Nglangah-of-Jgnar yawned wide, displaying quite the array of razor-sharp organic cutlery. She surveyed the holographic representation of Gnranth-Eight in front of her as she took another sip of steaming brown liquid from her mug. She was alone in the dome-shaped room which contained the ultimate nerve center of Planetary Traffic Control; in here, it was just her and her mug of not-coffee.
Not-coffee was what everyone jokingly called it…which was a permanent source of annoyance to its manufacturer, who insisted it was just like the stimulant beverage beloved of so many tiny-chompers. They’d taken some roasted coffee beans direct from [Dirt], analyzed those beans down to the molecular level, and then produced three kinds of drinks for each of the Senate races. The scientists said each type of ersatz ‘coffee’ caused the same kind of biochemical and neurological effects in its intended target species.
But then the philosophers swept in and opined that such declarations were nonsense. It was impossible to quantify subjective experience based on objective criteria, even if one was mapping responses down to the individual neuron. Brains worked differently between the species, for starters. Then the philosophers started going on and on about qualia until everybody else tied those philosophers up, gagged them, and stuffed them into the nearest broom closet.
Nglangah didn’t care what not-coffee or even ‘real’ coffee might taste like to a tiny-chomper when compared to what it tasted like to her. What she liked about not-coffee was that it was a decent morning pick-me-up and a nice change of pace after drinking tea for a few hundred years.
In her display, a multitude of smaller and larger blips flitted around the two-tone sphere of the planet. During ‘normal’ times she might count ten ships either in orbit or on the ground. But now there were at least a few hundred to keep track of, thanks to the various speed trials and races. To be honest, the automated systems were doing most of the tracking and station-keeping, especially for the ships in orbit. But Nglangah was still there, using her many years of experience to keep a weather eye on the swarm in case the computers forgot to carry the two or something.
A ripple in the orbiting swarm caught her attention, and with a few keystrokes on her equally holographic control panel she saw the reason for that change. Some of the smaller ships’ orbits had been slightly altered to ensure they’d pass at a safe distance from the biggest ship in orbit, namely the tiny-chomper-owned dreadnaught.
Nglangah flicked a claw at the display, and the planet’s image obligingly rotated to show a much larger blip cruising along in its assigned orbit on the other side of the planet. After further checking, it seemed that the dreadnaught in question hadn’t done anything to cause the other alterations; it was just a case of the non-sapient robotic controllers exercising an abundance of simulated caution. She checked the newly-altered orbits just to make sure that they wouldn’t cause cascading problems for any of the other ships, then settled back with a satisfied click-growl.
As she took another comforting sip of not-coffee, the door hissed open off to her side and she was surprised to see Gh’kgnan-of-Ngnan, her supervisor’s supervisor, knuckle-walk her way in. Beside her was a Dorarizin male; the latter wore a dark gray constable’s uniform. Gnranth-Eight’s colony was small enough that everybody was at least somewhat familiar with each other; Nglangah was pretty sure the newcomer was no mere policeman, but the head of the planet’s constabulary.
Nglangah tried to think of any misdeed on her part that required such a visit. There was that one annoying parking ticket which she’d ignored, but that only involved a fine amounting to a few hundred GRC. Surely it wasn’t enough to warrant a visit to her place of work? The traffic controller’s nervousness increased as Gh’kgnan reached Nglangah’s workstation, a grim expression set upon the elder Dorarizin’s face.
“{Nglangah, this is Head Constable Nk’nar-of-Anghr.}” Gh’kgnan motioned an ear towards the gray-suited Dorarizin beside her. “{What we are about to tell you is in the strictest confidence, and you are not to reveal it to anyone unless I authorize it. Do you understand?}”
Nglangah felt her nervousness shift from concern about herself to curiosity about…whatever was going on. “{Of course, ma’am.}”
“{Very good. You know the dreadnaught, the one owned by the tiny-chomper?}”
“{Of course. It’s kind of hard to miss it.}” Nglangah pointed an unsheathed claw towards the large blip she’d just been examining.
Nk’nar cleared his throat. “{That ship’s owner has been kidnapped, and there’s been a ransom demand.}”
“{WHAT?}” Nglangah looked around with guilt after her shouted outburst, even though the three of them were the only ones present in the room. “{What…what do we do? Do we have any, [whaddyacall], leads?}”
The constable held up a paw. “{It’s not as bad as you think. Two Senate teams are on the way, and, as it turns out, the security detail on board the tiny-chomper’s ship has been remarkably competent in their own investigation. We have the perpetrators’ location, and in less than an hour the tiny-chomper should be back safe.}”
Nglangah didn’t miss the ‘should’ missing from that declaration. “{But just in case, you want me to lock down the perps’ ship.}”
Gh’kgnan smiled at the policeman. “{I told you she was quick.}”
“{Yes, you certainly did,}” said Nk’nar. He turned back and fixed Nglangah with a stare. “{How well can you stop that ship from leaving?}”
The controller realized that, like most people who dealt with dirt-side matters, Nk’nar simply had no idea about how much power she wielded from this station. That power was necessary; a warp-capable ship of any size was a weapon of mass destruction on a terrifying scale. “{Depends on how permanently you want it stopped. I can seal its airlocks, lock down all onboard systems, or get more destructive if you want me to.}”
Nk’nar nodded in satisfaction as he took out a small datastick from his lapel pocket and offered it to Nglangah. “{Oh, I want you to. Here’s the ship ident. I want that damn vehicle shut down with extreme prejudice…but only when I give the word. We don’t want them to know they’ve been made just yet.}”
Nglangah grinned as she slotted the datastick into her panel and began typing commands. Hers was a purely predatory smile; she’d never been able to indulge herself like this. “{I understand you, sir, and I will give you the full smash. Airlocks sealed, computer systems shut down, and I’ll blow all the fusible links on board at once. Even if they somehow cut their way into the hull and manage to bypass every automated control, the ship will still be just a chunk of inert metal.}”
She leaned back, that feral smile still on her features. “{The script is all set. When you tell me, I’ll issue one single command and then boom.}” Her grin faded. “{Well, it’ll be a metaphorical ‘boom’, of course. There won’t be any actual explosion. I’m assuming you didn’t want me overloading the ship’s engines.}”
The constable clapped her on the shoulder and laughed. “{You assume right, miss. Nice work! Now, how well can you track aircraft? We need to keep an eye on the perps’ shuttle.}”
After he gave her the coordinates, Nglangah called up a side display and zoomed in to the inn in question. Nk’nar leaned over her shoulder and gave a soft growl of amazement at the clarity of the image. “{Where’s the feed coming from?}”
“{The image data is integrated from an orbiting constellation of microsatellites,}” Nglangah responded. She didn’t mind having the constable inside of her personal space; he was cute, plus he had that whole man-in-uniform thing going on. Once this was all over, maybe she could invite him out for a cup of not-coffee. Still, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “{I thought you would have used this system before, what with your line of work and all.}”
Nk’nar gave a disgusted click of tongue against teeth. “{Are you kidding? On this planet? All I deal with is drunk-and-disorderly stuff or parking tickets.}”
Nglangah winced internally and glanced over towards him. “{Er, yeah. About that…}”
Whatever she was about to say died as she felt the constable stiffen beside her. “{Oh, no,}” he whispered.
She snapped her focus back to the side display, only to see the perps’ shuttle nearly take the inn’s roof off as rose and speed away. “{Erzet-shit,}” she muttered as she lunged for her controls. Within moments she’d executed the proper commands. “{Okay, their ship is dead. What else do you need?}”
“{Track that shuttle,}” replied Nk’nar. His eyes unfocused as he received a message via implant. “{The tiny-chomper’s security team has their own shuttle in pursuit. If they lose the perps, we’ll need to vector them in. Or at the very least figure out where they’re taking that tiny-chomper.}”
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While Mrg-Znrnah performed her ‘casual’ stroll towards the shuttle, Grznagh had wrangled their captive into a human-sized crash couch within the shuttle’s cockpit; their ‘Plan B’ might involve some fast maneuvering, and it wouldn’t do to have their valuable prize bouncing around in his cell whilst getting turned into red paste.
The Princess had just enough time to make sure that [Harry] was properly strapped in. She ignored (with some effort) the silent glare from the tiny-chomper as she turned and flung herself onto the pilot’s saddle. The saddle’s restraints unfastened themselves from various points and locked themselves around her body, ensuring that she couldn’t be shaken off no matter how violent her flying became.
As she started up the engines with shaking fingers, Grznagh snarled from the co-pilot’s saddle. “{Gnranth-Eight traffic control just locked down the Nazan’arg. I’m getting no signal at all from the ship. No way out there.}”
“{Well, that’s why we have a Plan B,}” replied the Princess. She hoped the camouflaged soldiers outside were well clear of her ship’s exhaust; in spite of [Harry’s] accusations she really wanted this whole caper to go down without any injuries on any side. But she still didn’t waste time in making sure of their distance, instead she twisted the controls to full thrust and slewed the shuttle’s shovel-shaped nose up with just enough margin to miss clipping the inn’s roof.
The near-miss caused Grznagh to let out a startled “{Woah!}” Then the big Dorarizin looked at her own control board and cursed. “{They’re following.}”
“{Of course they are,}” Mrg-Znrnah muttered. In her rear camera she saw their pursuer, a strangely ‘sharp’ craft made of angled facets rather than the sleek lines so common to modern shuttlecraft.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“{We can’t let them follow us,}” said Grznagh, showing an annoying penchant for stating the [fucking] obvious. If their backup spacecraft was discovered, Gnranth-Eight traffic control would just shrug and lock that one down as well. And having a third warp-capable spacecraft stashed somewhere for any hypothetical ‘Plan C’ required just a bit too much cash-on-hand, even for someone who was as well-placed as [Whrnsnnanth’nan].
Mrg-Znrnah cranked the controls over, causing the entire shuttle to tilt up onto one side as she threw it into a severe bank to the left. Grznagh didn’t complain, but she did hear a little protesting grunt from [Harry] behind them.
Of course, the shuttlecraft chasing them performed a mirror of her desperate maneuver. But it made the turn with an aplomb which gave off an air of amused contempt. Suddenly the Princess knew exactly who was flying that vehicle.
“{Driver,}” she murmured, almost using the word as a curse.
Grznagh continued her stating of Things Which Were Obvious. “{We need to lose them-}”
“{Busy!}” she yelled, louder this time, as she scanned her surroundings. Above was no help, if they tried to reach orbit they’d be interdicted by the local authorities’ ships in no time. Staying at the current altitude was also not an option. Driver would just follow them and report the location and identity of their backup starship, leading traffic control to lock that one down as well.
Her eyes flitted down and left, to the broken-up mesas and stony arches below her aircraft. They stretched away from the rolling dunes surrounding the salt flats, and were an area known simply as the ‘scab-lands’.
Somehow Grznagh picked up on her intention. “{Oh no don’t you [fucking] DAREAAAAHHH!!}”
The big Dorarizin’s protest turned into a scream of pure fear as Mrg-Znrnah-of-Hrnsnah dove the shuttle towards the maze of unyielding rock. Once upon a time she had taken the defensive driving courses which were standard for royalty; after all, if everyone in your security detail [buys a farm] then it’s up to you to extract yourself out of that particular situation. She could only hope those once-honed skills hadn’t atrophied in the meantime.
Mrg-Znrnah didn’t dare shift her eyes from the viewscreen as it was suddenly filled with striped ochre rock. There were ever-so-slight gaps visible here and there, and her entire world became a matter of slotting her shuttle through the spaces able to accommodate her vehicle’s girth. She didn’t dare glance into her rear-view cameras to see if her insane gambit had worked.
Fortunately, Grznagh was there to do that for her. “{By the Pale Moon…he followed us in,}” she said. “{He’s insane.}”
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The Dorarizin criminal known to this story as Grznagh-of-Ngnat is wrong. Driver is not insane.
Driver is angry.
Bloody angry.
A less-knowledgeable person might ask ‘so what else is new?’ but that question would ignore the surprising subtleties of Driver’s mind. He is by nature peevish, he is irritated, he is vexed at a universe which appears to take great delight in throwing obstacles in his way. Obstacles which prevent him from Going, which is the most grievous possible mortal sin as far as Driver is concerned.
But Driver has never been truly angry.
Until now.
Now Employer is in danger, the one person who is the closest thing which Driver has ever had to that elusive concept called a ‘friend’. This ‘friend’ is in mortal peril. More importantly, if Driver’s ‘friend’ does not return, Driver will not get to Go anymore. Hence his current near-apocalyptic rage…of which the only outward sign is a slightly tighter grip on the shuttle controls. This, of course, does not affect his flying in the slightest.
The white-clad, helmeted human is only barely aware of the looming presence of Butler next to him; apart the latter’s stupidly obvious pronouncement to ‘not lose them’, the big alien had the good sense to strap in and shut up. That makes Driver think…not kindlier of Butler, that’s not in his temperament. But he does consider Butler less of an annoyance. Which is a start, perhaps, to Butler becoming another ‘friend’.
Still, Butler lets out a tiny squeak of fear as Driver dives to follow the silly person who’s trying to escape with Employer. They think that by flying amongst obstacles they can ‘lose’ Driver.
Such a silly, silly person.
A hypothetical Karnakian sitting in the rear of Thunderbird Three’s cockpit would now see the pulsing, black-hole-esque aura of Driver’s soul begin to swirl faster, faster, ever and always faster…
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“{Not the scablands-!}” Nk’nar’s strangled shout was accompanied by wordless exclamations of dismay from the other two present. Nglangah’s breath seized as, on the display, she saw the tiny angular shape of the pursuing shuttle dive in after the first. The two sliver blips began weaving back and forth in rocky labyrinth, sometimes lost to the overhead view as they went sequentially under a particular arch.
She didn’t waste time in cursing as she reached for her own controls. The satellite feed required careful juggling to image any given area; tracking moving objects needed even more of her concentration. As she steered the image feed, she managed to lock both shuttles into an automated tracking system. Both craft now had bits of data overlaid on top of their images; that data mostly consisted of screeching from the computers about how close each was to crashing.
Even with the automated tracking, Nglangah still fought to keep track of the two dancing blips. Her own panting breath sounded loud in her ears, and somewhere behind her she could hear Nk’nar yelling to someone about scrambling interception drones and ambulances.
The latter idea seemed very wise to her. No matter which way you clawed at the problem, there was going to be a horrific crash sometime in the very near future.
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“[...skydivenakedfromanaeroplaneoraladywithabodyfromouterspacemyheartmyheartkickstartmyheart…]”
Jevnar had, in his long and varied past, stared death in the face. Sometimes, it happened under conditions he could not control. He’d faced those possible endings with his usual outward aplomb, in spite of whatever internal fear he might feel.
He now knew that such past incidents had not prepared him for this…this horror. Every [second] was now filled with something which could end his existence in less than a heartbeat; the front windscreen was nothing but a profusion of rocks of various sizes and shapes, each one seemingly designed to smash them into so much dust…except that, at the last moment, somehow Driver would flick the controls just so and their craft would avoid the obvious disaster.
To his shame, he heard a slight and continuous whine emerge from his snout as he clamped both paws tight into the roof above him. His claws sank up to their full length into the metal overhead as his subconscious made a pitiful attempt to anchor himself before the certain and oncoming crash.
All the while, the screeching tiny-chomper song blared through the speakers around them. And all that Jevnar could think right now was a single phrase, repeated over and over in his mind until it blended into a holy and reverent chant.
We’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodiewe’regoingtodie…
Driver, for his part, seemed unfazed by Jevnar’s complaining. His helmet didn’t even glance in Jevnar’s direction as he leaned casually back in his chair, his hands steady on the controls as he kept the silvery-chrome form of the other shuttle firmly in the center of the windscreen. Jevnar couldn’t even understand how the tiny-chomper was able to perform such a feat; to his understanding, tiny-chomper reflexes were pitiful when compared to those of any Dorarizin.
And he knew that a Dorarizin must be piloting that shuttle. More importantly, he knew which specific Dorarizin was at the controls. That was the one thing that kept him sane as their craft went through its various gyrations.
He knew that the Princess was in his sights, and he would die before he let her escape from this chase. However, he now realized that particular declaration actually had a substantive threat of death behind it, given how Driver was…well, driving…
The windscreen now filled with an arch of striped stone, and Jevnar’s consistent whine turned into a singular bark of alarm…
Driver twitched his hands ever so slightly, and as a result Thunderbird Three up-ended onto one side and just managed to slide through the arch. Jevnar’s bark turned into a relieved sigh, and Driver’s helmet glanced over with a casual air as if to say I’ve got this, fam.
The butler’s concentration now narrowed as he examined the chromed form of their prey…and his heart leapt into his throat as he saw that form dissolve into a shower of sparks. It clipped one edge of a mesa, and now it somersaulted end-over-end as it emitted more sparks from its collisions with the desert floor…
----------------------------------------
Harry heard Mrg- Znrnah scream an obscure epithet as the entire shuttle shook; she must have mis-judged some turn and clipped their craft against some errant outcrop of rock. Before he could gasp out any question as to what had happened his vision of the entire cockpit went dark, the only sound he could fathom was that of hissing as crash-foam filled the space around him and his captors.
He couldn’t move, he could only wait in that darkness…and then he heard the scrabbling of claws digging away at the entombing foam around him. His heart beat faster as he realized he didn’t know which of his captors was trying to free him…and then that heart sank as a chunk of foam broke free around his head and he saw that those claws belonged to the bigger Dorarizin. The helmeted, giant alien pointed a claw towards his unearthed face as she began to yell…
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“{THIS little shit!}” exclaimed Grznagh-of-Ngnat. “{He’s the source of all of our troubles!}” The big Dorarizin began to tear larger chunks of crash-foam away from the cowering figure of [Harry], growling all the while.
“{Stop,}” Mrg-Znrnah growled in response while she cut herself free of her own surrounding foam. She toppled out of the mounds of crash-foam around her as she held up a constraining paw. “{It’s not his fault…we’re just done for, simple as that.}”
“{You might give up, but I’m not going to!}” snarled Grzhagh as she reached down and plucked up [Harry]. “{He’s worth a lot, and I’m not giving him up until I get paid! And before that I’m gonna extract some pain from this little fucker!}”
Grzhagh looked down at the small captive, his shirt-front clenched in her clawed fist. She snarled, clearly intending on using her expression as an intimidation ploy. But [Harry] didn’t back down; instead, the tiny-chomper thrust one hand up towards the face of the giant Dorarizin.
Mrg-Anrnah stared in shock as Grzhagh reeled back and released [Harry]. As he fell, she saw a small white stub emerging from one of Grzhagh’s eyes and realized that, somehow, the tiny-chomper had got hold of a weapon. Grzhagh planted her feet and let forth a pained growl as [Harry] toppled to the deck. Her face became truly dangerous as she extended her claws. “{You little piece of EZERT-SHIT!}”
The Princess held up her hands, emphasizing that she didn’t have any concealed weaponry herself. “{NO! EVERYBODY STOP NOW!}”
Grzhagh didn’t notice her shout in the slightest; instead she lunged back towards [Harry].
Mrg-Znrnah-of-Hrnsnah, to her credit, didn’t hesitate. She gathered her legs behind her and all but flew across the cockpit, all of her focus was on the threatening arm reaching for the tiny-chomper.
She collided with that limb, and what followed was a complicated ballet of violence which managed to avoid hurting [Harry] but which still wound up with Grzhagh’s head pressed up against an unyielding stanchion, with Mrg-Znrnah using the former’s arm as a lever to keep her under control.
“{Stop it, damn you!}” the Princess snarled. Then she felt a spasm of fear as Grzhagh twisted beneath her, clearly seeking to find and end the tiny-chomper behind her. She heard a single, despairing cry from the small creature…
“[NO!]”
…before Grzhagh turned with insane strength, a move which dislocated her shoulder. It was clear that all she wanted to do was to sink her claws into the tiny-chomper’s abdomen and eviscerate the tiny creature.
“{STOP, I MEAN IT!}” Mrg-Znrnah’s despairing shout resounded in the shuttle’s cockpit as she twisted her foe’s head around. For a split-second she thought about breaking Grzhagh’s neck, but then changed her mind in an eyeblink and settled for slamming Grzhagh’s helmeted head repeatedly into the nearest metal wall until the raging Dorarizin went limp.
She kept up her hold for a moment more, just to make sure Grzhagh wasn’t faking it. She let out a sigh as she released her would-be partner in crime. Grzhagh slumped to the foam-covered deck as Mrg-Znrnah turned to [Harry]. The tiny-chomper’s eyes were huge as he pressed himself back into the hardened foam behind his crash couch; he clearly expected her to grab for him, as a hostage if nothing else.
The Princess sighed and reached up towards her collar. She took in a deep lungful of fresh air as her helmet thunked onto the deck. [Harry’s] eyes narrowed as he saw her face.
Mrg-Znrnah gave him a sad smile. “{Yes, you were correct. It was indeed me. I’m…I’m sorry, for what little good that does.}”
Before [Harry] could reply, she heard a call from outside, one from an all-too familiar voice.
“{Hello the shuttle! Can you hear me?}”
The Princess rolled her eyes. Of course it would be Jevnar who’d tracked them down. The man was like some relentless reincarnation of an Alpha from the First Pack. She looked at [Harry], who stared back more somberly. She sagged as she thought about the ruin that was now her life. With a tired air she plucked up a holstered sidearm attached to the pilot’s saddle and clipped it to the waistband of her black cat-suit.
“{Stay in here,}” she said with a leaden air. “{It’ll be safer. Don’t worry, you’ll be back with your friends soon enough.}”
[Harry] wetted his lips. “[What…what are you going to do?]”
She gave a sad smirk. “{There’s an appropriate tiny-chomper phrase. What was it?…ah, yes. I’m going out to face the music.}”
Without a glance back towards [Harry] she strode for the shuttle’s airlock.