Overdrive (16 page)

“How so”?

“You’ve got a
great arse."

Felix shrugged.
“Works for me."

Reaching another
T-junction, Logan turned left into a corridor sloping upwards. There were still
no signs of any Templars or Nephillim. In fact, the corridors were devoid of
any people at all – presumably, everyone had finally taken the evacuate warning
seriously and made their way to the lifepods. Arriving at the small service
lift, Tarquin used the manual override and instructed it to take them down one
level to the docking bay. Squeezing into the lift, Felix smiled nervously over
his shoulder at the two Transplanters. He wish he hadn’t when they returned his
grin. A smiling Polar Bear and Gorilla weren’t pretty sights.

“Okay," said
Logan. “When the lift doors open, I’ll launch a couple of smoke grenades into
the docking bay and cover you. You lot make your way to Tarquin’s ship which
should be about 100 meters directly to our lift. Questions?”

“Can I have a gun?,"
said Crystal. Tarquin quietly handed her one of his plasma guns.

“Anything else?”

“Got any good
booze on your ship?," Derek asked.

“As much as you
can drink.”

“I can drink a
lot”

Bruce nodded
sagely.

“Look, I think we
have more pressing problems than sorting out a cocktail party," said
Logan. Any rejoinders were cut short by the lift coming to a halt. The doors
started to open.

◊

After failing to
receive a report from the assault squad sent to shadow Logan and Tarquin, Asel
decided to send a couple more Nephillim to assess the situation. They reported
back that the squad had been found – cut to pieces.

Asel gestured to
his Lieutenant. “Assemble my personal guard and have them wait for me outside
the ship.” It would seem that he would have to take a more active role in this
– especially if Simbiel was now massacring his men willy nilly.

Exiting the
bridge, Asel made his way out of the ship. Outside, he found his personal
guard, dressed in identical battle armor, waiting for him at the bottom of the
ramp. Walking towards the docking bay main doors, Asel recognized the
unmistakable sound of a rocket launch.

“Take cover,"
he said to his men, activating his personal field. He watched as two
projectiles arched over a small ship some 200 meters away from him, landed, and
immediately started pumping out thick black smoke. The projectiles had come
from the opposite direction of the main doors.

Using his AI, Asel
ordered a squad in that direction. “It could be a distraction," he warned.
“Be prepared.”

Confident that the
situation was still well in hand, Asel, together with his personal guard
continued on towards the main door. Plasma blasts could be seen penetrating
through the smoke on the far side of the docking bay. Silence momentarily
filled the area as the plasma blasts suddenly stopped. The main doors opened
revealing a large winged figure and three smaller figures, all carrying swords.
They stepped forward, enabling Asel to see their faces.

“Hello Simbiel. Its
been far too long. You shouldn’t be such a stranger." Both Angel and
Watcher drew their swords.

◊

As soon as the
lift doors opened, Logan immediately walked out and fired two smoke grenades
from the launcher below his plasma cannon. Felix, Cystal, Tarquin and the two
Transplanters took off towards Tarquin’s ship.

Two figures clad
in battle armor appeared out of the smoke and fired plasma blasts towards
Logan. His AI calmly targeted the closest and fired a blast from his plasma
cannon, hitting the figure in the head and knocking him off his feet. Logan
felt a blast hit his chest and flew backwards hitting the wall with a bone
jarring thud. His AI needlessly reported that the suit had been penetrated as
he felt plasma scorching his chest. Crawling to his knees, he looked up to find
the other suited figure pointing his cannon at him from less than a meter away.
Combat options, provided by his AI, flew through his head in less than a
nanosecond. Choosing one, he threw one of his legs around and out, faster than
the eye could follow, knocking his assailant off his feet. Jumping up, Logan
placed one strength enhanced leg on the prone figures chest and fired his canon
point blank into its head. Armor, brain and bone exploded beneath him.

Three more figures
appeared out of the smoke. Another blast hit him in the leg. Now limping and
having difficulty breathing, Logan took off in the direction of Tarquin’s ship.

◊

Tynan and two
Templars exited the service lift and found themselves in the smoke filled
docking area. Using his AI, he informed Simbiel of his position. An armored,
headless figure lay on the ground near the lift door. The sounds of plasma
blasts could be heard echoing around. Recalling the position of Tarquin’s ship
from memory, Tynan led his men in that direction. A plasma blast streaked past
his head, knocking one of his Templars to the ground.

Taking cover,
Tynan and his one remaining Templar slowly continued towards the ship. He could
make out two bodies lying on the ground. Another figure was stealthily moving
towards the ship ahead of him, about to shoot a limping armored shape just in
front. A group was milling around Tarquin’s ship some 50 meters ahead. Taking
aim, he shot the closest figure in the back and watched it slump to the ground.

Two transplanters
ran out from the ship and helped the limping figure up the ramp. With somewhat
of a shock, Tynan recognized them from the Hedonist ball. Outnumbered and
outgunned, Tynan decided that patience was the better part of valor and settled
down to wait for Simbiel.

◊

Simbiel had his
own problems. His three remaining Templars were now smoking corpses on the
ground whilst the Nephillim had taken no losses.

He and Asel had
risen into the air, facing each other through their respective fields.
Simbiel’s glowing blue field almost looked drab compared to Asel’s nimbus.

Although the
Slipdrive was a by product of field technology, the fields themselves were seen
as being one of the more important technological developments in the history of
humankind - not only in space exploration but in every day usage. Fields could
be manipulated to fulfill many different requirements including ship
protection, matter containment and vacuum plugs.

Nanotechnology had
reduced the size of the components required to produce a field dramatically
over the centuries but never small enough so that an unassisted human could
carry one around effectively. Smaller hand held devices, such as those used by
Snareball gladiators, were very heavy, weak and had extremely limited ranges.
The majority of fields were used on ships where size generally wasn’t an issue.
Ship board fields were used to fend off comets and asteroids, protect from
conventional weaponry and ensure that passengers wouldn’t inflict bodily harm
to one another over arguments concerning smoke.

Fields varied in
strength. The weakest could enclose matter such as smoke, gas or vacuum whilst
the strongest could repulse all but the most powerful plasma cannons. Repeated
blasts or the use of a powerful disruptor cannon, could of course pierce the
fields for limited periods.

Military designers
and strategists had tried for centuries to reduce the size of field generators
to enable humans to carry effective and powerful versions on their persons. The
more ambitious attempted to modify humans to generate the fields themselves.
Widespread genetic tinkering didn’t appear to bring the researchers any closer
to achieving their goal. It was thought that the advantages a soldier would
have on a battlefield easily justified the amount of time and money invested in
the research. Huge teams of scientists were assembled, exploited, and mocked
for their fashion sense. Revenues from entire developed worlds were injected.
All had failed. That is until the Areopagite’s came around.

Shortly after the
formation of the Areopagite’s, Angels were born. It was discovered soon after
that all Angels had the ability to inherently generate and manipulate fields.
No explanation or scientific report was given for this unprecedented ability.
When asked, representatives of the Areopagite’s would explain that it was “gods
will." Many scoffed, quite a few laughed and the odd one or two wet
themselves, but the vast majority grew quiet contemplating the implications.
Additionally, the ranks of would be Areopagites swelled dramatically, drawn
largely from those wanting to get into gods good books.

As the hierarchy
of angels was developed, it soon became apparent that, in terms of field
generation, Angels of the First Hierarchy were far more powerful than their
lower brethren. The most powerful Angels could generate fields equivalent to
those on medium sized ships. This made the Angelic royalty almost invulnerable
to conventional weaponry. It was seen as a truism that if you wanted to fuck
over a royal Angel, make sure you brought your battle cruiser. There were,
however, handheld (well, assisted by a powered battle suit) field disruptors,
developed in secret and available for ridiculous sums on the black market, that
were capable of penetrating an Angels field and thus making them temporarily
vulnerable.

Unfortunately for
Simbiel, he carried only a sword. He knew he was in trouble. He’d met Asel once
before on less volatile terms and knew the Watcher had his measure. The Watcher
he faced was equivalent to a Throne – the third order of the First Hierarchy.
Simbiel was only a Power, sixth order, Second Hierarchy. As such he couldn’t
hope to win. With growing frustration, anger and few or no options left,
Simbiel knew he was fucked. His anger certainly wasn’t helped by the
contemptuous smile on Asel’s face.

“You really should
have left this to the big boys, you know," Asel said condescendingly.

“Fuck you."
Simbiel feinted and then struck out at Asel’s head with his sword. Asel didn’t
bother to block. The sword, with a brilliant flaring, bounced harmlessly off
his field. To the watching Nephillim, it appeared Simbiel had flinched from
Asel’s blazing aura.

With a roar,
Simbiel struck again, achieving the same result.

“That’s the
spirit. Come on, I know you can do better," mocked Asel.

Simbiel, channeling
his rage, struck once again with all his might. Asel was forced to bring his
sword up and block Simbiel’s which just managed to penetrate his field.

“Excellent. Love
your work," Asel continued conversationally. He paused and lowered his
eyelid, obviously receiving a communiqué from his AI. Simbiel used the
distraction to penetrate Asel’s field again. Asel blocked with ease and then
opened his left eye with a look of shock on his face.

“Fuck. Love to
keep dancing, Simbiel old boy, but I’m afraid the party’s moving to a new
venue. Ta ta.”

Asel raised his
sword up and launched it with blinding speed at Simbiel’s head. Simbiel watched
in horror as his sword, which he brought up to block, was cut in two. Asel’s
sword continued onwards, completing its journey by burying itself up to the
hilt in Simbiel’s eye. Simbiel’s field disappeared and he fell to the ground,
lying quite dead, shock evident on his frozen face.

Asel floated to
the ground where he retrieved his sword from Simbiel’s skull. He turned towards
his Nephillim.

“Back to the ship.
Now!”

◊

Tarquin was
already on the bridge and priming the ship for launch when Logan was brought
into the ship’s lounge by the two Transplanters. Felix and Crystal were already
seated around a table in the lounge. They laid Logan down on one of the
couches.

“Where’s the bar?,"
Derek asked.

Logan pointed
upwards and then put his armored arm down with a groan. Felix and Crystal
helped him out of his armor.

“Fuckola,"
said Felix, looking at wounds scattered around Logan’s body. “I’d hate to see
the other guy.” He disappeared returning with wound sealant and nanoskin
regrowth. Logan sighed as Felix sprayed the wound sealant on his injuries.
Crystal  placed the nanoskin particle over the now closed wounds and watched as
it grew, finally joining up with Logan’s normal skin. The only evidence that
Logan had been injured at all were patches of lighter skin.

“Goddamn. That
feels better. I probably owe those Transplanters my life.”

Felix looked down
at him. “You trust them?”

“Yeah, they seem
alright to me. Not that we really had any choice at the time.”

Struggling up, he
made his way to the bridge. Taking the seat next to Tarquin, he watched through
the screens as the ship lifted out of its docking cradle and made its way
towards the field exit. Passing the Watcher ship, small armored figures fired
plasma weapons at the departing yacht. The
Debacherous Weekend’s
fields
easily fended off the assault and continued past.

The ship’s screens
momentarily turned blue as they passed through the giant ship’s exit field,
emerging into the colored maelstrom of the gas giant’s outer atmosphere. Two
tiny lifepods streaked past heading for the relative safety of open space.
Tarquin turned off the AG and brought the Ion drive on line, quickly bringing
his ship up to maximum velocity.

Emerging out of
the gas giant’s atmosphere, The
Debacherous Weekend
found itself gliding
past numerous escape pods, their small ion engines appearing as very bright
blue stars against the backdrop of the star field.

“I’ll launch a
marker buoy," said Tarquin. “The Minx has got a couple of hours at least
until it impacts. Rescue ships should make it here by then.” He turned his head
and yelled into the lounge.

“Felix, Crystal.
Get in here."

The couple
arrived, standing behind the command seats in the bridge.

“So, where now?”
asked Tarquin.

“Set a course for
Fever," said Crystal.

“The disco
asteroid?," a surprised Logan asked.

“Yep," she
replied. “That’s where we’re meeting our boss," she said indicating Felix.

“Our?," a
puzzled Logan asked.

Felix shrugged.
“Turns out Crystal and I share the same employer."

Tarquin closed one
eye, consulting his ship’s AI and preparing for the move into Nospace.

Logan turned to
look at Crystal. “Why there?”

“Our employer
doesn’t want to let the other parties who are interested in the Overdrive know
who the actual developers are.” She winked at Felix.

“Fever is neutral
territory and fairly close to our eventual destination. Besides,” she added, “its
a fairly unlikely place to hand over technology that could well change society
as we know it."

Felix looked
thoughtful. “It hadn’t actually occurred to me, what with all that shooting,
screaming and running going on, but how do I know you’re who you say you are?
For all I know, you could be just another of these “interested parties” wanting
to suck my brains out and steal the technology for themselves.”

She looked at him
with a half smile. “Turn on your AI," she said quietly. Felix did so.
“Remember that query you fired at Nebula Inc’s AI back on Coleridge and how it
gave you instructions?," she asked.

“Well, yes.”

“In the data
package that you received, there should be a small visual file you can’t open.
Is that so?”

Felix consulted
his AI and realized that this was the case. “Yep."

Crystal fired a
code at Felix. The previously inaccessible file opened immediately revealing a
picture of Crystal.

“Satisfied?,"
she asked him.

“As much as my
paranoia and skepticism will allow.”

“That’ll have to
do then.”

Tarquin had by now
found the path to Fever. “We can’t go directly there. The route between here
and Fever has a Shiva guardian. We’re gonna have to go around which will take
us at least another week.”

Crystal shook her
head. “Nope. We can’t afford the time. Besides, I have something that should
take care of the Shiva.”

Logan looked
shocked. “What! There’s nothing apart from an Areopagite that can circumvent
the Shiva."

Crystal smiled. If
she’d been a man, the expression on her face probably would have been
interpreted as supreme arrogance. On a woman it was seductive. “You just leave
it up to me," she said patting Logan on the face.

Logan and Felix
shared an uncomfortable look. Tarquin shrugged and turned back to the
viewscreens.

“Ok then. Thirty
seconds until Slipdrive activation. Course: Fever, set. ETA, five days. Stand
by for transition. You may notice a small twinge," said Tarquin, assuming
the mannerisms of a host aboard a pleasure cruiser.

Logan looked at
Crystal skeptically. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Crystal smiled
again and walked out of the bridge. Unheard by the three men behind her she
mumbled “So do I. So do I." 

Her slipdrive
activated, the
Debacherous Weekend
took less than a picosecond to enter
Nospace. One moment she existed in real space, the next she was gone.

Unnoticed behind
them, a Watcher ship emerged from the gas giant’s atmosphere. Reaching minimum
safe distance, it immediately activated its Slipdrive.

◊

As soon as Asel
stepped through the main doors on the Watcher Trireme, he ordered the Captain
to take off.

“But some of our
men are still out there," the Captain protested.

“Captain, unless
you wish to join them, I would, if I were you, which thankfully I’m not, take
off immediately."

The Captain, torn
between loyalty to his men and loyalty to his own derriere, made his decision.

“Yes Lord."
The Watcher ship rose and made its way to the exit field. Ahead of it, the
Debacherous
Weekend
had already disappeared through the glowing field.

Asel, arriving on
the bridge and seating himself in the command chair, was again addressed by the
Captain.

“What are my
orders Lord?”

“Follow the
pleasure yacht that just left. If you loose it, you will not only loose your
testicles but also the ability to perform many activities normal men take for
granted.”

The Captain
clenched his hands to stop them from shaking. “Understood Lord."

◊

Hiding behind a
small shuttle, Tynan watched the Watcher ship depart. Once he was sure that it
was safe, he and his one remaining Templar scurried across to their ship. The
few Nephillim left behind by the hasty departure of the Watcher ship had left
the docking bay – presumably making their way towards the lifepods. Not that
there were any left, thought Tynan.

Unlike the
Watchers, Tynan wasn’t in any hurry. In order to trace the destination of a ship once it entered Nospace, the pursuer had to be in sensor range. Tynan wasn’t
under such restrictions. Unknown to the recently departed Simbiel, Tynan, as
insurance, had placed a tracing device on the
Debacherous Weekend
.

That wasn’t the
only consideration of course. The Areopagite’s were now hopelessly outnumbered.
He toyed with the idea of using the ships bridge and engineering crew as canon
fodder, discarding it almost immediately. Mutiny’s and mob lynchings he could
do without.

Before he went up
against them again, he would have to even the odds. A smile crossed his face.
He knew just the place. If he was responsible for bringing back the Overdrive
data to Metatron, then nothing would stand in the way of elevation to Angel
status. Giving his orders, he settled back into the chair that Simbiel had once
occupied, thinking happy thoughts of winged domination.

Chapter Five

Gabriella was in a
foul mood. A mood so foul that even Sammael, who knew the vagary of her moods
intimately, was taken aback. He’d never seen her so, well, pissed off before.
He sat, thankfully, in a chair well out of arms reach. In front of him, a few
meters away, Gabriella was pacing back and forwards on the plush red carpet.

The private study
of Gabriella was nestled deep in her quarters of Makon’s royal palace.
Extremely well appointed, its oak paneled walls were rumored to have come from
Earth itself. A large thick tapestry covered almost one entire wall depicting
an Angel, looking remarkably like Gabriella, sitting on a throne. Before it
stood a large wooden desk and what was once a comfortable looking leather
chair. It now lay in pieces on the floor.

Gabriella stopped
her pacing and sat down gracefully on the edge of the desk. She picked up a
glass paperweight, hefted it thoughtfully for a moment and then threw it at
Sammael. Sammael had the good grace not to erect a field, which would have
enraged her more. Instead, he moved his head slightly to the side. The
paperweight whistled past his head and shattered into multiple fragments
against the far wall.

“What the fuck do
you mean they got away?” she demanded.

Sammael raised his
hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture.

“The situation is
under control. They are currently being tracked. We have a fair idea of their
destination and some resources on their way there as we speak. They won’t elude
us again.”

“You better hope
to fuck they don’t. One more stuff up from you and you’ll find those pretty
wings of yours shoved up your arse.” She paused, took a long breath and eyed
him more calmly. “What exactly happened?”

Sammael had been
given the liberty of a few minutes to prepare what he was to say to the
Princess after hearing of the events aboard the
Dirty Little Minx
.

“The friends of
Felix were more resourceful than we gave them credit for. They also received
some help from other passengers and of course our dear associates showed up and
made themselves known."

Gabriella waved
her hand dismissively. “Excuses, excuses, fucking excuses. What I need my dear
Sammael," she said, approaching him and running a gloved hand seductively
down his chin, “is fucking results.” Sammael found himself caught in a small
hurricane of emotion. Part of him was chuffed that he didn’t flinch. The rest
of him was just plain terrified.

“Yes, of course
Princess. I won’t let you down.”

“No. No you won’t.
And do you know why Sammael?”

Sammael gulped and
nodded.

“Yes, that’s
right,” she continued conversationally, “because if you do, you’ll be dead.”

Sammael nodded
again. Gabriella turned around and walked back towards her desk. He tried not
to look at the perfect buttocks swaying beneath her wings.

“Prepare my
Valkyrie. Its time I took a personal interest in the matter.”

“Yes Princess.”
Sammael stood and made his way to the door.

“Sammael?”

He turned. “Yes
Princess?”

“Be a dear and
order me another chair will you?”

◊

Although it didn’t
conform to the normal properties of reality in many respects, Nospace obeyed
one of the more fundamental laws of the universe. Friction did exist. The more
streamlined the vessel, the quicker it could travel through Nospace. The
Debacherous
Weekend
had been designed primarily for speed. Field strength did play a
part however, but Tarquin’s ship possessed more than its share of power in that
respect. Curiously, no matter how much a ship’s space was taken up by engine,
the speed which they could travel through Nospace was not significantly
affected.

Confident that
their pursuers would be slower in their bulkier and larger ships, the occupants
of the
Debacherous Weekend
were making good use of the well appointed
bar in the top section of the ship.

The bar, although
having no windows, was pleasant enough. Its walls and ceilings were entirely
composed of holographic projections currently showing scenes of real space.
Four glow lamps in each corner gave the area a mellow and cozy atmosphere.
Thick blue carpet covered the floor. The couches, circling the room, were
covered in plush red velvet. Two small tables sat adjacent to the couches and
the bar itself was situated in one corner containing a large variety of
intoxicants, mostly taking the form of bottles, stacked high on shelves and
held in place with a low level field.