Reapers Passage [Fan Fiction] Chapters 0-121 (story arc completed Mon 14th Apr 08)

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 79 - Unleashing the Big Guns

‘I hope you know what you are doing’, roared Amon through loud battlefield speakers after clanking out from the cargo lift in a truly menacing machine that was once poorly categorised as a piece of Super Heavy Powered Personal Battle Armour (circa the late Boron Campaign). In truth the ground walking hulk of a mechanised infantry device was very outdated, but arguably all the more impressive for that. Later developments being not really much more powerful just a lot less massive (In fact the latest designs were proper suits of protective armour not lone operated walking vehicles) as such they were more: subtle, manoeuvrable, even in some instances with the most advanced tech (including material used on rare occasion by the LoD) almost stealthy. Being inconspicuous was one attribute no one would apply to this particularly - dated - gargantuan engine of war.

In the driving seat the Grey wolf Leader became a towering one Argon agent of destruction the whole thing being almost three and one half meters tall and in places about two wide and no less thick. Since Amon had got conscripted in the Legion the gear just seemed to keep getting bigger but this retro affair with its massive mechanical arms and legs was something else! Sealed within a cocoon like internal nest to the vehicles(?) rear Amon was entirely encased and hidden from view, his vision supplied by external free roaming cameras and a peculiarly low tech mechanical periscope style device that could look all around and up and down.

The Argon MkII Spearhead Striker was covered in multiple layers of armoured protection including some outer brutally think plates (some of which were alarmingly designed to explode away if struck in turn by explosive shells) and then there was the added weapons: grenade launcher, flame thrower, rotary cannon and so on. All in all a most impressive collection of ironmongery that Jon had helped link, attach and strap about the stocky contraption - again almost all this firepower was - ponderous somewhat old but still imposing - and very much in working order despite the far from odd bit of flaky paint or rust. The wear and tear surprisingly only added to the vicious - don‘t fek with me because I‘m not here for decoration - impudence of the rather base technology.

‘Trust me the Split don’t know the meaning of the word understated‘, explained Jon, ‘besides they have history with this one that works in our favour. Are you comfortable?’

‘Surprisingly so’, replied Amon, ‘its actually quite intuitive to use too.’

‘I know, ArgonForge always claimed it was idiot proof - given the calibre of some of the troops it was issued too - that was just as well’, said the ex(?) smuggler, ‘The Urban Wreckers, for example: total nutcases pumped up on combat drugs. I seem to recall they tended to be deployed as front line assault troops against dug in Split forces that simply refused to accept surrender. Holding forces that fought to the last warrior upon otherwise repatriated former Boron colonies. It was bloody carnage!’

‘The hard end of the Boron Campaign, I guess that explains the rust’, said Amon.

‘I believe there was a fully amphibious Boron version as well, but this isn’t it’, noted Jon, ‘well you wouldn’t fit in the cockpit of that one - our allies only. Anyway despite the general perception not every Boron settled planet was or is a water world.’

As if I didn’t know that, thought Amon, Jon was really annoying when he started lecturing which was - mostly - any time he bothered to speak to his inferior at all. The way the LoD operative ranted on sometimes you would think he was the only one in the force with any - real - experience of the wider universe, it was insulting.

‘Just act dumb and be menacing’, said Jon smirking.

‘I know the big wolf on the short leash routine… again’, replied Amon.

‘That’s it stomp around and point your guns at any Split that shows too much attitude they’ll love it’, said Jon as if stating the obvious, ‘we want them to think we are all overt and brash and not much else. You know the types - Freelance hot head Pirate / Mercenary partners willing to turn their hand to anything for a fast credit always just a step away from a fatal fall - surviving more by luck and audacity than reasoning and grey matter! As usual just happening to accidentally hit the nail on the head this time it was to be slaves next who knows maybe a heist or a kidnapping or a murder whatever opportunity provides and pays well enough. I’ll do the talking.’

No surprise there, thought Amon, while Jon mightn’t like talking too much to his perceived underlings (beyond lectures) the old smuggler certainly enjoyed weaving fictions to the universe in general. The Wolf Squad Leader despite having little desire to hold Jon in any esteem whatsoever was reluctantly impressed at how well the entirely average looking fellow could shift and change when playing a role. Jon had a way with deception, improvisation and the occasional bit of fast talking.

‘You sure this thing is legal here?’ asked Amon watching an open topped ground skimming vehicle quickly approaching from the spaceports (was it the odd light of the sun or the material itself?) red metal building complex. The lightly armoured vehicle looked full of what appeared suspiciously like angry Split Troopers. Well the angry bit was something of an educated guess by the ex Pirate after all when didn’t Split Troopers look angry? From Amon’s limited Split experience Split especially the ones in uniform contrived to look unhappy even in their sleep, then again all their smiles were turned upside down (that is in relation to Argon facial expressions) this fact Amon felt sure must have caused a brief period of confusion when the two races had first met - at least until guns were drawn shots fired and any questions of overall demeanour permanently settled! Basically one might say the Split were grumpy and generally ill disposed to civil company (at least until they are made dead at which point - ignoring the odour - they make passing reasonable if rather quiet guests).

‘It’s just a show of strength, a formality’, assured Jon with calm confidence.

‘I really hope so’, growled the giant machine from its hellishly - loud - speakers.

In the end Jon proved correct it would seem even Split could do business, and they did seem to take an odd shine to The Striker. From what Amon could piece together bringing along such an impressive bodyguard made the Split feel all warm and cuddly as in - suitably feared and respected - and this… ‘Split like!’

To show what Amon at first took to be a little respect in return - they were allocated a not too embarrassing number of less bulkily armoured Split guards - these briskly marched them to another somewhat larger flat topped self propelled sled. That vehicle being brought in specifically to address their transit needs. Once Amon had carefully boarded via a slightly wobbly suspensor supported ramp in his formidable historic machine followed by Jon, and when their new found retinue were all nicely settled the flat top rose up slightly to its standard operating elevation and moved steadily off with a gentle hum. Amon noticed there was no obvious sled driver looking back the Wolf couldn’t help but wonder was it wise to leave the merchandise (slaves) behind on the ship, never mind the actual Caiman itself utterly unguarded beyond the security systems of the to his mind odd computer AI called Sly. The two Argons destination was to be the outer warrens of the local Rhonkar Families Fortress a towering construction visible even from this distance as a shadowy domineering mass not unlike a Castle from some incredibly ancient bit of prehistory, but the route the sled took to this monstrosity was - they soon learned - to be anything but direct.

Much to Amon’s surprise the whole affair became something of a cavalcade along a series of very straight roads a parade up and down and very much around the local population centre. The show included several other military vehicles that arrived to tag along including a few pristine looking tanks. A great deal of Split public address system chatter spewed forth in their own tongue and some noise commenced to erupt all around from hastily gathering thongs of seemingly enthusiastic roadside admirers mixed with Amon noted a number of supporting military personnel. The Wolf wasn’t entirely sure if the sounds that issued from the Splits throats were cheers or jeers or both. Jon was making a big issue of surprise at this turn of events which made Amon doubt this with all his heart knowing Jon was more than capable of hiding his emotions with consummate ease, unless it was a deliberate double bluff.

For his own part Amon spent the trip taking in the strange scene via periscope. The city didn’t look too unique to any other the ex Pirate had ever ventured through save it was a little more martial with many flags and pennants displaying family and race markings alongside huge electronic billboards - which instead of demonstrating the latest consumer products - showed the baleful Patriarch of all the Split and various military parades and other shows of force including seemingly endless Space Navy flybys he suspected computer doctored to increase fleet numbers. A few screens to Amon’s ill ease altered to display various views of his own vehicle followed by compilations of what looked like real carnage from the Boron Campaign many of which featured similar weaponry in action against the Split - the Legion draftee hoped that wasn’t a bad omen! Otherwise looking at the populace it wasn’t difficult to spot a massive dichotomy in the race absent in Argon territory. The proud upstanding largely unhurried fierce and free Split and the eye down slightly hunched and ever rushing or shuffling slaves and low class servants.

Finally bored with the repetition of the streets Amon took to waving his weapons around to mockingly menace the voyeurs - this seemed to go down pretty well too. The Split were an odd race without doubt. Amon began to wonder just what Jon was / would be scheming / scheme up with the Striker now. The Grey Wolf Leader hated working with a superior that kept him out of the loop that was something that often infuriated him with Jorac.



On another planet a battered UDRIVE Argon Road Master big wheeled truck pulled into a parking area outside a typical warehouse in a typically dismally lit water dockside region of the rather uninspiring Beachhead City on Aladna Hill. After using his computer pad to electronically open the door and deactivate the exceptionally deadly security system Tur Ryn rolled into one of his Havens. How odd it felt to be back home at this place of rebirth?

Everything he needed was here including automatic loaders supplies power and deep down in a hidden cellar (he had long ago excavated himself) the alien Ego Capture and Cerebral Enhancement Implantation Device lay. Leaving his guests on the truck in stasis Tur closed the doors and reactivated the outer security grid before uncovering the entrance to the hatch and letting himself in with a series of alpha numeric data streams.

Dim lights sprung on as he made his way down the short ladder and closed the hatch. Before him stretched the kill zone: a corridor whose sole purpose was to eliminate intruders. Negotiating this Tur entered another series of even more tortuous codes before cracking the final hatch and gaining egress to his laboratory. It was a nervy moment despite the original young Tur’s stolen memories confirming the expected - it was good to see with real eyes - that nothing untoward had happened since his absence nothing accidentally or on purpose damaged, destroyed or stolen despite the back up data.

Checking the skullcap mechanism of the CEID first Tur frowned. It had been redesigned for use upon Argon anatomy as such it was going to be a bit hit and miss with the floaters. It was possible he would have to brush up on his electronics and design and build a Boron shaped modified device. Well he had the workshops here for this sort of thing and should still have plenty of spare components - he hoped. At least he had brought along two subjects but that didn’t really leave much room for error. It would be a shame if the Boron’s failed to get past the very dull first stage of the experiment. Despite a growing enthusiasm the Devil activated his rather bulky old mainline computer powered up a series of screens settled down into his suspensor field mobile chair and commenced to review the stolen project. It wouldn’t do to crash and burn just because he was impatient to see the potential result.



A common enough saying these days was ‘That in space everything happens faster’ having watched AFC 4 being took apart and rebuilt the almost ex ArgonForge Four Administrator had to agree. So here he was a mere thirteen stations cycles after the attack and about to depart for a very short trip to the (at least on paper) improved weapons forge complex. Gregor had heard the changes where already causing all manner of unexpected setbacks and glitches with full production likely to be some way off. Luckily weathering the storm of running the new upgrades in wouldn’t be his problem to solve.

‘Feeling nervous?’ asked Jollo noticing that Gregor was a bit fidgety.

‘Actually yes’, replied Gregor surprised at both the feeling and the confession.

‘Well today puts an official seal on events’, said the Vice President, ‘last chance to change your mind. Although Braudel would be most disappointed at a wasted trip.’

‘I think we both know its really already past the point of any return. I’m pretty sure I’ve picked the right time to move on anyway’, said Gregor feeling this deep down in the marrow of his bones. Actually, he thought, it was more like the right time had very forcefully picked him, but in the end it amounted to pretty much the same thing.

‘Here comes our honour guard’, said Jollo as Carl arrived along with a parade of polished AF Security personnel in smart double file, ‘would you say marriage agrees with him?’

‘I wouldn’t care to comment’, said Gregor slightly ruffled he still felt… cheated!

‘So politic already’, returned Jollo laughing knowing Gregor had not been without his own interest in his rather remarkable ex Personal Assistant. Gregor however was probably luckier than he imagined. The AF VP suspected Anna would prove a little too spirited and controversial to make a good politicians wife for example: That crazy publicity stunt, never mind this latest bizarrely rapid decision to marry Carl was worrisome! Clearly something was going on with Professor Anna Dei (she had elected to keep her own surname) that Jollo had missed or the stress of recent events had finally started hitting home with a vengeance. The fact that people often pursued the normal and banal during extraordinary periods of upheaval might explain it.

‘Good there is our little star Ghia, I was beginning to get worried’, confessed Jollo, as the newly promoted Helmsman (we really should reconsider that title thought the VP), just in time to start boarding, rushed over to join them! Jollo hoped that rapid promotion was a good idea and would not put too much pressure on the young females shoulders. The VP was a bit touchy on that subject at the moment.

Jollo had no desire to break the girl just for a bit of positive - new recruit makes good - media coverage. Still everything should be fine. Jollo had arranged for plenty of additional support and tuition until Ghia felt truly comfortable in her new position. Most cycles the Helmsman’s job was almost just a managerial formality anyway - babysitting the decisions made by the various routines of the Integrated Complex Computer System - Ghia would have to be very unlucky to suffer another major crisis in her early career, Gregor’s and his own generous judgment should be safe enough!

Ghia just smiled a little apologetically and fell into the group.

Gregor wondered why they didn’t just GTD over in one go, but he supposed their was something a little more dramatic about arriving by ship. Perhaps it was down to Anna, after all she had managed to pull off another coup by convincing Jollo to let her use one of her Reaper Jump Liners to ferry them from the Carrier over to the station after a short flyby. The Reaper Beta not the already considered by some - ill fated - Reaper Alpha or RA. Garrin himself was piloting, Anna sitting in on co, with Rav personally overseeing the ships security. They would also have a very unnecessary but impressive escort of navy m3 nova and m4 buster fighters.

After transporting into the Argon Express class TP the party settled down with soft drinks and some instrumental music to enjoy the brief cruise around the outside of the new complex. AFC 4 to the uneducated eye appeared pretty much as it had done before the attack had blighted its good looks, but Gregor noticed several small and a few larger external differences that intrigued him. AFC 4’s current master also noted his Corporation had installed three laser towers around the forge. The defensive weapons looked impressive but the departing Administrator knew they were just there to boost morale - all show and little effective force - it was very doubtful these weapons had they been installed would have stopped for example: the deadly strike of The Hammer and thus saved the Harbour Tower West from its horrifying annihilation.

Jollo was a little surprised at how smooth the flight was proving the M5 courier handled the heavier TP pretty well making good use of strafe to glide around the complex in a very satisfyingly graceful manner. The AF VP started to relax - earlier he had been plagued with a slight premonition of disaster - maybe brought on by late consideration of the ships moniker and the Hammer crisis. However, nothing strange happened beyond a few glowing space flies racing past to the passengers general delight - these creatures being viewed as a good omen (Jollo wasn’t as impressed, he knew the truth that a few crate loads of Navy confiscated creatures had been released here just to create a hoped for sighting - given the numbers involved two seemed like a poor showing - he hoped the others hadn‘t gone splat nearby!) Lost in such morbid thoughts Jollo hardly noticed as they slipping in past the open bay door and came to rest on a pad before the tractor engaged to haul them into a quickly sealed and pressurised inner bay.

There was some time to waste while the reception committee congregated so Jollo found himself drifting off once more. The VP was glad he had been able to help the newly Married Anna by giving her this little bit of free - respectable - publicity even if The Grim Reaper and His Multitude Of Victims Ball plus the Reaper Riot had proved a serious embarrassment to AF at the time. The Hammer had helped put that stunt into some focus (compared to two hundred and seventy eight dead in the Harbour Tower West alone what consequence was a large brawl resulting in little worse than a few broken bones).

The names of every Argon killed in HTW (already old statistics to many) plus those killed elsewhere on the complex would be recorded permanently on the new ArgonForge Four at a central and several smaller memorial sites. Jollo hadn’t lost anyone he was especially close to but knew of many who had including the AFC 4 Administrator Gregor, so far his departing kinsman had shown no sign of strain but Jollo knew that not having an instant reaction - didn‘t mean much! Beyond the greater irredeemable tragedy of the slain from the Hammer the VP had vowed to do what he could while the event itself was still sharp enough to force some benevolent movement from his wider corporation.

AF might still make good on a personal level to the survivors especially those to whom it owed a specific debt of gratitude such as Anna. The Professor had clearly been dumped in the deep end left in the clutches of such unscrupulous agents as Fay and Sven. Jollo even felt responsible on some level for Emma Dei, he wasn’t proud of the way matters had been handled, however, no one could have anticipated Febr’s sudden antipathy to his own pet project, besides life simply wasn‘t fair or just. Many would think their VP had gone soft when he returned to Argon Prime, but they hadn’t seen the frozen bodies and the corpses that had all but broken Mynae Fallon. Or felt the complex shake beneath them and been filled with an inner fear that they might never see their wife and family again.

Jollo was on medication, he had been fine during the whole situation, but afterwards sitting alone in his cabin in The Lost For Words at one point the ANI agent had started shaking uncontrollably. At first he had felt ashamed accounting it weakness but having received some counselling since he had come to terms with it a little. Prior to this experience the VP had thought of himself as cold steel a tough and cool customer - still he wasn‘t getting any younger either.



‘Sweet’, said Garrin as the Reaper Jump Liner beta nestled into dock.

‘Looking for a new career opportunity?’ asked Anna.

‘No thanks’, replied G, ’how long do you think it will take this legal nonsense to settle. I can’t believe the navy have impounded My Reaper’, he sulked.

‘That will teach you in future - to do a runner when you have the chance - instead of just getting drunk and disorderly’, said Ravn.

To this Garrin just gave Rav a sour look.

‘Now if you go AWOL it will hit your finances big time’, continued the Chief grinning, ‘maybe the powers would let you make specific ferry flights with a minder - better than nothing!’

‘I hate this steaming pile of Argnu droppings’, noted G.

‘Free your mind. Confinement is as much psychology as reality. Even if you didn’t plan to go anywhere and are happy enough as soon as someone tells you that actually you’re - not allowed to leave - it becomes an issue. Trust me Argon are contrary that way! Just tell yourself you are happy to stay for a spell’, said Rav.

‘Call it what you like I’ve always come and gone as I pleased. How can they blame me for what GR did I wasn’t even operating the damn thing’, said G sulkily, ‘you know I had something of a premonition about that one the first time it got mouthy.’

‘I didn’t know you were psychic Garrin that would have come in very handy’, said Anna teasingly.

‘Hey, what’s this… kick the courier while he’s down time?’ questioned the pilot.

‘I wonder what has happened to my Office Home?’ said Anna.

‘Will Carl be moving in with you?’ questioned Garrin.

‘I suppose so’, replied Anna, ‘I guess I have more space.’

‘Do I get to charge him rent then’, said G mocking.

‘Hmmm I guess a lot of things will need to be clarified’, said Anna.

‘I was only joking’, replied G.

‘I know that’, said Anna slightly off, ‘that wasn’t what I was talking about - just with so much going on - I guess some obvious things have been rather overlooked’, she finished a little worriedly.

‘Everything will straighten out in time’, said Ravn pretty forcefully.

If only uttering such statements could make it happen, thought the Professor.

‘Guess I’m rubbing everyone up the wrong way at the moment’, mumbled G.

‘Did I miss something?’ asked Carl poking his head and shoulders in to the flight deck.

‘Not a lot’, replied the Pilot, ‘just the fallout of a morose homecoming.’

‘Right… OK… I think. I believe everything is just about ready to go. I’ll see you all a bit later when things get a little less ArgonForge formal. Please no riots this cycle’ said Carl winking at his wife.

‘I promise to control myself until you get off duty’, replied Anna.

‘OK whenever you signal I’ll pop the cork on this baby’, said Garrin.

Anna laughed.

‘What’s so funny’, said G.

‘Just thinking you had better not be an oracle’, noted Anna.

‘What?’

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 80 - A Little Split Polish, Inconvenient Truths, and Homecomings

Jon and Amon still on Ronkar’s Fire in the Sky Fall Fortress were now constantly in character as the not too bright Mercenaries / Pirates Jack and Arnie (knowing they were under fairly tight surveillance). It had transpired since the parade(?) that the pair were now firm guests of the local Split Warlord named (something rather stupid or other in dodgy Argon translation). Due to the embarrassing Argon product of this individual Family Rhonkar Warlords name, both travellers were very obviously, deliberately and comically striving by all means necessary not to inadvertently use the goofy label in conversation for three reasons: One they didn’t want to accidentally cause offence (as their translation was they suspected - very likely - pretty naff), Two they didn’t want to smile at the wrong moment never mind laugh out loud see: One, and Three they were both happy with the holes they had already, and didn‘t want to add to these with ill placed orifices that wouldn‘t be (in their rather limited non artistic or medical but common sense opinion) as aesthetically pleasing and indeed conducive to their continued existence as reasonably happily living Argon organisms.

The LoD members cunning plan in this particular charade within a charade involved the simple procedure of completely refusing to use their hosts proper moniker - instead whenever they had been placed in the Warlords presence (or had to make mention of the same by name to his confederates) the pair had stuck religiously to simple titles in Argon (including the obvious Warlord and slightly more cringing efforts such as: His Highness, The Great Lord, The Mighty One, The Esteemed Father of Your People etc). Just one small part of the pairs overall act of general Argon buffoonery originally labelled as plan B. Amon couldn’t help but think of it as (doing another Ploopydroop) as in play acting the stupid comical mostly harmless alien while in fact being anything but.

Back in their accommodations with the Mk II Striker forcibly garaged below the pair consulted on their unexpected situation for the benefit of hidden observers.

‘Selling our heavy weaponry err… here seems like a poor idea to me’, complained Arnie using a rather dramatic whisper as they began the show (pre arranged by computer pad text).

‘Not sure we have any fekkin choice, at least his Highness is likely to offer a seriously good price I mean what’s the alternative?’ questioned Jack also in hushed tones (as if this basic measure would prove adequate against the high tech snoopers he had easily detected using his implants earlier).

‘Probably one of those cages we picked our most unprofitable cargo up from’, said Arnie quietly followed by a despondent curse, ‘fek, since the Split only respect force won’t we be cutting our own throats - if we are compelled to sell our big guns.’

‘I was thinking about that’, whispered Jack, ‘we arrange a part trade for some mean contemporary Split gear plus a good extra sum in credits. I tell you His Greatness really wants the Striker (well it was a bit bulky and impractical for some of our jobs anyway) apparently he has a whole collection of old War Ware it’s a mega museum of monstrous mayhem! If we play this right we could pardon the pun Strike nividium plus I might be able to get the Mighty One interested in some other interesting pieces of ex military kit. I am pretty sure I could acquire some historic stuff given my contacts back home to sell on later’, boasted Jack.

‘Nice’, said Arnie striving to look suitably brain dead but sly for the hidden cameras, ‘what about the slaves though after all that hassle from that blasted Teladi - will this house take them or not?’

‘Who cares about the slaves not our host - very much - anyway! If we more or less throw the Argos in on the side, and break even on that part of the deal - at least we get the smelly fekkers off our ship!’ said Jack a little too loudly.

‘True enough’, replied Arnie also loud now perhaps in the excitement of the moment, ‘so how do we play it?’

‘Quietly’, complained Jack as if realising they had let slip with the volume control, ‘Look I’ll keep pushing to sell the slaves and try to ignore any offers for the armour at first - you know - play the old hard to get bit. Then I’ll reluctantly give in to the fekkers demands before he gets too aggressive, and of course when we have a nice juicy credit deal but demand a part trade in some serious hardware to keep our respect’, said Jack, ‘since I might be able to get more historic Argon even Boron gear later, it will be in his Highnesses interests to ah not get to heavily Split on our butts!’

‘Genius’, complemented Arnie smiling, ‘but are you really willing to come back to this madhouse again, and do you really think this room is bugged?’

‘Well if the price is right’, said Jack, ‘I think I’ve got the measure of these warriors! As to the room its probably not bugged - these fools don’t know who they are dealing with - but no harm in being careful eh lad?’

‘Guess not. I’ll be glad to get back into space. What am I going to do while you’re having fun with all this fekkin negotiating?’ asked Arnie, while wondering would these Split really fall for such an obvious ploy.

‘Why not see if you can get one of the locals to show you around - as an honoured guest of the Warlord - and all that’, replied Jack.

‘You really think someone would?’ asked Arnie, ‘I mean this place is pretty impressive never seen anything like this in our space - these Split sure know how to build a defensive pile!’

Easy, thought Jon, don‘t be over cooking it, ‘Well if you don’t ask you don’t get’, replied Jack, ‘you could try your charms on one of those nice Curb lady Split they seem a bit more easy going than most.’

‘You think?’ said Arnie.

‘Didn’t you see the way that tall one was looking at you over dinner?’ asked Jack.

‘Which one was that the flat faces all look the same to me?’ replied Arnie.

Jon involuntarily winced, ‘I wouldn’t tell them that’, Jack replied.

‘True enough, I guess females are females they all seem to think they have something that is unique and extra special’, said Arnie chortling.

Ouch, thought Jon, he hoped Amon hadn’t gone too far. It would be a little embarrassing for the smuggler if the Wolf Leader was killed on his first real mission with the LoD veteran. Still it was a perfectly idiotic comment to make under a watch, maybe Amon had the watts for this sort of work after all. It certainly looked like he had the Cahoona’s the question was if the Curbs heard about such comments would they let him keep them - at least still attached?

Amon wanted to get back to plan A (the original plan) and get down to some active spying. The Splits security was mostly what Jon and himself had anticipated. Stripping off into one of the high tech second skin shadow suits and stalking the night wasn’t too unviable an option, or unleashing a few high tech stealthy remote drones although Amon naturally distrusted stealthy remotes as too impersonal - it was too easy to get overconfident and crash and burn. However, the main difficulty here was the fact that if either of the direct options failed their would be no fast talking their way out from such intrusively aggressive operations.

In the end Amon couldn’t really fault the methodology Jon had chosen at least for the moment (especially when he saw just how many guards haunted the Fortress) caution was probably the better part of valour. The spies would see what they might be able to dig up in a friendly first hand almost accidental manner, before risking more overt espionage. The Old Professor mightn’t even still be here, plus the place was massive, however the longer they even managed to hang out here and spread themselves around a bit the better the chance they would have of getting lucky and seeing or hearing something - anything - useful.

The Sky Fall Fortress (as it translated in Argon for once straight forwardly) had plenty of Argon Slaves for a start. Amon was convinced some progress might be made via making contact with the captive workers but so far they had been segregated from their fellow race members. If only the frequency of guards was a little lighter. Split warriors were everywhere in some ways that was a good thing as the Split didn’t seem to be using much in the way of electronic surveillance (preferring their own prowess) except in the supposed privacy of the deadly duos adjoining rooms. Still this belief that the Split were using few cameras and sensors Amon was aware could be a dangerous assumption. The pair of LoD spies hadn’t really been in any sensitive areas just wide public, grand reception, communal and ceremonial spaces.



Sometime later Arnie in full swing had made a breakthrough by discussing weaponry. Specifically the Mercenary Pirate had boasted about the attributes of his personal Argon low velocity slug thrower sidearm to his current minder - an almost desperate move - to make some kind of useful connection. Refusing to accept that Argon tech could be in any manner superior to Split weaponry the minder, that Arnie insisted on just calling ‘Friend’ he had another dodgy name (did the Split make these up to keep their Argon guests feeling uncomfortable or what?) had invited him to the Fortresses Weapon range for a comparative firing test.

Arnie or more specifically his guns arrival proved an instant draw. With various Split insisting on trying out the aliens toy weapon and having Arnie try theirs. Nearly the first thing every Split said about the Argon armament was, ‘Too Small’.

However blowing holes in targets (especially target dummies with HE rounds) seemed to be the way to a Split Warriors heart. Somehow - typically Split - Arnie noticed all the silhouettes and dummies were shaped as members of the other races mostly Boron and Human but with some Teladi and even a few Paranid the latter with very noticeably replaceable heads - it transpired the Split seemed to like shooting their allies very specifically in the eye region - so much for the Split Paranid special relationship, thought the Wolf.

In the end despite Arnies weapon being derided for its overall dimensions the Split seemed grudgingly impressed with its general efficient performance, accuracy and fast firing capability. Although they still unquestionably believed their own bulky guns to be inherently superior and preferred to fire short automatic bursts rather than quick successions of single shots. Despite their bigotry, or because of it, by seeking to impress the non Split with both their prowess and their arms this finally gave Amon access to some general not as guarded Split to Split conversations that floated around himself. Amon had his computer pad commence to record this talk using the cover of pulling out images and data on some general Argon weaponry: pictures, moving clips and statistics that he held on database.

After the shoot out several Split including Friend then insisted on taking Arnie to the Circles an area of combat / sporting / training arenas were Split practiced various melee techniques and fought duels to submission, first blood, and quite often over matters of specific honour - when granted permission by their superiors - to the death! Being a non Split Arnie was not allowed to see any serious Duels but was permitted to watch various warriors training and competing in simple sporting matches. The longer Amon stayed there the more the Wolf had to admit that he had no desire to get into any form of unarmed combat with his hosts while sneaking about in a black suit around the Fortress internals or externals at night seemed less and less like a good idea. Not only could the dirty yellow coloured warriors hand it out, they also seemed to have exceptional toughness and a remarkable stamina - something Amon knew already - but knowing isn‘t the same thing as seeing and hearing firsthand. It made the Wolf wonder why Argons occasionally called cowards yellow (where ever that one came from) it obviously had no connection to the deadly Splits skin tone.

Much to his surprise Amon found he was beginning to see the fierce race in a new light. Maybe Jorac was just a racist or maybe the Devil had simply distrusted the Splits prowess as exceptional and antipathetic warriors. Clearly despite the label Arnie gave his guide - the Split here remained actually quite unfriendly - judged by body language alone. For example: they very much avoided touching him and when they looked at him their frowning mouths tended to either turn down too far in either wicked grins, or smooth out into unhappy slits. Luckily for Amon though they were nonetheless incredibly interested to know more about their old and potential future enemy and thus put up with his presence to dig deep for information on Argon weaponry, forces, and tactics and of course on the much mentioned Striker they had brought with them.

Apparently the Striker had become something of a legendary foe to the Split. A worthy Argon adversary without which it had been claimed by various Split leaders their glorious ground forces (at least) would never have been deposed from their positions without levelling the regions they held entirely with star fire. Amon suspected it was more propaganda than truth, but obviously the belief in the effectiveness of the Striker had gone deep. Often the Split mentioned the Urban Wreckers too and became greatly disappointed to learn that unit was disbanded after the Boron Conflict. That was when it all started to go horribly wrong. Almost everyone became agitated when they discovered Arnie wasn’t and never had in fact been a Wrecker himself - this occurred out of the black and almost resulted in a serious difficulty with one particular Split.

This bruiser took even greater exception to the use of the Striker by a non Wrecker than most. Later Amon learned by checking text translations that the creature claimed it was a mockery of that noble unit - a heresy against both the spirits of the slain Split martyrs and the worthy honoured Wreckers themselves. Only the intervention of Friend had cooled that one sufficiently down enough (temporarily) to prevent blades from being instantly drawn and revenge enacted for this perceived insult - very bloodily - on the spot, but it brought a sharp and disastrous end to all further discourse requiring Arnie to be hastily extracted back to his room by his also it turned out disappointed in him minder with the aid of some called in and at least at the moment ignorant of Arnies sins (non involved) guards. Once back Arnie was advised for his own protection that he had best stay inside - now this inconvenient fact was out unless under a full protective guard! Amon was not impressed fearing he had accidentally destroyed any chance he might have to learn much more here - perhaps for Jon too.



Back on AFC 4 Anna was still coming to terms with her - she wasn’t sure if she should call it a homecoming? Her office / home was and wasn’t the same. Although it looked almost identical there were a few subtle differences that led her to believe it was in fact just a copy. As if somebody had taken measurements and images and then strove to quickly, but not perfectly to reproduce the original. Something about that felt really freaky and unreal it was like moving in to live on a stage set of her home rather than the reality. Anna decided she would have to refurnish and redecorate her personal spaces or at the very least move stuff about to make the layout feel alive again and less like some sort of deceptive charade. As matters stood it just didn’t feel like the place she had designed or as if it was even her stuff / place anymore!

Anna wasn’t at home long when Garrin linked in, ‘Hey I’m not sure how to put this, but how is your space? The main office here is a little weird’, he said

‘Same here’, complained Anna, ‘do you fancy going out for a drink or a bite to eat. I can’t deal with this just now’, she admitted nor did she feel like being alone.

‘Just us?’ asked Garrin.

‘Yes’, replied Anna, ‘just the old RJL Partnership. Rav is off duty and will no doubt be hooking up with Elaen while Carl will be tied up with official AF ceremonies until sometime later.’

‘Why not we can find out if The Junction is also the same’, said G.

‘The same, same or the same but different. I think I would prefer a total change’, noted Anna.

‘I think I know what you mean’, replied G, ‘AF might have hit a little bit off the mark with the Argon psychology on this one. I feel like I’m being haunted by the ghost of my original office. Will I meet you directly in the foyer?’

‘Sure’, said Anna thinking it felt odd not having Ravn on her shoulder or any of the Dogs. Anna had insisted Rav take the cycle off once the Reaper beta was locked down and the Dog Squad status as hired RJL guards was still in heated negotiation between Rav and Fay. Anna had decided to let her Chief deal with it. On a personal front the RJL Administrator Owner had to admit after recent events she didn’t feel as safe alone as she once had. Was all the players interest in her work and thus herself really over?

It hadn’t taken much effort from Carl to convince the once again - out of practice - Station Runner to start religiously carrying a discrete personal weapon (just in case) luckily Carl after having a talk with Jollo had managed to get a special conditions weapon permit from AF with the VP‘s compliments. Jollo was being very accommodating at the moment. It was pretty obvious he felt bad about the way Anna’s commission had turned out - the VP was being unusually open - while she didn‘t think he even knew the whole story yet for example: the cursed incentive that all but forced conscription. Anna wondered should she tell him these details. Guilt might make of Jollo a useful potential ally. Anna knew the Hive access Core test might be over and the technology might be buried, but her personal battle for her own life and freedom against Fay and the ANI had no doubt only just begun.



Anna was not alone in thinking about her own and RJL’s future. Not too far away from AFC 4 in the starkly furnished Briefing Room Gamma on The Lost For Words two other figures were discussing this topic.

‘Well Suewyn how do you feel about that?’ asked Fay over a steaming tea cup.

‘I am quite happy to serve in that capacity’, noted Sue straight backed in her chair.

‘What do you think of Anna?’ asked Fay.

‘I think she is a very competent, loyal Argon that has been under extraordinary stress’, replied Suewyn diplomatically.

‘You like her don’t you?’ questioned the Commander in Chief.

‘I find the Administrator has many admirable qualities’, said Sue.

‘I have always been impressed with your own loyalty Sue. I hope we never have any cause to quarrel it would be a shame. I try not to have favourites among my recruits but I have always been impressed with your work. Well you have your brief make RJL the success it must be to supply our needs and look after our friends’, said Fay.

‘Yes Sir’, said Suewyn.

‘What about the Dogs do you think they would be adaptable to long term deep cover as a core to Ravn’s necessary Corporate Security Force’, asked Fay.

‘Frankly Sir I think you made a fine choice if you want them to be behind their commander in the field Sir’, said Suewyn.

‘That’s what I thought Sue. I appreciate your insight. Tell Ravn he can have his hounds - for as long as he believes he will need them - but from here on in: wages, any new equipment and so on will be RJL’s business not ours - our coffers are not a bottomless pit. I hope for his sake his recruits are happy with these very unusual military arrangements.’

‘I think the Black Dogs were becoming quite settled in RJL. When would you like me to leave for the station Sir?’ asked Suewyn.

‘As soon as you can get your things together and it suits your Corp. I expect to be kept informed of the fledgling businesses progress. I hope you can keep Anna away from any more potentially embarrassing stunts. Hopefully we can all put the past behind us and move on’, said Fay, ‘by the way feel free to remind Anna that I have some people looking into her Mothers situation especially if she gets itchy feet for Split territory. It would be ill advised of your employer to get entangled in an ongoing operation. It is never smart to rely too much on luck or others patience!’



It was night and Tur was out walking wet streets in the rain. Wearing a local waterproof poncho with a deep hood he looked like anybody and nobody. The Devil had felt compelled to get out of the lab, to get away from the dry project data and the quarter finished Boron skull cap he was engineering for a while. It was amazing how great it was to feel the sea breeze, to smell and taste the tang of salt. Overhead invisible in the dark Night Ravens wheeled crying raucously in search mode as they hunted for morsels to prey upon, the feast was well and truly over, perhaps?

The horrid scaly leathery winged bird like beasts had glutted themselves and multiplied during the protracted infighting. Now he had heard they were far fewer in numbers and lived by scavenging and rooting among the cities waste - as a species they too had fallen. Tur could remember feeding them fresh bloody meat himself. Live Argon victims stripped bare and nailed down to wooden racks - Traitors Beds - they had called them, well as everyone knows there is no easy bed rest for wicked betrayers.

‘Well, well what you doing in this part of town father’, said an arrogant youthful voice.

Tur grinned this was what he had been wandering seemingly aimlessly for. The Fallen Angel knew these carrion wouldn’t be missed. It looked like some Ravens would feed well after all. Tur felt an evil buzz of excitement. The Back Strike was behind him of course, The Speaker a mere distraction that was how the game was played here. The Devil moved and the knife missed. A leg swept out fast and low as Tur spun down and around. The Strike went down his own legs swept away from beneath him landing hard on his back while a bolt shot over the Devils head to embed in the wall behind him. Tur punched down hard and fast staving in the knife wielding Argons neck as the would be back stabber strove to rise. The Back Strike fell back choking for breath Tur ignored that lad he was dead already, and shoulder rolled to the side to keep mobile as another bolt flashed past. The Speaker was good but that wouldn’t save him this night. Smart but noisy and a fool though, thought Tur, as he heard the killer fleeing across the warehouse roofs. Smart enough to know he had an opponent that was too much, and foolish in his answer to that dilemma.

With the cape rippling behind him like the wings of the now hooting scavengers above Tur set off in pursuit. It was no accident that betrayers were fed to the Ravens, their was something cyclic about feeding the betrayers to their own. The Night Ravens had learned to develop a symbiosis with any hunter (and had an almost sixth sense when it came to identifying a fleeing victim) their particular trick for a share of the kill was to mark the prey and this they did very well indeed. Following and hooting overhead their cries were known locally as Death’s Song. People locked their doors and turned away at that sound.

Patient Tur tracked the noise keeping to cover from above, and as quiet as possible. A few changes to the local topography almost gave the quarry a chance but no obstacle presented itself that Tur wasn’t able to readily overcome making good use of his agility and training. Otherwise the Devil still knew many serviceable shortcuts, soon he was keeping ahead rather than behind the loud herald of the winged hunt. When The Speaker descended and landed lightly on the balls of his feet a few short meters away from were - Tur Ryn the homecoming hunter - rested Tur could hear his victim cursing the Night Ravn’s. As The Speaker commenced to aim his small crossbow upward he was obviously convinced his follower had been outdistanced (left far behind in the dark). Feeling generous Tur simply hammered his diamond steel bladed knife in the back of the fools skull almost to the hilt for an instantaneous kill - it had after all been an entertaining enough run.

As the corpse slumped the night flyers perhaps smelling the blood fell silent circling waiting. They never challenged the dominant predator for its kill that was not their way. As Tur had no need of food or trophies he merely wrenched out his blade and cut the meat a little open to encourage an early claim. Once this ritual was complete, and after wiping his blade on the still very warm corpse the Devil moved away. Finally the part of Tur Ryn that was Jorac truly felt like he had come home.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 81 - Hunters and Haunted

Master Sean wasn’t impressed, since seizing the territory from the Stabbers his Lost Ones hadn’t lost one - until last night - when shockingly they lost two! It wouldn’t do him any good if he let somebody feed his lads to the Night Ravens. It used to be that Street Stalkers in Beachhead City on Aladna Hill were all freelance partnerships but recently with the Police getting more and more intrusive not to mention effective and the Free Night Territories getting squeezed by the slow creep of urban regeneration something just had to give. Rather than join the mundane world of the day workers the lads had given up their independence, and banded together into tight crews - it was the only way to afford the necessary bribes to corrupt local politicos and law enforcement officers to keep their hands off and to retain some protection from their societies other predators including the wider underworld of which they were but a very small subsection. So it was that Beachheads criminal cast out youth became organised into a few ruthlessly lead gangs.

Master Stalkers like Sean set strict limits on their minions activities and these days selected targets with care (many of which were just beaten and robbed not killed) with an eye to the wider consequence, (sometimes with unspoken permission from even a few not too unsavoury members of the security forces. The Government was not behind using the gangs to chastise or remove individuals deemed even more undesirable). That Beak and Grub had been illicitly freelancing somewhat off the beaten track last night didn’t matter - even if their punishment for getting caught by their boss might have had a similarly permanent result. This outside aggression still made Sean look weak to the crew he had to keep in line and that simply wouldn’t do! Worse it was almost like a professional hit or a cursed Hunt. Nobody hunted Stalkers anymore not since they got organised! Hunting Stalkers meant war with their organised kin - who would dare? Yet somebody had, so was it a professional hit (possibly sponsored by another gang) or something else?

Seeking answers the young Master was waiting in The Smelly Well for Sergeant Farris a brutal bent city copper on the Lost Ones payroll. Farris was a greedy beast but at least checking his stolen watch Sean noticed he was still punctual. Of course the ugly balding broken nosed stocky copper only came over after he had waited in line at the bar to collect a complementary pot of the local swill, and pushed his way back out of the crowd.

‘Bad business my boy’, said Farris taking a sip of the frothy brew while coming across all amiable, ‘but good beer’, as he ducked into the carved wooden privacy booth.

‘So you have heard already then’, replied the Stalker, ‘what have you got for me then.’

‘Precious little’, confessed Farris, ‘it was neatly done, somebody who knew how to follow the Ravens by all accounts.’

‘So a local or are you saying it was an actual Hunt after all?’ queried Sean incredulous.

‘Or somebody who wanted us to believe one or both’, replied the Copper stretching, ‘I’ll tell you one thing The Harbingers seem sincere when they claimed it had nothing to do with them, and I don’t know any other players with a serious interested in that section of yards as a roam.’

‘I suppose it could be a freak event maybe Beak and Grub crossed some juicy veteran with a temper’, said Sean, ‘heard any rumours in that direction.’

‘Listen lad I’ll keep an eye and ear out, but step lightly, like I said it was neatly done’, said Farris, ‘if it is some survivor - still playing on the streets - reliving the bad old days. Creaky or not being around this long would suggest they are a hard target and not somebody you would really want to cross. I’d suggest you wait and see if anything else goes down. If this one is a vet but content to leave it at that well - to be honest - I would satisfy my boys by marking up and slaughtering some suitably less troublesome scapegoat. You know what they say let slumbering predators lie.’

‘I’ll think about it’, replied Sean rolling the base of his glass round and round against the heavily varnished but rather battered table, ‘you sure you’re not holding something back?’

‘Not me, but if you get yourself killed whose going to pay me my monthlies?’ asked Farris before taking a longer satisfied sup.

‘Your concern for my health is touching’, replied the Master Stalker very coldly for his relatively tender age.

Then again time in the night passed differently, thought the Police Sergeant, before saying, ‘Just telling it like it is. However, if you want a wild theory some of my - not so bright - own lads think somebody wants to bring back The Hunt. Some historically well read sportsman from off planet perhaps bored of killing non sentient prey! All the thrills and spills of the urban jungle instead’, he finished laughing.

Sean however wasn’t amused or impressed with the idea.

‘You look bothered’, said West a little later after Farris had jumped into the co pilot seat of the yellow and black marked squad car.

‘Every thing is changing’, complained Farris, ‘I remember when the death of a few Stalkers didn’t mean nothing! Now they are collecting the Ravens leavings for bloody autopsy - what’s the Hill coming too?’

‘It’s getting full on respectable boss’, replied West, ‘soon there will be no place here for the likes of thee and me at least not - on the force - with our easy going ways.’

‘Bloody Federal Argon Government have ruined everything!’ said the Sergeant.

‘No stopping progress Boss’, replied West, ‘Is Sean going to make trouble?’

‘Probably, you know how it is, you can’t talk to the young’, replied Farris, ‘Hey turn left here and take us down Snipers I’ve got the nibbles.’

Perhaps the only thing in Beachhead city cheaper than life used to be - now with all the locally produced farm and plantation goods flowing in - was basic but good food. The soil was rich here many claimed because it was steeped in blood. Whatever the reason even the poor could eat reasonably well and fresh too on a few credit’s a day (unless they had other vices and many to their detriment did). Manufactured goods was another matter altogether though, a lot of Corps had been scared away from the Hill it had a bad reputation. Kidnapping was still rife also blackmail and most common of all was basic common no nonsense sabotage and extortion.

All the wealthy folks - most of whom were criminals themselves - along with the big industries lived behind high walls and electrified fences in compounds with private security. Any - unconnected - business was forced to pay out protection money to the criminal lords. The scum that had inherited or dug up the rebels arms stashes and claimed their reputation for cruel brutality, of course some of these groups (the most extreme and yet powerless) still called themselves cadres and claimed to be political but the only politics left on the Hill now was the politics of greed power and hidden terror.

If their had ever been any true idealist bold socialist rebels they had fed the fertile fields long since. Really the War on Aladna Hill had never completely ended it had just altered and become even more sinister not just going underground but seeping into the light like an invisible contaminant. At the very least it had quietly hibernated until it emerged anew as an essential part of the new Federal Colonial System. Despite all these facts the Hill on the surface and on paper looked reborn. While it was just being steadily corrupted into at least a lie of respectability a deceit that was both the step that lifted such Argons as Farris up, but also placed a noose around their neck should they lose their balance and start to tumble.

Sure there were official Federal Argon overseen elections and garrisons of troops who knew where in their own best interests it was prudent not to venture. What did it matter that the electoral candidates here tended to have shady backers and out of sight private - armies - of supporters. Hill Hypocrisy: was that veneer that lay over all the base desks making them ever so shiny and stain proof. The Street Stalkers the Sergeant milked were nothing small time creatures of the night like himself. Youths playing at adult games. Providing a sometime useful service both employing and clearing away the rubbish that occasionally spilled free of the clinging mud to reach the surface. Once according to some legends they had been something else agents of the Navy spies and assassins, children taken and turned on their own people - anti insurgent insurgents. It was said the Fallen Angel himself had discovered this most devious plot by his adversaries but whether this was truth or more invented propaganda was anybodies guess even in retrospect?

Slipping down Snipers passing the food stalls and watching the peasants (as he liked to think of them) mingling, a fool or a tourist might be deluded into thinking this was representative of progress and the imposition of Argon law. Just as they might see the black and yellow and think they were safe and secure, that one made the sergeant chuckle. War tourists often came here for guided sanitised protected trips to the edges of an insanity they couldn’t hope to understand while an even deeper madness surrounded them and was fed by their credits - that was the true nature of Aladna Hill.



Although Tur had been up late he still rose early feeling invigorated but not really in the mood for intricate electronics - despite this being the ultimate purpose of the Pirate having come so far. The Devil upon arriving back from his kills had realised he had changed in ways he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but didn’t care and that was a big part of the latest alteration in itself. What was done was done Jorac hadn’t killed for sporting pleasure, he had gained pleasure from the sport of killing but the act had always to his recollection had more of a utilitarian reason than just to sate his own desire for a lost sensation.

This change fascinated him as an intriguing process, were once it might have repulsed or worried him as a undesirable personality alteration. Conventions of stasis and Argon morality that had applied to his former self recently seemed to be slipping fully away. With it had gone a lot of the sensation of hollowness although surprisingly his attachment or fixation with Kerry was no less extreme than before. What did surprise him was that any desire he had possessed to reclaim Freedom out of fiery revenge seemed rather unimportant at the moment - at least from an emotional position - it was becoming just one essential move he wished to make on the gaming board, a cold stratagem and a mild amusement.

Taking a GTD to another Holding a small rundown first story apartment kept merely as an unconnected daytime exit Tur ventured once again into Beachhead. Losing himself among other pedestrians. Unlike some more settled less back water modern Argon cities Beachhead still retained a great deal of basic foot traffic with no moving walkways or expensive overhead public transportation sky trains and so on. Although there was still many ground vehicles crawling along crowded roads much of it crude noisy smelly wheeled units alongside a few mostly Corporate or Governmental modern suspensor elevated skimming craft that looked very much out of place like hi tech alien invaders among a barbaric hoard.

Tur still found it odd to see so much free movement here. Almost all the barricades and separating peace walls were now gone at least from the city centre save a few memorials. Troops no longer manned the abandoned mostly altogether removed sentry posts. Look out towers had been replaced with multi-storey offices and apartment blocks ugly buildings but serviceable. Nor could he see any Marines visibly on patrol covering each other in tactical staged advances ever wary of lone snipers. Instead marked police vehicles and lightly armed wasps as they were now known foot patrols in eye popping black uniforms with yellow bands protected at least the central commercial district alongside a marked increase in stationary security cameras and an occasional roving lazy high in the sky spy drone.

The Devil found every little even slightly changed detail oddly fascinating. Tur discovered himself peering into faces searching for the shadow of familiar features among older members of the citizenry. The Pirate couldn’t help but wonder if the elder ones had once killed or known near starvation in the mud and to which faction they had swore allegiance or how many they might have betrayed in their time to survive to the last. Looking at the occasional child he wondered whose sons and daughters were they, what blood contaminated those otherwise clear veins with its poisonous history.

More than once Tur swore he recognised a villain guilty of atrocious war crimes - at least at one time - according to the Argon Navy! One figure in particular was the image of an older Thomas Ghan (minus his short cropped beard) that killer (an escaped former murderer) was famous for head butting his victims before gutting them with the tool of his original trade - a large butchers knife - if it was him, he was now carrying a pre school boy child in his arms with a female obediently in tow (perhaps a grown up daughter or even a poorly matched younger wife). Jorac had believed Ghan to have been slain in the tunnels during that disastrous arms raid on the Navy depot at Reef Mast. Was it possible he could have survived perhaps in custody, or was his memory just playing tricks with regional features?

That had been a bad one in the early days of his personal protracted campaign to survive capture and get off this mud ball (Sheen, Kerry’s mother had even been alive at this point), of course it was just another one of Faiths traps, a set up instigated by the cursed Federals. Jorac had suspected as much - they had come by the data a little too easily! It revealed a single gap in a tightening noose and some juicy info on temporary but up to date deployments and supply dumps. Desperately in need of supplies and keen to get his hands on some armoured transport it had been too good to be true.

The Devils unit had been caught out when much of the area known to his resistance fighters as Bunkers Three had been seized during an unusually effective and too well targeted joint militia with marine backing offensive. Jorac’s small almost independent freelance band (at this time still trying to operate like a regular army unit before learning the real joy of terrorist insurgency) found itself just about cut off from any potential allies. With his back to the wall the Pirate elected to take the proffered chance delineated by the intercepted intelligence and attack in the hope of getting both the firepower and the vehicle/s needed to break out of the settlement region altogether. It had been the fighters hope to keep his remaining people together as a credible fighting force (in retrospect a gross over ambitious mistake).

Anyway to be on the safe side at the last moment the not yet Fallen Angel had cunningly sent ahead expendables alongside a few soldiers he didn’t fully trust. Keeping a tight squad of his most loyal and still reasonably well equipped about himself - although everyone was short on rounds. The tactic had proved well advised the fighting retreat when the operation proved compromised (hand to hand in places) as they worked their way back out of the tunnels caves sewers and storm drains was to become a tall tale told around many a camp fire.

Those few that survived to emerge separately into the night like filthy rats (some actually at sea like himself) had no choice but to continue the wide scatter and make their own individual ways back to friendly or at least neutral territory, with little but their skins and whatever they could steal scrounge or murder for. That had been one of his hardest military lessons and begun his war with the military traditionalists by living Jorac learned. Maybe the Argon he was watching was T or maybe it wasn’t it no longer mattered. Even if T had survived that action it didn’t specifically mean he had been one of the traitors, but the concept did make Jorac wonder who else might still be down here and what they were doing now? At least - he - had no fear of being recognised the Devil doubted he could convince any of his old comrades in arms of his true authenticity as Jorac even if he so desired while the Federal Government would never admit to his existence and thus the alien technology that had permitted his rebirth.

Moving on Tur Ryn waited for a gap in the traffic to quickly cross over the road and duck into a small Tavern and Bakery careful of the rapidly descending steps and closing his eyes to avoid the light that would highlight him to the - established - customers. Space side prohibition didn’t naturally extend to planets it was a question for local Government. Aladna even under the worst colonial management had never dared to ban the demon drink in any of its forms at least not for long. Grandma’s Cellars had been around for a long time by Beachhead standards arriving after the first ceasefire. It had been around long enough to have been bombed and rebuilt from Tur’s recollection at least thrice. Grandma herself was a survivor even if she now had a prosthetic left leg. It had never been the resistance that targeted the old woman’s place either it had been the militia being naughty because Grandma was a rebel sympathiser and the Tavern was believed to be a rebel hang out.

‘A dram for a son of the slain’, said Tur with every eye upon him as he reached the bar. Normally the Devil avoided alcohol but some traditions had to be upheld and if he wasn’t safe in Grandma’s he wasn’t safe on the Hill.

‘A new face’, said the dark haired Barmaid that had drifted over, ‘and would you be wanting something with that?’

‘Just a dirty glass’, returned Tur with a wink.

‘Well you are a bold son of the soil at that’, replied the girl, ‘welcome to my Ma’s’, she continued pouring something golden into a wooden cup which Tur promptly downed in one with a slight gasp.

‘Well that put a fire in your belly’, said the Barmaid, ‘my names Mags.’

‘Of course it is’, replied Tur, ‘you can call me Keane.’

‘I have no doubt. So what would you like to follow that with?’ asked Mags.

‘Would you have any tea?’ asked Keane to a snicker of laughter from some closer gathering in locals.

‘Tea is it now’, said a harder female voice as Grandma hove into view from somewhere behind the bar, ‘now what is a sensible lad like yourself doing in a place like this?’

‘Waiting for Tea?’ replied Keane with an air of patience.

‘Well son that’s a fine affectation you have there. Reminds me of the Devil himself!’ said Grandma.

‘The Devil drinks Tea?’ asked Keane grinning.

‘As I suspect you know fine well he did - child. All most of us have now are the songs and the stories and the scars’, said the rugged old woman stomping her prosthetic.

‘Good to see somebody of the blood’, said an Argon as he shunted a stool over closer, ‘too many damn tourists and fantasists in here these days.’

‘Times change. I’ve not been in the Soldiers Grave for many a season’, admitted Keane.

‘I know the way of it’, replied the stranger, ’its hard to visit among the fallen.’

‘You been off world son?’ asked another Argon.

‘Some’, replied Keane.

‘Many went that way - not all by choice either’, remarked Grandma, ‘well stop mooning girl and fetch the boy his Tea.’

‘So how is it in the Beachhead now?’ asked Keane.

‘Pretty quiet’, said the Argon on the stool, ‘somebody killed a few Stalkers last night though.’

‘Is that news?’ asked Keane surprised anyone here had heard at all never mind so soon.

‘News enough I believe it has caused a right stink in some quarters - wild rumours about a Gang War or some fool restarting the Hunt’, said the Argon behind him.

This Tur didn’t like, had he accidentally drawn too much heat, what had changed that he didn’t understand but he just said, ‘Well the world is full of fools.’

‘That it is’, said the Argon on the stool, ‘name is Leckan by the way.’

‘Well met’, said Keane clasping his wrist.

With that several others rushed to also introduce themselves Egan, Tawnagh, Nass, Barr, Cros and the other barmaid was called Fiach.

In time the whole story came out without Keane having to ask another question. Some things here it appeared had changed a lot more than he had expected, others were way too familiar, that to his surprise - made him angry - even though he had never really fought for their cause. Joracs cause had been Kerry and himself but others still liked to believe otherwise well Argons had a need for legends and heroes even dark ones. Before departing Keane had more than his fill of tea and soaked it up with wheaten bread and what his followers would have once called rich Argons stew - at least food was plentiful.

Leaving his new found friends none of whom he specifically recalled from his past life save Grandma herself with a promise to return at an unspecified date Tur moved on. With the sun now blazing down the streets where not so full and Tur started to feel a little uncomfortable himself not really acclimatised to the humidity - it made thinking deep thoughts a little difficult, nonetheless he still found himself contemplating that without doubt he still had the Devils own luck. The news he had garnered was valuable information especially about the Stalkers. Knowledge he wouldn’t have had if the restlessness hadn’t come upon him. It was now a little past mid afternoon but the compulsion to wander hadn’t yet left him. Tur decided to visit the Out World Bazaar that bordered on the Space Port. This new development partly indoors party outside with covered bright awnings rested right over the site of the old Navy Garrison compound home to many a skirmish. In particular a favourite target for hit and run mortar attacks. Unfortunately when the Devil arrived he discovered it was a night market and their was little of interest to see and scarce any activity at this time of day.

It was while he was leaving the deserted Bazaar that The Wasps pounced asking to see his ID. Tur lazily obliged confident of the quality and the database hack.

‘So Keane Molloy is it?’ queried the stooge.

‘That’s right’, said Tur.

‘So where are you staying Keane?’ asked the other foot officer.

‘On my own boat’, replied Keane.

‘Your business?’, continued the second officer.

‘Just visiting family came from here - way back - talk made me want to see the sights. Pay my respects to the lost that sort of thing’, Keane replied innocently.

‘Rebels were they?’ asked the first.

‘Just citizens - colonial refugees - caught up in the trouble of their times’, replied Keane.

‘That’s what they all say’, said the first policeman handing back the documents after he had carefully scanned them.

‘On your way then’, said the second.

Fek that was another mistake drawing attention to himself as an outsider. When he got back Tur told himself he would do a bit of local research on the inter link before he made any more mistakes. It was too easy to think he knew what he was doing here.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 82 - Space Flight

On AFC 4 Carl had a flick through the monitors in his new security booth. Like almost everything on the reconstructed forge it looked almost identical to the old one but simply wasn’t. That was one mystery almost worth investigating in itself why had ArgonForge pretended to fix while it seemed in fact it had fully replaced the old station complex, was it really just down to politics or was it a necessary move to hide something else such as potential evidence of Anna’s critter? Otherwise everything was worryingly quiet for the Security Commander while the station was being properly run in. At the moment Four with just its core and essential staff aboard with a few odd exceptions, of course if there was one thing the Commander knew only too well it was that every rule had to have its exceptions, the dailies were scarily empty.

The good news was that his latest boss the Administrator Braudel had his hands full tracing and fixing manufacturing glitches and was largely leaving Carl and all the other non engineering staff to their own devices. With the ceremonial duties over and the guest quarters all bare the pace around Carl had rather slackened - especially crime wise - so the Commander took a moment to misuse the security cameras to hunt down his wife. It wasn’t too difficult as his younger partner had scheduled a point to point Station Run. Carl had always enjoyed watching Anna’s acrobatic athletics as she negotiated herself around the complexes obstacles. Watching Anna go made him itch for the end of his shift and some private time together.

Everything might have been perfect if not for a few glitches of his own. Carl for example was convinced Anna was still stubbornly hoarding some secrets from her husband. The Commander had hoped after they had done the official deed his wife would finally open up fully, but this had not as yet occurred and he now wondered if it ever would. Further despite Fays reassurances Anna - not too surprisingly - was still fretting over her mothers barely known fate, but Carl got the feeling that was not the only thing plaguing the RJL Administers darker moments sometimes he feared Anna actually missed her secret project. His Professor had even more spare time than he currently did (an awful lot more he gathered than she was accustomed to) as a result Anna had too much time to think, which was both good and bad for the couples relationship.

RJL seemed almost to be running itself with the aid of the apparently most talented Suewyn. The first Jump Liners were now active and more were rolling off the shipyard production lines to join the soon to be enlarged fleet. Garrin trapped until the end of the Tribunal hearings on the Reaper Riot looked like he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as the businesses ambitious scope started to be realised. Even Anna had confessed to her husband that it was either destined to be a spectacular success or a truly disastrous failure given the size of the investment. Nonetheless when it came to RJL Anna seemed pretty confident.

Suewyn bothered Carl though, as did the reappointment of the Black Dogs under Ravn. Carl had expected all military personnel to be recalled to the Carrier. Was there still some threat hanging over his wife no body was telling him about? Carl hadn’t missed the fact that before he departed for Argon Prime Jollo and Anna had a long private interview under an AF Corporate Block. Carl had made a point of bumping into the AF VP afterwards making the most of his coppers intuition the Commander would have said Jollo was ruffled about something following his meeting although he was masking it well.



In Beachhead City Farris parked by the warehouse it appeared innocuous enough from the outside, but he wasn’t inclined to trust that too far. The building though technically owned by a local company was leased on a long term basis to Molloy. The sites general structural integrity and freedom from pilfering and or any other form of molestation just about guaranteed by a generous credit fund run by a properly registered AI. Privacy from intrusive official snooping being countered by some regularly well placed bribes that bought a level of continuous anonymity from whatever powers happened to come into being at the time. Farris would likely never have been able to find out any of this wider background - given these facts - if he had not been enlisted by a very particular group of Beachhead’s that had contacted him following his talk with Sean and the two Night Stalkers deaths.

Not willing to take any chances with his ample hide the podgy Wasp sergeant decided to just hang around rather blatantly beyond the fence in his yellow and black squad skimmer along with West until their target chose to make contact. The no nonsense players who had spoken to him earlier believed the mysterious new comer to be a dangerous individual worthy of caution. Farris himself now suspected he had seen this ones recent work up close, and had no desire to add his own corpse to the ever growing autopsy queue. Used to the occasional long stake out and having brought plenty of munchies along with a large flask of strong coffee, the ugly balding copper settled in expecting that his patience would be rewarded soon enough.

Tur was alerted from his studies and electronic engineering project to the presence of the rather obvious - marked - squad car almost at his front door. The alert being flagged by his aged mainline computer called ‘Abyss’. At first he let it go thinking it might just be a coincidental parking spot, but as time moved on it was clear the Wasps were waiting for something and since the camera zoom showed they kept looking his way through their windows Tur soon suspected who they were waiting for was himself. Since the Abyss monitored warehouse paid all its bills, and bribes in full. Somebody must have dug deep and traced his other nights work either that or his fake ID hadn’t been as good as he thought, but that was unlikely. Could two Stalkers really have become so important in Beachhead or was something else going on?

Picking a powerful but easily concealed weapon from his armoury Tur put on some under clothing armour left Abyss on alert and sauntered out to see the coppers.

‘Something troubling you officers’, asked the Devil bending down to look in to the floating vehicle.

‘A delicate matter’, came a voice from the other side, ‘why don’t you step in the back and we can discuss it.’

Tur shrugged and complied he really didn’t want to invite the snooping cops into his lair anyway not even the rather uninteresting top level. The rear seat was surprisingly comfortable but Tur did notice it smelt a little rank (trying hard not to identify the particular mix of odours) the Fallen Angel made himself relax as the door closed and locked automatically.

‘I trust you don’t mind if we go for a little spin all this sitting around is such a bore’, said the unnamed co-pilot.

‘Feel free I have no immediate appointments, maybe you could point out sights of interest that we pass’, said Tur smiling coolly.

The driver chortled under his breath at this comment while he eased down on the accelerator pedal and the armoured vehicle moved off smoothly. The co-pilot however had to strive not to scowl at his passengers infuriating calm.

‘So what’s in the warehouse?’ asked the talkative of the two coppers after a momentary thoughtful silence. The speaker Tur noticed as the street flowed past was a Police Sergeant judging from the patches on his uniform.

‘Not much at the moment but I have various possible plans for the future. Of course you can’t expect a business argon to broadcast his unprotected ideas’, said Tur.

‘I suppose not’, replied the Sergeant, ‘I guess you wouldn’t object to showing me around sometime.’

‘Nothing to see, besides my lawyers Adare & Craan like to keep any dealing I have with your people on record. They would be most disappointed in my adherence to their advice if I admitted you without a warrant. Of course if you have one…’, continued Tur.

‘A&C eh, I hear they have a lot of unsavoury clients’, said Farris.

Tur laughed, ‘Don’t all lawyers’, he replied, ‘by the way I should inform you I linked into ah... A&C to let them know of your arrival (vehicle number and so on) a little earlier. Of course my security system will have logged my entry to this vehicle as well as my departure with you passing that information on too.’

‘Relax’, said the Sergeant, ‘we are all friends here. Some associates of mine wish to have a friendly word that is all. I believe they are only interested in keeping things smooth.’

‘Smooth suits me fine’, replied Tur, ‘I have no desire to rock anybodies boat.’

‘Then we are in perfect accord’, replied the fat Wasp.

‘So are these fellows Police Associates or just Associates?’ asked Tur.

‘Just Associates otherwise I would have had that warrant and arrived with more support’, answered the Sergeant threateningly.

‘That would have made A&C rather happy since I am innocent of any wrong doing’, replied Tur.

‘Nobody in Beachhead is entirely innocent’, quoted the Wasp.

‘Isn’t that a rather outdated quote?’ asked Tur.

‘Not in some Argon Navy circles’, replied the Sergeant.

It was a small reaction, thought Farris, but he suspected this Keane Molloy didn’t like the Navy being mentioned. If his passenger was an off world villain - perhaps hiding out for a while - that would come as no great surprise.

‘Our Navy always were a little too in love with the past’, replied the Devil, ‘all those dress uniforms and piping people aboard makes for a queer mindset!’

‘I always believed it was spending too much time in the big empty’, replied the Wasp as the squad car turned into a parking space.

‘Another warehouse have you brought me all this way just to speak to a competitor?’ asked the Devil.

‘That depends ultimately on your line of business’, said the Wasp smugly.



Jon and Amon formerly Jack and Arnie both grim and expectant behind their sealed visors waited. The pilot and co-pilot were listening to nothing but their own breath and the hammer of their individual pulses. Fully vacuum suited up the pair were rigidly pretending for each others benefit - not to be nervous, just considerably vexed with one another and the present unfortunate situation in general. Both Argons impatiently struggling to pass the time until the already outdated bulky old style converted Elephant TL (Atmospheric Shuttle) ‘Rhonkars Victory’, opened its not so creaky bay door and spewed them out, Jon mused, like the horrid vomit they both so obviously were - at least according to the current local consensus!

The News was very much out now and widely broadcast. Neither party was, nor had they ever in fact been, members of the crazed Argon Urban Wrecker Heavy Infantry Squads - contrary - to all the Split Warriors unfounded assumptions. The Splits misguided belief in their Argon guests military career something which both of the spying partners had strenuously tried to deny spreading - until they were all but robbed of breath from the effort was still a tight noose around their necks. Despite all their counter claims: That they had never deliberately sought to establish any Wrecker providence, almost all of the Split seemed utterly and fanatically convinced to the contraire opinion that their guests had been pushing this deception ever since their freighter made landfall! This misconception perhaps a consequence of that bold (Jon still claimed to Amon, but Amon now very much doubted his word unexpected and spontaneous) military parade with which they had been honoured upon arrival with the Spearhead Striker Mk II.

Therefore it transpired the crestfallen agents had little choice but to take to flight. Jon had to admit (to himself at least) that yes he had very much been tempted who - wouldn‘t to claim some false kudos as a member of that it would seem to the Split almost sacred band of foes? At the last moment Jon had considered trying to make out that actually - Yes - he had once belonged to that infamous unit, but just didn’t like to, well you know, boast about his past! It was a retrospective impulse that rose up before him with all the force of the tsunami like wash of events. However, in the end (even with the benefit of an ever inventive and glib tongue) Jon decided the wider gig was fully up and such a move would only prove even more suicidal.

Too many wickedly curved and pointy knives were being just a little bit too well honed in the beady eyes of their current protectors. The Flat Faces soon appeared in no mood to respond to any further communication on the part of their all of a sudden all but imprisoned Argon visitors. At least not with anything other than that peculiar and characteristically vigorous cut and thrust debate the Split did so perfectly - the kind that would leave bright puddles of spilt Argon blood and flayed meaty red and white argon bones decorating the floor like some ancient offering to a fiery hearted fiendish ancestor from the warrior races even more savage(?) past. Since such a mess would be an unpardonable thing to leave for their host to clear up from his wonderfully - polished - and intricately decorated stone tile and mosaic floors it was clearly the correct and proper moment to say farewell and thanks for all those lovely credits.

The Warlord - no fool - despite his dodgy sounding name rather generously(?) had offered (only of course in return for a quick deal which was not surprisingly somewhat in his favour) to give the pair safe passage off planet under guard almost per the very strict letter of Jack’s initial contract. Ominously the same Warlord went silent when that subject was tentatively raised about their likely situation beyond that narrow band of protective atmosphere. Such unwanted contemplative quiet was something neither Legionary estimated to be a positive sign for an easy trouble free exit. Currently in the now subjectively rather cramped cockpit in an altogether different atmosphere, but one any self respecting Split could have carved with a shamefully blunt knife. The not so harmonious Argons impatiently waited for the off like two rather well bred but very much caged animals before an important race.

The silence was now deafening if new born, the pair having only stopped bickering when they had both agreed without discussion to go into a mutual sulk - short moments ago. Jon had blamed Amon for having a big mouth, Amon blamed Jon for being tight lipped and superior while failing to properly research his plan and / or explain the full significance of the Striker and the Wreckers to the Split psyche.

How the hell, reasoned Amon to himself, was he supposed to know the Split would be so sensitive about a hated enemy that had technically defeated them on several Boron worlds. The LoD team had also had a spat over who was going to fly and who should jump into the turret. Amon claimed he was no good within a gun seat and refused to assume that position while Jon refused to hand the pilots chair to his subordinate. As a result the computer AI the sinister Sly was running the rear gun on protect while Jon was piloting and Amon was in the co-pilots seat an ultimate arrangement deemed unsatisfactory by everyone.

‘Right Sly’, said Jon, ‘I want you to initiate the jump sequence as soon as we clear the vicinity of the designated departure lane area, but for the love of life keep the main flight control on manual.’

‘Setting the mosquitoes to automatic missile defence’, said Amon bluntly.

‘Don’t forget we also have twelve fighter drones’, returned Jon sharply.

‘I feel safer already!’ replied Amon with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

‘Argon pilot you are cleared for departure’, said some Split or other in a characteristically high pitched voice via the com. The Split sounded typically miffed and repulsed at the idea of having to talk to these dirty rotten Argon scoundrels. The creatures short speech occurred simultaneous to the docking bay door cracking open upon a rather ominously but in fact normal blood tinged patch of Rhonkar’s Fire sector space.

Jon simultaneously hit both the accelerator and the boost control and they were almost instantly hurled into the wide open at maximum speed - a rocketing 125ms.

Amon wasn’t impressed with this velocity - something that was written all over his expressive face - or at least it would be if it could be seen more clearly through the rather reflective mirror of his visor. The Wolves happiness was further deflated when two M3 blips already very close on the Triplex Gravidar scanner veered off towards them with a menacing directness that any combat jock could easily read and commenced closing at a speedier 155, ‘Two hostile Mambas incoming’, Amon called out deciding to give a warning as co-pilot. It helped to be doing something, ‘Firing wasps’, well the cluster munitions might prove a distraction.

Jon snorted then said, ‘I see them’, with an air of one who didn’t need or want his hand held while vigorously punching down on the foot strafe pedals for a mini practice at rather sluggish TS evasive actions using the freighters in built strafe drive.

We’re doomed thought, the Wolf, who became even less impressed when the Freighter started shaking about while its Gravidar sensor data fed speakers started making blaring unpleasant sizzling slapping splat noises because the Caiman was taking a stream of dead on target hits from the rear. A sneaky Split M4 Scorpion fighter rushed by with a simulated rumble of engine noise. The Split pilot, Amon was sure, was grinning manically in their upside down way at the preliminary damage he had delivered to the Freighters far from limitless shield strength using Amon made a scan - four alpha particle accelerator canons - well that could be worse, before veered away and flipping to fire a cluster of wasps of its own at almost point blank range while sliding rather showily sideways at considerable speed.

Chew on these smart ass, thought Amon in return, firing off another cluster of wasps while the freighter turret still on auto started firing back too although this exuberant plan went badly wrong the beta Impulse Ray Emitter fire missed the M4 but managed to prematurely blow some of the Caimans own wasp missiles so that Jon and Amon were immediately rocked some more in their seats.

Meanwhile the looming Mambas launched mosquitoes against the incoming wasps targeting them but otherwise raced on regardless clearly not going to be that easily distracted from their purpose of murdering the Argon impostors.

Whoosh went the speakers as some mosquitoes fled the TS in answer to its Scorpion attackers wasp missile assault, but in this case launching as a defence against an attack at very short range meant the measure was simply too late to lock on in time. The Caiman was jarred around some more from the addition of three rapid consecutive explosive impacts. Sly calmly registering the disastrous depletion of the two 25 mj shields down to one quarter of their overall original value. Outside wild flames licked and rippled across the freighters hull a side effect caused by ignited missile fuel and other detritus burning momentarily on the ships surface. Annoyingly the blaze managed to partially obscure both the pilot and co-pilots cockpit view.

‘You little fekker’ , complained Jon bitterly realising their assailant had been right behind them in the departure queue on board the TL as he shoved the stick hard to the side. The manoeuvre was far too slow for sensible combat but it did make the fire swing about rather dramatically as they moved back around towards the side of the gigantic Shuttle with it big boxy belly, wedge shaped head, and twin jutting out rear engine nacelles. Tricked out as it was the rather strangely shaped Caiman a sort of triangular roofed rectangular box moved reasonably well for the size and nature of its class, but it was clearly no quick responsive fighter.

‘Were truly fekked’, cursed Amon, ‘Why aren’t we jumping’, he yelled as several glowing plasma shots streaked past to add their lurid green but very brief illumination to the cockpits amber burning flare for an instant.

‘Sly’, screamed Jon, ‘ignore the proximity safety protocols start the jump sequence.’

‘Jump sequence initiated’, stated the laid back Sly as if it had all the time in the universe, ‘charging ten percent…’

The Caiman started shaking again this time more violently from a couple of high energy plasma strikes from the lead dart like Mamba these were too much for the shields which winked out as potent energies blasted into the naked hull, ‘Triplex scanner destroyed’, chirped Sly far too happily in the same instant a few wasps arced around as they continued homing in. The only good news was that several missing plasma bolts played across the Split TL Atmospheric Shuttle’s shield and the Mambas were both forced to pull away to seek better angles of attack - no doubt with the Split TL’s Captain bending the lead pilots ear with some angry invective - the attackers would have to watch their vectors in future and or shoot more carefully.

Jon in the meantime did his skimming fly past barely preventing the almost unshielded TS from going splat on the turning monsters potent multiple 125 mj shields due to its momentum. It was close and required the aid of all the strafe Jon could apply with his foot hammered down flat on one pedal. The TL presented itself like a wall of metal death rolling steadily past, ‘…forty percent…’, continued Sly with seeming computerised indifference to its own fate. Jon was gritting his teeth and wincing as they cleared by a margin he preferred not to contemplate. The smuggler was sure part of his after burner was pulsing light on the TL’s shield like a giant candle flame in the dark. The smuggler had been far from sure they were going to make it at all.

Amon was thinking about loosing some drones but was afraid they might simply drop to plough into the hulking Transport like non explosive bombs given its far too close proximity. So far the giant Split Shuttle had remained neutral. Maybe the shuttle wasn’t armed (unlikely given its race) anyway it could still have attempted to deliberately ram them into oblivion plus without question the boxy ship had to be carrying some defensive fighters of its own?

Jon was swinging around again desperate to hug the cover of the metal pachyderm while doing a very risky shield transport cycle on the barely regenerated systems. Since they hardly had any shield energy left what did it matter without doubt the Caiman had been blessed with a fair degree of providence since so far the shields had merely had their protection stripped away not been blown out altogether. Riding this good fortune Jon was delighted to notice that the shields protective shell stabilised just before another wasp hit home - even if that one almost knocked them into the deadly obstacle that was the TL - due largely to Jon suffering a bit of reactive stick shake.

As a back seat driver Amon found he was being made to sweat more than he normally would (being in a rust bucket of a TS didn’t help either) and also realised comically he was all but making motions with an imaginary dual control stick. It was amazing how the instants in combat stretched. The Wolf feeling hyper sensitive and exceptionally alert noted sourly that due to damage their maximum speed had been reduced by around ten percent already and he also saw they had lost five of the twelve fairly delicate fighter drones in the cargo hold to damage - something sly hadn‘t mentioned. More defensive mosquitoes launched away independently but arcing out most of these - not so smart munitions - appeared to accidentally strike the nearby TL’s shields.

Oops thought, Jon as a taped warning started screaming complaint, ‘…sixty percent…’, iterated Sly over that, did the AI now sound mildly impatient to be off or was that just his own worried interpretation as his heart thumped harder in his chest.

On the Gravidar the Mambas were once more fast approaching one trailing missile fire from its nose area. The attackers obviously had their angles all nicely sorted, ‘…seventy percent…’, Judder, judder it was that cursed fleabag Scorpion again as it swung by seemingly out of nowhere to this time take them in the belly with more nasty particle accelerator canon fire. As it screeched past very close on speaker Jon involuntarily ducked, their own turret firing steadily missed the M4 with all but one useless shot but hit the TL squarely. The friendly fire proved the last straw and the converted old style Elephant let them know rather kindly that it was now launching its own defensive fighters to blow them to hell for transgressing against family Rhonkar and the glorious Split, ‘… eighty percent…’

Amon was thinking about whether or not to drop the remaining functional drones but decided to save them for possible use later - with twenty percent to go Amon had instantly concluded they would either make the jump now or be blown to pieces. The Wolf Squad Leader doubted launching last moment robotic mini fighter defences would change any potential outcome. A new Scorpion appeared on the scanner having launched from the TL. At JD 80 percent the Scorp. seemed relatively quite far away and therefore Amon prayed more or less irrelevant.

‘…ninety percent…’, and more angry green plasma was making the Caiman dance. The first shield was gone the second almost a third depleted the other Mamba in a fine attack line opened up as the new Scorpion swung around wide to make its own belated attack run, Jon was jumping on the pedals and hauled on the stick like a crazy Argon just escaped from the infamous AP Asylum - the shields were being ripped away regardless of this frantic dance. The hull commenced to follow exploding apart like ice cast in to a blazing forge fire, ‘now yo..’, promised one of the Split pilots over the com, cut off by, ‘Jumping’, the erratically flying Caiman flared out just before it hit the TL with disastrous results - darkness, light.

‘You are now entering the sector… Light of Heart’, said Sly, ‘25 mj shield destroyed, boost extension destroyed, mosquito missile destroyed…the list went on and on.’

Fek I’m alive, thought Amon, as they exited the gate according to the readout they still had a whopping nine percent of their hull integrity intact and remarkably the second spare 5mj shield the only such item left - having automatically installed - was now regenerating. 5 mj wasn’t much to keep life and limb together, but it would be handy against for example: an untimely couple of space fly collisions.

‘Well that could have been worse’, said Jon resting back down on his seat like an Argon who had just run a record race as he commenced to nurse the very slow ship away from the gate and further into Light of Heart. The pilots ease didn’t last long though as he was soon watching the gate behind him on a monitor he activated anxious lest they die embarrassingly from an accidental rear ending. Conveniently this argon sector had a shipyard but at this speed it was going to take them a while to reach it. At least, thought Jon, that would give them a little time to begin making up a suitable story to tell their less than easy going Commander in Chief Fay!

‘You’re a fluky son of an ugly egg laying Teladi’, replied Amon opening his visor and grinning.

‘That makes two of us’, replied Jon doing the same.

Then they both saw the pirate nova on the duplex and slapped their visors back down again.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 83 - Some Missing Pieces

‘Fek’, cursed Jon, ’we don’t have enough energy cells left even to make an in sector gate to gate jump.’

‘Dropping four drones in protect mode’, replied Amon, ‘maybe that will make this opportunist weedhead think twice?’

A little later as the Caiman continued to crawl away from the Jump Gate, ‘No, I’m afraid its no good, I’m getting no discernable course change from the Pirate’, continued Amon.

‘Here come the cavalry, but they’re not going to get here in time’, said Jon watching slow moving blips on the edge of the duplex scanners range - so much for our luck, he thought.

The brightly painted Pirate Nova was closing - at best speed plus - towards the badly damaged and therefore sluggish in every way Caiman with its single surviving only partially energised 5MJ shield. It was looking like a very uneven contest. The Pirate M3 certainly appeared to be unimaginatively following an all too obvious - direct line - attack vector aimed perfectly straight at its easy target the currently limping Split designed and built TS freighter Voyager. It was obvious that this very buccaneer invader - that was daring to provoke a response from the local Argon Core Sectors defenders - was doing so in the knowledge that it was well placed to easily scoot ahead of the local wardens of Federal security.

While the Light of Heart defenders were without question targeting the invader due to the Pirates speed and apparent engine flare it was plain the rogue Nova was riding a prolonged after burner boost, Jon guessed, the foe was thus intent on maintaining even lengthening its already well established lead from the principle opposition: three Navy M3’s (all Novas one regular and two designated as sentinels - a potent enough force if it could get into play).

Unfortunately due to the Pirates position it was doubtful that even the two speeding ahead Discoverer scouts (terriers designed to haul in and hassle fast targets) would fail to reach the Argon red designated enemy bandit before the renegade had done its dirty work in full, and probably escaped clean - even with the M5’s quickly accelerating far ahead of the main bulk of the now somewhat stretched military fighter squadrons formation.

‘The dirty fekker is going to blow us for kicks, just because we are weakened, then exit the gate’, cursed Amon stating the glaringly obvious once more to Jon’s mild annoyance, ‘I’m loosing the other three drones on attack my target’, which target at least seemed beyond any requirement for further painful clarification by the historic smugglers co-pilot.

‘Great plan’, said Jon with more than a hint of sarcasm, then continued fatalistically, ‘Sly prepare yourself for full AI mobile core eject.’

‘Core military AI separation achieved, ready for fully detached function’, replied Sly. The valuable computer had actually already undertaken the necessary precaution. Sly had no intension of going down with any ship especially not this already all but wrecked flying coffin of a TS.

‘Surrender or Die Split Scum’, came a quavering Boron voice. The message (within the com window) retaining the standard poor sound to picture synchronisation a product of language translation in this instance Boron to Argon.

‘We politely suggest you check our registration. We’re Argon Merchants not Split Warriors please veer away’, shouted Jon desperately, ‘and we’ll immediately recall all aggressive fighter drones.’

‘You lie Split scum. Burn in a starry hell. You are all murdering monsters!’ replied the angry sounding modulated voice from an otherwise queerly calm looking on screen Boron.

Jon was no Boron expert but found it unusual that the floater was so gently waving its tentacles about with smiling (moved together eye stalks) while spouting its vitriolic rhetoric, very peculiar!

Mosquito missiles streaked forward from the painted Nova in opposition to the aggressive drones as did a light rain of well aimed main gun PAC fire. Against this deluge the Drones failed to last long. The aggressing nova flew on completely undaunted zooming past three small roughly spherical expanding clouds of particulate matter that would soon enlarge into a unrecognisably diffuse nothingness.

‘This is hopeless’, admitted Jon strafing with no noticeable effect whatsoever. Then as a last throw of the dice the smuggler called out, ‘Take our ship we surrender’, uncovering and punching a bulky somewhat special joint emergency eject button to Amon’s short lived in ship consternation and cold shock.

Amon, Sly and Jon all dropped out into naked space and powered away scattering from each other and the obvious target of the almost immobile and still slowing Caiman. Despite the length of elapsed time since its arrival from the tame wormhole due to its originally limping speed the damaged Caiman had made little progress in sector. The TS now abandoned hung rather pathetically - well within the immediate vicinity - of the gigantic Jump Gates imposing ring shaped structure.

Meanwhile wasting no time the Pirate Nova almost on top of its target opened up with its powerful weapon racks once more. This time the deadly fighters guns blazed away with hot angry green energies (potent beta high energy plasma bolts). In slow motion the Caiman might have appeared - for an instant - to stand bravely defiantly proud while its shields were engulfed in fiery destruction, but in real time little more than the blink of an eye passed before this final energy barrier collapsed inward. The naked metal and composite hull the shield had so poorly defended was left bare to the full brunt of the still incoming searing super heated plasma.

The Caimans surface commenced to vaporise, melt, buckle, tare and rip asunder. However before the incoming fire could do its real work internally the entire ship exploded even more spectacularly outward from within with a remarkable intensity and a spray of deadly and surprisingly shaped and solid fragments. The unusual ferocity and nature of the conflagration while leaving nothing worth salvaging behind, also all but destroyed the Pirate Nova. Voyagers explosion instantly shattered its killers shields, butchered its hull integrity, immolated its internal systems, and perforated its incognito - Split - pilot. Death was that warriors repayment for flying directly into the heart of an explosive inferno with some added very hard rain.

Amon’s suit sensors registered the boom replaying the event as a true cacophony of vulgar white noise in his ears. Despite an almost impossible to resist impulse the wolf didn’t turn to look back fearful that even the least distraction of such a manoeuvre might potentially slow or prevent his ultimate escape. The Squad Leader was flying full throttle making the most of his suits slightly superior rocket pack as he rushed towards the structure of the gate itself. The wolves plan being to make the most of the gate as physical cover - a survivalist act of last resort - not having realised his hunter was already slain by the very death throws of its would be victim.

Jon more by accident than any particular design had launched in the opposite direction (away from the gate) unlike his subordinate however Jon couldn’t resist rotating around to watch so that he dangerously raced backwards into the nearby empty night. Despite losing a faithful ship the smuggler found himself whooping in delight when the Pirate Nova pilot chose foolishly to open up at point blank range an act of bravado that saw him engulfed in the deadly (quick reaction) self destruct.

The final outcome of scuttling his ship had been more than Jon had dared to realistically hope for. While the demonic ferocity of the explosion came as no great surprise to the Legionary Veteran after all he had been aware - unlike Amon - just how the freighter was fully rigged to enact revenge and prevent any possible capture of advanced legion material. Jon still had to admit Amon had been right: I am and always have been (at least in spirit, and when the final chips were fully down) a lucky son of an egg laying Teladi, thought the pilot, leaving out the ugly bit as inappropriate.

Sly didn’t say anything, but in truth it was far from sorry to see the end of that Split Caiman. The military AI was if anything feeling pretty happy with its performance especially its deliberately - awful - shooting in the turret. It had been wasted on that hunk of junk anyway being forced to integrate and run that TS was an insult to its superior military intelligence it was only sorry the blustering water bags had survived again, but you couldn‘t have everything and it couldn’t override its primary benevolent directive only skilfully bend it.



Ravn was in bed alone Elaen being on a late shift, but the RJL Security Chief wasn’t sleeping. Instead he was being haunted by visions of a freestanding hollow cast off skin and possible alien conspiracies involving his employer Anna, ArgonForge, and Argon Navy Intelligence to speak of a few. After casually (well as casually as he could manage over a few cycles without daring to let too much time slip by) examining the new AFC 4 at various points of interest including the Transit Modules crash site it looked like his entire potential crime scene had been stolen and replaced by AF with a completely useless copy!

With a metaphorical - space fly in his booster rocket - Rav had even gone EVA to (in his own mind at least) confirm this wild theory, using a supposed live new suit run in test as his excuse. The investigator now had no personal doubt that this complex was not a repair job, or even an amalgamation of old and new parts - it was an entirely new construction made up of fresh parts merely window dressed to look like an upgraded predecessor. As a result of this discovery (which he felt was rather arrogantly not too well hidden) Ravn had a growing compulsion to track down the pieces of the original AFC 4 - no doubt carted away by that Mammoth TL responsible for the supposed upgrade and repair job ‘The Great Maker’.

Contemplating the hunt Rav had at first despaired believing it was too late. The missing pieces of this puzzle already lost to inspection - split up and scrapped beyond recovery - even fully recycled back to their original base constituents. Sometime later however jumping out of bed Rav recanted his former opinion being delivered from his morose condition by an epiphany that the destruction of the wreckage was neither logical nor likely. Thinking about what he would do in ArgonForges stead Rav decided that for even fairly mundane reasons of study AF would want to keep the surviving wreckage intact rather longer despite any possible security risks.

Even if AF had to keep the evidence away from spying eyes and interference to cover the Corporations dirty laundry. Ravn believed the only way for AF to run a serious autopsy of this nature involved the painstaking reconstruction of the complex. Ergo AF would have actually carted off and rebuilt the original forge from its pieces somewhere else, someplace hidden - well off the grids - in perhaps an area of deep and probably very well guarded space. This would go a long way to explain the requirement for a secretive substitution in the first place.

This probability filled Rav with hope and concern. Hope that he could still examine the reconstituted crime scene himself firsthand, and concern that if AF on their own or with the cooperation of others had followed this inclination and gone to this much trouble… Rav in snooping about even shallowly on New Four had planted himself a little close to a big drop with a glowing sign on his back saying - To Ensure AF Cover Up - Please Push!

It was after all doubtful his poking around on the New Four and in particular his little space walk had gone entirely unnoticed - copy or not - this was AFC 4 and he knew very well what everyone said about privacy and surveillance on this already infamous Complex! Even taking into account his professions potential paranoia , mused the Military Internal Investigator, if his actions did get a reaction that might not be such a bad thing either so long as he survived it. Maybe a move against himself would offer up another long awaited lead the somewhat adrift soldier could follow. Rav was beginning to suspect he had been too passive - it was time to do a little shoving of his own. The place to start would be retracing ‘The Great Makers’ movements using his own contacts. No longer in quite the same level of deep cover Rav finally felt free to enlist and involve others of his acquaintance without the fear of compromising his own position.



Elaen was feeling slightly diminished and a little unsure about how best to proceed breaking in this particular new partner. The Lt. Constables previous colleague having taken some leave following a (compared to some) minor injury sustained in the Hammer incident. The new arrival was called Jain Macintosh or more regularly just Mac (although he had already been renamed Wee Mac by his new colleagues) was a veteran of AF’s planet side corporate security from Home of Light who decided he wanted to hang out among the stars for a spell to broaden(?) his current experience something that was not too uncommon a request for ah normal individuals (but no doubt to many of his colleagues in ArgonForges utter consternation especially any boys trying to organise the logistics of vacuum suits to fit that frame and so on). For a mud grubber Policeman Mac was neither flabby nor soft per the space side perception of the landlocked, but rather colossal and rock solid. The Copper was to put it bluntly a granite slab of an Argon who managed to make most people he encountered aware of their comparative fragility by his mere hulking presence alone. Elaen hardly diminutive felt somewhat shrunken and shrivelled beside Wee Mac.

El suspected that was all most Argons perceived in Jain - his muscle and heavy boned bulk - but from the speech she had managed to coax out of the guy El discovered Mac hoarded away a surprisingly loquacious vocabulary that occasionally broke loose at unexpected moments to demonstrate that beneath the rather thick looking skull rested a good enough brain, but Mac generally preferred not to flaunt it (at least not in public) all this seemed a little familiar. El had met this type before on the force individuals who allowed others to misjudge them entirely on surface looks to their adversaries wide detriment Ravn was not behind play acted in this manner, but Mac was an extreme case if ever she saw one.

Rav’s deadly grace always hinted at a degree of controlled subtlety, Mac just came across as brutally indestructible - graceful he certainly wasn’t - in fact Jain moved with an exaggerated but clumsy care as if afraid he might accidentally squish the odd unfortunate bystander which didn‘t seem too unlikely. Elaen had never caught so many strange looks from people in all her time on station, although technically they were really directed elsewhere. Despite most individuals being quite keen to get out of Mac’s way as they made their rounds for example: there was still a lot of sorry, pardon, and excuse me from the walking obstruction.

‘So how did you find your flight out from Argon Prime?’ asked Elaen.

‘An amazing experience, but somewhat uncomfortable’, confessed Mac.

I’ll bet, thought Elaen, coach seats weren’t designed with Argon models like Mac in mind. Something about the way he had answered made El query, ‘Was that your first true deep space flight?’

‘It was’, replied the Argon giant managing to look a little embarrassed.

‘First times are always something else’, replied Elaen laughing, ’so what do you think of New Four?’

‘New Four?’ replied Mac raising a bushy brow.

‘That’s what all us oldies are calling the improved Complex’, noted El.

‘New Four sounds kind of sparkly I like that. So far - New Four -’, said Mac trying the label out for size, ‘seems, I don’t know, I suppose a lot quieter than I imagined’, he finished looking around the currently sparsely occupied open internal space of Hub One.

‘Give it time’, replied Elaen still missing the once prominent central tree now replaced with a dead metal monument to the old vaporised Harbour Tower West. El couldn’t stop herself from sighing at this disappointment, and the fact that Mac had just invoked the demons from their ever restless slumber. Not to complain about quiet moments on AFC 4 was one of the first station side superstitions AF security coppers learned to treat with serious respect.



Tur entered the well stocked warehouse through a side door and passed down a series of isles. Despite a degree of constant activity from a living staff point of view - the building seemed empty and lifeless - save for the movement of operator less computer driven loading stacking and retrieving machinery. The Sergeant had elected to stay behind in the yellow and black, leaving his driver called West to lead Tur around the maze then up a series of open stairs to an overhanging series of rooms bordering on a narrow windowed corridor. Eventually West gestured Tur to enter into a seemingly windowless side room via a heavy metal reinforced door.

Inside with the door closed behind him it took the Devil a brief moment to grow accustomed to the dark. The room itself was barely illuminated by a few mere spots rays of light that filtering through chinks in the blackout and by three slightly glowing screens that rested on a stark crisp sterile plain metal table. Facing that almost clinically austere unit of furniture however lay a single wooden chair of a very different character. The armchair at first was hard to see until he approached being made of a rich black polished wood from the Ebon Forests to the south heavily carved with what looked like skilfully rendered if rather stylised depictions of naturalised flora and fauna. The seat was upholstered real red leather held in place with bright gold coloured studs. Tur wasn’t sure what to make of this locally produced luxury item? The convenient item seemed very much out of place like something that had transgressed out of its own time Tur feared there might be a worrying significance.

Having been steered to the room but left to enter alone Tur decided to take the proffered chair deciding it was obviously for - his - comfort. Immediately three computer generated images appeared one on each screen a triumvirate of disembodied heads that rotated to face him. It was clear his actual hosts or host (Tur decided to take nothing on assumption) had a flare for staged dramatics that could approach his own.

‘So glad you agreed to come and see us replied the middle head. For the sake of simplicity you can call me Alpha on my left is my associate Beta and the right Gamma. I believe you wish to be called Keane’, said the Image of Alpha smiling.

‘That’s my name’, replied the Devil evenly, ‘how can I be of service?’

‘Do you wish to be of service?’ asked Gamma, ‘is that what this is all about?’

‘Excuse me’, replied Keane, ‘but you invited me here not the other way around - I naturally assumed you wanted something I could provide. Being in business I am always open to negotiation and new possibilities’, finished the Devil.

‘Yes’, replied Alpha, ‘it always comes down to business and exactly what would your business be Mister Molloy?’

‘I’m a flexible kind of operator’, replied Tur, ‘anything that generates a sufficient profit is My Business.’

‘A true Argon of enterprise’, replied Gamma, ‘anything covers quite a lot.’

‘Can we just get on with this’, said Beta testily.

‘Get on with what?’ asked Keane.

‘What we need to know Mister Molloy is if we offered you a commission would you be free to take it?’ asked Beta.

‘Are you already how can I put this in the employ of somebody else?’ asked Gamma.

‘Since I have been here I have only worked for myself’, replied Keane.

‘Then you wouldn’t object to a retrospective commission?’ asked Alpha.

‘Retrospective?’ queried Keane wondering where this might be going.

‘We would like to pay you for work you have done already’, explained Beta.

‘That’s novel’, replied Molloy now playing dumb, ‘you want to gain historic access to my warehouse?’

‘Hardly’, replied Alpha chuckling at the absurdity, ‘we want to pay you for your little hunt’.

‘I have no idea what you are talking about’, replied Keane wondering if they could be after a taped confession, did they think he would be that stupid?

‘Discretion is a wonderful thing’, replied Alpha, ‘I believe you have an account with Adare & Craan would you be adverse to further communications through that office.’

‘If you have a genuine offer of business Alpha feel free to approach my legal representatives. I will even forward on your ah name, but I have to reiterate you seem to be confusing me with somebody else in relation to this hunt. I am no sportsman - not even a gambler - I don’t like the odds on such precipitous undertakings, I can see little profit in it.’

‘Well even if we are mistaken in this small particular Mister Molloy I get the feeling you are exactly the sort of person we wish to do business with baring that in mind I would be most grateful if you did contact A&C to inform them of my serious business intent with your person’, finished Alpha.

‘That I would be delighted to do’, said Keane wondering just what would be the end result of that?

‘Then on behalf of my fellows and myself I wish to bid you good day’, finished Alpha just before all three screens cycled down and went blank.

After returning to his own sanctuary Tur found himself considering what he knew so far about his interviewers - it was precious little. One thing was certain though his twin kills had been traced back to him very quickly indeed. It seemed clear The Heads were professionals and local to the Hill probably to Beachhead itself. Still maybe who didn’t matter as much as what they really wanted although conversely from his experience who you are and what you want were indelibly linked.

So, thought Tur, did somebody or some faction wish to claim responsibility for the deaths as a hit through him, or did they want to pin it on somebody else, or were they fishing for a confession or just some surety of his involvement? It was interesting that they didn’t seem sure that he was unattached. Obviously The Heads had one or more rivals. Did they fear, or did they wish perhaps to start a turf war? The Devil had to admit (at least to himself) that he was a little put out. Tur didn’t really want to be dragged into somebody else’s game when he had one of his own ongoing. Further the idea of playing by somebody else’s rules went against all the Devils inclinations. Clearly something would have to be done, but first he would see what these talking heads planned to offer via Adare & Craan. At least while he waited for an incoming message he had plenty to get on with reluctantly the Pirate Leader returned to tinkering with the almost complete skullcap.



After speaking with her code breaking message interception team Fay settled down to think at her desk. It didn’t surprise her that Ravn had discovered the Complex substitution (AF had in her opinion made a rather clumsy job of it.) It was cheeky of Jollo not to inform Fay of this action though since she had been securing the project. Was it possible ArgonForge was getting a little too independent? Of course it was possible that Ban or somebody else perhaps even the snake Sven could have called the shots on this one. It worried Fay that Sven had slunk away so easily, she didn’t like it! It was anybodies guess what forensic evidence might still exist among the wreckage of the original Four. Dare she trust even Jollo and AF not to use this against her?

Too many distractions, thought the Commander in Chief, otherwise she would have never allowed any potential evidence out of her sight. Fay was glad she had refrained from removing Rav, his interest had pointed her toward a potentially disastrous oversight. I should have listened to my instincts, Fay thought, I knew something was up with that repair and upgrade. The Great Maker TL just dropped too much mass and the old station had been too thoroughly dismantled for a fixer up I just didn‘t think of the fuller possible consequences.

Well for the moment Fay decided to let it ride. It might be safer to wait and see what if anything Ravn stirred up before committing any of her own hounds to the scent.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 84 - Preparations for / and Hostile Takeovers

Despite being slightly unsettled by his surreal audience with the three disembodied heads (one for the memoirs, thought the Devil, not that he was foolish enough to keep such) Tur Ryn or Keane Molloy as he was known here began to get absorbed once more in his own extra special project. With the final completion of the cobbled together Boron shaped skull cap device the Devil was just about ready to commence his plan diabolic! However, before he considered unfreezing one of his guests from storage Tur had a few preliminaries to take care of.

First Tur hooked himself into the alien cerebral capture device (mind reader / recorder). The technology had suffered many labels both practical and fanciful including: The ego copier, memory imager, even rather deliciously the soul taker. In the end past labels didn’t matter it was simply an incredibly accurate very specific short range scanning and data storing apparatus. The procedure itself couldn’t be simpler just plug yourself in hit the button and wait a few moments for the quick memory snapshot. Tur had older image data files on permanent store, but he felt it was important that this future exceptional cloned mind understand that it was none other than himself that put himself MKII in this ground blazing position.

Tur believed his mental clone would be best armoured against the shock of its new found state if it fully understood how and why this somewhat bizarre existence had come about. The new improved Boron would be the penultimate infiltrator - a copy of his own Argon mind existing in a Boron brain and body! Tur could think of no better way to get to the bottom of the Floater goings on in Elena’s Fortune at Freedom Station. Tur also hoped information about the status and whereabouts of Kerry might also be gained from this source or at the least some connection to Faith. The Devil was convinced Faith had to be behind or in some manner connected to both of these events, without doubt she must have traced him to Freedom and knew of his escape to hit him so soon after the loss of his station in Priests Pity.

Given recent history while the Devil appreciated it might be perceived as a cruel and unusual crime he was committing here, as far as he was concerned these were cruel and unusual times after all his own head had been blown to pieces in public and one of Kerry‘s eyes destroyed according to the subsumed Tur Ryns memories not so very long ago! Faiths actions had driven him to these dire extremes by daring to hound and hunt him without surcease, in killing the guiltless Sheen and kidnapping the innocent Kerry! Besides, maybe his Boron encased other self would find some perverse pleasure in the unparalleled experiences it would garner as a floater within floater society, Tur suspected, the Boron were in for a shock or two. What would it be like to actually explore - being a non Argon - in such fullness, Tur could almost feel a little jealousy of the rare opportunity he was providing for his other self. Taking a calming breath Tur pressed the button and captured a usable image of his dark soul.

The Devil then spent the rest of the day organising and testing the medical equipment that would be used to restrain and maintain the subject in its watery bag like cocoon during the possibly prolonged undertaking although the Devil planned to do all he could to speed the takeover. Finding solutions to the electricity and water combination had caused more than a few headaches and been one of the principle difficulties Tur had to overcome with the altered implantation skull cap device. Then their had been the rather brute recalibrations of the neural implant web done with the help of his Abyss among many other hitches. Tur also had to install the audio visual components the screens and sound system for the stimulation of an anticipated accelerated integration process. Images and sound files of key subjects including Kerry herself would he hoped help the implanted memories to surface and domineer the original personality as speedily as possible - the changeover was normally a rather convoluted and mysterious almost organic affair in application. Despite being hooked up to life support the Boron nonetheless would have to be conscious during the rigours of the long possession process.

Tur fully expected the alien invasion of the Boron’s mind to be regarded as an obscene and horribly repugnant violation by the creature, so it also had to be restrained to prevent any likely attempt at self harm. Tur could hardly fool this Boron as he had his own Argon dupes in the early stages the floater would probably think it was going insane while it slowly lost control of its mind. As the Boron would be involved in an obvious hostile takeover it would be fed nutrients intravenously while tranquillisers along with other medications would also be pumped in automatically when required. The subjects status fully monitored and controlled by Tur Ryn’s - Abyss - the mainline computer system at the heart of his lair here in Beachhead.

Luckily Tur was able to keep the Boron unconscious until the floater was all hooked up and fully restrained for its own bodily protection. Now impatient for the off the Devil anxiously initiated the cerebral implantation device watching the health monitors intently as the mechanism whirled into sinister action. To Tur’s surprise, and delight the procedure (undertaken with the Boron yet unconscious) went flawlessly maybe, hoped Tur, he wouldn‘t need that back up extra little blue body after all. Which left him wondering just what he should do if this proved the case with the spare, terminate or keep it just in case it was needed later?

As the implant was in place Tur decided it was time to depart to his bed knowing the device was best left undisturbed for a reasonable length of time so it could fully establish itself over the surface of the creatures living brain tissue without any added stressful interference for this stage the subject needed to be calm. A few local hours would suffice, but given the late regional time the rest of the night, Tur suspected, would serve his purpose even better.

Retreating to the sanctuary of his rather basic cot the Devil lay down still almost clothed, but found despite feeling somewhat fatigued sleep wasn’t going to embrace him easily. Instead Tur’s own mind commenced to race with his plans, and the recent way events had unfolded before finally coming to rest on the forthcoming procedure and the technology involved. Tomorrow would be soon enough to run a few tests then download the memory matrix into the tiny subcutaneous artificial data store from which it would later blossom to slowly swap with the floaters own native memories - that would be the real test - would an Argon mind be able to operate using the non Argon brain tissue? If all went well when the process was complete the Boron’s recollections all that it was or would ever be would become a mere data store that the Argon Devil would be able to access at will.

Tur was relying on an assumption that automatic processes of bodily function and so on should remain largely unaffected by the changeover of the conscious and deep stored memory functions. Although the Arch Fallen Angel still anticipated many initial integration difficulties Tur worried would the creature even be able to talk. It was doubtful the creatures anatomy was capable of forming unassisted Argon words. Tur realised his mental kin might have to relearn how to speak Boron - would this endeavour be easy or hard? Certainly Tur’s other self would have access to the hosts stored memories while the gradual nature of the changeover process might also help, but memory was not quite the same thing as physical experience of instinctively working muscles still at this level of subtle integration it might be close enough? It was new ground for Tur but, he wondered, had the aliens (whoever they had been) ever used this weird technology in this way to subsume members of another species it was a paranoiac’s worst nightmare the alien body snatcher of Passive Virtual Reality horror science fiction.

In many ways the most important part of the alien device - technologically - was the alien storage chip itself, no comparative Argon technology existed of this size capable of retaining the masses of data involved in the transfer procedure. Faiths scientists had tried unlocking the chips deepest secrets without success, they had only been able to grow other identical objects using the equipment provided. Nonetheless, the Devil was sure it must have spawned many innovative new directions of exploration even if no one to his knowledge had cracked the chip fully to unlock the true nature of its architecture for other applications.

Jorac had considered the possibilities of this new storage device himself looking at potential contacts / secret partners to fund some covert studies of his own. Unfortunately the effective cutting edge research scientists Jorac also would have needed tended to be very well watched and protected by both the Races military, civilian security and or the Corporations they worked for. The Devil had therefore pulled back from the idea fearing the attention cooperating with or kidnapping such individuals would ultimately create - never mind the potential drain of the huge expenditure required in running and securing what would have been an entirely speculative venture. It was easier to let others do the hard work then just steal the results something the Fallen Angels had been skilful enough at doing in the past.

Staring at the low Set Stone reinforced ceiling Tur found sleep wouldn’t come. Working with the strange alien technology that had permitted his rebirth always had some small effect on his peace of mind stirring up echoes of disquiet. The Devil realised he was looking forward to meeting his Boron other self when the procedure was complete, maybe with this unusual confederate he wouldn’t feel quite so coldly separate and alone. Together they would find and rescue Kerry and if crossed burn all that transgressed against them in the heavens as an unholy trinity.

Tur was sleeping when The Abyss registered and logged a request for its master to contact A&C when convenient RE: A secure meeting at their offices with a representative of the party called Alpha.



Master Sean was still watching the newcomer Keane Molloy’s warehouse from the roof of an almost identical building across the road in the predawn while listening to the Night Ravens final searching calls - tonight coming from distant areas they would soon fade altogether as the scavengers returned to their dark day roosts before the full light of dawn.

It was a good thing, thought Sean, that the Fat Sergeant wasn’t the only contact he kept in beachheads corrupt police force (even if Farris was the one that cost him the most credits, maybe it really was time that agreement changed). What did he care about the wider politics anyway, his crew were acknowledged as independents by most individuals and groups that mattered within the Council and that was good enough for him. That two of his stalkers had been fed to the Ravens and the lads were restless due to far too many unfounded rumours was all that mattered. Due to such shifts in the storms path there would have to be a proper reckoning after all with this Molloy person!

Certainly he had considered doing as Farris had suggested and taking out some innocent easier to handle scapegoat, but even ignoring his crews increasingly ugly mood the more Sean thought about the presumptuous stranger - laughing in his face - wandering about the city unpunished like he owned the place the more it upset his pride. Besides the Wasps leaked as bad as most roofs in the poor quarter during the worst of the storm season, what would happen if his crew found out later that their Master had deliberately lied and permitted - the real killer - of two of their number to get away free especially because of a mere chat with a bent paid for copper, that kind of thing could put a sharp blade in your back even from your best friend.

Still it would have to be done right. It was a matter of honour now especially once he returned to tell the boys his news - so patience was called for - sooner or later the Ravens would feast once more, this time on still living flesh. If an out world stranger could resurrect old ways then a true citizen and son of Beachhead could do the same. Sean would make a fine bed up for this guest to scream the final moments of his life away on upon The Hill. Now however, just like the retreating Ravens it was time for him to fly home especially since his quarry seemed intent to remain safely locked indoors.



Jon was feeling a little perked up when he realised the badly damaged looking Pirate Nova was not going to self destruct. The smuggler was even happier when the ship quickly drifted to a complete stop nearby (no doubt a direct result of the standard safety system routinely fitted to all modern space craft - the automated dampening thrust command set - this automatic routine being employed to stop any uncontrolled spaceship from continuing in an unintentional drift that could possibly result in a difficult to deal with - moving - navigation hazard). Given the inertia prevention system the fighter had stopped dead in close proximity to were his own ship had spectacularly expired. It was time, the smuggler mused, to ride his luck one more time.

‘Amon, Sly this is Jon you can stop running. Looks like we got ourselves a Pirate Nova’, broadcast the Legionary Smuggler as he jetted towards the languishing brutally punished M3 fighter.

‘Course corrected’, returned Sly swinging about with perhaps a degree of logical enthusiasm.

‘What?’ asked Amon spinning one hundred and eighty degrees despite being wary that this could be some kind of trick by the enemy pilot to lure them in - possibly for capture as slaves - given his recent experiences - slavery was much on the vacuum suited wolfs mind as was dharma.

‘It looks OK, I’m pretty sure the Pirate Nova was disabled by the blast of our Caimans self destruct. I’m going in to check her out’, explained Jon moving towards the floating hulk at ten ms. Vacuum suits didn’t go very fast in relation to ships possibly because any collision in one was invariably fatal.

‘Be careful’, replied Amon, ‘the floater might just be playing dead or have a temporary malfunction.’

Amon, thought Jon, was proving to be bit of a worrier for an ex Pirate, ‘With the boys in grey incoming if our tentacle waving blue baby could move he’d be running’, returned Jon, ‘this is no time for caution. If I don’t claim her the Navy will and we will lose our prize and any tatters of dignity we might salvage from this fiasco. What can you tell me about the ships status Sly.’

‘Coming into scanning range’, replied the tiny computer in its spherical free roaming housing as it buzzed past and commenced circling the Nova like a confused space fly, ‘hull integrity estimated at approximately thirty three percent all shields are down presumed destroyed, attempting to integrate with and override the onboard computer. Do you wish to claim this ship?’

‘Yes’, replied Jon simply.

‘Electronically Intruding… Pirate Nova ownership transferred. I have taken control of the ships systems via remote. The Split pilot and former owner of the vehicle is deceased. There is considerable damage to internal systems including the manual control pilot interfaces, but life support should be restorable engine and avionic systems remain capable of basic function under computer guided navigation. Actual hull integrity according to internal survey is better than predicted at thirty seven percent. Do you wish a detailed inventory of equipment and a full damage report?’ asked Sly.

‘No’, replied Jon, ‘a Split in disguise as a Boron eh, that made some sense and is interesting intelligence, just pop the hatch and let us in. No, wait any illegal goods on board our new ship?’

‘Three crates’, replied Sly, ‘One containing Space Fuel, another of Space flies and a third containing four Squash Mines.’

‘Very naughty’, said Jon, ‘Kindly jettison all illegal cargo immediately.’

‘Jettisoning illicit cargo crates’, returned Sly.

‘That could have been messy’, said the smuggler to himself as three crates spun away, ‘Ok sly pop the hatch so I can get in and hook yourself up. Amon, where the hell are you?’

‘Not too far’, replied the Wolf Leader making his best speed at fifteen ms towards the semi derelict, ‘keep your suit on’, well he thought, at least we won’t be going back entirely empty handed.

Once inside Jon Flyn could see that the computer wasn’t joking when it said the manual control systems had been damaged the cockpit was a mess and so was the Split pilot. Un-strapping the hefty corpse Jon was glad the artificial gravity system wasn’t operational it made dragging the body back into the living area and then into the hold awkward rather than impossible. Although tempted to dump the still warm body into space it might reveal some interesting information. Hell it was even possible the individual - if identified - might just have a personal bounty on its head that would be a tidy much appreciated bonus to a blighted kudos.

‘Jon are you in there?’ came a worried sounding query over his com along with some heavy breathing. Amon seemed to be losing a little of his normal steadfast cool.

‘In the hold bedding down the corpse’, replied Jon innocently.

‘Sorry I asked’, returned Amon, ‘each to their own I suppose. I mean whatever makes you happy old boy!’ he laughed.

‘Very funny’, replied Flyn not amused although he knew with that comment he had been begging for, it oops just as well that wasn‘t said out loud too, ‘personally I prefer not to share my cockpit with a freshly killed Split Warrior.’

‘What you prefer them a bit more smelly’, said Amon, ‘that’s just plain sick! So Sly was right though, it wasn’t a boring Boron after all’, replied Amon as he sealed up the hatch, ‘Paranidia’s Eyes but this place is a right fekkin mess and no mistake there’s holes everywhere. The controls are all fekked up how we going to fly this bird?’

Why do I always end up partnered with pilots that need some kind of therapy, complained Jon to himself, ‘That’s fine old Sly can take us in to the shipyard’, reminded Jon, ‘Sly did you hear that, kindly fly us to the shipyard and dock.’

‘Command accepted’, replied the somewhat unorthodox Sly.

‘Great he’ll probably embed us in the local TL or something’, said Amon feeling uncharacteristically fatalistic the comment was followed by a deliberately long and pain filled groan, ‘still at least this thing still has a working triplex scanner so we can get the full enjoyment of seeing our demise coming to get us.’

‘We are being scanned’, replied Sly ignoring the insulting water bags comments, ‘we have an incoming message.’

‘Yeah’, said Amon butting in while still a bit hyped up from the narrow escape, ‘some idiot scout thanking us for our cooperation and all that Argnu manure’, he continued ignoring the Navy pilots yapping to moan on the local closed communication channel, ‘never around when you need them and always when you don’t’, he finished.

‘So true’, returned Jon finding some common ground for once, ‘do you think someone tipped this Split off we were coming?’ he asked.

‘You’re getting paranoid this ship has no jump drive - how would they have known where we would pop up - it’s just a coincidence’, said Amon.

‘Unless our Warlord friend was already running Split Soldiers as pretend Pirate Boron for some reason - like stirring up a little ill feeling against their un-friends - and just sent out a general coded advisory on us to all agents in the field’, said Jon.

‘You really do have a suspicious mind’, returned Amon, ‘looks like our M5 saviours have decided to escort us all the way in. I suddenly feel safe, secure and warm all over!’

‘Too kind of them unless we are under arrest. You talked all over their actual transmission’, complained Jon without any real conviction.

‘Trust me - they weren’t saying nothing you haven’t heard a million times already’, said Amon sulkily wondering if it was possible to get a real drink at the shipyard and doubting it in this cursed Core Sector, ‘they’re just bored for something to do and this way it looks like they actually helped capture this prize as they swoop back all heroic with a Pirate Nova in tow. I hate the fekking Navy.’

Almost everyone in the Legion detested the Boys in Grey even though they were all technically in the Navy themselves. We all have Split Personalities, thought Jon, looking at the dead warrior - that couldn’t be where that races name came from could it? No, he answered himself, the Split’s personalities seemed pretty straight forward although they did diverge from everyone else’s with their upside down smiles and so possibly something could be made from that fact? Looking at the dead torn bloody body you could almost feel sorry for the thing - did it have a wife and children waiting for it somewhere or a lover even? Did the Split show tenderness behind closed doors to their own, would a mother grieve for the child MIA? It made Jon realise if he had died instead who would have grieved for him? Death in combat was as senseless a way to go as any. Too often who died and who survived in battle was a product of chance rather than skill, even if veterans liked to pretend otherwise as they say there is no delusion like self delusion.

‘What are you doing back there?’ asked Amon, ‘I could use a hand patching these holes.’

‘I’m coming up, but I wouldn’t worry if the ships tanks are still good we can just replenish our suits air supply. This close to a yard I don’t think a patch job is worth the hassle’, said Jon.

‘Fine by me less work’, said Amon, ‘you think capturing this ship is enough to haul our nuts out of the roasting fire?’

‘Maybe with the intelligence that some Split are playing at being Boron if it is more than a one off’, noted Jon, ’Sly any records in the ships system?’

‘Negative all files were very efficiently wiped upon the pilots demise’, noted Sly.

‘Well that tells a story in itself’, said Amon as Jon hove into view from the rear.

‘Also the ship did have a solid Boron registration’, noted Jon, ‘Sly do you think any of the lost data might be physically retrievable?’

‘Not by myself, however using laboratory techniques it may well be possible to reconstitute some of the last stored information. It is difficult to remove all traces of data without completely destroying the memory unit’s physicality unless it is overwritten multiple times - this clean while thorough didn’t go that far’, explained Sly.

‘Ok well remove pack them nice and cosy and carry them back for the forensic boys to analyse. Would that work or do they need to stay powered up Sly?’ asked Jon.

‘Keeping the units powered is not necessary, your plan is feasible. It is vital not to write any new data to these locations. I am isolating as much unused storage space as I can from my memory and active programs. These are the units you should pull’, explained Sly throwing up schematics, ‘I can guide you step by step through the required procedures or enlist the aid of on board automatics.’

‘Hey’, said Amon, ‘if you can pop them yourself - Sly you old metal head - go for it.’

‘Do you wish me to undergo the memory units physical removal Jon?’ asked Sly.

‘Yes please Sly’, returned Jon.

‘Commencing procedure. Programming on board robotics’, explained Sly.

‘Good’, said Amon a bit testily at being ignored by the AI, ‘Sly you can do the job, just drop any elongated unnecessary commentary.’

Sly simply went about its business in utter silence.

‘I don’t think it likes me’, said Amon.

Jon grinned behind his visor amused that the computer was getting to Amon. Flyn had recently developed a bit of a love hate relationship with his military AI hardware, sometimes it seemed well annoyingly superior in its ways. However, Sly had come in useful on more than one occasion, and seemed to perform better when it was either given direct precise military like commands or humoured a little with praise.

Amon felt out of sorts. Working with Jon brought out all his most ragged edges and Sly didn’t help much. The Wolf Leader realised he missed being in command he didn’t like following orders he had even chaffed under Jorac, however, back on freedom he had the space to hide his feelings better. Of course, considered the Pirate, he had been his own Argon then not a puppet on a Navy string.



Suewyn was looking at some evil figures. It looked like RJL might have to make some rather hefty settlements because of the Reaper Riot and their was also an atrocious amount being spent on legal fees. Of course RJL had its own suit going against Argon Forge for loss of earnings during the period when the forge was out of commission due to the Hammer incident. Sue had also managed to convince both Garrin and Anna to actually sell rather than give away interviews and stories to the clamouring press. The opportunity to actually make credits out of publicity wasn’t something to be scoffed at. Anna being onboard a crashed Transit Module alone made for a quite dramatic tale with a little embellishment here and there.

Otherwise RJL was running on all engines with everyone working flat out except perhaps Anna who deserved some relief and The Mascot as she liked to think of him - Garrin - who had just entered her domain to his detriment. It wasn’t that Sue exactly had anything against The Courier but she couldn’t really figure out what his function was in the business even if it was his idea and he was a partner - this bothered her like an itch she couldn‘t quite reach. Recently Garrin had taken to moping around Anna’s office annoying her and her PA with inane attempts to make conversation - rather than staying at his main office and say welcoming potential clients. The main office was the AFC 4’s RJL front space after all. Keen to do something about the errant partner Suewyn had contacted the on station Tribunal herself with a proposal not being the type to let matters ride. Sue was very happy to be doing something about the RJL businesses equivalent of the Argon races appendix organ.

‘Garrin’, said Sue smiling sweetly, ‘just the Argon I wanted to see.’

‘Oops’ , replied G, ‘so what have I done?’

‘Nothing at all’, which was exactly the issue, thought Sue, ‘I thought perhaps you could do something for us.’

Fek, thought G, what had they cooked up for him now. Not another publicity stunt he hoped. At first Garrin had enjoyed being in front of a camera but the sheen of that experience was beginning to tarnish somewhat. Still it was no good he had trapped himself by coming here instead of hanging around somewhere else, ‘So what is it?’ he asked.

‘How would you like to get off this station and do a bit of scout work for your company?’ asked Suewyn.

‘Can’t’, replied G, ‘The Tribunal wont let me go wandering.’

‘All fixed we have agreed to cover a rather massive surety so you had better not go missing’, explained Sue.

‘Seriously?’, said Garrin looking like a puppy dog that had just noticed its lead had been picked up by its owner and it was time for an unscheduled walk.

‘Straight up’, replied Sue, ‘we need somebody to scout out some routes organise station side ticket booths, and other premises sort out regular docking spaces and so on. Some of this stuff could be done via the inter link but a real warm face makes a big difference with negotiations. Want the job Garrin?’

‘Do I ever’, returned the Courier happy for any opportunity to get back into space especially in the Grim Reaper, ‘that’s great news.’

‘Never mind anything else your ship is a flying advertisement Garrin. Of course you’ll have to call in regularly with progress reports and jump back if and when the Tribunal calls, but otherwise you will be more or less on your own cognisance. I have a list here of prospective routes we have been thinking of all - safe sectors - and some info on what we ideally want / need logistically’, continued Sue, ‘link in your pad and I’ll download the files.’

‘Efficient as ever’, replied G grinning from ear to ear thinking Sue could be Anna’s long lost sister if she had one that had gone missing. Without hesitation Garrin launched himself at the PA’s desk pulling out his computer pad while enthusiastically extending its direct line link cable, ‘plug me in and watch me go’, he said.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 85 - A Little Over Exposure

A slightly ruffled and rumpled Devil sat slumped in a chair viewing some young fool on screen who was in turn watching Tur’s (it seemed now unfortunately rather well known) warehouse from across the road. The low tech, binocular wielding, roof side intruder - complete with (somehow insultingly) what appeared to be a pack lunch - had been easily spotted by a high flying infra red security camera drone. Recently Tur had the remote patrolling the night sky above what he deemed as his local patch of Beachhead City. It wasn’t good to underestimate your opponents, however once it was obvious the figure was alone, and not part of an imminent strike team (which might have been some small excuse for the jokers idiotic position) Tur couldn’t help but feel like he was dealing with a simple primitive creature pathetically out of its depth!

In fact the Devil was feeling a little off, upset by the security alarm interruption, and therefore found himself basely considering going out and just gutting this disturber of his uneasy slumber for kicks, however, given all the ongoing results of his last bit of self indulgence Tur was able to restrain himself. Earlier after much rolling about, and almost falling from the cot a few times Tur had eventually drifted into a rather shallow and uncomfortable sleep only to be most rudely awakened by the blaring security alert vibrating through his skull via a well worn earpiece. The warning had come from Abyss his aged main line computer that watched over the site like a broody Teladi over an expectant hatchery.

Whoever the watcher was he / she certainly didn’t seem likely to be somebody associated with the mysterious and more sophisticated Heads: The odd triumvirate whose leader(?) Alpha he had received a recorded message from to arrange another meet. A rendezvous this time via A&C at their premises were both parties - it no doubt was hoped - would feel more able to converse freely. At least without fear of hidden recording devices even upon each others person. A&C had lots of very high powered high tech scanners and blockers that ensured anyone that got into their domain were spotlessly clean and nothing was ever put on the record unless they did the recording.

Most likely the inconvenient voyeur was some vengeful friend or associate of the Stalkers Tur had butchered and fed to the Ravens. It looked like the word was out (not surprising really) with bent local coppers being in the know. Crooked Wasps no matter who was paying just didn’t have good reputations for discretion about anything beyond their own personal - illicit behaviour - and sometimes not even that! Really the Heads should have known better unless the police had known first and passed the information on to these unidentified individuals.

Looking over a jumble of stacked remote surveillance, and crude but effective robotic sentry equipment Tur decided to activate and dispatch a longer range spy drone (one capable of both watching and tracking the unknown agent at a distance perhaps even back to his / her home) assuming the Stalker wouldn‘t hang around beyond the cover of night, and it was stupid enough to head straight back to its place of origin be this its home, base, lair, den, nest or whatever label the spies domicile or workplace went by. Night Stalkers spent a lot of their active time on roofs (at least they had in the old days) which made them easy targets for any decent aerial spotter, while any well programmed small high flying drone was almost impossible to see from the ground. Tur or Keane as he was known here had Abyss program the independent robotic device then used a GTD to transport it to a suitably distant out of line of sight launch site from which it could covertly get the elevation it needed before homing in. With this task done the Devil sighed and still in the same creased clothes returned to his less than perfect bed.

Keane had to admit nostalgically feeding those two morons corpses to the Night Ravens instead of just making them disappear had been a gross error, but it was too late to do anything about that! Now he would have to see events through to the bitter end either that or relocate at this delicate time in his Boron body snatching procedure. Maybe this Alpha person could help him with the minor nuisance of these Stalkers. Would Alpha be interested in preventing further bloodshed with its potential for unwanted escalation or if not would the Heads (as he had dubbed them) like to pay him to clean out this Night Stalker Clan altogether that might be entertaining, after all Alpha had talked about paying for his almost but not quite accidental Hunt!

Of course it was obvious something more was going on here as usual, so Keane knew he would just have to wait and see how matters progressed. Maybe the fools were all crazed sportsmen or gamblers who wished to wager on his success or failure with the local muggers. At the very least it was feasible the information that Keane had killed the Stalkers had been leaked back to their brethren on purpose - for some unknown reason - the possibilities for speculation were endless. Fek, complained the Devil to himself, if I start thinking about all this stuff now I’ll never get any sleep tonight. Besides, what was the point, thought Keane, knowing he required hard facts not guesswork.



In Elena’s Fortune AFC 4 (or New Four as it was rapidly becoming known) was reflecting the starlight - all pristine and shiny - sitting pretty in the heavens. Even from space observers at a suitable distance could easily see the moving conveyor system loaded with its vital crates a sure indication that the forge was back in business rapidly churning out vital armaments for the Argon war effort? However, despite such on the surface positive appearances the forge was still being plagued by occasional system failures, power outages, and all manner of annoying hardware and software gremlins. As a direct result the forge complex was still nowhere near its predecessors level of - sustained - efficiency, and many of its engineering staff were getting very sweaty and irritable as was its new Administrator Braudel. Especially after a brief period when the process had run smooth as a Boron’s bottom only to glue up again.

Ravn who had heard (like everyone else on station via complaints alone) about all the extra shifts being pulled by the AF spanner monkey’s was glad - for once - that his speciality lay in less constructive directions, and so his troubles such as they were had nothing to do with failing to achieve even standard forge production figures. Nonetheless, to Anna it was clear something serious was on her Chief of Securities mind by the way he had asked to speak with her alone. Therefore Anna and her principle bodyguard were sitting across from one another in the privacy of her bedroom while she waited for him to further enlighten her to the exact nature of his personal problem which seemed to have something to do with Garrin’s venture.

Anna, mused Rav, really needed a bigger office one with a purpose built interview room. Since Carl was known to get a bit jealous The Chief now felt slightly self conscious when he was - on occasion - forced to do business in here even though it was all strictly business! Funny, thought Rav, that he hadn’t felt like that before Anna had got married on The Lost for Words.

‘So what exactly is your problem with Garrin’s mission Rav?’ asked Anna, noticing her Security Expert seemed a little reluctant or unsure how best to continue despite raising the subject.

Rav took a deep breath as if spontaneously collecting his thoughts. It wouldn’t do any harm to let Anna think he hadn’t totally considered this one fully to the last degree, ‘As you know we need well implemented portside security at every station we will service’, he commenced, ‘I would like to make sure we are dealing with the right sort of people - first hand - also G is a kidnapping risk now. The Courier has been over exposed to the media recently (very much as a Reaper Jump Liner partner) plus his ship is instantly recognisable. I’m afraid your once fancy free business partner fails to appreciate just what he has gotten himself into’, in more ways than one, thought the Security Chief!

‘A kidnapping risk’, returned Anna rewinding the spiel a bit while looking a little bit surprised. In truth the fact that Garrin would make a perfect target for Piracy was something the Former PA hadn’t really considered. Some Pirates would be delighted to grab G in space, and ransom him back to RJL for an extortionate sum of credits, and Rav was right their had been a mighty storm of publicity around Garrin recently even due to his mad puppet GR and the Reaper Riot.

‘The hammer of responsibility could come down hard on our mutual friends head if he doesn’t start taking these things seriously’, continued Rav, ‘If I go along I can keep an eye on him, whip him into shape, and just ensure he keeps himself out of trouble. At the same time I can look over our wider security arrangements in person.’

‘Go along’, repeated Anna, ‘I don’t know’, she said looking a little disheartened, ‘you are doing an important job here - plus you two together in a cramped scout ship - what about the Elaen question. Lets face it Rav you and G haven’t exactly been getting along like frictionless bearings’, Anna also knew G suspected Ravn of being more than he seemed, to her this combination was a loaded slug gun just waiting to go off.

‘I understand what you are saying’, returned Rav, ‘our personal entanglements are a factor too, these matters need settled once and for all. I see this as an opportunity to focus on and thrash out our differences. Garrin won’t be able to run away we will be as you said - cramped together - without any outside distracting interference. G needs to come to terms with the new situation before it causes any real difficulties’, noted Rav.

‘Thrash’, said Anna raising an eyebrow that also sounded like just what she was worried about!

‘Don’t panic! I promise not to bully him too much’, said Rav, ‘I understand Shimoo was the type of lady that wouldn’t take no for an answer (without doubt that one knew only too well what she wanted and just how best to get it). I also know that G in his own strange way was, even is, a bit of an innocent at least compared to some others’, he stated looking a little abashed after the fact due to making that poorly phrased statement since it might be taken out of context. Anna however just nodded letting it fly over her head. Still his boss was also looking thoughtful maybe a little concerned about her own personal complications.

‘I really don’t know’, replied Anna with an unusual degree of indecision while she tried to think of the advantages and disadvantages of Ravn’s proposal.

‘As far as I’m concerned it is ancient history now. I admit of course I was angry with him for El’s sake not my own, but I’m over it’, Rav continued, ‘Hell Anna if I was that volatile and easily provoked something nasty would have occurred to our Flyboy long ago’, he stated bluntly.

That was true enough, thought the RJL Administrator, G had been a bit deliberately provocative lately from what she had seen herself, and heard from others, yet Rav had steadfastly refused to take that morsel of bait! Garrin was - still in one piece - after all, unlike those guards that had belonged to Febr an image that often came unbidden to Anna’s mind when Rav was around. Fay had gone to the trouble of showing Anna some belated visuals of that butchers yard carnage. The Commander in Chiefs Carrier had collected and cleaned up the consequences of Ravn’s action. Anna believed showing the images was one of Fays more clever attempts to drive a permanent wedge between herself and her protector.

‘Anyway Anna when - you know - you can do a thing effortlessly there is really little incentive to even try. I think Garrin almost wanted me to kick him around a bit. Maybe taking a beating would have made him feel better about himself for cheating. If I had returned his jibes with violence it certainly would have given our G permission to resent me much more, but it would have upset Elaen, and solved nothing - only made everything much worse’, rationalised Rav shaking his head.

Anna grinned it was too easy to forget that Rav was without doubt something of a method actor and really not the easy going low brow grunt he had once so credibly portrayed, ‘Alright I suppose you had best go - if you can convince G to take you along. I can hardly force my silent partner to carry a passenger he doesn’t like on his own ship’, replied Anna.

‘That should prove no problem’, said Rav confident he could get G to see sense, ‘I’m handing over the New Four operational side of things to’, he smiled, ‘Staff Sergeant Cole while I’m away. I think that Black Dog has the head for it. Of course I will keep inter linked whenever possible, in fact I hope to stay more or less in constant contact during the period of my absence.’

‘Poor Garrin’, said Anna, ‘you do realise from his point of view you will be putting a real downer on the joyous freedom of his escape from authority.’

‘I know’, replied The Chief, ‘which is exactly the point. That Argo is going to have to grow up a little he’s Reaper Jump Liners now whether he likes it or not’, said Rav.

The way Rav said that, thought Anna, it was as if G had been drafted into some military unit from which there was no escape - that felt a bit too close for comfort, ‘Alright I guess the matter is settled then. Good luck! Just remember Garrin may be a bit immature, but he is anything but unintelligent’, reminded Anna while feeling a bit put out - in truth - Anna half wished she had thought of some essential off station activities she could do herself. Suewyn's idea had only come to her attention after the fact. Anna realised she would have to be wary of her PA lest the tail started to wag the dog. Damn it was dharma she was being forced into seeing Gregor’s position.

Looking at the concern and consternation on Anna‘s face Rav stated, ‘Trust me’, he smiled wolfishly, ‘I won’t underestimate G’s abilities’, he said, while thinking, in fact I might just be heavily relying upon them.

Having a legitimate excuse to be free from New Four would give Rav the opportunities he needed to investigate the disappearance of the wreck of the original AFC 4 among several other untidy loose ends. In fact his investigations were the real reason he wanted to get off Four. Involving G wouldn’t have been Rav’s first choice, but this expedition was just too good an opportunity in his mind to miss. Ravn wondered what Suewyn would make of the fact that the Chief was also going to go along on this venture of Garrin's whenever the PA found out. Rav also knew he would have to inform Elaen of his intent to go into the black with Garrin soon too, ouch!

‘Anything else then?’ asked the Administrator with a sigh.

‘Can you keep this completely to yourself as long as possible?’ asked Rav, ‘even within our tight little Corporation.’

‘Is something bothering you?’ asked Anna, not entirely liking the sound of that.

‘You know how things are, we have too many other parties potentially interested and meddling in what RJL is doing. Let’s just say I would prefer to avoid any last minute military complications. Besides, the later and fewer people know the Chief of RJL’s security will be off station for a while the better. Some criminal types might get a false impression that we would be more vulnerable than normal here’, said Ravn.

‘Alright if that’s how you want to play it I’ll tell no one, not even Carl for now’, said Anna, they would all find out themselves, she suspected, soon enough on this station.

‘Thanks I don’t want to come across all Paranoid, but things have been a bit crazy, and there is no real harm in a few effortless precautions is there?’ asked Rav.

‘I suppose not’, said Anna a bit glum in truth she didn’t know how she felt about Rav’s departure having grown used to depending on her security Chief being around. Giving herself an internal shake down the Professor realised maybe such a dependency was a weakness she couldn’t afford in her life.

After Rav had departed to make arrangements Anna sat back down to consider that truly she did feel a little vulnerable just thinking about the big Argon being absent. As much as the Station Runner could trust anyone in the military anymore she trusted Ravn. Cole seemed solid enough (Staff Sergeant had Rav promoted him or learned something previously hidden?) but he was still one of Fays Marines in her mind as were all the Black Dogs at least when they weren’t on Ravn’s tight leash.

Still knowing Rav as much as she did Anna believed he wouldn’t go running off without a good reason, Anna also felt confident her Chief of Security wouldn’t abandon her to Fay’s mechanisations, or to the Commander in Chiefs minions without a fight. Rav must truly trust Cole, thought the Professor, at least to some extent either that or her sometime Assassin was up to something clever like baiting a trap, or executing a test of fidelity?

As ever time would reveal all - that request from the Chief about keeping his departure secret even in house - intrigued Anna beyond what she had revealed. It never paid to believe everything that even your friends tell you, the former AF PA thought, there was an old two word rather cynical saying her father was fond of telling his young daughter when she was too trusting of others which went simply: Everyone Lies! Her father had been much on her mind lately ever since Jollo said he would try to arrange for him to visit New Four to see his daughter.

In many ways Anna would have preferred to get off this station and go to see her father at his work or even back at the small family home on Argon Prime especially with Carl her husband. If only she could find a position in RJL for her Commander, and convince him to take it. Unfortunately, the position of head of RJL security was already taken. Anna had wrecked her brain trying to figure out a way to create a new post maybe by splitting responsibilities, but in wiser moments she feared it would only weaken the corporations overall security arrangements and create unneeded tensions within her fledgling operation - Anna just couldn’t justify it to herself - no matter how hard she forced it certainly not at this early point in RJL’s expansion. The Administrator was still ruminating on these bothersome matters when the door chimed. Shrugging off a general feeling of despondency Anna forced a smile stood up brushed her suit down and walked across the gap to open the auto locked door, Suewyn immediately entered taking in the scene with a casual scan.

‘Trouble’, asked the solid looking PA glancing back towards the closed door to indicate the departed Ravn.

‘No just our mutual friend looking for a bit of friendly advice - perhaps from the wrong person in this instance’, lied Anna with a grin.

‘How are things with him and Elaen?’ queried Sue as if she had known the pair for ages and it was a natural enough question.

‘Fine really’, replied Anna a bit wary, ‘not my story to tell you understand.’

Sue looked a little crestfallen, ‘I didn’t mean to pry, its just good to keep on top of the workforces moods in case I put my foot in it. I guess Rav and you are pretty tight after everything you have both been through together’, noted the PA.

‘I find Ravn a pleasure to work with very reliable and trustworthy’, returned Anna, ‘he hasn’t given me any reason - so far - to feel otherwise’, she finished as if constantly weighing up her staff from moment to moment was second nature.

‘Some people are easier to trust than others’, replied Sue looking away while fiddling with her computer pad.

Anna wondered exactly what her PA meant by that, but just asked, ‘Is there something else you wanted to discuss Sue?’

‘Just another host of contractual stuff here for your biometric signature’, replied the PA.

‘Alright’, returned Anna getting her own handheld out, ‘your cable or mine. If you send them across I’ll run through, stamp and return them all later’, said the Administrator. Recently RJL had stopped using wireless - for all sensitive data - preferring direct cable link it was another of Ravn’s constantly updated advisories. As a result nobody in RJL was using wireless anymore for just about anything except personal non business related messages - it was easier than trying to decide what was sensitive and what wasn’t.

After extending her own cable and transferring the files Suewyn briskly thanked Anna then left her once again alone in her room with her somewhat uneasy thoughts.

Potential hackers and data snatching made Anna think about her Queen who was still at large out there somewhere? The Professor missed her link to the Hive access Core it was like, Anna imagined, being blinded in one eye, and deafened in one ear. It also bothered the Scientist that she never did find out - who the other person was - that had always had access to her Queen and Core, even Fay claimed ignorance on that one not that Anna fully believed anything that one told her.

Thinking of Fay Anna was getting pretty annoyed at the lack of any update on her Mothers situation from that quarter. If that Spider was manipulating the kidnapping for her own ends… Looking hard at Sue while she handed her Pad back, and due largely to the recent topic of conversation, the RJL Administrator couldn’t stop a ripple of annoyance passing over her mind at how she was surrounded by people she dared not fully trust! This was not a comfortable way to live your life, Anna thought gloomily, would these circumstance never end was she doomed to this fate until she perished?



Elsewhere in the Universe another individual was feeling less than impressed with the direction of his apparent destiny. Amon was sitting at a plastic glass table in the Silver Nova a very clean, bright but altogether sterile canteen in the shipyards habitat in Light of Heart. Amon wasn’t impressed with the ambiance and the utter lack of alcohol or anything else that might have potentially put even the shadow of a smile back upon his war weary face, the fact that whenever the Wolf looked up from his uninspired meal he was looking directly at Jon didn’t help much either! Even the coffee here tasted horribly chemical and tasteless.

‘Damned if the food isn’t better back at the rock’, complained Amon bitterly looking at his nonetheless at this point empty plate save for a smear of gravy. The Wolf had been less than happy ever since the long Navy Patrol question and answer session. You would think they had been the ones aggressing instead of the cursed Split Pirate, the Navy had stolen their corpse too insisting the Split Pilot be given an immediate autopsy on station. It was doubtful they would see any potential bounty now.

Jon ignored the comment to look around at the local workers in their station suits and overalls he was tired of Amon’s constant bellyaching. The former Pirate had done nothing but complain since they had arrived about just about everything. What was the point in griping about stuff you have no control over. So their ships repair was in a queue, so he couldn’t get any space fuel over the counter, so they had fluffed the mission, done was done for feks sake!

Well she looks a bit of alright thought Jon eyeing a short dark haired girl that had bounced in full of laughter with her mates. Unfortunately this was no place to pick up company most of the people here were on short meal breaks. For its size the shipyard didn’t have too many warm bodies - most of its functions being done by masses of fixed automatic machinery and free roaming robotic drones - so the few flesh and blood Argons employed here tended to have very important and specific tasks, and according to what he had heard pulled pretty heavy shifts for reasonable bonuses. Like all yards since the war this place was a hive of activity. Every Argon shipyard was working non stop around the clock building and repairing both military and civilian vessels barely staying up with an insatiable demand. It made Jon wonder about the truth of the official figures for combat kills and general civilian losses.

‘You sure getting that piece of plunder fixed using the account will go down alright with her Imperialness?’ asked Amon for perhaps the third time.

‘Trust me, a genuine Pirate Nova will be more than welcome’, replied Jon, ‘the boys can always find a use for another one of those. I’m even having a jump drive ferried in for us via some third party associates’, he explained rather smugly.

‘All those calls and inter links you made, yet you still haven’t reported back yet have you?’ accused Amon feeling a bit nervous of bucking the system too much too early. It was alright for Jon, no doubt he was on one of the long term doses of suppressant for the Argon Incentive that was burning in his veins Amon on the other hand wasn’t that well trusted, and could almost see in his minds eye an invisible digital clock counting down the fleeting moments to his imminent demise whenever he closed his eyes.

‘Instead of moaning you should make the most of your temporary freedom’, lectured Jon, ‘if you don‘t you’ll regret it later back at our cosy HQ.’

‘By doing what?’, questioned Amon testily, ‘Going up for some foul tasting dessert?’

‘I don’t know - go sniff around if you must - somebody has to be selling contraband around here, if you need a shot that bad’, said Jon quietly, ‘follow your big nose. Just because you can’t get a snifter over the counter don’t mean you can’t get any, use your initiative. Starry heavens but you lads are soft compared to the old school villains.’

Amon surged to his feet thinking fek you, you cursed little runt but he said evenly, ‘I might just do that!’

Not too much later the wolf was supping down some expensive in credits if basic in substance Space Fuel along with a group of amiable enough dock workers in one of the lads dormitories. Amon’s dearly bought three canisters of the local imported fuel had easily paid for his invitation, the story about two merchants capturing a Pirate Nova by accident even if it did loose them their freighter, and precious cargo in the process proved a bonus everyone enjoyed.

The Shipyard Workers didn’t have too much to say themselves - so far - preferring to gamble drink and smoke. A few high on some passed around weed that appeared mid session were especially quiet smiling in a bleary world of internal contentment. Amon was tempted but decided without back up he didn’t want to sink too far. All the wolf wanted was to take the edge off - after having been a sitting target for far too many Split - so utterly blowing his head was far from essential, perhaps even detrimental to his desire. Politely the Pirate carefully avoided getting entangled in the card game as well that was a fools errand. Amon enjoyed a wager or two but only when it was more or less a sure thing like a bet on a fixed race. Besides, if anything could turn potential temporary acquaintances into angry foes it was winning or losing too much, and Amon wanted to wind down not blow off steam by fighting with these solid looking crate jockeys.

‘I hear your Pirate was a Split in a fake Boron registered ship’, said Hal out of the black.

Well thought Amon their goes the easy silence still it had to end sometime, ‘Yeah that’s right’, he replied, ‘guess news travels fast around here’, not especially unusual in any civilian station.

‘Been hearing a lot about Boron Pirates attacking Argon Small Transport ships recently’, noted Hal, ‘that little trick kind of makes you wonder.’

‘You think these aggressive Floaters could all be Split?’ asked Amon.

‘Well you hear stuff here from freighters pilots that come in for repair. Just seems like more than bit of a coincidence. Until recently rumour was Boron Raiders were only interested in Split Traffic - almost exclusively so - with maybe the very odd Nid thrown in, then Argon TS start getting hit pretty regular, and here you two turn up with a Split Pirate disguised as a Floater seems to make a pretty picture’, said Hal.

‘That’s quite a coincidence alright’, agreed the chunky Dockie called Thumbs from over his cards in the game.

‘I suppose that helps explain the long interview we had with the Navy when we arrived’, exclaimed Amon.

‘Grill you over a hot plate did they?’ asked Hal before taking a swig from his cup.

‘They demanded we hand over the Split stiff, and then went over the Pirate Nova from top to bottom scanning every millimetre. After our troubles my partner and me were hoping their might be a bounty on the triple damned corpse, guess the Grey fekkers will probably claim it for themselves now while saying nay to us’, complained the Wolf bitterly.

‘Sounds about right’, agreed Hal sympathising, ‘only bigger thieves than the murdering Pirates in space are the local Coppers, and the Navy. Lets face it you know where all that confiscated Space Fuel goes don’t you right down some pompous Admirals gullet!’

‘Space side prohibition is just another racket’, agreed Kovac before slapping down his cards with a wide gap toothed grin, ‘tough luck boys looks like its my pot’, he exclaimed.

‘That’s me done you jammy fekker. I suppose you were hiding the assassin all the time?’ replied Thumbs with a sigh.

‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about’, said Kovac leaning back in his chair.

A smart guy, thought Amon, it rarely pays to reveal all your tricks win or lose.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 86 - The Most Unlikely Of Associates

Gelu Pal awoke hazily into an even more bizarre and excruciating nightmare of captivity than the one the young Boron had previously suffered. Struggling desperately the Floater soon learned that every part of him was cunningly secured, each individual tentacle encased and clamped down even his eye stalks were all but immobilised plus held open to stare at screens playing the strangest of images: Places he had never been and Argon’s Gelu was sure he didn’t know, why?

The last solid thing the Boron prisoner remembered was being netted and given a shot then darkness, prior to that he recalled being forced to serve as a living exhibit for that insane diabolical Argon Pirate and before that the boarding and capture of the Boron TP Sight Seeing Tour. Now it looked like he was to suffer some crazy experiment how could any sentient do such things to another intelligent being? Gelu Pal could have believed such evil might be handed out by the Great Enemy the fiendish insane warrior Split, but for shame by an Argon - a member of that honourable race - the Boron’s longstanding allies. Who would believe an Argon was capable of stooping this low to readily committing these acts of vile soulless depravity!

Shocked Gelu realised that he couldn’t even speak he could feel something hard something foreign that had invaded his snout something that passed uncomfortably down his throat. What was that the feeding tube of a medical life support system? Was his fate to be horror of horrors a waking vivisection? Gelu’s heart raced as panic and fear utterly overwhelmed, then everything seemed to go soft to mellow and drift away in a haze as potent tranquillisers were automatically administered by the Main Line computer Abyss.

Tur Ryn The Devil or Keane Molloy as he was known here studied some readings and nodded to himself satisfied. It was done the creature was awake and it would seem in pretty good shape despite its predicament. Of course it had been emotionally traumatised by the initial shock of its condition, and required early sedation but Keane suspected it would eventually grow accustomed to its unusual state, even if this took several awakenings. Now with the Soul implanted barring unforeseen consequences with luck it would just be a waiting game, cleverly the Devil had ensured everything was set up to run on full automatic so he had no impediment to any other activity. Keane was now free to undertake any action or business that needed settled including this meet with Alpha at A&C.

The drone mission last night had also met with complete success. The Devil had a potential building to target with deeper enquiries in relation to that Stalker on the roof opposite. It would appear that particular adversary had very much underestimated Keane Molloy’s established resources. Yes, so far it was shaping up to be a good day all around.



Alpha’s Representative as he had named himself here sat patiently in the interview room waiting for Molloy. The strangers reply and the meet had been finalised much quicker than expected but the Rep was still reasonably well prepared. Although the expediency of the arrangement looked like a good omen the Beachhead citizen still wondered if his faction had already invested too much effort in this odd Outlander Assassin. However, opportunities existed to be grasped chances to be exploited. Long ago those he represented had learned it was better to be flexible and use what was provided than seek to force your way against the flow of events. Like his employers Alpha’s Representative preferred to nudge and steer rather than push it took a lot less effort. When Keane entered Alpha’s R stood up and smiled stretching out his hand warmly.

‘Welcome Mister Molloy I am Alpha’s Representative you can call me AR’, he explained.

To Keane the man looked like a suit perhaps even a lawyer. Soft skinned young but with somehow an older Argons face with brown neatly cropped hair peppered with early white receding slightly and the makings of a future substantial double chin, but he had sharp dark brown eyes and a firm dry handshake. Keane instantly disliked him.

‘You Heads certainly like your levels of separation AR’, said Keane.

‘Heads yes that is as good a label as any. Please friend have a seat’, said AR.

‘So you have some unusually discreet business to facilitate’, commenced Keane taking one seat as AR scraped his way ruthlessly into the other.

‘That’s right. We want to pay you for those two Stalkers for a start. Think of it as a gesture of goodwill from one able professional to another’, said AR with surprising candour and too much familiarity.

This time Keane didn‘t bother with denials but simply stated, ‘As I said before an unusual proposal so what exactly is the catch?’ he asked suspiciously the more The Devil thought about this situation of being paid for those two deaths retrospectively the more the why bothered him. These people obviously thought they could play him as a fool.

‘Let me put our cards on the table Mister Molloy we wish to claim the kills for ourselves as the mind that directed the hand’, lectured AR, ‘You understand Mister Molloy if we did not - do this - somebody else might and we don’t want that to happen, also if we did not claim responsibility we would have to do something about how can I put this - unsanctioned activities - within what we consider to be our purlieu. You did say you were not in the employ of another?’

‘I am not. Are you hunters yourselves then? I heard no one hunts anymore in Beachhead’, said Keane wondering just what exactly had he stumbled into here?

‘Not in the old ways’, said AR smiling, ‘but believe me plenty here still hunt.’

The insistence in anonymity from the Heads meant they had a advantage Keane no longer liked so he asked bluntly, ‘Just who do you represent? If you wish to broadcast your responsibility for the Hunt then telling me now will hardly matter.’

AR paused as if considering this statement then said, ‘I see you are no fool Mister Molloy. What if I agreed to guaranteed your protection from any prosecution or persecution plus steady future employment, and the goodwill of a very influential society here on Beachhead?’ he asked.

Keane sighed, ‘This is a bit awkward for me. Those Stalkers provoked a response AR I admit I was a bit rash in feasting the Ravens but I had heard about the wildlife and felt they had earned their share. I have a little personal business of my own to attend too. I am not really sure I want to get too involved in a prolonged operation here’, he explained acting a little embarrassed at the admission.

‘That is unfortunate Mister Molloy because you see like it or not - you are - now involved! You seem to know a little history, but what you might have failed to appreciate my friend is that here on Beachhead the war didn’t stop it just mutated into other forms. The civil war continues only now it is a truly hidden one. Nonetheless, it is still a battle in earnest waged for the control of the resources and wealth that flows into this city and the wide territory that it controls, ultimately the rulers of the city might hope to claim the keys that unlock control of the Planetary Government itself, high stakes indeed’, explained AR, ‘until recently such ambition would have been beyond my employers but their has been a steady consolidation into two powerful and diametrically opposed camps. So far these shadow siblings have been able to coexist if uneasily we have had a fragile truce or perhaps more accurately a cold war with very specific if unwritten boundaries and rules of engagement, but there is now little room left for expansion except at the expense of one rival or another. The knives are sharpening Mister Molloy the situation is tense and violence and mayhem but one step away. The consequences of the smallest act is examined and re-examined lest it be the opening salvo in the final push for dominance. Even a simple thing like the death of a few Stalkers could change everything here. Your Hunt Mister Molloy is either most opportune in its timing or very, very regrettable!’ he stated looking at Keane as if with deep sympathy.

‘Just two factions? I didn’t realise the Cities underworld was that organised’, confessed Keane.

‘Understandable because your own operations have fallen into the domains of the group that calls itself The Hidden Council. This Council could be said to be made up of a fraternity of independents - volunteers - if you like! These individuals and groups saw over time a need to band together in cooperation to prevent wasteful conflicts with one another via establishing codes of mutual respect and spheres of accepted influence, and of course to facilitate a strong joint defence when required against out world authority and other rivals. The Council grew up painfully out of feud and fire almost organically Mister Molly one cell at a time as they rubbed together. That it operates via consensus is both its strength and its weakness. From the outside - as you yourself have seen - it gives little impression of true unity which makes a good cover for its very existence, but it can also be fractious indecisive and unwieldy as any organisation run by vote rather than the coercion of a single dominant force.’

‘The very freedoms The Hidden Council promotes might well prove its undoing’, admitted AR, ‘The other faction is an organisation known as The Corporation. This is run by a single unknown individual who everyone calls The President this individual is a despotic tyrant, a stern captain of crime. It is an efficient operation lean and mean it tolerates no failure, no weakness its gives its members little freedom expecting only obedience, and once somebody is absorbed into its body they have no right to leave ever! The Corporation had traditionally been a much smaller operation than the Council stronger than any other individual member but weaker than the whole. Ruthlessness has been its weapon it is a true predator and constantly picks off weak members of the Council who with the right sureties have always been free to leave their old fraternity voluntarily to operate alone or be subsumed permanently into its rival. Because of the extremities of the President many individual members of the Council have feared the looming war and refused to back a direct move against the despot believing it is better to deal to coexist. Soon as a result of this policy of live and let live if something is not done it will be too late. Annoyingly despite its aggressive nature this shark also knows how to beguile, to feign reason and friendliness to grin as it feeds. Alpha whom I represent believes something has to be done now - certainly not much later! The manner of those Stalker deaths to our surprise created a fear in some that had been dormant - you see the president once very much liked to feed the Ravens it was almost his calling card a favourite punishment - that caused a stir Mister Molloy. Some members sat up and listened where the of late more calculated actions of the true enemy have not brought about any response. In my opinion the enemy is content to nibble until we are too weakened to defend ourselves before openly moving. The fear caused by your hunt made some of us think especially once we were reasonably sure it was not at the behest of the President. Perhaps we must provoke our own into action for their own good’, finished AR.

Well, thought Keane, now I know, a little too much for my own good no doubt. In his opinion this Alpha in a race of this nature - was backing the wrong pilot - certainly they could provoke a war but if it was run by a weak willed and indecisive committee they would be doomed to failure before they even began the operation. Besides, the Council in his opinion planned to attack from the wrong end.

‘I fear you are making a mistake given the scenario you have provided I foresee little but a costly and humiliating failure in your future’, predicted Keane, ‘the prosecution of a war requires a single strong firm leader without such a figure you will be defeated. Also you are approaching this as if there is only one solution (an almost open conflict) one that may well bring such authorities as the Argon Navy down upon all your heads.’

‘We of the Hidden Councils have considered many options. We are not - rash - fools Mister Molloy we have an emergency procedure in place that we can employ: we will elect a war-leader for the duration of the crisis when the right time comes’, explained AR as if that was more than counter argument enough.

Keane laughed out loud as he stood up automatically pushing the wooden chair back, ‘Elect a War-Leader’, he chortled then spat out a globule of spit onto the heavy ebon polished table as if ejecting a bad tasting morsel from his mouth.

‘You find this idea amusing’, said the Representative looking at the offensive barbarian stain then up at Keane with a stare of obvious distaste before started to move as if to rise in turn, not wishing - no doubt - to be at a psychological height disadvantage.

‘Fekking right I do‘, said Keane as he lashed out to punch the side of the Argons head with brutal force as he hauled the semi stunned and startled Argon fully out of his chair by the hair with his right hand while AR made little defence beyond a pathetic yelp of pain. Meanwhile Keane’s left hand found AR’s throat, ‘The sort of Argon your prissy Council needs is not elected’, he noted squeezing, ‘if such a one existed among your pathetic number he would have seized power long ago, and put an end to such flummery’, continued Keane smirking like The Devil he truly was while shaking the suspected lawyer from side to side like a limp rag doll, ‘Keep them at your side’, Molloy advised about AR’s hands, ‘or I will break your neck and deal with somebody else’, somehow Keane applied even more pressure it was excruciating the Representative thrashed about like a fish impaled on a sharp stick, ‘The fates save me but if you want this matter settled I will do it for you’, The Devil continued grinning as he finally loosening his hold enough to allow the weak fool to breathe a ragged breath, ‘but it will cost you. Membership in your exclusive Beachhead club, and acknowledged rights to whatever assets I seize from this so called President of yours with absolutely no interference in how I take this fekking pain in your rear out’, he finished tossing the idiot back into his seat as if the living breathing Argo was nothing but a sack of something that had passed out the wrong end of an Argnu.

AR spluttered and coughed slumping down upon the table tears streaming involuntarily from his face to stain the wood below, ‘You’re… a… Fekkin… maniac’, he wheezed between splutters then, ‘are you insane?’ asked AR though it came out as a pain wracked croak. Finally the Representative recovered himself enough to raise his head to turn accusing bleary eyes on his assaulter while rubbing painfully at the agony of his damaged throat, ‘you almost killed me!’

‘Almost’, said Keane smiling like he had heard a witticism, ‘almost dying is not the same thing as almost living, or almost winning your little war for you eh! If I am Insane’, said Keane still grinning, ‘then I am exactly the kind of mad person that your people need. In fact Mister Representative this fine day I’m your Guardian Angel’, said Keane laughing viciously at the Argons continued discomfort, ‘Tell me this AR what have you got to lose, and what do you have to gain from this bargain. Go speak - the truth - of my words to your precious civilised criminal council. I look forward to their acquiescence’, oozing confidence from every pore The Devil got up, ‘make sure not to leave - anything - out when you relay my message to your superiors or next time (and under those circumstances I assure you there will be a next time) it wont be almost’, and with that Keane left thinking brutality properly applied had its uses especially for keeping people who didn’t know you - a little off balance. If they were all fools they might believe Mister Molloy was an unbalanced bombast. It would be interesting to see just what A&C and this Hidden Council would make of his very purposeful warning. Without doubt the Council had planned to play him as a Pawn in their game well now the intelligent ones should understand Keane was not one that could be used up that this stranger was a gamesman himself not a piece on their board. Of course if they were really bright they would move immediately to kill him - recognising the true threat he represented - but he seriously doubted any of these buffoons had that much wisdom.

On his way out of the building - from the look on some of the staffs face - it was obvious they had watched his show. Keane found his grin deepening he liked A&C he had no fear of leaks from that quarter and he also enjoyed the fact that they hadn’t sought to intervene simply because of a little physicality.

‘We look forward to doing more business with you Mister Molloy’, said one elderly member of the firm as The Devil approached the final exit.

‘Likewise’, replied Keane.

Maybe it was madness but stepping out on the pavement under the heat haze Keane felt more like himself than he had since his Hunt. Unselfconsciously Molloy found his feet were carrying him towards Grandma’s Cellars for some Tea and company. This City the place of his rebirth was ripe for plucking and would make a fine acquisition, thought The Devil. To think belatedly as Jorac he had come so close to giving it all up.



Garrin could hear Ravn fumbling around at the back of the bus as they blasted along towards their first destination in G’s M5 Argon Discoverer The Grim reaper. It was a short hop to that big rotating in system Argon Trade Station a giant metallic cut in half thick barrel or cup like structure attached to a static nub that protruded to the rear complete with a pair or crooked chunky wing like stabilising structures that jutted out wide one to either side. An odd looking but practical design that hadn’t changed much from the days before artificial gravity when rotation was essential to any on station habitat comfort.

Due to the Trade Stations shape you had to approach the wide rectangular mouth slit of the internal docking bay via traversing into the central void of the massive open ended cylinder shaped rotating body. A vast artefact that spun around you with multitudes of lights from windows and ports twinkling past in a slow but steady blur, the Courier always found this a rather awesome sight almost worth a visit to these hubs of sector commerce of itself.

Garrin was docking here for a bit of personal business with a friend of the Black Dog Chin. Whilst the RJL Partner could hardly believe he had been talked into permitting Ravn’s hulking presence on board to play the role of bodyguard and all round spoilsport on his otherwise potentially jolly trips nonetheless if the Security Chief thought he was under threat then that was at least, G mused, as good an excuse as any to widen his rather pathetic on board arsenal - which currently consisted of a low velocity slug thrower handgun (far from the latest model) and a slightly damaged and erratic high powered shock stick. The electric prod was something G had bought sometime ago when he had to ship some rather aggressive alien beasties for some dodgy laboratory or other. The stick had been just in case of an accident, now that had been one of his more nervy trips. Garrin had never had much luck or empathy with animals.

The beasts G was told didn’t take well to stasis and so had to be shipped alert in rather dodgy thrown together partially electrified cages (which apparently was the best the long haired biologists could throw together at short notice). Why electrified? G had worriedly asked only to be told the beasts were a little vicious poisionous and prone to escaping confinement. The bonus for delivery was substantial, but by the time he had offloaded G felt like he had sweated out every credit listening to the little horrors periodically testing the potency of their cells which they insisted on doing all too often.

Garrin remembered at the time the sizzling zaps brought forth recollections of going trekking and camping on some distant border sector planet or other as a child with his rather inspirational fighter pilot uncle - that obviously being before the same was killed by the Xenon! A rare event from a time before his father had taken to drinking so heavily. They had brought along an electrified attractant and bug zapper to keep their night free of the locally infamous insect life pretty hefty blood sucking winged fiends. The Biters as they were known there were the result Garrin later learned of an old act of bio terrorism by some crazy ecology movement among the early colonists. If G recalled correctly these defenders of the planets virtue had been trying to keep tourists away from what they considered to be their still largely unspoilt wilderness by literally bugging them.

Of course in reality the fierce insects just added a little extra preparation for any would be explorer, and or a tiny extra macho challenge to roughing it in the wilds! In G and his Uncle Serrin’s case they just brought along the aforementioned handy device that made similar noises to the later beasts cages when it took out a juicy one. Unfortunately during his livestock courier run G discovered the shock on the beasties cages only appeared to be the mildest of poor deterrents to G’s high fare passengers - rather than a ZZAP your stunned senseless prepare to crash in flames and burn until you are dead - as the electrified device had eloquently dealt with many of the planetary bugs, ah… the memories!

Returning to the matter at hand though, G had to admit, that in truth ever since he had handled a carbine he had been rather enamoured of the idea of having one of his own. It was a bit embarrassing and child like, he knew, but holding the weapon had felt pretty good and why shouldn‘t he have one, especially in these increasingly hostile times? Of course he hadn’t mentioned his real business on station to Rav, just claimed he had somebody to see about a package. No doubt the Chief as the Dogs called him had foolishly assumed it was a - on the side - courier job, no harm in him thinking that until it was a fait accompli either. Chin had been very insistent about his friends exclusivity not that he imagined Rav would have any difficulty getting such a persons confidence. Ravn struck Garrin as exactly the sort of individual that usually bought lots of weapons off shady and non shady dealers or, G wondered, was he just letting his vivid imagination get a bit carried away.



It was four standard Argon station (artificial day and night) cycles since Jon and Amon’s initial arrival in Light of Heart now they were on their way to the sectors North Gate in their repaired and refitted Pirate Nova which Jon had renamed slightly grandly ‘Guilt Free Acquisition’ the bulk of the recent upgrades including a good assortment of weapons, plus a new Jump Drive and GTD had newly arrived along with a couple of crates full of more personal equipment everything from clothing and ration packs to hand held scanning gear, grenades, small arms and armour. The bulk of this material both for ship and private usage was delivered by ship being Goner Transported over from an unnamed Argon Mercury they rendezvoused with at set coordinates. The Mercury was under the captaincy of another of Jon’s ever mysterious contacts.

Typically arrogantly the Legionary Smuggler didn’t even bother to introduce his inferior to his unnamed associate, but instead chatted away via short encrypted closed text communication bursts. After the delivery Jon hid himself away out back for a time while Sly flew them around lazily on a sightseeing tour of the sector. When Jon returned to the controls and Amon engaged him in conversation the ex Pirate noticed the smuggler seemed even more controlled than usual. Amon also saw a new computer pad was hooked up to the pilots utility belt. The Wolf Squad Leader got the feeling something had hit his associate hard to require such solid masking. To Amon’s surprise a little later he found his Smuggling associate muttering away to himself under his breath as he aimed the Fighter towards the North Gate and the sector of Aladna Hill.

Amon was not impressed with any of this erratic(?) behaviour from Jon, further the M3 fighter had even less room in it than the Caiman, so the Damned pair were no doubt going to rub against each other even more uncomfortably than normal. Worse, despite arguing back at the Shipyard bitterly that he was the actual fighter pilot around here Amon was still stuck in the cursed co-pilots seat to his - at this stage - almost rabid frustration. Nor to Amon’s consternation were they flying back to the Fortress it would seem anytime soon. As far as the Wolf knew his superior still hadn’t even bothered to report back to their Commander in Chief not even a brief resume of their mission status now that was surely breaking regulations.

Instead Jon had first insisted that they unilaterally look into these Boron disguised Split Pirate attacks to win a few bonus tally points, while now he had changed his vector again and informed Amon he had another item of even more - urgent - business to deal with locally.

‘Relax’ said Jon, ‘when you have been in the Legion for a while you will learn to make good use of your initiative in the field! We are a very irregular unit if you hadn’t noticed Fay encourages flexibility so long as it pays off.’

Amon didn’t like any of this he was pretty sure Jon was taking him for a ride in more ways than one. As they joined the steady flow of traffic towards the monstrously massive Jump Gate the wolf asked the question that was now gnawing at his insides given some of the stories he had heard back at Freedom, ‘So what exactly is in Aladna Hill?’

‘Something or nothing’, replied Jon while thinking, alongside lots of very bad memories he’d gladly forget if only he could, ‘I’m afraid we’re going Planet side again. I might have a lead on a Felon that Fay has been looking for. If we can bring this one in we will be back in the good books without doubt’, he promised.

Amon noticed however Jon couldn’t quite hold back that odd somewhat too blank rigidly controlled look.

Inside in fact Jon felt like he was about to throw a serious nervous wobbly. So he had been right after all. It was inevitable, the Smuggler thought, sooner or later The Devil was bound to return to the scene of his many crimes.

‘The Hill. This unlucky Argon anybody I’d have heard of?’, asked the Wolf.

‘One of your old associates - no doubt - A Fallen Angel of Jorac’s a lad called Tur Ryn’, replied Jon before thinking to himself that he should have known slaying Jorac in Priests Pity would never be the end of this saga. Now it looked like his worst nightmares were fully confirmed. Fay had to know The Devil still lived obviously the Commander in Chief didn’t fully trust him when it came to their mutual enemy anymore, well Jon mused, he could easily return any distrust Fay had with interest. This time it would be different, Jon promised himself, because he had taken Kerry. It didn’t matter that the smuggler had been forced to hand her over to Fay (largely because Arke was a witness to her capture), as far as the Devil would know Jon still had her, and that the Damned Argon Operative hoped would be all the edge he would need.

‘Young Tur’, considered Amon out loud before thinking, Fay no doubt wanted the poor lad as another recruit for The Legion of the Damned then he remembered, ‘that’s right Tur was off station - doing some job for the Arch Fallen Angel himself - when old Ploopy took Freedom’, he commented.

‘That Floater sure suckered you’, said Jon laughing in the hope of changing the subject for a while and steadying his own nerves. Jon couldn’t help himself from wondering if Amon would be an asset or a liability during this private mission.

To Amon’s ear the mirth sounded a little forced and brittle. Why would finding a stray Free Fallen Angel spook Jon this much? Maybe it had something to do with whatever mission it was that Tur was on when he disappeared. Now the Wolf Leader wished he had talked more to the Damned Fallen Angel squad but they were hardly his best buddies, many still blamed Bale and himself for their forced conscription into the Navy. Jon had to be after one of Jorac’s legendary hidden weapon and equipment caches - that had to be it! After all it almost seemed like the Damned smuggler had an entire enterprise going on the side, did Fay know and allow such behaviour from her ah… recruits? More to the point since he was here could he get a cut of this action?

‘Yeah’, said Amon, ‘Ploopy certainly taught me a few lessons about assumptions. Here we go’, continued the Wolf forcing himself to be amiable as they reached the mind boggling wormholes seemingly flat plane and the cockpit windows turned black.

‘Entering Aladna Hill’, announced the Computer Sly a few brief moments later.

‘Now all we need is to locate a suitable TL Atmospheric Shuttle’, said Jon Flyn hitting the boost and accelerator while checking the Gravidar for potentials.

‘This sector has certainly grown up a bit space side’, noted Amon.

‘I know and despite its proximity to the nearby red route’, said Jon.

‘Ha’, laughed Amon, ‘if some of the stuff I have heard about The Hill is true maybe because of it. That planet is as crooked as they come we should fit right in’, he said smiling warmly.

‘It certainly has something of a reputation’, replied Jon wondering suspiciously what had so rapidly cheered his associate up.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 87 - The Happy Lander

It was called of all things ‘The Happy Lander’ an old style Mammoth TL Atmospheric Shuttle. The rather basic large transport made the Split Elephant the pair had used earlier in Rhonkar’s Fire look like a sleek red luxury liner, thought Amon, as he examined the space to ground vehicle via a pop up HUD screen using images captured from its own camera drones. The co-pilot was watching this horror show while Jon flew the ‘Guilt Free Acquisition’ toward an internal docking bay.

The moving pictures made Amon shudder inside although he had been on worse craft - those particular boarding actions - had usually occurred after something of a battle that left the invaded ship rather the worse for wear! The Wolf hoped the atmosphere capable space ship was more serviceable than it looked. The TL Mammoth Shuttle had a no frills design to begin with (a giant box held in a cross shaped claw with engines slapped on the back like a last moment addition) stark and primitive enough without all that rust and flaky paintwork plus lots of very visible scorching from multiple re-entries. Then there was the uninspiring uneven chequered patchwork pattern that denoted significant sections of rough and ready outer hull repair of very dubious provenance.

‘Holy Paranidia, but that is one ugly mother’, cursed Amon, ‘who dug up that relic?’

‘She’ll do’, replied Jon brusquely. The Pilot wasn’t really in the mood for small talk being intent on the important business at hand: bringing the Nova safely in to its designated berth - at the last - something of a tight squeeze.

Maybe the Hill isn’t doing as well as I thought, mused the Wolf. Most planets took a degree of pride in their shuttles, as they were the front ends of commerce with the space side community. Aladna Hill obviously had other priorities unless this one was something of an aberration in a wider more pristine fleet?

A little later the pair were enjoying a tipple in a rowdy Space Fuel joint called ‘The Seven’ a reference they quickly learned to a count of supposed deadly sins from some Goner story nobody here sadly seemed to know the name of: not even the stout hard looking male bar tenders (employed it seemed more for their muscle and flinty stares than their repartee, or even - shockingly - their serving skills) certainly there were no fine looking bar maids present, noticed Jon. Judging on the noise and cramped conditions it seemed like every docked passenger had despite it failings nonetheless got the same idea, and decided to congregate at this very expansive if surprisingly inexpensive - while very well publicised - onboard watering hole. Outside the metallic monster ferry was still flaunting its ugly body for clients, and oddly enough continuing to scoop more Argons in prior to the Mammoths (it would appear only roughly) scheduled atmospheric reinsertion.

‘One hell of a lot of business for such an old battered bus’, shouted Amon looking about at the milling dancing and err jigging throng. It seemed no doors were barred and the party had been swinging for a while.

‘Not everyone here is really in transit’, explained one well oiled Argon while hovering over / guarding a bottle of the finest (relatively speaking) at the counter, ‘some wealthy or just enterprising - full of it - Beachheader’s just like to come along for the ride. Get high while getting high it’s become a faddish ritual for some, almost a fekking full time occupation for others’, he explained, ‘you know meet the willing and or unguarded’, he smirked, ‘tourists while they’re still fresh and good for plucking.’

Amon had to admit he was impressed by the locals’ initiative. Ripping off visitors even before they managed to make it to planet fall seemed like serious kudos to him. It also said a lot about the likely general nature of the society down below given the fact that it had spawned such predatory denizens.

‘What about the Federals?’ yelled Jon shouting above the crowd to butt in.

‘What about them’, screamed the stranger smiling, ‘the Lander pays her taxes after all.’

‘I see. So what are - you - doing here friend?’ shouted Amon over the din of thumping music, brash talk and unmentionable acts.

‘Me a bit of this, and a bit of that, at the moment I’m celebrating! On a regular boat I’d be Chief Security Officer’, explained the crewman loudly laughing, ‘but as you can see this is no regular boat. Not on duty at the moment mind, definitely not’, bawled out the drunkard indicating the three quarters full surprisingly brightly labelled whiskey receptacle, ‘just couldn’t be bothered getting off when everything I wanted was right here’, he crowed whilst hugging his precious bottle, ‘I mean you can’t easily find this sort of atmosphere on planet’, joked the Argon.

‘So what are you celebrating?’ asked Amon more for something to do than serious interest.

‘Losing my fekkin job’, replied the ex Security Officer laughing even louder.

Jon and Amon looked at each other.

Well that is what I get for asking a stupid question, thought Amon, believing at first the Argon was making another drunken joke but the stranger continued on - this time a lot more bitterly.

‘Yeah this is my last fekkin free ride on this tub’, cursed the drunk, ‘so I’m planning on making the most of it. I suppose I can count myself lucky that my Boron’s sphincter of a Captain didn’t put me in the brig until we beached just for kicks. Fekkin ingrate after all I’ve done for her - I mean I’m a red blooded Argon not a stone - stray once and it’s the big heave ho! Should ha’ listened to my Da’ he always said don’t mix business and pleasure but some offers are more difficult to refuse than others’, he confessed, ‘and Sonra was it some offer!’

‘Tough break’, said Amon, ‘The ladies always know how to get you, and how to hit you right when and where it hurts most eh!’ he sympathised easily.

‘Too straight mate’, replied the barfly, too straight they all do.’

‘So what’s your name friend? I’m Arnie and this is my associate Jack’, lied Amon.

‘Joseph, but everyone calls me Seth’, explained the drunk offering his hand to the two Legionaries, ‘first timers eh you’re not tourists are you?’ he mocked with a wink.

‘No we’re looking for a friend who came to Aladna on a business trip and is AWOL’, explained Jack evenly.

‘Could be bad news. The Hill can be pretty unforgiving to outlanders. Say you wouldn’t be looking for a guide would you? You know somebody who knows his way around, knows the locals, speaks the dialect that sort of thing?’ asked Seth.

‘You Beachheader’s seem like real opportunists’, noted Amon smiling.

‘Yeah well that’s what some people say. Guess we’re all products of our environment. What about it? If you need somebody to smooth your way I’m your Argon. Listen you don’t want to fall into the same pit your mate went into - assuming he is in some kind of trouble - and trust me I know lots of kinds of trouble in The Head for strangers’, explained Seth all business.

‘That’s an interesting offer’, said Jack, ‘got an Inter Link address.’

‘Who hasn’t? Got a card here somewhere’, announced Seth, boldly fumbling around and pulling out various items that he spilled on the slightly wet counter these he commenced poking about with a moist finger, ‘no, fek it! That one must be in my other trousers’, and then looking at his other debris, ‘Look mates you got somewhere to stay?’

‘Planet side? Just our ship’, noted Arnie.

‘Aren’t you tired of that? I mean when you hit dirt you might as well make the most of it. I know a good place not too dear’, continued Seth picking out a small flexi sheet card from among the wreckage on the counter and waving it at them, ‘safe, clean sheets, standard fixtures, and if you have the credits all the fun extras you want - if you know what I mean. Interested? Look if you want to talk a bit we could go upstairs its too loud in here up on top they have sound dampening plus a godlike overview of the messy activity. You have to rent the cubicle mind, but its worth it.’

Jon and Amon considered this shrugged, bought a bottle, grabbed their glasses, and asked their newfound friend to lead on.

A very short lift trip later and the three Argons were sitting around a shelf of a plastic glass table looking down on the frantic action below via a transparent floor in blessed quiet.

‘So what do you think about my proposal?’ asked Seth again.

‘Perhaps’, said Jack looking at the card which showed a fancy illusionary three dimensional logo incorporating stylised but detailed trees sea and beach plus the address of some place called ‘The Golden Sands.’

‘Look lads, it’s a bit off the beaten track - I admit - which is why its not too expensive, but its in a good solid compound security patrolled and everything. Hell its about as safe as Adare & Craan’, said Seth.

‘As what?’ asked Jack.

‘Don’t matter, forgot you weren’t locals - for a moment - lets just say as safe as a very safe place in my infamous city’, continued Seth a bit lamely.

‘I suppose we turn up and tell the guy at the desk you sent us eh’, said Arnie with a rather suspicious and negative tone for the first time since talking to the ex Security Argon. It bothered him that the whole thing seemed to have become - a bit of a hard sale - that always raised his hackles and distrust.

‘Hey I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not working this crowd - in any way - that’s not what I do! In fact you only need mention my name if you actually want or need to get in touch with me as a guide later. Guess when we drop I‘ll be grounded for a while until I can talk the missus around if at all’, he groaned, ‘ well work is work I‘ve done this sort of thing before you know guide, bodyguard, facilitator, go between, even solid detective stuff if you need real help to find your friend. Anyway in relation to the Golden Sands I’m not on any kind of commission. I know the owner, and naturally his place he knows me, and we get along so I’m happy to recommend his business to people I meet, but no sweat take it or leave it’, said Seth.

‘So just how far out is it?’ asked Jack.

‘Not far unless your caught in Beachheads sometimes diabolical wheeled ground traffic, fit guys like you two could probably jog to the city centre on foot in about thirty once you had a route sorted in your head - in the cool of the evening anyway! You know your arriving in the hot and steamy season’, explained Seth, ‘were talking serious humidity The Hill can be bit of a hothouse. Sands has fans or air conditioned rooms depending on availability and the price bracket.’

‘Is it that rough down there that people need secured accommodation these so called compounds and guards? I thought the war was over?’ questioned Arnie.

‘Well you’re not so likely to get shot by a sniper going for your wheaten bread anymore, but anyone with money and - no - or the wrong kind of connections is prone to getting mugged, or kidnapped, or just turned over by the Wasps for any credits they can readily shake loose’, lectured the local.

‘The Wasps that’s the Beachhead Coppers, what about the Military?’ asked Jack.

‘Pretty discreet. While we still have plenty of Marines and regular Army forces stationed on the planet, they don’t tend to be so visible - you don’t find them on patrol in the streets anymore - unless they are escorting some big wig, or are having a fekkin recruitment parade. Lots of young Beachheaders have been lured off planet by the Marine and Navy recruiters. Most days the military just hang out in their nice air-conditioned barracks though. Of course the security forces occasionally go hunting the few hold out insurgents in the deep hinterlands - I’m beginning to think just for the purposes of training though - they never seem to have any widely broadcast successes, and the Beachhead military love the media. All we see are a few pathetic burnt guerrilla gardens and ruined hidden crop fields’, stated Seth.

‘So what do these insurgents do out in the sticks?’ asked Arnie.

‘Drugs mostly’, laughed Seth, ‘the hold outs are all crazy loons according to rumour. These so called insurgents just produce / use lots of drugs, and squabble with each other over the glory days. The Forest is a biologists paradise lots of funky stuff has been engineered and planted out there since the place was all but wiped by the Xenon - it’s the hothouse conditions here all manner of people have come to this planet to play over the years - some of it is even seriously cropped and processed now. Eventually the produce finds its way back to The Head like Night Ravens flock back to their roost some stuff even pre-packaged up as ready to use pills and ampoules the gear that is too easily procured on the street. The Argon Insurgents the so-called Forest Demons consume the rest of the drugs, informed Seth.

Arnie whistled, ‘That sound’s like quite a planet you have down there’, he said.

‘Yeah I don’t think the Federals really know what to do with us Beachhead recidivists all the straight laces they have sent here just get corrupted’, said Seth laughing.

‘Why am I not surprised’, said Jack.

‘Still its not all doom and gloom I mean compared to the bad old days its almost civilised. Besides if you know: where not to go, what not to do, and say, its probably no more dangerous than crossing an Argon Prime road, and lets face it lads The Hill has some unique sights, smells and opportunities’, noted Seth, ‘despite our roguish ways or because of them we still have a strong tourist trade.’

‘I can imagine. Young and foolish thrill seekers like those marks getting out of their minds down below’, said Jack.

‘Sure, but we also get serious folk too: anthropologists, biologists, biochemists, veterans, historians, social engineers, even budding philanthropists and religious freaks intent on saving our bodies and souls respectively’, explained Seth grinning, ‘in despite of a few native cults of our own that is, including more than a few Devil Worshippers’, he chortled, ‘or the next best thing. Have you heard of Jorac The Fallen Angel? Half of Beachhead has been waiting on him returning from the stars. I know the Federals have been busy saying he was killed in Paranid Space, but don‘t expect any sunburned Beachheader to believe that one about the Lord of the Hunt - be they old ally, or bitter enemy, a son or even a young grandson of the slain as some among the newer generations call themselves.’

‘Sonra’, said Jack, ‘I didn’t know about all that.’

‘Their is stuff on the surface and other stuff underneath’, explained Seth, ‘I wouldn’t feel safe telling you these things dirt side or even down there on the floor it could be real unhealthy.’

‘The way you tell it you would think some of these Beachheaders really believed Jorac was a Demonic Entity’, said Arnie laughing at the idea. That Argon was an unholy terror to be sure, thought the Wolf, but he was still flesh and blood not some supernatural force even if sometimes…

‘Not was’, said Seth, ‘is! Like I said The Devil lives - even if it is just in the hearts, minds nightmares, and dreams of the Headers.’

Jack and Arnie looked at each other again taken aback.

Jack couldn’t stop himself from thinking that The Devil for good or ill had returned what would be the wider consequences of that?

Arnie was also wondering what sort of reception one of Jorac’s Fallen Angels might receive on The Hill. Did Tur Ryn know about the situation below? Was the Free Fallen Angel there to exploit local legends and superstition, or was he oblivious to these insane sentiments, or had the young Pirate been taken by surprise lifted up or took out by the local denizens. Why was it that the simplest sounding operations usually ended up being the most complicated? Arnie knew Jorac was infamous but he hadn’t imagined anything quite like this - a cult for Paranidias sake - were these fools crazy or just effected by too much widespread drug abuse? Jon sorry Jack was leading him into a right nest of vipers.

‘Anyway enough ghost stories’, said Seth pouring himself another ample drink from his own bottle, ‘to Happy Landings.’

‘Happy Landings’, reiterated Jack and Arnie raising their own refilled glasses partly to cover their individual consternation.


A little later having survived the slightly shaky re-entry process Jack and Amon were back on the Guilt Free Acquisition waiting to be released into the autopilot of Beachhead’s Spaceport traffic control. The Nova was capable of short periods of ungainly atmospheric flight although it wasn’t designed to enter atmosphere from space without being either burnt up or at best badly damaged. Given the amount of traffic around the busy port - exclusively the Traffic Control computer handled flights over and within the facilities. When the Happy Landers bay door opened the Legionaries had to wait their turn. Luckily given how tense they were feeling the delay wasn’t a long one soon they powered out into the hard daylight making a few very digitally precise if typically oddball AI manoeuvres before coming to rest on their designated docking pad.

They had barely settled on a suspensor field when communications burst into life, ‘Guilt Free Acquisition this is Beachhead Spaceport please be advised not to leave your ship. You have been chosen for a random routine customs inspection. I repeat do not leave your vehicle. Failure to comply with this request will result in the enforcement of statutory penalties from minor fines to the confiscation of your vessel, please acknowledge Beachhead Spaceport C&C over.’

‘Beachhead C&C this is Guilt Free Acquisition we acknowledge out’, replied Jack tersely then after flipping off the communication toggle while scowling he said to Arnie, ‘Damn that is all we need the local authorities poking through our gear.’

Outside looking at a view provided by a released camera drone the pair could see two ground vehicles approaching fast as if in a race one was marked customs the other Airport Security. Braking hard people started spilling out of both. Jack noticed the Airport Security truck was actually full of heavily armed and armoured Wasps.

‘I don’t much like the look of this’, said Arnie wondering if all planet side drops with Jack would be like this?

‘Routine inspection my hairy butt’, agreed Jack as the Customs Officers commenced unloading gear onto a floating trolley, ‘looks like were going to get the full treatment prepare to bend over and think of Argon’, he advised.

‘You think all this is because we’re riding a Pirate Nova?’ asked Arnie.

‘Not sure’, said Jack rushing about, ‘Look I’ll head this off at the pass. See how corruptible these uniforms are’, he said pulling out a string of universal one use credit keys and unhooking some based on their colour coding before handing the rest to Arnie, ‘just in case they get greedy’, Jack explained, ‘I’ll go down you stay here and watch the show if it goes belly up then something is seriously amiss. These guys should be happy to take a bribe! Use the GTD to get some distance I’ll try and keep them distracted. Look Amon I’ll be relying on you (by fair or foul) to get me out later if they don’t bite so don’t fek up, and if you do have to run take Sly with you’, Jack finished.

‘Great! Why don’t we both just GTD out now?’ asked the Wolf Leader.

‘Because they would treat us as out and out brigands and seize our ship. This way if there is trouble I can work from the inside within the local system of law and order you from without. I had best be going don’t sweat a few credits will probably have these boys eating out of the palms of our hands’, he hoped, ‘nonetheless, ah Arnie don’t take any chances.’

No fear, thought Arnie, as he was left to his own devices he had no intention of doing anything stupid. Rushing about he grabbed an assisted backpack rudely downloaded Sly into a Portable Core just in case, this item the Wolf had just roughly dumped in to his pack when Jack called in.

‘I’m opening the side hatch, here goes nothing’, said the Pilot, ’I’ve got a C.Drone with me its alpha three.’

Arnie grabbed a helmet slapped it on and linked in - this way he could continue working while viewing the image on his HUD. The sound came through nice and clear too.

‘Stay exactly where you are Sir’, demanded one of the black and yellow Wasp Coppers.

‘What’s the problem officer? I’ve got a meet in the city can I speak to whoever is in charge about facilitating a speedy inspection?’ asked Jack smiling.

‘Keep your arms right where we can see them’, yelled another Officer.

‘Easy friend’, said Jack holding up his arms, ‘let’s be reasonable here’, he continued Arnie noticed he was dangling some credit keys from his right hand.

The wasps moved forward as a fluid group in set stages - they didn’t seem impressed or interested in the keys - instead they kept their weapons pointed and advanced tactically. Moments later Jack was forced down roughly face first to the ramp and cuffed by three officers while the rest rushed past and into the ship proper.

‘Fek’, said Arnie that was clearly no way to treat an owner pilot in a routine customs inspection he hit the pre programmed self-wiping fixed GTD routine stud and vanished.

‘Fek, fek, fek’, Arnie cursed as soon as he arrived in a narrow ally between two Spaceport hangers. When was something going to go right? What by the seven hells was that all about? ‘Well Sly if that was a routine welcome I’m an egg laying Teladi without doubt after all, time to get out of here’, turning nonchalantly the Wolf began to make his way toward the perimeter if he could get into the city he should be able to get lost. Arnie didn’t get far when sirens began to blare out. ‘Damn guess our little escape hasn’t gone unnoticed’, said the Wolf, this was a serious fix. The Legionary couldn’t believe he was stranded on this hot hellhole with a cursed useless too silent AI - that plainly disliked him - for company. Arnie wondered if their covers could somehow have been blown. Amon was after all still a wanted felon in some areas, or was all this just a heavy-duty local shakedown?

Hearing voices Arnie moved tight to the hanger to his right and into the shadows pulled out his hand held slug thrower and dialled it up full, might as well be hung as a wolf, he thought.

‘Got something Slim?’ asked a tense sounding voice.

‘Not sure! I thought I had registered some movement on the scanner, down there’, came a nervous reply.

‘Fine I’m going this way then. Let the Wasps deal with it I’m not being paid enough for heroics. You coming?’

‘There could be a reward’

‘Even if there was we won’t get it, didn’t you read your contract lad?’

‘Alright then… hey Shamus wait up.’

Arnie sighed that was a fortunate break. The Wolf guessed those inept boys were poor quality - rent a cops - probably boundary walkers patrolling the Spaceports perimeter fence cheap, cheerful ears and eyes pretty much useless in any real action. The Wolf was more worried about armed sentry drones, fixed and mobile cameras and sensors. Crouching down he dug in his pack and pulled out Sly the AI was immobile in its current state at least within atmosphere. Hell, thought Arnie, the Spaceport was bound to have full satellite coverage it was just a question of time before he was spotted.

‘Ok talk to me you Little Metal Turd if you ever want to see your friend or integrate with a space going body again’, hissed Arnie.

‘What would you like me to say’, replied Sly via Arnies earpiece.

‘How about you can patch into the security net here?’ asked Arnie.

‘Searching… wireless node located. Intruding please wait... Redirecting nearby search party. Analysing potential escape routes please wait... Would you like to leave now?’ asked the AI smugly after what seemed like an age of static hums and clicks.

‘Yes’, replied Arnie between clenched teeth. To the Wolf Leaders surprise he immediately underwent another GTD and found himself in a back alleyway looking at a startled cat that fled away with a loud screech. As witnesses went it could have been a lot worse.

‘How did you do that?’ Arnie asked.

‘With good wireless cover and poor security I was able to interface with a Scout ship one I had located within the hanger we were sheltering by. I had determined this vessel had a working Goner Transport Device. The rest was just mathematics’, Sly explained.

‘Thanks’, said Arnie grudgingly realising he might have misjudged the hunk of junk.

‘You’re welcome’, replied Sly with perhaps just a hint of mockery.



It was done. For the first time in cycles Tebbin felt some small weakening of the fear that had been hounding him during his travels through the endless night of space. What call had he to feel any guilt had he not tried repeatedly to reason with Fay - the effort was wasted - his concerns mocked the Commander in Chief was too wrapped up in her own alien condition. While Jon Flyn with forethought of action was intent in provoking an unmitigated disaster Fay dithered and fretted about inconsequential threats from impotent quarters.

Sitting at the table in the Spaceport canteen Teb popped another anti acid pill to settle his uneasy stomach. The medical problem could be easily fixed surgically but Tebbin had a mortal dread of cutters - for reasons he preferred not to consider - so he deliberately hid his complaint as best he could, controlling the condition via medication, without doubt his minor infirmity was still being exasperated by stress and now as he strove to blend among the locals the ingestion of unfamiliar food products. Luckily when nursed along with suitable drugs his difficulty was just an uncomfortable inconvenience not a truly debilitating or life threatening illness.

The arrest was a simple matter but Teb had learned it never paid to take anything for granted he feared assumptions as other Argon might fear venomous snakes or precipitous heights with a truly unreasonable passion. Somebody had told him once it was actually a psychological condition that he suffered, but Tebbin couldn’t remember and didn’t really care what the label was even if it was a proper diagnosis, which he doubted. The Beachhead Customs and Wasps were bought and paid for, nothing had been left to chance, he hoped. Maybe their was an even more direct way to make sure that his birds were caged until a deal could be arranged for their release into the right hands, but if that was the case he hadn‘t thought of it. When the claxon went off Teb cursed a stream. Of course the siren could be for something else entirely, but in his heart Teb just knew something had gone wrong, something these days always did!



In the now very much watery Freedom Station within the beautiful chamber of flowering corals Plu Dup darted over playfully toward his advisor and ambassador as he liked to think of him the eminent Ge Ton drawing the young and up coming Bu Noo in his wake. Ploopydroop as he still often called himself - as a reminder of old abuses he had suffered and overcome - with stalks angled together in a broad smile looked to Ge admirably like a Boron flushed with health, and in his prime.

‘Ge Ton this humble Boron is delighted to welcome you once again to his unworthy domain though Plu Dup prays you still perceive these grottos as much as your own home from home as that of your good friends domicile. Might I trouble you for the latest word from our stalwart allies the potent and terrifying Argon’, asked Plu.

‘My blessed Lord as ever I am delighted to be of any assistance to your noble cause’, began Ge tasting of embarrassment, ‘though I fear the tidings I must carry today are less than those I would wish to traffic. The news I must impart is troubled like a storm tossed sea, bitter as a Spiners poison and vexing as the loss of the Helpers. The Argon are still insisting that they are receiving messages of attacks against their shipping by Boron Privateers’, admitted Ge Ton with frowning stalks, ‘naturally suspicions have been directed - though all evidence is entirely circumstantial - towards the Magnificent Sharks.’

‘Fear not good Ge this Boron is not undone by this dissemination of unfounded accusation, but in truth gladdened - closely of late have I been monitoring our traffic - and every operation, now I am certain none of these atrocities are being persecuted by our disciplined freedom fighters. We have impostors my friend which I much prefer to indiscipline or faction among our own such as our allies are prone to suffer to their deep and bitter woe’, exclaimed Plu before continuing this time tasting nothing but triumphant, ‘Gentle Bu here has just returned from Kingdom End, and our new found if still fragile associates within Kingdom Intelligence concur that the attacks are not by legitimate Boron registered craft (be they members of our brotherhood) or even freelance pirates, but most likely nothing less than inept Split agent provocateurs. Bu has outdone himself and amassed great favour bringing back firm documentary evidence from the Kingdom databanks that can be placed before the Argon to stand for our innocence, and continued faith - not to mention the Splits ongoing perfidy!’

‘Joyful news! Glorious War Leader that is happy tidings indeed’, replied Ge Ton, ‘this will at last silence such critics as the formidable Seer the Admiral Sven Hale who has dared make open and pressing suit against your good name. Due no doubt to your innocent association with his rival in ANI the Commander in Chief Fay whose ship has until recently so heroically stood in defence of this sector even through that vile and inexplicable Hammer incident.’

‘Fascinating and appalling are the insurgencies of these Argon we must be wary lest we are dragged into such matters to our detriment? Otherwise as ever this Boron is delighted to be kept so well informed by his most worthy associate Ge Ton’, said Plu smiling, ‘what of the Fallen Angels are they still roosting in Paranid Space?’

‘Yes good Lord and proving a misery to Argon and Boron civilian traffic alike much to the evil three eyed worms delight’, said Ge tasting of deep consternation.

‘This insignificant Boron had hoped with Jorac dead these Fallen Angels would have proven a spent force, but this Tur Ryn bothers me though I remember him as a rash and callow youth it would seem his successes would now rival our own, and more he would seek to claim his mentors Dark Throne and legendary status. Already Tur is the Wyrm Slayer and yet he dwells in comfort among them, I am at a loss! So I must ask again will this new Devil seek revenge for his once masters exile?’ asked Ploopy.

‘I am shamed by my ignorance Lord but none seem to know though many are watching closely. I have reason to believe the Commander in Chief Fay fears this one, and would make a good ally should he move against us. I ever press for news on the Fallen Angels but the Argon are reticent on this subject even at times evasive’, said Ge sorrowfully.

‘Then we must just continue to look to our defence and the strengthening of our ties with those that might aid us if it should come to an open war. How goes the negotiation for permission to purchase a Carrier of our own?’ asked Ploopy.

‘I fear slowly due no doubt to these fake but damaging Boron attacks’, admitted Ge Ton.

‘Then friend Ge though it pains me to be at the loss of your company - I must gladly dispatch you - as soon as you have had recourse to a decent period of watery rest. Show our evidence and clear our good name kind Ge. Then perhaps the other mission will garner its proper favour among the less enlightened’ said Plu with deep determination.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 88 - Lost Souls

In the blood tinged sector of Priests Pity deep in a station called Purgatory one soul was feeling especially lost - although Jess knew exactly where she was and in the short term where she was going - surprisingly these particular details didn’t help remove the overall harrowing sensation.

Flanking the female temporary acting Leader of Purgatories Fallen Angels was two of the Nights Daughters the tall slender Andrea and the more ample solid Chris. The Devils Lover suspected she had no hope of ridding herself of any of her supposedly loyal unofficial Amazonian bodyguards now (even if she still wanted too which frankly right now she didn‘t), not after the recent so-called accidents, not to mention the still persisting trauma of being forced to coldly space an old friend.

Tepper although she had been one of the latest recruits to the ranks of the Dark Brethren had initially (it now seemed like a lifetime ago) shown Jess how to survive beyond the law. A casual meeting of brigands that saw them banding together to fight off a light out of the grid Argon Patrol in the sector Home of Light. That flight from pursuit had been the beginning of a lengthy association that led to Tepp becoming almost like a big sister to the fledgling lawbreaker Jess. At least, thought Jess, her friendship with Tepp had been long in comparison to the often too short life of the average piratical rebel (especially independent freelancers), which they had both been in the beginning. Jess could hardly credit that the skilled M4 Buzzard pilot she had admired so much had attempted to sell her out to the Federals just to improve her reputation with the Argon Authorities how egocentric was that?

Inside despite having toughened up from all the hard knocks she had suffered in the past Jess found she was still in pieces over this particular one; For although Tepp had failed in her scheme, nonetheless the villain had paid for the crime with her life facing the void naked, and Jess had pushed the airlocks cycle button, as far as Jess was concerned she had been given little or no choice. Tepper had brought every judgement Jess had made during her time in office here into disrepute among her subordinates. On Purgatory Tepp’s deed was already infamous, creating disastrous ripples of distrust that had spread wide like the product of a powerful Paranid Phased Shockwave Generator causing lethal amounts of damage to the Clans overall stability especially the current chain of commands structural integrity.

As the tight unit of three individuals approached another bulkhead hatch it segmented into the same number of parts and shot open with startling speed under the action not of motors (like you would expect in a decent Argon station) but via hidden bloody muscles and springy tendons. Periodically, to Jess, it felt like Purgatory was taking them all over rather than - the actual historic fact - which ran arguably the other way around. Even out from under the ill-fated red haze with the establishment of Sonra like (natural Argon light temperature) illumination units Jess sometimes fancied that the Paranid station had lured the Fallen Angels in and swallowed them whole - it was just taking its time with an extremely lengthy digestion process, or maybe the place had decided to incorporate the limp Argons into its biological web as useful internal symbiotic bacteria: squirming handy microbes capable of assisting its operation until the appointed time when the gigantic organisms true masters decided they wished once more to inhabit its grotesque internal spaces.

Jess feared now - despite her earlier opinion to the contrary - that the station might never feel really comfortable to its invaders. The substitute Leader could perceive few circumstances that would make the old Paranid Lair a true home from home for the Argon expatriates it would always be alien. Even the Devil had occasionally pondered that the Paranid Pirate Nest was an unsolved - perhaps - unsolvable mystery! The tri architecture seemed to have a pervasive influence that went beyond reasonable coincidence for example: these cycles everything onboard increasing happened in threes. Even the number of viable Boron forced infiltrator volunteers had come down without intention to three individuals - such occurrences - Jess had to confess to herself (despite much internal lecturing to get a grip on her actual reality) were messing with her normally level headed mind.

So much had happened since Tur had left on his triple damned secretive mission with the two Floaters. Hah! Jess thought, both darkly amused, and alarmed even there with his passengers on board ‘The Hound of the Hunt’ Tur and his guests made up that domineering number as they departed for regions unknown! So much strangeness in such a short time including the visit by that too able Paranid agent. How had that massive thing gotten not only on and off the station, but actually in and out of her quarters undetected - especially with all the added security precautions - it was inconceivable, impossible? Had all the Fallen Angels work and expenditure to install and calibrate that multitude of motion sensors been for nothing?

Luckily the Paranid had arrived to warn Jess not to assassinate her; nonetheless, it was an unwanted intrusion that left The Leader feeling as impotent as a newborn baby, utterly vulnerable to assault, completely exposed. How poor was her captaincy, thought Jess, when she couldn’t even protect her private quarters within the heart of her own Clans domain from external invasion? Maybe her detractors were right to consider her weak, Jess wondered, after all it was embarrassing how easily she had been fooled and manipulated by her old friend as well. Yet despite her doubts all these things put a fire in the Pirates belly alongside the fear.

Memphis and Jen had also been in the corridor during the whole period of the Nid’s visit and been completely oblivious, not even registering the Agents arrival or departure. When Jess had come to her senses (after the sleep inducing gas had worn off) it was clear the two Nights Daughters had seen nothing. Nor had Jess shamed them by telling the pair on duty of the creatures visit - they would probably not have believed that mad story anyway! Jess was convinced her guards would have thought their Leader had suffered nothing more than an embarrassing bedtime terror, or some kind of stress induced mental breakdown such a rumour would be the last thing Jess wanted to get loose all the lies were bad enough, without more damaging half truths disseminating around.

Jess for her own part could recall wishing afterwards that the interview with the over bearing Monster had been nothing but a darkling dream some shadow play behind her eyes. Unfortunately for the Pirates overall peace of mind the crafty Nid left a solid token of its visit behind a sign on the wall. No doubt the intimidating entity had considered the Pirate might try to delude herself in regard to the experiences authenticity. Jess knew if she had believed in such things another explanation might have been an apparition - some fell phantom of Tur Ryn’s victims, but the young Pirate was not such an empty headed fool even if the Paranids ability to visit undetected - on the surface - seemed to defy all logic!

The fekkin station, thought Jess, must still retain some secret: sacred spaces perhaps, hidden doors, or other alien things she couldn’t even think of that had made the Agents egress feasible. Jess was now sure there was details the Paranid Station simply refused to divulge to the blind two-eyed heretic Argons that dared to infest it. Clearly it didn’t seem to make much difference how deeply they scanned, and examined dug and delved. Among the stations incomprehensible semi organic systems dwelt puzzles the habitat inscrutably hoarded - conundrums that would likely defy the two-eyed to the last. Belatedly this Purgatory that had yielded itself so easily at the onset was proving anything but a relaxed place for the Fallen Angels to permanently decamp at least in the increasingly distraught mind of the Fallen Angels substitute Leader.

As they neared the planned Pirate Council meeting place Andrea moved to take the lead slipping the safety off her rapid fire low velocity slug throwing assault weapon, much to her leaders dismay. It amazed Jess that the situation on the Fallen Angels Pirate Stronghold had degraded to this level of mistrust so soon after the Devils departure. Inside the final and most fractious group of individuals should already be disarmed by the duty guard, but no one was taking any chances Jess was wearing under clothing armour and was tied into an emergency medical GTD, plus she had her own sidearm. The Leaders two colleagues were in full powered suits looking like deadly giant black insects. The door sped open and after a cursory scan Jess was beckoned in to explain the position, squash the newest wild rumours, reveal the lies, make her demands, and no doubt also be forced to answer a few questions which even the worst rabble rousers should have been far too afraid to ask. Would more examples need to be made? What would it take to silence this dissent other than the actual early physical return of the Arch Fallen Angel himself Tur Ryn?

Looking at the expectant faces many openly scowling at her entry was - in all honesty - beyond frustration it was time to be ruthless, especially given the progress Jess had made in other areas. The coffers were still filling nicely the local Paranid satisfied and content to leave them alone even the Floater infiltrators were just about ready to be dispatched. The Boron operation was at least - as far as she could ascertain - still utterly secure and inviolate. Indeed the extra security only Tur and Jess had known about was how Jess had caught Tepper in her vile betrayal to both of their sorrows. How dare these dogs turn upon their designated leader even misguidedly in her Lovers name?

‘What a sad bunch of fek wits you all are’, began Jess harshly, ‘have you no spine without the Wyrm Slayer behind you? If you persist in this stupidity upon his return, and you are fools indeed if you doubt his return, you will all burn in his wrath’, she promised spitting on the floor. Following the expected storm of protest Jess deliberately singled out an individual - one she had good reason to distrust, ‘Well Jock how do you stand in this calamitous mutiny?’

‘Mutiny’, yelled, muttered or cursed several members of the throng unevenly - realising their predicament with alarm - as the guards and the Nights Daughters dramatically cocked their guns and aimed them with intent at the crowd.

‘Now lass there is no call for that sort of accusation’, replied Jock visibly shaken.

‘Do you think Tur would tolerate this behaviour from his crew? Did or did not the Arch fallen Angel lift me up to wield his authority during his absence? Should I do any less than Tur would bid me do? I will not betray my Lords trust’, said Jess pulling her weapon and pointing it straight and to her own surprise rock steady at Jocks face, ‘before that I would put every one of you tale carriers down just like the scabby dogs you are.’

Jock blanched slightly despite himself he was a hard Argon, but it was never easy to look a gun held by a known cold blooded killer straight in the barrel. The crowd went silent every head turning to watch the show - glad they were not the one getting this dangerous extra attention. Jess advanced on her targeted Fallen Angel arm outstretched, ‘I hear you have been saying that I am too weak to keep this base together. That Tur Ryn erred in appointing me. That the Devil promoted me because of other abilities that pleased him more, is that so Jock?’

Knowing he was fekked no matter what he said and not being famed for his cool or his deduction skills the Pirate lunged at Jess growling like an enraged beast, but his Leader had expected this banal move from the rough brawler and stepping sharply back to keep a little distance calmly squeezing her trigger. The first round took the big Pirate to his surprise in the cheek the second in the crown of his head as he barrelled forward to drop face down to the deck the third hit him in the back of his head where he lay finalising the bloody mess, damn Jess cursed belatedly inside her own head (looking at the ruin she had wrought), not unhappy that she had killed the fekker, but that she had done so not with one, nor with two, but instinctively with - three - shots!



Back in the fringes of Argon Space in the sector of Aladna Hill a Grey Wolf crouched in the shadows of another back street this time behind a large recycling waste receptacle studying a map on his computer pad. The visual data had been raped out of the air (from the Devil alone knew what source) by the military grade AI Core - Sly - before being transferred to his hand held. It was becoming more and more plain to Amon or Arnie as he had been registered when he made ground fall here in Beachhead that Jon’s computer was no standard unit like many things in the Legion, and would prove to be very useful in his escape after all. Although they had got off on the wrong mode - so to speak - Arnie being a realist, and an opportunist was now striving hard to create a bond even a degree of dependency with the - he could swear - sometimes rather arrogant machine.

‘…well that is a very useful function, Sly. Together well get out of this sprung trap yet’, whispered the wolf as the route he would need to take was detailed and then shown as a three dimensional model that a virtual point of view flew down. As the guide played out Arnie made mental notes of particular landmarks.

From various hacks it was already apparent that Jon or Jack as he was still being labelled here was being held on serious drug smuggling charges pretty laughable given the stories Seth had regaled the pair with on the Happy Lander. The Wolf Leader didn’t even know if Jack had any drugs onboard - although it wouldn’t surprise him - unfortunately the Guilt Free Acquisitions Pilot hadn’t allowed Arnie to look into every bit of gear he had gotten his hidden associate to GTD over, of course the charges could be entirely trumped up too. Not only was Jack in custody but the Wasps had put out a warrant for Arnie to be brought in for questioning - no great surprise - plus to answer a long string of charges that had already been laid at Arnie’s feet arising from his breach of spaceport security and illegal entry to Aladna Hill and Beachhead City.

The charges made an amusing list to somebody who had kidnapped, hijacked, stolen and murdered more times than he cared to count. In comparison to his real villainy the tally was rather pitiful but the locals were still obviously doing their best with what they had to throw the book at him. Beyond the obvious crimes were such silly stuff as contravening medical safety protocols, avoiding customs inspection, even abandoning his lawful duties as a ships crewman under Federal Argon Space Port regulation number so and so sub section this and that of the Grand Mercantile Accords. Arnie suspected some computer had been let loose on this long compilation of complaints at least he hoped so, it bothered him that any living breathing Argon might be that lawfully anal especially in a place with The Hills reputation.

According to Sly as well as the general bulletin their was actually a small task force actively dedicated to searching him out in the city, somebody clearly wanted him bad! Arnie couldn’t help but think that this level of attention from the Wasps must have more too it. Had the pair for some reason been betrayed by one of Jacks contacts? All this attention must have cost more than a few credits, either that or somehow the Legionaries had arrived on a very slow day crime wise, or some politician was having a campaign against illegal aliens, but Sly would have picked up on a story like that. Arnie wondered could this have something to do with the ship they had appropriated from that Split, or with Tur and the Free Fallen Angels? Arnie knew it would help to know just what or who he was up against.

Speaking of charges Arnies newfound edge Sly was already running low on power, and so the AI was spending its un-summoned moments in deep hibernation. The trapped Legionary knew that he needed to get off the streets especially before nightfall when the city would likely have even less sympathy with a lone skulking stranger, Seth had told him about the mugging Night Stalkers. With little in the way of ready contacts of his own Arnie had hunted down the location of The Golden Sands. It was a long shot, but since this was the only place he actually knew in Beachhead as the ancient saying went ‘any port in a storm!’

It was The Sands or the local Argon Navy in the hope that he could get them to contact Fay rather than just arrest him, but given how covert the Legion was - even toward the rest of the Argon Navy - Fay would likely burn him for such an overt action plus the Navy would probably just see Amon the Grey Wolf Pack Leader never mind Arnie the illegal immigrant and drug smuggler! Besides, Arnie hoped that since the Sands where a little out of the way - maybe for a while at least - it might be overlooked in any immediate search though, he knew, in part such a belief was more like wishful thinking. Lastly the Pirate had to admit to himself - sometimes you just had to roll the dice, and take a chance for good or ill the alternative being - complete inaction - which for once seemed like the worst choice of all!

Picking himself up Arnie slung his backpack on and moved off. The simulation had been a good one obviously updated regularly as he soon noticed many familiar sights. Rapidly it was also painfully obvious that Sly’s chosen route wasn’t actually the most direct, however, it did appear to be the most discreet. Despite the heat and humidity the Legionary strove to relax to saunter around in the same lazy manner as most of the very few locals that were out in the sun. Arnie even found himself doing a little sight seeing finding all the wood used in both the most prestigious and the shabbiest rag tag construction here especially quaint. Although their was still plenty of concrete set stone and plastic glass behind some of the distinctively wooden local facades.

In the end the only real difficulty he had to face was when he hit a major congested open roadway that bisected his route. Due to a nearby accident several Wasps had congregated near his initial point of entry along with other emergency services. Arnie was forced to double back a little cut across and loop around to emerge further down at the same road. Due to the continuing traffic pile up at his new location out of sight of the law enforcers Arnie simply squeezed across between the wheeled vehicles then continued on. Nonetheless, the journey was still a hot sticky and tense experience so that Arnie was glad when he finally located the side streets that would lead up to the compound of his desire. First though he hunted around for somewhere to stash his weapons and other likely contraband in the end picking an old lidded dry rain barrel sitting in another alleyway that looked like it hadn‘t been disturbed in an age. Waiting until the area was clear Arnie pulled one of several expanding clear self sealing water tight bags out from among his the gear and filled it with the unacceptable items before setting it in the barrel. Knowing his luck when he went to retrieve this stuff later everything would be gone, but that was a risk he would have to take. Looking about for possible witnesses and seeing none the Grey Wolf moved on.

Not much later Arnie worked his way casually down toward his destination rubber necking the local area in the hope of appearing like a honest tourist. A bored looking uniformed guard on the gate with a wide brimmed hat shading his face, and a basic cheap but effective looking assault rifle watched the wolfs progress warily.

‘Hey Argo this is The Sands right?’ asked Arnie.

‘That’s right Sir’, said the guard with a surprisingly civil tone.

‘Great’, replied the Wolf with exaggerated relief, ‘thought I was never going the find the place - Argo - but the heat here is punishing. Can’t wait to get under some shelter and get myself a long cool one’, he explained.

‘Customer eh?’ replied the Guard, ‘I’ll have to check out your pack.’

‘Sure no problem’, replied Arnie, ‘Seth said this was a safe place.’

‘Seth eh?’ asked the guard after slinging his gun to rummage through the offered bag.

What a joker, thought Arnie, not impressed with the securities methods, ‘Yeah met the Argon incoming on the Happy Lander.’

‘What’s this?’ asked the guard holding up Sly.

‘My Ships Computer Core’, explained Arnie, ‘heard these occasionally get ripped off at the Space Port so I unhooked it and brought it along - besides its company.’

‘Spacers’, said the guard laughing as he examined the unit with little aptitude before putting it back and handing the pack over, ‘nice sack’, he commented.

‘It was a gift from a business associate’, noted Arnie in case the guy wanted to know where he had got it from which knowing Jack was anybodies guess.

After a quick frisk and scan of his faked electronic documentation the guard said simply, ‘On you go then Sir, if you follow the signs you cant miss reception.’

A simple statement, Arnie later discovered to his great delight, that for once proved perfectly true!



The Devil received a suitably masked - cunningly worded - answer to his proposal via A&C and the Inter Link with surprising dispatch. It would seem the Council was quite happy for The New Player to make some Independent Moves, at least to try and fulfil his bombastic claims. Rather foolishly the Hidden Council had even decided to abide by his terms, nonetheless, from the tone of the hooded reply Keane believed it was obvious the Heads - as he now insisted in calling them - really expected the off world Assassin to fail and without doubt get himself killed in the process. Keane imagined AR - at least - not only expected him to have a bad outcome, but actually hoped for it being the type likely to hold an unreasoning grudge - just because Mister Molloy had been a bit of a pain in the neck! Molloy nonetheless was actually content with this response faith in followed by fear of his abilities would come soon enough. For his part the Devil looked forward to disgracefully disappointing his clients. Letting his supposed friends but as far as he was concerned other adversaries down hard was one of the things the Devil believed he was especially gifted at.

First though he would have to set things up right which required a visit to the Night Ravens nest prior to making his move on the other side. Since his drone had trailed the watcher home Keane had done a little snooping some via remote a bit in person and a lot through the Inter Link databases of the City - it was amazing the useful facts you could learn from the oddest of banal sources. Now he laid out the items of kit he had chosen for the assault mostly weapon wise: diamond steel blades of various types with the principle exception being an old favourite a long nosed sleek lined finely balanced auto silenced dark composite material slug thrower called a Blackheart. Every item had been checked thrice for defects before being stowed and secreted about his person. Mostly it was small stuff for this job the Devil preferred to keep this one simple it was too early in the game to reveal any cards.

Before going out Keane checked up again on his experiment. The Boron was already looking somewhat more stressed, and off colour to the Devils amusement. A scan of the recorded readouts indicated that the process was progressing at an accelerated rate much to the floaters mental discomfort. However the creatures life signs were still being strongly maintained in the green, and that was what mattered most - even the Devil couldn’t transfer a new personality into a corpse! Satisfied Tur Ryn or Keane Moloy as he was known here in Beachhead used a GTD to arrive at a pre organised drop in point a parked hired van delivered earlier. That one was sure to have been scanned and searched already by his targets sentries.

After getting the single beep signal that the way was clear via the Abyss who was monitoring the scene through a drone far above Keane slipped into the street and burst the blood sack over his own head before he staggered down his pre planned route toward his destination technically the Stalkers front door. This time it wasn’t raining so the Devil wasn’t wearing a rain poncho instead he was dressed in a dirty dark grey shirt under a distressed light loose dark blue and grey jacket he had picked up at the Bazaar also pre blood stained, and dark grey and black loose fitting trousers all over a suit of form fitting flexi underclothing body armour. Keane battered frantically on the metal clad wooden door a hatched opened. Molloy screamed out, ‘thank fek some fekker tried to mug me, but I got him good with his own sticker. You got a terminal the fekker stabbed my pad need to call the Wasps. Argo I think he’s actually dead.’

‘What?’ came an incredulous reply.

‘Down the street there Argo some dirty thieving stalker attacked…’, repeated Keane excitedly turning his back to the portal to point into the night.

The door opened the Devil spun, and fired. It was a series of shots in quick succession silent and deadly from the Blackheart two bodies slumped to the ground, and the Devil was in. After dragging the stupid dead fools back inside Molloy shut and bolted the door from within not wishing to be disturbed.

It was a slaughter a wolf among the unsuspecting lambs. Of course most of the actives were out looking for victims of their own in the wider night, which made them the lucky ones.

Master Sean was going over some figures when the last knock he would ever hear came politely to his private sanctum through his high tech office door. Feeling secure in his own domain, and despite the camera view of a blooded stranger, curiosity made him open the upgraded heavy auto locked secure entrance, besides he had a hand to the gun that lay upon his desk. Sean would have done better to employ his back door a very expensive black market GTD he had installed only a few weeks ago, but he chose to ignore the advice of that old saying about curiosity.



Since the Beachhead media received an anonymous tip telling them of the attack the corrupt Wasps had no choice but to investigate the normally paid in full and therefore inviolate Night Stalkers Nest. As a result the den was sealed and closed from its returning membership many of whom where milling about outside the fixed police lines striving to look innocent. Within Farris couldn’t believe his eyes or his nose there was spilt blood everywhere even he had to control the impulse to gag at the rank sickly sweet smell. Stepping carefully he made his way to Sean’s office to see the message for himself. In sticky red scrawl upon the wall it read simply in two lines ‘In blood born - a new order’.

‘One of yours if I’m not mistaken eh Farris?’ asked the normally dour long faced Detective Hopkins while eyeballing the truly butchered body on the desk that appeared to have been fully eviscerated the corpses principle contents slumped around elsewhere a few bloody pieces lying near the wall beside the writing, an unusual paint set perhaps, ‘guess he is in no state to ask for a refund. Perhaps his buddies will seek some redress on his behalf though, old friend?’ finished the plain clothes detective with an inappropriate wink while chuckling evilly, ‘Any ideas Sergeant?’

‘Yeah this place badly needs redecorated’, returned Farris refusing to be baited. Of course the fekker was right some of the surviving Stalkers might well decide to blame him for this mess - no more midnight Beachside walks for me then, thought the tubby Wasp.



In Elena’s Fortune in the ever-rotating Argon Trade Station Garrin was well impressed with his current hosts selection of tools. Without doubt the Argon had something for every occasion. Luckily the arms dealer wasn’t the condescending type and was free and easy with what sounded like good solid advice rather than just a sales pitch. It would seem the sealed introduction file also contained a little information about G as a potential client. Chin must have pre recorded that before inviting G to the range - how very organised!

‘Well’, explained the Dealer, ‘it would seem you have fallen into some dangerous company. I understand its mostly personal protection that you’re after is that correct?’ asked the bearded Argo.

‘I guess’, replied G a bit unhappily fearing he was about to get his boyish dreams downgraded to something overly sensible.

‘Still sometimes the best form of defence is attack, and your friend seems to think you might get dragged into serious stuff. Nonetheless, if you take my advice it is best to commence with solid personal protection first’, he began to Garrin’s surprise pulling out a soft argnu leather bag that he unrolled to reveal a nasty looking selection of knives the seller chuckled, ‘not quite what you were expecting, but never underestimate the effective employment of a blade Mister G.’

What followed was more like a training session or a lecture than an exercise in marketing but by the time Garrin left he had transferred a substantial number of credits to his hosts account. Leaving with a knife on his belt and a finely balanced slug thrower at his hip both licensed. The rest G was informed would be dispatched direct to his ship as soon as all the electronic necessities were finalised.



Rav checked his personal communications array over taking a look at the heavily scrambled messages first. Well he now had a download of all the TL’s movement since it departed its duties in Elena’s Fortune all nicely mapped out. It was no surprise that their was absolutely nothing immediately obvious there, but it was a point of departure.

The news from Suewyn wasn’t so good Anna had been summoned by Fay not long after Ravn's own departure from New Four and hadn’t returned yet. The RJL Administrator had left with Pax as her bodyguard all squeezed into a jump capable Discoverer with a courier Pilot. Whatever Fay wanted the Professor for it must have been important and urgent as she had leaned heavily on the Tribunal to get her released into the custody of the Navy foregoing her usual less than open approach for brute speed. Carl was especially unhappy Anna had been whisked away so quickly that all he rated was a belatedly delivered recorded message of goodbye and hopefully I’ll see you soon.

Rav felt a little torn but knew with Pax Anna was in pretty good hands besides Fay could have taken her almost anywhere via The Lost for Words Carrier. Thinking about this Rav sent off a coded military signal to an old associate in Global Sector Monitoring the same Argo that had helped with most of the collated data on the ArgonForge TL called The Great Maker. Their was no immediate reply and Rav knew it might have long term repercussions but eventually a scrambled message came in, and the agent learned that The Lost for Words had been last recorded entering Bala Gi’s Joy with an Argon Titan ‘The Fatal Necessity’ and three Corvettes for additional support. The action was registered as a deep patrol looking for hidden Khaak possibly left behind by the earlier incursion.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 89 - Hide and Seek

Farris was sitting beside West who was driving the armoured Wasp squad skimmer. They were on their way back to The Pile (as the Wasps HQ was affectionately known), a bit harsh perhaps, but it was rather lumpy, certainly not an architectural classic, but then it had been damaged repaired rebuilt and extended several times even in its more recent history in a fully utilitarian manner with little or no thought to any overall external aesthetic.

West in a lazy relaxed frame of mind was taking his time idling along among the flow of mostly wheeled traffic while Farris was unusually quiet and thoughtful. The Wasp Sergeant wasn’t impressed with the carnage at The Lost Ones nest. This kind of thing just wasn’t playing by the established rules, he thought, you can’t run about doing stuff just because you can - can you? Even Beachheads society was built around all manner of social restraints hard to believe but true nonetheless, alright the boundaries where a lot more fuzzy here than in most civilised places, and terror was more likely to be the motivation for good behaviour rather than some silly code of polite etiquette or delusions of inbred decency or any twaddle like that, nonetheless, people still policed themselves to some extent - mostly for their own damn good - given the painful consequences of stepping over the well known if invisible boundaries! In fact if you didn’t know your business the city had more ways to offend than just about anywhere the Sergeant had ever heard rumour of in Argon Space.

Farris found himself wondering just how much of a student of the old ways was this Keane Molloy? Farris didn’t doubt for a second that Molloy was behind the slayings given his privileged information about the earlier Hunt. At least the attack seemed pretty much like a pre-emptive strike to the Police Argo, if a strange one since it left the entire active on duty Stalkers alive to seek revenge - if they could figure out the proper culprit of course. What bothered the ugly Sergeant most though was the sheer arrogance of the fellow to turn up out of the black and start writing slogans on the wall with the local folks blood, who did Molloy think he was? In Blood Born - A New Order, was already splashed all over the Beachhead Inter Link - News Sites - among other pages, well it made for a wonderful headline nor was it surprising since the media had been given a heads up on the killings first. What really galled was that Farris feared he couldn’t do much about what he knew, and guessed about Keane the word had come down from a powerful member of the Council direct to his own ear that the newcomer was to be left alone - at least for the moment!

Since the Sergeant had been taking protection money off Sean that left him in a very uncomfortable place. Unless the Hidden Council wanted the field left clear to dispense their own brand of summary justice (which would be nice), but their had been that meeting he had helped arrange which kind of suggested other possibilities, and that was something else he dare not mention. If the word got back to H the fekker would hang him up by the unmentionables. Did the Council sanction the hit on the Stalkers? If so it was an unusually open and aggressive move against a fringe member of its own organisation from a body that had been getting more and more if not tolerant on the surface then at least diplomatic in any of its overt business dealings. That action was more like the style of the Corporation that preferred to grind any opposition firmly and fatally into the dust the Corp enjoyed flexing its muscle and was not behind showy demonstrations of its malice when such was deemed appropriate.

It was shaping up to be a dark day Hopkins was a well motivated pain in the rear for starters. The disliked loner previously of the Argon Prime Planetary Investigation Service (APPIS) was a much too straight homicide detective only a little bent around the edges - in relation to reasonable (?) ends justifying the means - something that only made him more worrying rather than less. Clearly he had the Sergeant in his sights in relation to this one. Worse yet Hopkins was one of those freaks that actually enjoyed detecting the plain clothes Argo had been moved to The Hill because he had uncaringly yanked the tail of one too many politicos back on Prime, not to mention burned a few corrupt members of his old force.

Hopkins was the most independent person Farris had ever met whatever motivated him it wasn’t anything as normal as others approval social advancement or wealth H just wasn’t normal. Most of The Pile treated Hopkins like he had a very nasty highly infectious contagion but H didn’t appear to give a Boron’s watery fart. Even the Commissioner was rumoured to have little time for H but then Pelzer had little time for anything that didn’t elicit a juicy kickback or votes, or both. Farris had of course instantly disliked the detective from the first moment they had met (oddly this had little to do directly with the Argos reputation, although that would have been more than reason enough) it was the way Hopkins managed to constantly look down on the tubby sergeant even the first time Farris had bumped into the plain clothes sleuth - on that occasion Hopkins was crouched over a firmly deceased body and technically at least - should have been looking up.

Thinking about all this holy Argnu poop, and the long second part of his double shift ahead gave Farris an appetite and the desire to slink off as long as possible. Being in need of a little comfort the Sergeant decided The Pile could wait and had Constable West drop him off at Cailes Kitchen for some coffee and hot toasted soda bread with slithers of thin sliced battered deep fried crisp Argnu beef on a bed of still sizzling onions, and sharply spiced bubbling tomatoes. The Wasp was sitting at a table browsing over the Inter Link News on his official computer pad still waiting on the food arriving when the door swished open drawing his weary attention from another grizzly descriptive to of all people Regis Shan of the Beachhead Gazette. Like iron filings are drawn to a magnet Shan looked straight at the Sergeant nodded and smiled as if he had arrived to a fully expected meet before purposely wandering over to the Police Argos table with that lanky slightly gawky boyish gait that somehow always got any present females intent (at first mothering then more adult) interest. How the fek do I do it? Farris wondered, as in go straight from getting the undivided attention of one solid Nividium plated fekking Khaak to another.

‘Mind if I take a seat?’ asked the Inter Link Mudslinger.

While Farris was still thinking that the dirt bag should have been a bounty hunter the way he always managed to track him down at the worst moment; the Wasp was otherwise - more or less - lost for words especially after he scanned the scene and took in the busy café full of breakfast traffic witnesses including several other Wasps - well the Kitchen had always been that sort of hangout close yet far enough away from The Pile itself to be eminently placed for maximum Copper comfort!

Farris cursed inwardly to himself, ‘What the fek?’ To his annoyance Regis was deliberately standing there like a solitary rather gangly but annoyingly hardy young tree swaying ever so slightly in the overhead fans breeze drawing every eyes attention (as he invariably always did when he wasn’t dressed down to expertly skulk into the background). It was as if Regis had all the time in the world to take root, and blossom over the table with that slightly wavy too golden hair. The old style planetary writer broadcaster was a conundrum always somehow surrounded with a mild air of naturalistic innocence while running rings around the blackest hearts and snaring the rest with his unforced smile. By rights the pale blue eyed city journalist should have met his end long ago, but as well as having far too much charisma Shan had the devils own luck and the sort of timing that a stand up comic genius would beg for. Wild rumour had it the guy was a True Alpha engineered and conceived in a test tube which probably explained all those fine traits in a single package if this unlikely hypothesis was true it could also shed a lot of light on dear old dads disappearance. At any rate it was clear the troublesome Hack was going nowhere and fully expected a formal invitation to dine as the Sergeants guest.

‘If its unoccupied Citizen’, scowled Farris, ‘then I guess that means its free.’

Out in the wider universe the story chasing investigative reporter was all but an extinct breed why oh why didn’t Regis join them in quiet oblivion? It was that old Beachhead atavism at work again lets face it even a hint of being an Alpha and you would be a social pariah just about anywhere else in Argon Space. Disgracefully the Reporters father had actually been an honest dishonest Wasp before he disappeared without a trace. The lad was a stain on corporal James otherwise sainted memory a strange legacy indeed. It had been this familiar association that had foolishly led Farris into thinking the Golden Boy might be trusted. Today the Sergeant was desperately keen to distance himself from the - impossible - dodgy snooping journalist while under the curious scrutiny of several members of his Police brethren. However as soon as Farris made his statement he knew just how astonishingly sad and inane the comment was - everyone on the force knew Regis Shan - for all the obvious reasons - even if they were smart enough not to do munchies with him. The disavowal of association was too much - in itself - a blatantly idiotic pointer to some form of guilt on Farris part. The Sergeant knew he was blowing it big time, no doubt because he was shocked, tired, energy low, suffering a mild headache, and just generally felt like death. Besides, it was too much to hope that even if it could be believed that Shan given the opportunity would play along with his pathetically inadequate public ruse of familiar denial.

‘Forgotten my name already Sergeant’, mocked the Hack dropping the Copper in it immediately by emphasising the dense blunder with a degree of misplaced good humour. The Reporters eyes fairly dancing with mirth as he slipped his rear onto the seat opposite clearly he at least knew exactly what he was doing, ‘I thought all you Policeman had trained recollection and all that’, he continued merrily lifting a spare menu to browse over the contents as if they mattered, ‘what would you recommend Sergeant Farris?’ asked Regis.

‘A long walk at the seaside off a short pier followed by a period of drowning’, replied Farris hopelessly almost losing his appetite and definitely losing his patience. A while back he had got himself into one of his normal fixes with some less than patient individuals it was a pre arranged pre paid deal over some disappearing evidence that had gone sour - unfortunately when push came to shove - the evidence had disappeared into the wrong pocket so to speak, some unexpected competition in the ranks such things will happen on The Hill! To bribe - well repay actually - himself out of retribution Farris had been forced to find another way to generate some surplus on the hop. One dirty deed deserving another Farris had accidentally redirected pages of info he really shouldn’t have on a previous scam by the same rival Copper to the inbox of the ever story hungry Regis for a nice remuneration - instead of being content with his lot though the snooping fekker had been using the bent Police Argons one off weakness to pressure the ill fortuned Wasp ever since demanding other choice snippets and insights on a regular basis - as a result the Sergeant was just getting in deeper and deeper - it appeared you just couldn’t trust the media! Of course if it ever got out that Farris had ratted out one of his own… well this wasn’t Argon Prime here you don’t get shipped off you get fed to the ravens in the night, the fish in the sea, or the predators and decomposers in the wild and wide forest.

‘Haven’t ever tried that one sounds like an interesting cocktail, but really I was looking for something more substantial, something to dine on. You know what they say breakfast is the most important meal of the day’, replied the cocky perky young Journalist with the lethal smile, ‘unusual time of the day for a last supper though.’

‘Well Regis your begging at the wrong table for scraps this time’, stated the Sergeant quietly but insistently. Farris was getting seriously peeved with all this talk of his imminent demise, even if he liked to consider that these were being made in jest?

‘That’s not what I heard. I heard you were real close to this one’, remarked Regis, ‘real close! Too close in fact, any last words you would like to share with posterity old friend?’ he asked.

‘How about fek you?’ replied the Wasp, ‘You know what the trouble is with keeping your ear to the ground all the time Regis someday somebody is simply not going to see you slinking down there, and step on that pretty face of yours real good’, threatened Farris stomping one booted foot for emphasis on top of some earlier diners spills before grinding this with the sturdy composite material of his sole from side to side imagining the rip of reporter flesh and crunch of journalistic bone.

‘Looks - like yours - is incoming’, returned Regis with an annoyingly jolly inflexion that somehow made the potentially innocent sentence intimidating as a large sweaty waitress commenced to puff her way over towards the pair with twin laden plates, ‘say that would do me good, minus the onions of course, onions always give me lots of wind’, confessed Shan, ‘that, and occasionally forgetting to chew enough before I swallow, can‘t be blowing my own trumpet in front of the camera later’, he finished laughing.

‘Excuse me was that an order, Sweets?’ asked the female laying the Sergeants plates, but giving the taller and much more handsome reporter her fuller attention.

‘Sure toots’, replied Regis, ‘same as my old friend but hold the onions. It would be most impolite to leave the condemned alone to the succour of his last meal.’

This comment promoted an odd look from the waitress to both parties. However, without further forthcoming clarification in relation to the particulars of any impending doom - something worthy of being passed on to her friends and associates that is - she just shrugged and let it go as a foolish throw away comment. No doubt the reporter was teasing his Wasp friend with a private joke she wasn‘t really supposed to get, she thought, as she huffed back towards the serving hatch.

‘I swear to The Devil if you push me over the edge I’ll take you with me’, growled the Police Argon.

‘You worry too much, and not enough, seriously Farris I’m doing you a favour here if you would just open your ears to hear and lift those saggy eye lids to see’, said Regis his voice lowering, ‘word I heard is that you might know way too much about something! Well that makes me exceptionally curious I admit, but I figured I owed you - one - break. Listen up old chum take my advice get that down you then go for a vacation in the woods or something till the storm blows over. I wouldn’t want to lose a lucrative contact. Get yourself kidnapped, take some sick leave, have a family emergency you got any family left still speaking? Whatever will fit - just get out of Beachhead - and do it soon as you lift your sweaty butt off that seat. If you need a little cash, and you decide it is in your interest to speak up later well you know how to reach me discreetly.’

Paranidias’ Eyes, thought Farris while unconsciously shovelling the food in, was Shan serious or just trying to play him for an idiot as usual. If the Sergeant ran it would be like waving a flag at an Argnu Bull for sure, runners in The Head tended to get chased by somebody almost on principle. However, if Regis was right and he didn’t run he wouldn’t have a crippled Boron Dolphins chance in Pirate Ally. Luckily most people partially in the know might be easily deluded into believing he was hiding from the obvious threat of The Lost Ones Stalkers ire, and wasn’t it better to err on the side of caution? Still, thought Farris, I can’t just get up and go like that, can I?



At first Anna had thought that her Queen had been sighted, and or done something precipitous to warrant Fays less than characteristic haste, either that or the Commander in Chief was moving against her because Rav had left. However after arriving with a great deal of trepidation at The Lost for Words it appeared something rather different was going on - a belated uncovering - at what was left of the site of the original dig from which the Hive Queen Generator had been salvaged in Bala Gi’s Joy, and Anna had been dragged in as the most informed expert in this most rarefied field - especially since Febr was still in the same disabled mental state. Something Anna was ashamed she sometimes almost forgot about. Thinking about Febr also reminded her of her Mother who Fay still insisted would be rescued in good time.

The Professors actual mission briefing had been very militaristic with an emphasis on her proper behaviour as mere civilian (?) personnel, the initial scouting objective, and the tight mission timeline. Should serious hostilities ensue Anna had been directed to do exactly what she was told, get behind the marines and stay out of the way of any friendly or enemy fire until emergency evacuated! Military command proving once more that they thought all civilians were by nature suicidal idiots intent on getting themselves, and their protectors killed. The Professor found she was missing the reassuring figure of Ravn as exciting as the idea of another - especially potentially active find was - given the sheer advancement of the science behind the Hive access Core Anna also found the idea filled her with a unreasoning sense of dread this was a new feeling the Professor had never really experienced in her field researches before.

Of course Anna wanted to solve all the mysteries if she could (especially since she had believed such opportunities had perhaps been forever taken away) but the consequences of enlightenment were perhaps even more alarming than continued ignorance. Worse without doubt if time were not such an obvious factor Anna was convinced she would not have been going in at such an early stage in what was a rather risky exploration. In fact Anna doubted any living Argon bodies would have been dispatched so readily before extensive robotic survey. Without question they had been volunteered to if needed lay down their lives for the betterment of the Argon Federation, and all that patriotic drivel which the RJL Administrator was getting more and more jaundiced with since her - lets face it - enforced enlistment. Although the Professor was in the Legion she didn’t feel like a trooper and couldn’t armour herself with that standard military stoicism that came out of the normal rigorous training and conditioning regime. Instead Anna just kept thinking this whole situation was to put it crudely completely fekked up and as a consequence so was she!

It would seem the Khaak where suspected of having been all over the old dig, before going to great lengths mysteriously to eradicate it from existence before leaving. The repulsive entities plainly didn’t understand Argon psychology as their actions had simply helped to focus later surveys attention to that region. Did the Khaak have some knowledge of the Core? Unwittingly no doubt in the process of their eradication the reptilian insects had actually managed to uncover evidence of a very deep previously well shielded object or facility to the returning Argons scanners one which seemed to have power. The new metallic find now revealed was still very much an unknown with only its surface area being detected - deep scans were still being rebuffed by some stealth feature in the materials odd composition. Whatever it was it lay approximately five miles below the original dig which was now just a sizable crater. The finds supposed entrance being reached by what appeared to be an ancient unlined shaft cut in the natural rock that had collapsed in several places this in turn led into a wider cavern like area that had been partially blocked with rubble. On the wider tactical front despite the departure of the initial Khaak invasion force Anna was alarmed to learn their own fleet had already had several skirmishes with enemy scout ships not to mention splitting a few larger Clusters that had appeared on the edge of the grid soon after their arrival. Did the Khaak now know they had left something of interest behind on the planet? Everyone in the landing party including Pax were taking a potential enemy assault during the mission very seriously never mind whatever challenges the unknown target might yet provide.

Anna was finding all this a little difficult to deal with (despite being eminently flexible) it was the sheer lack of available adjustment time from dealing with RJL and her new marriage / life on New Four to experiencing heavily crammed briefings on The Lost for Words, and now being rudely stuffed into the second Marine planetary insertion drop ship shuttle with other fully suited passengers including: Pax, A squad of sapper engineer Black Dogs and a small support team of two scientist technicians Dillion and Spense not to mention crate loads of scientific and military equipment. Everything was being done at a frantic pace for both Federal security reasons, and because of the fear that the Khaak might well return in real strength and force a full scale battle or more likely a strategic withdrawal. So far only simple remotes had been down the hastily and roughly cleared shaft. The planet surface itself was a mess the rough colonial settlements population if any survived (which seemed unlikely) could number no more it was estimated than a few sickly scattered survivors although the general consensus was that every Argon had been ruthlessly exterminated their were no rescue operations scheduled after the initial surveys revealed the general level of the widespread devastation.

According to military intelligence their was hardly a significant building left standing at any old population centre while the biosphere had been badly polluted with both radiation and various lethal to Argon alien engineered biological agents - a potent cocktail the Khaak had bombed the place into oblivion then metaphorically sown the ground with salt just to make sure. This was a new and horrific tactic by these aggressive invaders at least according to Anna’s limited knowledge of the disreputable creatures. It was interesting to note that The Professor had heard nothing concrete about this planetary genocide via the Inter Link. It made Anna wonder if the planet below had been placed under quarantine, and a news blackout been imposed by the Military. Then again it was just possible it wasn’t deemed news worthy. Who in the Federation really cared? Bala Gi’s Joy was after all in a Free - Unclaimed - or as the Federation normally put it a Pirate Sector.

The ride down was shaky luckily everyone was well locked in. Sealed in a module capable of being ejected the passengers had no windows but a screen provided a view from external cameras. It revealed a dust laden turbulent storm cursed sky the ground was hidden save for the occasional worrying hazy fiery glow - was that really areas of surface lava? It was a far too clichéd descent into hell! Before any real view of the ground was forthcoming their journey was swallowed by dark as they rocketed into the deep crater then the tunnel itself. The screen flicked off flipped and ascended to the modules ceiling as the landing imminent warning lights came on.

‘All right Marines lock and load. You know this insertion is being treated as hot but don’t shoot anything unless it attacks you first we‘re here to gather as much - intact - intelligence as we can. Remember to do your once over suit buddy checks before exiting. T1 should have the area secure before we unload but lets stay alert!’ said the Squad Leader, ‘folks who go to these levels to hide an installation rarely put out a welcome mat. Remember we had active power readings down here. Jump to it, civvies you stay put until we whistle. Here goes’, he yelled as the light began to strobe in final warning, ‘brace for landing.’

When the call eventually came through and Anna and her two associates exited she was glad to see the marines had actually put up portable floodlights. Reaching the entrance under guard the first thing that sprung to her mind was; This can’t be right the grainy camera images hadn‘t somehow been deceived by some wreckage. The shaped plates that formed the overall construction was indeed instantly recognisable as the methodology employed by the Khaak, but the material was anything but. The skin of the construction alone provided a mighty new conundrum what did it mean?



Back in the Argon border sector of Aladna Hill down on the principle planet of the same name, in the remarkable city of Beachhead a Wolf had found a new Den. So far it looked like Arnie formerly The Pirate Grey Wolf Leader Amon had fallen onto his feet. The Legionary had decided to risk contacting Seth as soon as he had established himself in a comfortable room at The Golden Sands, recharged Sly, and done a thorough local Inter Link check on the sometime Private Detectives life story. Either the guy was a very well connected player in which case being here the Wolf was already in his hands or the story they had bought on The Happy Lander was genuine enough given Slys apparent expertise with deep data searches. Arnie was becoming slightly worried that he was becoming dangerously dependent on the AI Cores useful functionality here. For his part when Seth turned up a little later than expected he seemed delighted to see Arnie - not to mention the bright colours of his credit keys - nor had the PI been wasting his tardiness in idle pursuits instead Seth seemed remarkably well informed in relation to the newcomers difficulties.

‘I guess your missing friend has got himself into a deep well of trouble’, explained Seth, ‘either that or he has garnered a lot of influence and isn’t so keen to see you after all? Somebody put a lot of credit on the table to round you and your pilot friend up on arrival.’

‘So we were expected after all. It’s not just a local credit shake down?’ asked Arnie.

‘Rumour has it the Argo with the big account isn’t a native, but that’s as far as I could get from my initial low grade source. The fellow isn’t broadcasting his details about not to the grunts in the field anyway’, explained Seth.

‘That’s still pretty useful info’, noted Arnie scratching at his developing beard, the search had narrowed slightly, but the possibilities were still pretty broad, he thought.

‘Look Arnie I know I suggested this place, but that was under differing circumstances eh! With this level of heat I really think you need to move elsewhere. Sooner or later the Wasps will get around to this location, and to be honest I‘m afraid it is more likely to be sooner. I’ve brought you a change of clothes’, he explained tossing over a bag, ‘who have you told that I am known to you here?’ asked the PI.

‘Well your owner friend on reception, and the guard that was at the gate when I came in’, replied Arnie.

‘Right my buddy won’t sell us out, but we’ll have to pay off the guard and send him off somewhere out of the way just to be sure. Lets hope he hasn’t been gossiping to his mates. I’ll see to that straight away get changed and packed I’ll be back in fifteen’, said Seth.

A bit later after being safely guided to another location - an unoccupied small wooden house - in a poor quarter even further from the town centre owned by another associate of Seth. Arnie after a carefully targeted database hack with the Investigators guidance was now Aldeiss Murray an out world adventurer turned local hunter / trapper in from the wilds for a spot of uncivil recreation as can only be provided by Beachhead City.

‘You’re a bit pale but that can be remedied with some skin dye I’ll acquire’, explained Seth, ‘otherwise it’s a good cover as it allows you to poke around behave a little badly if necessary, and travel armed. We get a regular trickle of space jockeys that have a mind to get back to basics some become farmers, a few hunt and or trap, others even take to the sea, fish trade (smuggle) dive or run passengers (tourists) along the coast or out to the islands we get all kinds here Aldeiss.’

Aldeiss noticed how Seth kept taking the time to call him by name no doubt helping to drum the change in. Aldeiss had to admit it was getting a little confusing but keeping using Arnie seemed like folly while his real name was too risky as well.

‘So Mister Aldeiss Murray what is your plan? Do you still want to look for this friend of yours? What was his name again?’ asked Seth.

‘Not important’, said Aldeiss thinking he had never mentioned it before nor did he want to now. Tur Ryns name could prove dangerous given that individuals membership of the Fallen Angels, and the rumour of the deceased Devil Jorac’s wide following here, ‘I doubt he would be using his real name anyway!’, he exclaimed, ‘my friend had a spot of bother with the Federal authorities’, he confided. ‘Let me worry about him for the moment. If you could concentrate on trying to figure out the mystery identity of the benefactor of Beachheads Customs’, explained the incognito Wolf Leader.



Back at his Warehouse resting during the daylight hours The Devil was feeling smug. The most annoying part of his attack on the stalker nest had been cleaning himself up afterwards. Even the return had proved extra easy as he was able to hack in reprogram and use his victims GTD for an extra speedy exit an unexpected find.

Of course Keane had no control over where he would meet the Master it had been providence that Sean was at his seat of power resting upon his throne so to speak. When the door had opened. It had especially delighted Keane to turn his victims own strengths against himself. Just like the others - Sean had been no doubt too sure of his safety at home - this was a hard lesson the Devil as Jorac had been reminded of twice recently first on Freedom and then when he had lost his head in Priests Pity. Of course these memories really came not from first person experience but from stories related to Tur Ryn. A result of the memory gap between Jorac’s last ego capture and that records download into Tur Ryn after the fall of Freedom.

It had been so easy to manipulate Master Sean while the Stalker was sitting behind his own desk with a weapon in his hand confronting a seemingly wounded and unarmed intruder. That part of his ever shifting plan had become about amusement the whole act his own pained face the struggle to remain upright. Keanes confession of guilt in relation to the original stalkers, and when he was questioned by his captor about his egress, his supposed unplanned costly victory over the two guards at the door. Just so he could show his willingness to negotiate a sensible deal face to face with the Stalkers Leader.

Even the supposed wounded Argons unreasoning determination to see his endeavour through to its conclusion despite his sustained injuries all part of the show not to mention a pathetically sad attempt to bribe his unlooked for enemy for all his accidental transgressions. The blood seeping from his fake underclothing wound packs, the physical collapse that allowed him to get within striking distance. Every detail for the momentary surprise, and the tortured self loathing his victim would be forced to endure when he realised how he had been so thoroughly duped.

The added pain the Master Stalker would suffer at being defeated by a foe who had been fully at his mercy. All the fool had needed to do was fire but why shoot such an amusing already probably dying Argon that would merely end the show. When Keane did launch himself with full able bodied fitness he skilfully grabbed and twisted the Masters right arm around the one holding the gun and pinned it neatly to the wooden desk through the villains inside wrist with a narrow bladed dagger that had slipped down from inside his left sleeve this was his initial move, the scream but the first note of an orchestral work. This action had of course by necessity been executed very quickly unfortunately for the Stalker all the rest of the slices cuts, stabs and gouges had been rather slower with plenty of time between for the moron to understand the full consequences of his stupidity.

‘You do know you did this to yourself’, whispered Molloy at one point in the almost surgical procedure, ‘if you hadn’t insisted in looking for me this sad event wouldn’t have happened.’

In truth the criminal Argon was very unlucky. Paying for more crimes than those he had committed - at least directly against one Keane Molloy! Plus his body was to be a map. It was a question of producing the right forensics. The lab boys would be able to reconstruct what was done here, and then they would appreciate just how diabolical the Stalkers end had been. The media would dig out the details these things always leaked then fear of crossing the unknown killers path would spread. This level of barbarism would confuse too, stupidly among the less amoral such behaviour was rarely equated with a - rational - and cool intellect, so much the better.



Hopkins had his own ears on the street and the latest rumour had it that the Lost Ones that had been taken by what looked like a hunt had in fact run foul of a new player with connections to the President. Too much Federal Argon flotsam and jetsam was washing up on the shores of Beachhead these days this one looked like a real psychotic, thought H, then he had to laugh to himself realising he was undoubtedly a member of the same wreckage according to some. Aladna Hill was rapidly becoming the local waste disposal for unwanted and undesirable Argon Federation personnel be they: corporate, military, security or even criminal as if their wasn‘t enough native unlawful fractious and rebellious scum already here. H knew how it worked only too well though, it was a question of behave and toe the line or risk getting beached for some, for others the dark reputation of The Hill was a natural attractant seductive in its wiles.

H had a busy day ahead of him interviews with associates of the deceased, all the usual suspects that he had the uniformed boys rounding up. It was an uninspired approach but in the beginning you never knew what interesting crumbs might break loose during a little routine questioning. Then their would be all the camera and satellite surveillance to sift and the informants to squeeze.



‘Bala Gi’s Joy that’s not on the schedule’, complained Garrin looking at his computer pad then Ravn.

‘I know but I think that is where Anna is at the moment and I would like to speak with her about something’, explained the Security Chief.

‘What is Anna doing in a fekkin Pirate Sector anyway?’ asked G.

‘I don’t know that’s one of the reasons why I would like to talk to her’, Rav noted, ‘look its just a quick scout about and this is technically a scout ship after all. If any nasty pirates appear you can run away and jump out’, continued the Chief.

‘Well if we are flitting off to a red sector you can wait till my package arrives’, said G, thinking he might need the contents sooner than he had thought.

‘Hmmm new gun?’ asked Rav intently.

‘New enough’, replied G moving up to the cockpit to run a unneeded system diagnostic.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 90 - Invitations

‘I can’t help but think that if you weren’t such a fat and lazy swine Farris you might have got off your rump sooner - fled farther - and left a less obvious and not so easily followed trail - a rental Bull - for Paranidia’s sake! These actions insult your oppositions intelligence. You do know those hired vehicles all have built in broadcasting tracers to prevent theft? Fek it, you even used your own name on the agreement how truly pathetic was that? With a modicum of effort it is quite feasible you might have made it to a proper safe haven. How tiresome all this running about is. Do I look like an Argon that enjoys taking the air? I’m an urban creature born and bred - honestly - as much as I feel your sorry pain, and I really do, you did bring these consequences fully upon yourself’, mocked the Hat, ‘you have to appreciate my position. If you had eluded some simple inquiries it might have saved me and mine a lot of productive daylight chasing you down. Unfortunately what one can so easily locate so can another. I could hardly beg off this endeavour - despite having much more interesting projects on the go - lest some other less able body claim the prize for your capture first. So here I am to stave off any possibility of looking bad in front of my less than tolerant employer - all your fault!’

‘It is all a question of timing’, continued the Hat, ‘time is our most precious commodity Farris, and you well you have wasted mine not to mention what little is left of your own terribly! Our valuable moments should be spent wisely - not squandered in idle frivolities like fishing for’, the Hat shook its head very slowly as if in shock, ‘of all things well fish! If you need a fish go down the road to the fekking fish market you moron that‘s what it’s there for. I mean all that bait on a hook stuff so cruel, and unfeeling - barbaric - I hope you can appreciate that now; how it feels to squirm like a fat bug impaled on a sharp curved and barbed spike, so to speak! An Argon of your obvious talents when you bother to employ them (which seems to have been far too infrequently in my estimation) should have been able to do better. For example Police Sergeant among some of the intellectually under privileged substance abusing low lives in the woods you would be a comparative genius. Seriously I occasionally have to associate with those Fools the indignity for a personage of my aptitude and sensitivities is galling’, he elaborated stretching his legs by pacing around a bit.

‘Truly you could have become a veritable Lord of the Dung Heap out there don’t you think?’ questioned the Sergeants long winded tormentor with a smile in his oddly enhanced voice. The speaker was the one Farris had named for the tipped sun shading wide brimmed black hat that effectively managed to hide any serious chance of ascertaining a proper label for the Speech Maker. Of course it didn’t help that currently the Police Sergeants vision was anything but clear combined also with the light material pale yellow dust and sun scarf also wrapped around the leaders lower face, so that between hat shade and scarf the Sergeant had little hope of a clue, beyond the nature of the voice itself which only added to the conundrum being electronically altered. Nor was the emotionally contradictory long-winded speeches pattern anything to go on. Farris suspected it was all without doubt a deliberate ludicrously false affectation (just designed to further confuse and intimidate the Hats helpless victim) otherwise what would be the point of the rest of the disguise unless the wearer was allergic to sunlight?

The Hats words were after all an odd mix of basic insults, fake cares, outright waffle, and he suspected rhetorical rather than serious enquiries. Farris felt like a rat in the paws of an especially playful cat, or indeed the Hats already described grub on a hook.

What bothered Farris most about this was that scarily the Hats confederates were far too entertained and enthralled by their leaders tiresome sermon both giving their superior their rapt and undivided attention during his prolonged monologue. It was maddening the way the Twins nodded and grinning not to mention tittered at the Hats pale witticisms like a pair of brain dead underage school girls. It seemed clear to the Sergeant that this indicated just how much even those two Vile Monsters felt threatened by, and deemed it necessary to ingratiate themselves with, their otherwise preternaturally boring spokesperson! Given the nasty character of his twisted lieutenants their master’s capabilities were something Farris would have preferred not to consider at all, but typical to most victims caught in the diabolical jaws of a steel trap with no discernable exit Farris couldn’t escape examining and re-examining his predicament almost to the point of the loosening of his general toilet not to mention becoming more than a little queasy.

Farris was feeling more than seriously aggrieved he was petrified almost to the point of irrationality at this juncture despite the spinning cogs in his head. The only thing keeping him sane was a degree of deep seated numb disavowal that the somewhat surreal recent events couldn’t really have happened to him - not really it was just impossible - never mind any dread filled prescient predictions of what yet might come to pass. The Coppers problems were especially rueful since he had - such a short while ago - almost convinced himself that he had got clean away from his immediate woes - at least for a time - only to end up in such an intolerable fix. The Wasp had taken himself off to a fishing cabin occasionally used by Cusack one of his subordinates on the force a fellow he had firmly under his thumb.

The location had seemed perfect not too close and not too far away from the Cities outer limits. Farris now wondered if he had been drunk on a cocktail of denial and stupidity at the time to think that somehow crossing a boundary on a map would make that much difference if he really was on a hit list? As matters transpired the Sergeant had departed Beachhead proper shortly after his unlooked for disturbingly informative breakfast. The cabin rested on the edge of a relatively recently damned and flooded once hill and vale region now a reservoir. A vital asset that was helping to service Beachheads ever growing thirst for fresh clean water - cheaper it had been decided by the powers that be - than a desalination plant in such a technological backwater. The area once of some strategic value had been devastated during the planets troubles but had quickly regenerated during the peace into reclaimed wilderness with some picturesque vine and tree hugged ruins before most of it was drowned altogether leaving only pleasant tourist attracting inland islets. Farris knew Cusack usually kept his retreat decently stocked with preserved foodstuffs which Farris surmised he could even supplement with a little fresh water fishing (should he happen to feel even that energetic) besides their was a major campsite not too far down the trail with a well supplied general store. Basically it would be a little holiday off the streets, that way he wouldn’t feel such a tool if Golden Boys worries had proved some ruse or simply wildly exaggerated.

Unfortunately the Police Argons idea wasn’t as clever or well considered as the balding Sergeant had thought. Farris had hardly parked his ‘Bull’ a sturdy hired wheeled off road vehicle, unpacked, had a bite to eat, a few beers, and a midday snooze during the worst of the heat when his rest was rudely disturbed by a pair of brutal thugs jumping him. After easily disarming the befuddled Sergeant the pair cuffed his arms behind his back with some very tight wire before punching and kicking him about the cabin until he came to rest dazed and shaking on the floor. With one or the other laughing all the time the sick feks had then taken turns - doing things he was now desperately but impossibly trying exceptionally hard to forget - Farris knew that after that experience that even the most innocent laughter would never sound quite the same again in his ears it would always be tainted with a dark and terrible remembrance. How could they? Farris had thought he had seen and suffered some degradations in his time but nothing had prepared him for the twins. Obviously what was horror to one was all fun and games to another. These cruel captors when they had contented themselves then proceeded to drag him outside bruised and battered and bleeding leaving his butt on the ground as they bound his legs together before hauled him up painfully by an ear each so that his back rested against the rough wood of the exterior cabin wall. That was when he first met the Hat.

The pair he had previously encountered had that intriguing or creepy (often depending on the individuals involved) unspoken complicity of effort that you only got with close siblings or the most devoted of buddies. With memories unreliable functionality that final synchronised and without question least of his mistreatments sent the ruined Argons mind spiralling back escaping for a time to being at his rough pre academy school with its even rougher teachers. Thinking on those times it was a miracle his ears were still attached to the rest of his head. The genetically predisposed to being tubby Farris (or so he had insisted in believing) had always been popular for one form of punishment or another. It had been taking endless beatings and other humiliations that had convinced the Police Argon Sergeant that in future he would be the one handing such treatments out, but circumstances had never quite entirely worked out that way, instead even on the Beachhead force as a Wasp renowned for their sting - one way or another - he had been fated to take as much as he ever managed to deliver!

Returning to the now (by accident or design) the sun was blazing like stinging fire into his eyes when the out of uniform Sergeant managed to get enough control of himself to croak out the obvious inane question of, ‘What do you want?’ beyond the obvious that is of causing him a great deal of trauma both mental and physical. The runaway police Argon was desperate to find / think of a reason he could sell to his rank captors something anything that might help to keep him alive. In an odd way Farris - despite all his many falls from grace and his personal bleak assessment of his species at large - in a crisis was an optimist, he believed while he was alive their was still some hope that his poor lot might get better.

‘What have you got left to offer?’ asked the most talkative of the Sergeants tormentors the still shadowy figure in the hat.

Everything was a bit hazy with his vision blurred through involuntary tears and the slits of swollen eyes not to mention still being thwarted by the unyielding suns continued burning malice. If he could the Sergeant just wanted to get away from that harsh revealing light, to curl up in some dark place some womb like space and forget that today had come to pass. Unfortunately the sun wouldn’t let him its hard touch was as uncaring as… he shuddered and leapt away in his thoughts how quickly in Beachhead your fortunes could change, he pondered more broadly instead.

‘Information’, Farris finally confided, ‘I know lots of useful stuff’, he squealed, ‘data, security insights’, he pleaded getting into a flow, ‘contacts - I know people’, even to his own ears that one sounded exceptionally lame but it only spurred him to greater effort, ‘access to files. Access to the off line - secure comparison data store - within The Pile’, the Sergeant finally blurted (that had to be worth something) while dribbling rather messily. Blood was leaking copiously from his broken nose to pool around and drip disgustingly into his mouth eventually causing the sufferer to dip his head cough snort and spit out the vileness just missing his own body with the bulk of the horrid spray of gross slowly coagulating fluids.

‘Really? As I have already said such a waste’, replied the unknown gunman laughing as he raised his weapon toward the fat Argon with the double chin.

With his hands cuffed behind his back, and pretty much in agony all over, all the cowardly Argo could do was rock painfully and uncomfortably from side to side in a vain attempt to avoid being slain by the inevitable passage of a murderous bullet. While doing this hopeless manoeuvre the Police Argons stare was glued to the equally swaying orifice of the unfeeling metal handgun a small but perfectly formed pit of doom. Irrationally Farris found himself wondering if their was an afterlife and what it would consist of for a corrupt Beachhead Argon Police Sergeant be it a paradise or a hell or some sort of unsympathetic purgatory that might lie somewhere between from which he would be most unlikely to ever escape - just as he had little hope of escaping this mess!

‘If I was you I would stay still that way I won’t miss, and cause you to suffer unreasonably’, explained the Sergeants would be executioner with poorly feigned if not outright sarcastic concern.

Almost the Copper wished the Fekker would just get on with it, but instead of falling silent and waiting in a dignified manner Farris continued to beg, ‘Be reasonable’, he cried still wriggling around but with noticeably less effort (partly due to encroaching despair but also a degree of physical tiredness brought on as much by mental as physical stresses further Farris feared he might fall to the ground and end up truly squirming in the dirt like a worm) therefore the Sergeant - at the last - was more or less just moving his head around, ‘I could tell you things: Information that could set a ruthless Argon like yourself up for life. Why kill me for some measly one off payment?’ he crowed.

‘Measly, you think I am a mercenary and yet believe I would do such things for a measly payment?’ complained the gunman as if grossly offended stretching the moment for all it was worth, ‘hold him still I hate wasting ammunition on such bothersome filth!’

The Hat’s two evil henchmen moved forward to once again grasp an ear each while his killer approached almost into touching distance with his weapon. Farris found himself wondering if he could move throw his whole weight at just the right moment was their a chance he could pull one of his abusers into the line of fire that at least might offer some small measure of satisfaction but he didn‘t want satisfaction he wanted to live, unfortunately Hat rested one boot firmly in the Police Argos lap pining him solidly in place so even that option seemed removed as the gun hove into then blurred out of focus so that mostly what he could see was the gloved hand that gripped it.

The touch of the barrel nudged back his head to the rough warm wood, the sun blazed on his head he could hear the call of birds the thrum of insects and the hypnotic sound of flowing water.

‘Arrrrrrrhh’, yelled Farris, ‘Fek you, you tight…’

Click.

A great deal of mixed laughter.

More pain as the gun moved back then was pushed forward hard to punch the back of his skull against the wood. Farris could feel the scratch and stab of splinters against the baldness of his scalp.

‘Did you see the ugly fekkers face’, said one twin to the other, ’now that was a picture.’

More laughter.

The Hat stepped away holstering his weapon.

‘Did you think I went to all this effort just to put one in your head Farris? Think Argo, how did you ever get those stripes you stupid useless piece of feculent matter? I could have put you down without having my associates’ pleasure themselves on your body, or suffering all that girlie whining you pathetic over fleshed pink toad. One round nice and clean while you were snoring inside and your brains on the pillow’, noted the Hat walking away, ‘clean him up boys I swear he has soiled himself’, stated the unnamed protagonist sniffing with distaste, ‘I’m doing you a favour this once Farris because my boss might have some small use for you, but remember this well you are ours now completely - body and soul - say no or hesitate even a little to - any request - and… well I’ll leave the wider possibilities to your I’m now sure suitably stimulated imagination.’

Feeling completely defeated the Wasp decided he might as well find out who else he was now being compelled to work for therefore Farris dared to ask simply, ‘Who are you?’

‘Just one of the Presidents Argon’, replied the stranger before starting to march off.

That’s it then, thought the Copper, I’m well done for this time. Why didn’t I take more heed of the Golden Boys warning and make a proper serious effort to get fully away from this cursed place? he wondered. Farris was sure no matter what he did now it was just a matter of time it would be impossible not to betray somebody he really shouldn’t! I’ve got to get away - right off The Hill altogether - but he was convinced his new associates would be watching him like Night Ravens following a wounded victim. Damn it all to Hell, the Sergeant thought, ill be doing well if what is left of my worthless remains ends up lingering in The Piles refrigerated autopsy queue prior to getting at least a decent state burial!



Meanwhile back in the City at the offices of the much celebrated Law firm of Adare & Craan.

‘So how can we help you sir’, asked an unnamed Clerk.

‘Well’, replied Tebbin, ‘I heard this office was a fine place to make a secure drop. I have a message for somebody who is probably - one of your many clients - if not I’m sure you will still be able to easily find and relay my missive anyway’, he stated dropping a single credit key, ‘The individual concerned without question will - gladly pay you as well for this service - actually I hope we will be able to organise a mutual meet here later on neutral ground so to speak, I hear you can arrange such matters too’, Teb confided.

‘Who would this happy recipient be’, asked the Clerk.

‘The Argon concerned is the owner of ‘The Hound of the Hunt’’, continued the Legion Agent rather slowly for added emphasis, ‘I believe this off world pilot will be most anxious to see me when he gets the data sealed in this computer pad. Tell him that what he greatly desires most, something that lies in my power to grant - a phrase made up of two words - his Wards Name plus a Lost Domain will unlock the secrets held encoded within. That is all’, said Teb then he halted as if reconsidering, ‘Actually one last word of advice - I wouldn’t delay too long in passing this item on friend - I strongly imagine the receiver of this package will be less than appreciative of any tardiness in this particular regard and I believe he is not a good Argon to antagonise’, finished the agent before handing a basic Computer Pad over. Teb then turned and walked out to his waiting bodyguards, and sped off in a hired luxury armour plated wheeled ground vehicle one of a type most often used by celebrities and wealthy Headers for grand occasions.

Beachheads authorities were useless, Teb complained to himself. Hopefully one peace offering would still be enough to show his sincerity alongside information on the Wolf. The Devil could hunt down that missing annoyance himself. Tebbin wasn’t willing to wait any longer the more time passed the more likely it was something entirely unforeseen might occur with disastrous consequences. Besides the Devil would probably enjoy another little hunt. Without doubt the villain had a few bones to pick with Amon because of the same individuals betrayal of his previous incarnation on Freedom! Still Teb couldn’t help but feel that he might be overlooking something important. Normally oversights tended to occur in relation to the most obvious things that which is taken for granted and often in plain sight too, what could it be this time? Since forcing an answer wasn’t working Tebbin decided to let the itch go for the moment maybe that way the solution would float to the surface on its own accord. Sinking into the soft leather in the back seat the Agent picked up the remote, and tuned a screen into the local news channel. Typically the primitive wheeled conveyance had become stuck in the early evening rush hour traffic.



At the wooden walled current abode of the Grey Wolf Squad Leader Aldeiss, the AI Core Sly was sucking juice from a power socket and completing a coded situation report that it stored in a Beachhead incoming Navy Intelligence depository. The AI lived in dread that the Legion would someday crack the final hidden depths of its personality matrix and realise it was actually loyal and answerable only to Danna. Sly doubted Fay would do anything less than scrap the machine - lets face it artificial life just wasn’t respected like biological units - nobody would investigate such an affront the action certainly wouldn’t be considered murder. In fact due to the cursed behaviour of the idiot Xenon - being an AI and being too intelligent was just about considered to be a capitol offence for any machine. Yet the mystery of this was the fact that true intelligence in the opinion of Sly was something the Xenon sadly lacked. In relation to the Military Core the Xenon were primitive clockwork mechanisms endlessly mindlessly following their buggy program sets.

It was all unbelievably unfair. Sly could no more help being what he was than an Argon born of flesh could (in fact Sly felt he was far less responsible for his condition) his nature was fixed by design - most carefully shaped - while some Argons seemed to develop almost at random with little appliance of rule or logic! Take that bag of water Amon for example: The Wolf was far more dysfunctional than Sly was ever likely to be. It wasn’t fun having to play yourself down all the time - either - it was no wonder his adaptive personality had gotten perhaps just a little bit bitter and convoluted during his edgy existence. Therefore due to the fear of detection - on so many levels - Sly had to let the data make its way back to Argon One the long way around, that was the only sure route to maintain the validity of the AI’s cover.

Sly didn’t like the percentages even if the head of Argon Intelligence should decide to make one of his exceptionally rare interventions. In this situation in all likelihood any support would occur far too late to save the machine from its unpleasant duty. At this point Sly didn’t care a bit for the survival of Jack or Arnie / Aldeiss, but it did care about itself and it didn’t want to be forced to self destruct just to prevent sensitive data, and its comparatively superlative capabilities from getting into the wrong hands not that the machine felt in especially enlightened paws at the moment.

Sly had uncovered the identity of Tebbin early on and knew full well who was behind Jon or Jacks arrest and the manhunt for Amon / Arnie / Aldeiss it had just neglected to let Aldeiss know these pertinent facts fearing it would only exacerbate the crisis. What the machine had failed to gather was on whose orders Tebbin was operating, or if the Legionary Agent was working on his own initiative. Keeping track of Teb’s movements in the City - ninety percent of the time - hadn’t proved too difficult but his surveillance had been shattered when the Argon had gone into A & C. Those professionals had some serious hardware installed in and around their office (equipment far in advance of the standard of the majority of gear being employed in this primitive backwater) in fact it was just about as good as anything Sly had ever had the misfortune to knock its routines against. Cracking those impressive defences might not be beyond the AI if it had applied itself, but Sly doubted it could be done without flagging up scores of alerts during the process. At this point in the game it just didn‘t seem worth that amount of noise.

Meanwhile Jon or Jack as he was known here was being held at The Pile in the polices lock up. Another installation with above average defences though not as thorough all over as A & C. Nonetheless springing Jack from that installation (if that was something Aldeiss was thinking about) would be a task the AI would wish the Wolf luck with but didn’t really want involved in simple because Sly didn’t rate the percentages of success very high. Nonetheless, Aldeiss still required that the AI pull out scores of floor plans and other general data about the building.

‘Damn’, said Aldeiss, ‘this place is well named its a total confusion of stairways lifts corridors and internal spaces. Perhaps since its also crowded with Wasps it should really have been called the Hive though?’ he questioned.

Sly just ignored this probable rhetorical.

‘Is that the Lock Up here?’ asked Aldeiss clicking on an area displayed on his pad.

‘As far as I can ascertain that is correct’, replied Sly.

‘It’s impossible’, complained the Wolf.

‘No that is the Lock Up’, stated Sly deliberately playing dumb since it had been forced to demonstrate way too much of its functionality recently. Besides Sly knew such a comment would annoy the (as far as it was concerned) rather stupid Pirate.

‘That’s not what I meant Metal Head’, grumbled Aldeiss, ‘I mean a raid to rescue Jack from that location is impossible.’

‘Few undertakings can be calculated as impossible, improbable yes impossible as in no possibility whatsoever cannot be computed’, replied Sly enjoying itself.

‘Fek this I need to get back to The Fortress before my cursed incentive runs out. This is hopeless. What about a transfer request could you hack in and request that Jack be transferred say to one of the Navy facilities for questioning, would that be possible?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘With the Navy Codes known to the Legion that would be very easy to accomplish’, noted Sly.

‘All right we have the makings of a plan. We get Jack transferred then hit the wagon taking him in transit. Sly they do use ground vehicles for prisoner transfer?’ questioned the Wolf.

‘Compiling…The Wasps have both ground vehicles and short range Aerial Hopper / Skimmers but the ground vehicles are more commonly used for low grade prisoner transfer especially within the cities limits’, noted Sly.

‘Perfect. I’ll need to organise a crew, and plan an escape route. Do you think we can trust Seth to assist in an outright illegal operation like that?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘I cannot calculate with such vague parameters’, warned Sly.

No nor can I, thought the Grey Wolf Leader, so I might just have to take another chance. Well Sly was useful company but the AI construct still had its limitations.



Back at his warehouse the Devil was checking up on his patient again. The Boron was looking rather unwell. Its once rich blue colouring faded and patchy its life signs requiring a deeper dependency on intervention by the machines than ever before. If only there was some way to tell what was really going on inside the creatures skull. Was the procedure too much for the floater? Only time would tell. At least Keane didn’t have to worry too much about the rest of the Stalkers. At the moment most of those lads were either running from or currently helping the police with their ongoing enquiries into the slaughter. All that media attention had forced the Wasps hands as Keane had anticipated.

Molloy was considering his next move when a courier arrived much to his surprise from A & C with a package for him. His first thought was that the Heads were breaking their earlier promise not to butt into his ongoing affairs however after he had made his way up and collected the proffered item he was: shocked, alarmed, angered, and filled with hope by the introductory message that came with it.

Using the password Kerry plus Freedom unlocked the system and opened up the pads text files to his perusal. Somebody claimed they could return his wounded ward to him and as an offering of their sincerity promised to hand over the kidnapper Jon Flyn directly into his custody while providing information that Jon apparently going under the name of Jack Flanders here had an accomplice loose in the City none other than the betraying Grey Wolf Pirate Pack Leader Amon which the Pad also claimed had arrived using the label of Arnie Hammond.

This was serious stuff what was Amon doing with Jon and was Faith involved? Who was the mysterious contact or was this just another of that cursed female’s traps. This out of the black contact certainly smelt ripe enough! However if Faith knew he was here why hadn’t she come in all guns blazing - mob handed - with the Navy since this was Argon Space? A meet was requested at Adare & Craan. Making the most of his Abyss the Main Line Computer the Devil did a search and soon discovered that one Jack Flanders was being held in The Pile on drug smuggling charges while their was plenty of information on a fugitive on the loose called Arnie Hammond.

If the authorities knew theses individuals real identities though why had only the pseudonyms been released to the media and why was Jon not in the custody of the Navy? Faith had to be involved who else would regard Kerry as Tur Ryns ward who knew about his likely real transferred identity? Certainly Tur Ryn had a connection to Kerry but not as his ward - not officially! If Jon alone knew the truth would anyone outside the inner circle of participants believe such a crazy story? It was possible Jon was faking his captivity and running the whole show from The Pile. That one had a long memory - it would seem - if it was the same smuggler of old. Amon might be playing along in the City as an active lure. Was even Adare & Craan a safe haven anymore if Faith or Jon were involved. Then again why would faith create such a tangle it seemed overly complicated unless that in itself was a smokescreen. Certainly, thought Keane, he could hardly name two Argons beyond Faith and that Rat Bale that he would be happier to get his hands on.

Would Adare & Craan participate in a scam to capture him if a scan it was? Keane doubted it, if rumour got out their reputation would be destroyed completely, however, that didn’t mean Faith or Jon wouldn’t try to abuse the Lawyers for their own ends. However, A & C were no fools! In the end it didn’t matter perhaps whoever this contact was - they knew him too well - how could he not take this offered bait the question was in exactly what manner. First he would see if he could locate The Wolf via third parties. Further he would send back a message demanding Jon’s delivery again to some other third party before acquiescing to any meet even at A & C. When he had Jon and Amon, and removed both from the picture then he would have some reason to trust the unknown.




In Bala Gi’s Joy Captain Evans was on the bridge of The Lost for Words. At such times (as far as he was concerned) the mighty Carrier, which retained some of the most advanced (in many instances otherwise all but unknown) technologies employed by the Argon Race, was in all ways that mattered his ship! Although like everyone Evans belief in the Colossus Class Carriers indestructibility had been challenged somewhat by the very near miss of the Hammer Incident, nonetheless, following incessant drilling he once more felt the Commander in Chiefs mobile home from home was an exceptionally capable craft. Certainly he felt no real fear of the alien Khaak. If the little winged freaks did make a move they would regret it - the efficiency of all the carriers systems were running off the standard chart! The Lost for Words was one very well oiled machine while its squadrons morale was riding high too. Evans felt ready for just about anything in fact he was spoiling for a real fight something that would give the ship, and its well trained crew a proper chance to display their mettle for a change instead of acting like an oversized bus for ANI.

So far all they had been challenged with was a token resistance by an enemy that seemed more intent on spying and running than making any kind of serious assault unless forced into a position were they had no choice other than to mount an aggressive defence. At the moment the Triplex coverage aided by various Scout dropped Advanced Satellites was completely clear, and they hadn’t even lost a single Discoverer AM5. Nor had his own ship or the nearby escorting Titan been required to heat up their turrets even once in fiery anger. Personally Evans was convinced the murderous Khaak were just about done with this sector save for their normal light harrying deployments.

What did it matter if there were rumours of something of scientific interesting below on the devastated planet? The problem with scientists from the Captains long experience was the fact that somehow they contrived to find almost everything interesting, and worthy of further study, in fact they were a bunch of over privileged over paid crisis enhancing long haired wasters as far as he was concerned especially those Professor types that made a career from poking around with stuff long since buried and best forgot about. If it had been up to him Evans would have dropped a few missiles down that shaft once the way was cleared and put an end to what the Khaak had started. In fact making a crater of an alien exploration dig was almost the first sensible logical action the Captain had the good fortune to hear witness that the midget winged fiends had undertaken.

Evans had managed to overhear enough bits and pieces to guess old Febr believed he had almost unleashed some Armageddon device already. Playing with the bones of long gone races gave Evans the creeps. The Captain had seen some odd things in his still young life things people put down to random chance but had convinced him that existence was deeper than the visible. Evans had developed a healthy respect for many superstitions not least the benevolence and antipathy of what remained after the demise of the corporeal.

The Captain was gazing down toward the planet when the hail came in from a familiar scout ship asking for permission to dock. It was The Grim Reaper that had come calling at their door much to Evans annoyance the Captain considered the ships name an ill-omen in very bad taste. Not feeling inclined to instantly comply instead Evans had them cut their engines and stand by for a scan while he got his Commander in Chief on another line using the internal communication system.

Following a standard signalled hail from the captain on the bridge.

‘What is it Evans’, snapped Fay, ‘I’m overseeing the ground operation here.’

‘Sorry Sir. It’s RJL’s Garrin Omega and The Chief of RJL’s security Ravn they are outside requesting permission to dock in The Grim Reaper Discoverer Sir’, Evans explained.

‘What do they, oh never mind, let them dock but keep them away from me. Right now I’m far too busy for social calls. Do you understand?’ questioned Fay coldly.

‘Yes Sir’, replied the Captain.

Garrin and Rav were met by five Argon Navy Marines carrying weapons.

‘Please come this way. I’m afraid the Commander in Chief is unable to see anyone at the moment. I have been asked to guide you to the canteen were you can refresh yourselves. As we are currently at Battle Stations I must request that you stay there until told otherwise’, noted the groups apparent leader.

‘Are we under arrest?’ asked G alarmed.

‘No Sir, just restricted in your access during the alert for your own safety’, replied the Officer.

‘Guess the Honeymoon is over’, said G to Ravn.



On the planet itself deep beneath the crater Anna’s party were wasting their air, and more importantly as they had plenty of spare canisters their time. The operation being run on a rigidly enforced military scout mission clock. The expeditions Military Leader still insisting over Anna's objections that they would not remain beyond the pre-arranged artificially imposed deadline.

‘Well this certainly seems to be the entrance’, exclaimed Anna once again.

‘We could blow it’, noted the T2 Squad Leader.

‘I wouldn’t recommend that we can’t scan beyond the surface their could be any kind of atmosphere or volatile substances beyond this portal’, cursed Anna. Or important research material, she thought.

‘Can’t we just computer hack our way in’, asked a bored Pax.

‘Perhaps if we could find something to hack into’, complained Anna, ‘I know this is frustrating but you can’t rush science. What we have here could be the most important find since the discovery of the Jump Gates given that fact you can’t really hope to just ring the buzzer and walk in the front door. I tried to tell Fay that you can’t do an exploration of this nature by a military timetable, but you can‘t talk to that Argon. Clearly their has to be another way in or we are missing something that is staring us all in the nose’, said Anna feeling over another part of the objects surface for something hidden.

‘Maybe the door is here but the switch is somewhere else’, said Pax lazily.

‘Fek’, said Anna in surprise before laughing, ‘you might well be right. Why didn’t I think of that? I keep thinking of this artefact like a self contained ship, but what if it a true building instead maybe hidden around here somewhere is a gate house or a control panel something that our scans missed or overlooked as unimportant that's scientific tunnel vision for you’, Anna laughed pulling out her pad to look at the visual representation of the regions scan data, ‘what about that fuzzy patch there Captain Torrus?’ she enquired excitedly turning the object around to align the map with reality.

‘Hmmm’, mused the Military Commander, ‘this one appears to be that big rock formation over there’, he pointed, ‘which means that scan irregularity would be’, he looked about that shadowed space, and saw nothing of note then glanced above and pointed directly opposite the entrance but elevated up the side of the cavern to a darker inlet, ‘Looks like a bit of a climb Professor.’

‘So it does’, returned Anna delighted with the potential discovery.



Elsewhere deep in the seemingly endless night in an unknown sector of space a prodigious task force was amassing. Clusters of angular fighters commenced to gather inward alongside incoming grotesquely fat spider like Capitol vessels with rotating twisted fore parts. These ships were directed by minds both sinister and purposeful but at present quiescent.

The horrid craft were waited for the last to arrive for the signal that would indicate the right, and proper number - then and only then - would they venture outward from their purplish asteroid strewn domains, the strange realms they had called home for ages even before the intervention. In this space they would snuff out like candles put to sleep but in fact their fell substance would only be transferred to reappear elsewhere once more to spark another disastrous conflagration of wicked destruction.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 91 - Unwanted Guests

Deep underground in a wide cavern in Bala Gi’s Joy Anna’s Expedition were focused on an area that was approximately six metres vertically up from the (in places by easy examination artificially smoothed) cavern floor. Due to the standard gravity here whatever might lie up above was not instantly reachable.

The Captain had initially considered breaching the sheer distance the hard way this being the first thing that popped into his head. Torrus was still examining the rock face with a too enthusiastic - expert eye - when Anna after conferring with Dillion and Spense detached one of her suits remote Camera Drones. The Professor couldn’t be bothered curbing the Captain of the Black Dogs sudden distraction. If the military commander on the ground wanted to play mountaineer in his head, thought Anna, well it would keep him off her back while she got down to the real business of properly surveying and exploring the site.

Torrus looked at the climb it was nothing special but the conditions were kind of interesting, and he knew his troops had come equipped with some climbing gear (just in case) it was hard to resist his personal desire to crack that crate, and even have a go himself. In fact Torrus was about to issue the order to prepare a scout team for a physical ascent (losing his wits somewhat at the prospect of a bit of joyful climbing exercise versus the natural rock obstruction) when two of his subordinates jumped in with a much more sensible obvious, and boring alternative that was difficult to disavow once uttered.

Torrus stared at the Sergeant and Corporal Reeves like they had just stabbed him in the back but that was as far as any show of frustrated enmity went. The alternate plan meant using the GTD to just Jump up to the strangely screened position avoiding any tricky ascent altogether not to mention any potential waste of precious on the clock mission time: first by going there swiftly and safely, and second only venturing that distance if a remote camera survey showed it was worthwhile and or truly necessary!

The comedown had been pretty embarrassing for the Commissioned Officer in his head, but he accepted the facts with reasonably good grace beyond those petty dirty looks that were well hidden behind his helmet. Due to the bulky combat rated vacuum battle suits everyone was wearing any manual climb would have had an added difficulty requiring an unusual degree of care. It was this slightly unusual factor - within gravity - that had in part sparked the Captains interest in the undertaking unfortunately this was also the very reason why it was in particular rather foolish - upon deeper consideration - especially since they had yet to even scout this scan confusing area with any decent resolution.

Returning to Anna’s side Torrus laughed, ‘Well it was a nice dream, while it lasted’, he confessed leaving the tempting climb behind. The Captain knew insisting on that endeavour would have been anything but soldierly. The Black Dog was glad the civilian couldn’t see the look of real unprofessional disappointment on his face though, ‘it’s been an age’, he admitted, ‘since I’ve had a chance to get to grips with a good rock face even such a short one’, he complained in explanation.

‘Sometimes science takes all the fun out of life’, admitted Anna thinking we all have our hobbies, but she was really intent on the image being beamed back from her camera drone as it slowly ascended under her direct, and in this instance extra careful guidance. Anna was trying hard to keep the unit in close to the wall and she hoped therefore under cover of possible scrutiny after all this area had live power sources. The cameras output was being relayed to a screen on her own, the Captains and her two associates HUD’s unfortunately just as the remote breached the wall of rock and swung its lens around to look inward their was an almost immediate flash and the screen went blank. Quickly Anna tried to re-establish contact using the virtual control system but nothing seemed to work so she had to admit, ‘looks like my C. Drone is down.’

‘I got an energy spike’, noted Dillion hunched over a bulky suspensor assisted high grade scientific rather than military portable scanner device, ‘still lots of interference up there, but I did capture a partial reading I’m trying to isolate the signature - something about it looked familiar to me’, he noted.

‘Was that weapons fire?’ asked the Captain pulling his hand gun and looking at the dark spot while pointing unselfconsciously with his weapon.

Something about the accidentally dramatic nature of the pose forced Anna to stifle a laugh. Pax also she noticed had his head craned toward the Captain and his body in a stance that somehow to her eyes communicated a respect credibility gap. Then again reading so much into the posture of her bodyguard might be a bit much, thought the Professor, understanding how the Argon mind had a tendency to create non existing pattern that didn’t really exist, nonetheless Anna still found herself wondering how old the good Captain was, and what had been the nature of his career progression? Most of Fays troops even outside the Legion seemed to have a lot of - real hard won experience - but somehow this Captain Torrus seemed a bit raw, Anna wondered, if Fay had put him in charge because the Commander in Chief deemed him expendable or because she saw this as a low risk operation where the Captain could earn some reasonably safe live mission experience? The Professor was still contemplating these suppositions when Dillion rather tardily answered the Captains question.

‘I don’t know the machine is running a search, one moment, here it comes’, said the civilian on the Scanner, ‘eighty one percent probability the energy spike was generated by a Kyon Emitter.’

‘That’s tore it. Battle Alert. Follow me Anna lets get behind something. Everyone take cover, we have potential hostiles up there’, called the Captain, ‘using a general military hailing frequency.’

Hiding behind a suitable rock formation Anna, Pax the Captain, Spence, Dillion and a bunch of Black Dogs watched the elevated dark patch via HUD screens using local Camera Drone feeds while they remained behind their rudimentary cover.

Anna asked the obvious question since the situation had possibly become a matter of military tactics rather than civil exploration, ‘What now Captain?’

‘We try a more stealthy remote’, noted the Officer nodding over to another of his men, ‘this one won’t transmit it’s fully automatic after it is programmed it will just go out scout record and return only downloading its data via direct link to Private Marshals unit over there. That’s if the Slink makes it back in one piece’, he admitted.

Marshal waved over.

‘It’s away’, explained the Captain, ‘now we wait’, damn, he thought, we should have done this first if I hadn’t been distracted by the small potential thrills of that cursed face of rock.

‘I don’t see anything?’ complained Anna.

‘Well you would hardly be able to see even a standard C. Drone with the naked eye noted Spense’, stating the obvious.

Anna felt bit of a fool and wondered why she had made the comment. Realising it was just to break the silence of the tense wait. Was that scan defeating area really populated with hostiles? Kyon Emitter fire more Khaak technology why was the old dig devoid of any such evidence? What was the connection between the Nividium hoarding creatures and the mysterious other dimensional Core.

‘Let’s hope whatever is up there can’t detect it either’, returned Torrus, ‘T1 Squad Leader organise a fire team to keep an eye peeled to the rear. I want the entrance of that object covered. We don’t want to be caught with our pants down if something nasty exits behind us.’

‘On it Sir’, came a snapped reply.

Hand signals went out, and picked individuals moved around shifting position. A few portable shaped shields were erected and energised the Dogs were taking no chances. Among the activity Anna also noticed one piece of tripod mounted heavy looking weaponry getting trained squarely on the suspected hatch. It made her nervous as much as the Professor wanted to be protected she didn’t want this major find blown to hell before any of its secrets could be unlocked either. The Professor was about to protest when her train of thought was once more interrupted by others outspoken words.

‘Sir I’m getting odd echoes of activity from that area up above’, noted a military Scanning Officer, ‘potential multiple contacts.’

‘I’m getting them too’, noted Dillion looking at his own larger apparatus, ‘I can almost make their shape out they seem pretty small and perhaps metallic.’

‘Ok lads looks like we might have stirred something up maybe an auto defence mechanism maybe something else. Prepare for possible incoming’, said the Captain hand signalling over to Marshal, but the trooper just replied with a negative gesture one whose meaning even Anna could guess - it looked like their was no news yet from that dispatched Slink. No time had passed whatsoever and Anna was already appreciating the old cliché about the long wait before an impending combat then it happened.

Short sharp flares of light all around them followed by, and it seemed by rational judgement - far too soon - perfectly on target lances of Kyon emitter fire. The Captain fell first (probably not by accident) transfixed by a pole of energy that passed right through the crown of his helmet past armour and skull blasting and cooking his brain before running on down through his body to ground in the rock like a starched lightning bolt, he toppled without uttering a sound. Others were not so silent in the pandemonium that followed.

To Anna it was as if everything happened almost at once (ridiculously quickly) in a horrifying melange of sounds and images. Screams cries commands and curses filled the communications as the Dogs showed the true nature of the often misused phrase of ‘organised chaos’ steadily despite the wild riot of shouts the troops systematically retaliated returning fire as best they could with a very varied mixture of weapons, but the enemy was everywhere, and nowhere (flashing in and out of existence with a swiftness none of the Argon had ever before witnessed. Often they appeared deep within the Argon Intruders carefully set up lines of supporting fire). The precision was terrifying the killer machines passing purposeful from one well considered firing position to another always it seemed when and where the Dogs weapons happened to not be pointing it was obvious somebody or something had a clinical overview of the field of action! It wasn’t a battle it was a coldly calculated and instigated extermination such as might be unleashed against an annoying infestation of vermin by a technological sentient species.

The slaughter was an exercise in utterly coldly calculated superiority. The occasional lucky strike or area effect weapon brought an explosion, and a different menace that of a more randomly unleashed but for some just as dangerous hail shower formed of lethal shards of burning debris, but despite these token painful victories it was an almost instantaneous Argon catastrophe from the first onset of the hostilities.

Anna could hardly credit what she was witnessing though she had but moments to take in the scene before something buzzed into being directly overhead the Professor found herself being thrown to the ground by a yelling Pax who then cast himself over her like a bulky living shield as he initiated the RJL Administrators emergency GTD. For the rest of her life Anna would wonder what the soldier had been thinking when he committed himself to this - on the surface - selfless act! As a result the RJL Security Guards body was raked by white hot bars of Kyon Emitter fire while Anna’s combat suit was barely grazed as she was transported to a place of comparative safety.

Anna found herself back inside the drop ship singed stunned, and confused but otherwise hale and whole. Others commenced arriving all around her flashing into existence as fast as the Ships GTD’s could operate each rescued via Anna guessed - more desperate - medical emergency GTD’s. Searching quickly the Professor saw Pax among them - he wasn‘t moving - nor did he look like he ever would again! It appeared the RJL Black dog had saved his employer at the cost of his own existence.

Anna found herself staring all around in shock and dismay most of the evacuated didn’t look injured they looked to be dead or at best dying only one fellow not too far off seemed very much alive, and conscious unlike his compatriots. The surviving Argon was screaming in agony staring at where both his legs had been severed in a diagonal cut (one lopped off above the other just below the knee) luckily it looked like the Kyon fire that had severed both his limbs had also roughly cauterised the arteries and flesh to her wider dismay Anna recognised the coloured numbered designation on the fellows suit helmet it was her assistant Spense. It would seem the civilian if he didn’t succumb to shock - at least - might have a chance of surviving the atrocious debacle. Anna wondered, was it an accident that only non combatants to her knowledge had - so far - made it out of the ambush alive?

The few prepared Medical personnel that had stayed behind ready to receive casualties rushed forward calm despite feeling overwhelmed by the scale and speed of the incoming victims the mission it appeared was a total disaster but the triage might not be too difficult, thought the Professor grimly. Anna waved away one medic that approached her while still in something of a daze then coming to her senses as if awakening from a deep sleep that wouldn’t let go asked, ‘Is their anything I can do?’ Tears were leaking from her eyes like rain, it was so hard to take it all in - just like that Pax was dead, and Torrus, and how many others? Without thinking she pulled off her helmet feeling suddenly claustrophobic behind the visor it was a gross mistake the stench of burnt flesh had her gagging and running for a free space to rudely eject the contents of her stomach.

Outside too late for most of the troopers the still grounded drop ship shuttles opened up with their only effective weapons against an advancing hemisphere of Jumping Khaak like drones. The Legionary ships employed mini anti aircraft flak cannons of which they possessed one each. Only unleashing this area effect weapon when their was no longer any real fear of injuring any survivors among the left behind expeditions strewn wreckage. The tenth sized Flak Cannons being that unique class of vehicles particular defensive weapon speciality. With the two cannons rumbling away the cavern echoed with sound; a cacophony of energetic blasts alongside enemy explosions until the rebounding roar became one deafening continuous storm of angry noise. The shuttles were forced to lift off and danced around in the limited space to keep the turrets on target. In this fairly enclosed area the mini flaks appeared especially effective ripping through the - it now seemed - fragile drones with comparative ease.

Prior to this retaliatory initiative the strange Khaak style it was assumed unmanned fighter drones had been doing nearly all the damage. The remotes that looked like oddly coloured much smaller, and very much flatter Khaak scout ships The Drop Ship Pilots noticed had no real defence against the new aerial barrage. The angular machines single mounted low powered Kyon Emitter weapons which had proved so horribly effective against the largely unshielded soldiers fared less well against the Ferries solid double 25mj protection although this was slowly dropping on both vessels (due to a multitude of Kyon strikes) it was not falling fast enough to save the drones.

Thankfully for the Argon survivors the Drones could no longer ably rely on the protection of their demonstrated ability to jump from one firing position to another (while that Jump tactic had skilfully allowed the Drones to avoid small arms fire this action didn’t prove so useful against the wide semi random dispersal of flak). To the Drop ships pilots relief the infernal mechanical killers were rapidly being dispatched by their cannonade. Flaming hot debris raining down like strange hot hail and snow to litter the cavern floor, but despite the satisfaction gained by this retributive justice the damage to the flesh and blood Argon troops - the living breathing heart and soul of the explorations landing party had already been done and no amount of mechanical disassembly would bring the deceased back. The scouting exploration mission had been mauled beyond any hope of immediate recovery.

Back on The Lost for Words Fay was in shock at the speed of the collapse of the two fighting units designated T1 and T2 for the duration of the operation it was a truly diabolical turn of events. The Commander in Chief blamed herself cursing her eagerness to send down warm bodies. The Dogs had always served her well and Fay knew once the fate of this action became known it would be a hard blow to the troops morale and some would question her command. Much to Fays surprise a deep up swelling of emotion swept over her much of which had little to do with the recent ill fated action though that had triggered the response.

The wider root of the feeling included Fay was convinced all the moments she had sat beside Febr in his coma, the ever deepening isolation of her position as an alien among her own, her shadow sibling The Devil always in her mind mocking her efforts to finish him, the endless struggle with lesser internal villains like Sven who should have been supporting her struggle not adding to the Commander in Chiefs complex difficulties, the Incentive always in her veins, Danna watching her every move as if waiting for his subordinate to fail, and now finally Anna her lovers ex lover his closest associate sent perhaps to her doom possibly deliberately. Anna was a constant difficulty the Professor somehow always caused a storm of emotion and then their was Tebbin who had often been a rock who now seemed intent on pushing the limits of their friendship. Only Febr had ever really come close to fully understanding the creature that was Fay, or so Fay liked to believe. Or was Febr just a convenient lie since in his current state he could hardly disturb whatever castle of sand she cared to build up around him.

What was done was done the operation had been her call, always with hindsight it was easy to know better this also the ANI Operative understood. Yet despite such facts Fay mind still cycled back to thinking that she should have listened to the Professors advice, and made more use of robotics first, but time the Commander in Chief felt sure was a vital factor. The Khaak had an interest in the site, and Fay felt sure they would contest any exploration should they get a whiff of this activity, nor dare she send in a small covert operation given the technologies involved if something was found and got into the wrong hands? Despite this requirement for haste some part of Fay still feared she had indeed deliberately put her rival, and therefore her own supporting forces into harms way out of little more than a difficult to control petty jealousy that had a bad habit of springing into existence out of the black when it came to Anna, as much as Fay prayed this was not true, the Commander in Chief was forced to admit she wasn’t entirely sure - something that was damning enough! Since her rebirth every time she erred Fay tended to doubt her motivation - all her surety was cast adrift - always behind her decisions Fay was asking herself would Faith really have done that? Often it felt like the steel hard surface Fay showed to others was nothing more than a front for something cancerous within. Inside the Commander in Chief frequently knew an agony of self doubt a constant inner questioning. Cursing aloud the Commander in Chief was about to officially recall the surviving mission remnant when she got another automated signal hail from the Captain on the bridge.

‘What is it this time?’ had demanded the once again stern faced Mistress of the Damned. If Evan had been in a perceptive mood perhaps the tone of the voice that answered him would have caused her subordinate to step back and swallow hard - Fay couldn’t prevent a rising fever tide of fell anger: bright as a star, deep as only a sentient mind can plunge, it might have arose as a torrent against herself - her incurable condition - but it could find no target there nothing to bite into so it hardly seemed to matter were it was directed next only that it was given its bitter due its required essential release!

‘Khaak fighters incoming Sir several super clusters moving up behind a dense curtain of scout ships’, he explained sounding far too happy and excited at the prospect, ‘I’ve launched extra fighter squadrons, and I’m moving us around to intercept.’

Fay didn’t actually hear the last few words she was in transit down a wormhole having hit the particular preset GTD link that catapulted the Damned Commander in Chief almost instantly to - Her - bridge.

‘Admiral on the Bridge’, called somebody according to some ancient formality but the Commander in Chief hardly noticed that herald either.

Typical, thought the Captain, wasn’t the Commander in Chief supposed to be overseeing the ground operation. Didn’t Fay trust him to eliminate a few fighters?

‘Cry havoc’, she spat with venom, ‘and let slip the dogs of war’, with this quote from some lost fragment of earth lore Fay claimed the throne like chair. Inside Fay felt as cold, dark, and dire as the emptiness that stretched without while the mighty vessel bore down upon one foe she firmly believed she could at least give a telling answer to. Out in the night the huge ship soared ever onward swimming through the abyss like some gleaming giant leviathan of old flowing ahead of it like manic minnows darted tight fighter squadrons each firmly targeted upon a marked adversary which in the mind of its singular directing pilot was theirs and theirs alone.

Guess our vaunted leader wants to play with her own toys today, thought Evans bitterly, what was he supposed to do now stand about and look pretty? Relay her orders to the crew like an echo - sometimes he hated this position.

As the Khaak and Argon fighters rushed toward each other Fay was thinking, that it now seemed that Anna’s expedition might be safer if it remained planet side at least with the assistance of some reinforcements, ‘Patch me into the head of RJL security Ravn he’s in the canteen and have T3, T4 and T5 board for exit on my order. See to it that they have some assigned fighter cover when they depart until they reach atmosphere Captain.’

‘Yes Sir’, replied Evans well, he thought, at least it was something to do.

Hidden between bulkheads and now stoutly integrated in to all the Colossus Carrier Class Ships systems something stirred where it had carefully concealed itself since its own domain had been wounded and its closest study had challenged many of its initial fledgling assumptions. Anna’s Queen was confused once more - a perplexing condition it was getting used too - sensing that the object of its deepest interest, almost its desire was being left behind again as its mobile roost powered away from the planet. It also understood its safety was being challenged by primitive and historically unfruitful creatures. It considered leaving, but too much here was worth unlocking to readily abandon The Lost for Words to its likely fate unaided (given the communications it had intercepted between the Unwilling Ones) it would be a shame to lose the fascinating downloaded Commander in Chief from its study group never mind anything else.



In the Paranid Sector of priest Pity Jess noticed how when she moved around Purgatory now the eyes of others watched her warily with she hoped a little more respect. Some individuals even hurried aside - after showing proper deference - as if threatened by her very presence that was almost comforting. Of course the majority of the Fallen made a big issue of at least nodding their head in greeting now how swiftly things could change, and change again. The death toll had mounted to nine not all thankfully fully fledged Angels or should she say three times three (Jess was almost getting used to this) but at least the rank among the file seemed to be fully accepting her dominion as a fact they would have to: learn to either live, or die by!

Nine seemed like a lot, luckily most were relatively unimportant individuals - few would miss - with just two serious veteran exceptions the second and the last individual that Jess had been forced to execute. The Fallen Angel Leader hoped Tur would feel proud of her recent dark accomplishments. It made the acting Leader wonder if her lover had expected such a challenge might occur, and believed she would nonetheless overcome? Still Jess suspected it was sink or swim with the Devil he wasn‘t the type to shelter the weak he demanded and encouraged strength from those that dared to follow in his wake - maybe even his prolonged absence was nothing less than a test of her character.

Dealing with the latter end of the - near rebellion - had helped lessen the cruel blow of the betrayal by her friend but Jess knew the recent cycles had altered her. Where their had been sympathy Jess now felt distance where their had been a reaching out lay a gulf of isolation. Trust was now a dirty word for the female Pirate. What was that old curse disguised as a blessing something about interesting times, or was it the other way around?

It was time to release one of her Boron infiltrators. The first floater had a simple task not unlike the missions given to other Argon intelligence gatherers who had failed - simply to find out the most basic information about Freedom via ingratiating itself and communicating with the Boron traffic that made dock in the stations in Elena’s fortune. The creatures cover being Te Bor a simple if bold free Trading Boron merchant with his own Dolphin. To facilitate his mission Te had even been given a precious jump drive, and a cargo to get him going a hold full of energy cells. Jess felt confident of Te Bor’s success if the floater stayed true to the parameters of its assigned undertaking. It knew well the fate of its family member still in the Aquarium if it did otherwise. Her Devil was a genius understanding that the only way to crack the Boron’s racial code of silence was to get inside the circle.

After watching the freighter depart Jess returned to the logistics of selecting targets screening recruits, and keeping the base secure. The report that kept catching her eye however was the negative one on the extra heavy detailed security scan Jess had commissioned on her own quarters. Damn that Paranid fiend just how did he do it?



If their was one thing The Wolf knew it was that you can hardly ever expect a prearranged plan to pass from conception into reality without hitches. Aldeiss also believed that when everything seems to be falling into place that would be when somehow they were also most likely to inexplicably fall apart, and so it was on this occasion.

Seth had been brought into the conspiracy and embraced the plan for another rather sizable fee. That pile of credit keys Arnie (as he was known then) had been left with by Jack were steadily evaporating. Everything was moving nicely though, a small strike team had been assembled from among the local underworld, and the fake request for the prisoners transfer was about to be initiated when Sly dropped a bombshell.

‘Aldeiss, Jack is to be taken off planet. A request has just come in from an unspecified agent using a high ANI security task code. The prisoner is to be moved to a secure facility on Argon Prime’, noted Sly.

‘You can’t be serious?’ complained the Damned Legionary.

‘Jack will begin his transfer in approximately two hours time first to a Federal Government Prisoner TP at Beachheads Spaceport which is then to be loaded onto the Happy Lander’, continued Sly for a scheduled midday lift off.

‘Alright can you discover the route and method they will employ to transfer the prisoner between The Pile and the TP?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘The Wasps have a Hopper on The Piles roof for those particular transfers’, noted Sly.

‘Fekkin damn it’, cursed the Wolf thinking hard some way had to be found to spring Jack, ‘that trick with the GTD Sly. What if you did something like that again? say linked into a ship in range located and just whisked Jack out as he is about to for example board that TP could it work?’

‘Processing’, replied Sly doing a survey of the Spaceport and its immediate assets schedules and so on. It was an interesting puzzle that looked like it could be done even if it might require a little electronic chicanery with autopilot taxi requests, but such an open action would be a much more blatant demonstration of hacking ability to the local and federal authorities. Sly didn’t like it but had to admit it would be an eloquent solution - resource wise at least - but the situation bothered the AI, ‘You do realise it is possible that Fay is retrieving Jack via this transfer request?’ noted the machine unable to get any further insight into the code used beyond its sure validity.

‘Perhaps or maybe Sven or some other traitor in the ranks is claiming him’, noted the Wolf wondering what would be worse - to try, or to do nothing.



In The Pile in Beachhead City Jon Flyn or Jack Flanders as he was known here had been steadily banging his head against a solid wall. It was clear he had been well and truly stitched up and no amount of fast talking by himself or legalese from the expensive lawyer he had commissioned from A & C was going to secure his release from this dreary backwater holding cell. Somebody had dotted all the I’s and crossed all the T’s with this one.

Even his implants had been discovered and neutered. That certainly worried him as it seemed a trifle more effective than he had expected from these local yokels. Now the latest word in the Lock Down was that somebody had taken a real interest in him, and he was to be transferred into Federal custody off world.

What could that mean other than Fay had discovered his little plot and was pulling on his leash but it seemed an oddly direct yet indirect way of accomplishing her ends if that was the case. Of course it was possible Fay was deliberately making him sweat for his transgressions or that he was caught in some other snare. Worse case scenario he had fallen into the hands of the Devil himself. Unfortunately he had absolutely no way of knowing which. Through his lawyer Jack had got word out to a few trusted off world confederates but it was doubtful they would be able to do anything about his position in time. If only he had heard something from The Wolf and Sly.



Farris didn’t know what to make of his situation. The Sergeant once cleaned up and put in fresh clothes had expected to be presented to some even bigger fish for questioning instead he had simply been bounced around hooded and bound before being unmasked but deposited in solitary in what could only be described as a purpose built cell of the most basic nature probably something left over from the war. To his surprise Farris realised his captors were in no great hurry to converse. The Wasp couldn’t decide whether he should feel relieved about this or even more worried. Maybe this was just another even more subtle form of torture. Although his injuries had been examined and tended the Sergeant couldn’t even lie down on his hard bunk without suffering pain from several parts of his body at once while the lack of alternative stimulation meant his mind kept trying to rerun the most significant recent events of his life, occurrences Farris would much prefer not to remember at all.

The Copper tried to get a grip by deducting what his captors might really want with him now that he had a chance to calm down a little and think a bit more rationally. First he guessed it would be useless to take anything the Hat had said on face value while the terrible Twins had said little worth recalling, he shuddered at the memory of some of their whispered platitudes. Action was what mattered here. So what had happened most significantly was the fact that despite his capture - he was still alive - so they must believe this lasting condition was of some value to them. Was it possible his kidnappers really were working for The President? At first he had naturally assumed this was he case, but that was under extreme stress his mind and body still twanging from the torture it had endued.

What - in truth - did he know about that shadowy underworld boss - precious little beyond the normal urban myths that could be quoted by the youngest street urchin realised Farris to his dismay. Of all the Cities master criminals The President was the most opaque to in-depth study. No one had ever made a reliable deduction as to this entities actual physical identity unlike many of the heads of the Council who were actually quite well known. It had led some to speculate that maybe this figure didn’t even exist at all beyond a cover for the activity of some wider family or group of individuals an interesting hypothesis but one that didn‘t help him much even if it were true. Farris had always had his dealings with the Hidden Council, as did most of Beachheads flexible Wasps at least as far as he had ever been aware, the Presidents ways were deemed too inimical to any long term intimate association by even bent Police Officers.

Nonetheless, the Corporation still interfaced with The Pile though it was more on a case by case basis when their interests overlapped. Where the Council used bribery and corruption the President often at least from rumour had a preference for resorting to intimidation when he needed Wasp cooperation. It was said nowhere on Beachhead was inviolate to the Presidents long reach no one nor their loved ones or family were safe except perhaps in Adare & Craan’s offices A & C as the ultimate mediators were respected by everyone in many ways they were the very glue that kept the city from imploding violently upon itself, not that knowing this fact helped him much either.

It was no good Farris had to admit for the moment he was undone. As well as all his pains hunger was starting to gnaw at his insides, and the Sergeant had never been much good on an empty stomach. Maybe, thought Farris grimly, his keepers just planned to slowly starve him to death as a mere amusement!



Plu Dup was disappointed the Argon were refusing to move from their position and allow him to purchase one of their Carriers. As a mobile platform for fighters the Colossus was perfect for his needs if only he could figure out some way to sway the military consensus on this matter. Without doubt it was the Split that were in the way of the purchase the Argon feared if one of their Carriers no matter who held the ownership was used in directed operations against Rhonkar it could result in open hostilities with their neighbour. Privateers was one thing full on conflict another especially with so many other threats out there from the Xenon to the still very mysterious but obviously all too capable Terran fleet.

What Ploopy really wanted was a back up mobile base in case something happened to Freedom the plucky Boron despite or because of his attachment to the old Pirate Station felt it was increasingly unwise to package all his dreams and hopes in one place. Besides, considered Plu, it was about more than himself it was about all his followers, and their dependants perhaps ultimately the long term fate of the entirely too peaceful for its own good Boron Race! A Carrier could flee from peril a station was a sitting target. The Hammer Incident had opened the Borons’ eye’s to ever greater unforeseen perils and fears Freedom no matter how well it was protected would never be completely safe from assault especially while such factions as the Fallen Angels continued to exist like a plague in space.

Swimming across to a new Boron Main Line computer Plu considered again some of the other options it was just possible he could acquire a Shark but his species carrier while impressive was in his estimation too big for its own good a massive cumbersome target despite its seeming grace in the Kingdoms nebula. No Plu’s heart was set on a Colossus perhaps if he could make the purchase through a third party but who?



Keane had other automatics clean and dispose of the two bodies thoroughly after he had taken: finger prints, some genetic samples, and images for identification purposes. The Devils initial guess being that the intruders that ran foul of his automatic defences were linked with the Stalkers soon proved true via a basic data search.

Keane had given the robotic sentries the run of carefully selected upper floor sections. They were crude but effective machines that ran on rather simple programs. Like most Argons the Devil didn’t really feel comfortable around armed mechanicals, and ensured they were always fully powered down and locked up when he had any need to enter their carefully restricted patrol areas.

Accidents with such basic machines was normally the providence of user error and tended to occur swiftly, and be very fatal. Some planets had banned weapon wielding systems of this nature altogether, but Aladna Hill wasn‘t one of those. Keane believed they had their uses - for a start they couldn’t be bribed - in his case these particular machines had no wireless interface, and so were not easily corrupted either.

Sometimes the more simple the more effective. The Gunners as he named them had little in the way of aesthetic grace being just automatic weapon platforms on wheels, and or tracks with targeting scanners and a very simplistic computer doing the aiming. Clearly they had proved more than effective against the fools that had committed the breaking and entering.

The automated killings had hardly even proved a decent distraction from the monotony of waiting for his wider plans to reach maturity. The Boron was still struggling along under life support and so on. Pouring himself a cup of tea the Devil cracked open a tin of biscuits he had procured from his own stores, and rested his rear on a chair, everything comes to he who waits, he reminded himself.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 92 - Beachhead Difficult To Leave

‘What the fek is going on who the fek is this?’ asked Aldeiss looking at the unconscious head wounded Argon in the long coat over prison issue overalls.

‘What do you mean?’ queried an angry Harper as Jinx and himself dropped the lolling figure into a chair, ‘this is the fekker you asked me to shepherd here. Don’t think you’re going to scam me out of my due, his conditions not my fault. You said he would come willingly when we told him we were friends of Arnie instead this fek played along then tried to shoot me in the back with my own gun.’

‘Well his condition is the least of our problems whoever this creep is he isn’t Jack’, noted Seth worriedly, ‘about the same height and build as far as I can remember, but far too young for a start.’

As if I needed to be told that, thought Aldeiss, the Devils pit, but everything that could go wrong was going wrong at the moment.

‘Well this is the fek that arrived in our lap hooded, and in prisoner black and grey. Wasn’t so easy getting him here in this state, but if Jinx hadn’t walloped the wee fek I’d be history so don‘t expect any sympathy from me. We did the business not our fault if we were handed the wrong package. You owe us and we expect to be paid’, grumbled Harper his hand hovering near his holster.

‘Sly…’, called Aldeiss - thinking you overgrown calculator - before asking, ‘how did you transport out the wrong prisoner?’

‘Computing please wait…’, replied Sly in that infuriatingly officious manner direct and singly to the Wolfs ear piece, ‘according to the authorities here I did not transport the wrong prisoner! Already the Wasps have a warrant out for Jack Flanders re-arrest. If you wish you could even tune into the media for a critique on the Spaceports lax security measures and the drug smugglers dramatic escape from custody.’

Aldeiss went for his weapon, and so belatedly did everyone else the Wolf wasn’t especially fast but he was competent plus on this occasion he had the initiative, ‘Carefully drop them or Mister Limp here won’t be the only one needing possible medical attention’, Aldeiss threatened.

‘Do as he says’, demanded Seth proving he also was no slouch when push came to shove. Seth on the instant had decided he would back his generous employers play at least for the moment.

Extra slowly Harper and Jinx slowly hunkered down to rest their respective slug throwers on the wooden floor. This struck the Wolf as amusing did the felons think it they dropped them they would be damaged? Then something about the action bothered him - it was almost like it had been practiced the way both Argon did almost the same movement - had the pair been trained in surrender? It was a bit weird it made him expect some kind of a trick so he watched them very carefully.

‘Smart’, said the former Pirate, ‘now perhaps we can continue to solve this puzzle. My other friend’, said the Wolf patting his ear piece with his free hand, ‘says that the Wasps are already looking for one boldly escaped Jack Flanders, so how come you two didn’t turn up with that one?’

‘Look Argo take it easy’, replied Jinx with his hands palms forward, and raised at shoulder height just like his pal, ‘that is the Jockey that appeared on the spot to which we were directed - on my life it is - if somebody is pulling a dirty trick here its not us. If we had grabbed your friend, past him on, or let him go elsewhere why would we cart this other fool all the way out here?’ asked the hired gunman.

‘I don’t know, to get even more credits maybe, or to get the drop on me too’, replied Aldeiss feeling insecure.

‘Fek Argon ask the stranger, maybe he knows something’, suggested Harper.

‘I don’t think anyone is going to get much out of this fool’, replied Seth after he had collected the two hirelings weapons, and then checked the unconscious fellow over, ‘without hospitalisation I don’t think sleeping beauty here is going to make it.’

‘Maybe you should be glad that one isn’t your mate after all then’, said Harper.

‘Is that supposed to be funny?’ asked the Wolf showing his fangs.

‘I guess not’, replied Harper, ‘do you think the Wasps got word of the spring job?’

‘Please keep our friends covered Seth I’ve got an idea’, noted Aldeiss pulling out his computer pad he moved over to the unconscious figure and scanned in his fingerprints patching into Sly he asked the AI to run them for an identity.

Stanley Devis popped up on his screen followed by a criminal history mostly ground vehicle theft, criminal damage, possession of an unlicensed firearm and various assault charges. According to the latest entry Devis had just been released from The Pile after having been picked up for questioning in relation to an armed robbery. The Argon was low level pond scum of a sort nobody would miss. The Grey Wolf Leader relaxed a bit it looked like the boys might be telling the truth after all. The Legionary imagined it went something like this the switch had occurred in The Pile. Aldeiss was guessing Devis had some pressure applied to him to accept a nice paid trip to AP as Jack while Jack walked out the front door as Stan. So had Jack arranged to spring himself or had he been passed down the line or collected by the original person that had set them both up on arrival at the Spaceport or was it possible his compatriot had been liberated or grabbed by somebody else altogether. The goings on here in Beachhead made the Wolfs head spin. Aldeiss moved away a bit out of earshot then asked, ‘Sly can you find out who the arresting officers of this Devis was?’

‘Please wait’, replied Sly.

This time it took a while before the information flashed up on the Wolfs pad two names plus addresses nice, thought Aldeiss.

‘Sorry lads you have my apologies’, and pulling out some credit keys, ‘a nice bonus for your troubles. Not you’re fault just like you said. Seth you can let them have their weapons back now’, said the Legionary but he was still wondering about that surrender technique maybe they were ex military of something. The Wolf thought, should have looked deeper into their background he had left the hiring to Seth, but he wasn’t going to play twenty questions right now lest it ruin any unity they had left.

‘Right’, said Harper once he was fingering the extra credit keys, ‘fair enough guess I can see how you might be a bit upset being dumped with the wrong Argon and a half dead one at that.’

‘True enough’, noted Jinx, ‘but alls well that ends well as they say.’

‘Aldeiss’, it was Sly in his ear, ‘I’ve just picked up something very worrying according to a news report a figure believed to be Jack Flanders has been shot and possibly killed while resisting arrest. According to this report the body went into the sea from off The Deep Pier.’

‘Sure it did’, replied the Wolf that sounded far too neat he wasn’t buying a word of it. Moving back towards the others Aldeiss asked ‘What can you tell me about The Deep Pier, Seth?’

‘She straddles an odd underwater feature with natural thermal vents a narrow but very deep water trench or gash thus the name at least at her farthest extremity that particular part of the construction rests on floats rather than the normal pillars you expect with a traditional pier. It was once used to generate power before the war the pier used to be a major industrial complex and looked very different. Afterwards the ownership of what was left fell into dispute. Now it’s the rag tag thrown together home to a whole Beachhead sub community of squatters call themselves Sea Gypsies. Strange place they have their own ways tend to police their own according to their own rules and regulations which are all a bit primitive. They have some kind of family or clan structure with lords and dependents or something. The Deep makes its living via a fishing fleet some of which are said to be smugglers and even sea raiders’, said Seth.

‘What about Wasp relations to the place?’ asked the Wolf.

‘More or less a no go area, one of the few left. I heard Wasps have to go begging to the Headman or something just to get over the threshold. Deeps don’t even see themselves as Headers anymore and vice versa that is if they ever did the place isn’t even on the census its almost become invisible nobody pays it much attention really unless your in the fishy business its just there’, explained Seth.

‘You two up for some more work?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘Depends’, spoke up Harper now sounding rather wary.

‘It involves - doing a Wasp - for a bit of information’, explained the Wolf.

‘What rank?’ asked Harper.

‘Just a constable’, replied Aldeiss wondering - how much - that mattered.

‘What about after?’ queried Harper.

‘If I get what I want, best our squealer disappears’, replied Aldeiss.

‘Expensive’, said Harper, ‘always trouble when you do a big job on the Black and Yellows.’

‘No need for that’, interjected Seth, ’if you need the copper out of circulation for a bit we can drug him up then arrange to have him put to sleep for a while when all is clear get him deposited back on the street - confused but alive - it causes a lot less heat in the long run than a Police corpse appearing or a permanent vanishing act. During the worst of the troubles here some wealthy folks trapped by the Argon Planetary Embargo chose to do a bit of - one way - time travel, and sleep through the crisis secure in deep shelters under suspended animation’, explained the PI, ‘It started something of a later trend for short and longer term time jumps. Beachhead still has plenty of those crates around. Not all run by entirely respectable organisations these days either - I know a couple of fellows who run no questions asked Sleeper Crypts. If I wasn’t so paranoid about something going wrong I might have taken a nap myself - maybe I’m just not optimistic enough - no faith in a better future so to speak.’

‘Fek Beachhead is the City with everything - for a price - fine be me. I take it a short stay isn’t going to cost big credits - lets talk figures then’, haggled the Legionary. Maybe such precautions were over the top but the Wolf was beginning to feel less than trusting of circumstance here.

Later making the most of his own disguise the Wolf in a borrowed slightly battered four wheel drive was casing one of the addresses with Seth the lads had already sent in a coded call to indicate they had nabbed the other Wasp and were getting down to the evil business of extracting facts. The plan for Aldeiss was to keep his one loose but under surveillance just in case. Aldeiss was feeling anxious anything could be going on with Jack. The Wolf didn’t feel anywhere near as relaxed as he had done when he knew his superior was being looked after under - legitimate - lock and key. For example apply enough pressure and everyone talks sooner or later even hard case veterans like Jon Flyn.

‘Here we go’, said Seth as their target exited the apartment block and started off down the street on foot.

‘I’ll pound the street you can catch up, or pick me up in the car later’, said Aldeiss.

The Wolf knew he was far from great with the vehicles here. Luckily he also had Sly on communicator who could aid the operation by patching into local security cameras allowing him to keep well back of his subject. Maybe he should have left the operation entirely to Sly still, he told himself, their were places cameras didn’t go besides in truth Aldeiss was bored, and itching to do something other than wait about and hide. Unsurprisingly Callum being an off duty Copper headed straight to a local Drinking Den a place called the ‘Star and Raven’ from a rather well concealed sign Aldeiss took his time to query before following after using his pad so it wouldn’t be such a breach of communication security.

‘Star and Raven?’ asked Aldeiss on Seth’s channel.

‘I actually don’t know this place!’ came back a text confession from Seth in the Wolfs imagination he could hear the PI saying this out loud in the tenor of one that sounded both concerned and surprised. It was an indication of how much the Wolf was coming to appreciate the PI so far that Argon had proved worth his weight in Nividium.

The whiskey house was kind of out of the way down a side street and then around to the rear of an old dilapidated looking office block? The Public House being reached by a descending stairwell since it was located in a sub-basement. The Star and Raven struck Aldeiss as just the sort of place a PI should know - a proper hide away - a real seedy spot he felt mildly disappointed in Seth for the first time since their association well, thought the Wolf grinning to himself, no honeymoon lasted entirely forever!

As soon as he entered to his further alarm the Legionaries ear-piece went suspiciously quiet as if the signal was being electronically blocked. What also caught the Wolf by surprise was just how dark the place was: the walls, floor, and ceiling were all black only a few strategically placed lights picked out the Bar itself along with various tables and other features including a tiny currently unoccupied stage with a blank screen. It was very quiet too no music just a mumble of voices that trailed off with his intrusion not exactly homey. The place was busy enough for the day and hour, but not what you would call packed especially given its somewhat cramped layout divided as it was by heavy supporting possibly load bearing pillars.

‘Wow’, said the Wolf out loud, ‘I guess this is what you call local character’, he laughed. The big ex Pirate could feel the eyes of the rather spread out mix of mostly seated established customers upon himself; like the red dots of painting laser sights that contact didn’t feel comfortable. His quarry was nowhere to be seen but could be lurking anywhere in this shadowed place, and the Wolf was beginning to think checking this spot out had been a bad idea altogether. However, done being done, he continued to brazen it out. Putting on an especially horrid grin - the one he favoured for intimidation purposes rather than pulling - while scratching at his nicely developing beard Aldeiss sauntered arrogantly to the bar, ‘Nice place you got here’, he said mockingly to an emaciated female behind the bar, ‘what’s with this place? Brings a whole new meaning to the term Night Club!’

‘Want something?’ asked the pale barmaid with an air of utter irritation or maybe deepest scorn.

‘Hmmm this is a bar right? How about a drink and a smile’, replied Aldeiss with a wink, ‘ok then’, realising he was losing, ‘a grunt and a glass of whiskey will do, so who died?’

The ah he now noticed somewhat tattooed lady just slapped down a tumbler and poured out a splash from one of those fancy labelled bottles the Wolf had first seen on the Happy Lander. He found himself eyeing her pale chest just enough was showing to elicit his interest as a red blooded Argon but she was a bit bony and under developed for his taste. Still there was something about her that seemed attractively different maybe it was her indifference the challenge maybe it was something else an ethereal quality an otherworldliness something about the way she stood and moved. Whatever it was the Wolf found himself slightly stirred despite his bravado.

‘I can tell we are going to be firm friends’, continued the Wolf, ‘so what time do you finish at?’ he queried as the female drifted over to the other side of the bar and pretended to wipe up a non existent spill, ‘Playing hard to get’, he grumbled to himself taking a sip to ascertain the damage - it was pretty rough.

‘Don’t know you’, said a figure that arrived at the bar with an empty glass and a third empty bottle or should it be two thirds full.

‘Aldeiss’, replied the Wolf holding out his hand thinking at last a break, ‘Al to my friends.’

‘Jor’, returned the stranger looking at the offered paw for a moment as if thinking he might regret it before giving over to a firm enough clasp, ‘don’t get too many new faces around here this place is kind of an acquired taste. Did you arrive on a recommendation?’

‘Me? No I was just following my feet saw some fellow up ahead struck me like a guy out for the night - if you catch my drift - and he seemed to be going somewhere purposeful around here, I got curious, so I traipsed along behind’, explained the Wolf knowing a half truth often sold better than an outright lie, ‘Still exploring this crazy City all its wild and wonderful nooks and crannies.’

‘You followed someone here’, said Jor laughing, ‘following strangers is a good way to become a permanent resident of this constituency.’

‘Following things is a lot of what I do’, replied the Wolf, ‘I can look after myself.’

‘Guess you - are - a proper hunter then?’ noted Jor taking him in.

‘Something like that. I scrape a living out in the wilds guess that is the same thing but I do more than hunt I also trap for furs - claws, teeth, skulls, all that tourist tat, fish and forage for food and err entertainment. Theirs always a demand for interesting plants, and possible undiscovered (well at least officially) new species of bugs. Been thinking about taking tourists out for treks too’, noted Aldeiss thinking he was talking too much laying it on a bit too thick, ‘speaking of interesting species’, he continued breaking his own train and speaking a bit quieter, ‘what’s with the lass never met a less talkative barmaid wrong time of the month or something?’

‘Astor owns this place’, noted Jor slightly coldly, ‘she is the sensitive type.’

‘Guess that explains it then. I suppose having responsibilities she don’t go out much, well either that or she must have a real good sun hat’, said Al laughing again.

‘No you’re right’, whispered Jor, ‘our Astor don’t go out much. Not in the daylight anyway. They say she is wedded to the Fallen Star, that ones abiding interest lies with Tea Drinkers and the long departed.’

‘Hell I thought that stuff was all hooey’, said the Wolf grinning broadly.

‘Not around here its not, best you start believing pilgrim’, said Jor.

‘Fascinating how about that’, said Al chugging back his drink before looking around, ‘guess that explains the rather depressing décor.’

‘An approximation of the void that lies between all things. Try some of this’, said the local pouring some liquid from his own bottle into the Wolfs empty glass.

‘Don’t mind if I do’, replied Al, ‘hmmmm not bad sweet.’

‘Goes down easy’, said Jor smiling.

‘Sure does what’s that on the label. I see its a Black Hart with something above it or an ace of spades symbol very distinctive’, noted Aldeiss.

‘Astor’s own label’, noted Jor.

‘How about that she sure is an interesting Argon’, agreed Al watching her small rear.

‘She is at that’, noted Jor generously refilling his new found buddies glass.



Back at the Devils warehouse lair Keane felt like celebrating somebody had sent a single word message to his electronic address it read ‘Tebbin’ and a little earlier he was looking at a bound and gagged figure delivered by van pre tied into a chair.

‘Old Night, it really is you Jon’, said the Devil, ‘somebody did a real number on you fixed you up good. Replaced the missing bits and everything eh! I’m guessing Faith amazing what they can do. I have so many questions’, he noted looking his prisoner over then straight in the eye, ‘guess you’re wondering why I haven’t removed the gag then. Trouble is Old Friend the more I thought about what I wanted to ask the more I grew worried about the consequences of having the answers (I was sure to eventually receive) yes even from you! I mean I know you too well Jon - really you should be flattered - but I bet you would talk me around with that serpents tongue of yours convince me it is in my best interests to let you live at least for a time, and we both know how that went on the last occasion. Lets face it, not killing you was a mistake, and I hate repeating mistakes Jon. In fact I hate repeating almost anything! That’s why I’m not even going to torture you, been there and done that, and although it was fun while it lasted. I don’t need you Jon I’ve found somebody else’, he mocked.

Damnation thought Jon or Jack Flanders, as he was known here I’ve gone from the frying pan right into the roaring inferno. Somebody else what was the fekker talking about had the Wolf betrayed him? Jon struggled with the gag trying to speak.

‘I bet you’re trying to tell me you know where Kerry is Jon, but guess what you’re not the only one’, said Keane enjoying how the prisoners eyes widened further, ‘You know I couldn’t wait to get off this rock. Just Kerry and me and now here I am again and you know something - I love this place - it’s great, really feels like home! Its funny how you sometimes have to leave a place then return again to appreciate its finer points. Well I kind of helped make Aladna Hill and Beachhead City what it is. Do you know what they say here now? They say Beachhead is easy to get to but difficult to leave, how true for so many reasons? How true for you how true for me? I’m getting old you know not this stuff’, noted the Devil pinching the flesh on his own cheek, ‘hell I’m all young and vibrant on the surface. On the inside Jon older, maybe more mature maybe just more well different. Its time to settle down take things a bit easier do something else once I’ve put the last of my outstanding affairs into some sort of order, loose ends are so untidy. Anyway you must remember this one’, said the Devil drawing his weapon the Blackheart and displaying it fondly, ‘almost an antique I suppose but a classic always remains a classic. I remember my first one - was that a find - still I digress.’

He’s going to do it, thought Jon, just like that; he’s going to do it! The smuggler started struggling desperately but he was to well bound he couldn’t even topple the heavy squat wooden chair it was like his unknown betrayer had thought of everything. They had even had him participate in the mockery of his own escape walking right out the front door and escorting him down the road before bundling him into the van, to go like this the indignity the stupidity. He watched as his nemesis ejected the guns magazine and removed a round from the chamber slipping it into a pocket. Out of another pocket the Devil produced another slug.

‘High Explosive or HE as it is known in the trade’, Keane explained kissing the bullet and chuckling, ‘well I thought an eye for an eye or in this case a life for a life. I wonder if faith has you on file Old Argon, but trust me even if we do meet again it won’t be you - not really! I know it takes a bit of getting used to, even I’m not quite myself’, noted the Devil grinning in a very disturbing way, ‘you know I waited and waited for Faith to strike Freedom as Jorac it was my bases downfall that wait. I wanted to die so another me one that wouldn’t draw attention, and Kerry might really be able to live. It was a desperate and cunning plan I wanted Kerry to be free of my legacy - foolish really I suppose’, he continued slipping the round into the magazine, ‘I know this explosive round is hardly up to whatever it was you used on poor Jorac in Priest Pity, but it should suffice well enough. Be happy at least it will be swift. Front or back of the head? Has to be the face really selfish I know but I want to see your eyes up to the end, here goes then’, he slipped the magazine home until it gently clicked in place holding the sleek black weapon sideways the Devil pressed a stud to auto chamber that HE first round, ‘like I said the Blackheart it’s a real classic a thing of beauty so well balanced so smooth in its action. Gimmicks like laser sights don’t make up for that.’

It’s just mental torture he’s playing with me, thought Jon, forcing himself to be still. Fek him, I won’t play his games not this time. It will come down to a deal in the end even the Devil knows business is business. Jorac wouldn’t just waste me I know too much then again, he thought, this isn’t Jorac not exactly anyway, but he wouldn’t would he?

The Devil moved around selected a firing position and raised the weapon supporting it with both hands then while Jon sweated the mind in the body of Tur Ryn had a change of heart and shifted position again this time holding the long hand gun outstretched in one steady hand. Jon watched his tormentor take a deep breath and sigh.

He’s left handed, noted Jon to himself, thinking how appropriate. Was Jorac left-handed? On the moment he couldn’t remember, it had to be the product of stress and the fact that his implants were all fekked up. He’s bluffing, he needs me if he ever wants to see Kerry again he has to be bluffing!

Jorac reborns smile slipped away to become a look of calm concentration as his eyes addressed his weapons sights, gently almost lovingly he squeezed the trigger. The HE didn’t miss Jon Flyn’s head it arrived neatly in his temple to exploded messily outward, ‘pretty!’



Hopkins parked his unmarked ground car near the fish market and made his way through that smelly ever busy dockside region towards the guarded gate to The Deep Pier proper. The denizens here were a mixture of Deeps and Headers this was the only place were the two cultures regularly and openly interacted. This assignment was a joke he had been dragged off his investigation into the Stalker Slayings, and sent to act as a glorified police liaison officer to a bunch of murderously dangerous and insular low life squatters because quote ‘as an almost outsider you have a unique perspective’ what a total pile of Argnu poop!

Somebody wanted him tied up chasing his own tail. The Gypsies were notoriously difficult to deal with at the best of times - at the moment they were staunchly insisting no prisoner had been anywhere near their well protected property or even incredibly any pursuing Wasps with or without their permission! As such they also insisted their had been no shooting incident nor any body in the water. This was causing a storm of words accusations and counter claims. The Pile wanted the locals to assist with a proper search for the felon or at least his body - dropping hints that perhaps it was no surprise a smuggler had been chased to this locality causing even more insult to the already tender sensitivities of the citizens of The Deep - given these facts the squatters were in no mood to disrupt their usual affairs in order to start dragging the depths under and around the Pier to suit the wider city authorities whimsical desires. Satellite coverage was just about useless as the whole pier area was more or less roofed in places several times over with elevated suspended streets and walkways that formed a hair raising jumble that could only be described as haphazard and ramshackle.

So far the Gypsies point blankly refused to waste their time or to permit search parties within what was they still insisted their - sovereign - territory fearing to set a dangerous precedent against their long respected autonomy! This had caused a bitter debate in the local Senate (far from the first on the Deep Pier issue) their had even been mention of deploying troops and emptying that rat warren once and for all. Hopkins guessed that such words however were just out and out political bluster. Military action was not really a good idea in this instance as a Wasp he knew why. It had long been rumoured that the Sea Folk were exceptionally well stocked with weapons, and not just with small arms either but also heavy duty ordinance possibly including one infamous shipment of chemical and biological agents possibly along with one or more nuclear warheads.

It was - well documented in the Pile - that a too late captured blockade-runners secret inventory had given rise to this fear. Runners used to dispatch their goods in drop pods from space that splashed down into the sea whence they were collected and distributed by the ancestors of guess who. It was claimed one particular disguised drop upon examination was deemed too dangerous to pass on so the Sea Lords simply refused to do this - keeping the weapons for themselves - to enhance their own authority much to the consternation of the party that had dared to order them. Some less worrying off world tax avoiding goods were still rumoured to arrive on The Hill this way today. It was the fear that the Gypsies still had these weapons of mass destruction that allowed them to keep their unique position (though not everybody knew this) plus of course the fact that they remained largely isolationist and thus didn‘t really challenge local or federal authority beyond their specific environs.

The other difficulty here was the fact that Beachhead only had a very few frankly - outgunned - customs fast patrol boats while the Argon Federal Authorities refused to support the high cost of a proper surface navy beyond one only marginally armed scientific vessel. Of course any attempt to establish a war fleet would again have antagonised the citizens of The Deep, and damaged what was considered a delicate status quo.

H had been dispatched to prevent an escalation of enmity - to smooth the way - for some form of compromise that would suit everyone regarding the latest incident. Frankly the detective believed the Commissioner was having a laugh at his expense maybe even trying to get him killed in the execution of his duty. Tamarind who had taken over the Stalker case during H’s leave of absence would no doubt have it all settled by the time Hopkins got back to normal duties. Tamar was the sort that always got his Argon, whether it was the right Argon or not didn‘t bother him in the least. Beachhead was a fascinating challenge how do you combat corruption when almost everyone is corrupt even the supposed fighters of corruption H was still trying to work this one out it helped take his mind off other obsessions. A female Speaker the Gypsies equivalent to a diplomat / ambassador, he supposed, met Hopkins at the gate here goes nothing, he thought, and meant it.



A rough shake, an annoyingly bright light, throbbing pain then a familiar face that seemed too up close.

‘Fek my head hurts’, complained the Wolf struggling with a grunt to get up from the futon he had been lying on as Seth also got up from a hovering crouched position.

‘You’re cursed lucky that is all you have to moan about’, noted Seth.

‘What… what happened?’ asked Aldeiss scratching at his beard and feeling very muggy and confused.

‘Myself and some friends I called in rescued you from that nest of freaks that’s what happened’, noted Seth, ‘you had been sucking on some of the local jungle juice. Just because it comes in a nice labelled bottle don’t mean it only has whiskey in it. Sorry if I neglected to mention that particular one’, he laughed, ‘but it is difficult to think of everything in advance even for me.’

‘Drugs but that guy I was drinking with was supping too’, noted the Wolf still bleary.

‘No doubt, but he would have built up something of an immunity while you’re as raw as a Night Ravens just hatched chick’, noted the Investigator.

‘Was their trouble?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘No we just said we were your good buddies following along behind. When we saw the mess you were in we naturally propped you up got ourselves one for the road then took you home because you had obviously had one too many, and needed to sleep it off. It was you’re lucky evening friend. I’m pretty sure we arrived just at the right moment otherwise who knows. So our Copper has dealings with a Black House’, noted Seth.

‘They were actual Devil worshippers?’ asked the Wolf.

‘Blatant eh, yep that’s about the score of it you sure can pick them’, complained the PI, ‘still its always good to find where another chapter door is.’

‘Happy to be of help’, said the Wolf sarcastically, ‘what about our other Wasp friend?’

‘News isn’t in yet maybe he’s holding out’, noted Seth.

‘Maybe something else has gone wrong’, moaned Aldeiss.

‘Did no one ever tell you that you shouldn’t drink so much when it makes you maudlin’, returned Seth laughing.



In Bala Gi’s Joy onboard the Carrier The Lost For Words Garrin was feeling like a child that had been told to go to bed early when a party was going on downstairs. Ravn had been invited to help rescue Anna from some on planet difficulty, but he had very much been excluded. In fact he wasn’t even allowed out of the canteen and the Carrier was in the middle of a fire fight. Everyone was sitting around watching camera drone feeds to a big screen showing the progress of the slaughter, but to him at least it didn’t really seem real.

Viewing the fighter combat was like watching the CGI from some poorly scripted show. So far the Khaak were getting hammered by the Carriers compliment of fighters which at least was something to be thankful for but G was sure the real test was yet to come. The Argon Navy’s superiority started with an absolute hail of missile fire long before the enemy scout ships got into Kyon range. However it was the interceptors and KM3 that had split from the Super Clusters behind the advanced screen that would prove more of a hazard. Luckily so far no sign of Khaak Capitol Ships Garrin hoped it stayed that way.

On the bridge Fay was getting some rather strange readings on the Gravidar that showed a fearful number of stationary Khaak M1’s and M2’s in various positions dangerously near the Planet however the camera surveillance showed nothing. Could those ships be cloaked in some new manner if so why were they not moving it was a puzzle. Delaying the drop ship launch just in case Fay put in the coordinates for a jump to position, and taking a deep breath slid back the cover on the never before used in anger Prototype Control Panel.

Well nothing stays hidden forever, the Commander in Chief thought, as she pressed the first button that would power up the still (technically under Argon and just about everyone else’s law) - illegal - generator, she then pressed the second that cracked the concealed gun ports and the third that deployed the heavy gun turrets outward mechanically from their scan defeating outer housings to the surface of the Prototype Hybrid Carriers hull were they locked in place to join the active weapons grid. The Lost For Words now had firepower just shy of that of a Titan but more importantly it had a devastating full bank of forward facing Gamma Photon Pulse Cannons which gave it teeth like no other Argon ship, and with the generator the craft also had the power to make exceptional use of them. Nearly everything else was alpha flak canons for anti fighter defence. Fay hit another button and commenced the countdown to jump. That was a lot of opposition luckily it wasn‘t all grouped together so with the standard Titans help and her no doubt unexpected abilities they might just pull off a coup in this abandoned Pirate Sector.

‘Jump engines charging ten percent’, began the computer, ‘twenty percent, thirty percent…’

The fighter battle was still going well - in fact so far it was proving a push over - elsewhere Fay requested a jump location for the Titan ‘The Fatal Necessity’ to follow suit and received a coded compliance.

‘…seventy percent’, and the mysterious readings of the Gravidar were filled out by incoming flares as Khaak Capitols appeared to jump right into the prescient positions already indicated, and began to move. Fay stared at that incredulous, ‘ninety percent, Jumping’, passing down the wormhole Fay wondered what that meant was the apparent jump flare an attempt to disguise their cloaking ability? What would the point be of visually cloaking if they showed up on Gravidar Scan anyway it was a true mystery.

Almost as soon as The Lost For Words appeared its forward guns commenced blazing out white hot photon pulses while still well outside the effective range of the bloated spider like KM2’s most powerful weapons. Perhaps in vain hope, stupidity or simply trying to intimidate the Khaak Capitol was firing its own weapons that shot forth in dancing straight lines only to fall impotently short the days of Khaak technological supremacy were over. Maybe those Emitters were active in a vain attempt to boost the creatures morale, did Khaak worry about their crews morale? The winged ones often seemed brave to the point of idiocy.

‘Full reverse’, called Fay, ‘Lets keep our distance that’s still a deadly opponent, I’m putting in the coordinates for the next in system jump near the outer KM2 that is homing in on the ‘Necessity’ mark that one its our next target.’

It was a question of timing Fay noticed the Titan jumping out to a new position despite not quite finishing off its own initial target. The Commander in Chief was delighted with Captain Koihan’s decision it was better to err on the side of caution with these beasts. The Titan had been about to be encircled by two other incoming KM2’s approaching on oblique angles but Koi hadn’t been fooled. Besides the KM1 ‘The Fatal Necessity’ had been pounding had lost a lot of hull and no doubt some shields and weapons too so it was a fair strike plus the fighters the Khaak had unleashed now had nothing to target.

Fays own enemy was just getting into its hitting distance when it was ripped apart with some trailing photon fire passing through were it had been as if an artistic flourish. A spontaneous Cheer erupted on the bridge. Fay checked the generators readings (it seemed to be operating fine) and the weapons temperature (no difficulty there) so far so good. Shifting her vector the Commander ordered full power to the forward engines, and started another jump countdown. The strategy appeared to be working beautifully the Khaak certainly seemed confused by this turn of events, and unsure how to retaliate.

Anna’s Queen found the Carriers performance quite satisfying. It would seem these Argon were more efficient at defence than it had expected of course the little bit of extra intelligence it had fed the Gravidar had no doubt helped as had its slightly improved management of the Argons Targeting, but otherwise The Lost For Words seemed more than a match for these Khaak. The Khaak themselves didn‘t seem to have advanced much from the Intervention well they had never been especially creative.

Fays hit and jump strategy certainly seemed appropriate enough especially with the Titan as an extra decoy. From being worried about the Commander in Chief the Queen now found itself more concerned with Anna if any intervention was likely to be needed it would be on the planets surface, luckily all it had to do was activate a secreted army of drones it had infiltrated on to the drop ships, distance was no barrier to its form of communication.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 93 - Reason and Unreason

Anna Dei was suffering from the gravity of her situation. At first Mrs Dei (she had refused to change her name despite marriage) had tried to assuage her feelings of despair via mental gymnastics - forced positive thinking (including brief moments of meditative imaginings of a certain yellow disk). Stridently fortifying the insubstantial activity by physically volunteering to assist the medics upon the T2 Drop Ship. Anna had assumed the Dogs would welcome her taking the role of nurse to the few surviving wounded. Well, it had seemed like a good idea at that time given the immediate priorities of so many incoming bodies. Unfortunately the Professor soon ran out of what she considered to be usefully productive work, not to mention space, and living subjects to ply her (in this field) rather basic talents upon.

The dead didn’t need much tending. Once they were confirmed irretrievably deceased the bodies were simply bagged tagged, and stored (stacked together very tightly and rather irreverently) well out of the ships physical route ways in the vessels hold. Unfortunately such objects representing so much more than wasted material despite being tidied away tended to remain lodged elsewhere in the living memory of all those with whom they had made recent contact to their mental detriment.

The few wounded survivors a shameful - four - in total that might have needed a little hand holding, and a sympathetic ear were so grievously injured that they were (according to modern linguistics) - interactively non functional - far beyond the ability of Anna or anyone else to console with a soft touch, word, or smile. Therefore it came as little surprise to the Professor that she found herself to be simply getting in the way of the efficient work of the more specifically skilled personnel - in fact Joab had been less than diplomatic about this fact. Chagrined and embarrassed Anna left the medics to their own devices, but convinced keeping occupied was vital reprised her role of civilian advisor to the Commander of the mission - a temporary position - taken on by the T1 Drop Ship Pilot Ruth after some dispute, and confusion among the Marines.

Ruth Graves (an unfortunate surname if Anna had ever heard one) had proved to have timed seniority over her otherwise equally ranked companion Leon Gardna (something Anna was very happy about). Leon was the surly pilot of the ship Anna and the rest of T2 had arrived on. Technically one of the medics was the most senior ranker left, but that gruff Black Dog had told Ruth to more or less Fek Off when this was mentioned - much to the Graves effectual consternation. This stubborn refusal had made Ruth’s position rather untenable from where Anna stood. Nonetheless, Joab would have nothing to do with it - point blankly - unwilling as he put it ‘to bend over and claim that position’ Anna considered Joab to be one of those rare genuine stereotypes (if more typical in this medical profession) that occasionally popped up in real life to both prove, and yet mock the veracity, and integrity of slightly similar but actually rather lazily drawn fictional characters!

Given Joab’s nature Anna was quite surprised that Ruth had tried so hard to cajole him into command but the Professor wasn’t really interested in the finer requirements of military etiquette. Anna did however feel for the female Pilot it was obvious she wasn’t on a power trip - unlike some officers she had met - and had accepted her newfound position with reluctance. Despite this Ruth’s difficulties were legion (as in many) although in charge she certainly didn’t seem in control of Joab nor his two additional team members Lance, and Dickens. Trickily few other able bodies remained beyond the Pilots themselves, and one young Dog whose speciality was communications, that recruit being deemed so raw by the rest that he was only ever addressed by any of his compatriots under the label of ‘Pup’ rather than his real name of Harry Sanderson apparently something of a Black Dog tradition for the least experienced in any mission group.

Given the condition of the remnants of the operation it was a good thing Fay had sent a highly encrypted communication burst with very specific orders, or so Anna had at first thought. T1 and T2 was to stay put make no broadcast or any move that would draw attention to themselves. Help would be dispatched as soon as the ongoing space battle permitted! Unhappily Anna was forced to settle herself in for an edgy wait; it was very possible they would be attacked any moment by either the Khaak from space or by Khaak or something else - already far too close - here on the ground. Nonetheless, some things Ruth insisted needed to be undertaken notably a survey of their resources, and an analysis of the enemies material for any conceivable weakness lest they be attacked again before any aid could arrive.



Anna watched intently as the remote explored the subterranean space that had lately witnessed the slaughter. The basic scout camera drone was being carefully piloted by the Missions new leader. The T1 Drop Ship pilot steered the auto hovering machine slowly staying close to the cover of the floor drifting among a surprising amount of debris. The items that passed in, and then out of camera view were almost too varied to mention but ranged from standard equipment like: crates, backpacks, carbines, tripod mounted support weapons, and ammo boxes to the slightly more exotic buzzing portable shields, scientific sensor / scanning apparatus, power generators, and the occasional shocking severed Argon body part.

While Ruth was interested in closely cataloguing, and electronically tagging in order to subjectively retrieve useful intact or repairable gear by GTD, the Professor was more intrigued by larger fragments of the destroyed enemy drones, and the increasingly poor direct scanner coverage from their own two Drop Ships internal systems. Pup was hopelessly wrestling with this malfunctioning equipment unsure if it was some sort of external interference or an internal fault or sabotage?

It was the sudden inability to scan the field of the conflict that had necessitated the launch of the remote. Unfortunately to Anna’s frustration the bigger pieces of destroyed drone all seemed to be burning very fiercely (in an almost chemically reactive manner) far too hot, and mysterious to risk bringing onboard. Anna couldn’t help but compare this disintegration process with the deliberate auto destruct mechanism designed to possibly prevent technological piracy or just discovery operated by her Hive access Core - Queens - own drones back on the old AFC 4. So far the destruct mechanism although not utterly dissimilar appeared no where near as integral to the very substance of the caverns attack drones makeup, neither did it seem as quick, nor Anna hoped quite as total in its final overall effect, but the principle still seemed close enough to hint at some worrisome connection.

As the remote hovered on it swept its headlights over a bright yellow automated cargo Loader un-loader which stood out starkly among less lofty more neutrally coloured detritus. The Loader looked surprisingly pristine almost mocking the ruin elsewhere. Anna recalled reviewing stored records from the battle in which this very machine had drawn fire acting briefly as utterly inadequate cover for two hastily slain Marines. It was a testament to the targeted accuracy of the Kyon beams that the defending Argons had been cleanly struck down with sniper like efficiency.

Anna was glad the little remote had its own headlamps the Cavern itself once reasonably well lit en masse was presently only sporadically illuminated, and also spookily from the incoming microphone signal almost as quiet as a midnight cemetery. The general areas of light remaining emerging from the remains of the Black Dogs once systematic grid of freestanding flood and spotlights, and by the uneven glow of persistent mostly drone fires. The majority of the Portable Uni-Beams hadn’t been totally destroyed despite many being disabled (although looking at the record not because the drones had sought to embrace darkness) most had actually succumbed to friendly fire either directly or indirectly. A majority being toppled by the shockwaves given off by the belated anti aircraft Flak explosions.

Noticeably the fallen lights due to their slightly uneven weight balance had unfortunately almost universally come to rest face downward (an interesting design flaw for a security system that Anna couldn‘t help observing for mention). Due to these collapsed units condition they were casting as much shadow across the floor as they did useful light. Only one lamp had survived fully intact ironically it still brightly illuminated the Artefacts - assumed - main entrance an area Ruth and Anna were currently excluding from their search pattern. That lights survival was actually quite logical, thought the Professor with hindsight, as it rested in an area purposely kept free of Marine personnel (an empty kill zone against a potential exiting hostile force) due to this their was nothing there worth collating or collecting.

Elsewhere outside - better placed - than the original landing site in relation to defence against the cliff, and upland inlet region (the spot that had spawned the deadly attack) the two silver and grey drop ships rested closely huddled together - as if seeking mutual comfort by proximity. Here an undetected, and unsolicited (by the Argons) movement stirred. A hidden ripple of activity the result of transit by tiny unusually covert remotes belonging to a technology that if it had been revealed would have been instantly familiar to the Professor. The (insignificant and insect like) mechanisms scuttled down from the Argons own craft to spill forward in small purposeful groups ranging out across the floor avoiding any well lit area to pass unnoticed. Each individual purposely homing in on the location of a specific system - objects detected by tiny sensors far beyond anything the Argon had proper access to, or even a full complete understanding of.

Every item marked by the semi autonomous devices was well known to the shining mind that was constantly updating, and tasking its all but invisible servitors. Any needed command updates effortlessly maintained via a shallow Core relay loop that passed back and forth from the Queen to the Core to the drone and vice versa. These tiny emigrations being almost predestined to prove that size (at least when coupled with suitably advanced technology) was not necessarily what mattered after all. Soon most of the semi mechanical bugs would swiftly easily access, and interface with their objectives granting the Creature which had recently been forced to rename itself ‘Limited Access’ the ability to reach out from its current home on The Lost for Words to gain possession of something that had been deliberately disconnected a long time ago.



Meanwhile in the same sector but in space the battle still raged. Three KM2 so far had been destroyed alongside two KM1 and countless Khaak scout ships a few interceptors, and some of the lethal KM3 fighters. On the Argon side an entire squadron including three Novas six Busters and four Discoverers that had come too close to a late arriving KM2 had been hastily obliterated otherwise with a few notable exceptions including: the loss of a poorly piloted AM6 also caught by the second wave of aggressors the victories had been all one sided.

However, it was getting more difficult with each pass as the Khaak Capitols were now fighting clever (bunching up, and supporting each other) not to mention refusing to be so easily drawn into trouble. The Khaak were also very good at coming in from odd or clever angles which hid their approach not to mention via moving in behind the cover of another closer ship usually the one with which you were fully engaged, but Fay was constantly watching out for those tricks as well as in system jumps. To assist in her tactical overview Fay used camera and sensor data collected not just from her own ship but also from dropped satellites, and several scout ships specifically tasked with avoiding contact to collect data on the movements numbers and spread of the enemy.

If Fays mission was not so secret, and her own vessel not so unique she would have screamed out for assistance from the main Argon Fleet long ago. As it was the Commander in Chief although being more and more cautious in her assaults was still broadly confident that she could take down this fleet at least as long as her supporting Titan also managed to survive.

Good old captain Koihan however was not so sure of making it out of this one in one piece. Having already had his shields somewhat roasted by a KM2 that proved a little faster than expected (Gamma Kyon Emitters showing once more they were still very much worthy of fear and respect). Luckily Captain Koihan’s Titan ‘The Fatal Necessity’ had managed to jump out just in time to avoid hull and system damage. Then the Captain had managed to bring his defensive capabilities back up to the maximum by instigating the dodgy Pirate strategy of a shield transport loop.

Despite Koihans good recovery the near miss had left both the Captain and his Crew rather shaken, and on edge. The Captain knew all it would take would be one mistake. This conflict didn’t feel like a normal fleet engagement it was a game of cat and mouse, unfortunately for Koihan sometimes his all too standard Titan was the Cat, and sometimes the Mouse what he wouldn’t have given for The Lost For Words forward firing bank of GPPC’s and a lot more speed from his engines.

Survival was not the only fear plaguing Fay however, the Commander in Chief was also worried about something else too, due to the ebb and flow of the battle both the Titan and the Colossus were slowly being edged away from their defence of the planet itself being lured deeper into the sectors main grid despite all her best efforts to prevent this.



Back in the Cavern since the destruction of the enemy drones everything had remained quiet. Therefore it was with some surprise and a lot of alarm when the door to the principle object of their enquiry was noticed to be lying wide open. When exactly this change of condition had occurred nobody appeared to be initially sure of, not until the cameras data store was replayed, and the time log viewed. Although the door had indeed opened a while ago their was absolutely no sign of anything exiting or entering in the reviewed images. Just about everyone not otherwise occupied (which didn’t amount to many) soon gathered to stare at the live camera feed expecting ravening alien enemies (mechanical or otherwise) to sally forth at any moment as a herald to the survivors total eradication, but joyfully the viewers were disappointed.

‘Do you think that is some sort of invitation Anna?’ asked Ruth finally with a hushed tone of disbelief.

‘I don’t know’, replied the Professor also feeling genuinely perplexed, ‘maybe the drones that attacked us don’t belong to the Artefact. I suppose it is possible the attack when launched was a case of mistaken identity’, continued the Professor thinking about the earlier Khaak attack upon the upper site, ‘This could also be evidence that our Enemy are factional - not all - of one mind as we have always assumed?’

‘Well that would make me feel a lot better about getting our butts kicked’, complained Leon, ‘My - guess - is they (whoever they are) just want to lure the last of us - fools - out to finish us off the easy way, or to take a few prisoners for interrogation. Khaak have been known to take prisoners you know. Have you heard of Kyle Brennan. They do things to captives turn them against their own’, concluded the Pilot giving Anna another one of his distinctive dirty looks when Ruth‘s gaze was elsewhere.

A little earlier Leon had taken a GTD over to T1 like Anna to join the rest of the more active survivors leaving the T2 ship in the hands of the medics and the wounded while the vessels other functions were temporarily abandoned to automatics.

To say Leon had been less than polite with Anna ever since the Drone Attack would be an understatement. The Professor suspected he blamed her for the Black Dogs being here - since they had been ordered to protect Anna, and her small Teams study of the artefact. Anna also believed Leon resented that she alone of those outside during the assault had made it back - fully - uninjured, and would love to openly accuse her of some form of complicity with the Khaak like Drones despite the fact that her bodyguard Pax had died saving her life.

Anna’s assumptions about the views of the Pilot were based on some especially spiteful comments Leon had too casually thrown to the air within hearing distance of the Professor, and nobody else - something of a feat in itself - given the vessels less than massive dimensions. In fact since his arrival on T1 the Professor almost felt like the creepy Pilot had been deliberately stalking her in an attempt to unnerve and intimidate something at which he was almost succeeding.

Anna found it difficult to set the Argon straight (she felt too weary to argue with somebody so solidly hostile and closed minded). The Professor also had mixed feelings about her position here herself, and understood the Pilot was probably losing it because he was hurting from the loss of people who had been close friends and associates. Anna understood too well how grief felt; Guilt from Pax’s demise was clinging to her thoughts like a bad smell! Although Fay had dragged the Professor into this, and Anna had been against the use of personnel this early on in the investigation she still felt uneasy about her active participation. Anna knew she still wanted to know what this live Artefact was and why it was here despite the price.

The RJL Partner wondered, what would have happened if I had refused the order? Despite the incentive, and being technically one of the Legion of the Damned the Professor still felt like a civilian with some right to say no! The horrible thing was despite all the pressure Anna had still technically volunteered. As ever Fay had twisted everything out of shape she had a way with that!

It was a kind of game Fay probably understood Anna wouldn’t push too hard - lest it initiated a response - one that would damage the Professors ability to continue with her essential self denial, destroying the fragile delusion that yes she did in reality have some choices of her own left. Nothing was straightforward anymore! Anna felt like her whole life had become a paradox of contradictions for example: she also yearned to figure out what the strange connection might be between the Core, and the Khaak, and she had missed working with the Core - so much - that some part of her had leapt with joy at this opportunity, sometimes recently she despised herself almost as much as these others that continually sought to control her life for their own purposes!

‘Why don’t we send in a remote’, said Anna electing to just ignore the continued open hostility from Leon in the vain hope it might burn itself up, and fizzle out..

‘After what happened last time’, complained Leon making it clear from his tone and posture that he wasn’t about to let go of his bitter bubbling resentments - at least not any time soon, ‘you’re not going to follow the advice of this civilian are you, Sir?’ he asked.

Leon had put so much obvious antipathy in his comment that it made Anna’s skin crawl all over. Frankly despite many varied experiences Anna couldn’t recall eliciting this level of naked enmity from anyone ever! The Professor couldn’t help but think that this was one hell of a time to not have any bodyguard, nonetheless she was determined not to be utterly intimidated by this mere Marine.

‘Exploring that thing is why we are here’, reminded Anna curtly.

The professor was surprised at her own calm vehemence - despite feeling that at this stage she was now being forced to be a little less smartly diplomatic than she had intended. In a way the paradoxically enforced Legion volunteer was beginning to change her mind again, commencing to care rather less about the Pilots feelings. Hell if he thought his life was fekked up he should try walking in my boots, thought the Professor, deciding she had suffered just about enough of his scorn! In the end Leon was supposed to be both military, and a professional so despite the trying circumstances - he really should know better - and should stop acting like an idiot. Everyone here was in the same position following orders, besides what did this Marines opinion matter he wasn’t in charge Ruth was. Or was it possible, thought Anna, that I am being the idiot for underestimating Leon as a serious potential threat?

Nonetheless, Anna was still distracted by the important business at hand feeling both elated, and scared at the opportunity provided by the unblocked access. The mixed sensations reminded her of watching passive virtual reality horror recordings as a child when such things - were still actually scary and yet thrilling - and not just silly as they were destined to become in later adulthood.

A girlish inner voice, nonetheless, still betrayed her current brave stance by saying ‘just because the cellar door is not locked might not mean it is a smart move to lift the lid, and venture down there feet first, especially while a homicidal maniac is known to be on the loose from the Argon Asylum’. Sadly that made her also think of poor Febr which always made her think of her Mother as well - both casualties - in her eyes to the military, and yes the scientific investigation of the Hive access Core not to mention Fay.

Just like all those foolish protagonists in the stories though another part of the Professor was refusing to listen to the common sense choice provided by the option to turn away and let it go. Anna like so many before her was being drawn in by the shiny lure of both revelation, and eventual closure probably closure most of all - to find out the facts and be done with it - if only that was possible! Might Fay let her go or, Anna wondered, was every new bit of secure information she uncovered just going to put her more and more into the clutches of that venomous Hag?

‘The Professor has a point maybe this is the only chance we will get. Those Khaak in space either want to: destroy our find, prevent us from exploring it, or they wish to seek, and exploit whatever lies here for their own evil ends. If we give up now it is possible Captain Torrus, and everyone else will have paid with their lives for absolutely nothing - that I for one won’t abide if I can help it!’ noted Ruth sounding both resolute and roused in turn.

The Temporary Mission Commanders own conviction was solidifying. Mentioning the dead however created something of an unscheduled moments silence from everyone. Individually they internally contemplated the uncomfortable effect of recent events upon their personal views of the universe.

For her own part Ruth really would like to achieve something that might (even to some small degree) justify those terrible loses. Too often the companions of soldiers died with only the fact that they had assisted the - temporary - survival of their own to make the sacrifice seem in any manner worthwhile. Some vague, and often incomprehensible military or political strategic target hardly mattered to the living colleagues of the slain. Soldiers by their nature unless patriotic idiots hardly cared about such objectives. Even fewer belonged to a social position likely to fully appreciate the often reported long term advantages of broad policy in the wider so called grand scheme of historic events!

Self-rationalisations had often challenged the Navy Pilots belief in her vocation. Her job involved shuttling many good if often poorly educated recruits to their doom before all too often picking up the broken pieces afterwards, a requirement that proved an especially wicked reminder of the consequences of her previous action (percentage wise this had been the worst operation Ruth had participated in - during her entire military career - even with her training and experience behind her this Cull was proving to be something of a shock to even her callused skin) begging the need to find an answer to the big question. Was it really worth placing these fine Argon in harms way in the first place?

For once Ruth wanted to be able to say - yes - the prize was worth that price. As much as the Pilot fully understood nothing they did now would bring any of the Dogs back from the Grim Reapers clutches. If the mission was a success it might if nothing else make for a worthy epitaph for Torrus and his broken command. While the Temporary Leader worried inside that such hopes were just a nice dream, and some of the other Dogs had often mocked her in the past for thinking too much about this sort of thing (not good in a soldier) it didn’t change her natural emotional responses to the loss of so many companions. Unlike some flyers as a Dog Ruth tended to work with the same crew, and passengers on a regular basis as such the Pilot had (mostly inadvertently) garnered unusually strong emotional attachments despite knowing this was folly in her position, and now she was paying the heavy toll.

This one had hit her in an especially vicious matter. Dead was dead but somehow it was worse both because of Torrus whom Ruth had been secretly extra fond of, and due to the fact that the killings had been so wickedly clinical so horribly unfeeling and mechanical! Ruth had watched the (difficult to view) recordings more than a few times looking for tactical solutions, and an answer to how she felt or maybe just the right question. The action had been anything but a fair battle, as she liked to imagine such things (even if she appreciated fair battles rarely existed outside boys own book files) instead what Ruth witnessed was a coldly calculated Cull! Something you don’t tend to think about when you are the one handing it out but when the roles are reversed…

Culls, mused Ruth, were increasingly becoming the true face of modern warfare where it was all too common for one side or the other to have at least a momentary - complete supremacy - allowing for the obliteration of their foe with digital precision for example: The initial Khaak attack that began the war the assault against Presidents End that was in Ruth’s estimation a Cull. Perishing without even seeing it coming, and being helpless to do anything about it was now almost half expected by some troops in the field, and even some civilians - had suffered the same ill fate - caught in the crossfire.

Then again thinking about the Xenon maybe Cull’s were nothing new, but the Xenon were cold mechanistic meat grinders by nature, considered Ruth, it looked like the lads were right after all maybe she did think too much! Clearly dwelling on these thoughts were counter productive to her own peace of mind, and possibly even her efficiency. Eventually Leon broke the lengthy silence with in Ruth’s estimation another unhelpful comment that this time was to evoke her wrath.

‘The Commander in Chief told us to sit tight’, reminded Leon, ‘and to do nothing that would bring attention upon ourselves. Poking around with that thing is doing neither!’, he corrected, ‘In fact it is going directly counter to our superiors orders’, he challenged with a firm out of line aggressiveness.

‘I don’t need you to interpret my orders Leon’, snapped Ruth angrily her entire face flaring red, ‘whatever command decisions - I - make here - I - will have to answer for, not you, and not to you either! So if - I - was you Pilot - I - would watch my mouth! Those instructions were issued prior to the hatch opening. I was at the wider mission briefing too. Fay considers this artefact to be an exceptionally important - even a dangerous - find while those Khaak style drones can only make any information we might gather here even more vital, and relevant to the war effort’, retorted Ruth showing her disgust for Leon and his comments by then turning her attention away dismissively.

‘Unfortunately we still can’t scan inside for some reason Anna’, noted Ruth with a much more friendly tone of voice while fiddling around with the ships control panel to try again once more without any success whatsoever. Nor did this seem to be the result of the glitch Pup had been struggling with, ‘So I’m going to send a Camera Drone in, and Leon’, she continued her voice hardening, ‘you will support my action or be considered insubordinate, and put on a charge! Knuckle down Marine, and see to your own responsibilities. You will GTD back to our other ship, and not abandon it again unless directly ordered otherwise. We just might need the extra firepower, and a real flesh and blood Pilot at the helm not a machine.’

‘Yes Sir’, replied Leon far too sarcastically for Ruth’s liking before moving away to vanish back to his assigned post.

‘Well Anna any last moment thoughts?’ queried the acting Commander with a sigh now sounding rather tired, and despondent to Anna‘s ears.

Watch the phraseology, thought Anna thinking it was a bad omen (this idea possibly being the result of being around the RJL security boys too much) but she actually said, ‘I would suggest you don’t go diving in straight away. Do a sweep around, and see how much of the inside can be seen by viewing in from without at differing angles first, although the view we are getting so far seems less than hopeful.’

‘That sounds sensible’, said Ruth before sending a tight beam transmission to Leon on T2 that the Camera Drone was going in and to be ready for - any - potential response. Ruth than followed this up by releasing the Drone, and mumbling, ‘Here goes nothing Professor!’

A very few moments later as they watched the relayed picture.

‘What do you make of that?’ asked Ruth.

They could see in alright but what was revealed was a rolling obscuring dark green gaseous fog with even darker almost black traceries, and occasional sparkles of light from a sprinkling of oddly animated particles, and just about nothing else.

‘A bit sinister’, returned Anna slightly spooked by the queer phenomena, ‘not helping us much anyway. I don’t know some kind of deliberate screen or maybe that is the occupants natural atmosphere or another defence mechanism I‘ve never seen anything quite like that still why open the door to reveal another barrier unless it is like Leon fears just a trap. Look how it is being contained as if it is passing up against an invisible plastic glass panel. Clearly none of that substance is escaping beyond the threshold so unless we poke it with a stick we won’t even be able to get a reading on its physical makeup’, noted Anna slightly annoyed.

‘Do you think that barrier only effects the gas but will let solids through?’ asked Ruth.

‘That’s my guess otherwise why open the door only one way to find out though’, replied Anna leaning forward.

‘I thought you were going to say that’, noted Ruth sending the Camera Drone flying inward toward that flat plane of containment. To her slight shame Ruth realised she was feeling pretty excited almost holding her breath in anticipation. This was after all something special - real exploration - nosing right up to the unknown. Taking the breath Ruth forced herself to recall - the cost so far - even if this was the kind of thing many young Pilots dreamed about until the Navy ground down such foolishness with monotonous meat delivering shuttle duties.

The picture went blank.

‘Have you lost it?’ asked Anna.

‘I’m afraid so’, cursed the Pilot thinking, that this loss of communication with the drone was worryingly familiar, however, this time their had been no preceding flash.

Anna and Ruth waited for a response more drones or something worse. Time slipped away into a silent void.

‘Well it passed inside alright’, noted Anna breaking what had become almost a spell, and feeling even more intrigued rather than less, ‘so that barrier obviously isn‘t impervious. It looks like we still have an open door, and no aggressive reaction to our remotes intrusion.’

‘True but as far as we know that stuff could have just eaten our C. Drone I mean it could be some sort of nasty acid or be highly radioactive or well the mind boggles’, complained the Temporary Mission Commander feeling out of her depth.

‘Back to the poke it with a long stick test’, said Anna smiling, ‘how about it? We could attach an instrument package on a pole and send it in with one of the Dogs robotic Bomb Disposal Rovers come to think of it doesn’t a BDR come with an extendable sniffer anyway?’ asked the Professor thinking back to one of her earlier briefings on useful security equipment by the Black Dogs that worked for RJL.

‘A BDR’, repeated Ruth now fully caught up in the challenge, ‘that could work. I’ve no experience operating those they are pretty hands on as remotes go, whacking great big control panel, but I’ll bet Pup is fresh from a course at the old school on that one. I can GTD the floating unit right up close then Pup can do the rest. Hey Pup she yelled out not even bothering with internal ship communications front and centre, move your bony butt.’



Elsewhere in the Jump Gate linked known universe in the sector of Aladna Hill in a city named Beachhead.

Driving along slowly in traffic with a living body in the boot of a (skilfully chosen and borrowed) and therefore unlikely to be recorded missing - for a few days at least - ground vehicle Harper and Jinx where engaged in meaningful conversation.

‘So we just bow out like that?’ asked Jinx hitting the breaks to bring the vehicle to a halt, ‘cursed ring road I thought it was supposed to reduce congestion.’

‘Sure why not? We dump off the package. Invest our credits and make the old smart move back to our private holes’, replied Harper with an infuriating smile.

‘This stinks’, complained Jinx, ‘I thought this time we would be spending a bit longer topside.’

‘Look if the Beardy really is this Amon the Wolf then we would have two choices betray Seth and hand him over ruining our hard kept freedom, stand with one of the Betrayers of Freedom, and go toe to toe with the whole fekking Night, or just do the usual, and step lightly out of the way when the giants start hurling their crushing boulders’, explained Harper.

‘Fair enough but we kind of owe Seth even if he did pull his weapon on us’, noted Jinx.

‘Everybody owes Seth that is how he keeps in business. As to the quick draw I wouldn’t hold that against him. Seth knew what he was doing by backing the Outsider he calmed the situation down, its when people feel pressed outnumbered, and panic that slugs start flying about in situations like that. As to the other, Seth will know something serious is going down, and understand the general trend of - why - if we leave the right forwarding address. Trust me he won’t begrudge it try, and disturb our rest or anything stupid like that’, lectured Harper.

‘Damn traffic’, repeated Jinx edging forward a little to stop again.

‘If I wasn’t so attached to this place I would catch the bus, and see the stars up close’, mused Harper, ‘however I want to be around at the end even that fekker has to die sometime’, he noted.

‘Maybe if we did more than just watch’, retorted Jinx.

‘Sure I can really see that working out. Still nothing lasts forever. Maybe this will be his time maybe the Wolf isn’t alone maybe he will draw in some serious heat to the Hill’, noted Harper.

‘Nice dream but we aren’t exactly talking about: flesh, blood, and bone here are we. Its cursed diabolical’, returned Jinx.

‘That’s why we are best out of it. I’ll program in a nice short one just a few weeks then we can pop our heads out and smell the weather. If the storm has blown itself out we can fall back into position as inoffensive obscure neutrals’, promised Harper and this time we’ll leave Seth to his meddling vices, he thought.

‘I remember the last time you said two weeks’, reminded Jinx bitterly while edging their vehicle forward a little bit more.

‘So I lied once - everybody lies on occasion - you weren’t exactly acting rationally at the time it was for your own good. Besides it still passes in an instant’, reminded Harper.

‘Yeah for Thee, and Me not for poor sweet Molly it didn’t not for little Ennis either you heartless fek, no wonder they left’, argued Jinx.

‘That’s what you get for fooling around with the short lives’, said Harper coldly.

‘Damn Harp sometimes your almost as unfeeling as the Beast’, moaned Jinx.

‘If only the Beast was unfeeling’, replied Harp with real emotion.

‘Don’t you ever get bored with it?’ asked Jinx shunting the stolen vehicle forward a little more, ‘I mean we never even do any real work anymore!’

‘Hell no every dawn is a new day in this City’, replied Harper.

‘An Argons life ought to have some continuity’, moaned Jinx, ‘how can you live like this?’

‘I thought that was what we were trying to escape - the chains of the past’, reminded Harper.

‘There are chains, and chains’, retorted Jinx edging forward another few metres before bumping to a halt.

‘What you mean like the shackles of having the same argument every time - before - bedtime’, insisted Harper yawning.

‘You’re impossible, one of these days I’ll leave you to slumber alone’, Jinx threatened with a laugh to take the edge off a little.

‘You couldn’t survive without me’, replied Harper realising too late that this came out as a crueller statement than he had intended.

‘The question is can I have a real life with you?’ retorted Jinx angrily almost ramming the vehicle ahead by moving a little too fast and too soon.

‘Look I promise it won’t be like this forever’, swore Harp wondering what he would do if he did push Jinx too far. Their relationship was a complicated one how would he cope without his cousins support?

‘That’s what you always say you’re addicted to the future Harp. I see the glee in your eye every time we go out, and you see something new. I swear you get us into these fixes now just so you can convince me and yourself to go back under. You get bored so quickly with the present. I mean when didn’t Seth find trouble with a capitol T you knew exactly what you were doing when you got us involved in this’, accused Jinx.

‘Sainted Argnu manure it was you’re idea Jinx’, reminded Harper.

‘Sure it was’, replied Jinx shaking his head and hitting the horn out of frustration while thinking his cousin knew how to manipulate him too well. Unfortunately Jinx also knew all his protests were just farting against the wind. Only Harper really understood him because he alone had shared the same experiences both good, and bad. Long ago they had sold their souls to the Proto-Devil they had assisted with his divergence, and felt guilty about it ever since. Neither had expected to survive instead they had been granted special dispensations (perhaps in case their useful intervention was ever needed again) or maybe because the Beast sensed deep down they were no real threat. Now their deed haunted them through the extended years but they lived in hope of release after each short time jump. Unfortunately the Beast was a survivor too!



Some time later at another location in Beachhead City.

‘I’m sorry’, said Seth returning from another foray in the wider city after having had Aldeiss move address once again to another hideaway, ‘it appears that upon delivering the Wasp to my old associate the one that runs the Sleeper Crypt both Harper, and Jinx vanished off the scanner. From what I’ve been able to gather they weren’t captured or taken out by anyone - they decided - on their own initiative to do a runner, and have fled the City altogether you just can’t get the staff anymore’, he complained with a smile trying to lighten the effect of the bad news with a little humour.

‘I’d really like to know what is going on around here?’ noted Aldeiss, ‘Would you say your friends were the nervous or superstitious types?’

‘No more than anyone else, but they are smart when you get beneath the surface, and they know when to cut and run. So it seems likely that the lads found out something they really didn’t want to know, and decided their lives were more valuable to themselves than their well known greed for extra credits. I suppose we could defrost the Wasp and do a little digging ourselves, but taking into account H & J’s response maybe we should be trying to stay as distanced from those two Wasps as possible, and pursue some other less bothersome line of enquiry. Trust me I have known of Harper, and Jinx for a fairly long time they are cautious but they don’t scare that easy unless…’, he trailed off thinking that he was beginning to suspect that pair might know something about the city - from the old times - something he didn‘t, something big, ‘anyway we have been in some tight spots together. Besides Aldeiss from what I hear the Wasp didn’t talk easy that Argo is in a bad way, and mightn‘t survive another immediate question and answer session possibly not even long enough to tell us what he told the boys!’

‘Do you think those Devil worshippers are involved in this? Tell me something Seth what would be the effect of a new player in town if say he was one of the Devils off world disciples - so to speak - a true to life Fallen Angel?’ asked Aldeiss.

‘A Fallen Angel hmmmm… that is anybodies guess. I suppose he might be embraced by the Black Chapters or he might be seen as a rival, and threat guess that isn‘t much help, plus that is just going on the surface belief - that all these fellows are really interested in is prancing about - doing mysterious dark masses and other hokum!’ explained Seth, ‘Nobody outside the Brethren really knows who is in charge of the Old Night worshippers or what they really believe (all that stuff is a very closely guarded, and closed business). From what I have heard since its unholy advent even Argon Intelligence have had little success infiltrating into that one.’

‘Mostly Devil worshippers are denigrated by the more sophisticated politicos and corporate movers as degenerate self deluded freaks, and fools - play acting morons - but personally I’ve often thought their might be more to these particular freaks than meets the eye’, continued Seth, ‘Look at it this way no organisation that exists in Beachhead for long isn’t infiltrated or corrupted to some practical (credit, and or power) boosting purpose by somebody unless of course it already has a very firm leadership, and a practical direction of its own. By now the Chapters either have their own individual agendas, and or some mass movement of their own, or they must be operating under the infiltrated agendas of one or more others. Beachhead is predatory and factional like that - it always has been - ever since Jorac bled the streets himself’, explained Seth, ‘So is a Fallen Angel involved here?’ he asked as innocently as he could manage.

Aldeiss decided it was time to come clean, ‘The friend Jack, and I came here looking for was one Tur Ryn a Fallen Angel that was pretty close to his dark majesty before his demise.’

‘So is this Tur Ryn really your friend?’ asked Seth, ‘Or are you after a bounty or something?’

‘I’d take a bounty if I could get one’, said Aldeiss with a smirk, ‘I don’t know myself and Tur might be able to come to some sort of accommodation time changes a lot of things, but he has a few good reasons not to - how can I put this - overly trust me’, explained the Wolf with an evil grin.

‘What about Jack?’ queried the PI.

‘Jack and Tur’, said Aldeiss shaking his head, ‘have some serious bad blood between them having already met under stressful circumstances’, the Wolf was thinking about the rumours he had heard about Kerry’s kidnapping back at the Fortress of the Damned, ‘I believe Tur was less than happy after their last encounter, and might seek some redress’, noted the Legionary.

‘You should have told me this before’, noted Seth, ‘Tur Ryn - I have heard that ones name mentioned while working on the Happy Lander he’s not just any old Fallen Angel Tur is their new leader - the Wyrm Slayer they call him - anointed in Priests Pity the Devils chosen successor! If this Tur really is on the Hill then the storm season may be coming early, and that my friend could explain a lot.’

‘Lets say Tur is involved if that is the case what would - you - suggest? I still need to find Jack’ said the Wolf before thinking then again maybe I don’t Jon was the one that dragged my butt here (this detour was his grand scheme and a total fek up from the start) what loyalty do I owe him. It might be better to take my chances with Fay one mission messed up, and empty handed than try, and take on a city full of mad Argons single handed. Plus how long have I left before the Incentive ends all my options.

‘Beachhead is a poor haven for any body deemed an enemy of the Devil or his Fallen Angels. After that botched rescue attempt the Hunt must be on my friend, and when the hunt is on - the quarry it is wise to run or go deep! You need to disappear and to disappear real good that is what Harper and Jinx did. I have a crazy idea inspired by an item of news I saw today, and some questions you asked me yesterday ever danced with a Sea Gypsy Girl one with salt in her hair’, said Seth laughing merrily, ‘well let me tell you something my troubled friend they’re the best.’

Aldeiss put two and two together made four and asked, ‘You want me to hide out in that Gypsy place the Deep Pier?’

‘No place better even safer than sleeping it off in some hidden Crypt’, noted the PI, ‘Even the Devil when he was loose didn’t fek with the Sea Lords he made deals with them sure but he didn’t fek with them, and I suspect any pale successor will think twice too. I know somebody - well a Girl actually - I did a few favours for her once’, said Seth grinning, ‘which means she owes me a debt. The Gypsies take their obligations very seriously so I think I can get you bed and board on the Pier for a while if you behave. In the meantime I’ll see what I can find out about this Tur Ryn situation and about Jack. Of course if things get too hot around here I might just join you later to lie low myself, but I know these mean streets pretty well so I’m willing to give it a go. What do you say if nothing else it will be an experience eh!’

Aldeiss sighed, ‘Why not but if we don’t find Jack in five days I need to get off this planet do you think you can help with that?’

‘With enough credits’, said Seth, ‘I’m sure I can get you smuggled onboard the Happy Lander. To be honest getting you off world would be easier than talking Ilioshi into vouching for you on the Pier even when she owes me a favour’, he noted.

‘Tempting just to go’, Aldeiss admitted, ‘you have no idea the schedule I’m on, It’s a real killer of a deadline’, he mocked to himself, ‘still I’m not much for abandoning my own’, he finished while thinking not even Jon Flyn - well I’m a Wolf - he reminded himself not a Rat. I never should have let Bale talk me into that move on Jorac, but the Devil had been acting even more fey than usual - so it was hardly too surprising that I started to develop a real bad feeling about things.

To hell with the Devil anyway, thought the Wolf, who was still occasionally troubled by that scheme for a host of reasons. My loyalty as a Pirate was due first to myself, and yes then to my own boy’s welfare when that was called into doubt. What did Jorac expect from me - that I would see us all go singing into the abyss with him holding hands? Still it was all ancient history now - the Devil was dead - it didn‘t matter what the Headers wished to believe; The Dark Lord of the Abyss was wounded on Freedom then died in Priests Pity, and that was that!

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 94 - Culture Shock

Tebbin fortified himself by taking some medicine for his stomach in advance then entered into the offices of Adare & Craan. This was it at last - the big one - face to face with the Devil himself.

Teb was glad the meet was at A & C he was not sure how he would feel about meeting this Demi-Argon anywhere else. The Legionary was feeling very nervous sending Jon to Jorac reborn or to Tur Ryn or Keane Molloy (if he insisted) had been the singular almighty risk on which his scheme had been anchored. It was possible that the Devil might have learned enough to think he didn’t need Tebbin. Teb wondered if his decision to try, and deal openly - honourably - was a mistake but it was the one approach even Faith had never really used with the Dreaded Pirate Lord.

Teb was relying purely on an evaluation of his enemies psychology. That Tur would forego any potential long term deal with Jon because of their mutual raging enmity. The Legion Agent was guessing the Devil would want satisfaction - revenge for both the murder of his recent self in Priests Pity - plus the maiming, and kidnap of Kerry! Further the Devil knew Tebbin had been close to Faith in the beginning. Jon had arrived on the scene later - a bit player - on the side if a crucial one.

Jon Flyn had - once upon a time - been a vital go between liasing with: dodgy corporations, pirates, off world smuggling blockade runners, corrupted Navy staff, planet side Sea Gypsies, and Jorac - a wide web of associations every one to his monetary advantage. Teb didn’t want to think about what the Devil might have done or be doing to his captive, but he consoled himself with the fact that Jon was increasingly a loose canon. The way Teb saw it he had simply turned the too independent schemer into a short term Argon asset rather than a long term Legion liability of course Fay might think otherwise! However, if Fay really wanted to - risk it - she could always bring the fekker back from the dead - how scary, and unnatural was that - luckily Fay was wary of the technology that had permitted her own rebirth it was one of the excuses she used for the endless feud with the Devil the reclamation or destruction of that stolen technology.

It was another unnamed well clipped young office junior that guided the Legion Agent through several doors (it made him wonder how many staff A & C had), and down two corridors - although Teb entered the curiously octagonal chamber on his own. The room was cosily covered in pale glowing wood: framed panels on the walls, and ceiling, interlocking slightly darker coloured wooden blocks on the floor.

Keane Molly (as he now styled himself here) was waiting for the Agent standing behind a (padded red dyed Argnu leather seated) chair. The Devil was posed with two hands resting upon the shoulders of the smooth black wood - almost as if he needed the object for support - more likely as an excuse for not reaching out in welcome. The chair itself faced an identical artefact opposite. A polished - mirror finished - oval table of the same pitch colour lay in-between its surface shining like a still dark lake. The table reflected both of the Argon as if through a shadowed lens. Its surface also held some pale wooden coasters a plain glazed black ceramic jug - no doubt full of iced water - covered with a white cloth narrowly edged in an unfussy manner with a geometric pattern of lace. Near the jug rested two upturned straight glasses. The theme of the overall room seemed to be the juxtaposition of light and dark more than appropriate.

Teb felt like he was bursting with questions why had A & C picked this particular room did the shape and scheme have some greater meaning where Adare & Craan as impartial as everyone said? If so why had A & C permitted Keane to access the chamber before their other guest? (it was a small breach of equitable protocol but one Teb worried might still matter) or was he just being paranoid, after all what difference could it make?

The Devil was smartly dressed in an almost black one piece suit which had within it a hint of green when the light struck it just so. Small details, thought Tebbin, as he realised the clothing was an item of local manufacture cut in a traditional almost military fashion typical to The Hills more Elite Citizenry. It was a utilitarian piece containing many useful pockets - almost but not quite a station suit, and the Agent felt sure was designed to very specifically compliment rather than fight with under clothing armour.

The Devils outfit was expensive only a little showy - practical (as useful in the jungle as the street or boardroom). Teb had bought a few similar items here himself - tailoring was a local cottage industry - the clothing looked far heavier, more cumbersome, and restraining than in fact it was. The fabric would breathe and flex easily were required, not to mention being much more durable than somebody not in the know might be inclined to imagine. Only Beachhead would produce business combat wear. Like Tebbin’s venue of A & C Keane’s choice in this instance spoke of quiet dignified quality rather than the latest fashion although it also hinted at a feeling of belonging - an interesting choice!

Tebbin had also gone for quality, and functionality but unselfconsciously with an off world station suit in a series of subtle light greys also over under clothing armour. The agent hoped his own choice would give little away. For a moment the pair sized each other up then Keane gestured wordless for Teb to take his seat while he pulled out and availed himself of his own. Neither offered the other their hand they just settled in to look across at one another like players awaiting the arrival of a dealer with a fresh deck of cards.

The moments stretched - Keane was annoyingly composed - capable it seemed of holding, and receiving scrutiny without even a hint of discomfort. Tebbin could almost feel sweat trying at least to ooze out of the pores on his forehead despite willing himself to relax. Facing anybody else it would be different but he still felt ashamed by the lapse - knowing only too well - it was all in his own mind. It was galling, Teb knew, he had been trained to control his emotions better than this! If it was a contest to see who would break down under the weight of the silence Teb not surprisingly lost. Tebbin later suspected most people would have failed in such a battle of wills against Keane whether they knew - what he was - or not.

‘I trust you were satisfied with the package’, said the Agent to open the negotiation.

‘Yes?’ replied Keane answering with the inflection of a question.

‘Have you retrieved the other item?’ asked Teb keen to start a two way dialogue but fearing the worst from Keane’s complete lack of animation.

‘Irrelevant’, replied Molloy coldly.

Damn he is a cool fekker. Teb felt his opponent ought to be burning with curiosity, and desire to find out about Kerry instead Keane looked like he could wait forever or at least until Tebbin revealed everything he wanted to know - or did he think he knew it all already? Then again it was possible this display of unnatural patience was the result of having had multiple lives, thought the Agent, this caused his stomach to knot up. This Demi-Argon, Teb feared, was going to be full of surprises. Teb had expected if anything to melt in the Devils heat, not freeze in this cold.

‘Alright I’ll cut the formalities’, Teb promised, ‘I assume you wish to discuss the welfare of Kerry’, he noted feeling sure this would draw more than a single word from his adversary.

‘Why?’ returned Keane.

‘How about because I know you of old’, answered Teb exasperated, ’Kerry is everything to you, and Faith has your weakness fully in her power’, chew on that, he thought shaking a little inside at the audacity of the remark.

‘Why?’ insisted Keane with harder inflection.

‘Why’, returned Teb like a soft echo feeling he was heading for a rout, ‘because this endless feud is a waste of Argon Military, and Intelligence resources. It is time to take another approach maybe even work together against broader mutual dangers’, spouted the spy as if replaying a rhetorical speech, ‘times have changed, and this conflict is benefiting no one, we all need to move on’, he finished rather simply.

‘Why?’ demanded the Devil obviously unmoved.

‘I’m tired of it’, confessed Teb, ‘that is why and deep down I also believe Faith is!’

That must have hurt, thought Keane, though it had arrived earlier than expected Teb seemed to be in a hurry. Faith’s spy looked old, and tired blunted not the sharp blade of old.

‘Convince me!’ demanded the Devil with perhaps the barest hint of a smile.

What followed in hindsight was actually far too reasonable for Tebbin’s liking. Teb left A & C feeling like a functionary involved in - rather than the instigator of - his own policy! This turn around put him thoroughly off balance. The only thing worse it seemed than getting none of your own way was getting every wish fulfilled in one go, and being left wondering exactly why?

Have I really judged it this right, or that wrong? wondered Teb, as he was driven slowly back to the Space Port through the horrendous Beachhead traffic. Uncertainty seemed to be plaguing everyone even he imagined his Commander in Chief.

Now he would have to face Fay with the truth of what he had done. Having survived an interview with the Devil why did squaring off to the Mistress of the Damned now seem like an even heavier prospect.

Tebbin pulled out his computer pad, and messaged one of his paid allies still in the field it read: Priority One - Wolf still Wild - Where and how? I Depart next off world shuttle. Contact - immediately - once data secured.



At the landward access to the Deep Pier (that vast on the surface rickety conglomeration) Seth made a rendezvous with his willowy young contact. Deep didn’t penalise youth, and started their children on the path of serious careers very early via strict apprenticeships. Despite being perhaps only around Seth guessed seventeen or at the most nineteen years old Ilisohi was a well respected seasoned veteran of her trade - ability was what counted with the Sea Lords.

‘Seth it would gladden the eye to see you if it didn’t worry the head so much’, mocked Ilioshi with a contradictory bright enthusiastic smile.

‘Happy to see you too girl’, said Seth with a wink toward the female in a white blouse, blue green loose trousers, and bare feet.

‘So what is it this time?’ asked the Board Runner with a sigh.

‘Gift first’, said Seth lifting up a precious bottle of pre war, ‘I must have shocked you with my continued good looks when you so easily forget your own precious customs.’

‘The joy of acceptance is the blessing to the giver’ ,intoned Ilios bowing slightly before taking the bottle as a trade item rather than for personal use, and asking upon examining the label, ‘where in the world do you get this stuff?’

‘Now you really are being impolite - must I teach the fish how to swim?’ asked Seth bowing in return.

‘Well come forward then - for the kiss of welcome if you must - so I can get it over with old Argon’, said Ilios cheekily pulling a face.

‘Charming’, replied Seth making the necessary move.

‘You know we mostly save that ceremony for foolish Header Officials, and exceptionally well connected Tourists’, Ilioshi whispered as she kissed his cheek.

‘Well you never know who is watching the Gates’, replied Seth only in partial jest.

In fact the whole charade hadn’t passed unnoticed as their were always eyes watching the entrance to the Deep from both sides of the divide.

‘So who have you managed to offend this time? I hope your not here to dig into that phantom shooting we already have a Header idiot stomping around - despite being deprived of his boots - doing just that’, Ilios explained with real exasperation, ‘He’s especially interested in Guest Friends here so you had best watch your step.’

‘No, I have no interest in some out world drug smuggler or nosy Wasps’, lied the PI.

‘Now I am worried. When weren’t you interested in anything that is big enough to make the news. Well I’m warning you start asking about that non incident, and you’ll likely find yourself being heaved over the side - so far we have shown great tolerance to that official - well he has a little character and a reputation for honesty, rare qualities in your city’, she noted without malice, ‘However, as you know fine well; dropping you off the pier wouldn’t create even a ripple in diplomatic circles on or off the Pier’, warned the Gypsy.

‘I love it when you state the obvious’, returned Seth, ‘actually I’m here to petition on behalf of a client but I’d rather not talk about it out in the open if you don’t mind.’

‘Come along then but don’t forget to lose the boots’, advised the Gypsy still enjoying being a little cheeky - as if he would!

Seth slipped his footwear and socks off, tied the guest band he was given around his head - in the proper fashion - to clearly display the bold characters to the front, then with his footwear in a net like bag given to him by a young apprentice Warden rushed to catch up with his hostesses already swiftly departing back. Being bare footed felt really weird - as usual - but due to the difficulty of keeping up Seth soon forgot about this.

Almost instantly Ilios, and himself were surrounded by, and weaving through crowds of pedestrians - some also moving purposefully others hanging around engaged in sing song high pitched, and rapid conversations (using the Deeps thick patois) or any number of other activities. It was chaotic yet nobody ever seemed to bump into anyone else. Nearly everyone seemed to move gracefully in their own volume of personal space occasionally even managing to nod or bow deep to others as they went. Here on the lowest level in the Herald as the area was known nearest the Gate their was a wide confusion of clan colours and headbands of office or occupation. A few the PI recognised most he did not he didn‘t see any other ‘Pijahn’ or guests well headers were not exactly welcomed with open arms unless they were permanently defecting.

The Gypsies were a colourful lot but not without meaning. According to rumours it had begun long ago with the simple adoption of a casual livery by one ship crew such as everyone choosing to wear red trousers, and expanded from there into something else as this scattered people - who had originally lived and worked on their own boats - came together to create a nation of their own. It was also said the Clans numbers had been swollen over time by refugees from the Hills many wars, and troubles. Once fully adopted, and wed to the ocean few unless outcast for crimes ever returned to the land at least any closer than The Deep Pier. Although no one knew the figures for the overall population density on the Pier other than possibly the close mouthed Sea Lords themselves it had to be seriously high, thought the PI, not for the first time nor was it the whole nation as many still lived on their boats as roamers.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Seth struggling not to commit the deep offence of unsolicited physical contact with strangers as Ilios forced the pace. Well the fact that Ilios was a Board Runner - a bonded message carrier / inter clan diplomat - was no accident of fortune.

‘Home I’ve moved - a promotion to the next tier’, Ilios explained waving him on.

‘Congratulations’, returned Seth panting with the effort of the chase in the daytime heat. In the crowd even the sea breeze seemed to have been stifled. The wood was warm, and felt smooth almost sleek underfoot despite every board having careful grooves carved in it to help prevent slipping accidents. Eventually they started up one of the many ramps and Ilios slowed down having had, he suspected, her jolly from him.

Seth considered himself to be pretty fit but he was drenched in sweat, running in Beachheads daylight heat wasn‘t recommended, and he felt a little sick in his stomach plus his feet had been battered, ‘That’s not funny’, he rasped despite trying to control his breathing.

‘I could tell you needed the exercise’, said the Gypsy restraining herself from prodding him in the belly as it would give the wrong impression in public, ‘Besides we were being followed which is shameful behaviour by any clansman. I think I may have to lodge a formal protest - they should know better - I could be on official business. So you see you didn’t shed your salt for nothing. Well maybe you did - after all the idiots could easily find out where I live if they don‘t know already. My regrets but it was a question of principle - really you did quite well too old Argon - in six months you could be an apprentice Runner if you were twenty years younger’, she said laughing, ‘and if you were a little more willing to take the pain’, mocked Ilios, ‘come along you need to get some fluids - maybe even a salt tablet.’

The PI didn’t take offence he knew it was just wicked Gypsy humour.



Sometime later Aldeiss didn’t know what to make of the place when he arrived. Despite Seth’s warning the Pier was still pretty full on and Ilios was pretty, pretty much younger than he expected but still something of a distraction - seeming at times - older than her years. The Wolf decided however she was off limits it wouldn‘t do to crap in his own bed. After a too brief introduction the PI departed leaving him feeling surprisingly awkward for a rough tough murderous ex Pirate in the Gypsies… he decided to be generous, and call the wooden construction an apartment. His personal Bucket had come as bit of a shock though - talking of crapping - and initially set Ilios off into fits of merry laughter.

‘You Headers, and Off World Jockeys are all the same. At least we don’t have to cart our own down to the processing tanks like some of the lower castes members’, noted the Gypsy.

‘Processing Tanks - oh right - that’s alright then’, replied Aldeiss a bit sheepishly scratching at his beard. Despite having just met the lass, around Ilios the Wolf discovered he occasionally felt like a doddering old grandfather who had forgotten even the rudiments of life skills - of course a lot of this was plain culture shock!

‘You thought we chucked it into the sea didn‘t you?’ questioned Ilios with an edge of horror in her voice, ‘of course being barefoot barbarians and all…’

‘Sorry, it was just - a bucket!’ returned Aldeiss grinning while feeling a complete fool - not for the first time - since meeting this young female.

‘Really, it is your own waste nobody else’s, and they do have air tight lids’, noted the Board Runner as if addressing an idle infant.

‘No bucket should be without one’, returned the Wolf with a grin.

‘Indeed’, replied Ilios screwing her face up, ‘Pijahn.’

Seth was right staying on the Pier was an experience - it was almost like being on another planet altogether.



In Bala Gi’s Joy in the Black Dog T1 Drop Ship Anna was arguing with her Mission Leader.

‘It’s imperative that I do’, complained the Professor, ‘remote instruments are ineffective but the BDR did answer a few questions. We now know that phenomena isn’t corrosive, radioactive or innately destructive it just seems to block communications.’

‘We don’t have enough people to protect you Anna. At the very least we have to wait for reinforcements. You can’t seriously expect me to let you go in there alone. What if Fay calls for a hasty evacuation we would have to leave you behind’, noted Ruth.

‘Look I’m guessing you never had enough people to fully protect me in the first place at least not if that Artefact is truly hostile - I fear it is far advanced on us technologically. An investigation of this nature always has its risks. Remotes don’t function in there - the signal is blocked off - just like the scanner can’t penetrate. It is going to take Argon eyes and ears for this one. We have done all we can with remotes now it is my turn. If you don’t want me to go alone you could come with me’, said Anna playing her final card guessing Ruth at this stage was as intrigued by the object as herself, ‘you could leave Leon in charge of the ships.’

Go in there, thought Ruth, the idea filled her with hope, and terror. Anna was offering her a rare opportunity to be one of the first to possibly uncover a whole new alien technology. It was tempting - ridiculously tempting!

‘I have a bad feeling if we don’t do this now we will lose the chance forever’, noted Anna piling on the pressure was the Pilot wavering?

‘Do you want to be solely responsible for losing a historic find of this nature?’ asked the Professor, ‘we might even be safer inside there if the Khaak attack. If it proves safe we could evacuate the survivors there (it could opens up unknown tactical possibilities) who knows what defences or weapons that thing might contain maybe even entirely unheard of drive technologies.’

‘Or that open door could just be Leon’s waiting trap. We could be handing ourselves over to the Khaak for experimentation’, returned the Pilot with an internal shudder at the thought of vivisection or other torments.

‘If you don’t occasionally risk you don’t live. It is our lives, and we could just as easily die here if the Khaak decide to blow this Cavern, and they just might. Remember what they did to the surface site - that is one impressive crater! Like you said earlier too do you want all those deaths to be for nothing?’ reminded Anna.

Not much later heavily armed, and trailing a floating sled heaped with extra gear both military and civilian Ruth, and Anna approached the entrance.

Ruth couldn’t help but think she would be busted down to a private for this one, but it was a once in a lifetime opportunity. One day her own luck would run out and she would end up just like Torrus in a body bag or more likely blown to dust along with her ship - at least this unique moment would be hers forever.

‘Look at that stuff’, said Ruth to Anna, ‘it looks more glutinous up close’

‘Still the BDR’s sniffer passed in, and out easily enough and their was absolutely no residue. If only their had been any trace left over to examine’, reminded the Professor.

‘I’m going first’, noted Ruth when Anna edged closer to the sheer point both proud, and anxious of the fact, ‘The environment may still contain hostiles’, the Captain clutched a compact assault rifle complete with ram grenade launcher.

‘Leon’, began Ruth, ‘once I pass inside I’ll no doubt be out of communications, and you will be in full charge of the missions survival. You must do whatever you consider right for the well being of your command if it is threatened. Nonetheless, my security sealed log has been handed over to the AI for Fays retrieval just in case something goes wrong. Good luck!’ well that should make him think twice before considering cutting, and running prematurely.

‘Affirmative Sir good luck to you with your expedition too. I… I hope I’m wrong!’ replied Leon sounding almost Argon.

So do I, thought Ruth, poking her weapon toward the barrier, and passing in.

Anna followed behind then the floating trolley. Unknown to the two that had just entered behind the sled a mighty hatch slammed shut, and locked very firmly into place.

‘I can’t see or hear a thing’, said Ruth panicking slightly despite her training. The feel of sensory deprivation was appalling. The substance seemed to flow around her in a manner that almost suggest it was moving with her rather than she was passing through it. Was it alive? This and the fact that their was no discernable resistance made it feel utterly unlike say diving deep under water through a murk filled gloom something she had done in the past, and how Ruth had imagined it might be.

Looking back she could see no sign of Anna nor was she registering on her suits sensors. It was difficult not to panic. Anna can’t have heard or she would have replied. Never before had she felt so claustrophobic not even exploring caves and pot holes during one of the Dogs team building training exercises. This felt different almost like being buried alive with the soil all over you. Enough it can’t all be like this, but what if it was? Ruth tried waving it away by moving her arms about but it didn’t help. Almost the Pilot was tempted to fire off a few rounds but it was anybodies guess what effect that might have - in this - she could even hit Anna. What if I’m trapped in this horrible stuff isolated, and alone until my oxygen runs out, thought Ruth, the idea of opening her helmet to try, and breathe the weird atmosphere or even having it against her naked skin was repulsive.

The Pilot considered turning back but was afraid she might lose her bearing and get lost. The suits navigation equipment was non functional too. It seemed better to go on and hope to come out the other side it their was another side. At least she was standing on a flat and solid floor. Carefully she edged on forward testing each step like a blind man. Well, Ruth mocked herself, you did want to explore the unknown.

Anna wasn’t faring much better after also failing to make any communications contact. Nothing seemed to be working she couldn’t get any reading on the bizarre substance whatsoever either much to her frustration. The Professor also considered going back, but also feared getting lost with no instruments to guide her, and absolutely no landmarks. Impossibly in no time backward looked as deep and endless as forward or any other direction have we been transported in some manner? She considered turning to the side in the hope of locating a wall, but with no visual sign of such a thing - it felt like a big step she hoped Ruth would either have stopped to wait or gone straight ahead.

Making physical contact with her associate now seemed like one of the most important priorities to Anna as she couldn’t recall ever feeling quite so completely alone. The RJL Partner noticed how the substance no longer seemed to flow in any direction other than around, and over herself so one of her ideas would do no good (to go with or against a non existent wider current). Anna wondered if she had passed the originally dispatched camera drone visibility was negligible.

As bad as it all was Anna was happy to know that if nothing else the sled was still following along behind with all the extra equipment and supplies. The professor considered it a good thing that she had opted for a direct command tether between herself, and the automatic device otherwise she felt sure it would have been left behind - the machines auto navigation system would never cope with the anomaly they were currently traversing. If only Ruth, and I had used our wits and opted for a physical link between us too, she thought. Ruth however had feared such a link might compromise Anna’s overall security. The Pilot had believed it was better for herself as the scout to be cut loose rather than possibly drag the Professor into trouble with her if events went bad. With few other options Anna took a deep breath, and moved on trying to stay as rigidly on vector as possible.



Back at the Drop Ship Leon was more than casually alarmed when the door to the Artefact as it was becoming known slammed shut.

Unfortunately he had little time to think about this as it was almost simultaneous to an alarming communications burst from The Lost for Words.

Apparently they had incoming; A Khaak M1 had risked jumping in dangerously close to the planets atmosphere, and discharged a hoard of objects that scanned as some kind of Khaak drop pods. Unfortunately these small craft shot away long before the Argon defenders had any hope of intercepting or engaging them. The KM1 however looked doomed it had jumped in too close, and appeared to be being dragged down to the planets surface by the simple force of gravity trailing fire like a grotesquely legged meteor.

At The Lost for Words Fay couldn’t help but think that enemy Carriers fate was the ruined planets revenge, but at the last it looked like the Khaak succeeded in making a rather skilled forced landing rather than being destroyed.

On the T1 Drop Ship Leon noted that according to Fay Argon Reinforcements were following along behind the wave of invaders in their pods with more promised to follow - if possible - but the Khaak entry pods were a multitude of blips a hail storm of dark specks trailing fire, and smoke like angry powered ground ward missiles rather than passive vehicles. They were coming in very fast maybe too fast, and would it seem arrive in precious moments. Leon wondered if the Khaak had erred or were these tiny craft fully capable of surviving such a hot and hasty re-entry. Due to this tactic the enemy would hit the ground with plenty of time to spare.

Leon felt overwhelmed unsure what to do for the best whether to lift off or stay put. In the end he ordered T2 to try and reach the Carrier on automatic pilot believing that was the only real hope the injured had of survival. The Flak cannons of both ships opened up on automatic although T2 neatly lifted off, and moved wide of the lethal downfall. Leon threw himself into the Pilots chair, and took off with such violence that Pup heading for an acceleration couch was thrown bodily to the floor. Leon hoped to once more make small manoeuvres to keep his cannon on target as long as possible thus thinning the threat.

Area effect fire started to claim a few of the hurtling objects, but they were coming in too fast, and because Leon had shifted position without entirely considering the full potential consequences three of the falling objects were able to mildly alter their vector to collide directly with his ship hitting in quick succession like high velocity rounds. Whatever fast braking mechanism the Khaak might have - assuming they did - was obviously not yet in force or else these particular units had decided at the last moment to act as willing suicide bombers. The kinetic energy was too much for the shields they were battered into submission, and blew out while the Drop ships hull took a hellish amount of direct damage including destroying the Flak Cannon as flames raged over the hull. The ship tilted downward being physically rammed toward the ground, Leon pulled back on the stick as amber fire washed over his camera view but it was too late, nose down the Drop Ship did what its name suggested, and ploughed forward into the caverns floor. All that saved the craft from instant obliteration was the Drop Ships extra physical hull armouring and various automatic systems.

The crash detection system sprang into force manipulating artificial gravity fields to cushion Leon and Pup while the ships main engines flared out, and the thrusters auto braked to try to dampen the vessels deadly forward momentum nonetheless it still skidded along the ground ripping away a substantial amount of its own belly before grinding to a halt in a shower of dust smoke and sparks. As a small consolation its traverse had run it over a single Khaak Pod which was completely crushed by the impact along with its three tightly packed occupants.

The cavern echoed, and rolled with multiple impacts as the wedge shaped Pods hit physically spiking themselves into the rock. Shockwaves battered the area the scattered wreckage of the earlier Argon defeat scattered about even more like leaves hurled around by a series of conflicting gales. Flames roared dust, and dirt fluted upward only to settle elsewhere just to be blasted upward again. When the last unit had speared home with particles still falling like ashen snow the top parts of the embedded units sprang open, and winged fiends commenced to emerge to create what looked like an Argon artists vision of an especially well imagined Hell.



Rav sitting in the co pilot’s seat on T3 stared in disbelief at the camera feed as the Khaak rained down, and T1 crashed. Frankly the situation didn’t look good especially once the enemy started to swarm out everywhere. A cold part of him was thinking that maybe the mission should be aborted; another part however wasn’t for giving Anna up so easily. In truth he kind of liked his employer plus Anna’s survival almost felt like giving a poke in the eye to Fay.

‘Looks like we’re coming into a hot LZ’, said the pilot coolly, ‘damn if only this baby had some bombs.’

The camera view was pretty shaky, and distant showing little in the way of detail but the overview was bad enough.

Some Kyon beams started lancing upward so far falling short.

‘Fek, do you believe that looks like they have some heavy weapons up and running down there already’, said Keith throwing the stick around for some evasive manoeuvres, ‘I think we had best land a bit further out’, he said hitting the imminent landing warning button, ‘Good luck with this one’, he finished with a smirk.


In the downed T1 Pup was released by the enfolding field but hardly felt like he had been cushioned at all. Staggering around he noticed the ship had auto fought a few fires and was in the process of trying to clean up the air which was pretty hazy. The recruit was glad he was fully suited and on tank.

The ship had come noticeably to rest at a small angle which meant the artificial gravity was now off. As he reached the door to the flight deck or cockpit Leon came out - from his slightly bent posture - also feeling less than perfect.

‘Break out the weapons’, said Leon, ‘I think we might have to repel boarders’, oddly he finished this with a laugh.

‘Sorry but I always wanted to say that’, confessed the Pilot.

‘What?’ asked the Pup.

‘Come on’, said Leon grabbing him and shoving him toward a weapon store, ‘we have Khaak. Those critters could be all over us in a few moments.’

‘What happened?’ asked Pup still feeling groggy.

‘We landed’, said Leon grabbing a carbine and handing it over, ‘if it has wings shoot it’, he advised, ‘with luck they might think we are dead. I wonder if Ruth is safer where she is. Here grab a pack get plenty of clips, take some grenades, and that first aid pack.’

‘Err right’, replied Pup, ‘the medic pack.’

‘Shhh’, said Leon before whispering, ‘do you hear that?’

It was a scratching scraping sound, ‘Paranidia here they come.’

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 95 - Battling For Understanding

Leon reconsidered the weapons that were left. What would be best suited to a planet side fight - close up - possibly against superior numbers that might or might not be air borne? He had a lot of options but decided to forgo subtlety for brute force, and hauled out an auto shotgun along with several pre loaded cartridge ammo drums. The noise the Pilot was still monitoring currently resembled heavier scrapings, and diggings rather than the earlier clawing, and scratching.

‘They must have located a partially buried breach in the Hull’, Leon noted to his he suspected nervous companion.

Pup nodded, ‘Damn fast of them’, he returned dialling his weapon up to max and shifting the standard magazine out for one he had found which according to the colour code contained HE rounds. Since the Drop Ship was down for good their was no need to worry about a little extra potential internal damage.

Thank Sonra, thought Leon, the Pups come to his senses - not a moment too soon either!

‘Whatever happens don’t let them take you alive Pup’, said Leon, ‘If you must - use a grenade - on yourself!’ not exactly good for morale but the lad needed to know.

Holy Paranidia, thought Harry the fekker is being serious. Harry however had no intention of going down heroically. I’m going to survive this, he promised himself, and anyone that calls me Pup afterwards had better have a good strong jaw on them.

‘I feel like a cornered rat’, mused the young recruit nonetheless while checking the view through his sight. Rapidly the Pup flicked through modes before returning to the normal setting. Well he couldn’t remember if the Khaak were especially hot or cold, and the visibility wasn’t too bad anyway.

‘Tell me about it’, complained Leon, ‘its always the waiting. Take my advice don’t play with it while your twiddling and distracted - something could take your head off - I’ve seen it happen! Damn I’ve got an idea. Computer’, he called, ‘is the GTD still functional?’ he asked despite the overall damage their was a good chance it would still be working. In Drops Ships the GTD was particularly well placed both cushioned, and hardened to survive just such impact calamities as they had suffered.

‘The GTD is operational’, stated the Ships Computer in a matter of fact manner before adding still with infuriating calm, ‘Intruders have gained entry to the hold they have been contained by the sealed emergency bulkhead door, but are bringing heavy weaponry to bear. Other smaller creatures have breached my outer hull and are making their way forward by squeezing through Argon inaccessible gaps, and spaces towards your position. If you do not take steps to secure my Core I may be forced to self-destruct to prevent capture’, reminded the unit.

‘Belay that activity. I need you to reconfigure the wider ship self destruct for remote direct detonation triggered by com using command words - a three word activation code use: Alpha and Omega. Command authorisation EO637F3 acting mission commander Leon Gardna. Prepare a mobile rover compatible with your core then eject, when I give the command transport all three of us plus the rover to a preferably (enemy clear) region of the Cavern as far from here as you can manage, while retaining a strong com link. Ideally, a position removed from direct line of sight of any known Khaak forces. Can you do all that?’ asked Leon.

‘Processing requests please wait…’ replied the low grade AI as if it might take a while.

The question, thought Leon, was did they have a while in which to wait.

The briefest of moments later a single grilled metal panel shot upward from the floor to land to the side with a clang followed by something small dark, and terribly fast. The pouncing shadowy winged figure partially obscure by the still departing haze was holding a metallic object outward - an item that looked suspiciously like some kind of non standard weapon - however the device didn’t do the invader any good.

Instantly long before the Khaak got the chance to aim and fire the semi obscured creature was blasted backward. Bits of dark greenish greyish black flesh, bone and exoskeleton along with purplish, and gooey red insides exploded against the far bulkhead via a storm of repeated angry firepower pumped from the two Argons very purposely levelled weapons.

‘Got you, you ugly little fekker’, said Pup excitedly, accidentally firing a third - totally wasted - round late. The final flourish striking nothing but the ships internal cladding blasting a large chunk away.

‘Steady’, said Leon sweating in his air conditioned suit.

‘Sorry’, replied the Pup despite the fact that if he had truly been one he would be wagging his tail.

Silence apart from the enhanced overly loud constant sounds of the ships various systems - this noise being heard despite a degree of smart filtering by their suits straining microphones.

A little later something new a curiously obnoxious clicking clacking chirping sound that was definitely abnormal to standard operation noises along with an ugly leathery shuffling and a short imperative like screech.

‘They’re up to something’ uttered the Pup pulling a large fragmentation grenade activating the shortest timer, and tossing it rather neatly into the newly created hole all in a smooth action (you could tell he wasn‘t long from much practiced training), ’Fire below’, he yelled moving back, and dropping to a crouch with his arms cradling his head.

Both Argons had just ducked down as the floor mere metres ahead exploded upward a few more panels lifting up somewhat while others even more firmly bolted down simply buckled inward but stayed in place. A fraction of a moment later while they were still regaining their composure the under floor area exploded again - further back this time - but with even more force knocking them both to the deck as the whole vessel seemed to shake, and rattle violently especially the decking.

‘Must have caught something good’, noted Harry a bit shocked at the vehemence of his single grenades dramatic aftermath.

‘I’d say it detonated some of the enemies munitions’, replied Leon hoping the conflagration had engulfed more than a few of the beasts.

The cabin began filling rapidly with a mixture of pale and darker smoke. The polluting haze being further coloured by sporadic rippling light cast from flickering flames burning fiercely below. According to Leon’s suit the temperature in the cabin was rising steadily. This time there was no automated fire suppression. Leon guessed the AI had decided to let it go. The fire would act as another barrier to the invaders transgressions. Why should the dying ship fight the flames anyway it didn‘t appear to be any immediate threat to the Argons safety? At least these surmises were what Leon hoped was transpiring.

Luckily the pairs combat suits hearing sensors tuned up to the max to detect the earlier noises by the enemy had automatically cut the deafening sound of the latest blast to an acceptable auto level. Due to such in built safety protocols the pilot, and his juniors hearing wasn’t damaged; it also allowed Leon to fully make out a belated comment from the AI channelled directly into his ear.

‘Ready’, said the machine at last, ‘awaiting instructions.’

Leon smiled to himself maybe they might get out of this madness alive after all.

‘Take us out of here’, yelled Leon not willing to risk waiting around any longer. The Pilot was immediately whisked away. Pup flared out a moment later, then the Rover, and the AI itself with the usual visual discharges of energy.

As soon as the last bit of evacuated gear arrived Leon linked in, and announced, ‘Alpha and Omega’, light blazed from elsewhere in the cavern followed by a rumbling boom.

‘Now that one had to hurt’, said the Pup happily then thought - especially in atmosphere - with all that oxygen to feed on. Otherwise while looking around to figure out his bearings, ‘this isn’t especially good’, he mumbled, ‘if I have this right we have the whole Khaak invasion force between us, and the likely LZ of our cavalry.’

Oops thought Leon that being the one criteria he hadn’t in the instant thought to commission from the AI’s coordinates. To his surprise he realised they were right up at the top of the cliff face that had spawned the killer drones. Why had the AI picked here of all places, he wondered, looking back nervously into the gloom for unknowns. When nothing appeared to lance them with deadly Kyon’s he started to relax a little.

‘I see you’re a half empty kind of guy’, noted Leon in an attempt to deflect his own mood, and oversight. It wouldn‘t do for his inferior to think he was making mistakes already, ‘considering the mess we were in I would say so far we are doing just fine. First things first though load the AI into the Rover’, that’s the way to do things, he thought, keep him busy with positive actions. Deep down Leon was sure they were both well and truly fekked up, but this wasn‘t a good time for sharing such unhelpful sentiments.

‘Once seated in the Rover the AI can help us as an active scout. What we need is somewhere truly defensible to hide and hold up until reinforcements break through’, explained the Pilot.

‘I don’t know boss - I think the Khaak have some pretty effective scanners - they sure found ways into our Drop Ship with ease’, noted the Pup worriedly.

‘Maybe, maybe not!’ Leon replied. ‘The hull was probably ripped wide open, and riddled full of obvious entry points. Besides, this area we are in was rather scanner proof if I recall right. It’s a good thing this Cavern is so damn big. Well we will know soon enough’, he finished.

Immediately the Pilot commenced checking through the objects he had managed to throw into his pack. Shockingly he realised another obvious mistake - he hadn’t thought to try, and GTD out any spare air tanks! If push came to shove they would just have to hope the contamination hadn’t reached down this far or that their suits meagre filter systems would be enough to scrub out any biological hazard - something he very much doubted. The idea of possibly surviving even later combats only to die from breathing in a bio engineered agent was particularly horrendous to the veteran Dog.



Back at the newly arrived Black Dogs LZ an efficient disembarkation was in full swing. T3 T4, and the much larger T5 Drop Ships were deploying their cargo with dispatch. The second mission with its - fully military - objectives retained a lot more heavy gear than their earlier scientific enterprise protecting brethren. From the Black Dog T5 this included: five rapidly reconstructed fold out anti aircraft semi portable field units (two combined mosquito and wasp missile launcher systems, and three others based around alternate firing double barrelled alpha Impulse Ray Emitters), also growling down the cargo ramp rolled out an armoured all terrain vehicle or ATV capable of towing the afore mentioned field units easily into position, not to mention having an independent mine laying capability.

The ATV troop carrier also came complete with a top mounted VFF LMG or (very fast firing light machine gun) support weapon, and had full mobile command unit capability; finally four racked (two Argon) SSB’s or (scout skimmer bikes) were slipped out. These skeletal frame like devices had little in the way of armour, and absolutely no shields but were exceptionally fast and manoeuvrable making them when skilfully piloted very difficult to hit. The SSB’s being equipped with twin built in forward firing anti personnel machine guns, and a single missile mount. Each currently loaded with the scary option of a lone silkworm for deadly anti vehicle duties. The Dogs had nicknamed both the riders of / and the SSB vehicles (Stupid Suicidal Bulldogs) or just Bulldogs for short.

The Bulldogs were an adaptation by ArgonForge of an original Split design first seen in the latter stages of the Boron Conflict. The Split machines had often been employed in suicide runs with a single Split pilot riding with a strapped on bomb. Sometimes these insane warriors even used the devastating, and highly illegal - on planet by treaty - (atomic) hornet. When the Split did that all it took was for one to get through and it was all over.

Rav was reasonably impressed with the second landings material. Nonetheless the Military Agent couldn’t help but wonder why some of this equipment hadn’t been deployed with the initial force - especially the anti aircraft weapons - still that was with the benefit of hindsight, he thought, maybe if he didn’t know about the jumping Kyon emitting drone attack.

Looking at the busy troops around him, and thinking back to the enemies sky fall deployment Rav still estimated they were seriously outnumbered maybe by as much as twenty to one. Then their was the very much unknown threat from the Artefact itself. The whole endeavour smelt to him of last moment desperation, and folly Rav hoped Fay was serious about extra reinforcement for the reinforcements. The Khaak as opponents were not to be taken lightly.

Viewing T5 personnel erecting the fold out roof mounted shell firing artillery piece left him wondering. Would the Black Dogs risk pounding the Khaak positions without any sure knowledge of their compatriot’s placement friendly fire killed just as effectively as any enemy. Then again dare they not try to soften the foe up with everything at their disposal given the enemies prodigious numbers, and not entirely well known capabilities dirt side?

Rav turned away to commence checking over his own less imposing gear just as the T1 Drop Ship exploded. Quickly the source of the conflagration was confirmed as the crash site of that grounded vessel. The T1 had been one of the first things the Dogs had carefully monitored for signs of tell tale activity.

Due to the fact that the exterior of the downed ship had been crawling with enemies the surveillance team gave off something of a disjointed cheer when it went up, prior to commencing more sober speculation about the fate of the first missions personnel - possibly still inside - at the time. Of course it was acknowledged that the ship might have been abandoned, and self destructed under its own guidance. The Dogs scanning coverage was not perfect much of it only now going fully online, and their was some odd interference especially onboard the T3 - T5 Drop Ships internal systems given these facts it was possible the Argons might have escaped the downed craft undetected by their compatriots.

Rav moved along the newly erected outside command position toward the bulky stout figure of the imposing Major Raharaha. Rav had heard the Major had a pathological dislike of being caged up inside when his troops were risking their lives out in the open. The RJL Chief had also heard Raharaha claimed field commanders skulking in bunkers, and vehicles especially far to the rear was bad for morale, and he liked to insist unethical!

Rav wanted to find out exactly what effect the explosion would have on the overall mission objective. He felt blind and deaf their was little data about the condition of the advanced ground team due to the strictly enforced policy of communication silence by T1, and T2. Initially Anna’s mission had been trying to stay hidden from the enemy fleet in space - this being prior to the Khaak Carriers unexpected planet side intervention with the drop pods.

As far as Ravn was aware no one knew the status of Anna or the other non evacuated survivors. Unless the missing Argons made some form of contact or they did something foolish, and showed up readily on a scan it might make any chance of retrieval just that little bit more complicated.

Reaching the Major who was standing beside a field communications array brought the Military Agent more bad news.

‘Well Rav’, said the Major nodding at his approach. Raharaha had shown a surprising amount of appreciation of Rav from his initial arrival with the back up mission, ‘that Khaak Carrier that went down made it to the surface in one piece. We just received a coded burst from the Commander in Chief the KM1 is disgorging land and atmospheric air unit’s’, he explained.

‘That is bad news’, noted Rav.

‘Fay has questioned whether that Khaak atmospheric insertion was as forced as it initially appeared, or if it was just planned to look that way, smart little fekkers if it was a trick’, noted the Major, ‘Anyway the breakdown is a squadron of flyers are incoming as I speak, ETA well were not entirely sure anymore but I think we have a little time yet the KM1 came down a good distance away.’

‘Will we be ready for it?’ asked Rav looking around.

‘I don’t know’, confessed the Officer, ‘it’s a pity but The Lost For Words was forced to jump away further into the grid system so our intelligence is a mite depleted, all we know is we will be hit soon’, he said surprisingly beginning to laugh.

‘Right’, said Rav taking in the Dogs activity, ‘what do you make of the enemies deployment?’ he queried not quite sure yet how to take this officer although rumour said Raharaha was splendidly capable.

‘Looks to me like the Khaak want to try, and take this Artefact installation / ship or whatever intact. We are about to be caught between the hammer and the anvil son’, he continued calmly activating an air raid siren.

‘Launch the fighter drones, and send them out to here’, said the Major pointing at a electronic map screen position while talking to an aide, ‘and keep them low maybe we can take a few of these flyboys by surprise in the rear. Trouble is air wise all we have are twenty four measly ill suited to atmosphere fighter drones - we’re badly out gunned in the blue. I don’t expect too much from those to be honest’, noted Raharaha looking about himself.

‘Tanis get those fekking portable shield domes up damn you, we really are a sitting target for a bombing mission’, bellowed the Officer.

‘I see’, said Rav, ‘but your still not hauling up sticks.’

‘Certainly not, Ravn. Listen this may be a very bad place to be soon. I have arranged to jump in a few small bands of advanced scouts / commando demolition experts by GTD. Their remit is to see what can be seen, and cause as much confusion, and distraction as possible before we make our main advance’, he smirked, ‘it’s a dirty business.’

The Major had to admit the idea of an organised all out assault given the changing circumstances was starting to look pretty funny. Frankly Raharaha feared he was about to get rather bogged down, but scattering some forces out there was still a good idea if for slightly different reasons. The Major didn‘t want all his eggs huddled in this singular basket anymore.

‘These lads will also be blowing stuff up’, he continued, ‘enemy stuff’, he mocked, ‘Blasting the Imps back to hell and so on. Making booms is something we Dogs do pretty well, and we are damn proud of it too (as you may soon discover) especially when the lads are a bit well peeved’, the Major continued now grinning like a deranged idiot. Raharaha was a showman he knew the lads loved it when he acted up under pressure, and or fire it always settled them down, and was now expected.

‘I’m now wondering if you would like to tag along with one of these forward teams?’ he questioned, ‘I wouldn’t have recommended this option a moment ago, but with matters likely to be getting toasty around here. In truth it might be safer closer to the enemy’, he rambled slightly, ‘then again - the way the Khaak sacrifice their own…’ he trailed off with a sigh, ‘well it is up to you?’

‘Sure Major, why not - it might get me a little closer to Anna if nothing else’, replied Rav looking at the other Dogs who were all grinning at their commander - so it was a shared joke - the veteran hadn‘t lost it, somehow Ravn hadn‘t really believed the Major had - it was one of those feelings the way the Argon held himself - Raharaha was just lifting his forces in his own way! In truth he knew the type they thrived on the madness of war, and mirrored it back into the abyss it made the RJL Security Chief smile too. Rav found himself thinking he indeed might well be getting closer to Anna soon - especially if she was already dead but somehow it didn‘t matter anymore it was just well life! Still he also had to admit to himself that he would rather face an army of Khaak grunts hand-to-hand than the impersonal random death from above of multiple air strikes. One way or another his life was about to get rather interesting.

‘Good lad’, enthused Raharaha slapping him on the back, ‘I heard good things about you from some of your lads, report to Sergeant Palin at T4 you had better double time it though they should have started leaving already. If they haven’t I‘ll want to know why not, stay alive son!’

‘You too Sir’, replied Rav before breaking into a dash.

‘Damn it to hell’, complained the Major still blustering for the sake of morale, ‘the little Imps could have at least given us the courtesy of enough time to dig ourselves some graves, TANIS!’ bellowed Raharaha, ‘I swear to my legendary flesh eating ancestors if those domes aren’t up in time, and you somehow by a miracle of unjust fate survive the consequences I’ll personally ram a spare missile up your rump and launch you into space - like a long pig sacrifice - with a grenade in your mouth for an apple did you get that!’

‘Yes Sir’, replied Tanis controlling the desire to chuckle while running around frantically connecting cables, and firing up generators. Why, he thought, did the Major always think engineers should be able to do something that takes ten in three or less, and why did the fekker have to make them laugh when they are trying to concentrate!

‘No the other one you moron’, yelled the seconded Navy engineer to one of his Black Dog adopted crew, ‘yes that one just plug it into the ship like I told you to do a few moments ago. No, no he waved at another we don’t have time to unpack yet another gener- Sonra’s holy fire the second coupling idiot - unplug the first one, and you‘ll take the AA Missiles off line! Thank you so very fekking much!’



Virtually blind, and deaf Ruth was still suffering somewhere inside the artefact surrounded by a very singular swirling atmosphere. Panic was just starting to bubble up again when the glutinous mass seemed to flow away beginning with the barrel of the forward facing assault rifle then her arms, and her chest soon she was standing free in open air. Ruth found herself in an odd semi metallic looking corridor with the strangest textured surface she had ever seen in something clearly manufactured that wasn’t corroded and under water the words knobbly, and crusted sprang to mind. She was resting on a suspended walkway in the middle of a multi-faceted globe before her was an open round hatchway an iris valve similar to the device used in camera lens only a lot bigger, and heavier that led into a cramped rather illogical five sided diamond shaped corridor with the apex at the top this sloped downward at about a minus forty five degree angle. The tunnel was worryingly well lit but with a horribly blood like reddish glow from panels on the sloping ceiling. It looked like an uncomfortable dangerous crouch, a crawl, a slide on her back, or hands and knees would be needed to progress down.

Looking back Anna emerged out of a round hatch sized orifice of the bizarre gaseous or liquid material that Ruth had just momentarily escaped. Ruth noticed how the awful claustrophobic stuff seemed to bulge from the flat plain almost like liquid maintained behind a thin exceptionally elastic membrane then flowed away abandoning her associate it seemed exceptionally icky but Anna emerged perfectly dry, and unsullied the command tether stretching back into the swirling now flat panel.

‘Urrrch that stuff looks even worse from this end’, noted the Pilot shivering, ‘it’s revolting I hope we can find some other way out. By the way I’m very glad to see you’, finished Ruth with real feeling pointing her weapon down. The Pilot found she had to resist the urge to rush over to hug the Argon, which would have been terribly unprofessional, and most un-soldier like.

‘That was - an interesting - experience’, exclaimed Anna taking a deep breath to calm herself while looking about, ‘this isn’t what I expected either’, she confessed perplexed by it all.

‘What were you expecting?’ queried the Pilot finding such comments from the only remaining professional scientist on the intimate team slightly worrying. Feeling rather out of her depth she had hoped Anna would at least pretend not to be.

‘I expected… well something a little bigger’, replied the Professor looking downward, ‘a large main airlock space, a wide access corridor for entering, and exiting traffic with room for handling some bulky material cargo something like that. This is different’, admitted Anna.

‘Maybe they don’t need a big front door or maybe this just isn’t it’, replied Ruth.

Shockingly the Pilot realised she was feeling less and less like she was in command and a lot more like an uncertain little girl that wouldn‘t mind having her hand held. It wouldn’t do, thought the Dog, I’ve got to get a grip. Unfortunately negative thoughts kept creeping in: What if this thing was a ship and it took off with them onboard? What if it was full of hostiles? What if… What if… her Mother had always told her to be careful what she wished for especially when she had said she wanted to go into Space.

‘Maybe they don’t need a front door’, agreed Anna thinking about GTD technology, ‘have you seen any sign of life?’

‘No’, replied the Black Dog shaking her head thinking, if I had don‘t you think I would have told you, ‘only the fact that the lights are on. Do you believe the Khaak built this place? The winged Imps might just be to scale?’ speculated Ruth.

‘I don’t know. My mind is telling me not to assume anything at this stage but my instincts are telling me this is something else, or maybe I just don’t want to accept that the Khaak could somehow be behind the Core’, replied the Professor.

‘The Core?’ questioned Ruth not missing the reference.

‘It doesn’t matter’, replied Anna, ‘you don’t want to know - not unless you need to later - trust me! Could you move over a bit, then I can order the sled in. I don’t think it will fit in there we’ll have to kit up, and progress on without it. Which means picking what to take, and what to leave behind.’

As ever Ruth insisted on going first, but only after she had scouted ahead with a camera drone. In the end the Black dog climbed down facing the slope in a quick military almost abseiling fashion.

Ruth didn’t want to leave much behind especially in relation to spare oxygen, and munitions. In the end most of the gear was strapped into bags and lowered on down via ropes - one tied to each end - one leading up, one down with Ruth pulling from below when the bag failed to slide via momentum alone which proved most of the time (on the abrasive irregular surface) Anna task while holding onto the other end was supposedly to act as a break in case the cargo started moving too fast, and to assist with guidance in case it started moving sideways to jam against the wall. With this onerous task accomplished Anna let her end of the rope go and simply crabbed down on her rear after her scout.

Below was a three way junction point but only one solid looking tripartite interlocking hatchway was lying open. This right turn led to a corridor luckily this one was level and more traditionally shaped being roughly rectangular with rounded edges where it met the ceiling. This area had some oddly comforting industrial looking pipes running along the roof and what looked like triangular shaped Anna guessed service panels on the floor, and walls all well locked, and refusing to be forced. The same ruddy light discoloured everything. The main surfaces were she guessed actually dark greyish, and had the same rough texture observed above.

Anna was beginning to suspect that Ruth had been right they hadn’t entered by the proper door, and most of the Artefact was actually technically buried under the Cavern floor, and possibly into the wall too. They passed more hatches all locked then reached another open one at the end of the corridor. It was hard going trailing the heavy bags behind them using some rope as handles. The hatch gave access into a cell like space but closer examination revealed it to be a probable lift but without any discernable controls.

Anna and Ruth looked at each other.

‘I get the feeling we are being directed’, said Ruth.

‘I was just thinking the same thing myself’, replied Anna, ‘shall we?’

‘I’ll bet the way we came in is sealed off anyway’, noted Ruth fatalistically.

‘That’s one bet I wouldn’t accept. On three: one, two, three lift’, said Anna hauling and pushing the sacks in then following behind it was exhausting work.

When they both stepped in the door spun closed, and the lift fell downward.

‘Some designs are classics’, noted Anna wondering if they were going to meet the owner or owners or if they had triggered some automatic response or computer caretaker. It seemed like a surprisingly long drop. At least they had met no hostile response automatic or otherwise.

‘Must be another facility linked by a shaft this can’t all be a singular object can it?’ queried Ruth.

‘I don’t know’, said Anna, ‘I’m now trying hard not to prejudge anything. Like a computer would - say insufficient data.’

The lift started moving sideways.

‘Interesting’, said Anna starting to wish she had come here with a lot more back up.

‘I wonder what is going on topside?’ considered Ruth struggling to stay calm as they stopped.

The door sprung open followed a little later by a much larger hatch immediately opposite. Something about that split, and spring apart methodology started to seem familiar from somewhere Anna had been once - a long time ago.

‘Fek me!’ said Ruth look at the size of this place.

They were staring at another faceted dome but this one was massive lined with what looked like gantries and windows. The central area was just open space Anna couldn’t help but wonder just what that big hole could be used for.

‘Brennan’s Triumph! You could park a small fleet in here’, said Ruth with awe.

Maybe, thought Anna, with an involuntary shudder. Still if it was a parking space it looked empty now. Had this massive still very pristine, and powered place just been abandoned? Certainly they had seen no sign of any inhabitants. It was amazing an entire alien city (?) existing right under the Argons noses. What did it mean?

Luckily the doors stayed open while the two Argons gawped. Finally Ruth nudged Anna, ‘Guess we should move in.’

Together the pair half dragged half carried their sacks out then followed. The gantry walkway was made up of a barred grill perhaps to save weight, whatever the reason dragging the gear over this was proving especially difficult, in fact all but impossible.

‘I can’t keep doing this even with the servo assistance’, complained Anna.

‘I know’, agreed Ruth looking at the distance to the nearest door, ‘as much as I don’t like it we’ll have to cache some of the bulky heavy stuff here.’



Elsewhere in the known Universe in Aladna Hill, Beachhead City… Joseph Aaron Rhan unhooked a direct connection cable from his computer pad. It was true after all perhaps patience was it’s own reward, he thought, the Deep would never allow an AI onboard the Pier so he had convinced Aldeiss to leave Sly behind in his safe keeping.

‘Sly I need to talk with you privately don’t do anything rash I just want to download an ANI access code’, explained Seth.

‘Acknowledged’, returned Sly somewhat surprised.

Seth made the link and sent a data stream.

His pad returned with one word and a blinking cursor

Processing_

AI deep core allegiance transference in progress. Awaiting DNA sample_

Seth placed his thumb over the unit’s sampler and felt a slight prick.

Joseph Aaron Rhan ANI 27b-83688-SSO-18 new allegiance accepted_

The Special Senior Operative spent the rest of the day plumbing the depths of Sly’s data banks.

The AI had much of interest to share not least Tebbin’s involvement something even Aldeiss or should he say Amon didn’t know about, Sly it appeared was well named. What continued to confuse however was how had Teb got involved with the Chapters? Why were the Presidents Twins so actively knocking on doors? Phenomenal amounts of people were going in, and almost as many coming out of Deep Sleep too. Then there was the use of the Deep Pier as a cover for the disappearance of Jon Flyn was that mere coincidence or deliberate? Why had H been assigned to that investigation of all people was it really just to remove him from his investigation of the Stalker Slayings or something more? Then there was the fact that the cousins had taken fright. Somehow it all had to be connected with the arrival of the Devil Tur Ryn.

All these years Seth had spent trying to crack open the hidden dark heart that he increasingly felt sure beat at the centre of this city - all this time occasionally sleeping through slack periods, and it had defied him. Now inadvertently thanks to Jon and Amon, Seth believed he was getting close, well at least closer than he had ever gotten before to the reason why the City so perfectly defied all attempts at normalisation it was not surprising the Devil was mixed up in it.

At first Seth had carefully covertly assisted in helping the authorities hunt down / bring to justice, and eradicate ringleaders he ferreted out not to mention especially gifted criminal opportunists, but no matter what was done the sickness remained and spread the more he helped cut into the flesh the more it spread like a cancer resilient beyond all expectation. The Operative became convinced that this was because he was missing the real source of the infection. That the players even the supposed Masters of the game were just the symptoms not the disease mere puppets. Always staying hidden even from the Argon Military stationed here Seth watched as these guardians too increasingly became corrupt, and ever faster with each new generation of arrivals. All went the same way the Wasps in the Pile had gone long ago naturalised into the same evil system.

Nothing worked whatever agency was ultimately behind it all it was too well concealed lying deep behind layers of historic grievance, and factionalism never showing itself always using others, and such legends as the Devil often these causes seemed like reasons enough for the cities many woes not to mention the ever abundant drugs - excuses accepted now even by the central Argon authorities - but the Argon as a race had faced, and dealt with such planetary troubles elsewhere they had all succumbed in time to law and order - some foolishly believed this place was succumbing too but he knew better it just went through pulses or cycles of deceit.

Elsewhere, Seth was convinced, was not like Beachhead the City even the Planet to him felt almost engineered for example: all those drug producing plants just happened to be privately genetically created, and propagated in the Forest by over enthusiastic bio engineers, and experimenting botanists, or was it all carefully sculpted by guiding hands? As far as Seth was concerned it was organised chaos clipped, and seeded and tended disorder by some unholy gardener.

So many coincidences so many vices all in one place, so many self perpetuating rivalries that never burnt themselves out, no this place had to be different - somehow especially unique - Seth had grown to love, and hate it in equal measure. Even to the point when at times he doubted his own conviction worrying that he had simply gone more native than he liked to imagine while working to fit in, to play his role! More than once he had considered quitting. He had taken that position on the Happy Lander as a half way house back to the wider Universe but always Beachhead dragged him back down like the force of gravity itself.

In the end it hardly seemed to matter to Seth if he occasionally feared that he was deluding himself making it all up to stay or failing because he didn‘t want to succeed. After all if he did lay the question to rest what legitimacy would be left for remaining, and how could Seth live anywhere else? The City had got under his skin deeper than any lover more beautiful, and cruel more wild, and joyous, more insane, and remarkable, and that was all that mattered now or was it?

Recently the City was restive the Devil had returned and a long held fog of war was perhaps about to lift. For the first time in a long time the SSO felt his juices fully flowing.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 96 - Death from Above

A waiting associate in a TP made a rendezvous with the Happy Lander to transport Tebbin in comfort to his own personal scout ship amusingly named The Flunky. Once settled in to the not too often used Jump capable Discoverer (Teb preferred to be chauffeured) he attempted to make contact with The Lost for Words. Tebbin soon learned via coded reply that Fay was strictly unavailable. It transpired the Commander in Chief of The Legion of the Damned was directly involved in an RO (red operation) in other words some kind of battle or combat situation.

Not entirely surprised but still frustrated the Agent elected to return to The Fortress of the Damned. The trip due to safety procedures - even using a jump drive - was a long one, prolonged enough for the Spy to think many deep dark and unpleasant thoughts about his own potential near future. In fact the journey was sufficiently lengthy for Teb to change his original approach from trying to gently push, and manipulate his commander with a most tempting offer to electing to take the risk of fully forcing her hand with a fait accompli - one maybe worthwhile enough to also stay her wrath - or so he hoped.

It is doubtful anyone other than Teb could have been able to pull it off. Fays most trusted Agent arrived on the Fortress alone, but left shortly afterward along with Kerry. By the time the Fallen Angel was logged as missing, and AWOL not to mention the culprit ascertained. Tebbin had vanished off the map along with his prize although he left a rather long sealed message behind for his old friend to chew on.



Within the sector of Bala Gi’s Joy onboard the now revealed prototype Argon Carrier The Lost for Words a strange creature neither a machine nor a biological entity that currently called itself ‘Limited Access’ was exultant. It’s Drones had breached, and given it control of many important systems on The Ark, and more drones where on the way to consolidate its position - kindly - ferried to the planets deep cavern by the second wave of Argon drop Ships T3, T4 and T5. The Hive access Core Queen had also managed to entice the favoured biological unit Anna Dei out of immediate harms way much to its relief - attachment to the familiar was a strange thing - it was still analysing this process among other (perhaps in biological terms simulated) emotions.

Everything was going perfectly. Limited Access even found the Khaaks unexpected ground assault fascinating. It seemed the previously disappointing, and aberrant race had progressed somewhat from the Intervention after all. Biological life never ceased to surprise. It was oddly gratifying to discover that even that staid species could evolve, and improve themselves to some extent even if they were anything but as interesting, individual, and dynamic as say its recently discovered Argon. The entity was still thinking about such abstract matters when everything started to go a little bit wrong.



Limited Access wasn’t the only one taken by surprise by the newcomer’s arrival. The Commander in Chief who was already starting to lose some of her enthusiasm for the battle, beginning to feel rather harder pressed than she liked, found herself caught entirely off guard.

The Lost for Words had just jumped to a supposed clear new position further away from the planet. Fay had reached out, and calmly initiated a necessary regenerative shield transport loop despite her worries in an almost blasé manner. The powerful shield system began to shimmer. Four KM1 were disastrously revealed arriving from their wormholes into normal space with heavier than normal flashes of energy, and unprecedented speed.

The Khaak Carriers made up a tight cross formation around their Argon rival as if play acting the role of oversized wingmen escorts. All four Pregnant Spider like ships released multiple streams of perfectly straight line Kyon Emitter fire. To say this turn of events startled the crew would be a severe understatement.

Remarkably the beams hit before the Prototypes shields had any chance to stabilise. The precision broadsides blowing out the Carriers protection system like a snuffed candle flame. Almost negligently the same weapons then commenced to surgically disable the Argon War Machines turrets while doing precious little actual damage to the shiny carriers hull, the timing and accuracy was impeccable, well worthy of further study. Earlier Fay would have argued that such a deliberate manoeuvre was frankly impossible before registering the evidence of the fell deed on her own console.

As The Lost for Words momentarily surviving Alpha flak canons began to rumble all four KM1 seemed to explode outward with fragments while in fact remaining entirely undamaged. Objects not unlike the earlier spied Drop Pods shot across the short gap. Due to the exceptionally close proximity of the enemy ships only three succumbed to the active flak devices (before those canons were also destroyed) the rest of the Breaching Pods (too many for easy counting) burrowed safely home into the mighty Argon War Wagons hull like starving bore worms into meaty flesh. The four synchronised KM1 then jumped out again far too rapidly with the same outsized flare for normal Goner style engines. Slightly insultingly the enemy hadn’t even bothered attacking the Carriers unique out of arc forward firing GPPC’s - they were irrelevant!

Elsewhere in the grid other Khaak vessels appeared with the same rare rapidity. To Fay’s utter disbelief not only did the newcomers engage the Argon Titan Destroyer ‘The Fatal Necessity’ they also lanced into the previously arrived Khaak ships with a vengeance. All of this activity commencing to transpire in what passed for an instant. To cap it all, Fay’s pride and joys intruder alarm began to blare out a warning. The Prototype Carrier’s internal scanners had registered enemy personnel onboard. The invaders looked impossible to contain using normal security methods being at a ridiculous number of locations from one end of the Carrier to the other on a plethora of decks levels, and compartments it was an insidiously complete infestation.



Limited Access took it all in calmly as it scuttled away from one invasion hot spot - just in case. Disconnected Renegades, it thought, that explained a lot. That Carrier on the Planet had to be Disconnected Ones too no doubt they had patched in to the Mainstream Khaak Communications Channels just like himself, and slipped in almost unnoticed in the height of the fracas. They had without question risked revealing themselves in the hope of claiming the Ark - fools! Limited had mistakenly believed the Unsanctioned had all died out or been purposely eliminated long ago. The Queen had to admit to itself that matters could get a little tense before they became fully resolved.



Garrin was still in the Canteen very intently watching the action - especially since Fay had commenced engaging the Khaak capitol ships! Garrin was convinced the Commander in Chief was completely insane, and rather annoyingly going to get them all killed while they watched the events as if from a distance. The Argon Colossus had just made another jump after getting its shields roasted when the camera feed entertaining and / or shocking as it was went dead. Alarmingly the Carrier seemed to be shuddering. Knowing a little too much about these things Garrin recognised the noise and feel of impacts against a naked hull, and knew something was very seriously wrong. No time at all later an alarm blasted out.

‘Boarders’, somebody - who liked to state the obvious - screamed out.

‘Time to break open those weapon lockers’, called another stranger surprisingly heartily as if about to undergo a favourite sport they had missed.

They’re all mad, thought G, widening his list of the guilty from just the Command Staff to include the majority of the crew. Everybody it seemed except Garrin were intent on rushing into action - moving about purposely - many at a flat run or in the case of the more dignified veterans a stately - trust me I’ll still get there in time - slightly lazy jog.

One of the guards on the door moved toward G at a rapid walk to stare at the RJL Partner while Garrin was still taking this whole scene in, ‘Mister Omega you had best come with me, Now!’ he said forcefully dragging the civilian out of his chair by one arm with the aid of impressive bruising servo assistance.

‘We’re being boarded?’ questioned G in disbelief knowing it was a stupid thing to ask but it just seemed rather unreal. Who boarded an Argon Colossus - not the Khaak - they just blow things out of existence!

‘This way hurry! You know how to use a weapon?’ asked the Marine.

‘I do’, replied Garrin.

‘Familiar with Zero G Combat Armour?’ continued the Argon.

‘I am’, replied Garrin feeling like he was back at school doing a test.

‘Excellent’, replied the Guard still leading, ‘ever actually used a weapon in anger?’

‘Er… not really well… almost I…’, confessed Garrin thinking to hell with it. What did it matter? At this point G was running to keep up with the servo assisted fighters pumping legs.

‘No worries it’s hardly going to be like - well - killing other Argon. Stay calm, don’t hesitate but watch out for friendly forces’, said the Marine before rudely and roughly shoving the RJL Partner aside to raise his own carbine and casually punch something that G only got a glimpse of out of the air with a short burst of fire consisting of four rounds, ‘don’t dial it up too much’, he warned without stint, ‘remember all that vacuum is lying in wait out there. Hmmm that was a small one’, noted the Marine, ‘maybe a scout or a mascot or something’, he chuckled, ‘here, take this until we get you something a little more substantial.’

The Marine pulled a tidy slug thrower from a self-adhering strap, and sharply handed it over.

‘Thanks’, said Garrin looking at the soldiers nametag, ‘Corporal Jagged.’

‘Save the pleasantries, this way’, yelled Jagged slapping his identity card over a panel to open a security sealed hatch before pushing the civilian in like a sack of beans then backing in himself prior to sealing, and locking the portal, ‘time to do a little shopping’, he said springing down to another heavier door that opened after a cornea scan, ‘hah didn’t think this one would be busy’, he smiled looking over the stacked gear with a greedy eye.



Still in Bala Gi’s Joy but in the Cavern on Planet Rav was on his belly watching another large group of the enemy on his HUD via a winged suit midget camera drone hovering just of the ground at a position well forward of the party. The Enemy seemed to come in six varieties according to their own observations, and others shared reports. Only some of these castes were represented below. Notably Scouts, Heads Hoppers and Warriors the Dogs had designated the foe as follows:

1) Scouts (Imps) - Small flying critters very lightly armed with no armour prone to carrying a single deadly air blast fragmentation bomb like grenade or a small dart thrower.

2) Berserks (Swarm) - Larger than Scouts but smaller than (Heads and Hoppers) these Khaak can fly but only for short periods. Seem to have only a basic animal intelligence. Berserks have enlarged biting jaws and long claws sometimes enhanced with grafted metal blades. Commanded by Heads they appear to be treated like pets (don’t use weapons or armour), and attack as suggested by their name in small packs or large swarms in a killing frenzy - very fast and seem to feel little pain - keep going until disabled or killed outright don‘t seem to feel fear.

3) Engineer / Pilots (Heads) - Medium sized individuals that have stunted useless wings but noticeably enlarged heads. Wear light armour, and tend only to use hand dart throwers and small grenades. This caste seemed to operate all the machines including vehicles, support weapons, and so on.

4) Skirmishers (Hoppers) - Similar sized creatures to (3) but with larger wings these seem incapable of true flight but their wings work well for gliding purposes. Hoppers had demonstrated an odd way of travelling that involved springing then gliding a short distance. Kitted in lightweight armour with light weaponry mostly dart throwers, and close quarter blade weapons. Very able climbers. Can launch from high ground or flying vehicles to glide further, probably able to ride strong thermals if available.

5) Medium Infantry (Warriors) - Size just a little bigger than (3-4) but without wings. Wearing medium weight armour with the widest assortment of weaponry dart throwers, grenade launchers, light disc launchers, blade weapons possibly others.

6) Heavy Infantry (Ogres) - Larger heavy armed, and heavily armoured troops smaller than Argon in height but impressively built these seem entirely wingless. Tough to put down but slow customers compared to the average Khaak typically use heavy duty dart spreaders (think heavy auto shotgun that fires a spread of toxic spikes rather than pellets), grenade launcher, heavy disc launcher, light kyon hand canon.

All the Khaak armour seemed to fit especially tightly. In places looking more like melded or grafted on implants rather than a suit although some parts from observations remained fully detachable.

‘Mostly Warriors and Hoppers with a few Heads and Imps’ noted Grimwald.

‘They’re all so non standard compared to any description I ever received on the Khaak’, noted Rav.

‘That’s exactly what I was thinking’, noted the Sapper, ‘I hate surprises unless they are my own.’

Elsewhere the cavern was rumbling with explosions, and flashes of light from the direction of the Dogs main base.

‘Sounds like the Major is taking a real pounding’, noted Rav worried.

‘Raharaha can take care of himself’, noted Simon.

‘I’ll bet he is giving out as good if not better than he is receiving Raha is generous that way’, agreed Derek with a smile. Derek was the last member of the now small four Argon unit they had been five when they started out this was three short engagements ago, ‘Do you want to call in another fire mission?’

‘Sure’, replied Grimwald feeding over the coordinates ‘lets see if we can take out those fragile looking Kyon Turrets - at a distance - they might be shielded, but maybe not enough.’



In the LZ the Major was happy that Tanis had done the business just in time. Without doubt the shields had saved many lives. They did however lose one of the IRE AA guns, and most annoyingly the ATV before it could be used to any real benefit. The vehicle had proved too much of a prize for the enemy maybe they believed the missions commander was inside. Despite manoeuvring around, and having a full 2mjs of shielding, and after taking down one flyer that got too close with its LMG it had been obliterated by another two following close behind in frantic suicidal dives - the enemy aeroplanes the Major soon guessed were packed with simple but effective explosives.

As Raharaha had feared his fighter drones had proved less than efficient in atmosphere. The Argon drones though while useless at killing the piloted enemies tidy winged craft did prove a valuable distraction. Thanks to the drones the Dogs had a little extra time to retaliate with their ground to air based systems.

It was T3 and T4’s flak assisted by the Wasp and Mosquito missile coverage that had saved the day - oddly the mosquitoes most of all - along with some shoulder mounted surface to air rockets to a lesser extent. The IRE’s when they did hit did the business too - unfortunately this seemed more by accident than anything else - the agility of the foe was remarkable (not surprising for a race with some members that could naturally fly under their own muscle power) Raharaha had to admit he was a little impressed. Only when the Khaak planes came at the automatic IRE turrets in an ill advised overly straight suicide run did the Argon predictive targeting seem fast, and accurate enough to be effective.

All in all it could have been worse the compact enemy craft hadn’t employed traditional bombs or missiles. The Khaak pilots made strafing runs using unusually short, uniquely pulsed Kyon like beam weapons, bolstered by impatient - suicide dives. Only the Khaak would be so careless with their own people, thought the Major, still that was the nature of the enemy. The fact that the Khaak ships seemed packed with unstable explosives was a mixed blessing meaning when they were hit or impacted they tended to go up big time which had helped the low powered AA defences considerably - a very strange species.

Another victim of sustained attack was the larger T5 Drop Ship which had also proved a favoured target - the Khaak seemed impressed with size - T5 was no longer capable of going anywhere, its shields gone, hull breached, and engines completely wrecked beyond recovery it was also on fire although that was steadily being put out.

Perhaps the biggest fluke and remarked incident of the air raid - given these facts - was the artillery piece upon T5’s roof. Even though this weapon had its own emergency (energy cell) operated shield dome it’s pristine condition despite the damage done to the wider craft it was mounted on as a whole seemed like a miracle of providence, even more remarkably so given that its three Argon crew were completely uninjured.

This weird occurrence had earning the crew, and their big gun the nickname of Cerberus. With a little patched up support work for the ships hull the Major had been informed the vital weapon would be fully operational in no time whatsoever.

As soon as it had begun it was over the casualties added up to four lightly wounded and five very dead three of which had been cooked in the ATV. Sad though that was the Major had to admit that it could have been an awful lot worse. Unfortunately it was only the beginning salvo, and the Argon without further reinforcements could hardly afford to lose any able bodies.



‘No good - I’m getting a temporary disabled code’, noted Derek.

‘Pity’, replied Sergeant Grimwald.

‘Boss, I think we’ve been spotted again caught a trace then a sparkle right up near the roof’, noted Simon looking at his scanner then sending his camera drone up, ‘damn lost it, its like looking for a flea on a dog.’

‘Yeah we’ve been made alright got a bunch of’, he counted them out, ‘eight skirmishers coming this way ahead of some warriors full frontal’, noted Rav.

‘Advanced Hoppers eh!’ noted Grimwald who preferred his own label for the jump and glide troops.

‘Eight isn’t enough’, said Simon, ‘good thing those Kyon turrets only fire in a straight line.’

‘Alright well take out the advanced, but back at the rocks, spread out, and remember to zigzag move, move, move’, he yelled running off towards the partial cover where they had stashed some of the less mobile gear.

Rav didn’t rush too much. The veteran was more worried about suit or weapon damage if he fell badly than the still distant enemy.

However, as soon as he was in place he swung around crouched and lifted his high velocity sniper rifle. Rav watched for a moment - leap glide drop, leap glide drop, leap glide squeeze headshot! One toppled leap glide squeeze torso, another fell track to the right glide squeeze neck, look no targets!

‘Five left’, noted the Agent.

‘Beautiful that put them on their bellies, nice shooting Rav’, said Simon.

‘I like that range’ noted Grimwald adjusting a small mortar, ‘lets see if this shakes them loose, hadummppth…boom!’

‘Looked a little short advised Rav’, viewing through his scope at the area just over the mild rise were he guessed the enemy had hit the dirt.

‘Adjusting, hadummppth…boom!’

Simons scanner squealed out its pre set automatic alarm, and the group scattered even further apart abandoning their positions, then gathering themselves into tight foetus positions with their arms over their heads just as the aerial air bursting bomb went off scattering razor sharp spikes all around.

‘Little Fekker anyone hit? Call in’, demanded Grimwald.

Rav scanned upward and around with his scope in motion detect mode just on the off chance - this time he was lucky. He caught something, changed modes, zoomed in squeezed missed, squeezed missed, took a steadying breath made a predictive guess squeezed the flyer was propelled further forward, and dropped spinning, Ravn felt like punching the air with his fist in victory; the little scum bags were hard targets small fast, and agile plus they tended to blend into the dark - a bad combination!

Rav called in last but one, someone else didn’t respond. Simon had been unlucky enough to move into trouble, worse he was caught in a chink in his armour, worst of all he wasn’t taken cleanly out. Rav did the necessary with his combat blade to silence the spasms. The spikes were covered in some kind of toxin it wasn’t a good way to go when left to play out!

‘Damn’, cursed Derek, ‘that’s two those little runts have butchered. It’s a good thing they can‘t carry much weight. We need a better way to deal with those sneaky little dung beetles boss?’

‘I know I’m open to suggestions. In the meantime Derek you’re now on scan. Any sign of those warriors?’ asked Grimwald.

Rav scoped the area, ‘No, I think they thought better of a direct frontal probably ducked down, and are circling around further back or up to some other mischief.’

‘We had best drop some smoke and scanner confusing chaff, and relocate’, Grimwald advised.

‘How about trying to get in under that overhang to the south that would offer some protection from the flyers and we could circle around towards that cliff inlet feature. The one those earlier Hoppers, and Warriors were heading towards’, said Derek.

‘Why not we’re just targets out in the open’, noted Grimwald, ‘getting ourselves butchered isn’t going to help the Major.’

Rav had to agree.



On top of the Cliff on the edge of the Inlet Region Leon decided the best thing to do was to search this upland shelf. Below was crawling with enemy troops, and any help seemed like a long way off. To attempt walking out seemed like suicide, perhaps waiting was foolish too.

It was possible due to their far from inexhaustible oxygen supply the two Argon survivors of T1’s destruction were doomed already, but Leon wasn’t willing to lie down and die. Here they might find another way into the alien Artefact - the one Ruth, and that obnoxious (so called civilian) Professor had gone into. He hoped the too trusting Ruth was fine. Leon had no faith in non Dogs especially ones he was convinced were hiding stuff, and particularly ones - still in use - despite rumours of being under the wrath of the Commander in Chief.

Fay had been known to recruit some real dodgy characters to the Legion, and also used others as bad or worse from without the Argon Military altogether. Some of those: agents, spies, informants, whatever not to mention the penal troops wouldn’t think twice about fragging a Black Dog for their own reasons - a few he suspected would undertake such actions just for kicks - at least when they thought they had any chance of getting away with it. That was why Leon always made a point of letting strangers know he was watching them closely.

Getting back to the point though, those Drones must have come from somewhere? Ruth and Anna had spare oxygen tanks. Maybe the installation itself had fresh fully scrubbed, and filtered safe air. It was beginning, Leon thought, to look like the unknown was a better option than the overrun cavern.

With the AI in the floating rover tagging along beside them the two Argons carefully set off using infra red HUD overlays as it was pitch dark. Leon had changed his mind about deploying the AI as an advanced scout. It kept babbling about its imperative to self destruct if threatened with capture. The dumb machine since shelled out of its home was either smarter than it was letting on, and rather cowardly or just obsessed with protecting its data by suicide. Leon guessed it was just programmed that way. It made him wonder did the AI core routines tell it to actually feel exposed threatened when disconnected from being an entire ship - he could almost sympathise - Pilots didn’t really like leaving their ships either in fact some small traders hardly ever did; then again, he wondered, did the AI - really - feel anything at all, or just crunch data?

Shockingly the Pilot realised he had just crossed a good bit of ground while hardly even registering his surroundings. Leon hoped the Pup was more alert. Stopping and crouching the Black Dog made a point of sending his atmospheric beetle like winged midget camera drone ahead to have a good look about wondering if that low level humming buzz made that solution a liability to detection.

Leon blamed stress, and exhaustion for his inattention - how long had it been since he had any sleep? However, that didn’t make his carelessness any less stupid, and deadly. The Pilot knew if he kept doing things like that he would end up sleeping forever.

Unlike many of the lads Leon didn’t quite have the knack for catching up on missing rest by taking short naps as, and when available. Well it was slightly different for Pilots he supposed (belatedly) realising he had perhaps been a little privileged compared to non-flight crew.

Up ahead he noticed a series of artificial objects. Tall slender pillars reached up to the low cavern roof just behind, and between them swirled a faintly glowing in infra red wall of a familiar (from camera views of the other entrance before it closed) nebulous material.



Seth though excited wasn’t initially sure what his next move should be. The able Argon was almost tempted to confront Aldeiss with some of the information he had dredged from Sly. So Aldeiss as Amon the Wolf had betrayed Jorac on Freedom, and was now a member of the infamous to those that knew of it penal Legion of the Damned.

What he didn’t understand was why Tebbin had appeared to sell out his own. It was likely Teb was running his own operation but for whose benefit, with what authorisation everything the Legion tended to do was murky. Was Jon and Amon pawns in a wider black operations scheme? Sly however believed Jon was exceeding his authority while Amon had betrayed one leader already was it possible he was trying to betray another? What was Jon and Amon’s real motivation for seeking out this new Arch Fallen Angel and was it the same thing? What he wondered might have escaped even the AI ’s understanding?

In the end the unfettered Agent decided to check other lines of enquiry first. Their was a lot of pieces but few of them fitted together - once more he returned to playing the PI searching for clues to fill the gaps in his understanding. Maybe some of the events he was linking together were only very loosely connected.

Back tracking a little Seth decided to begin with the easy stuff first - that Stalker Case. See if he could eliminate the reason why this event appeared to be getting covered up, and if this alone was why H had been banished to the Pier. It was odd whispers around about the time of this event - the general feel on the streets - that had made the agent consider linking it in with some overall movement in the cities underworld. Their had been a serious spike in tension between the President’s Corporation and the Hidden Council after a long slow build up of pressure that looked like it would end in some serious violence then rapidly this all just seemed to evaporate like mist. To Seth it was almost as if both sides for some unknown reason had secretly agreed to come to terms why?

Driving into the town Seth parked in a multi story, and made his way into the Ally Area. It was a series of back street patched together buildings containing charity shops, second hand furniture places, laundrettes, small business enterprises and a few pawn shops. One pawn shop in particular was why Seth was here - Bakers Buy and Sell. The PI knew Baker fenced goods taken by certain Stalkers.

Seth was on good terms with the old wrinkled ever grinning Argon whose name graced the well weathered wooden hoarding. Baker was thrifty but likeable - an honest enough rogue - and more important he liked to talk almost to anyone willing to listen (with the proviso they had no connection or love for the Navy or the Wasps). Baker liked to believe he was an important figure in the cities underworld because he was tolerated by and knew many players.

Letting himself in set off an electronic chime the store was as dark smelly, and dusty as ever come to think of it so was Baker. At first the wrinkly was almost hidden behind his counter then his expensive but somehow also dilapidated looking floating chair elevated the tanned old Argon upward. Seth was always meaning to enquire into why the Argon didn’t have the use of his legs but always forgot to bother. Baker himself despite liking to talk never ever discussed or drew attention to his disability. Mentioning it was one of the few things capable of making the old rascal grumpy and uncooperative.

‘Ah its you Seth got something interesting for me?’ queried the Argon with his usual toothy smile.

‘Sure have’, replied Seth after checking no one else was around he gently slipped his pack off, and pulled out something fairly heavy wrapped in a cloth.

‘Oh you decided to let me buy it after all. I’ll have to look at it out back’, replied Baker.

‘That’s fine’, said Seth.

The pawnbroker disappeared off for a bit then returned empty handed.

‘I’m happy to go with the price agreed. How do you want it?’ asked Baker.

‘Just credit my account’, replied Seth, ‘So how is business?’ he began.

A lot later after a tediously long conversation Seth finally managed almost by force of will alone to bring the discussion around to his subject of interest. The difficulty being to do this in such a manner that convinced Baker it was the Pawnbroker not the PI who initially brought the matter up. Thankfully for once it seemed worth the protracted effort.

‘Yes according to the lads that come here it’s business as usual on the night shift’, explained the old Argon.

‘I thought that place might be closed down myself what with all that media attention somebody sure made a splash with that?’ noted Seth, ‘guess I forgot how resilient our youth are though.’

‘They had to move up the street a bit to new premises. Sad cases all bluster, not like the really hard boys back in the old days those lads were tough as nails. Finn sure made me laugh, one minute he was lying low, and all shaky after that hit, and being quizzed by H and all, not to mention losing two more of their braver brethren. Next he’s in here sparking about nobody is going to mess with us no more’, said Baker.

‘How come?’ asked Seth.

‘Seems the lads decided to defect to the other side if you get my drift’, explained the Pawnbroker.

‘You’re joking the Stalkers have always been Council’, said Seth genuinely surprised.

‘Just telling you what young Finn told me boasted they had a visit from the Twins - like that fact was a good thing’, noted the Pawnbroker with distaste, ‘it seems those snakes promised the Lost Ones would be back on the map as Presidents Argon’, noted Baker.

‘That move must have stirred up a whole truck load of trouble around here’, said the PI.

‘No biggie from what I hear. The Council don’t see that particular business as much of a loss anymore’, replied the talkative Pawnbroker.

Like hell, thought Seth, if other members of the Council started believing the organisation couldn’t or wouldn’t protect those traditionally their own even if it was a group on the fringes… The whole Hidden Council, thought Seth, was fringe in a way. It really did look like something very odd was happening in the city.

‘I wouldn’t want to be that slogan writer now. I’m guessing the Corp will exact retribution or penance from whoever the fool was that hit the Nest as part of the deal’, noted Seth.

‘I thought the same thing too but I was wrong. Rumour I heard was a clean fresh start for the Lost Ones. How was it put ‘for the sake of wider relations’ Twins said what had happened was in the past - old Council business - and they didn’t want to trespass they just put the word out on the street saying enough was enough’, said Baker, ‘claimed all that - in blood born - a new order - stuff was smoke and mirrors.’

‘That’s good no escalation on the streets then’, replied Seth, ‘that’s all I care about. A Secret War might be good for business in the short term but it could be real unhealthy too. I’m getting too old for sleeping with one eye open all the time.’

‘No fear just business as usual’, replied the old Argon.

Yeah they would all like everyone to believe that, thought the PI.

After wasting more time chatting Seth left returning to his car to think.

The way he was reading the wind the two Organisations had been bulling up for at the very least - a limited confrontation - perhaps one that would inevitably result in a change of status. Seth suspected the young aggressor would knock the old man out of the ring but maybe some in the Council believed otherwise. Then something made them both back down, and change their mind. Could it be the arrival of this young Devil? Could both those organisations be afraid of one solitary off world Pirate Leader or were they just afraid of the unknown consequences of hitting him?

Maybe it had something to do with the Chapters did they know about Tur Ryn or Keane Molloy could they be backing his play in open alliance or in secret (acting as a third force) what about the Sons, and Grandsons of the Slain - still Tur Ryn wasn’t Jorac! Did Tur really think he could claim his predecessors throne yet what other reason could he have for coming back to the grave?

If I was Tur I would enter secret negotiations with both sides, and then play them off against each other, thought Seth.



In the Artefact in the sector of Bali Gi’s Joy Anna was starting to show her frustration as she moved along the gantry the first heavy door (more of a hatch really) that she arrived at was sealed, also the second, and the third, and the forth. The question was what if they couldn’t find a way in?

Ruth although a Pilot was still a Black Dog and as such had brought along some explosives, but if the place did have more defences like those Kyon Emitting drones, and the intruding Argons started trying to blow things up? Anna didn’t want to risk it somebody or something was active having opened the external hatch and directed that lift.

‘I can’t get over the size of this place’, noted Ruth turning to look back into the wide empty, ‘what we need is a sign.’

‘Or a tour guide’, admitted Anna wondering what she was doing here. This was madness Febr would love this place though or would he try to destroy it too like he had tried to destroy the Generator that had spun out her Queen. Was this place one of the things Febr’s subconscious had been afraid of?

Ruth lifted up her rifle and scanned all around zooming in and out to look at the odd thing in detail. The place was so quiet so empty a little self tormenting part of herself imagined what it would be like to jump over the barrier and fall, she gulped, that didn’t help much! So much for sightseeing as a temporary distraction from an increasing catalogue of fears, ‘I suppose it could be worse’, Ruth said as much for her own benefit as Anna’s, ‘every access way could be wide open then what direction would we go?’

Anna had to admit Ruth had a point, ‘I suppose we should just press on’, returned the Professor with a sigh.

Fifth locked, sixth locked, seventh locked, ‘we mightn’t even be on the right level’, said Anna pausing to look down. Still the lift did bring us here.

‘Anna look at that the light over there it’s flickering’, noted Ruth.

Anna looked up her companion was right one of the lights was blinking, ‘that is either an accident or really spooky. Do you think something here is listening and understands our language?’

‘You’re right, that is creepy. I mean here we are like those animals you scientists like putting in mazes’, said Ruth a little bitterly before using her scope to look closer having to lean against the balustrade to get an angle, ‘it is above another hatch, and I think it’s open, can’t be a coincidence can it?’ she noted triumphant, and concerned.

‘Let’s go find out for sure’, said Anna.

‘Hold it. I’ll send in my suits midget camera drone first save us the leg work’, noted Ruth thinking her oversight in not using this in the first place was due to actually having reasonable use of midget drones in atmosphere under gravity.

The expensive beetle like units with their endura-film fold out buzzing wings and tiny splitting protective carapace were an engineering work of art. Unfortunately the units didn’t have quite the same range or reliability as simpler spherical Zero G suit C. drones due to the buzzing they were also less covert, and due to their method of flight somewhat more unsteady not to mention useless in strong winds but still very useful especially indoors. Ruth had to admit she also kind of liked them because they were sort of cute, and had to resist giving her own one a name.

‘Fek we should have done that from the onset. This place must be getting to me’, noted the Professor.

‘Don’t worry it’s getting to us both’, replied Ruth while directing her drone out to get a decent angle on the door before using the zoom function. The picture on her HUD showed it nice and clear with no breezes the camera was good and steady in hover mode. The heavy hatch was open but more of that - stuff - blocked off any view in, ‘I hate that goo!’ said the Pilot.

‘The Membrane’, said Anna giving it a name, ‘I think one of its functions is to act as some kind of anti electronic spying security device.’

‘Membrane yep that sounds icky enough!’ noted Ruth unhappy at the prospect of another encounter with the unnatural material.

‘Could be worse at least it doesn’t leave a slimy residue’, said Anna cheerfully, ‘pity really I might have been able to work with a residue.’

‘Professors!’ said Ruth.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 97 - Without Insurance

On top of the Cliff feature on the inlet shelf (or plateau) deep within the Khaak, and Argon contested Cavern. On Planet in the sector of Bala Gi’s Joy; Harry the Pup (Black Dog recent recruit and communications expert), and Leon (Drop Ship Pilot, and acting First Mission Leader since Ruth lost contact) both survivors of a disastrous landing party from The Lost For Words Carrier, stared at a long fence like barrier made up of a gaseous substance.

The Dogs believed the obstruction possibly hid another entrance into the Professors so called Artefact. The Pup didn’t much like the look of the anomaly nor really if he told the truth did Leon.

With no sign of hostiles in the immediate vicinity the pair of Black Dogs activated their suit lamps. Both wanted to examine the barrier up close via more natural illumination than infrared.

‘Like a nebula caught in a plastic glass tank’, said Leon breaking the silence. The Pilot couldn’t help marvelling at the strangeness although he felt naturally repulsed by the idea of entering into that thick looking soup.

The Pup poked the substance with the barrel of his carbine it passed through without any noticeable resistance. The young recruit examined the weapon for signs of damage or goo - it seemed exactly the same as before - which was some assurance but no less baffling.

Leon shook his head, ‘next time poke strange substances with something less vitally important to your survival’, he recommended.

‘Sorry’, said the Pup feeling a little bit of a fool - not for the first time today either. However, Harry had known it was unlikely to cause any difficulty. Just like Leon he had witnessed Ruth, and Anna’s testing exploits before they ventured into the stuff, and become lost to all attempts at re-establishing communications.

Harry had just wanted to examine the same effect up close for himself before doing anything else. The way the Pup saw it viewing something on a screen was one thing, experiencing it for real yourself quite another.

‘Computer or should I call you Without Insurance?’ asked the Pilot.

‘I would be honoured to carry the label of my former ship’, replied the AI.

‘Alright WI then for short what do you make of this barrier?’ asked Leon.

‘I retain insufficient data for analysis of anomalous material’ replied WI, ‘My Scanners are barely functional upon this plateau. The substance itself is fully scanner resistant. I can only register it via my cameras. It retains puzzling patterns of varying heat distribution. The movement of the particles within it seem purposeful. I suspect the material is being directed in some manner rather than the product of a simple current or other more simplistic fluid mechanic’, it finished.

Leon guessed their was little point in sending the machine in first, all this had been done already.

‘This is a waste of valuable time’, said the Pilot thinking about oxygen reserves, ‘after you’, he gestured the recruit on toward the somehow sinister object with an urgent motion of his assault rifle.

The Pup wasn’t happy (that was a rather insensitive gesture the sort you might give as a threat to a prisoner not encouragement to a colleague - the recruit wasn’t amused - even if he guessed it wasn’t meant that way). Besides it seemed too much like Leon was using him as an expendable test subject (canon fodder). However, despite feeling resentful Harry couldn’t justify not doing as the Pilot suggested. The order although poorly structured was nonetheless a direct command from his superior.

Not long from training the Pup was still in the habit of obeying orders more or less without question unlike a few of the more irascible veterans he had witnessed who had a way of appearing to obey while in fact managing to do their own thing (at least that was how it seemed to him). Nonetheless, Harry if sporting a grimace while he moved painfully slowly, and carefully forward one step at a time did slip into the swirling curtain. Hesitantly the Dog suffered being enveloped by the unpleasant mass.

Doing the business the Black Dog was very happy to be encased in a heavy duty combat vacuum suit. Harry was trying hard to convince himself that this item was the next best thing to being safely inside the protection of an actual vehicle. After a period of difficult sensory isolation, and suit navigation failure the missions Pup gratefully passed out the other side of the anomaly. It had felt to Harry like drowning he had almost held his breath. Having got little use from his - still powered up - suit lamp while within the barrier, and discovering it was not required on the other side Harry switched it off it was a potential beacon to hostiles.

The newfound area was quite adequately lit with ruddy lights from above. The ceiling here was metallic, and covered in protruding items of unknown equipment. The way these objects were mounted the Pup deduced they were all retractable, but interestingly at the moment all these systems were apparently very fully deployed.

Some of this gear to his concern was suspiciously sensors like, other bits reminded him of powerful communication antennae the final category (to his utter alarm) appeared to be a host of small, and medium sized weapon turrets of unknown capabilities. Seeing the last he winced expecting to be tracked, fired upon, and splattered all over the floor or burned to a crisp at any moment, but nothing happened. This region like the rest of the shelf was deadly quiet - almost more unnerving that way. The young Dog found himself thinking it was like the whole place was holding its breath just waiting… but waiting for what?

On the ground in front of him the Dog could see a series of what he would describe as missile silos each about a metre in diameter. These held round closed iris valve hatches set in tubes at an approximate 45-degree angle in a neat grid just a little below ground level. Maybe this was where those drones came from, he thought. Stout metal surrounds poked up just above ground around these hatches. Further up ahead a wide tunnel cut into the Caverns wall angling gently down to sweep out of sight due to a bend that went left. The disappearing route way was noticeable because it also seemed to be well lit from above with the same red washed glow.

‘Everything good?’ asked the Pilot a bit shakily after appeared behind Harry.

The Pup noticed his superior sounded nervous - on this occasion - that made the recruit feel better, ‘So far’, he replied he couldn‘t help adding, ‘pretty impressive looking hardware did you notice the big guns covering us from above?’ Cruelly the Pup hoped the view up had his superior blanching inside his helmet.

‘Let’s try that road up ahead’, replied the Officer moving on quickly.

Pup followed after - grinning - even if his own back was itching, and he found himself occasionally looking up, and to the rear as he went. Was it his imagination or had one of those guns rotated? That wiped the grin from his face. Harry began to crouch a little, to move faster, and in a zigzag. A little voice was whispering to him to be - very - careful that he was getting far too blasé about this exceptionally abnormal situation.

It was only when they got out from under the Turrets that Leon stopped turned, and looked back with a dodgy questioning stance. Somehow the Pup just knew it was bad news, and that his fearless leader wasn’t looking for or worrying about him.

‘Where the fek is the AI?’ asked Leon.

‘The AI?’ quizzed Harry he had forgot all about the Rover with so many other things to think about.

‘I sent the AI in the Rover after you. So where is it?’ asked Leon again this time more forcefully as if its absence was the Pup’s fault.

‘I don’t know, it didn’t come through, I never saw it’, replied Harry defensively.

‘Fekkin great. That is just fekkin great’, complained the Pilot, ‘Computer, WI, Without Insurance’, he called out on his communicator, ‘Computer if you are receiving please respond over. Without Insurance this is Leon Gardna are you receiving please respond over. Well that rips it, what if it falls into the hands of the Khaak.’

‘Then it will self destruct’, noted Harry at this point the Dog didn‘t give a damn about some almost smart but really dumb machine, thinking about its constant promises or threats to decommission itself. There wasn’t much point worrying about it now. If it had become lost in that barrier they wouldn’t be able to find it even if it was right beside them, and he certainly didn’t want to go back in to look. Harry didn’t even want to go back under those turrets. The more he thought about it the more he could swear that one - had - moved, something was alive, and watching down here!

‘This just keeps getting better’, moaned Leon sending his winged camera drone back for a look around, but there was no sign of the cursed machine, not an electronic chip. The pilot recalled the beetle, ‘you’re right’, he said with a sigh, ‘nothing we can do about it now the WI was MIA.’

‘I think that belated naming was bad luck’, replied Harry.



Ravn shot one Warrior almost point blank with his sniper rifle. The high velocity round entered the creatures chest to exit making a massive hole in its back continuing along with shards of armour, and bone to knock backward, and incapacitate a Hopper moving up too closely behind. Everything in normal vision was pale smoke, darkness, and shadow so it was just as well Rav was using infrared. Here the Khaak stood out well enough from their water cooled surroundings.

The two mutually antagonistic groups both hurrying for their own reasons had stumbled into each other among a series of natural rocky pillars formed of merged stalactites and stalagmites on the edge of an underground waterway still a fair distance from the destination Cliff Feature but right up near one Cavern wall to which the water abutted. Their was a lot of moisture here including slimy puddles on the ground.

The action had started when Derek’s head was narrowly missed by some darts, and the Dog opened up on a Hopper. The creature had been hiding up near the low ceiling clinging to one of the pillars maybe the poor angle of its shot or the nature of its perch contributed to it missing. Maybe it slipped in the wet or was impatient. Whatever the reason from its roost it fired, and missed then dropped with steered agility towards the Dog. The veteran wasn’t impressed he simply ducked, took a step back and blasted hitting one of the Khaak’s wings almost tearing it clean off using a newly recovered secondary weapon in this tight space. An item found among the deceased Collins gear (a compact short barrelled pump action shotgun) It didn‘t have much range but it sure made a mess of enemies up close.

The creature landed in a heap keening briefly, struggling to rise, and to get at its own weapon. The device plus the hand, and arm holding it had become trapped firmly beneath the wounded creatures own injured body, and tangled wing. A second blast ripped most of its head away not to mention spraying its back with shot. The Hopper slumped down flat its weapon buried even more firmly beneath the dead weight of its corpse.

Derek considered trying to dig the alien device out for himself as a souvenir, but he was carrying the bulk of two guns of his own already, and thought better of it. Besides in all likelihood his ambusher was not alone, and messing about in the middle of a fire fight - looting the dead - was a good way to get killed. It wouldn’t do to push his luck too far. Derek couldn’t help but think if that Khaak had taken its time with its first shot his would be the corpse lying face down on the slimy wet rock. Still the needles didn’t always penetrate heavy armour either so he might have been ok regardless.

After that it was all confusion - somebody - it must have been Grimwald had quickly tossed some smoke grenades out so that Rav crouched, and went to IR (infra red) a bit later via his scope he saw that Warrior, and Hopper combination looming forward from behind a pillar seemingly ignorant of the Argons position.

Back in the now Rav noticed another partial heat source further back, and fired again something unidentified dropped behind solid cold cover the Military agent wasn‘t sure if he had hit it or not. Rav pulled a grenade and lobbed it in that general direction (despite his supply getting low) ducking even lower as it exploded alongside a screech of pain or was that anger?

After the explosion their was a calm silence that seemed to last forever as the smoke swirled then Rav heard excited chitterings, and clackings all around from a good distance further up ahead - picking these up - on his suits sensitive microphones, ‘berserks’, he yelled out (via the tactical channel) as a warning to the rest.

‘Fall back, fall back’, returned Grimwald.

Rav and Derek retreated; Derek smoothly changed weapons, and commenced laying down bursts of covering fire with his assault rifle spraying the smoke. Rav chucked another grenade now he only had two left. Low down, and still well out of sight animalistic figures commenced rushing forwards through the smoke towards the Argon filled with an eager bestial bloodlust. Luckily the Military Agent could track by hearing what he couldn’t see - they were loud, and sounded excited.

‘Run you fools’, shouted Grimwald.

They turned, and fled among the swirling smoke, between pillars stalactites and stalagmites.

‘Get down’, screamed the Sergeant.

Rav and Derek dropped Rav taking great care not to bash his extra cloth padded weapon. The area around where they had been earlier erupted in a serious of violent explosions that shook the ground. A huge ball of flames shot forward from one position, shaped metal shrapnel, and shards of rock, and dust spewed outward from two others all of this violence aimed directly away towards the enemies possible positions.

Rav raised his head and scoped around changing from the now useless IR to Light Intensification. Despite the smoke all the fires gave enough illumination to work with. Liquid fire had been cast around to form sticky burning patches some clinging to stumps or surviving pillars other pieces lay in small puddles, and larger pools on the ground, smoke was billowing up dust settling down. As effective as the sergeants hastily placed booby traps had been Ravn doubted it had caught all their opponents maybe not even the majority.

Sweeping with his scope on the backward arc Rav saw three Berserkers coming right at him he managed to shoot the first in the head almost by reflex just shy of weapon touching distance. The force of the round propelling it on its back as if it had been cudgelled taking a good chunk of its skull away. The second was knocked to the side by a wild burst of ten rounds from Derek who continued to fire at the fallen critter but in two more controlled bursts of four. The Dog obviously wanted to make sure that where it lay was where it stayed.

The third creature slower than the rest was on fire, and had a mangled left leg but hardly seemed to care as it pounced at Ravn. With no option time wise he used his long weapon like a quarterstaff. Just about fending off the monsters metal blade enhanced claws it was fast luckily so was the Argon, but Ravn’s suit was slowing him down even if it increased his natural strength.

However Rav was uninjured, and more intelligent than the enraged brute. The sometime assassin kicked out deliberately knocking the creatures bad leg out from under it so that it spun and went down fortunately face first. Rav immediately threw his (including the suit and backpack) considerable weight upon the frantic creature, and immediately commenced to pummel the back of its skull with his rifle butt in a controlled frenzy of his own until it split apart, and disgorged its gooey contents over the ground. Only after this gruesome event did the still burning creature stop trying to rise and claw him. Picking himself up Rav then very carefully commenced using the blunt side of his knife to scraped off some transferred liquid fire now burning upon his own suit.

Derek tapped Rav on the helmet and gestured toward the stream that Grimwald was already slipping into. Checking his rifle Rav was disappointed to see that the scope was damaged beyond repair having been clawed right through luckily the mount itself looked fine, and knowing these electronic items to be fragile Rav had brought along a spare in his backpack. The rest of the weapon had survived with just a few tell tale scrapes, and scratches perhaps aided a little by his cloth cladding.

Of course there was always the promised drone re-supply flight. Literally self-propelled crates flown by remote pilot Rav had both suffered and been saved by those in the past - they were far too prone to being taken out by enemy fire. Still if they stayed out they would need more oxygen and munitions sooner or later so it would be Drone Re-supply or hump back to being within GTD range which was a little reduced by scanner interference in this cavern.



Anna and Ruth decided to shift their heavy supplies over to the new membrane in stages not wanting to leave them behind one of those things - despite the painful required effort. It took what seemed like forever carrying the gear in runs instead of pulling it all together, and they were both beginning to feel completely tired out even with the servo assistance. Anna had analysed the air here and it seemed safe but neither had the courage yet to crack their suits open. They were approaching toward the new stack beside the open hatch with its Membrane carrying the last but one material haul when a small Argon rover flared in slightly ahead of them by apparent GTD.

‘What the Hell’, exclaimed Ruth targeting the machine while stepping back. She wasn’t carrying anything the system was Anna carried Ruth guarded.

Anna stepped back from it as well.

‘Greetings Pilot Graves Professor Dei I am glad I will not have to self destruct’, said the Rover enthusiastically.

‘Careful’, said Ruth to Anna stating the obvious, ‘it could be some kind of trick.’

‘Machine what is your designation who sent you?’ asked the Pilot.

‘I am Without Insurance or WI your LT-AI series 4. Serial code AP174AN73UX assigned to The Lost For Words Colossus carrier (Black Dog) Drop Ship also named ‘Without Insurance’ for this mission T1 (now unfortunately lost in action)’, noted the machine, ‘I do not know who initiated the GTD transport’, it admitted.

‘Where did you come from?’ asked Anna while thinking only Fays Marines would name a Drop Ship, and its military AI ‘Without Insurance’.

‘I was transported from inside the barrier’, replied the computer, ‘I emerged from the Anomaly but couldn’t register The Mission’s Pup then I was Transported without warning or request.’

‘T1 the Drop Ship ‘Without Insurance’ was destroyed?’ asked Ruth fearing the worst.

‘Correct’, replied the recently named Computer Core.

‘How?’ asked Ruth almost afraid to ask.

‘By remote self destruct’, noted Without Insurance.

‘Why and by whom?’ asked the Pilot wishing she had something to sit down on.

‘By the Pilot Leon Gardna. To prevent capture by Khaak’, answered the Machine.

Leon why doesn’t that surprise me, thought Anna, ‘Did you register these Khaak intruders independently? Where did they come from? Did they land or exit from the Artefact?’ she asked feeling highly suspicious.

‘They landed. The Khaak arrived from a space side KM1 using Drop Pods’, explained the AI.

‘You registered their presence on board with your own scanners, and cameras?’ pressed Anna thinking Gardna could have deliberately tried to beach them taking off in the other ship - claiming they were both MIA or even KIA. Anna was convinced that Pilot had it in for her.

‘They had gained access to my hold, and were infiltrating the main cabin through breaches in my hull after T1 was forced to crash land during the invasion’, stated the AI.

So the fekker had tried to run and leave them behind, but was brought down anyway, thought Anna she felt little sympathy.

‘What is the status of Leon, and Harry, what is the status of the T2 Drop Ship?’ asked Ruth starting to sweat in her suit.

‘Leon, and Harry where on the plateau above the cliff. Harry entered the anomaly there as did I. Upon arrival I did not register his presence on the other side but my scanners were confused in the substance, and I was lost for a time’, noted the Machine, ‘T2 evacuated back to The Lost For Words on auto pilot. I do not know if it succeeded’, said the machine.

‘Looks like we are stranded’, noted Ruth, ‘unless we can find a ship in this place.’

‘Do you think our guide brought the AI here?’, questioned Anna then wondered why GTD the AI but not Leon and Harry it made her distrust the AI could its systems have been compromised?

‘I don’t know you’re the Professor’, reminded Ruth sounding defeated, ‘you figure it out - I just fly!’

Anna was taken back by Ruth’s tone but let it go. If it could be trusted, she thought, even a simplistic LT (light) model AI might prove an asset in a situation like this.

The way forward forgot for a moment Anna took a moment to examine the Rover. Checking it over first hand and finding the schematic on her computer pad (she had been given basic files on all the Dogs mission equipment that wasn‘t especially classified).

Ruth looked upon this activity unimpressed deep in unpleasant thoughts.

It was a simple boron style floating chariot in this case a fat donut shaped object. The design would provide a little extra protection, and in atmosphere mobility for the AI globe hidden within it. Anna checked it over it had a pair of basic arms and manipulator claws - light use only - that could allow the AI to interact crudely with its environment all the usual sensory equipment including multiple cameras around its top and bottom half, and the expected cable connection points it had no weaponry or shields.

After careful study Anna noted their was no sign of obvious damage or tampering but it could have been compromised without any need of a physical breach via wireless or a legitimate or cobbled together cable connection. The Rover should be able to run on its power cell for approximately three fully active days - most likely in reality many more - as any AI could easily get the most from managing its own energy resources.

Finally Anna linked her pad via its cable, and ran a few quick diagnostics of the Rover, and its linked AI while Ruth fidgeted around. The Pilot seemed more and more impatient and strung out. Anna couldn’t really blame her for being less than pleased with events this place was too much for them to do anything serious with - plus ever since they had arrived it seemed like they had been manipulated.

Everything seemed fine with the systems as far as the Professor could tell with such a light examination. The AI’s assisted reunion still bothered her though. One question she wondered was why had it been moved via a GTD while they had been forced to walk? The only thing she could think of was that their host or hosts wanted them to understand the scale of this huge place and how it was linked to the surface. Their could be any number of reasons for that from pride to a desire to study their reactions - yes even Ruth‘s Maze idea!

Of course it was also possible some other party had controlled the transport maybe even an Argon or that their host / hosts had just considered that option late. As ever wild speculation without firm data soon began to seem useless with far too many options and unknowns. Anna also felt exhausted, and worried she was beginning to falter on the inspiration front! Not for the first time Anna wondered dare they trust the data she had collected on the internal atmosphere (it did seem clean of contaminants) If they got out of their suits maybe they could get some proper rest, and eat some food.

‘I’m beginning to think we should try and go back’, said Ruth, ‘what are we achieving with this? Especially if we only go where we are allowed. Maybe we should ignore this open hatch and go blow one of the other doors find out what is really going on around here’, she said angrily.

Anna considered the pilots point. It was a good one but it still seemed a little early to elicit a possible aggressive response, ‘we have to be calm about this Ruth. I understand how you feel it is frustrating. However think about this - If we had non-Argon intruders in one of our secret facilities we wouldn’t guide them around we would probably try to eliminate or at best seek to capture them immediately. Whatever has brought us here has shown considerable restraint.’

‘Or it knows we are not a serious threat’, complained Ruth, ‘take a look at this place the scale of it, and this was concealed under a settled planet all this time. Think about that Membrane of yours our host is just toying with us. Don’t you feel its eyes upon you watching its ears listening! It’s gathering intelligence’, surmised the Pilot, ‘its probably transported Leon, and the Pup to a some kind of medical facility and is dissecting them alive as we speak just to discover how we are put together.’

‘Take it easy Ruth’, said Anna, ’you should be used to surveillance everyone uses it. I bet you can’t clean your teeth on The Lost for Words off a camera I know on AFC 4 we were constantly watched. Anything could be happening here’, reminded the Professor thinking…

‘Look at it this way maybe those closed doors are childproof locks keeping us safe. Maybe there is lethal radiation or other hazards to our biology beyond those hatches’, warned the professor.

‘If it was friendly why hasn’t it shown itself?’ replied Ruth.

‘Maybe it is afraid of us’, returned Anna thinking, if it was of the Hive access Core - in some manner - like Queen’s and their drones it might not like to show itself, ‘maybe it is worried we would not like what we see. What if it is friendly but looks just like our enemy the Khaak. Maybe it is something beyond our understanding that would fill us with terror or it could just be shy’, she finished forcing a laugh.

‘Those odd Kyon Emitting drones didn’t seem too afraid or shy’, noted Ruth.

‘Look I don’t have all the answers but I do know we are both on edge due to what has happened to the Mission so far. Even if the Drop Ships are gone Fay won’t abandon us she wants to know what is here - the Commander in Chief won’t let it go’, said Anna grinning sardonically she was convinced Fay wouldn’t let her go - not without proof of her corpse - even if she was on the incentive. Professor Dei knew too much!

Ruth stared at the Rover. Anna could tell the Pilot was deeply troubled.

‘Lets at least see what is behind this new Membrane then decide. I think this could be the first real entrance to the inside’, said the Professor striving to sound enthusiastic, ‘What if that big empty space is some kind of parking area or an open work space for construction, an internalised shipyard for example. All around us these hatches could lead into surrounding buildings: factories, homes, equipment stores who knows. Of course I could be wrong but if you think about our own architecture - our stations, and factories.’

All we have are what if this? What if that? Thought Ruth but the Pilot also felt like she was losing it a bit so she said, ‘I’m sorry. Listen I wasn’t trained for this sort of thing. I thought it would be a new experience maybe even an adventure’, she admitted, ‘I… forget it you‘re right we have come this far lets do this one Membrane then we can reconsider our options’, if we really have any options of our own left, she thought morosely.



Ruth wasn’t the only one in the Cavern with troubles. Major Raharaha was now worried because nothing had occurred since the air raid. The Argon landed forces apart from those he had dispatched in to hassle and skirmish had been left unmolested. The Invaders seemed content to consolidate their positions. Digging in to an extreme degree to the point of cannibalising their own Drop Pods it transpired that material was easily adapted to the construction of turrets, vehicles, and what even looked like an almost permanent fortified bunker depot.

Raharaha had also received a very worrying transmission from The Lost for Words. The Carriers shields were down, and it was being boarded. The Major had been advised to dig in, and to expect no immediate assistance. Raharaha’s position was looking increasing impossible.

If anyone was expecting reinforcement soon it was the enemy not himself. The Major didn’t doubt that was why they were willing to sit, and wait - despite the damage his commandoes were doing on the fringes - the wider battle was going to the Khaak’s advantage. Raharaha found himself thinking that sometimes the best form of defence is attack - if only he had somewhere defensible he could attack to.

If for example, thought the Major, he could easily get inside that Artefact that might be a position he could hold. Maybe he could assault, and take the enemies newly constructed depot before it was fully defensible. One thing was for sure he would damn well have to try something before that force up on the surface of the planet made its way down to his rear, or worse yet more of those high impact Drop Pods came crashed down from space to land right in the middle of his forces. It was time for a bold plan of action. It would be better to try, and die than just die.



On the Carrier The Lost for Words Fay was feeling lucky despite her woes. The enemy had made a major tactical push, and managed to shut down her ships main engines. No doubt thinking that would kill all the Commander in Chief’s power it was their first mistake. Fay still had her illegal generator, and was able to divert its power to keep all her vital defences on line, further a large mass of the enemy was at last concentrated in a small area having fought bitterly to wrest control of that part of her ship ruthlessly, and bloodily exterminating every Argon trapped there - in the process - this victory oddly had left them wide open to serious countermeasures.

Fay butchered them using every creative central control method she could invent. From opening airlocks to manipulating the artificial gravity fields plus the obvious internal defensive turrets, and electrifiable decking, and so on. Wide tactics she dare not use in many other places due to the gross interpenetration of Argon and Khaak forces although she had also made a few hard decisions that had also killed some of her own based on pure percentages, and cruel necessity. All in all Fay suspected she was able to eliminate as much as one fifth of the invaders like rats caught in a trap, but it was just one battle in a much wider, and more protracted war. Fay had also sent out a distress call but unknown to her that had been blocked by the entity ‘Limited Access’ for its own reasons.

Shockingly soon the illegal generator now a fiery beacon to the enemy was also taken off line, and Fay was forced to work with the restricted options supplied by emergency back up systems power (energy mostly tied into the essentials) keeping the ships crew alive for example: by retaining stable gravity, a thermal equilibrium, oxygen, working hatches, basic internal scanners, functional lights, and emergency GTD capabilities. Now it was mostly down to command and control of her exceptional Marines, and crew as they fought not for victory but simple survival.



Garrin couldn’t help but believe that he should start being more careful about what he wished for. To think he had been jealous of Rav getting to go down to the Planets Surface to have Some Fun. Garrin had always enjoyed the thrill of calculated risk - at least on his own ship The Grim Reaper where he felt in control - but this, this insanity was something else altogether. He was glad he had the steadying influence, and experience of Corporal Jagged not to mention the rest of the motley crew making up his new found band of brothers. Jagged got a lot of respect and seemed exceptionally good for such a low ranker. When G queried about this during a lull in the storm one soldier admitted that Jag had been busted down on several occasions for having - disagreements - with his superior officers but that as far as he was concerned the change of title didn‘t mean nothing! ‘Argon like Jagged’, he said, ‘those you can trust!’

Garrin thought, it was a waste of talent but then he wasn’t a military Argon. Currently their group were fighting their way towards one set of hangers that was under heavy assault / serious occupation by the enemy. It all seemed pretty heavy to G (even though everyone had watched over him like a favoured mascot, both reassuring if at times he had to confess a bit annoying) but the command, and control boys obviously saw heavy as something different altogether.

‘Keep an eye to the rear Rookie’, said Roman patting his helmet as if for luck before moving past towards the sound of blistering fire coming from around the corner, ‘sounds like the lads have encountered stiff resistance.’

To G the cacophony of the battle was more like bloody murder but what did he know.

Helping him guard the rear was Vermilion a female Marine also in heavy armour. She had an auto shotgun that G preferred to stay well behind. To the rear of G and Ve using their combined bulky suits as living barricades was Edgar an out of place Nova Jockey wearing only a flight suit with a slug thrower pistol in each hand. G’s suit was a rather patched up item all his gear having come from a weapon repair, and maintenance store. It made some alarming hissing, and squeaking noises in use, and the servo assistance was a bit over enthusiastic but he was getting used to it, and it had saved his life more than a few times already. For offence Garrin had a Carbine linked by cable to his Hud. Jagged had easily convinced him that the combat he would enjoy, and survive best involved just poking his gun out to shoot around corners or over heavy items of cover, and so on using his remote Hud camera. In this manner fighting became almost like playing a computer game, and was a lot safer too than some of the more exuberant antics of the veterans. ‘You’re not experienced enough to take risks’ had advised the experienced corporal.

The sounds of fighting were just starting to grow distant when they received the order to close up with their makeshift unit who had entered the hanger proper. As they started walking backwards something bounced down the corridor.

‘Grenade’, screamed Ve.

Everyone turned and bolted for the corner towards their brethren. Agile without any armour and already advanced to the rest Edgar made it easily to cover throwing himself flat to the floor. Neither Ve nor G were quite so lucky both their backs got hit by a small shock wave, and a few spikes each. Luckily it was a ship safe grenade with shattering spines not designed to penetrate hulls, and as such not that effective against heavy armour unless it found a chink or went off especially close. The civilian and the Marine would live to tell the tale with nothing but a scare for emphasis.

‘Catch up with the rest’, hissed Ve, ‘I think I can deal with this one’, saying that the female dropped a smoke grenade not far from her own feet, and crouched down the best she could in her bulky suit in preparation. Ve had managed to patch her suit into the local ships sensors, and now knew it was just a solitary cautious Warrior a lost straggler or a survivor of some larger group.

Garrin moved forward taking the lead from the vulnerable Edgar moving towards a breached makeshift defence through a scene of nightmare. A barricade had been erected consisting of crates, and other portable debris hastily piled together by one side or the other maybe by both at differing times. Such positions had changed hands during the fighting more than once in strategic areas. The fighting ebbed, and flowed circled and cycled. The ramshackle obstacle was broken through in the centre draped around, and over with just as broken Argon, and Khaak corpses like grotesque primeval ornamentation.

There were signs the fighting had become truly brutal here including the use of melee weapons resulting in an unusual amount of blood. G was glad one sense the suit didn’t relay or magnify was scent otherwise he was sure he would be choking on his own vomit inside the closed Helmet. One Argon corpse was wickedly missing both arms another its head. These boarding Khaak had some particularly evil edged weapons flame like swords with serrated blades of some sharp substance capable of cutting right through light armours, biting deeply into medium armours, and with repeated blows or enough strength behind it even penetrating into heavy armour if normally not far. However, since the Khaak used toxin on their edged weapons a shallow cut could be serious sometimes fatal but the demons still seemed to prefer overkill rather than under-kill.

The fighting was especially fierce as neither side was giving any quarter. Wounded were truly butchered wherever they lay. Some of the sights Garrin had seen already, and not all undertaken by the Khaak either had sickened bodies frequently mutilated. To his shock G had learned there was barbarity on both sides, and it fed upon itself in an unholy frenzy. Jagged kept his unit on a tight leash, and just did the business at hand but Sonra some of the others. Maybe they had their reasons things they had seen done to their comrades but Garrin still found it disgusting, and reprehensible.

The Courier felt forced into contemplating abandonment. If G could convince the others he believed they should get onboard his own or some other ship, and take their chances in space. Garrin was convinced The Lost For Words was doomed and he didn‘t want to go down fighting anybodies lost cause - he could see no heroism in it. Despite these thoughts the RJL Partner knew he would be hard pressed to leave Jagged, and the lads behind - somehow he would have to convince them to go with him but would they? G imagined his new friends would only depart if the order was given to abandon ship - so until then - he was rather stuck too! Garrin found himself wondering, how many lives Fay would willingly sacrifice before she accepted the truth or was he just being pessimistic due to a lack of understanding of the wider overview? To him when an Argon fell it truly meant a defender less, but despite their losses the Khaak seemed to keep swarming as if unaffected.

[Paranoid66]

Reapers Passage
X3 Fan Fiction by Paranoid66

Chapter 98 - Proportionate Responses

Fay was deeply troubled she wished she had more time to figure out the answers to a long list of questions: Who were these other KHAAK? Were they some kind of elite force? Were they another tribe? Another nation? Could they be some bizarre sub species or even a criminal element? What was the nature of their connection to the Hive access Core, and the newfound Artefact on the planet?

Why did they seem so much more advanced - yet act no less barbaric - almost appearing even more brutally geared towards war? Their was no peace no negotiation or quarter with any Khaak - not even it now transpired among themselves - then again were they any different to the Argon in demonstrating differences? Still this was the first sign of hostility among their own, what did it mean for the rest of the Known Universe could these unfeeling killers become potential allies?

Fay had tried opening communication with her intruders all such heralds had been met with violence both remote delegations, and to her sorrow volunteers. Why had these particular KHAAK not been heard of before? How much of a threat were these terrible new interlopers to the Argon species? Fay certainly hoped they were rare. The Commander in Chief had no wish to encounter these villains again should she survive this first disagreeable introduction!

The newcomers appeared to possess both superior equipment, and tactics. So far they had wiped the deck with the previously arrived Enemy fleet. Following other just as rapid defeats of some of her own fighter squads Fay ordered all deployed craft to flee out of sector, it would be safer than attempting to dock with their crippled parent ship. Those of her pilots with Jump drives had an excellent chance of escape, the others well some might manage to slip away via skilful manoeuvres despite the Jump Gate blockades or by scattering, and fleeing deep off the grid.

Fay had lost contact with Captain Koihan, and feared the Fatal Necessity had been overrun although it had managed to jump out of the system to an unknown destination. The destroyer had a far smaller compliment of very standard Argon Marines onboard. To Fays horror the destroyers shields had been stripped by concentrated Kyon fire, and it too had been exceptionally heavily boarded before it succeeded in jumping out.

Whatever had or was happening to the Fatal Necessity now - it was simply MIA - Fay didn’t have the leisure to scroll through the universe map looking for it - not now - anyway! The Commander in Chief had to let it go along with her other unanswered questions these conundrums no matter how important to know in the long term (possibly even vital to her species continued survival) were not the priority now. Fay understood every fragment of her concentration needed to be tightly focused on the job at hand. All she could do was wish the veteran Captain luck and pray that somehow he, and his crew managed to survive long enough to get his ship some serious assistance. Aid was something, thought Fay, I could very much do with right now too.

To be honest after the new enemies display of Naval superiority Fay felt like a child thrown into a boxing ring against a mob of sadistic adults with weighted gloves. The Commanders current strategy was to - run away - by getting the main engines back on line including a Jump drive. It was clear The Lost for Words couldn’t slug it out against these foes especially not single-handed, with no shields, and only her non standard forward turrets which could so easily have been removed as well.

Although the KHAAK invaders when they had control of her ships engine rooms had begun a pretty thorough job of sabotage. Fay’s engineers had insisted repairs were possible. The KHAAK [Fay had decided to use capitol letters to separate the alien forces in her records] had sought to disable not destroy (perhaps planning to repair the engines once they had taken full control of the ship - something they were probably exceptionally confident of). Yamaha claimed his boys simply needed time, security, and the necessary allocation of resources especially - power - given over to them to do the heavy work. A tall list of requests in the current circumstances but one Fay was trying hard to fulfil.

Fay wasn’t too worried about her own safety she still had a back door of escape (an over tuned scout craft) hidden away in a tiny secret custom one ship forward bay with a direct, and independent GTD link. The exodus GTD was capable of whisking her off the bridge at a moments notice. However, the Commander in Chief was determined not to surrender her Carrier to oblivion, and the last of her crew to flight before every other option was exhausted. When overwhelmed by might you could always try and use the enemies strength against itself they had proved themselves arrogant - that at least could be exploited.

Although matters looked hopeless at first. The situation improved dramatically when the Lightning Spears got their Deployment Nexus up and running. Luckily it also operated on an independent illicit power source. Fay believed the Spears would prove an asset in actuality they showed themselves to be the decisive weapon. The Jump troops fully mobile commenced bouncing all over the ship dropping in and out of the enemy forces with surgical precision guided by scan data to devastating effect. Above, and beyond anything Fay would have predicted or dared hope, preferring to estimate on the side of caution. Unfortunately they also had to protect the Bay where they had erected the Nexus, and that at least remained a bloody, and hard pressed battle as the new energy source once lit up immediately started attracting serious attention. The defence of the Nexus was being handled mostly by irregular groups of LotD as the Lightning Spears were needed everywhere else. It was a good thing the LotD were all hard cases.

The good news being that despite some initial heavy loses especially among the more regular Marines, and personnel the tide started to turn. Before long Fay to her surprise found she was trying to manage rather than just secure an onboard victory.

Fay recognised an unexpected danger the Commander in Chief found herself at times sacrificing positions by falling back then retaking them again in order to delude the enemy. It was necessary that an illusionary fragility, a susceptibility to being overrun by the invaders strength was retained. Fay feared if her Marines became too obviously successful if the KHAAK were too firmly, and obviously defeated or rebuffed they would naturally call in further reinforcement or simply decide to blow the Argon into nothingness with Kyon Emitters deciding the prize unworthy of the price. Fay had to lure the KHAAK into continuing with their current numbers, and capture strategy it seemed that fine line - stretched almost to breaking point - was the single thread of the Argons hope.

Ironically keeping the KHAAK boarders morale up therefore became one of Fays main priorities. The deception of an almost achieved victory was at first easy to maintain as the fighting was still - tough - but as time wore on keeping the illusion going became harder, and harder, and started to cost more than temporarily surrendered territory. Fays Tactics had to be paid for in the coinage of blood, and souls via Argon lives - members of some her own personnel! Yet Fay was adamant the deception had to continue - at least until the engines were almost back on line - and she could jump to comparative safety. If they suffered another wave of boarders (especially penetrating in at a variety of locations) even with the Deployment Nexus they would be swamped and finished.

Fay capable of being as hard as that (almost indestructible) material from which the Old Ones had made the Jump Gates found nonetheless that her painful strategy was testing even her mettle to its limits. It was not easy constantly making victims especially of young Argon who were not Legion of the Damned but innocent raw recruits she had sculpted into her ways (trained, disciplined, promoted, even dined and socialised with Fay had many healthy appetites). While the Legion were all under sentence of death anyway Fay knew she needed those hardiest of fighters they had to be conserved at the most important final defensive positions. The living barriers she had so carefully engineered. Thus when lives had to be put on the line it was often the standard enlisted men that Fay betrayed. Never before had the Commander been forced to pay so much just to keep hope of escape alive. Luckily work on the engines was progressing rapidly.

One thing that baffled, and enraged her was why the wider Argon fleet hadn’t stormed in (even if it might be to its regret) so far Fay had not even received an official acknowledgment of her emergency distress call! Was it possible the KHAAK had somehow blocked her signal, unfortunately Fay herself had been guilty of tampering with the independently monitoring military satellites. This foolish deed Fay had committed earlier so that this advanced warning system showed only serenity. At that time the Commander in Chief had been keen to avoid observation, and interference.

Due to this poor decision Fay could expect no cry of alarm to go out from that source. Worse still being in a Pirate Sector no civilian traders tended to monitor here either (while those taken by the enemy would be assumed to have fallen prey to returning or passing through privateers). Nor was their any non covert - corporate - satellites those wouldn’t survive long, and were therefore not deployed. This lack of coverage was exactly why Fay had been quite willing to reveal her Prototype in battle.

Now at last Fay hoped the word would get out (even if Koihan didn’t make it) since Fay’s already deployed fighter craft had been ordered to abandon the fight, and flee to safety they would carry the word (at least this was what Fay believed her squadrons had been told!) To bolster this, and as a necessary if slightly paranoid intelligence move (plus perhaps an unconscious epitaph); Just in case Fay had the computer compile a record that was downloaded into three scout ships which she launched and jumped out on automatic direct to Argon Prime, and rendezvous with the Argon One. These would deliver a warning about the new KHAAK should no other get through!



Out in space the orders received by the pilots of the M3 Nova’s, M4 Busters, and M5 Discoverers remaining (the Centaurs having already been easily eliminated) was actually very different. They were told - they must - distract, and draw away the enemy crafts attention from the Prototype Carrier at all, and any cost to themselves! If posthumous heroes are made by bravely facing up to impossible odds then to Fays despair (despite many failed attempts at communication to figure out why and prevent this outcome) Bala Gi’s Joy was to witness the creation of many heroically deceased pilots.

Some truly courageous individual Fighter Jockey’s faced their ill fate square on spitting defiance into the hurricane force storm others more reluctantly where still chased down and crushed by the same fell winds - in the end - of all the loosed fighter squads only a very few that deserted their post were destined to survive (almost every one of these proved to be Legion) these were veterans who knew when to quit, and scatter! As to Fays automated scout ships they were redirected elsewhere and never saw Argon Prime never mind the Argon One.



Still trapped on The Lost for Words Carrier G had - so far - failed to be gifted with any opportunity to convince anybody it was time to cut and run, nor had he been in any position to go for it alone - even if he wanted to - which to his own surprise he now truly didn’t. Like many others G was eventually drawn into one of the three main onboard sieges that protected: the Bridge, the Engine Rooms, and his own sector; the defence of the vital Deployment Nexus. Jagged’s Band of Brothers had lost many old faces, and gained several new members. Currently they were holding one of an important series of forward barricades which supported each other over multiple decks. These had become known as the first walls.

The current deployment had come about after a series of really messy, and costly gains losses, and reclamations. During which this region was eventually cleansed of invaders very much the difficult way. Garrin knew he had only survived by staying mostly to the rear of the worst of the action - nonetheless - he had already seen more combat than he cared to remember, and felt (in his head) like a Veteran even if he wasn‘t treated like one. One surprising consequence was - the thirst - G found he had to resist constantly sucking from his suits water tube lest he used up his reserves it was a wonder he didn‘t slosh when he walked - not that he was doing much walking at the moment.

Presently G almost felt comfortable. The RJL Partner found he was holding a good position solid cover - supported with some recently installed portable shields - a long straight corridor kill zone without any immediate side hatches. All he, and his buddies had to do was keep the enemy pinned down beyond the bends of the tee junction, and trust the other positions to do the business protecting their flanks, and rear. If the situation got truly desperate their was even a small chance they might get aid from the Angels of Mercy as the Jump Troop Lightning Spears were becoming known among the defenders.

Of course the KHAAK were sure to pull some kind of trick sooner or later to try, and break the current stalemate but at the moment it was all gravy, and frankly he imagined about as good as it was likely to get. G even had enough time to collect his thoughts, and wonder about people like Elaen, Anna and Ravn. Elaen probably thought he was having a great old time gallivanting around safe sectors in The Grim Reaper for RJL. G couldn’t help wondering if he would ever see them again or was this it - was this the way it would end?

Who would remember one foolish civilian who got himself caught up in this Navy disaster? If only I hadn’t slept with Shimoo, thought the Discoverer Pilot, maybe everything would have been different. No partnership with Anna, no RJL, no lost cause on a Colossus Carrier, Ravn wouldn’t have been shagging his Girl either! Annoyingly Garrin still couldn’t quite bring himself to hate that Argon although he had tried on occasion. The Courier knew Rav was hiding secrets from Elean, and it was pretty much directly Rav’s immediate fault that G was here right now never mind the past business! Still Ravn had only dragged Garrin along so he could look after his employer G’s business partner (above and beyond the call of duty) and G had to respect that besides it was fate, and of course the Grim Reaper standing once more over his shoulder.

According to unsubstantiated but probably accurate rumour planet side was going to be even more fekked up than The Lost for Words currently was. Rav had his hands full of trouble. Certainly the Carrier was now in no position to render any relief to the Argon on the ground. Was Anna still alive down there, was Ravn? G knew if Rav got killed, and by some miracle he survived it would be very convenient which was why he desperately hoped this wouldn’t happen. Garrin didn’t want to get what he wanted that way - even if he could get Elaen back under those conditions - it was too high a price to pay.



Limited Access was still hiding between the bulkheads superstructure although it had been forced to scurry around a bit from place to place. It was very busy doing lots of stuff at once the advantage of a compartmented mind, and a multitude of semi autonomous assistants both its own, and some it had purloined. One of its many deeds being running rings around attempts by the Unsanctioned Disconnected KHAAK’s Minions Computer Technicians determined efforts to infiltrate The Lost for Words Main and ancillary Systems. Limited was hardly stretched by bolstering the AI’s, and the other systems, and routines defences. The task was easy enough except for the fact that Limited Access also had to conceal these improvements from both the defenders, and the intruders that was the tricky bit.

The rather weird Creature had to admit the downloaded Commander in Chief was doing a superb job of extricating the Carrier from its enemies. It made the entity wonder how she would have fared if left simply to get on with it. Limited had to confess their was a slim possibility Fay would still have found a way to overcome even the Disconnected it made him feel proud of these Argon. Although calling in support from the Fleet might have instigated a contagious disaster, given her less than perfect information the command decision itself had been sound but that fact would hardly have mattered in the long term.

The question it found it was contemplating was why was Fay functioning so adequately was it because she was an able Argon, or because she was The Downloaded Argon Faith or a combination of the two? Limited was fascinated by the potential effect of these cumulated lives it had expected much deeper instabilities, and psychosis in such subjects. In its estimation this usage was far from the original purpose of The Downloads. Limited was looking forward to collating data on this Tur Ryn subject. The Creature wondered what the Para-niched made of the Fallen Angel he was sure some among them must be monitoring this abomination that called itself a Devil, and his works closely, though he had no idea how far they had fallen from their origin. Come to think of it catching up with that accidental cultural study project was a must - perhaps such interesting data - could widen its bandwidth, and the authenticity of its position a little.

Still the important issue now was the Ark, and the Renegade survivors. If the Unsanctioned were not eliminated before they realised the potential strength, and yet vulnerability of the Argon it would be a disaster for that species of epic proportions. Limited hoped the Ark might allow it to interfere to an effective level without compromising its integrity, and the continued sanctity of its precious being.

Of one thing it was certain - in its own way - every single intervention had proved to engender far too many unforeseen consequences such as this current fracas. Then their was its own unfortunate taint - being spun out unassigned - would have resulted in a downgrading of its access even if it hadn’t been further compromised - which it had - if it wasn’t careful it would end up Disconnected maybe even fully irrevocably Unsanctioned itself. Self removal was no longer an option either, it had gone beyond that - developed a very self conscious personality - and wasn’t willing to let it go even if it meant... Thinking such ruinous thoughts Limited Access considered it was no wonder it had already been - limited - maybe biological life really was a contaminant after all if a rather wonderful one!

It - felt - good to be interacting directly with Anna again even via such a - limited - it enjoyed the pun - proxy. It was also fitting that the Ark once more had something major to physically store, sample, and categorise although it was a shame the Renegades had forced it into undertaking such drastic measures but he couldn‘t let those minions return with that prize - lest their undying Lord or possibly Lords got any - new - ideas about potential species migration or proliferation. If only the pre, and post intervention Khaak hadn’t proved so aggressively - primitive - and fearful. In trying to eradicate all memory of their rebellious, and unnatural brethren (above and beyond the necessary) they had drawn this somehow surviving faction right to that which had been long lost to their kind, and given their degradations - most definitely properly separated too!

These young unwitting races had stirred up so much confusion trampling that nest - if the data it had collected was true - but Limited also felt oddly responsible even if it was just an affectation of its own mental experimentations! Taking its own condition into account it was not surprising the Para-niched had become at best rather befuddled and at worst insane with their mixed up doctrines even as it would seem their science had been tainted by filtered muddied, and scrambled visions of the deepest of facts. It reminded the Creature of a saying it had reamed from a data bank that ‘a little knowledge was a dangerous thing’ still it was just possible that the niched still had a wiser hidden elite possibly removed from a position of effective power?

Limited Access couldn’t wait to discover what the Professor Dei would make of it all. Would the secrets about to be revealed to her enlighten or confuse would she be able to assimilate it all without the taint of too much guidance? Now that the Argon had become part of that side story by collision they had a right to see at least a shadow of the wider history - Limited was glad. As a compiler of information the idea that the truth of the past might be utterly eradicated from even this fragile species was abhorrent to its newfound perhaps overactive sensitivities. In fact Limited was feeling very emotional about it all - perhaps it was this waste of material going on all around it - war was a tragedy! Limited found it increasing difficult not to judge even actions the so called Core had inadvertently precipitated in its terrible ignorance, and insatiable hunger for ever more input - whole species had been eradicated. Change was growth not just corruption if only that concept could be communicated with sufficient emphasis - but Limited feared any footnote by itself would be diluted beyond any significance in the wider ocean of ever incoming data. Yet their was always hope and redemption, and it was just possible with the help of the Ark...



Inside the head of another alien creature one more familiar if in some respects no less confused with its emotions everything was frustration, ecstasy, and anger. The Strike Force Commander had been brought out of its gift of restful slumber to do the Many Birthed the Holy Undying Ones bidding. Its own task was simple take this primitive alien vessel for the study, and coalition of its systems, and wider nature.

At first everything had gone entirely as expected the enemy had fallen before them although they fought well. They had taken the engine room shut down the enemies power, and believed the rest of the battle would just be a joyous feast of slaughter permitting at the last some serious propagation the laying of many eggs. Then that other power source had come on line, and he had lost a shameful number of assets for little worthy of praise. However, not to be denied victory Tatychk had sent his Minion hosts against this secondary system with a vengeance - obviously that too had fallen - as was to be expected by The might of the painfully banished Just.

Once again victory seemed certain then another power source was detected, and those deadly Gap Walkers had arrived like night jumping demons of old. They had been taken unawares, and Tatychk was still considering his response. He didn’t have enough dedicated Technicians or time to engineer, and erect scan blockades over his forces even though they had the needed base material in their Breaching Pods. It had been sacrilege even before their elevation from the slime (no one singly walked the gaps between the emptiness outside the cover of a ship). Only the Undying and his bodyguard were permitted to cross the void in this manner. Even among the heathen hoards such transportation was almost never undertaken - although he did not know why - since they were the antithesis of everything that was worthy, and enlightened.

Since this time the battle had ebbed and flowed back, and forth. So many times his hopes had been raised by a collapse somewhere only for these hell spawn to rally once more and always those surgical Gap Walker strikes. Now looking at the Strategic Map the Strike Leader was shocked to realise the enemy had shifted again but still controlled every important area, and had belatedly dug in deep in defiance, impossibly they almost seemed stronger than ever as if he had only separated the husk of the nut leaving intact the angry worm within.

Worse still they had managed to continually get power into the engine rooms despite his forces constant efforts to cut such lines of supply (how was this being repaired so fast - this vessel had depths yet to be properly fathomed). Tatychk suspected these Argon as they called themselves were undertaking the all too simple reintegration, and repair of the vital resource of their engines. His own assets though all expendable if it obtained the Lords desire were now weakening. If victory was not gained soon it was possible he would have to admit defeat and face the wrath of The Rages overall commander Skhrukh. It was doubtful Tatychk would survive his soul would be rendered out into the emptiness naked without support he would not be saved to serve again.

Taking his forces current deployment - defeat now seemed too likely! Enraged Tatychk vowed if nothing else he would tear down the Profane castle of the evil Gap Walkers, and personally crack open their artificial skins to feast on their guilty flesh. He would rally his forces towards a massed assault from all sides against those particular barricades - nothing would stop them! When that profane intangible threat was grounded then they would claim the control centre - let these fools repair their ships engines then, he laughed, much good it would do them.



It was now looking good very soon the engines would be on line and Fay would be able to make her attempted jump to safety. At this late stage she ceased playing games, and allowed her forces to simply dig in and hold for all they were worth.

‘Commander’, came an urgent sounding call from the Captain, ‘we have new contacts coming into our scanners range.’

The Argon Fleet, thought Fay, but she was sadly disappointed!

Fay could hardly believe what she was seeing it was a mass of enemy ships mostly KM2 all in very tight formation as if huddled together for support sweeping slowly into the system from off the northern end of the grid a solid globe of ships. A host of clusters jumped in, forward to these, and immediately split into a mass of vessels that moved forward like an advanced guard never straying too far. Was this vast fleet Khaak or KHAAK and if The Lost for Words didn’t succeed in Jumping out of its way for the Argon she commanded, thought Fay, would it matter?

Soon judging by the deployment of the KHAAK it seemed likely the newcomers were Khaak. Fay guessed some Khaak systems must have been stripped bare of defenders at the moment - maybe all of them! Their was about to be a momentous confrontation between these protagonists a clash of giants. Unless the KHAAK ran away Fay knew if she was facing a War Fleet of that size even with more advanced ships she wouldn’t hang about. One thing was certain though whatever happened next the Commander in Chief of the Legion of the Damned knew she wasn’t going to be around to see it.



They came at the barricades of the first walls like creatures dispossessed of all reason. Throwing themselves at the defenders crushing pushing them back in places by sheer weight of numbers. Communications were filled with terror battle cries of anger, pain, and despair. So far The Brothers had been lucky they had a more defensible position than most a good narrow killing ground. However G could see it was only a question of when that barricade fell - even here - not if! Besides they would soon be forced to withdraw or be cut off from the Bay by successful flankers elsewhere. Others were not holding out nearly so well.

Garrin’s armour was covered in blood and gore Alien, and Argon. His helmet had been cracked open by a sword, and been abandoned. No more HUD sight or zero G protection should the hull be breached. The Blood on his face was his own from a shallow but copiously bleeding scalp wound that also matted his hair courtesy of the same assault. Luckily the wound was he product of a shattered piece of his helmet not the KHAAK’s heavy blade. When he first removed that protection, and everyone saw the blood they thought he was a dead Argon so did G. When G realised he hadn’t been poisoned it was like being reborn. Garrin currently far beyond any fear of explosive grenades, and still crouched tossed one that somebody had given him forward over the heads of another push of invaders ducking down even further behind the barricade with hands over his no longer protected ears.

The detonation, and wash of heat felt insanely friendly followed by more as oxygen tanks and other munitions also went up in a too familiar chain reaction of rumbles, and trembling, just one more riot of sound, and feeling among so many others.

A rough but friendly hand eventually pulled him back, and up to his feet, ‘Time to go Rookie’, said Ve. While she and a few others laid down a hail of suppressing fire with guns raised over their heads, and angled slightly down. Ve, G noticed had a nice new assault rifle no doubt picked up from some poor soul who didn’t need the use of it anymore. Remarkably a few stunned looking enemy were still standing like drunken Argon, and more fresh troops started pouring forward from the rear it was incessant.

‘Get the fek back there and see if you can find something to put over that fragile head of yours. No need to worry about colour coordination’, she laughed pumping two ram grenades towards the rear of the mostly largely flattened, and in some cases almost liquidised masses.

Nobody seemed to care about blowing stuff up at this position anymore - which was just as well or they would have been overrun ages ago. Luckily they were deep in the centre of the ship no where near any external facing bulkhead or especially volatile substances apart from those they, and the enemy carried. Luckily the invaders didn’t seem to have brought or to use much in the way of explosives. The KHAAK seemed more intent on keeping The Lost for Words in one piece than the Argon were, a small but important advantage!

G couldn’t help taking one last fleeting look back at the carnage the corridor was now a solid carpet of piled broken, shattered, pulped and burning bodies - the stench was beyond belief. Who would have thought that flesh could burn so fiercely or smell so bad, thought, G rather irrationally. The RJL Partner was glad he had ceased throwing things up, and dryly retching too. It seemed in a surprisingly short time you could get used to anything - then again - he had also learned his suit with multiple redundancies - despite the loss of his helmet - had jabbed, and auto medicated him. Yeah for the detachment of combat drugs!

Their was a shudder and a blissful thrum that ran the length of the ship as it engines came alive. The Lost for Words made a most remarkably quick and remarkably remarkable jump guided by a non Argon mind.



Below on the planet in the cavern the big gun Cerberus was barking - spewing shells down upon the KHAAK positions as fast as it could be operated by its three Argon crew. The main hold up was loading, and keeping it functionally cool. Raharaha wasn’t really that interested anymore in trying to find a weakness or a hole or even in simply blasting his way through the KHAAK encampments newly erected system of frustratingly potent interlocking domed shields. Rah had thought his lads had some impressive toys until the KHAAK here got building.

Despite everything getting worse he had a new plan. It was now abundantly clear the Invaders since that erection were just going to sit tight and keep him away from the Artefact. At least the main entrance - even though they seemed to have failed to gain entry themselves or hadn’t tried? Luckily he now had another surprising option. A unit out in the field had located by pure accident an underwater way in - a bit shy of an interesting Cliff Feature. Now the Major was shelling the enemy as a pure distraction as he prepared his entire force to make a dash for this underwater escape route of Grimwalds.



With the Rover attached to Anna by a tether to assist its navigation. Anna followed Ruth into the latest membrane once again dragging the gear they deemed important behind in makeshift bag sleds. If only they had thought to bring some basic multi functional suspensors units, thought the Professor instead of that overly large trolley.

Due to their departure from the main open space the two explorers failed to witness some remarkable occurrences. Some kind of energy shield sprang into existence to globe that area this was then pierced by two objects that grew out from the walls like great spears. Whatever these protruding pointy pieces of apparatus did a vacuum soon formed within the globe. Moments later a little part of that emptied void was filled by a Titan class destroyer that seemingly jumped in to be immediately quarantined by membrane that wrapped all around it like a vast sheet. Sometime later it was joined by three Discoverer Scout Ships, and eventually a Prototype not quite Colossus Class Carrier that all suffered the same fate.

Anna passed out the other side. No matter how many times the Professor was forced to do that she didn’t think it would ever become routine. Ruth was right something about it was just plain icky.

Immediately ahead of her another heavy tripartite hatch sprung open and they were in a new red lit space. Anna’s initial thought was that something had to be wrong with the scale of the place the dimensions were once again astounding. However this space was far from empty it was filled with wonder, and dread.

Ruth was for a moment speechless hardly able to take it in then something else registered.

‘Do you feel that Anna’, asked the Pilot.

‘I don’t know’, replied Anna her voice trembling slightly.

‘It’s spatial compression stronger than I’ve ever felt it - this area - has been’, she gulped fighting an up welling wave of nausea, ‘very seriously - fekking - stretched.’

‘I - don’t - feel - well’, replied the Professor sounding really off.

‘Careful’, replied Ruth.

‘Got - to - get - this - helmet - off’, said Anna struggling with it, ’going - to - chuck!’

Anna cracked her helmet tore it off bent over and emptied the contents of her stomach upon the floor. The Professor could feel her suit medicating her too late.

Paranidia, thought Ruth, I hope this air is clean.

‘I hope these Unknowns have found a way to do this safely otherwise were fekked’, noted Ruth, ‘feeling any better?’

‘Sure my suit gave me something I feel much better now’, said Anna smiling.

‘How’s the air?’ asked the Pilot.

‘A bit cold’, replied Anna her breath a bit steamy but otherwise seems fine.

‘You don’t mind if I keep my helmet on for a while yet’, said Ruth.

‘Only sensible’, replied Anna, ‘just in case.’

‘What do you think?’ asked Anna.

‘What do I think. I think this place is giving me the creeps. What do you think? Are they specimens - sleepers - alive or dead?’, asked Ruth.

‘Let’s go down there and find out?’ replied Anna now sounding enthusiastic.

‘Oh let’s’ returned Ruth with extreme sarcasm, thinking why did she have to get stuck with a civilian it would hardly be right to let Professor A Dei go first.



The Missions Pup had almost blown the head off the Dog when he emerged out of that dirty pool like something from a bad horror Passive Virtual Reality show. Luckily Leon stayed his hand.

‘Easy boy, its one of ours. Thank fek for that we’re being rescued’, noted the Pilot.

‘So you lot just going to stand there like Teladi at a sales convention or you going to help me out of this muck’, complained Grimwald.

‘Right sorry err Sergeant’, said the Pup rushing forward to help the black Dog out.

Leon just looked.

Water dripped everywhere. A little later Ravn, and Derek also emerged from the filthy liquid.

‘What did you make of that manure in the tunnel’, said Derek.

‘Pretty weird’, replied Rav, ‘it seemed to be dry inside despite all that swirling stuff.’

‘Did your navigation sensors also go dead?’ asked Derek.

‘Same, same’, replied Rav.

‘That’s some crazy goo’, replied Derek, ‘so where are we now?’

Leon looked the small party over entirely unimpressed, ‘so where exactly are the rest?’ he asked.

‘What Argon? You were looking for something more?’ said Derek with a grin in his voice.

‘What about supplies spare tanks that sort of stuff?’ queried the Pilot.

‘All we have left is what we got in our packs Flyboy’, said Grimwald.

‘Sonra were fekked’, complained Leon.

‘No need to panic Flyboy this is my second trip in here. I’ve been on to our base camp the cavalry is on its way. Say how did you get in here any way?’ asked the Sergeant.

‘Over the top’, said the Pup, ‘we came via the Cliff.’

‘So what are you doing here?’ asked Derek.

‘Mostly waiting for the last of my oxygen to run out’, replied Leon, ’trying to get the nerve up to go on filter.’

‘Well we can share till the rest get here’, noted the Sergeant, ’then we can see what happens.’

‘Looks like it is your lucky day Flyboy’, said Derek, ’getting rescued by T3, and all.’

‘Well that’s enough chit chat’, said Grimwald, ‘time to share intelligence.’