannoy for months, vigils of silence, remembrance, and celebration for one of their lost daughters. Though the neighbouring territory of Salvar possessed the theocracy, faith and religion itself were strong in the agricultural heart of the empire.
“Death finally did us part,” he whispered, his teeth clashing to drag back the words, lest he be overheard. He had married Ruby Winchester five years prior in a civil service ceremony conducted by missionaries of the Salvar church. For those who could afford both the time and resources to arrange such a clandestine event, the union far outweighed the risk of certain death should they have ever been discovered together.
When the empire had separated its church from its state, its members had fled to Salvar’s embrace. Those who could not afford to move, nor were entitled to do so by birth or office, were forbidden to marry by their employers. The punishment for soliciting funds or titles through religious service was not just severe for those who undertook them. It was catastrophic for several echelons of reach about them too – friends, family, colleagues - even towns vanished without a trace. Ruby and Leopold had to live in secret. They had enjoyed the flexibility and ability to express their love for one another out in cold space. Working the grittier freight between spaceports and frontier mining operations had been the perfect cover.
“You can only hide for so long, though,” he whinnied, his thoughts threatening to consume him once more. She had perished at the end of a rifle, caught with a wedding band, but no trace or thread leading back to which citizen had given it to her. She was off ship at the time, and the example that had been made of the space-port was still ill spoke of in the blacker heart of the freight community.
He felt responsible. He felt angry. He felt like revenge.
He would not get it.
Leopold bemusedly shook his head, dragged his feet, and turned a corner into his office. The transition immediately alarmed him, as he felt no longer cold, sorrowed, and alone. He stared directly ahead at his desk, where the rotating chair usually awaited him. He knew the cushions and its veneer well, and its warm embrace was his comfort in the long hours of the night. “You have got some nerve…,” he said. There was hesitation in his voice, as if he expected a lover, not an assassin.
He clenched his fists tightly. Long years of harsh training and combat on the fringes made him reach instinctively for his pistol holster, which was, in accordance with his own procedures, lacking any form of firearm. The chair rotated slowly, its plush red leather the only real colour and flight of fancy in the meagrely decorated room. Its occupant, much to the captain’s surprise, did not attempt to fight or flight.
“Duffy?” he blinked.
“Who else would it be?” he chirped.
Moustache and thick stubble met with sparkling blue eyes and battle scars. The happy go lucky rogue was notoriously difficult to pin down, invisible unless things were wrong. He never made it easy to find him, but always found himself in the places in the cosmos where his particular brand of magic was required. “I…where the fuck have you been?” Leopold strode towards the desk, moved around it, and waved Duffy out of his chair.
“You asked me to spy on the Orlouge Syndicate, didn’t you?” he replied accursedly, but also with mirth.
“I asked you to report weeks ago,” the captain scolded.
The cold shoulder routine would work on anyone else aboard the Prima Vista, but Duffy was a little more brazen to sidestep aggression. Leopold loathed Duffy’s ability to smile and laugh through every moment. “I am returned from doing just that.” He also lamented his ability to sound so erudite all the time, regardless of form and function.
Somewhere in the bowls of the freighter, there was a rise in activity. The room began to vibrate, as if it were singing in harmony along with an inaudible requiem. The steel bulkhead behind the desk, which closed off the ship’s armoury rattled noisily. Leopold rolled his eyes, turned in the chair, and pointed to the door.
The armoury vault bulkhead was, unnaturally, ever so slightly ajar. Given all Leopold’s worldly wealth was on the other side, he was surprised he had not noticed that first, over Duffy’s tussle of hair and peculiar scent of almonds.
“As well as helping yourself, again,” he clucked. Sure enough, the door began to swing unsteadily open by virtue of vibration and gravity. Its heavy bulk caused the hinges to creak and the crank handle to rotate as the screw bits turned. It spilled its secrets with whispers and promises.
Duffy chuckled. “I returned the fire-arm you allowed me to second with before I left. I have also deposited the ledgers from the Ixian on the data bank. You can trawl through it as and when you please.” He bounced with jubilation in his step and settled leaning against the office’s door frame.
“Hang on…” Leopold pursed his lips.
“Yes?” Duffy asked, smiling even brighter than eve.
Leopold fustily crossed his legs, rested his hairy palms on his lap, and examined his prize spy. His thick leather boots, simple black overalls, and bandoleers gave him the appearance of a well-versed engineer. The fact that they were also laden with mechanical devices and tools that are more traditional highlighted the man’s ability to slip into and out of any locked room. “You got the information from Sei’s flagship?”
Sei Orlouge was the Prima Vista’s rival, the oligarch of the Orlouge conglomerate, and Leopold’s former best friend. They day Leopold had married was the only day they had shortly forgotten just how bitter their enmity was. Sei even went as far as paying for the forged papers that declared them siblings in the eyes of the freight lords. Times had changed, though, and their alliance had fractured. These days, it was the mere thought of his name that caused Leopold the most discomfort above all the horrors of the cold expanse of space.
“Sei is many things,” Duffy smirked, “but he is also far too over confident in his position. All I had to do,” the thief shrugged, “was pretend to be an old friend.” The details of his encounter aboard the Ixian would never be information Leopold was partial too.
“I will get back to you once I’ve had time to review the data,” he sighed. “It is good to see you back safely, though.” The undignified manner in which Leopold dropped his gaze, began to sort deposited files, and faded from the world told Duffy all he needed to know. For a moment, the spy felt a little pang of self-doubt.
It did not lose its potency for many hours.
“All’s well,” he nodded glumly, his traditional parting words echoed hollow in the office. He turned on a sharp heel, and left.
It did not take long for the sound of his heavy boots echoing down the hallway to take on a life of their own. Ever since he had returned to the ship, every footstep he had made had been greeted with suspicion, indifference, and loathing. Duffy could not help but feel unwelcome in his own home. He was always be seen as an outsider, having come into his position, and onto the crew last of all the veterans of the Winchester Rose Authority.
“…Even if it doesn’t end well…” he continued, the favourite line of his favourite space opera giving him strength in the dark light of the corridor.
For it to have been worse can only mean, his success and growing adoration in Leopold’s eyes, at least, was the source of much jealousy. He sighed as he ran up a fire escape, his hobnails clattering on the mesh grates, hands running up the cold rails like digits tickling exquisite jewels.
“I can hear you coming from a bloody mile off!” a voice cried. Duffy froze. He was quite alarmed until he recognised the speaker, and then his muscles relaxed, and he eased off his hidden dagger.
“You’re far from the grease, monkey,” he chuckled, eyes glinting in the twilight of the engine quadrant. He saw through the plumes of steam an all too familiar figure.
“But now I’m too near you,” she replied with lightning wit.
“Where are you off too?” he raised an eyebrow, folded his arms across his chest, and took to a cocksure stance a few steps away from levelling out onto the gang walk.
“Well,” the woman said, stepping out into clear view with swagger and style and far too much enjoyment, “I heard they’d found a space monster and brought it aboard.” She pointed at Duffy’s chest, “I had to come and see it for myself.”
He raised a charismatic eyebrow. “Lillith, I’m flattered, but as you can see, there’s no monster…just me,” he sighed dramatically.
“That remains to be seen,” she replied smarmily.
He blew a raspberry, which broke the unease, and then caused a momentary silence.
“…In all seriousness, I heard you’d returned. We need to talk,” she jabbed a finger over her shoulder. “Come with me to the engine room. With a voice like yours, we need to make sure we won’t be overheard.” She turned and disappeared into the sea of steam before Duffy could object.
The game was on.
In the first few weeks of his arrival on the freighter, Lillith had been the one shining ray of hope amongst a grim crowd of blinding lights. Only she had given Duffy the time of day, and their position at the very bottom of the social hierarchy, even if they were at the very top in terms of importance to the ship, had been a spark of friendship. As it turned out, they were both from Scara Brae, which was the territorial region that surrounded and connected by the Brae spaceport. Their close proximity had only served to strengthen their bond, their tall tales about running wild through the farmsteads the glue that kept them together.
“You have me worried, I must say,” he roared over the sound of the engines. Getting Duffy in any state of agitation was something only the engineer had managed. At least, only she had managed to do without meeting a swift, mysterious end.
Indifferent to his concern, Lillith wove her way through steam pipes, exhaust vents, and control panels. Every so often, as if her work was part of her, she adjusted a switchboard, slipped out a ratchet from her belt and tweaked a valve, and wiped down a handrail that had gotten greasy. Duffy watched her, enthralled by her efficiency, even though the back of his mind was a contrasting web of chaos and disorganisation. It had been a long cycle, and his mind sorely needed two things; alcohol, and a damned good night’s sleep.
Last edited by Duffy; 03-22-13 at 10:11 AM.
"Are you going to tell me what this about?” he roared again, skipping ahead of her so she could see him shrug. She shook her head, pushed him gently to one side, and descended a stairwell into the under croft – the last series of tunnels before the innards of the Prima Vista expanded into its heart – the engine room itself.
“Not yet!” she said, finally.
A few seconds later, after Lillith made sure the door locked, she turned and slouched. Duffy watched the colour visibly drain from her cheeks.
“It’s Leopold,” she said, her tone anything but excited.
Duffy knew this tone all too well.
“What about Leopold?” Duffy rested his hands on his hips. He watched her busily tend to the panel on the railings beneath the engine’s core and cocked his head. “What happened whilst I was away?” Despite the fact that the question itself could have invited a thousand disasters, he asked anyway.
“Well…”
“Lillith…you can trust me.”
She slammed her fists down onto the panel. It bleeped unresponsively, as if it were proclaiming its objections with digital chimes. The core whirred on, indifferent to the drama below.
“He can’t let her go…” Lillith clenched her fists, dragged them down coarsely over the keys, and pushed her knuckles into the wire mesh that covered the panel’s circuitry.
“Stop it…” he said, nervously, and with a slight step forwards. He reached out a hand, but did not quite intervene.
She stopped only when her skin was a hair’s breadth from being red raw.
“I…”
“In your own time…” he whispered.
The pain, from the whimper, seemed to help her control her anger. Whatever had occurred in his absence, it had brought tensions to the forefront of everyone’s mind. He started to understand the stares, the silence, and the suspicions. He felt blamed for their captain’s apathy. They were like brothers, after all, and when one brother went missing…the other lamented it.
“It’s nearly the anniversary…he’s acting reckless…he’s,” she turned, glared at her companion, and pulled a small hand held panel from her belt pouch, “taken on a Rucker.”
Duffy hissed.
“Shit,” was all he could muster.
The term Rucker was almost a curse word amongst the traders of the republic. It meant, plainly and simply, a black market supply run. Companies in a crisis turned to less reputable sources to deliver a Rucker. You took on a legitimate cargo, no doubt laced with contraband, and delivered it. You were never supposed to investigate what you were carrying, so you remained relatively complacent to the illegality of the true load you carried.
“That is a massive understatement,” she said bluntly.
“That’s pretty serious,” he replied flatly. He reached into his right pocket and pulled out a hip flask. “Do you have any proof?” he asked, as he flipped the lid and downed the dregs of the fiery liquor. It was engine room brewed whiskey. Filtered through iridium cores of the burnt out thrusters they had used before recent good fortunes had allowed them to upgrade.
Last edited by Duffy; 03-22-13 at 10:11 AM.
“Can I?” Lillith pointed at the flask. He shook it, and shrugged. “Thanks,” she said, when she took it, and drained its last dregs, and handed it back.
Duffy pocketed it. “I mean, I believe you, but acting on belief with nothing more than blind faith leads to…” he shrugged. “Well, it leads to taking on a Rucker.”
Lillith nodded wearily. She held out the panel at arm’s length and gestured for Duffy to take it.
“This is a cargo manifest…,” the thief confirmed. His voice quivered, part through the strain of his growing intoxication, and part through the realisation he was breaking several laws looking at the contents of the hold. “It doesn’t look like there’s anything blatantly wrong with it, either.” He keened his gaze over the three dimensional imagery. It formed a flickering blue image of the upper hangar, and as Duffy entered a command, it zoomed in. The data stream displayed the dimensions of each crate and its contents at blistering speed.
“Look at the upper right load, the crates that make up the cargo from The Company.” She reached for the console to steady herself as the whiskey hit her nerves. Built with a smaller frame than the thief, and less of a stomach for anything stronger than rice wine, she rasped and pulled a face.
“Ah, yes, now I see…” he smiled at her discomfort. Once, he would have scolded her, but whatever had happened over the course of his absence, she clearly needed it.
It took Duffy a few seconds to locate the cargo, and a few minutes more before he saw the exact discrepancy in the data.
“You’re seeing X-245, then?” Lillith enquired. Duffy glanced up at her, as if to say ‘why didn’t you just tell me that?’
One of the crates brought onto the ship in Rayse’s name displayed a smaller dimension than was visible. In simple terms, it meant the crate was not holding something as heavy as it should have been. Only observant cargo masters would have noticed an error. Only those few individuals that knew about a Rucker would have acted.
“If it’s from Rayse, Lillith, then I daresay we can guess what’s in that crate.” He tapped the panel again to bring up the individual data for crate X-245. “Of all the fucking people to run a Rucker with…” he shook his head.
“Something unsavoury…” she clarified.
“Not just unsavoury, but utterly toxic,” he nodded in agreement.
Rayse was the leader of The Company and a notorious arms dealer that brokered exchanges on the open market between rebel forces, private businesspersons, and smaller fringe planetary security forces. If you needed weapons or protection from the government and could not get them, then you went to him. What him more despicable was the fact the authorities knew about it, down to the location of his base of operations. They were, however, entirely powerless to stop him. He was part of the rotten woodwork of the chartered space authority.
Last edited by Duffy; 03-22-13 at 10:11 AM.
“It makes me wonder what sort of trouble Leopold is in, to be so closely connected to somebody so dangerous.” Lillith’s voice sounded feeble, weak, and humble. Duffy’s experience with the dark, the dreary, and the morally corrupted gave Lillith hope she could get answers. He gave her hope that there was still time to right his wrongs.
“If I understand these sorts of deals well enough, Leopold will be under strict instruction not to open the crate. He will be clueless as to what’s in it.” Duffy nodded, agreeing with his own logic. He handed the console back, and then stared up into the rafters of the engine room. Steam always gathered in the aerie where the servitor drones slept, and Duffy always found piece in the immensity of the space, when the rest of the ship offered only cramped misery.
Lillith turned for a moment, hammered her orders onto the main console, and then turned back. She had a quizzical look on her face, one that leant heavily on Duffy’s mind when he noticed she was staring at him.
“You are not thinking about doing what I think you’re thinking about doing…are you?” she sighed.
Duffy nodded. “Of course I am.”
“Duffy…”
“I’ve made up my mind, Lillith. Leopold would do the same for me, if he ever saw me in need of a little…economical support.” He smirked. Lillith did not want to press him for further details. What those two men got up to afterhours likely rivalled the most explosive spy thrillers in the galaxy. Leopold, after all, had been a spy too, long ago.
“Then I assume I never have to tell you that if he ever finds out you contradicted an order…” she paused hesitantly, “or if Rayse finds out you dared to challenge him,” she shook her head, “your ability to fade into the shadows will not save you.” Duffy knew that by that, she meant there would be no ship in the galaxy that could offer him sanctuary. He knew this very well, but if they did nothing, the whole of the Prima Vista would suffer.
“Leopold won’t find out.” Duffy’s tone suggested he was sincere. Lillith had to scrutinise every inch of his face, every crow’s foot, and every painful sign of age to believe him. “I will check it myself, and do all I can to dampen the fallout of the good captain’s human weakness.”
The he could deal with Rayse later. Nobody messed with Duffy’s family.
Whatever Lillith had instructed the engine to do, it finally responded. The long cylinder backdrop broke into a low rumble, which grew swiftly into a vibrating calamity. The noise quickly occupied every part of the engine room, and the light from the crack that ran down the shaft’s length acted like a lighthouse beacon. Every few seconds it rotated, and both occupants of the chamber had to cowl their eyes with cupped hands.
Last edited by Duffy; 03-22-13 at 10:12 AM.
“Was there anything else?” Duffy roared, his question timed to slip between the combustion core’s rotations. Lillith shook her head. “Then I’ll see you at dinner, Chief!” he continued, reaching out to hand her back the panel. She took it, and then whelped with drowned surprise when he swooped in to hug her. Before she could object, he was ambling up the stairs and out the door.
“That was…odd,” she whispered, taken aback by his show of affection. Though friendly, he was also remote, stoic, and officious. She had never seen him go beyond his own personal boundary.
She returned to work, and so too did the engines, purring away in the silence of space.
It did not take long for Duffy to find himself before the hangar bay doors. He practically ran from the Engine Room, along the corridors, and up through the central stairwell to the cargo hub. Its entrance was a portcullis of fortune. They were monstrous, compared to the other exits and entrances of the ship, and they remained exclusively found locked. Only the quartermaster and his approved staff ever got the opportunity to walk in and out of the heart of the trading vessel without suffering the consequences.
“Good fortune,” he said, his quirky catch phrase serving as an uplifting primer against the stark reality of what he was about to do. He held up his right hand, palm to his face, and clenched it tightly into a fist. The muscles in his forearm rippled beneath battle-weary skin, and he pulled down his sleeve to the elbow with his left hand. “A.R.I.A, activate synergy shield.”
Fortunately, for Duffy, he was one of the approved.
Many believed that Duffy’s ability to sneak into and out of a room came down to his talent with lock picks, oration, and agility.
“Initiative override protocol Beinost.” He said flatly. He felt a tingle run down his spine as implants called out to the ship’s mainframe.
They believed he had a myth like quality about him. In reality, he simply utilised a highly advanced harmonium based phase resonator – Active Reality Inversion Audio. It was an experimental piece of technology designed by the Auditorium, a group of like-minded individuals whose agenda saw to the relative stability between the trading corporations. It was the one redeeming feature in a weak repertoire of acquisitions and attributes he relied upon to survive in a harsh and unforgiving arena.
“Systems active as requested,” the artificial intelligence replied, a tinny voice echoing in Duffy’s ear. Only he heard the A.R.I.A, and only he smiled in response. It was a comforting friend in dark times.
“Thank you Ari,” he said softly.
The artificial intelligence purred in his comm. Its nickname brought it electronic satisfaction.
He stepped forwards when the flickering ribbons of blue light ceased their spiralling. Covered by the mechanism’s force field, he slipped through the thick bulwark of the hangar bay doors and emerged on the far side, transparent, ghost-like, and brandishing a grin like a drifter’s blade. “Thank you Lillith,” he added, spying the pile of crates that were his target on the far side of the lower floor.
His spine stopped tingling. His voice stopped singing in the distant networks of the Auditorium.
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