| abstract
| - Niskra Bridge The bridge is more spacious than the rest of the ship. The wall panels are a dark green color, matching the color of the floor. The command chair dominates the center of the bridge. It's a large full-body acceleration couch and looks suspiciously like a converted one-man escape pod. Controls run along two side consoles grafted to the chair, making access to the ship's systems within easy reach. A large dull yellow spotlight calls attention to the command chair, highlighting it in soft light. It overlooks a bank of consoles, each also appearing to be refurbished escape pods. These chairs have a single wrap-around terminal console. A steady red glow radiates from the consoles. A single reinforced bulkhead is mounted on the aft wall, providing access to the rest of the ship. The captain of the Shining Albatross stands at the communications console, palms resting on either side of the controls while he speaks into the transmitter. "Acknowledged. We'll be awaiting the transmission. Albatross out." The pilot ducks in, her top hat canted at a rakish angle. Her aura flickers orange, and she glances at the console in mild surprise. "Some'in' up, Cap'ain?" Haddon Maury flicks off the comm. "His confidence shall be rooted out of his tabernacle, and it shall bring him to the king of terrors." He frowns, then looks toward the arriving Vollistan. "Mister Finicky. That was one of Lord Fagin's minions calling. Change of plans. Seems he doesn't want us aboard the blimp itself. He just wants to hold a remote meeting. Apparently, he thinks there might be some reason to distrust us." Mister F's golden eyes go terribly wide, and she puts her fingertips to her cheeks. Mouth slack, she says, "oh, m'. Wha' ever reason coul'ere be?" Her aura sours to acid green, and she drops the pose and wanders closer. "For the king knoweth of these things, before whom also I speak freely: for I am persuaded that none of these things are hidden from him; for this thing was not done in a corner," the captain answers with a sigh, straightening and perusing the communications console with a baleful but expectant gaze. "The upside of this: Makes it less likely one of you flametongues gets yourself killed just for looking at him screw-eyed. Neidermeyer's not as patient ... not as tolerant ... as I am." Closer, and into the command chair. Folding herself artfully into it, the Vollistan looks up through her transparently white eyelashes, still crackling with acid-green light. "Are you ausin' me of no' deferrin'o my su'eriors, Cap'ain?" she asks pointedly. The captain turns, eyebrow arching as he spies the pilot perched in the command chair. "Take good hold of instruction and don't let her go, keep her for she is your life," Haddon says, shaking his head with a wry smirk. "I worry less about you than I do about Kether or Gore. Those two would end up dead, mark my words." "Migh' as well finalise'e fac', ra'er'an le'em run around thi'in'ey're alive," Mister F opines casually enough, waving a hand dismissively. "Ne'er saw any use for 'ore anyhow." Mister F, all lit in acid-green, reclines photogenically in the command chair. Haddon Maury stands near the communications console, facing Mister F, arms crossed. Sohaeyz walks in, stretching arms overhead, and giving a yawn. "What's up, guys?" Haddon Maury nods bluntly at Mister F, then gazes toward the incoming Sohaeyz. "Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble; Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is," he says, and then concludes: "Waiting for a call from Lord Fa..." Just as the comm console pings its proclamation of an incoming transmission. He turns, checks the source format, nods slowly and then switches on the holographic array. A rectangular image materializes in the middle of the bridge, showing the upper torso of a man in a gray suit, with a thick neck and a bit of his chin. "Albatross here. Captain Maury speaking." Mister F only got as far as opening her mouth to speak; with a flicker that fades her aura into invisibility she closes it again and stretches an arm out towards the Timonae, beckining. Her eyes find the screen, and stay there. "Right, let me get to the fucking point, because there's some pantywaist motherfucker who's about to get his brains plastered on my wall," Lord Fagin says. "Volari's dead. His ship got pretty well reamed at Phyrria. But what's left got taken planetside by the mechies and I need something from the wreckage. You're going after it." As Maury hears the destination revealed, his eyes narrow and starts opening his mouth to speak. He pauses, though, and then composes himself fully before clasping his fingers behind his back and saying, "Phyrria is now surrounded by a massive fleet and they've gone to what amounts to war footing, Lord Fagin." "Yeah," Fagin concurs. "So, you better be fucking subtle about it." Mister F curls her fingertips again at Sohaeyz, but absently, both her aura and her face under relatively tight control. The curiosity in her eyes shines nearly as bright as any luminescence, however. "Subtle," the captain repeats, nodding acknowledgement. He stares rather flatly at the image, as if pondering whether to truly speak his mind. In the end, however, he opts for this route: "So what do we seek and where are they keeping it?" "Big metal crate, labeled 'Strategic Retreat Perishable Goods.' Probably pretty fucking dented up. Got sources tellin' me the crate's kept in a storage center not far from Task Matrix Central. I'll transmit the coordinates. Make it back alive with that fuckin' box and you and your crew get to split a tasty hundred-kay. Get to goddamned work." The holographic image of Lord Fagin fades out. Haddon Maury sighs, shaking his head. "It is better to hear the rebuke of the wise, than for a man to hear the song of fools." Mister F's fingers reverse, the beckon becoming a dismissal. Whether that's why Sohaeyz darts out again is anyone's guess. Regardless, as the screen dies her aura springs back into being, dusky-dark on her skin like old blood. "Phyrria? I ho'e you have a plan, Cap'ain." "And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me." Maury double checks the comm console, makes sure nothing else is incoming, then turns toward Mister F. "No plan yet. But you get the word to everyone else: We make for Phyrria soon as that information comes in. I'm of no mind to keep that man waiting too long while we fret." He wanders toward the hatchway. "I'll be in my quarters. Thinking up a plan." The Vollistan's head turns, following Maury's progress across the bridge. "Shoul' I ge'the 'immie on i'? Phyrrians are 'ompu'er 'ypes, righ'?" "Yeah, why not?" the captain replies absently, stepping out into the corridor. As he goes, Maury says to himself: "For our allotted time is the passing of a shadow, and there is no return from our death, because it is sealed up and no one turns back."
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)