StarDestroyer.Net BBS

Welcome Gentle Reader! As you may have guessed from the title this story is about a treasure hunt, to be precise the hunt for the treasure of Rhys ap Trachmyr, a legendary Magus.

The quest will take our heroes to exotic locations, they will encounter beings of great power, as well as more mundane villains; adventure, battle, technological wonders, and great magic!

For those of you new to the Pendleton Stories you may find a Brief Introduction helpful.

For more stories by the same author see list here.

Chapter 1 Professor de Alanville makes an astounding discovery!; A Life and Death struggle beneath the waves of the Crater Lake!; A Mysterious Artefact is uncovered; A meeting in the Church of St. Adjutor; Thieves are on the loose, but our heroes catch them in the act!

Chapter 2 The dastardly bandits make a run for it!; Our heroes have a rough struggle with the bandits!; A hunt for the secret lair!; A Communist Plot is discovered!

Chapter 3 Clearing up the bandit base; An amusing discovery!; Dinner with a most important lady; Our heroes meet with an Ohm; A visit to Ohmshire, and a most delightful jaunt into the Ether; A conversation leads to great complications for the expedition.

Chapter 4 A Confrontation with a clumsy labourer; The expedition staff meets to discuss their route, but there's a surprising addition; The Ghastly agents of Communism make their appearance!; Take off!

Chapter 5 Complications arise as our heroes pass through a Communist Star System! Magic and Communist Technology clash!; Our heroes pass through the Thetis System; An impromptu landing on Capella; A courageous struggle occurs!

Chapter 6 Our heroes meet with the R'mans, who are a very peculiar Amazon race; The crew of the Whalefish presents a gift to the fisherman village; The Communists Plot Again!; A mysterious midnight meeting is interrupted, and a Shocking Revelation is made!

Chapter 7 An interlude; Our heroes meet the Capellan council; The Communists plot anew!; de Alanville conducts his studies; Could armoured dinosaurs be used for war? Departure!

Chapter 8 Arrival at R'ma; The Communists are up to more mischief!; A stunning revelation is made.

Chapter 9 Departure from R'ma; Comrade Galkine gets two unwelcome visitors; The fate of the traitor is revealed; The expedition arrives at Alfhame, and Winter has a very strange dream; there's another presence there waiting for them, and it's not altogether pleased about their arrival.

Chapter 10 Our heroes arrive at the mysterious world of Alfhame, and split up in search of the treasure; On the planet evil forces plot against them, and they must fight both vile robot fishes and robot warriors!; An unexpected ally makes its presence known, but will it be enough?

Chapter 11 Our heroes engage in the last struggle against the dastardly communists! Read this chapter for the exciting conclusion to the Treasure of Rhys ap Trachmyr!

Epilogue A Pendleton Fleet is sent towards Alfhame!; What new adventures might arise from the events they witness?

Bruxelles
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Thursday 10 August 1005 NE

Professor de Alanville's office
Thaumaturgy Department
Université de Bruxelles

"Seu deos regesve canit deorum Sanguinem," the Professor said. He was an old man with a big white beard and scruffy, disorderly clothes, and he was sitting at an equally scruffy and disorderly desk, in a scruffy and disorderly room. The room was filled with all kinds of curios; a chunk of glass from Crater Lake; a lunar rock with a peculiar engraving; glass bottles where strange creatures were preserved in alcohol; and of course books. There were hundreds of them, some stacked on top of each other, some in bookshelves, and half a dozen open on the desk before him.

"Per quos cecidere iusta morte Centauri, cecidit tremendae flamma Chimaerae," Mage Captain Joseph-Fabrice Huguelet replied, and then he tossed an ink and pencil sketch onto the table "So we can both exchange Latin quotes with the best of them."

Professor St. Marie Francois Chevalier de Alanville, picked up drawing, he squinted a bit as he studied it, "This is what you saw Sir?" he finally asked.

"Some of it, what I remember, Professor" Huguelet said, for a moment he seemed distant "I'll tell you what I told them; I've heard stories of this city, but how could this vision survive through the centuries?"

"In the ancient days men had great power Sir," de Alanville said, then he tapped a page in the book he was reading "But this is not Horace, it quotes Horace but it is not Horace, please allow me to read aloud."

"In those days there were those who hearing the words Seu deos regesve canit deorum Sanguinem, were not satisfied with adoring the heathen gods, but O Blasphemy of Blasphemies, wished to drink of the cup of ambrosia and make themselves as onto the gods themselves. They were great, and their greatness made their blasphemy all the worse, for from to whom much has been given much shall be asked. Among them were the great masters of the age, many of whom claimed to have exceeded Great Atlantis in prowess. With magic they shaped the world like a potter shapes clay, and they created all manner of beings and things to serve their purposes."

"Among them was Rhys ap Trachmyr, whose urge for power had made him embrace the Sidhe, who had dined at the tables of the Royal Court of the Seelie, and wandered for two score years in the otherworld. There are those who say that he wed a woman of that race, while others say they were merely lovers. His seal contained the pentagram of the five arts, extending even to the sixth seal of each art, for such was his power. Much of what he knew is now lost, for each generation is less than the one which preceded it."

Professor de Alanville put away the first book, then he picked another "That is one thing, but here Sir..." he opened it up to a bookmarked page, "this is the Quedlimburgi Chronicle, three last years of Quedlimburgi's existence... its veracity is, I fear, often questioned, but it is our only source."

"Now follows the account of the year 2980 After the Exodus," de Alanville looked at Huguelet who was trying to conceal his impatience "ah youth," he said with a sigh, "Very well I will move to the heart of the matter."

"May in this month grievous battles had been fought in the war, and strange signs observed. There came in the early days of the month the Magus Rhys ap Trachmyr, and his apprentices, having been driven away by the struggles of the God War; herein it should be noted that Rhys ap Trachmyr was a noted Magus and of great reckoning. Upon his arrival, Rhys and his followers were sworn by most sacred oaths to protect the colony and the many refugees till such a time that peace once more reigned, or else they were freed of their oath. Later Rhys would often complain that this oath kept him from returning to his home and recovering such belongings of his that he had left there; but the council of Quedlimburgi would not be swayed, fearing that if they let him depart he should not return and they would lose a great asset. From other places came many other refugees from the war, telling horrid tales of cities burned with unholy fire, and the people were much afraid."

"It goes on in this vein you see Sir, there's more but none of it is relevant, except..." de Alanville reached out and picked up a third book, it was a reproduction of an ancient one made in 3000 AE. The page picked was hand painted, and depicted a spider web like pattern spreading between stylized stars, each star had a name and tiny notes ornately written by it.

"I have made these Sir," de Alanville showed Huguelet up two thin paper sheets, "Upon one I have marked the exact position of the stars here," he moved his palm across the book page, "upon the other I have marked the stars from a modern map, adjusting for scale of course." He pressed them against one another, and held them up to the light, there was definitely a very close resemblance, but also differences.

"The starways don't match Professor," Huguelet said "but yes perhaps this was a copy of a map made before the God Wars, why is this..." De Alanville smiled sagely, and pointed back to the page, tapping a certain star. Huguelet leaned forward and looked at it, his eyes widened "Mon Dieu!" his head shot up "Professor, do you mean to say..."

"I most assuredly do Sir" de Alanville read the text out loud "From this system came Rhys ap Trachmyr."

"And in that system Sir his treasure still remains! The treasure that he so lamented having to leave behind..." de Alanville explained, a gleam appearing in his old eyes.

"How do we know it was a treasure Sir, and he was not just trying to get to leave?" Huguelet asked.

"Because my dear Captain he agreed to swear the oath, clearly he wasn't really considering leaving, otherwise he would have declined and left somewhere else... but he ... he ah... that is conjecture on my part, however his signet ring," de Alanville said, "it's a key, most assuredly it is a key, a key to whatever place he left behind."

"If this is true it is most magnificent, but what have I to do with this Sir? I see that you have reached this conclusion before I came here, so why me Sir?" Huguelet asked.

"First I wanted to test your wits, forgive me for saying so Sir but they are excellent, and second to see if another mage would see what I have seen," de Alanville smiled, "However I fear that I must warn you Sir that you've forgotten something."

"What Sir?"

"Well my dear Captain, a planet is a large place, and unless there is some new miracle... I don't know if we'd ever be able to find the treasure," De Alanville sank into his chair, he looked up at the ceiling "but it is there, I am sure of it."

Crater Lake
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Thursday 10 August 1005 NE

S/S Roxanne
A diving barge

The Roxanne looked like a common houseboat, except for the sputtering old steam engine mounted in the middle of the deck. From a pump powered by the engine came ran a long rubber hose, it went into the lake, next to the hose there was a somewhat taut length of rough sturdy rope that also went into the lake. Sitting next to the steam engine was a young man, Bert Wilson, he was covered in grease and dirt, wearing only a pair of dirty overalls and a set of sandals. He was watching the steam engine intently, and carefully adjusting the kerosene spigot to ensure a clean burn.

Many fathoms beneath the still waters of the lake Robert Greenborne was half climbing, half walking, down the sides of Crater Lake. He was wearing a leather diving suit of the Denayrouse pattern, and attached to the heavy brass helmet was the rubber tube going up to the surface. It was slow going, and with the tiny portholes in his helmet it was hard to see in the gloom. Worse yet he had to preserve the battery of his electric light, only turning it on when he thought he'd spotted something interesting. Tucked into his belt or in his harness there were various tools, knives, a brass hammer, a fish net for scooping tings up, and heavy iron tongs.

As he moved down the side of the lake bottom he suddenly spotted something, it was a weird eerie light and, for a moment, he wondered if he was imagining it; but no it was definitely there, bathing the surrounding mud and sludge in a green glow.

Excellent, that'll be worth money, he thought, a smile crossed his lips, kerosene, brandy, and ah all that other... Small plumes of mud rose around his feet as he walked over, then he knelt next to the shining thing and studied it. It was a strange thing, a glassy hemisphere stuck out of the mud could be cursed, Robert thought as he tried to grab it with his tongs.

Shining lake glass had grown rare, once it was very common and used for plates and cups, but now it was rare and dear; and what remained was often shining with an evil light that made hair and teeth fall out. Thus, the tongs were simple prudence.

He struggled for a while, the tongs wouldn't quite grip it, and suddenly it flew from the lake bottom, with a cloud of mud, obscuring vision entirely. Briefly he saw a shining glass orb drift by him, it looked a bit like a fortuneteller's crystal ball.

As the mud finally settled down he looked around and, with a sigh of relief, he saw it lying some twenty feet further down. In the dim light, it was hard to see anything except the shimmering green orb, and he didn't want to turn on his flashlight before he had to. Afterwards he'd admit that was a mistake...

He half knelt by the orb, when he suddenly noticed something, in the murky waters there was something moving, but he wasn't quite sure what. Now he decided to turn on the electric light, but the thin beam of light didn't go far; it was like seeing through fog at night. However he could see a moving shape, and the reflection from a pair of eyes, and the sinuous motion of whatever was drawing near.

In the flickering beam of light a long scaly form appeared; tiny fins, a snake like body, and a set of very sharp teeth. Gods holy trousers he thought as he rushed for his long diving knife Giant Freshwater Moray he classified it; twenty feet of muscle, scales, and razor sharp teeth, with the ferocity of a wild boar.

The creature dashed forward from wherever it had been hiding, apparently seeing this strange creature as a tasty morsel. Greenborne checked its every movement, watching it, his greatest fear was that it would attack his air hose, leaving him with only a few minutes to surface. Suddenly it dashed forward, its myriad sharp teeth moving towards him, he took a few steps back and were almost lifted up by his supporting rope as the eel came at him like a torpedo. Just as it was about to bite he struck its head and lashed at it with his knife, cutting a small gash, from which a pinkish cloud spread through the water.

The moray was infuriated by this impertinence, food wasn't supposed to fight back, so it spun around attacking again. He barely managed to keep it from his arms and legs, then, with a mighty leap, he grabbed it and began wrestling it. It was like holding a steel cable waved around by a giant, though his left arm clutched on for dear life he found himself flung back, he struck the lakebed, and an enormous cloud of mud rose obscuring everything.

As the cloud settled he looked for his adversary, while struggling to rise from his prone position. Alas, the moray was not a chivalrous foe, and seeing its prey apparently immobilized it turned around in the water, and dashed towards him; the damnable thing opening its maw in a hideous smile!

Just as it was about to strike he moved, he half rolled, half flung, himself sideways, away from its attack so that the morays crashed headfirst into the lake floor, half burying itself. In that moment of confusion he yanked out his hammer, and, like some fisherman with a wild salmon, he wrestled himself up to his knees and brought the hammer down with all of his might! As he hit its head he felt something give, but just in case, he also stabbed it with his knife, and a pinkish cloud spread from it.

The moray went wild, its death throes were most impressive, so he took a gamble and simply dropped the hammer, it was attached to his belt with a long cord, then he pulled out the fishnet. Half running, even though he was still on his knees, he reached the mysterious orb and scooped it up with the fishnet, then he started yanking the rope that linked him with the surface.

Aboard the S/S Roxanne

Bert was nervously watching the rope, there was a bell attached to it and it had chimed many times recently, but he didn't dare start pulling just yet for fear that Greenborne had just stumbled; it had happened before and he'd been awfully cross to be pulled up too soon. Now it started chiming like mad, and Bert rushed to the steam engine.

He quickly twisted the kerosene spigot to max so that the boiler flame shot up, licking the brass boiler, and increasing the pressure so it almost shook. Then he hooked it up to the draw wheel, checking that the air pump was also running. Even with the boiler on full he still had to put his back into the draw wheel, for the steam engine wasn't that powerful.

The wood and cast iron wheel creaked and groaned as he cranked it, and beads of sweat ran across his brow. Each time the air pump seemed to slow a bit he felt his heart flutter, and then cranked even harder until he thought his arms would fall off. He was a bit skinny, but he was tough, and as he worked you could see the sinews moving under his skin "Come on now Ol' Eric, don't you give in on me now!"

Ol' Eric was the nickname of the finicky double-expansion steam engine, named after the devil; for to Bert's mind both of them spat steam and boiling oil, and he figured both of them were plotting on seeing him in Hell some day soon.

Then he saw something, a mix of crimson and black mud rose to the surface, covering a few square feet, it was kind of frothy too like red beer froth. "Saint Adjutor, intercede for us sinners and deliver Mr Greenborne to the surface," he prayed desperately as he cranked the wheel harder and harder, his muscles ached, his back ached, and his sides felt as if they were about to burst.

Suddenly he saw something, it had an eerie glow, for a moment he stopped cranking the wheel. Then suddenly a fishnet holding a strange orb was tossed over the side of the boat. "Thank you St Adjutor!" Bert cried as he redoubled his efforts.

Slowly a brass diving helmet appeared, it hung there almost as if it stood by itself, but then a pair of hands grasped the ships railing and began pulling along with him. Before too long Greenborne rolled over the railing and onto the deck, his diving suit was torn here and there, and he lay on his back struggling with his helm.

Bert rushed over and began to help, undoing the various wing nuts that held the helmet fast, and moments later Greenborne's face was revealed. Sweat rolled down his face, and his brown hair clung to his brow, Greenborne was a middle-aged man, but still very fit indeed, as shown by the muscles of his neck and jaw.

"Bert," Greenborne said.

"Yeah?" Bert replied.

"I think we'll call it a day."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

In the main cabin
Later in the evening...

The cabin was rather dank, a beam of starlight came through a brass porthole; but the only real light came from an old brass oil lamp. The two men sat by a common wooden table, of the rough kind that any local carpenter will make for a modest fee, and the same man seemed to have made everything from the beds to the chairs. On the table, resting on top of a newspaper, there was a kettle with warm coffee, and a bottle of cheap cognac.

The centrepiece was the orb, they'd checked it for The Crater Curse using a photo negative, leaving the orb on top of it for an hour. They hadn't found the tiny blotch on the negative too worrying, so afterwards they carried it around casually. They had carefully cleaned it, before placing it on top of the table, where it rested on a thick woollen blanket folded many times, so it wouldn't roll off the table.

"It looks like a globe," Bert commented as he looked at the weird orb, "like the one old man Gagnon has in his shop."

"Yeah, but that's not one of Erde," Greenborne said, he turned it a bit "I mean it's another world Bert," he smiled now "that means it's worth something for sure."

"You think?" Bert asked, big eyed.

"Sure, take a look at this," Greenborne turned the orb a bit until an impression popped up, "I mean look at this, it's all mirrored, but I can recognise some alchemical symbols no matter what, and that means that this thing is magic."

"You mean like old magic?"

"Real old magic, the best kind," Greenborne's smile widened "this thing, this might just be our lucky break." He rubbed the indentation with his finger "Bert, fetch me my seal wax would you?"

"Sure, but..." Bert rose, the chair screeched as he pushed it across the barren floor. Then he opened a battered old sea chest, and rummaged a bit until he found a silver box, with a coat of arms on it, which he brought back to the table.

Greenborne opened the box revealing two lengths of red wax, and a seal identical to the one on the silver box. "Well now," he said as he warmed the seal wax on the flame of the oil lamp, and then smeared the hot sticky wax on the depression in the crystal orb. A couple minutes later it had cooled enough that he could gently pry it loose with his finger nails, "What do you think Bert?" he asked as he held the impression up to the light.

"It looks like it's the right way now, I recognise some of those marks too, seen'em on an apothecary store," Bert mused.

"Yeah, makes sense, anyway I know a professor at Bruxelles, and he was a friend of my fathers. So I think that I'll send this to him, get his opinion," Greenborne said.

Bruxelles
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Saturday 12 August 1005 NE

Professor de Alanville's office
Thaumaturgy Department
Université de Bruxelles

The office had not grown tidier since last we saw it; it still looked like some anarchist had thrown a bomb into a library. The professor was still pouring over obscure tomes in a desperate attempt to see if one of them might, by some miracle, contain a map of Alfhame. Then came a light rap on the door, "Enter please, the door is open," the professor called.

The door opened and in came a man in his late twenties, he was smartly dressed though obviously a servant, and carried a small bundle "Good Afternoon Sir," he called "I bring the three o'clock mail."

"Mmmm, yes, good Bertrand, put it on the desk," the professor said as he waved dismissively.

"There's a package too," Bertrand said as he held up a small package, wrapped in brown paper and twine, then he added "From Crater Lake Sir?"

"Hmmmm?" de Alanville turned around, "Oh really? Well let me look now..." he said as he held out his hand. After receiving it he quickly opened it, and shook the contents out, revealing a letter and a wax imprint; the moment his eyes set on the imprint they grew big and round, he scrambled for the letter, which he read avidly "Mon DIEU!" he cried as he leapt to his feet.

"Professor!" Bertrand cried, surprised by this blasphemous outburst.

"Bertrand, here's a shilling, no wait here's a Crown," de Alanville said as he squeezed the silver coin into Bertrand's palm "and God bless you." He bent forward and kissed Bertrand on both cheeks, before turning around, running from his office leaving a rather stunned Bertrand behind.

Auvers-sur-Noire
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Sunday 13 August 1005 NE

Church of St. Adjutor

The Church had a distinct marine motif, or perhaps submarine is more accurate, for wherever you looked you saw boats, anchors, and divers. Many claimed that St. Adjutor watched over anyone who prayed here, and often grateful divers, of which there were many, would leave behind some token of appreciation; here an ancient ballast stone, there a copper knives, or the odd lead shoes, even a relatively modern diving helmet polished to a shine and stuffed into a niche.

The altar of the church was exquisite, carved wood and painted vividly; aside from the Crucifix there were also scenes of the disciples, and of course of St Adjutor; displayed as a man throwing part of his chains over a precipice, that depiction was repeated many other places in the Church.

Therefore, it was not odd to see Robert Greenborne and Bert Wilson attending mass there. After mass was over the two remained in Church for a while, along with some of the other divers, all of them stopped in front of one of the shrines to the saint and crossed themselves before and after touching the statue; for luck of course.

As the pair were absorbed in their devotions, they didn't notice a peculiar figure entering the church, an elderly man in a clean but scruffy three-piece suit, and with a long greyish-white beard. It was of course de Alanville who had learned that on Sunday all the local divers would be attending Church; after all, they didn't want to offend their patron saint.

"Mr Greenborne!" de Alanville called as he came over, causing everyone to turn to look at the interloper who did not keep his voice low in Church. "Mr Greenborne!" he called again as he reached the two partners, there he stopped for a breath "I ..."

"Gods Teeth! Professor, eh, Chevalier de Alanville," Greenborne said, "Monsieur de Alanville, why are you here?" He was all too aware of the curious glances that he received from his fellow divers. Some of them were a bit upset, but others smelled a big sale going down, or at any rate, something valuable having been found.

"You will never..." de Alanville, took a deep breath, and grabbed the back of a pew for support, "be taken for a..." another breath, "native speaker Sir!"

"Sit down now please Sir" Greenborne said as he helped the elderly man sit.

"I got your ..." de Alanville suddenly noticed the other divers looking at them "Dear, has anyone beaten me to it?"

Greenborne shook his head "No, but," his eyes shot up as another figure entered the church; no doubt he was trying to appear inconspicuous by wearing a suit, but Greenborne could spot a military man ten miles off, and that one had the bearing of an officer.

Huguelet approached, his sides ached something fierce, and, not for the first time, he wondered how the old man could suddenly outrun a fit young man like himself. It had been as if the old man had suddenly borrowed Hermes sandals and practically flown above the ground.

"He is with me Sir," de Alanville said, "is there somewhere we can talk in private?"

"Yes, the Roxanne, but let me finish here first," Greenborne said, and then he nodded in Huguelet's direction "Forgive me Sir but I haven't had to honour of meeting that gentleman".

"I'll introduce you to one another Sir," de Alanville said before slumping back into the pew, half closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Moments later Huguelet sat down next to him, looking at Greenborne and Bert, but he saying nothing.

After Greenborne and Bert had finished their devotions they walked towards the exit, "Please come now Sir," Greenborne whispered, as he passed the two men resting in the pew. Out in the churchyard he took his guests to a quiet spot and noted "Monsieur le Chevalier, Bert Wilson, my junior partner. Mr Wilson, Professor St. Marie Francois Chevalier de Alanville."

De Alanville was in a dilemma now, his eyes moved from Huguelet to Greenborne, ah that he had not thought of it before! What a horrid faux pas this could lead to! Finally he said "Mr. Robert Greenborne, Captain Joseph-Fabrice Huguelet," in exactly the same tone of voice, so as to obscure who was being introduced to whom, a perfect compromise.

Greenborne nodded "Delighted Sir," feeling slightly awkward he added, "Captain Huguelet, Bert Wilson," with an emphasis on Captain Huguelet to make it clear that it was Bert who was being introduced. "Gentlemen, I think we should retire to the Roxanne, because quite frankly we're drawing far too much attention," he said as he looked at the small cliques in the churchyard, some of which were talking in low voices and occasionally looking in their direction.

"Yes I would tend to agree Sir," de Alanville said.

"Do you have a motor carriage Sir?" Huguelet said "we came with the steamboat, but it won't go all the way to the lake."

"Of course not, nobody in their right mind would go to Crater Lake these days," Greenborne said, "but we don't drive, we will go up the Noir, Bert go fire up the engine would you?"

"Right..." Bert said as he turned and walked off, he was a bit miffed that he was sent off like this, but he wasn't about to start an argument in public. As he went he removed his uncomfortable jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, he was rather looking forward to wearing regular clothes again instead of Church clothes.

Riverside quay
Fifteen minutes later

The boat was a common wooden riverboat, about average size. It had a single-expansion steam engine in the rear below the deck, and a built over cabin in the front. It had definitely seen better days, but it was well maintained, and the thunk-thunk-thunk of the engine came at a regular pace.

The area around Crater Lake and the River Noir is lovely in August, in the orchards, the fruits are reaching ripeness, and the branches hang heavy; fields of grain sway gently in the cooling breeze; and wherever you look there are low farmhouses, with their quaint thatched roofs and whitened cross beam walls. There's a certain lazy anticipation in the air, wherever you go people shout out greetings, as they did while the boat went by; "Captain Greenbourne," they would shout and give a wave, which Greenborne would return by waving his white skippers cap. At times small groups of children would run alongside the river for a while whenever a steamboat came by.

"This is a lovely country Sir," de Alanville said as he watched the countryside go by.

"All of Nouveau Aquitaine is beautiful Sir," Huguelet said, then his eyes narrowed and he looked up river, "but beautiful things are often the most perilous of all."

De Alanville bent forward a bit and dipped his hand into the river feeling the cool clear water rush across his hand, scooping some of it up to brush against his face and beard.

"You should get out more monsieur professor, sitting in your chambers pouring over ancient tomes is not good for any man," Greenborne mused as he stood by the steering wheel, "we'll be at my home soon enough."

Further up the river they went, the farms petered out, here and there they spotted empty farmhouses; doors and windows missing, part of the roof collapsed, the once fertile fields being conquered by nature. Tall reeds swaying gently in the wind covered the river bank.

Soon there were no more old farms, only forest, growing ever thicker, they had passed beyond the civilized forests that marked much of Nouveau Aquitaine; this was wild old growth forest, where wooden giants could be spotted, trees centuries old. Dark dull green, with deep shadows, but every now and again there was a track or glen that allowed you a brief look into the forest; it was deep and dark, with a mossy layer on bottom, and large stones scattered about, many of them marked with an odd glassy sheen.

Yet there were also a few bright sights, once they saw a frightened deer leap out of the water and dash into the reeds for safety, another time they spotted a family of boars rummaging through the underbrush. There were also colourful flowers by the riverbed, and many wild fruit trees with bright red and yellow fruit. Some of the trees were still in bloom, with white and golden blossoms weighing the branches down so much that they dipped into the river.

Now they came to where the river Noir emerged from the Crater Lake, the river was several hundred feet wide here, and when it first broke through the rock surrounding the crater it must have been a cataclysmic event; for on either side of the exit there were barren rocky hills, of that glassy rock that marks Crater Lake. They went past the two hills, which stood like miniature Pillars of Hercules marking the entrance into Crater Lake

Crater Lake was an impressive sight, it seemed impossible that it was a lake and not the sea. It was thirty miles in diameter, so big that it looked like it stretched on forever. The strange vigour that filled all life around the Crater had doubly affected the fish and plant in the lake; for here was a variety not found anywhere else.

The boat proceeded across the lake for some time until they spotted the Roxanne, but as they drew near Greenborne stood up and frowned, and his expression grew dark.

"What is wrong Sir?" Huguelet asked.

Greenborne just pointed in the direction of the barge "that one isn't mine," he said, then he pounded the deck hard "MORE STEAM!" he yelled.

"Aye aye!" came a muffled call from below, and within moments the placid thuuuuuuunkkhhh-thuuuuuuunkkhhh of the steam engine picked up speed to a rapid thunk-thunk-thunk-thunk. The boat surge forward in the water, the front bobbing up and down ever faster as the speed increased.

What had alarmed Greenborne was soon clear, for by the side of the barge there was another boat, somewhat larger than the one they were in, and the main door into the house on the barge had been thrown open! Unwelcome guests were aboard the Roxanne!

Crater Lake
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Sunday 13 August 1005 NE

Near the S/S Roxanne

Across the water they could hear the odd sound from inside the Roxanne, noises as if someone was ransacking the main cabin. Oddly it was a long time before the bandits heard the approaching boat, but suddenly they came running out the door, six of them, carrying loot and scurrying aboard their boat.

"DAMNATION!" Greenborne shouted, he was quite furious, and steered straight towards the bandits, who started their boat, and moved away with the low put-put-put of their internal-combustion engine.

The two boats followed each other closely, the bandits' boat was bigger and more heavily laden, despite this the internal-combustion engine made it fast. Both boats whipped up foam around their stems, their stems would dip up and down, as the boats were pushed half out of the water, before gravity pulled them back in.

Suddenly the internal-combustion engine began to cough, a shudder went through it, then black smoke began to billow out. The six men got very agitated, our heroes could hear them argue savagely, as they desperately worked to get the engine running again. It was all in vain, for their boat was slowing down, and Greenborne was gaining on them.

"By Jove! That infernal combustion engine of theirs isn't that good after all!" Greenborne shouted.

"Yes sirree," Bert agreed, "I've worked on them engines, and they've never done no good if you ask me, I figure it's the fuel..."

"Can you toss them a Cherub?" Greenborne asked, using the army slang for a self aiming fireball.

"No, so sorry Sir, government property you know," Huguelet said.

"Government property? There's six of them ... SIR," Greenborne said while motioning at the bandits with an exasperated gesture.

"Can't be helped," Huguelet said, "I can't go around firing mortar shells willy-nilly either."

At that very moment, a gunshot whistled past their ears, and tiny spouts of water began to rise around their boat. The bandits had a rifle and a pair of revolvers, and they were doing their best to shoot the approaching enemy.

"Their aim isn't very good," Huguelet said, then suddenly moment there was a loud crack as a bullet broke one of the sideboards of the boat, another crack and a spider web like pattern appeared on the windscreen.

"Apparently it's improving!" Greenborne said, "Professor perhaps you should hit the deck?"

"Oh nonsense young Sir!" de Alanville said as he pulled a small .32 revolver out of his pocket. "I'm not ducking for some villains!" he yelled as he began shooting at the bandits.

"Neither am I Sir!" Huguelet cried as he drew an Adams .44 Service Revolver, this gun had a thunderous bark, and an impact to match.

"Magnificent," Greenborne muttered. "Someone hold the steering wheel!" he bellowed as he ducked into the cabin, barely letting a surprised Huguelet grab the wheel as the boat thundered on. Moments later he returned toting a Charleville M886 rifle, it was a finicky rifle with a peculiar 8mm calibre, but it was sturdy and had nine rounds in it.

He returned to the wheel, and pressed his stomach against it, holding it still while resting the rifle on the edge of the windscreen, carefully aiming at the enemy. There was some recoil, and the boat zigzagged a little each time he fired, to his satisfaction he saw the one fixing the engine keel over.

"We got them now!" he cried, even though the windshield was shattered by a second bullet, and there was a nasty p-thing sound as something ricocheted of a metal surface. "Hey!" he cried towards Huguelet "SIR! Just a little spell!"

"Well, on my own bill," Huguelet called, a streak of smoke shot forth from his hand and landed among the bandits, there it spread quickly obscuring their view.

"Most excellent!" Greenborne yelled.

Cries of distress and fear rose from the bandit boat, for now they realised that there was a mage on the other side. A couple of the bandits leapt from boat swimming madly towards the shore, the rest kept on shooting blindly in the general direction of Greenborne's boat.

"Are you ready?" Greenborne shouted as he prepared to move alongside the bandit boat.

"Yes sir," Captain Huguelet yelled as he readied his .44.

"As... aaaas ready as I'll ever be!" de Alanville said.

"Bert, steam off, we'll need you now," Greenborne called as they were half a minute from the other boat.

Bert did as he was told, turning the burner down, then he grabbed an enormous spanner, figuring it more suitable for close quarters than a revolver.

De Alanville fired a couple of rounds at the swimming bandits, both of them went wide, then he turned his attention to the front of the boat. "The villains!" the old man cried.

"BRACE YOURSELVES!" Greenborne yelled moments before they struck the side of the bandit boat, the impact sent a shock through the boat, the kind that jars your teeth.

Suddenly the mystical fog lifted, taking the bandits totally by surprise. They dove for cover of course, one behind the cabin, one in it, and another behind the railing. They'd pop up from time to time to take potshots, but only briefly, while one of them only lifted his revolver out and blazed away without hope of hitting anything.

Even so wooden splinters flew through the air as the bullets tore jagged holes in the hull. Small fountains of water rose wherever the hull was pierced, for contrary to common belief a slug travelling at several hundred feet per second won't be stopped by half an inch of wood.

Greenborne went down on a knee and yelled "FIRE!" as he shot at the bandits, the 8mm round of the Charleville rifle punched through the railing as if it were cardboard; then there was a low thump, and from one of the ragged holes in the railing came a thin stream of blood.

"Put your hands up and you..." Captain Huguelet shouted, but he hit the deck when the other two bandits shot at him.

Bert gritted his teeth and exchanged glances with Greenborne, then he called "cover me!" and as his friends began shooting, he leapt like a deer over the railings and right onto the deck of the bandit boat. With a thud he hit the side of the cabin, where he ducked, still clutching his enormous spanner.

"Now you too Gentlemen," Greenborne called as he quickly reloaded his rifle, eight rounds in the tube magazine, and one in the breech, "blaze away at them when I leap, and for heavens sake try not to hit me."

"Of course Sir, have no concerns there," Huguelet replied.

"Indeed," de Alanville concurred "I shall aim at the front of the boat far from you."

"Good, on my mark," Greenborn said as he readied, and then in a lull of the fighting he cried "NOW!" He leapt forward onto the bandit boat, bullets whizzing around him, he landed right next to Bert. "Let us exchange weapons," he called "when I leap across the cabin roof, fire your rifle at the cabin."

Bert clutched his spanner, "I thought I'd do it Sir," he said peering over the cabin roof.

"Breaking a mans head is harder than it looks," Greenborne said, "so please take my rifle and fire into the cabin wall here," he patted the wall "so the bullets go through it, make them keep their heads down, then duck in case they shoot back."

They swapped weapons, Bert clutched the rifle tight, he knelt and aimed it at the wall, then when Greenborne leapt Bert fired. The shots were loud, and the rifle bucked against his shoulder, shooting so fast wasn't easy, but he managed to fire a new round before the cartridge case of the first one hit the deck. After three shots he ceased and hit the deck, now the bandits shot back, there were thnk as bullets punched through wood, and a light drizzle of sawdust and splinters.

Meanwhile Greenborne scrambled over the cabin in a strange gait that hurt his knees and knuckles. It felt like an eternity, but it couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds.

The bandit on the other side of the cabin scruffily dressed, he had a five day beard, and a shilling cap with dark hair sticking out from under it. The moment that he heard Greenborne land he turned, only to see a five pound spanner rush towards his head with a frightening whoosh. Instinctively he held his rifle up two handed to defend himself, there was a loud crack as the spanner smashed into the cheap hunting rifle, the barrel of the rifle bent slightly; he felt the shock travel through his entire body, and his palms went numb.

Greenborne realised he was in a somewhat bad position, hitting that rifle had jarred him too, but he'd spent enough time in divers and sailors taverns to know what to do. He kicked the bandit hard in the groin, the poor fellows eyes bugged out a bit and he, the bandit that is, staggered backwards.

That was all Greenborne needed, he used the spanner as a battering ram of sorts, ramming it two handed into the bandits gut. The sound of the impact was sickening, the spanner pushed further into the bandits stomach than it had any earthly business doing, and a mixture of bile and vomit poured from the bandits mouth. That's all Greenborne saw before he brought the spanner down again, this time hitting the shoulder, there was a horrid crack, and the bandit went down hard.

Greenborne then stalked around the corner, and lo and behold the last bandit was standing there, leaning out of the door and about to shoot at the party once more. Greenborne leapt forward swinging his spanner, it connected with the arm of the bandit, there was a loud cracking sound and the bandits revolver hit the ground with a thud.

Moments later Huguelet came aboard, "Where is the fourth fellow?" He called at once.

Bert showed up a moment later, not much worse for the wear but the left side of his face was covered in blood. "Just a scratch, scratch by a splinter," he said holding up a bloody splinter about as long as his thumb.

"Check the engine room please, and Bert get that checked" Greenborne called, even as he none too gently pushed the injured bandit into the cabin. Greenborne looked around the cabin. In the gloom of the cabin, laying upon a bunk, there was a trembling figure clutching his belly.

"Awww gaaawd!" he cried as his injured guts made him tremble, he looked no different from most of the bandits, a rough character somewhere in his twenties or thirties; their evil lifestyle with its drunkenness and licentiousness aged them quickly. "Mercy Sir, mercy," he pleaded. The other bandit was silent aside from the odd whimper as his injured arm dangled unnaturally this way or that.

Alas a quick interrogation revealed that the bandits knew very little, except that they claimed to have been hired by someone to find some trinket, "Didn't really say what Guv'nor, except that it'd be shiny like, you know ether Guv'nor, and it'd have this funny mark." Here was a surprise, but the worse was yet to come! For in his pocket their leader had a crumbled up piece of paper showing a rough drawing of the seal of Rhys ap Trachmyr!

Huguelet took the lead in questioning them further, for the bandits were by nature a superstitious lot. "Where is he? Where is the man that hired you?" He asked, "and don't lie!" he added as he held a blaze of green magic fire in front of their eyes.

"In the camp guvnor, in the camp!" the prisoner cried, "those two chaps, never trusted'em none guv'nor, runaways Sir, I reckon anyway."

"Sir," Greenborne called out to Huguelet, he nodded in the direction of the door, once they were both outside he whispered "We must follow them, and fast, if we tarry we'll never catch them!"

"Do you think we can still catch them Sir?" Huguelet asked.

"They were swimming, we have a boat, and these people don't look like they know the land... Sir do you have some trick to help you track men down?"

"I should warrant I do Sir, if we hurry."

The bandits were tied up and De Alanville stayed to watch them, he sat on a chair aiming a pair of revolvers at them. They gave him evil looks, but they also complained of their injuries, perhaps seeking to make him sympathise with them.

After a few minutes of this he leaned forward, "Yes you scum, you are young bucks and you could perhaps overpower an old man, no doubt that's about your speed, but here I have a pair of revolvers and at this distance not even I will miss! As for your wounds I'm hardly foolish enough to come check on them, or give you any other chance at escape!" Ordinarily he wouldn't be so rough, but he knew full well that such thugs saw mercy as weakness.

Lake shore

To steer the boat Greenborne had to stretch a bit to see above the windscreen, since the gunfight had cracked it very badly. The distant lakeshore was covered in forest, but he couldn't make out the details yet.

Huguelet leaned over the railing as he watched the approaching lakeshore, "Sir aren't you going a little far to the south?" he called.

"I'm going to aim south Sir," Greenborne said, "bit further south than they're likely to have landed, and then head north, that way we won't have to wonder what direction to turn."

Soon they reached the lakeshore, in this area the shore was covered with branches dipping into the lake, and a thick layer of roots, moss and ferns that went into the lake itself. The only patch of clear ground was the odd animal track where the vegetation had been worn away.

In one way the vegetation was helpful, for it was very hard for a swimmer to come ashore without leaving a trail. On the other hand there were many trees leaning lazily over the lake, their branches dipping into the lake, and thick roots jutting far into the lake; in short many hiding places for a sniper, or even a motorboat. Every sound was thus a source of worry.

Suddenly Greenborne pointed at a spot "THERE!", he cried, at that spot were several broken branches, and clear marks of where someone had tripped, tearing up moss, and revealing the slippery soil beneath. They could only see some twenty feet into the forest though, beyond that a tapestry of intertwining branches completely blocked sight.

"Are you certain Sir?" Huguelet asked as he studied the spot.

"Well Sir it doesn't look like an animal track, but perhaps you could illuminate us a bit," Greenborne said.

"Yes, yes," Huguelet nodded, "I do believe just this once..." he closed his eyes, and his right hand moved in odd ways. His voice seemed to crackle with power as he muttered odd words "Lux obscuris ... illuminatæ ..." and so forth.

Then his hand froze into a bizarre gesture, something very peculiar happened; suddenly parts of the lakeshore began to shine, it was a strange light, red and blue, forming a muddled outline of hands and bodies.

"The hidden light Sir," Huguelet said, "invisible except to magic." He turned back to Greenborne "I think they went here, shall we disembark?"

Greenborne seemed thoughtful for a moment, then he shook his head, "No Sir, no, the way I see it the bandits were heading here for a reason, presumably they have a hidden base here. Now those two," he pointed at the glowing tracks, "they'll want to return to it, and we shouldn't waste our time chasing them through the woods if we can find their base instead, what do you think Sir?"

"Yes, of course, but where is the base?" Huguelet asked.

"Which way do their tracks turn, north or south?" Greenborne asked.

Huguelet leaned forward a bit and squinted, his sensitivity to the spell let him see much further into the woods than he otherwise could, "to the north, yes... definitely to the north."

At once Greenborne turned the boat north, and increased the speed, "Well then Sir to the north it is!"

As they went north they carefully watched the lakeshore, there were many hanging branches, spots where long winding plants hung like curtains. In some places the lake had broken through the glassy stone of the rim, creating shallow inlets that might one day turn into rivers, but which were for now murky swamps hidden by shadows and drooping branches.

Suddenly a flock of birds rose from a tree, and there was a loud cracking sound, they all ducked, but then Greenborne pointed at what had caused the sound. A branch hung uneasily, a big catlike creature was clutching it, one of the many predators normally hidden by the forest.

Suddenly the branch gave in, and the catlike thing splashed into the water, where it screeched horribly as it madly scrambled back ashore. Its fur clinging to its body and dripping water, but then as if to demonstrate that it had intended that all along it stalked proudly back into the woods with the utmost dignity.

"I thought cats were graceful," Huguelet muttered.

"You mean silent graceful hunters, bounding across the forest, pouncing on their unsuspecting prey!" Greenborne seemed to have warmed up a bit, or at least Huguelets remarks had struck a chord.

"Something like that Sir..." Huguelet agreed.

"Yes well Sir you see... the poets, painters, and so on, they only depict the mystical hunter they don't depict the clumsy or unlucky one that has a branch break on him, and then tumbles into the drink."

"Quite, but..." Huguelet began.

"Shhhh," Greenborne said, he tilted his head a bit, then he squinted as he pointed at a seemingly ordinary part of the forest, "While we chatter we miss the prey, there Sir!"

Huguelet leaned forward, he squinted "I don't see any..."

At that precise moment a cloud of leaves rose, and a fiery eye appeared in the underbrush, a takka-takka sound broke the silence. Then there was a thunk-thunk-thunk sound, like a hundred carpenters hammering away on wood. A cloud of splinters rose from the hull as boards were shattered, and water gushed onto the deck.

Our heroes dove for cover the moment the machinegun opened fire, but the hail of bullets was coming perilously close! The wood of the boat offered little defence, and the steam-engine whined loudly as steam gushed out of multiple bullet holes! Escaping steam holds a terror for any engineer, so Bert scurried away from it, even though this forced him to rush through the machineguns arch of fire.

Huguelet began yelling something, but what couldn't be heard over the horrid sounds of the battle. Suddenly he half rose, his eyes shone like a fire, and he shoved his hand fingers spread in the direction of the machinegun; at that very moment a ball of fire, roughly grapefruit sized, flew from his fingertips.

No doubt the machine-gunners felt safe, for the ball of fire was launched askew, and surely it would not hit anywhere near them. Then it twisted in the air, a petit cherube a little cherub, and dove straight towards the gunners. There was a flash of light, and the nearby trees shook, then burning leaves and detritius scattered through the air, leaving a blackened hole among the trees where a twisted piece of metal lay pressed against a tree, and a screaming burning figure rushed towards the water.

"Gods teeth," Greenborne whispered as he watched the devastation. The burning figure staggered head first into the water, and then lay still. Greenborne leapt up, and tested the steering wheel, to his relief the boat still answered his commands, even though it inched forward oh so slowly due to the engine bleeding steam.

The other two companions kept their heads down, peering cautiously over the railing, but they couldn't see any shore, for Greenborne seemed to be aiming straight at one of the sylvan tapestries that so obscured view. Yet when the boat touched this seemingly impenetrable cover, it pushed into it gently revealing that it was nothing more than a huge net made from thick ropes, with branches and leaves woven into it.

"Well gentlemen, if you would help me lift it up we'll have a look at that bandits lair," Greenborne called.

Huguelet motioned his hand, and it was as if an invisible giant lifted the camouflage net letting them pass beneath, before letting the net drop back down with a big splash.

Secret Bandit Lair

They were in a small harbour, there was a crude wooden quay with a row boat moored to it. By the quay there was a small shed, with a door hanging askew on a single hinge. From the quay ran a path up to a ramshackle house, built from boat parts and local lumber. From the house another path went to where the former machine-gun nest was situated.

Slowly the boat drifted towards the quay, the three companions looked for any other people, but they saw none. They docked by the quay, with Huguelet and Greenborne keeping watch while Bert moored the boat to the quay.

The first thing they checked was the shed, it was a filthy ramshackle thing with a few oars, rusty tin cans, and some fuel tanks, but nothing of any interest. Before they could investigate further there was a strange noise, it seemed to come from the house.

"What was that?" Bert asked as he pulled out one of the revolvers confiscated from the bandits.

"As a rough guess I would say someone is in that house," Greenborne said as he readied his rifle.

Huguelet nodded "Yes Sir, I would agree, no doubt watching the door."

"Good, good, Sir, why don't the two of you go around to the back, in case they flee, and I'll take the front door," Greenborne said.

"Sir! We have no idea how many of them there are!" Huguelet cried in surprise.

"Sir as I see it unless they have another machinegun in there I'll be able to hold them off long enough for you to fireball the place," Greenborne said.

At this Huguelet nodded thoughtfully, "Yes Sir, good point, well I can't think of a better plan."

"I like it too Sir," Bert announced as he moved forward, spanner in one hand and revolver in the other, "I figure I can handle a couple of the buggers."

Inside the House

Yefim Mikhailovich Galkine was not a happy man, with good reason too; here he was: a graduate of the finest universities; a member of the party in good standing; and where was he? In a ramshackle hut that reminded him of his grandfathers Izba, and to top it up peering through the generous holes in the wall he could see those damned Capitalists coming his way.

"Guv'nor we must..." one of the filthy bandits, still wet from the lake, called out.

"COMRADE!" Galkine cried.

"Yes Comrade Guv'nor, but we have gots to run away!"

"Nonsense, we do not run from Capitalist degenerates," Galkine announced, then to underline his point he drew a strange looking pistol "and any coward that tries to flee gets the old Kommissariat treatment!" There was an ominous hum from the pistol, and a strange bluish light.

The two bandits exchanged glances, they had no idea what a Commie-Sariat was, but it sounded acutely painful, so they nodded in unison "Yes comrade guv'nor! We's be standing 'ere readies to fight them capitalist running dawg lack-keys!"

"Good comrades! Take your positions and open fire on these members of the oppressor classes!" Galkine announced while eagerly waving his pistol.

"We ain't got no guns Comrade Guv'nor," one of the thugs said, "We kind of drops them you see, when we 'ad to do the ... uh... strat-te-gic-al retreat."

"'e means he done throw his away when we 'ad to make a run for it," the other one said.

"Yes... it is at times at this that I am so glad that historical inevitability guarantees our victory," Galkin said, then as he peered back out the crack in the wall he muttered, "because sure as hell, nothing else bodes well."

Outside the House

As Greenborne approached he noticed two things, first there were several cracks in the wall, second that it was very silent. Some instinct made him avoid the front door, instead he moved towards the side of the door with the intention of knocking and demanding a surrender.

Then he saw something, a movement, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up! He hit the dirt at once, not a moment too soon either, there was a thunderous sound, and a second later he was showered with burning sawdust. When he looked up he saw a hole in the wall, roughly a foot in diameter, and someone was aiming a queer looking pistol through it!

He rolled away just in time, for the pistol thundered again, a fount of turf and dirt rose from where he had been a split second ago. He aimed his rifle while he moved and fired at the figure, it staggered but aimed at him again! Greenborne fired again, and he thought he hit again, but then he had to scramble out of the way again. This time the explosion threw him down, fortunately he found cover behind some tall reeds, but he was still forced to crawl through the thick slippery mud, which covered his entire front, soaking his trousers and shirt.

Whoever was inside the house was still shooting after taking two hits from a rifle! Greenborne found that bordering on the impossible, fortunately the semi-cover he had let him fire into the house with relative impunity. Though the next shot from the pistol struck one of the trees behind him, showering him with broken burning branches.

Meanwhile, Behind the House

Huguelet and Bert were moving towards the rear of the house, they were shocked by the first thunder sound, but before they could act the two bandits struck. They were filthy men with cheap clothes, rough cloth wrapped around their hands, and with ruddy complexions making their age quite indeterminable.

Ordinarily they'd be little trouble, after all their only weapons were rough clubs, but they had gotten so close that there was no time for aiming revolvers at them. Instead Bert swung his spanner at the nearest one, there was a clanking sound as wood and iron clashed, and then the bark of a revolver as Bert squeezed his weapon into the bandits guts and pulled the trigger.

The second bandit was a bit luckier, his blow landed on Huguelets shoulder, injuring it, but then a mystical force hit him throwing him ten feet back where he rolled around like a rag doll. Huguelet grabbed his shoulder and grimaced, "Damnation!" he cried, "I need a healer."

Unfortunately the flung bandit could still shout "COMRADE GUV'NOR! THEY'VE GOTS US BANG DEAD TO..." he didn't complete his sentence for at that very moment he was cold-caulked by Bert. The other bandit simply moaned and whimpered as he clutched his belly wound.

"Hurry Sir," Bert cried as there was another thunder sound, "We got to help Mr Greenborne!"

"Yes you are quite right Sir," Huguelet said, "I shall throw a fireball into the house!"

Outside the House

As he lay there brushing away burning branches Greenborne was delighted to see a fireball striking the house roof, shattering it into a cloud of burning matchwood. Anyone inside that house would be dead or unconscious after something like that, so after a brief pause to reload he rushed forward. When he reached the door he stopped, once more his instinct told him to leave it be, instead he ran towards the back of the house calling out for his friends.

They were quite surprised to see him in his current state, but fortunately they didn't shoot at him. "Sir," Huguelet cried "You look like you've been dragged through a swamp!"

"Close enough Sir," Greenborne said, "I had to dive for cover," he wiped some of the slimy mod from his face, but it was now drying elsewhere feeling quite uncomfortable "Anyone inside?"

Huguelet was about to peer through the wall when Greenborne grabbed his shoulder and shook his head, instead the Mage Captain summoned a spell "No, no one inside."

Greenborne pressed his eye against the wall "There's a hole blown in the side of the wall, was it you?

"No Sir."

"But there's only us and the Commies," Bert said, "so if it's not us then..."

They paused for a second, and then as one each ran towards the holed wall, there were footsteps outside the hole, and in the distance they saw a flicker of a vanishing figure.

The Commie was wearing a long coat, his hat had dropped revealing his black hair, and when he turned back for a moment they spotted a pair of fierce eyes burning with hatred! "Death to the Capitalists!" he yelled as he fired twice at them, but the shots lacked the horrific power of the previous ones. Even so they had to take cover, but then as he ran again the chase was on!

"We have him now, even if he takes the row boat he can't get far!" Greenborne cried.

"Indeed, I'll toast him good even if he is outside your range Sir!" Huguelet ventured.

By the lakeside they saw something odd, the Commie had jumped into the lake rather than take the boat, and now he was clutching a peculiar device that looked a bit like a small torpedo.

"Surrender! You won't get far!" Huguelet cried, there was no reply.

As the torpedo began pulling the Communist away they opened fire, but it was a hard target and they missed. The three of them rushed to the machinegun nest, but by the time they got there the torpedo was at least six hundred yards away.

"You'd better hit him with a Cherub," Greenborne said, "I doubt I could hit him from here."

"Agreed Sir," Huguelet answered as he cast his spell, the self guided fireball dashed out towards the rapidly fleeing Communist, but before it struck the Commie spy dived beneath the surface of the lake! The fireball struck the waters with a boom and a hiss and a small cloud of rising steam, but the Spy leader was nowhere to be seen!

"Infernal! It's a tiny submarine Sir!" Greenborne said, "How on Earth could they... did he come from another world?"

"I fear so Sir, I fear so!" Huguelet replied, "But for now let us interrogate the other prisoners, and then take the rowing boat back to your home."

"Indeed, indeed," Greenborne agreed and they all three went back to the house.

Crater Lake
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Sunday 13 August 1005 NE

Secret Bandit Lair

After quickly making sure there was nothing more to find our heroes tied up the bandits, and stowed them in the rowboat. Their boat was alas kaput, the only reason it was still above water was that it had settled on the lake bottom. There was no time to lose, for while they tarried de Alanville was alone with the other prisoners.

There were two incidents that deserve special mention. The first was that they found a primitive still some distance away from the house; no doubt, they bandits had worried that it might set the house on fire. It was a crude thing made from hammered tin, an ether drum, and pipes stolen from ships engines.

Feeling curious Huguelet popped open the drum and a strange expression crossed his face as he reached into it pulling out a dead squirrel that had apparently drowned in the batch, "What the?"

"You're a mage Sir, you ought to know," Greenborne said.

"Sir I have no idea..."

"They drown a squirrel in the batch, makes it run faster."

"Remind me never to buy the local liquor," Huguelet said, before he threw the squirrel back into the drum.

The second incident is related to the first one, after hearing of the still Bert got a hunch that it might have something to do with the fuel cans in the shack. When they found him he was sampling the contents with a tin cup. Seeing Greenborne and Huguelet come, Bert gargled a bit and then spat the contents on the ground, no doubt in the same manner as he'd done the previous samplings.

"I say sirs," he said, holding the cup up, "something funny here... these two cans are full of nice, strong booze, but these two, they're weak as p... uh, store bought stuff."

"That's funny, let me try," Greenborne said, then he took the tin cup for himself, and sampled the contents, "hmmm."

Not to be outdone, and feeling curious, Huguelet tried for himself, but when he sampled the first can his face turned pale, "Sacre Bleu! How in the name of the Lord can you drink this!"

"It ain't so bad!" Bert said with a shrug.

"Not so bad? This?!" Huguelet sounded quite incredulous as the two friends sagely nodded.

Finally though they exchanged glances, then Bert began to snicker, and Greenborne cracked a smile, "Good Lord Sir, no it's hideous!"

"Yep," Bert said, "but I figure these two cans got mixed with water, those two are good fuel though."

They then moved the bound bandits, and the two good cans of alcohol fuel, to the rowing boat, before rowing back to fetch de Alanville, and the other boat.

At the other boat, the bandits seemed perplexed by Bert emptying the fuel tank before filling them up again with new fuel, so he let slip the news about the adulterated fuel. Their reaction was quite amusing, a certain "Bucky", was threatened with all manner of retaliation, but who Bucky was they wouldn't say.

Vincour
Nouveau Aquitaine
Erde
Wednesday 16 August 1005 NE

Chateau de Vincour

"How important did you say she was?" Greenborne asked.

"Very Sir, very," Huguelet said.

They were passengers in a very elegant steam sedan, painted black and with an elegant AdV monogram on the doors. Apparently, the steamer, or its owner, commanded respect for the villagers tipped their hats or bowed as they passed by.

The village of Vincour was curiously old fashioned, the signs outside the stores were hand painted, there were no advertisement posters, no electric streetlights, no street lights, and even the streets were covered in cobblestone rather than macadam. Indeed, if not for the odd steamcar, you could be forgiven for thinking you had stepped a couple of centuries back in time, to an era when the Monseigneur still had power of life and death.

The Chateau was most impressive, not for its size, though it was larger than was common; but because of the great antiquity obvious in its design. Tall black mansard roofs, small towers jutting up towards the sky, everywhere rounded rather than pointed arches, and thick masonry walls. There were multiple balconies and large windows, but all of them high above the ground, lower down all the windows were disturbingly narrow. The place was so ancient that the handful of gothic style windows were, no doubt, considered a modern folly.

They passed through the gates leading into the large courtyard, the walls here were quite ornate with gargoyles and floral designs, tall gothic windows, and a nearby stable partially converted into a garage. They would not have been surprised, not very anyway, to see a knight in full plate armour ride forth, and greet them with an offer to break a lance for love.

In the courtyard by a footman in full livery greeted them, to be clear this were not the plain liveries so popular today; it was a black uniform richly embroidered with gold thread, and thick golden braid running up the chest. He even had an old-fashioned cravat, and a white powdered wig. He was final proof that they were either the guests of a member of the ancien regime, or else in the hands of a parvenu.

Before dinner, they got a greatly appreciated chance to freshen up after their journey. The baths made Greenborne a little uneasy, not due to the décor of the baths, but because they felt cold, both in temperature and temperament. Indeed the whole mansion was cold, glass, marble, greystone, but few fireplaces, and little in the way of wood panelling.

The Dinner was of course very formal, full uniform or tuxedos for the men and gowns for the ladies. There were but four diners; Captain Huguelet, Mr Greenborne, Chevalier de Alanville and Lady Angelica de Vincour. Everyone was reasonably comfortable with the formality though, even Greenborne; though he'd been living a rough life recently he was still from a gentle family, albeit impoverished gentry but he still knew which fork to use.

The Lady herself, or more properly Angelica Comtesse de Vincour, was a beautiful and charming woman seemingly in her forties, though she had aged well. Yet there was something about her that reminded people that she was more than a charming country noblewoman. Perhaps her eyes most of all, for there were times her golden eyes looked like a fire seen through a glass of honey.

The subject of the conversation was the events of the previous week, the discovery of the map, the fight with the bandits, and the Communist agent. This segued into a brief discussion about Communism, but this was cut short when the Lady spoke up on a different subject.

"I am puzzled Mr Greenborne, if these bandits searched your houseboat then how did they fail to find the orb?" She asked.

"Well Ma'am, I'm a diver," Greenborne said, he made a dramatic pause, then he smiled as he continued "obviously if I want to keep something safe there's no place safer than, well, under water, and that is where I hid the orb, in a special hidden spot beneath the Roxanne."

"I take it that there was not much chance of them finding it there?" She asked casually.

"No Ma'am, well I was a little worried when I saw that Communist torpedo, but the rest of them? A bunch of bandits hired of some docks, and a couple of runaways from the ether recovery project? Hardly much chance of them getting anything done."

"I should say that we must have hurt them bad Ma'am, for the Communists to be reduced to using such inferior tools," Huguelet chimed in.

"Perhaps Captain, perhaps, but let us not discuss such matters," she smiled charmingly, "they are most tedious I think."

"Of course Ma'am," Huguelet returned.

"Now then gentlemen, you want my help?"

"Yes ma'am, we've got to get there," Greenborne said.

"You're a gentleman adventurer I take it?"

"Yes Ma'am, never worked a day in my life."

She smiled at that, "Good, now then Gentlemen, once you are there opening a gateway between Alfhame and here is a simple matter."

"Indeed Ma'am, but the problem is of course getting there," Greenborne said, knowing well that only the most powerful, and influential, mages would view opening a gateway as a simple matter.

"Quite, and here Mr Greenborne I think I know a gentleman that may be of some assistance, his name is Cuthbert Nicholson-Pryde."

Letter from Pendleton City, Planet of Erde

Mr. Herbert Tompkins, Esq.

My Dear Herbert,

I hope this missive finds you and yours in the best of health this season, and that the concern continues to run smoothly. I have arrived safely on this world of Erde to enquire after any opportunities for my own firm's goods, and have found a perfect Wonderland compared to our own dear Ohmshire.

I landed at Croneleigh Spaceport some days ago, it's a lovely example of the strange juxtapositions I've found everywhere in my travels. The landing strip macadam and quite new, I found it reminded me quite a bit of home actually, but the surrounded landscape is like something out of a period novel! There was scarcely a tractor or automobile to be seen, indeed even the gentlefolk mainly use horse drawn carriages.

It's quite quaint, and a very lovely land too if I may say so, the fields are green and lush; the air is wonderfully clean outside the cities. The people are delightfully friendly and hospitable as well, indeed I could almost think myself in some backwards Ohmish village.

I've spent a couple of hours wandering along the streets of a nearby village, and I've taken some photographs, negatives enclosed. The local vicar was most helpful, splendid chap by the name of Brown. His services are a tad High Church for my taste, but it'd be awfully rude not to attend.

The architecture old fashioned and cosy, with thatch roofs and herringbone struts. Some of the older buildings, and local mansions, are of course far more imposing, and they often show traces of many architectural styles; Pendletonians claim a great love of antiquity, and I see no reason to disagree, which makes tourism here positively delightful for an architect lover.

Alas constraints of time and space prevent me from going into great detail now, but when I have the time I believe I shall write a proper travelogue. There really is a lot to write about, for instance when I said that this place was a wonderland I wasn't just referring to it being a bit quaint and old fashioned, but also to some rather peculiar silliness I've encountered!

For instance for some reason they seem awfully loathe to admit that they use Operators, or mages as they call them, in their military! I even had one chap, and I swear this is true, claim that magic does not exist, I was so totally flabbergasted that I couldn't find my tongue for the rest of the conversation. Given the potency and skill of their Operators I can't imagine how anyone could deny their efficiency, not to mention their existence.

Fortunately most of the officers and other distinguished gentlemen that I've met have been far more sensible, and I've been able to secure some sales, small for now but I've high hopes for repeat business. I've been rather busy as a result of these meetings, keeping up with the local social life is most enervating, and given that I am "in business" I daren't refuse a single invitation. I doubt they'd be forthcoming without the exotic cachet of a visitor from the stars; so it's best to take advantage of this while one can, before the locals grow jaded.

Well I shan't bore you with talk about business, the weather here is good in August, even if it rains a lot the weather is warm, and of course it is quite possible to get good wine. The local vintages are most excellent, I am sending you a couple of bottles so you can make up your own mind, but I dare say you will agree.

With warmest affection always,

Cuthbert Nicholson-Pryde

Post-script: I had completely forgotten to mention this, but this so-called "republic" still maintains slavery! I could hardly believe it myself! Of course I'm revolted, but I shall have to stay and endure for the firm's sake. Hope to see you soonest!

Pendleton City
Pendleton Island
Erde
Thursday 17 August 1005 NE

Lounge,
Hotel Richard the Great

Cuthbert Nicholson-Pryde dozed in one of the soft reclining chairs in the reading room, it was quite a lovely place, and he'd drunk a couple snifters of cognac to help him relax. Thus he was startled a bit when he heard a voice whisper "Sir, letter for you."

"I say," he said, then he recognised the figure before him "A letter?"

"Yes Sir," the servant said, "It is recorded delivery, so sorry."

"My, quite," Nicholson-Pryde said as he sat up, being woken up was damnable inconvenient, but if it was recorded delivery it was no doubt important. After signing for the letter he sent the servant off with a tip, by the way he bowed and thanked Nicholson-Pryde figured he had over tipped, but he always felt sorry for these poor slaves Damnable business slavery, damnable.

Drawing room,
Suite 12
Hotel Richard the Great

Friday 18 August 1005 NE

"Delighted to meet you gentlemen, as I understand it you are looking for a transport of sorts?" Nicholson-Pryde said as he greeted his visitor, two Pendletonian gentlemen, one was Mage Captain Huguelet, who for the occasion was in uniform, the second was Robert Greenborne in a smart new suit.

"Yes Mr Nicholson-Pryse," Huguelet replied, "and I hear you're the man to ask."

The technical discussion that follows was quite involved, there were several vehicles that might be of interest but the one that was most interesting was a bizarre monument to technology.

Words are inadequate to fully describe it, but here is a good faith effort: the hull was shaped somewhat like a huge whale, with a wooden belly suitable for landing in lakes. Where the mouth of a whale would be there was an enormous cargo ramp, and in place of eyes there were a pair of huge brass portholes, but this actually added to the similarity. Mounted on the back of the beast there a house or howdah of sorts with a square foundation, but further up it turned into a round tower like structure with a mansard roof. From the foundation jutted a set of enormous batlike wings made out of wood and canvas, they were power by some huge machine kept within the house.

"They actually built this thing?" Huguelet said to no one in particular.

"It's an experimental model Captain, they call it the Whalefish, from Jonah you know," Nicholson-Pryde explained, "nothing ever came out of it, but they still have the prototype if you gentlemen are interested."

The three Pendletonians silently exchanged looks, finally Greenborne broke the silence, "are these figures accurate Sir?"

"Of course Mr Greenborne, and if you are concerned we can write a clause into the contract regarding testing," Nicholson-Pryde said.

"I prefer hands on experience," Greenborne said, as he slowly rubbed his chin.

"Hands on? But the aeroplane is in Ohmshire Sir. I fear I can't transfer it on my own account before a purchase has been made, and it'd take over a month to arrange it with home office."

"Well then, if the mountain won't come to Mohammed..."

Eternal Kingdom of Ohmshire
Planet Narhavon
Monday 28 August 1005 NE

Londringham

Londringham was an enormous city, their arrival by airship had given them an excellent view, and despite being prepared, they had been awed. It was enormous, almost thrice the size of Pendleton City, so large that it was visible from orbit.

The architecture was similar to the Gothic style so beloved in Pendleton, arches, towers, quatrefoil windows, gargoyles, statues, and ornate facades. Some of the buildings were looked like a fairy tale mixture of a cathedral and a castle, but others more tasteful gave an impression of beauty, mystery, and wealth.

If St. George Cathedral was the symbol of Pendleton, and the skyscrapers of Thetis, then the airship spire was the symbol of Londringham. Some of them were tall cast iron lattice work towers, others were masonry constructions sometimes covered in marble so as to make them look like tall white needles pointing at the sky, while others yet were glittering steel and glass constructions; the church towers of the Industrial Age.

Another symbol of Londringham, one that wasn't really readily apparent before they came very low, was the people. From above the streets had merely seemed full, but when you came down to street level, or even peered down from a window you got the full picture. There was a seemingly endless mass of people moving back and forth like some gigantic army of bipedal ants with hats.

After landing, a representative of Martinsyde Ltd, Nicholson-Pryde's company, greeted them. He also provided a steamer Sedan and reservations at the Hôtel Métropole. This was one of the finest hotels in Londringham, with a not so subtle view of Lambeth Square; the great monument to the Battle of Lambeth, and the Imperial might of Ohmshire. Whether it was intended to give them a nice view or something to talk about, that they didn't know, but it succeeded in both.

Dagenham Breach

Tuesday 29 August 1005 NE

The Whalefish was resting in the breach itself, a lake suitable for landing big things; indeed, along the riverside quays several other ornithopters and flying boats were moored. However, the Whalefish was easily the largest ornithopter, or indeed aeroplane, in the docking area, and certainly it was the most eye catching.

"Gentlemen, I hope you're ready," Pilot Bruce Buddington called. He was a middle-aged fellow, with a dash of grey in his hair, now retired from the Royal Air Fleet, and working for Martinsyde as a test pilot. He was still quite dashing in his brown leather with sheepskin padding, peaked cap, pushed up goggles, and a red scarf wrapped nonchalantly around his neck.

"Definitely Sir," Greenborne said, as he looked at the enormous ornithopter, to him it was beautiful.

"Well then, let us proceed," Buddington announced as he ushered the party towards the quay.

They milled onto the back of the Whalefish, walking across the slightly rusty riveted iron back, and then climbing into the massive howdah. The first thing they spotted was a set of enormous pinwheels, many of them taller than a man, and of course they all linked to the enormous pistons that powered the wings. The bone of the wing, for lack of a better word, was thicker than a mans body, and far from being a simple bent metal rod it was in fact a flexible and exceedingly complicated mechanism; inside of it ran dozens of cords and hydraulic pipes, which helped it regulate its wing during flight.

This enormous machine-room was however not all that interesting to them, the engine though somewhat more advanced than their own native steam-engines was still a quadruple-expansion steam-engine. The stokers stood there in a line, wearing clean blue overalls, and pulling their forelocks as the gentlemen walked by; then came the engineers, in terribly misplaced frock coats, and small black hats that they tipped politely.

"The engines burn etheric coal," Buddington explained as they made their way up to the bridge, "but I've been told that it could be converted into burning Ethernol easily enough, not really my field though, eh chaps?"

Greenborne cast a glance to Bert who was peering curiously at the machinery, then back to Buddington, "Not mine either, I'm here to watch the flight capabilities."

"Well yes, that, ah, come along now and I'll give you a ride to remember," Buddington said, his smile seemed to grow almost predatory as they reached the bridge.

The bridge was a fascinating; it was similar to the bridge of a ship, though with safety belts in the seats. Adorning the walls there were several large cathode ray tube screens, and everywhere there were panels, dials, levers, and tubes running every which way. Most of the instruments were made from brass, which had been polished to a sheen for the occasion. The windows were big round panorama windows set in brass they looked a bit like giant portholes.

Taking the pilots seat Buddington called out, "Gentlemen, please sit down and secure yourselves, takeoff can be somewhat rough." He then began the pre-flight procedure, twisting a series of knobs on the dashboard in front of him, or on the control panels suspended above him. Suddenly the enormous vessel seemed to come to life, the instruments in the room began to hum, screens flickered an eerie green, and dozens of tiny lights either flicked on or began to flash insistently.

"This is the Captain speaking," Buddington announced, "stoke the engines," he turned slightly towards the Pendletonians, "now Gentlemen this Ornithophter has two steam systems, one is the patented Stanley Boiler which is extremely secure, and the second is a flash heating system. Between the two of them we can have very rapid take off, while at the same time getting stored power." He now pointed at two dials, one which was quickly rising, the other barely starting to twitch, "that one is the flash steam, the other is the regular steam."

The Pendletonians nodded politely, they'd read it all in the brochures and documentation they'd received, and now they were trying to hide their anxiousness before the test. All except Huguelet who leaned back in his seat, nonchalantly smoking a rather pungent cigarette.

The needle on the first dial now pushed into the green, Buddington tapped it a bit, "Gentlemen, we have flash steam and we can begin take off procedures." He twisted a few more knobs, and then he firmly grabbed the control stick with his right hand, while slowly pushing a pair of linked levers forward with his left. Low tremors began to travel through the Ornithopter, then one shock, and another, like a very long train starting up from a dead still. The whole vessel now began to shake, once more like a locomotive under speed, looking out of one of the rear windows the Pendletonians could see that the tail of the Whalefish was moving slowly but firmly, and the Ornithopter was moving away from the quay.

"My oh my," de Alanville cried, "is this normal Captain?"

"It certainly is Sir," Buddington announced, "and you know there's only one way to get to know an Ornithopter, you've got to treat her like a lady!"

"You mean take her to theatre and introduce her to the family?" de Alanville said.

"No Sir," Buddington smiled, looking like quite the dashing fellow, "I mean get into her five times a day and take her to heaven and back!"

"I say!" de Alanville called, but whatever he was going to say was lost as suddenly the enormous wings began to move, at the same time as the tail began to whip up and down at quite the prodigious rate.

"Up, up and away!" Buddington yelled, and then the Ornithopter leapt out of the water and upwards. For the men in the bridge it was as if they suddenly had twenty pound weights pushing against them, their cheeks got pulled back towards the ground as the enormous Whalefish soared upwards. More tremors travelled through it, tiny streams of dust dropped from the ceiling, creaking metal sounds were heard, but there was Buddington grinning like a loon and chuckling delightedly, "All right! This girl got what it takes!"

As they pressed upwards the blue of the sky changed into a deep purple, almost black, and now the stars appeared even though it was scarcely noon. Beneath them the appearance of Narhavon changed too, now they could see the curvature of the planet, and the entirety of Ohmshire was spread out beneath them. Then they pushed entirely out of the atmosphere, moments later they could see the entirety of the globe beneath them. Far away there was the greenish-purple line of the starway.

The powerful motion of the Whalefish didn't stop there though, the wings seemed to expand, growing larger though more fragile, allowing them to push against the fainter airs of the æther. The shaking and tremors now gave way to a far more relax locomotion, a calm rhythm from the wings and the quadruple-expansion engine, once more bringing up the comparison to a first class carriage on a good stretch of railway.

Now they circled once around the world, it was quite a stunning sight, as they turned to the night side of Narhavon it was as if the world was covered with a field of gems... a field that ended sharply with the border to Gosford, where the only light seemed to be Applin the capital proper; yes here the wages of Communism were visible indeed!

"Bloody bolshies!", Buddington said, expressing the opinion of everyone on the bridge, "we've got to clean them up some day soon, Imperial Destiny you know!" There was an uncomfortable silence after that, Imperial Destiny referred to Ohmshire's idea of uniting all Anglo-Saxon nations, first the ones on their own world of course.

Aver a single circumnavigation it was time to land again, this time he simply pointed the Ornithopter towards the planet and pushed the wings back. The shaking and thundering during re-entry was from the buffeting of the air, which occasionally made the whole of the Ornithopter leap forward or shake. Once more when they began breaking there was the sound of creaking wood and metal. Finally they were once more over Dagenham Breach, where Buddington set the Ornithopter down and gently moved it back to the quay.

"Well Gentlemen, like what you've seen?" Buddington asked as he rose from his seat.

"You've certainly given us something to think about Sir," Greenborne said, they left it at that as they left the Whalefish, and went back to Londringham.

Martinsyde Building
Londringham

Thursday 7 September 1005 NE

The Martinsyde building was not as big or imposing as many other buildings, but with its delightful narrow symmetry, rounded arches above the windows and the doors, and a decorative balustrade balcony above the arcade porch, the four-story building was an excellent example of the Italianate style.

Inside the presidents office the only sound was the driving rain pounding against the windows, and the occasional thunderclap in the distance. From inside the balcony looked a bit like a small pond, and between the balustrades small streams ran down onto the street below. This foul weather did rather spoil the effect of the architecture, as it was not really evocative of sun filled southern latitudes.

The room was dark and conservative, masculine in style, paintings of dour old men peering down at the occupants. The only distinctive thing about the office was the countless models of aircraft, and other flight related objects d'art.

"If you'll forgive me gentlemen, but I take it range is an issue?" the President asked.

"Yes, indeed it is, Sir" Greenborn admitted, "We are launching an expedition and it's imperative that it have the reach to get to, say Ar'ma."

"Sorry Sir?"

"The R apostrophe M-A place by Jove!"

"Oh, them, I take it none of you Gentlemen have met them?"

"No Sir, but I'm a diver and it sounds interesting."

"Forgive me Sir, but they are man haters, no men allowed, a particular pity for you since it's a water world," the President said.

"No men? How do they breed?"

"Incessantly."

What followed was some explanation of the rather decadent and wicked ways of the R'mans, who had corrupted technology to live in a Sapphic dream world. In short as the president said "Well gentlemen, R'ma is, ah, special."

"At any rate Gentlemen I can provide the specifications for the drop tanks, as well as the proto-type of the Whalefish, but the price would be fifty million pounds."

"Will you take a Royal Bank, bank draft?"

"Of course Sir, I'd be delighted, and if I may say so I wish you the best of luck with your expedition."

"Thank you," Greenborn said, "now I just hope that Scythus will be as friendly."

Suddenly the president looked up, and blinked a bit "Scythus? Sir! Surely you are not thinking of going by way of Tartarus?"

"Why Sir? Is there a problem?"

"Well Sir, aside from the fact that Tartarus has an insane Communist moon sized battle station, which after the Prince Henry incident is generally reason enough not to go there, there is also the minefield."

"Prince Henry incident Sir?"

"Well Sir, an Atesian scout ship went into Tartarus and contacted the locals, they believed the battle station was a moon you see... after a week or so when they tried to communicate the moon came alive and... well... sort of took control of the ship, and then of the crew. Last the Atesians heard of the poor fellows was when the poor buggers were used to send Communist propaganda! Bunch of nonsense about monarchist infiltration."

"Mon dieu!" Huguelet exclaimed.

"Well Sir, I fear that the Gentleman had nothing to do with this, but rather that other Gentleman," the president replied, "but at any rate even if you were willing to risk it, not too hard if you don't go too close, there's the matter of the minefield. You see during our late war with the Communists we rather mined the starway, I'm sure you see why, and we're not too keen on removing those mines."

"So that means..." Greenborne began.

"That I would strongly recommend to you gentlemen that you take the scenic route," the president said, "Yes."

"Damnation!" Huguelet muttered darkly, for this put a bit of a crimp in things.

Minnhaben Bay
Salisbury Island
Pendleton Archipelago
Erde
Monday 18 September 1005 NE

Salisbury Island was some distance away from the rest of the Archipelago, and towards the South. It did however have a good harbour, namely Minnhaben Bay, which was typical of surviving wet navy harbours, old and surviving mainly due to the traditionalism of the Republic.

The last new construction had been over sixty years ago, when a group of new warehouses were built, most of them were now little more than timber skeletons; doors and windows missing, and the support beams of the roof visible where the tiles had fallen off.

The stone quays and the protective breakwater were still intact, they had been built to last, and were also quite massive. Even so there were cracks in the walkway on the breakwater, moss was spreading between the rocks; barnacles and green slime were climbing up the side of the almost empty quays.

The place was very quiet aside from a couple of small ships being unloaded, not to fast mind since most of the stevedores were loafing about gawking at a strange object in the harbour. They were in good company, for many locals and sailors were also standing around to get a look at what looked roughly like a mechanical whale with wings, and a house on its back.

Ordinarily the stern Provost Marshals would be only too keen to drive the sailors and stevedores back to work, but this time they tended to stop and gawk themselves, and so the onlookers would scurry out of their immediate path and then go back to gossiping.

Inside the Whalefish

Mage hardened steel; it's a wonderful material for making say springs that are both exceedingly flexible, but also very solid. Unfortunately, that means that if a piece of it is flexed, and you release it well...

Bert barely managed to hit the floor before eighteen inches of steel spring flew past where his head had been a split second ago, and then proceeded to bury itself in the far wall with a sound like a gunshot. He turned to look, the spring was vibrating softly, and a crack roughly a foot long had appeared in the wall.

"So how are things going?" Greenborne asked as he stuck his head in through the door.

Bert smiled and nodded from where he lay, "Things are excellent Sir!"

"Right, you'll have it up and running in no time I'm sure!" Greenborne said, he looked at the vibrating steel piece, pretended not to notice it, and hurried back up to the bridge.

"I'm so sorry boss," came a plaintive voice from within the jungle of pinwheels, springs, pulleys, and hydraulic pistons that made up the engine, the voice belonged to a diminutive young man roughly Bert's age but skinnier and paler too.

Bert got up very slowly, then he walked over to the other fellow "George Jones, you are an idiot." George cringed and looked away, but before he could speak Bert continued, "and now," he leapt forward and grabbed George's hair, while at the same time punching him in the gut.

"Augh gu..." George grunted, but though he squirmed a bit he was no match for a clearly infuriated Bert who half threw him onto the ground in front of the spot where the spring had been.

"What did I tell you? Just WHAT did I tell you?" Bert asked as he showed George's face against the spot.

George gargled and sobbed, but he managed to say, "Don't unscrew the springs?" Then he let out another whimper as he felt a boot hit his belly. Nothing conveys a sense of dissatisfaction like a beating, and Bert was very dissatisfied.

When he was finally done Bert ran his fingers through his hair, he was quite sweaty by now, "why did I even bother with you? Don't think that I won't send you back if you don't shape up! I do not want to bother with you again!" Finally he stalked off to work on a different part of the engine, leaving George to think of the errors of his ways, and pick himself up again.

After a few minutes George staggered back up to his feet, he had to lean against a bulkhead for a second to keep his balance. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, trying to get rid of that painful queasy feeling in his gut, the way his ribs ached in the painful afterglow. Suddenly he noticed that someone else was standing next to him, he took a breath of relief as he spotted a filthy oil stained overall.

"Hi," he said uneasily, "he got really pissed."

"You jackass," the newcomer said, he was an older man with a five day salt and pepper beard, but his precise age was hard to figure maybe forty to sixty. He was tough and sinewy though, not an ounce of fat anywhere on his body.

George seemed hurt, "Come on Mike, I didn't mean to do nothin' wrong, I was just..."

"Jackass!" Mike called, "bucket brain good for nothin' jackass!" He walked over to where the spring was imbedded, then he started pulling on it. The spring made low humming sounds, and the woodwork creaked, but mike pulled hard, suddenly the spring came out with a start, and he staggered back a couple of steps. The sound of the split wood snapping shut again was almost painful in the enclosed engine room.

When he returned to George he continued, "You want to go back to working below decks in some merchantman?"

"No," George's head hung down a bit, "I was just trying to work fast, and the..." he stopped as he was cuffed over the air.

"You were just being a jackass! Damn it, they got a whipping pole here you know," Mike said, "You know they can put you up on it."

"I knew him back when we're both slaves," George complained, he looked dejected, "I mean I figured..."

"Gimme a break!" Mike cuffed him again, "You're being a jackass again, don't you be messing this up for us you hear? I don't want to go back to no blackgang, you just be happy he picked us, and don't be taking liberties!"

"We used to talk about guys who got freed, or became strawbosses, and then started whuppin and turnin' their nose up at us," George said sounding bitter, "I never thought..."

"Would he have given you a beating back then?"

"I guess."

"Then what are you moanin' about? Now let me have a look see that nothin's broken, and then you're goin' back to work," as Mike checked him he added cautiously, "Jus' remember now, he's free now, and we ain't, he picked us for this an' I reckon we'll have it nice enough, but don't you forget that he's a boss now like any other boss."

"Yeah... I know."

Meeting Room
Naval Building

The room had once been a classroom where starry-eyed Midshipmen had once sat, and listened, or at least pretend to, their daily lectures. Of course those days were long gone, but signs of them remained, a blackboard on one wall; a couple of large maps, now frayed at the edges, hung up for decorative as well as pedagogic purposes; and several schoolboys desks with decades old names and initials carved into them.

Four of these desks had been placed together to form a meeting table, and around it sat Greenborne, Huguelet, de Alanville, Bert, and a couple of representatives from the government: Captain August Whippling of the Mage Hunters, and Captain William Smythers of the Commandoes.

Captain Whippling was the man with seniority, about a decades worth of seniority in fact, but he didn't show it. To the uninitiated eye he was one of those weatherworn, but oddly handsome, officers in their thirties; fit, charming, and well dressed. Standing roughly 5'11" and weighing a hair above thirteen stone he was a stocky fellow, but it was muscle, sinew and bone, with not an ounce of fat. He resembled a bulldog most of all, not so much in his features as in the attitude he exuded.

Where Captain Whippling was a bulldog Captain Smythers was a greyhound, he was what you'd call dashing; tall, athletic, handsome too, sandy blonde hair cut short, and a perfect clean shave. His uniform was also a perfect fit, fashioned no doubt by the finest tailors in Pendleton or Aquitaine. He was quite charming though, but with a restless nature that demanded action, and just enough drive and skill to succeed at whatever he set his mind to.

"Mr Wilson, I take it that, this... Whalefish, will be ready to depart on time?" Captain Whippling asked.

"Yes Sir, from a mechanical point of view it's ready to fly today, we just need to attach the drop tank, and fuel her up," Bert said, doing his best to keep his voice level.

"Well we'll be off then then," Smythers said, he absentmindedly drummed two fingers on his left hand against the table, "what else is there?"

"Waiting for the arrival of the BOSS delegate," Greenborne said, not for the first time, "Gentlemen really, we should wait till he comes, if we don't we'll just have to repeat..."

At this very moment the door opened, everyone's heads turned towards it, and in walked a lady. She was obviously a lady, and not just a woman, for not only was her dress of a fine cut, but she had that unmistakable genteel air about her which no parvenu or other impostor can ever quite duplicate.

"Ma'am, are you lost?" Whippling asked, surprised and a bit dismayed that a female would intrude on their planning.

"That depends Sir, is this the planning session for the Alfhame Expedition?" she asked with an impeccably upper class accent.

"Yes Ma'am, but how is this..." Whippling said, wondering if perhaps she was the wife of the BOSS agent, but why would she be here?

"Security Superintendent Margaret Winter, I'm here for the briefing Sir," she said in a very reasonable fashion, a friendly smile on her face.

Smythers shot up, "But, Ma'am, you're a woman!" he called incredulous.

Winter looked down at her dress, then with a look of surprise on her face she cried "Goodness! You're right! So that is why I'm wearing a dress!"

"Ma'am, no disrespect intended, but a woman has no place on an expedition like this, surely there has been some sort of mistake," Smythers continued undaunted.

"Captain Smythers, surely you're aware that the Bureau has a policy of allowing women to serve?" Winter in a slightly miffed tone.

"Yes Ma'am, but not in the field, never in the field," he protested again, and the hmmm'ing, and uneasy shifting of bodies around the table showed he had some support.

"I'm also a mage Captain," Winter finally said, "I'll be serving in that capacity as well."

"Well now Ma'am," Smythers said, "That may be well and good for your physical safety, but there is still the issue of ... ah ... ah..."

"A womans' privacy Sir?" de Alanville said.

"Yes, quite, privacy will be in very short supply," Smythers announced, "and even with magic there is the fragility of feminine nature Ma'am, which is not suited for such endeavours."

"Captain, I am loathe to pu..." she began, but at that time Greenborne spoke up.

"Excuse me, excuse me Ma'am, Smythers," Greenborne called, "far be it for me to interrupt, but if I understand correctly She of Whom We Speak," he let that linger in the room, "has authorised you?"

"Personally Sir," Winter replied.

Smythers sat down, "I will concede Sir, but I will be on the record as protecting against this."

"So noted, and now Ma'am, gentlemen," Greenborne said as he rose up, "Ma'am I will assume that you volunteered for this, and that you're an adult who knows what it will entail."

"Thank you Sir," Winter replied, she walked over to the table.

"Very well, quick introductions then Ma'am, Gentlemen, please forgive the lack of formality, but time being of the essence we must skimp on formality," Greenborne said, before he quickly introduced everyone to each other. Then he walked up to the blackboard "now with that out of the way lets recap," he said as he picked up a piece of chalk and began drawing a rough map.

"With our drop tank our range, one way, will be twelve Great Leagues which coincidentally takes us to Capella, but... that will take us past several star systems," Greenborne tapped them in order "First Xannis Sevenya, Commies, we've had trouble with them, bas... bandits robbed my boat. Next comes Thetis, from what I've heard they're Capitalists, but we don't anticipate any trouble there. On Capella we will supposedly be able to get ether, but we'll have to take a break there anyway," he looked at Winter now, "apparently the Bureau wants to poke around a little."

"Once we have fuelled up it's on to," he stopped, then finally he wrote R'MA on the blackboard, "it's one of those foreign places with far too many apostrophes for their own good, so gentlemen, ah, Ma'am, I've heard some really strange things about..." He tapped the text on the blackboard "this place, we will stop briefly, and then we will leave for Alfhame where we will establish a base camp and then set up a spell beacon."

"Apparently this is when a magic gate will open up, and the rest of the expedition will come through, but failing that we are to explore as much as we can on our own."

Abandoned warehouse
By the Quayside

In the evening

It was one of the ruined warehouses that littered the quayside, some distance away from the rest, it had never been important to begin with and was one of the first that started to slide. At night it was very silent, the only sounds was a low wooden creaking noise, and the occasional fluttering from the seabirds that nested in the holey ceiling. It was very filthy; straws, sand, small pebbles, broken glass, and rusted tin cans were scattered among the abandoned crates. The scent of rats, cat piss and salt filled the place.

IF one of the Provost Marshals men had been out he might have been interested in a non-descript figure sneaking through the darkness, his scarf wrapped around his lower face. The man was nervous, he tried to keep to the shadows, but in the soft cold darkness of the night the sound of his footsteps on the gravel road seemed so horribly loud. Sometimes he'd stop beneath a tree, or in an alley, and he'd shiver a bit before peering around a corner and moving on.

Inside the warehouse Yefim Mikhailovich Galkine was waiting patiently, he was dressed as a local gentleman, a suit with a long warm coat, and a pair of black leather gloves. He was casually picking at the peeling paint, watching the pieces drop away from the half rotten wood beneath, then after a few moment he turned to study a faded advertisement for a coffee company.

Then there was a sound, footsteps, cautious, hesitant, walking across the dirt road. Galkine sought cover behind a wooden crate, then he lifted out what appeared to be a set of theatre glasses, but of course they were far more than that. With those glasses he could see in the dark like a cat, but he could also see through walls, especially flimsy ones, but the image was then one of reds, oranges and blues that would only let you see the outline of people.

Just one man approaching, Galkine turned slowly to make sure no one else was sneaking up on him from a different angle. Seeing that they were all alone he tucked away the glasses and rose. He brushed his trousers, straightening them a bit, and then, when he was presentable, he stood by the side of the door waiting for his guest to enter.

The man moved into the warehouse, looking every which way as he did, he took three or four steps inside scanning the darkness in front of him. He swallowed nervously and half opened his mouth, then he closed it again, he turned his head back towards the door, wetting his lips. Should I run? Is there anyone here? Okay I'll cry out... no wait, someone could hear....

Handling agents in this place, Galkine knew, was often like handling rabbits in a cage; you had to be cautious, gentle, and make sure they didn't bite you. This man was a rabbit, but Galkine didn't blame him, here was a Proletarian who was taking active part in the Revolution, in short an admirable man.

He was however not very perceptive so Galkine could walk up behind him and whisper, "Sshhh, silence! Did anyone see you come?"

"No Guv'nor," the man spun around, he seemed both spooked and relieved, "ain't no one seen me Guv'nor."

"Comrade, you may call me Comrade no?" Galkine said in a low voice, "I'm much saddened by the news of your friend."

"He never gave nothing away," the man hesitated, "comrade," he said tasting the odd word, "done right killed hisself when they came for 'im, threw hisself right orf the buildin' he did."

"I know Comrade, I know," Galkine said, patting the man gently on the shoulder, "you don't have to defend yourself, or him, to me, we are all friends here, comrades."

"They drags him off Guv'nor, to be dissected, Guv'nor, in one of them newfangled surgeries," the man added, it seemed that the matter of his friend lay heavily on his chest, "bastards."

"Comrade, comrade, when we triumph he will be known as a hero, nor was his sacrifice in vain!" Galkine assured the other man, "but only if you are willing to aid our efforts, Comrade do you think you deserve to be property?"

"No, it ain't right..." the man said, "none of its right Comrade."

"The men who own you, the Whalefish, I don't know how much you know, but it is very important that you aid us!" Galkin assured him.

"They're a leavin' two days from now, I don't know where they're going, they don't tell us coolies nuttin'," the man said, he shrugged, "but I'll do what I can but... I don't want to join..."

"Don't worry Comrade, you won't, here," Galkine handed the man a bottle of cheap cognac, "Here Comrade, a reward from the revolution," he smiled as the man accepted it, "and we're asking for so little Comrade."

"Yeah?" the man shifted uneasily as he tried to read the cover of the bottle.

"Of course Comrade, it's just a little thing," Galkine reached into his coat and pulled out what looked like a tiny figurine of St. Catherine of Alexandria, he handed it to the man, "the Patron Saint of Mechanics, no one will see anything odd about you owning this, no?"

"Ah, no Guv'nor, I guess not," he said as he accepted it, holding it uneasily, it felt heavy in his palm.

"Now then, just take it with you when you go, it contains a very small radio. Just twist the head around to speak and receive messages, and then twist it back when you are done, very simple," Galkine said, "do you think you can do this?"

"Yes, ah, how often should I..." he tested the head, it twisted oh so slowly, then he twisted it back, "with this I mean Guv'nor."

"Only when it is safe, only when you've seen something extra-ordinary, and remember, don't try to poke around where you'd be noticed," Galkine reached out and closed the mans hands around the figurine, "act normal and report when it's safe, yes?"

"Yes, right, I will Comrade," he said, Galkine could feel that the man shivered.

"Don't think the revolution won't appreciate you Comrade," Galkine said, he reached out and pulled out a couple of packs of Cavalliers, "here, and more," he added as he handed him a small paper wrapper with coins in them.

The man eagerly accepted this, stuffing it into his pockets, but holding his bottle in his hand, "Don't worry Guv'nor, I'll do as you say." He fidgeted a bit.

Finally it got so annoying that Galkine told him, "Comrade, you may go as you please, no one is forcing you to stay."

The man didn't hesitate, turning towards the door, there he hesitated, he turned back towards Galkine, moved his lips silently, and then just as suddenly walked out. Outside he showed the bottle into one of his pockets, making the jacket hang askew, so that he constantly had to pull at it to straighten it. Walking away he was moving faster than before, half jogging at times, but then stopping and waiting while taking short sharp breaths, his heart hammering in his chest.

Inside the mansion Galkine sighed, good help is so hard to come by these days, but damn can that man be any more conspicuous? Then as the figure vanished into the night Galkine put on his top hat, picked up a cane, and walked away whistling a merry tune; like any other gentleman out for a night time stroll with absolutely nothing to hide. His last thought on the matter was a simple one, no point in telling him that it's more than just a radio.

The Quays

Wednesday 20 September 1005 NE

Despite half-hearted attempts to keep the departure low-key, a small crowd had started to assemble at the crack of dawn, and it kept growing until there were a couple hundred people watching. It was a clear morning, there was a bit of frost in the air though, it tore at your nose, and thin layers of rime covered the metal parts of the quay. The squalls of the circling seagulls were unnaturally loud in the cold morning, and the seagulls grew more active as the sun rose higher and began to melt the rime.

A couple of locals had seen a chance to make some money by offering up hot cocoa and tea, which they stored in old milk cans. They were doing a thriving business and soon there was a small mound of ha'pennies and pennies in their cashbox.

The centre of attention was the Whalefish, it lay maybe three hundred feet out from the quay, so that everyone and anything going out to it had to be brought over in a rowboat. It may have improved the security, but it also gave everyone a chance to gawk and squint, and make wild guesses as to what or who was aboard the boat.

It was about half an hour to noon when someone climbed up on top of the house on the back of the Whalefish, it was of course Robert Greenborne himself, though the crowd didn't know that. After waving to them he called out, his voice loud and clear over the water, "This Aeroplane will soon depart on a mission of exploration!"

There were some murmurs over at the quay, and people began shushing to hear better, and pushing a bit to get to the front of the throng. Meanwhile Greenborne continued, "We will visit several worlds previously unseen by civilized men, and bring back accounts of the natives, if any, and of the wildlife and plant life that we might encounter."

"Prey that you pray for us, and know that we will hold dear the memory of Pendleton as we seth forth in the great ætheric yonder of the Deep Sky," Greenborne said in conclusion before he climbed back inside the house.

At the quay someone asked "Who was that?", "no idea," came the reply, "must have been someone important, what with the speech and all," someone else said. The conversations continued on in that vein, as small sub-crowds began to gather; the easiest way to spot them was to check their headwear, for top hats and bowlers gathered in their groups, and soft caps in others. It should be said that the crowds with soft caps on were at times loud and garrulous, but though their theories were as wrong as anyone elses theirs were by far the most amusing.

Then suddenly someone shouted "It's moving!" pointing madly at the Whalefish, someone else called "no it's not, you're imagining things." Then the tail of the Whalefish moved up and down, driving the big rear fin into the water and slowly pushing the float Ornithopter forward. It began to turn around, back towards the end of the harbour directly away from the mouth of the breakwater. Immediately the entire crowd began to move in the same direction, gentlemen and older fellows walking slowly, but young men and ladies too ran shamelessly to get a better view.

Of course by the time it reached the far end of the harbour it began to turn again, somewhat to the dismay of the onlookers, but they were soon compensated. The entire body of the huge creature came to life, the wings stretched with an impressive sound, before they began to flap slowly, and the tail began to thrash in the water. A mist of salt water rose up, creating a wonderful rainbow effect as it drifted towards the end of the harbour, drenching those early comers that had assembled there.

The Whalefish went faster and faster, and now the front of the body was barely touching the water, the belly started to skid even as the tail was still whipping up foam towards the rear. Just as it passed the breakwater the Ornithopter reared up, the nose and body above water but the tail still dashing against it, and the impossible happened; the huge lumbering behemoth lifted itself up from the ocean surface and went up into the sky.

The cries of astonishment from the audience overpowered even the thudding noise of the Whalefish itself, and then a mighty cheer rose from hundreds of throats and a cloud of hats flew up into the air. "Hooorah! It flies! It flies! May God bless whomsoever flies in her!" was the cry repeated by hundreds of voices.

The cries of astonishment continued until the rapidly ascending Whalefish was nothing more than a tiny speck in the sky, and then it vanished entirely. As the crowd slowly came too the men began to run after their hats, and more than a few of them let out anguished cries as they spotted their chapeau drifting alongside a seagull.

Outskirts of the Xannis Sevenya System

Friday 22 September 1005 NE

Bridge of the Whalefish

Xannis Sevenya, one of the closest neighbours to Pendleton, and home to the most devious and wicked Communist state known. Once Pendleton had sent a scout ship here, but when it came near the planet, the crew had been overwhelmed by desire to turn back. At the time they had explained it away...

Inside the bridge, the lights were at a minimum to prevent glare of the portholes. The only interior light was the dull glow of the cathode ray screens, lighting up the faces of the sensor men with unnatural green light. They sat crouching forward, almost touching the screens with their noses, as they gently jiggered some button or dial trying to pry least some secrets from the system.

Huguelet was carefully guiding the ship through the system, and from his perch in the pilots' seat, he was giving the planet a wide berth; beads of sweat running down his forehead, both because they had turned off the air-conditioning, and it was getting warm, but also because the tension was getting to him. He had thrown up a mental ward, not a very good one since mentalism wasn't his strong suit, but enough to hide him from casual scrying.

Elsewhere in the Whalefish

Margaret Winter had drawn a circle around herself, around it she had written names of God, and inside the circle there was a triangle and along each side of it an invocation was written. She had placed wax candles at each corner of the triangle, and the scent of honey spread through the small room.

"I am as pure as a lamb, through me ..." she sensed something, vaguely, a prying presence, "innocence might enter the word, but I have known no man, and for you my lord I ..." it touched them briefly again "stand before you pure as..."

Bridge of the Sevnaiya Soviet Ship Pavlik Morozov an Isayev class sensor ship

"I am pure...", Alexei Mikhailovich Rogachev winced, the silly bint was going on, and on, she needs to meet a real man, and stop the silly superstition. He pushed again, nothing, there was a wall of resistance, so all he got was her chanting.

From behind him came a gravely voice, "Comrade Lieutenant, have you gotten anything yet?" It was Captain Berganov, a skinny, almost skeletal, and amazingly ugly man with three huge moles on his face. His age was undeterminable, though he had more seniority than anyone, and so the men had nicknamed him Koschei.

"Comrade Captain, I have found nothing, except powerful jamming generated by one of the mages," Lt Rogachev replied.

"Nothing? Nothing?" The voice sounded incredulous, "Show some fervour Comrade Lieutenant!"

"Yes Comrade Captain," Lt Rogachev said, he could sense a third man in the background; that damned Galkine fucking Zhid. Rogachev boosted the Initsiava-5XR sensor array, though he suspected strongly that this would set off alarms. He shuddered as he felt the machine enter his mind, it was like a dagger of ice jabbed into his brain.

Margaret Winters quarters
The Whalefish

Some malevolent will came against her, a breeze filled the dark room making the candles flicker, and strange words in an alien language filled the room. It was guttural and ugly, is this a demonic language, or a human one? Winter thought, then she spread our hands out, her hair was tangled and disorderly, a lock of it clinging to her sweaty brow, "NO!"

"I desire you O Lord God, my merciful and most loving God, the giver of all graces, the giver of all sciences, grant that I your well beloved, although unworthy, may know your grace and power, against all the deceits and craftiness of men and devils. Grant to me your power, good Lord, to constrain them by this art: for you are true, the living and eternal God, who lives and reigns, one God through all the worlds, Amen."

She felt the power run through her, amazing power of the kind few mages would ever know, and then came the will like a brick wall cast up against whomever was spying on them. She gasped, "Ms Voight, take my place," she half whispered, and with a ruffle of a uniform dress her disciple entered the circle. Margaret staggered out, almost falling over from the exertion, but she couldn't feel the evil presence anymore.

Samantha Voight used a slightly different chant from the one her superior had used, "I expel thee most unwelcome visitor! Thine eyes are closed! Thine ears are shut! Thou wandereth blindly beyond our circle, thou art expel from our vessel, we art shadows to thine eye! By the Third Seal that Melchior gave unto us, the fragment of Solomons seal, by that which casts out the unclean: Depart!" She repeated it over and over, while kneeling inside the circle, rocking back and forth as if in prayer.

Meanwhile Winter rested, watching Voight carefully, but saying nothing.

Bridge of the Sevnaiya Soviet Ship Pavlik Morozov an Isayev class sensor ship

"COOOOOMRAAAAAAAAADEEEEEEE LIEEEEEEUUUUTEEEENNNAAAANT!" someone yelled, but everything was hazy. Rogachev was nearly comatose, "lights..." he whispered, the last thing he remembered was seeing, well... "the lights," a trickle of blood ran down from his nose, and the smell of burning hair filled the air, he wondered whose it was even as people kept slapping his head for some reason.

The display on his monitor had turned to gibberish, over and over again the same phrase was repeated. Already electricians had popped open the console panels, and they were quite busy replacing fuses and burnt out wires.

"Comrade Captain, a slight setback?" Galkine asked in his best polite voice.

"Yes Comrade Galkine, we have back-up instruments of course, but it seems active probing is, ah, out of the question for now."

"Comrade Captain has Xannis Sevenya ever heard of an invention called a fuse?"

Captain Berganov straightened, "Comrade Galkine, please remember you are a guest aboard our vessel, and..." he motioned at the twitching shape that was Lt Rogachev.

"Of course, I apologise Comrade Captain."

"Good Comrade Galkine, and for future reference; magic does not follow the rationalistic rules that you like so much, and so..." he said as he watched Rogachev be carried to the sickbay, "fuses just won't work."

Magic, always magic with those damnable counter-revolutionary Pendletonians, and these right deviationists love it too... out loud Galkine said "now what?"

"Active measures are not worth our effort Comrade Galkine, they are heading for Capella no? We will provide transport there, and then you are on your own, the Sevnaya Soviet takes no further interest in this matter..."

Xannis Sevenya - Thetis Starway

Thursday 28 September 1005 NE

Thetan Way Station

Near the Thetis system there were a couple of way stations, placed there to give early warning to the Thetans, and of course to keep the traffic lanes clear. They were just grey and green blocks of metal floating in the deep sky, though they did have quite a few antennas and parabolic disks attached to them, always scanning the deep sky for new arrivals.

The crew of these stations was hardly the elite of the elite, but they were relatively alert, and so when the radars picked up a new contact they trained powerful telescopes at it for a visual identification.

The young sensor woman sighed and scratched her cat ears a bit, they were still itching even a couple of weeks after she had them implanted; it was the latest fashion on Thetis after all. When she saw what was on the screen though her ears perked up, and mouth popped open, "Uuuuuh."

"Yeah uuuuh you too," the watch officer said, "did you spot something?"

"Uhm, yeah, there's something approaching us."

"Yeah? Okay? What is it?"

The young woman hesitated, trying to make out what she was seeing, "It's a flying metal fish with a Victorian building on top."

"Look, I told you to stay away from those damn R'man drugs!" the watch officer said sternly, while walking over to the screen, then he saw it, "Daayaamn, that thing is fugly!"

Bridge of the Whalefish

"Sir, ah, we're being hailed, I guess..." Sgt Brighton, the serving sensor man, called out, he twisted a knob, and from the loud speaker came a bizarre cacophony of squeals and hisses that sounded like nothing they'd ever heard before.

Huguelet turned in his seat, "are you sure that is for us?"

"Yes Sir, they started sending it when we showed, looks like a narrow beam signal too."

"Ask them for something comprehensible then Sergeant!"

"Yes Sir," Brighton said, he leaned forward and began to speak into the microphone, "I can't read you, please transmit en clear, over."

There was silence, then a brief crackle before a human voice came, "This is Thetan Way Station Number 9, please state your identity, place of origin, route, and destination, over."

"Thetan Way Station, this is the Free Republic of Pendleton's Ornithopter 'Whalefish', we are enroute to R'ma by way of Xannis, Thetis, and Capella, over."

"Understood 'Whalefish', proceed, Thetan Way Station Number Nine, out" there was another crackle of static and then silence. There was another click as Sgt Brighton turned off the microphone.

"Something tells me sergeant that we will hear more of that lot," Huguelet muttered as he steered the Whalefish into the Thetis system proper.

The system was quite busy; ships of all kinds were rushing hither and yon, and the ether was crackling with broadcasts of every sort. Some of these broadcasts were television, a rather silly word, and others were holograms or tinugrams as the Ohms called it.

Feeling curious they summoned Bert to get a reception, he and his men were soon popping open the panels and consoles on the bridge, exposing the heavy bus bars, vacuum tubes, and colour coded cotton wrapped wires. They worked swiftly, soldering links between vacuum tubes, adjusting resisters, fitting coils, and adjusting the superheterodyne, it was all difficult work with the constant risk of electric shock.

Finally, with a little help from Ms Winter, they managed to tap into some of the broadcasts. The broadcasts were however of a most fragmentary and bizarre sort, as if someone had taken a magazine or a recording, broken it into tiny pieces, and scattered it madly on a screen. In truth, much of it was also very perverse in nature.

"Good LORD!" Winter exclaimed as she turned beet red, "that is utterly depraved!"

"Now Ma'am, it's no worse than you'd see on many slave auctions," Bert said, speaking up rather uncharacteristically.

"I say Mr Wilson, that's very different," Winter returned.

"Of course it is Ma'am, of course."

"Indeed, indeed," de Alanville commented, "but still, this is rather distressing I think, particularly for a lady."

"Shall I turn it off then, Ma'am, gentlemen?" Bert asked as he touched a lever.

"YES!" Winter said most vehemently.

"Right you are then Ma'am," Bert said as he turned the lever and the image flickered away.

"Quite that was..." Winter shuddered before she turned, and walked out, she stopped briefly at the door, "Please excuse me gentlemen, I'm... a... feeling a bit under the weather".

For the rest of their trip through the Thetis system they declined to scan for broadcasts, using other methods to learn what they could about these strange people. Through powerful telescopes they saw impossibly large freighters and warships, and by help of the Radar they discovered that these huge ships moved faster than the Explorer class frigates.

The news gathered here was of course very valuable, but most disconcerting, and sitting by the screens the staff were busily jotting down notes on every ship, aeroplane, and whatsoever else was of interest.

Capella System

Friday 29 September 1005 NE

Bridge of the Whalefish

"Good evening, M. le Commandante!" Huguelet said, as Greenborne entered the bridge.

"Good morning M. Huguelet," Greenborne returned as he wandered about the bridge, checking the flickering cathode ray screens, "anything of interest?"

"We are running on fumes Sir, other than there is the Thetan presence."

"Anything new there?"

"Not yet Sir, but we're moving closer to those ships we've spotted," Huguelet said.

"Mrs Winter, got anything on those ships?" Greenborne asked her.

Winter looked briefly up from the sensors, "hard to say Sir, hard to say, these Ohmish sensors are most peculiar, but if I am right there should be a view of them at 24 by 40 degrees."

"Keep trying to get a read on them Mrs Winters," Greenborne said while walking to one of the telescopes, he turned the two wheels until they were in position; alas all he could see was a handful of bright spots, far in the distance. "Can you put anything up on screen Mrs Winters?" he finally asked, "I can't make anything out."

"Sergeant Brighton," Winter called.

"Yes Ma'am?" Brighton said.

"Please help me adjust the screen."

"Yes Ma'am."

Brighton began to tune up the sensor set, there was a loud whining sound, like a weeee as he did so, and several dials flicked into the red. Grumbling a bit he began to turn knobs, and flick a few switches, and slowly the arrows on the dials came to rest in the green field.

Meanwhile winter put on the heavy padded earphones, and the oddly shaped brass headband of the teleradiograph; a complicated array of dials and gas-filled tubes that mysteriously boosted a mage's power, and somehow, at the mage's command, threw the results like a magic lantern onto a screen

The cathode ray screen flickered eerily, but slowly the image grew clearer, there were six ships, two of them somewhat large, on the screen. It was hard to make out details, as white lines and distortions travelled across the screen. The overall impression though was one of grey metallic surfaces and straight lines, jagged, angular design like Euclid turned shipwright.

"Ugly things aren't they?" Greenborne asked rhetorically.

"Well...", Winter said, her left eyebrow raised a fraction, "they won't win any beauty contests Sir, but I wouldn't call them ugly."

"Well de gustibus and all that, Mrs Winter."

"Quite, Sir, quite."

Turning to Huguelet, Greenborne asked, "Well now, M. Huguelet, how long until we land?"

"About two hours Commandant," Huguelet replied, "as far as I can tell the maps we received were accurate," he motioned at the green and blue orb ahead, "it's spread out like a giant globe Commandant, and right there is the spot where the R'mans say they have a base."

"Well M. Huguelet, we will proceed according to plan, give me an alert half an hour before we land if you please."

"Yes Commandant."

Capella

Two Hours Later

Just of a small island a small fishing dingy gently swayed in the calm waves. It wasn't much to look at, just a large rowboat with the paint peeling of its sides, and a set of long fishing lines hanging from the side. In the boat lay a couple of fishermen, it was warm, and the tanned fishermen had stripped down to their waist. Earlier that day they had worked hard rowing to their spot, then they had set their lines, but afterwards they could rest, laying in their boat with a straw hat over their face.

In the distance came a low thunder and a breeze blew across the water. In the boat one of the fishermen pushed his straw hat from his face, the breeze ruffled his hair as he sat up, "Uhn," he said as he looked towards the island.

The other fisherman stayed down; "is it the fish people again Jac?" he asked in a faintly disinterested and tired voice.

"Naw, I don't think so Dan," Jac replied, "don't seem to be doing anything," he peered up trying to see if there was a storm coming, but the sky was clear, "this is weird."

"I'm not rowing back now," the Dan said, but he sat up now, "I don't care, this is a great spot, and we ..." the thunder grew louder now, and both of them looked worried; they would have argued more, but it was getting hard to hear each other.

"Aaaahaaaah!" the Dan shouted as he pointed up at the sky, "a monster!"

Jac turned around, about to say something like 'it's just a coalynthus' but what he saw silenced him. It was an enormous metal fish, bigger than the one cousin Mally bragged about once he was on his fourth beer, and sticking out from it was a pair of pterosaur wings like nothing they'd ever seen!

It was descending quickly, and it was heading directly towards them! The sound changed from a distant rumble to a roar, like a lion trapped inside an oil drum, struggling to get out. The enormous wings began to twist and turn, the canvas wing surfaces bent backwards like sails in a storm, and the massive steel "bone" of the wing creaked from the strain.

It made a belly landing a hundred feet or so away from the boat; first came a spray of fine water that covered them and their boat, soaking them to the bone. Then came the waves, plural, the first one was so big that the boat was jerked up, then the two fishermen fell over as the boat dove into the valley between the waves. For a moment they thought that the next one would swamp their boat, for the wave towered above them, but by some miracle the wave passed under them instead, as did the smaller following waves.

After waves subsided, the fishermen struggled to get up, splashing around in the six inches of seawater at the bottom of their boat. When they got up, they saw the new arrival, a huge metallic fish with a strange house on its back, and wings sticking out from the house. Open mouthed and wide eyed they watched it, and suddenly the first fisherman pointed, "Something's moving!" He called, somewhere else, a shadow was moving under the water.

The Whalefish

Greenborne pressed against the door, it creaked pitifully but didn't budge, the rough landing had skewed the frame a bit, but he thought he could still open it up if he put his back into it.

"Sir, if I may," Winter said, "Why can't I just cast a spell to force the door open?"

There was a short pause as Greenborne thought furiously, then he answered, "there's a very good answer to that Mrs Winter, why don't you see if you can compute it yourself?"

Winter rolled her eyes, discretely of course, and crossed her arms as she waited.

Suddenly the door shot open, and he stepped onto the balcony at the front of the house. Outside he took a deep breath of fresh ocean air, it was slightly salty with a hint of seaweed. Then he noticed the slightly shocked fishermen and their boat, "Aha, the natives!"

"They seem a tad surprised by our arrival Sir," Winter suggested.

"Why yes so they do Mrs Winter, well...", Greenborne waved at the fishermen, they gave a slow timid wave in response, "AHOY THERE! DO... YOU... SPEAK... IMPERIAL?" he yelled.

The two fishermen smiled widely, like a pair of loons, and kept on waving slowly as they stared at the bizarre contraption before them. Finally, one of them summoned up the courage to reply, "WE DON'T KNOW! WHAT'S IMPERIAL?"

"Right, I think that's a yes," Greenborne said as he leaned against the railing, "sort of a yes anyway, eh Mrs Winters?"

"Yes Sir, but..." she began, but before she could finish Huguelet walked onto the balcony.

"A Mon Commandante, Mme Winter, I have good news and bad news," Huguelet announced then he spotted the fishermen, he gave them a friendly smile and a wave, "BONJOUR!"

The fishermen exchanged looks, then they waved back and yelled "BONN SHORE!" in perfect unison. Beneath the waves a darting grey shape picked up speed, contrasting against the white sands and coral beneath it.

"Barbarians and philistines everywhere," Huguelet said, then he sighed.

"Mr Huguelet, you said you had good news and bad news?" Greenborne said.

"Yes Commandante, the good news is that this," Huguelet pointed at the island, "is indeed the island that the ... Rhoman described, the bad news is that alas we have no more fuel."

"Surely we have some fuel left Mr Huguelet?"

"None Commandant, in fact we ran out during the descent."

"Right, well, we'd better wind up the wireless and send a message to those ..." Greenborne began to move his lips, trying hard to twist his tongue around the word R'man, finally he gave up "those people Mr Huguelet."

"Tried that Sir, tiny problem, I get this weird sound that either goes wheeoosshhhooee," Huguelet imitated, "or it sounds like a woodpecker hammering on a morse key, either way not much sense."

"Perhaps Gentlemen it is one of those electronic calculating machines that other nations use with their wireless systems," Winter chimed in, "I have heard of this at the Bureau."

"Yes Mme, beauty and wits," Huguelet said, flashing a smile at her, "Alas I can't make sense of it, the signals that is."

"I see... well...," Greenborne began, he smiled again and waved at the fishermen, "AHOY! COME... CLOSER..." he cried to them.

The fishermen waved back, and then began to row towards the Whalefish. Some distance away the shape came closer, sending schools of fish scurrying for cover in the corals, even the mighty sharks retreated before it.

"See, they're friendly," Greenborne said, "with some luck we'll persuade them to pull up their fishing lines and take us ashore."

The fishermen came closer, waving to the party on the Whalefish, and appeared friendly. It was Greenborne that first saw the shape, and he pointed it out to the others, "I say what is that?" It was a most peculiar thing, a body with four huge flippers, and a long tail, but it also had a neck so long it was hard to tell what was neck and what was tail.

"I don't know Sir," Huguelet said as he too peered at it.

Winter on the other hand was worried, "perhaps we should tell them about it?"

"I say Mrs Winter, you're quite right," Greenborne said, "OHOY THERE!" The fishermen called "OHOY!" back and waved their hands, making Greenborne smile and wave too, but he pointed at the darting shape "SEE THERE! LOOKIE! LOOKIE!"

The fishermen frowned a bit, then Jac of them turned to look at whatever the strange foreigner was pointing at; his eyes went wide in terror as he realised what it was! "LOOK OUT IT..." he did not get any further before a head with razor sharp teeth came crashing out of the water! It was attached to a ludicrously long neck, it was easily thirty feet, it coiled like some giant serpent as it the head dashed down towards the screaming fishermen.

"AAAAAAAHH!" Dan screamed as the beast bit down on his leg, injuring him badly, then it dragged him out of the boat even though he clutched desperately onto the railing; and Jac grabbed Dan's wrists, struggling madly to hold on to him!

For a moment it seemed even, even though the monster tore at Dan's leg desperation gave him untold strength, his knuckles whitened as he clutched the railing. Then suddenly his hold broke and he was torn away, Jac was pulled into the sea as well, losing his grasp on Dan's wrists. Both of them screamed for help as the beast dragged Dan under the waves.

At once Greenborne stripped down to his waist, revealing his powerful torso, without hesitation he grabbed his big twelve inch knive, "Huguelet! Give me a boost!"

"Pardon Commmandante?" Huguelet said.

"A boost M. Huguelet, land me next to that creature!" Greenborne said as he clasped the knife between his teeth.

Huguelet quickly cast the spell, and within seconds Greenborne was lifted up by a giant invisible hand which threw him straight at the spot where the frothing sea showed that Dan and the beast were fighting.

"Mon dieu what courage!" Huguelet exclaimed as he watched Greenborne hit the surface of the sea in a perfect dive, and then dip below vanishing beneath the waves.

It impact was so hard that Greenborne almost lost his knife, but his long experience as a diver let him recover almost immediately. Directly in front of him was the beast, it had the body of a bloated seal, with the seals tail, but its neck and head resembled the giant Moray he had fought several weeks ago. With swift clean strokes he swam towards it, dashing through the pink water caused by the blood from Dan's wound. Dan was still fighting for his life, but he was running out of air.

Meanwhile on the Whalefish the two mages were debating what to do, "Mme Winter! I can't get a grip on its mind," Huguelet cried.

"I will try M. Huguelet," Winter said as she spoke the words of power.
Long before she finished her chant the mystic energies began to act, but they met their match in the creatures invincible ignorance; there was no mind, just five tons of muscle and five ounces of brains, all filled with a raging appetite.

Beneath the waves, a life and death struggle had begun. The beasts hide was like that of a shark, covered in tiny coarse scales, when he grabbed onto the neck Greenborne felt like he was rubbing against sandpaper. Holding tight he stabbed it with his knife, a pink cloud rose where the blood mixed with the seawater, and the creature began to thrash madly while still holding on to its prize. Holding on tight he climbed up its neck, stabbing it as he went, and the pinkish cloud spread further and further around the beast.

Writhing in pain the beast surfaced with a huge spray of water, it threw its neck around trying to throw off that horrid little creature hurting its neck. In the end it screeched, sending Dan flying from its maw, he let out a screech of his own, but managed to stay afloat after hitting the water. The beast now turned its attention, and its fangs, towards Greenborne, twisting its neck in unnatural ways it attacked.

Seeing the razor sharp maw rush towards him Greenborne didn't hesistate, he held onto the creature with his legs and his left arm, he ignored how the scales were rubbing his skin raw and instead focussed on the matter at hand. As the head dashed towards him he awaited his chance, holding his knife ready, and then just as it came within range he stabbed right at it burying his knife in the beasts eye! He pushed as hard as he could, suppressing a shudder as the blade scraped against the bone in the beasts eye socket, and then he felt the sick soft feeling as the blade rammed into the beasts brain.

Just as he was about to congratulate himself the knife snapped in two, leaving him with only a handle. Then he realized that this beast didn't need a brain to kill, the razor sharp maw came down towards him, and he could feel the beasts rancid breath. In desperation he jammed his broken knife into its mouth, just as it came to bite him. The broken knife sunk deeply into the roof of its mouth, and blood sprayed from its mouth, but this didn't stop it from slamming its mouth nearly shut, tearing wide flanges in Greenborne's hand.

It was only now that the beast realised it was dead, but it wouldn't die quietly, the huge beast began to thrash madly in its death throes, the neck lashing about like an enormous whip. The beast flung him around like a rag doll, his wrist trapped between the jaws of the beast, moments later the bones in his wrist shattered from the strain. All the blood and water was whipped up into a pink froth, then the beast twisted and smashed its neck into the water, quite frankly he felt like someone had thrown him into a brick wall!

A lesser man would have died, but Greenborne gritted his teeth and snarled defiantly, then he threw his legs forward wrapping them around the beasts neck. The beast smashed its neck repeatedly against the water, but he ignored the repeated shocks as he used his free hand to force the beasts jaws apart. The agony was horrid, and he howled with pain and anger, but he refused to end his struggle bending the jaw open line by line. It was almost Sisyphean for each time he had almost broken free the beast would smash into the water and he'd lose a precious fraction. He did not give in though, and unlike poor Sisyphus he finally managed to yank his mangled hand from the jaws of the beast, before throwing himself into the sea.

The rest of his ordeal was far less painful, he felt himself pulled aboard the Whalefish again. Next to him lay Dan, gasping softly as more blood squirted out, Dan had turned quite pale and his skin was clammy; by his side was Jac calling out something Greenborne couldn't make out. Then Greenborne felt the bliss of unconsciousness.

When he came to, he noticed that Winter was looking down at him, and he felt her arm under his head. The sun struck her light brown hair just so, it looked like a halo around her head, her deep brown eyes peered curiously at him, "I see you've survived despite yourself."

"Mmmmm, yes Mrs Winter."

"Good Sir," she said before she suddenly pulled her arm away, his head clonked against the aeroplane, "Ooops, so sorry Sir."

"Ah, careful!" Greenborne cried as he rose up, rubbing the sore spot in the back of his head, then he noticed that his hand was scarred, but otherwise perfectly healed, "ah, excellent, your work Mrs Winter?"

"Indeed Sir, I also healed the fisherman."

"Did you? Excellent," Greenborne said as he looked for them, they had apparently pulled their lines, and were eagerly waving at him.

"They say they will happily take us ashore," Winter informed him.

"Excellent Mrs Winter, excellent," Greenborne said as he looked up now towards the island, the sun was past midday, but it was still quite bright. In the distance lay their destination, a lovely island with bright white beeches, thick mysterious jungle from which he could hear distant bird cries, and sticking up from the jungle a single cloud-shrouded mountain peak.

"Well, lets go there then..."

Aquatine Island
Capella

Friday 29 September 1005 NE

The Beach

Afternoon

In the boat one fishermen sat at each oar, rowing slowly while singing aloud:

Solid fas', I come to tell you
HURRAH, MY ROLLING RIVER
"Solid fas'," our captain cry out
WE ARE BOUND AWAY FROM THIS WORLD OF MISERY

The song mixed with the sound of waves gently splashing against the sides of the boat, and the low creaks from the boat seat each time one of the fishermen pulled the oar. Little by little the white sand beach came closer, and they could make out the shapes of individual trees, gently swaying in the wind.

"Looks like paradise," Winter said, as she watched the admittedly lovely island before them.

"Mmmm yes Mrs Winter, but..." Greenborne jerked a thumb back at the Whalefish, where the crew were pulling the beast into the Whalefish's maw, "it looked like a paradise before that one showed up too."

"Quite Sir, I know, but still, oh look sea b..." Winter began, then her eyes narrowed as she realised that the tall flying shapes were not birds, indeed they were something quite different.

"Pterodons," Dan said, showing a set of fine white teeth, "they're not bad, only Elasmos are bad."

"Elasmos?" Winter asked.

"Yes, like the one Greenborne killed," Dan said, "everyone's afraid of Elasmo, and of the fish people."

"Fish p...", Winter began, only to stop when she got a warning glance from Greenborne.

"Don't jinx it."

"Sir, I..."

"You'll say Fish People and the next thing we know..." Greenborne began the next thing they knew was that a dozen or so trident wielding women in tight black suits popped up of the water forming a circle around the boat. "Ah, my fault Mrs Winter," he said nodding politely to her.

"Yes Sir," Winter said, then she peered at them, "interesting tridents they have."

"Indeed."

The Tridents were indeed quite interesting middle spear point seemed to be made from pure light, emitting a ominous hum, while the other two were rather sharp looking metal points.

"Identify yourselves!" one of the women called, to underscore her words she pointed the trident at the boat, the light of the sun reflected of the metal points, making them gleam as if to underscore their sharpness.

"Well they speak Imperial," Greenborne said, "always a relief," he waved at the women, "Greetings, we come from Pendleton, to get fuel for our aeroplane."

"I see..." the first woman said, then she pushed a lock of wet hair out of her face, "Very well, you may come ashore at our Aquatine Island base, and we shall provide the fuel."

"How wonderfully exciting," Winter said, she looked at the women in the water, and then at the island. For a moment, there was an awkward silence, and then all of a sudden the R'mans vanished silently beneath the waves.

"Eerie..." Greenborne said as he watched them swim away underwater, "seeing them pop up like that reminded me of stories...," he stopped there as the fishermen began to row again, still singing their sea shanty.

"What stories Sir?" Winter asked.

"Mmmm, childhood stories Mrs Winter, you know the usual the corpses of women that committed suicide by drowning rising up from the sea or the lake, their skin all bloated, and going inland to feast on the flesh of the living before returning to the water again," Greenborne said. Then he let out a chuckle, "When I was ten they... well," he seemed a bit self-conscious now, "well it was nanny's favourite story."

"Yes Sir I know, I heard the same stories when I were a little girl, but they were about disobedient little girls that were dragged into the swamps and drowned," Winters said with a laugh.

The two fishermen exchanged looks, as if they couldn't quite believe what they were hearing, but instead of speaking up they increased the volume of their song and kept rowing.

The R'man base

Afternoon

"The pumps are broken Ma'am?" Greenborne asked again, a hint of disgusted disbelief crept into his voice. The whole base was, quite frankly, very loathsome to his tastes; the proclivities of the people were not all very visible, despite their skimpy garb, but the method of construction...

The buildings of the base was alive, in the most literal sense, instead of being built by lumber, brick or stone like a proper building these were grown! The exterior was a strange form of crystal, but inside he had seen slowly pulsing veins, strange organs embedded in walls, and even an eyeball where no eye had any business of being. Even now, he shuddered at the thought.

"That is right Commandant, the pumps are broken, we have a piping system beneath the lagoon you see, but it's clogged up," Marj'ri' the commander of the base explained.

She was quite attractive in a way, but there was something somewhat... wrong about her. Greenborne saw a series of red slits running down her neck, and sometimes they would expand leaving gaps in her skin, gills was the thought that came to his mind.

"How soon can it be repaired then Ma'am?"

"Give it a week I would think," Marj'ri' leaned forward a bit and whispered conspiratorially, "the tubes are sore they need to be healed she explained."

Greenborne suppressed a shudder, aliens, just so alien, "I see... well Ma'am, could you give us a hand in moving our aeroplane to the shore?"

"Of course, there's an anchorage maybe two miles away from the base, you may use that, good bye," she said, ending the conversation rather abruptly.

The Mess on the Whalefish

Evening

The mood at the officers table was depressed, the clinking of glasses and cutlery was broken up only occasionally by some passing remark, often no more than a request for the salt.

Greenborne sat still watching his reflection on a silver spoon, the scene before him reminded him of his past; a table covered with a spotless linen tablecloth, silver cutlery, officers and ladies eating neatly, and servants in white jackets standing to the rear. It wasn't quite the same though, as the gently roll of the Whalefish, and the soft creaking of the timbers, attested.

"For such an ugly creature it is most tasty," Greenborne finally commented, the Elasmosaur was indeed quite delicious, it was somehow halfway between chicken and lobster, hard to describe but quite good.

"Indeed Sir," Winter said, she lifted her glass and added, "If I may Gentlemen, to our courageous commander for slaying the dragon as it were!" Greenborne tried to look humble at the, "Hear, hear," that rose from the table, but he accepted it in good grace.

"I feel almost like a naval Captain instead of a ... well expedition Commdante," Greenborne said, he seemed a bit self-conscious, "well though she may be neither fish nor fowl, but she's ours, so to the Whalefish!"

"Hear, hear!" came the calls, followed by the clinking of glass.

"I, I heard that the local fishermen eat meat? I know some people on Capella don't."

"Quite true Sir, I've spoken a bit to them, apparently they're less intimidated by a woman," Winter said.

"Less intimidated? Meh, they're fishermen, hardly upper class socialites," there were chuckles at that comment.

"The natives are peaceful, we are obviously armed and capable of violence, it makes them a bit nervous, especially with our connection to the R'mans whom they view as," Winter hesitated, "peculiar?"

"Well Mrs Winters, in that case I shall offer them the elasmosaur, hopefully this will show them our good will," Greenborne said.

"A wonderful idea Sir!" Winters exclaimed.

"Ah, excellent, if I may say so Commandante it's a display of true noblesse oblige," de Alanville said.

Huguelet and the other officers merely nodded and gave sounds of assent to this.

Aquatine Island
Capella

Saturday 30 September 1005 NE

Fishing Village

Morning

The village was a collection of simple, one floor houses built close to the beach, many of the houses were somewhat ramshackle, and a few had been built up in the thick trees in the woods near the beach. The boathouses had received far more attention, which were some twenty feet from the beach they had a solid stone foundation and thick reinforcing timbers. Around the village, there hung fishing nets and angling lines, as well as scaffolds filled with drying fish.

"Should we like take the meat? It's like meat, you know?"

"Of course, it's rude to refuse."

"No I mean it's like meat, it's like not..."

"We got to eat, that elasmo will keep the village fed for a week."

"I agree, it's good meat, and it was kil... it died because it... it died because it got bad Karma."

"Yes, yes, that's right, bad karma, and since we can eat animals that fall off cliffs we can eat this one, we didn't kill it."

"Yeah but these guys did, and they're like... I dunno."

"Lets not judge now, they are offering a gift, we should accept."

The discussion between the village elders ended quickly, and they moved in a single group to the strange outsiders that had brought the elasmosaur carcass to the village. There it lay in all its gory glory, splayed on the beach, while the youngsters gathered in throngs gazing curiously, and fearlessly, at the newcomers.

"We gratefully accept your kind gift," one of the grizzled whitebeards said.

"Thank you Elder, we're just trying to be neighbourly," Greenborne said.

"Elder? Ho-hummmmm," the old man chuckled a bit, "Elder, Mr, Mrs, are your people always so formal?"

"Well yes."

"Doesn't it get tiresome after a while?"

"Generally no, I find that some regions on my homeworld are more or less formal than others, it's all a matter of what you're used to."

Meanwhile one of the female elders, a toothless old crone with a long walking stick almost as crooked as she was, had reached the elasmosaur carcass and poked it with her stick. A few moments later she bent down to smell at the meat, it seemed to fit her expectations for she smiled showing her naked gums.

"Have you no false teeth Elder?" Winter asked gently, making the old woman start.

"No, I had a pair but they went, and no spell can keep a tooth in his old gob of mine," she said smiling again and chuckling in the manner of old people.

Winter knelt down and began gathering teeth from the elasmosaur, she had quite a bundle in her hands, and then she began to whisper soft words of magic. A strange rosy red glow spread from her hands, enveloping the elasmosaur teeth, and suddenly they seemed to move about on their own volition; dancing across her palm as they changed shape into something more akin to what a human would have, fusing together into a set of dentures. Holding it up in her cupped hands, she offered it to the Elder.

"Why thank you dear," the elder said in astonishment as she accepted the proffered gift. She carefully jammed it into her mouth, before testing the new choppers on a slice of flesh that she cut loose from the elasmosaur.

Concealed Field Base

Morning

The Field Base was a very uncomfortable place, it was a large tent of some strange material that seemed to mimic the surrounding terrain, so that anyone who saw it would think it was just another bundle of trees. There were stacks of electric machines inside the tent, including a view screen that let Galkine see through an electric camera mounted on a small automatic spy aeroplane.

Galkine almost gnashed his teeth at the sight of these foolish peasants being deceived by a few baubles from the Slavocrats, they were far too trusting! Many of them practised common property, but clearly these Capellans were not true Communists.

"If they do not want what is good for them, then we must want for them comrade!" Galkine announced as he looked away from the viewscreen.

"Yes Comrade," the native replied, they were of a group sympathetic to Progressive aims, but Galkine didn't quite trust them anyway.

"Crypto-Fascists!" Galkine cursed as he walked out of the tent, tearing aside the tent flap, and letting it fall down behind him as he stomped off into the forest. Five steps out he turned around, behind him he saw nothing but forest, he took five steps forward and then his hand touched something smooth. They're much too good at making such things, he thought before turning back into the forest, it was time for another meeting.

Small forest clearing

Just before noon

Galkine was standing quietly behind a thick shrubbery, waiting for his contact to arrive. The animals here were so peculiar, a two-legged creature about the size of a deer came dashing into the clearing, it sniffed the air and moved its big tail about before it began nibbling on a branch. Suddenly it seemed to sense something, perhaps Galkine, and it let out an unbearably loud honk before rushing away, and crushing the undergrowth as it vanished into the forest.

A couple of minutes later a smaller shape could be heard moving through the wood, brushing away low hanging branches, and groaning in frustration as his foot stepped into a patch of swamp, soaking his shoes and covering his trousers with wed mud water halfway to his knee.

Crouching a bit behind his bush, and pulling his ray gun from his pocket, Galkine waited for the stranger to enter the glen. He didn't have to wait long before a bedraggled figure staggered in, shaking his wet leg, and looking around as if he was expecting to be caught at any moment.

"Comrade!" Galkine whispered, even though he was fairly certain they were alone.

At once the man straightened up a bit, trying to seem more dignified, though that was hard when your overalls are clinging to your leg. "Comrade... you called me?"

"Yes I have an assignment for you," Galkine said, from his pocket he pulled a small object looking like a salt-shaker, "if they should set forth on another expedition pour some of this dust on their clothes!"

"What if they notice?"

"Why would they notice Comrade? You will be careful, no?"

"Of course, but..." he wet his lips, "if they see me..."

"Don't be seen, don't sneak around like a thief Comrade. Walk about on your regular rounds, maybe rub some into your palm and touch their clothes when you get a chance, it's that simple!"

"I don't know Comrade, I..." his hand holding the shaker trembled a bit.

Galkine sighed inwardly, ordinarily he'd not press such means, but he wondered how much longer the spy would remain hidden, "Comrade! One great blow for the cause of freedom, and for such a little risk; think of all the wrongs they've done to you, and your family..."

The spy's hand closed around the shaker, "I will do so, but," he looked nervously behind him, "I have to head back Comrade... I'll be missed."

"Yes, that would be bad comrade, so hurry on back," Galkine agreed, letting the frightened collaborator escape, damn, he's just one step above the gaunoedy. The moment the spy vanished Galkine snuck back into the forest, plotting further schemes against the capitalists.

Aquatine Island
Capella

Tuesday 3 October 1005 NE

Fishing Village

Morning

An eager child came running into the Elders hut, jabbing his finger upwards and yelling "SKYRIDERS! SKYRIDERS!" He was smiling and jumping up and down, "BIG ONES!"

"Have you never seen Pteradons before?" One of the elders said sternly as he struggled up to his feet.

"He's just excited," the old crone chimed in as she struggled to her feet, following the other two elders out the door.

Above there were a pair of enormous Coalynthus circling slowly, then they began a gentle descent, revealing more and more of the skyriders. There were two of them, a young woman, and a rather large man. The man was heavy and even the enormous Coalynthus struggled to bear his weight, more so because he was obviously not an experienced sky rider.

They came to landing in the village square, the woman dismounted first, quite easily, she proved to be beautiful, and there was fire in her eyes; even without magic Winter could tell this one was a believer, but in what?

The man was far more mundane, very large, and a bit uneasy with the Coalynthus. He stepped out of the saddle, studying the growing crowd with boredom, and a general lack of interest.

"Greetings friend," the Elder called out, "you are most welcome to our village, we are the people of the Dancing Waves," he watched them quietly for a response.

It was the woman who replied, "We are sky riders from Enoth Hold, I am Deirdre and this is Jamar, we came to see the newcomers."

"How do you know there are newcomers here?" the Elder asked curiously.

"Rumours spread like the stink from a dead pig," Jamar said, much to the bemusement of the locals.

Certainly has a way with words, Winter thought, then she noticed that Deirdre was looking right at her, trust a woman to spot an odd set of clothes. "Hello, I'm Margaret Winter, if by newcomers you mean us Pendletonians..."

"Are you the people in the hideously ugly metal fish with wings?" Deirdre asked.

"We think it has a charm of it's own Ms Deirdre, but yes."

"Are you in charge of it?"

"No, so sorry, I'm just a junior member."

"Can you get the one who's in charge?"

Winter hesitated, then she discretely reached out with her mind << Who you want to talk to depends on what you want to talk about >> "He may be around tomorrow," she said out loud. They exchanged knowing looks.

"Let's not be rude," one of the Elders called, "come, come, you must be hungry after your long travel, and the air is said to be cold, please join us for a meal. We have fish, warm broth, elasmosaur if you would eat meat, and lots of vegetables."

Fishing Village

Evening

It had been a private meeting, Deirdre and Jamar had insisted on that, so they built a fireplace in a clear spot some distance from the village. Clay pots filled with meat, fish and vegetables were placed by the fire; slowly heating them. In the flickering light of the fire they had told their tales; while their Coalynthus let out pleased groans, their hairy bellies filled with meat and fish.

Jamar told his story first, throughout it Deirdre shifted uneasily, as if she was very uncomfortable with the subject at hand. Winter however listened most intently to his story, and then she turned her gaze to Deirdre, "and what is your tale?"

While Deirdre spoke no one noticed that a very subtle shape was moving closer, this was no rookie, or even a native, for he was so silent that even sleeping birds were not awoken by his presence. Bit by bit he crawled closer to the camp fire, if it had been light he would have been frightening; mud was smeared in his face, and branches stuck into loops in his clothes, most disturbing.

As Deirdre finished speaking Winter nodded, "I see, it's just awful having your land invaded, and that's what this sounds like."

They spoke together quietly for some time after this, going back and forth, with Winter nodding gently. Then after some time Deirdre and Jamar excused themselves, returning to their Coalynths.

Winter rose up and began straightening her dress, she ran her fingers across her hair, and then she picked up a stick and poked the fire a bit.

While she was doing this the mysterious figure came up behind her, very silently, he stopped behind her before calling out "And what pray tell is this mysterious meeting?"

The stick dropped from Winters hand and she spun around, her eyes big and wide, a look of surprise and fear on her face, "You startled me!"

"I should hope so," Greenborne said, "when you find your subordinates hiding in the forest having secret discussions with natives..."

"It was all perfectly innocent Sir, it was just..."

"I heard enough Mrs Winters, and I have a nose for Bureau intrigue."

Winter looked sideways a bit, and nervously took a half step back, "I'm not quite sure if I follow Sir."

"Celatea," Greenborne said as he leaned forward, "Lekyan," he said as he peered into her eyes, "well?"

"They just happened to come here and..." Winter tried.

"No," Greenborne said, "Mrs Winter, please, before I catch you at outright falsehood, why were they here? Why did you talk to them?"

Winter hesitated, then she blushed thought it was hard to see that in the light of the campfire. "I was under superior orders Sir," she said, "We spread rumours that newcomers had arrived, and that we might support people with genuine grievances. There was more to it than that, but this is what it amounts to."

"So I was right, Bureau intrigue..." Greenborne said as he straightened a bit, he wiped his face with his hand removing some of the mud, "and what other 'superior orders' are you under?"

"I..."

"I already suspect one thing, though I might never prove it."

"Yes, I was asked to make the R'mans delay the fuel transfer by one week."

Greenborne seemed taken aback, "I suspected there was something fishy," he coughed, "no pun intended, but ... why? What on Earth for?"

"So that we would stay another week," Winter said, she shifted a bit looking embarrassed, "it was bureau orders Sir."

"Mrs Winters why on Earth couldn't you just say that you needed a week to muck about?

"Given the circumstances of your resignation Sir, we didn't think it ... prudent," Winter seemed even more embarrassed now.

"Not prudent? So instead they order a member of the expedition to lie to the leader of the expedition, and..."

"I would never lie!" Winters said in a loud voice, she looked very upset now, "I should never tell a lie Sir, I just, just, passed..."

"Mrs Winter, it is considered exceedingly bad form to raise ones voice to ones superiors," Greenborne said in cold and stern voice, "So no lies then? You just told the R'mans to do it for you? Well there's a tradition for that sort of thing."

Winter just nodded.

He clenched his teeth for a moment, "Why on Earth didn't you just use your influence, and by you Mrs Winters I mean you as in the Bureau, use that influence to order us to remain here for a week?"

"They thought you'd, ah, be unhappy with such an order Sir."

"Mrs Winters, do the people at Bleak Castle actually listen to themselves? No forgive me, I know they don't, but this is... this is intrigue for the sake of intrigue, with no conceivable practical... This sort of deceit has no place in an expedition, and even if successful would only serve to subtly undermine the cohesion of the unit!"

"Yes Sir, I agree Sir."

"If you were a man Mrs Winters I'd have sent you flat out on your back, but..." Greenborne stopped, Winters swallowed and fidgeted a bit, biting her lip, "ah I mean I would have ... never mind," eager to change the subject he added, "and why are we interested in dissidents?"

"It never hurts to know locals that can be... persuaded to do things for you Sir," Winter said, seeming a bit embarrassed, "Sir may I speak off the record?"

"They're planning something aren't they? And yes Mrs Winter it is off the record."

"Yes Sir, I don't know what, but they want a network, and those two were perfect."

"Perfect eh? Very well Mrs Winters, I heard some of it, but not all, so please tell me what I don't know."

Winters hesitated, then she reached out with her mind, "they're not listening, but I, well, not to mince words I eaves dropped on their thoughts while they talked."

"A thousand years ago a witch named Celatea was stranded here, she'd been travelling in an enormous egg shaped ship, it's still on landing island. She was trapped because of some kind of magical field called an Exis Shield, it prevented death, electricity, and hot fires."

"Jamar portrayed her as a wronged heroine, I read his mind, she was an insane tyrant... there were horrible things in his memory. I saw a city filled with old people. I saw a wagon ride over them, crushing their bones, exposing their guts. I saw healthy sturdy men beat the venerable elders down when they tried to climb up on it. Yet they didn't die, however badly injured they were. I saw torture, a slow burning fire devour a man... that alone killed him."

"The Thetans came here a couple of years ago, they overthrew Celatea and killed her. Most of her cronies had to flee, the Thetans have established a puppet state, and the place is still very unstable."

"Ah yes, a tyrants cronies, just the sort of..." Greenborne stopped, "I do apologise, I'm not one to talk on that score Mrs Winters... no not in the least."

"Sir?"

"Never mind Mrs Winters, tell me about the girl instead?"

"As for Deirdre Sir her case is much simpler, a group called the Leth Qhaysh I'ghyran, or Lekyans for short. They have established a large colony near where Deirdre lives, they use very advanced biotechnology, apparently their ether pumps are like giant leathery hearts, quite impervious to anything that the natives have... and yes they found out the hard way."

"Apparently the Lekyans disabled the attackers with non-lethal means, she claims they resurrected some of the dead but I don't know about that," Winters seemed a bit uneasy there, "they seem to have achieved Fifth Seal magics or better in the field of biology. After that Deirdre was unable to get anyone to follow her for a second go, not that it would do much good I think."

"I see... now what Mrs Winter?"

"With your permission Sir I should like to ride a Coalynths to Demelva City," Winter suggested.

"No, Mrs Winter, you are going to go to the R'mans and tell them to get the Whalefish fuelled, and we won't talk about your intrigue with the R'mans since that will just do bad things for unit cohesion," Greenborne said, sounding very firm.

"Yes Sir," Winter said seeming suitably glum and chastised.


"That said Mrs Winters, when we leave we may drop in at Demelva for a quick look, and a brief first contact," Greenborne said, "but that is all," he added.

"Thank you Sir."

"Don't thank me, Mrs Winter going to Demelva makes sense, it's a reasonable thing to do. Likewise establishing contacts on what seems to be a strategic location is also the reasonable thing to do. Conspiring against your own people however..." Greenborne looked disappointed and exasperated, "Mrs Winter, I'll give you a pass on that, you were following orders, but when we return I'll have a word with certain gentlemen."

"Sir?" Winter looked a bit worried now.

"Don't worry, I won't scupper your hopes Mrs Winter, I only make trouble for myself, not my subordinates."

Winter was about to say something to that, but she refrained, "I'm so sorry Sir."

"Don't be, but be ready, we will leave the day after tomorrow," Greenborne said, then he gave her a bow, looking very odd in his rather mottled outfit, "and adieu Mrs Winter." Then he stalked off into the forest, vanishing without a sound.

Winter shook her head a bit, "Men," she whispered in the same complaining tone as women have used for millennia. Then she packed up her things and began making her way back to the village, tomorrow would be a busy day indeed.

Aquatine Island
Capella

Friday 6 October 1005 NE

Just off the coast

Morning

"'aight! Lets get started," Mike called out, then he began to turn the wheel, the sound of creaking metal filled the room. Moments later the pipes began to rattle, and a light rain of dust and peeling pain drizzled down from them. The Ethernol rushed through the pipes and into the atomizer (situated just beneath the boiler) which spread it out into a thin greenish-purple mist, through which they could see a strange rainbow like effect.

Then a bright electric flash rose from an exposed copper wire stretched above the vaporizer, and at once, the fine mist caught fire. The sound was ear shattering, more like an explosion than anything else, and the flames licked all around the boiler. Then the fire shrunk back to a single column of bright green flame, quickly heating up the water in the boiler.

Slowly the enormous, but precisely machined, pistons began to pump faster and faster as the enormous engine started up. From outside it looked as if the Whalefish suddenly woke up, its tail began to move through the water, and the huge powerful wings began to move slowly at first but rapidly picking up speed.

The Bridge

The floor of the bridge vibrated pleasantly as the steam engine picked up speed, and from the windows they could see waves being whipped up by the increasing flapping of the wings. Then the vast aeroplane began to move forward, the belly slowly rising up from the sea, leaving only the tail behind, and then with a twist of a lever the tail rose up turning into the rudders of the Whalefish.

Huguelet took a breath of relief as he pulled the stick back, making the Whalefish rise up higher and higher into the air. The view was quite stunning as they left the island behind, and pressed further and further up into the air.

Meanwhile in the observation lounge, if you could call it that for it was more like a broom cabinet in size, Greenborne, Winter, and de Alanville talked about the strange birds and other flying creatures that they could see.

"I do hope, that Demelva will allow me to continue my studied," de Alanville said, he peered at the strange creatures briefly following the Whalefish, "If only I had been a naturologist, I should have been able to get the Carfax Award for certain by cataloguing just a half dozen of these things."

"I'm sure they'll have their chance M. le Chevallier, what do you think Mrs Winter?" Greenborne asked casually.

"I think Sir that you are quite right, no doubt a follow up expedition is called for," Winter said, smiling slightly from the shared joke between her and Greenborne.

If de Alanville suspected that something was amiss, or if he thought it was a mere affaire, he gave no indication of it, instead focussing his attention on the air, the sea, and the land before him.

Demelva City
Capella

Friday 6 October 1005 NE

The observation deck of the Whalefish
The Approach to Demelva City

Afternoon

The approach to Demelva city revealed a pleasant landscape, with tiny irregularly shaped specs of farmland the boundaries marked only by dirt roads or the odd creek. In between gold patches of farmland and the green of pastures, there were small woods, very idyllic, in which strange long necked creatures stretched to feed of the tree leaves.

As they drew closer to the city the dirt roads grew wider, and the settlements came closer together. Here the roads were filled with enormous greyish-brown creatures, some with the same impossibly long necks of the leaf eaters, but others with huge horns and an armoured fringe around their heads. On their backs there were huge loads, square canvas covered bales of goods, or agricultural products wrapped tightly in nets. Many of the creatures also carried people, who often laughed and talked seemingly unaware of where they were going, and not making any attempt to guide their lumbering beast of burden, who nevertheless always seemed to find its way without trouble.

"How magnificently romantic," Winter whispered, she looked quickly sideways to see if anyone had overheard her, but it appeared they had not.

"Fascinating!" de Allanville exclaimed, "we shall have to invent an entire new Phylae to identify these creatures, perhaps..." he mused, as he tapped his light round glasses against his beard, "tell me now how does pseudo-sauridae sound to you Sir, and Ma'am?"

"Very intellectual I'm sure M le Docteur, but I'm hardly a judge of that!" Greenborne said.

Winter smiled, she studied the behemoths carefully, "Why not Dinosaur M. le Docteur?"

"What's so terrible about them?" de Allanville asked, genuinely puzzled as he put his glasses back on, "they appear entirely well behaved."

The Docks
Demelva City

Afternoon

The docks were rather calm at this time of the day, certainly there were still small boats being unloaded, and sightseers watch the boats. Yet it was a nice quiet day, a bit warm, a cooling breeze appeared all of a sudden, apparently from nowhere.

Two men were walking together, simple part time stevedores from the countryside, scrounging up a bit of spare cash for drinks and amusement, all the while wondering if they should head back home where that "money stuff" didn't matter.

"Hey man, what's that?" one of them asked, pointing towards the sky.

"Maaaaaan, I knew there was something wrong with those 'shrooms!" his friend replied.

"Naw, I see it too."

"Whaaaa? That thing is... that is whacked out!"

Indeed others, who spotted the incredibly bizarre spectacle overhead, shared this attitude "whacked out". A giant flying metal fish with a Victorian house on its back, who had ever seen something like that? Then suddenly someone cried out "It's coming down!"

For a moment everyone stood still, but then when it was clear that this monstrosity was indeed diving towards the ground someone let out a high pitched shriek. That was the signal, everyone scurried away, colourful scarves and poncho's fluttering, and the entire docks were empty. Empty, aside from a grizzled grey bearded old man who remained sitting with his fishing pole at the edge of the docks.

One of the young mean shouted to the old codger, "You gotta leave old man! It's coming down!" he gestured madly at the Whalefish to underscore his point.

The old man shifted his pipe around in his mouth, then he called out "dammit no flyin machin iz gonna make me leave my fav'rite spot!"

His stubbornness paid off, for the flying machine did not crash into the docks, as many had thought it would. Instead it veered away and landed in the bay with a mighty splash, creating an artificial rain for hundreds of feet around it, before it first came to a halt and then began to slowly move towards the docks.

Moments later a gangway was lowered from the ship, and Greenborne, Winter, de Alanville, and Bert came ashore. The air in Demelva City was filled with strange smells, the scent of spice, incense, beast droppings, and an odd, pungent arid smell, filled the air. The odd silence that their landing had caused was soon broken by mumbles, but they were happy, excited murmurs, and not the dark dangerous mumblings of a forming mob.

"Well they seem friendly," Winter commented as they went ashore, nodding politely to smiling throngs of natives who were lining up to study the Whalefish.

"Yes rather Mrs Winter, friendly," Greenborne commented as he smiled at one of the local ladies. A young woman with light brown hair, and a rather colourful loose woollen sweater and long skirt, she smiled and waved back quite free of the artifice and discretion that noted women in Pendleton.

De Alanville's eyes however went big and wide as he spotted a huge creature approaching the docks, it was one of the three horned beings with an armoured fringe around its head, and it was huge! Bigger than any buffalo or hippotamus found in the Republic, upon its back was an enormous load of bales, and walking alongside it was a native chap with a huge straw hat he talked animatedly to the beast as they marched towards the docks.

De Alanville could not be restrained, at once he rushed forward to the beast, stopping a few inches in front of it. He extracted a looking glass from one of his pockets and bent forward slightly, peering at the strange beast through the looking glass, while mumbling words in his native Aquitainian.

The Capellan following the creature looked at de Alanville, brown eyes peering curiously and uncomprehending from under the huge straw hat, then he scratched his head a bit and pointed at de Alanville, "Say eh?" he said to Greenborne "is your friend alright?"

"He's an academic," Greenborne said.

"What's an akky-demik?"

Oh good... "A scholar? A student of ..." Greenborne began.

"oooo, one of them fellows, well... now I don't mean to be cramping your style or anything," the native man said as he watched de Alanville almost climb onto the head of the three horned beast, "but ah... he's."

After Greenborne persuaded the rather distractible professor to climb down from the beast, de Alanville at once pulled out a notebook and began to scribble in it, "I simply must show this to my colleagues... natural science will never be the same!"

Suddenly Winters blinked, a look of surprise turned into a frown, then she whispered, "he doesn't like being talked about as if he's not there..."

De Alanville seemed befuddled, then he quickly added, addressing the man next to the beast, "I'm so sorry Sir," he said in his most polite tone, "I..."

"Not him," Winter said, "Goggie, the threehorn," she added while nodding towards the beast, whose apparent name was Goggie.

"Threehorn eh?" de Alanville said as he quickly noted in his book, "Triceratops, and I'm so sorry Mr Goggie," he said bowing slightly to the three horn, "I didn't know..." that's when Goggie nudged him gently.

"Now, now, Goggie, no need to be upset!" the man walking next to the beast said, then to Winter he added, "I see you're a mind walker Miss, I'm very pleased to meet you, maybe we can talk later, but now I have to deliver these goods and Goggie don't like being late."

As the odd pair wandered past them Greenborne mumbled "how peculiar," and the de Alanville frowned a bit.

"Now then Gentlemen, he was perfectly polite by their lights... indeed they have curiously little in the way of formality," Winter said.

"Yes, I suppose, but now... lets try finding some authority figure," Greenborne suggested as he peered up and down the busy quay.

In the distance he could spot a group of people in loose flowing cream and tan uniforms, each of them wearing a peculiar looking patch on their chest, and carrying a long staff. They were young and tense looking, as if half expecting trouble, and everyone respectfully, but not fearfully, opened a route so they could pass.

The leader, an athletic dark haired young man stepped forward, Greenborne thought that there was something of a fighting spirit to him that he didn't see in the other two. "I am Marshal First Rank Dannil ul Jovik, I've been asked to escort you to the Council Hall," he said, and then almost as an afterthought he added, "If you are indeed the newcomers from Pendleton."

"I see our reputation precedes us Marshal," Greenborne said, then he gave a polite nod, "I am Robert Greenborne, Commandante of the Whalefish Expedition, and these are my companions Professor St. Marie Francois Chevalier de Alanville, Mr Bert Wilson the expedition engineer, and... Mrs Winter meet Marshal First Rank Dannil ul Jovik, Marshal this is Mrs Margaret Winter."

One of the Marshals seemed to fidget a little at the word Mrs but Greenborne ignored this. Dannil nodded a bit, "Of course, good, please follow us," he said as he pointed at a high conical roof, which stuck up high above the trees and colourful roofs of Demelva City.

Council Hall
Demelva City

The Council Hall was a wonderful place really, beneath the tall conical roof there was a big round room, where burning torches in black cast iron torch holders lined the walls. It was already so dark outside that torches were necessary, and they lent a wonderful ambiance to the room, with its thick wooden pillars supporting the walls and the roof, and the rough barren floor worn smooth from decades of passing feet. High up around the base of the conical roof a set of small windows allowed light to seep in, and brightly polished metal scattered it about the room, but only the smallest slivers were admitted now.

"Reminds me of a coven hall," Winter whispered as she peered up at the conical roof, she held her arms akimbo and rubbed them gently as if she was cold.

Before anyone could say anything further Councillor Wetruna, a matronly somewhat portly woman, called out, "The visitors from Pendleton."

The four stepped forward and once more Greenborne handled the introductions, they were graciously welcome by the Councillors who were seated in a semi-circle against the wall of the chamber.

After some polite exchanges Wetruna asked, "Are you then the formal representatives of your country?"

"Mmmm, no, Ma'am, we are formally accredited to handle our expedition, but aside from assuring you of our good will we have no formal powers," Greenborne explained.

"Ah yes, your good will, that is always good to have Sir," Wetruna agreed pleasantly, even as she sized up these newcomers, "yet your ship is heavily armed, indeed from what I hear you habitually carry weapons."

"We are explorers Ma'am, you never know what you may encounter on a strange planet, or in space, if you are not armed then you may be devoured by wild beasts," Greenborne answered.

"Of course, of course," Wetruna said, but still she didn't seem quite convinced, "you are of course welcome to stay for as long as you wish, and if any of your official representatives should come we will greet them as we do all others."

The conversation continued for some time after that, but there was a single interlude that caused some surprise among the assembled councillors. Professor de Alanville suddenly spoke up, "Ma'am, if I could make a request?"

"Of course Sir, but I can't promise I can fulfil it," Wetruna said, gazing firmly at the old white beard.

"I am a scholar Ma'am, among other things I study legends, myths, and old writings, I hear you mention this Code of Capella, but what is it? Who instituted it? What are your stories Ma'am?"

"I see... well there are many among us who know of these things, but they would take a very long time to tell since there are many tales, and few of them have been committed to writing. However those of us that can help you with this will do so."

Later...

The meeting had been over for an hour, and everyone aside from the Counsellors had left, but there was an uncomfortable silence in the room. Finally Councillor Paulson spoke up, "I don't approve of falsehood or concealing matters in any way..."

"Neither do I, but neither do I believe in spreading rumours, especially rumours that could be false and very damaging if they were!" Wetruna explained.

"He could have lied," Councillor Turbot called out, "the Communists hate them so much that they... I felt downright spooked, very bad vibes, very bad vibes."

"Perhaps, the Communists and the Thetans certainly accuse each other of horrible things," Wetruna said, "but I can't make myself believe what they said of the Pendletons, the monsters they describe and the people before us today..."

"Don't judge a book by its cover, don't you always tell us that?" Paulson said, sounding a bit snide.

"No one that is interested in the Code of Capella, or in old fairy tales, can be all that bad," Wetruna said, a comment that made many Counsellors nod, "let us keep this under our hats for now."

"Why don't we just ask them outright if it's true?" Paulson asked.

"If its not true they will be insulted, and deny everything, but if it is true," Wetruna sighed, "I fear they will be alarmed and still deny everything, and often an innocent person defending themselves from a charge, and a guilty person trying to weasel out, can be hard to tell apart."

"Well if it's the opinion of the Council, I'll keep quiet for now, but I don't like it!" Paulson said, and after a brief vote it was clear that it was.

A House
Demelva City

The fools, the soft headed, muddled fools! Galkine was not angry though, he had overheard the conversation in the Council Hall thanks to a carefully hidden microphone buried in one of the wooden pillars. They were being a bit more circumspect than the had thought, but that was part not wanting to spread nasty rumours, and part fuzzy headedness... nothing that couldn't be dealt with by a few rumours in the right ears, if these Pendletonians ever tried to meddle.

The Jumping Bean Inn

Some time later

The tavern was a pleasant one, it was a low log building with long benches, torch lights, and a long crudely made wooden bar. It could perhaps have been taken for some inn from the distant past, if not for a four man band playing a loud raucous tune with far more percussion than any civilized person could endure.

"They listen to this?" Greenborne asked, trying not to seem too incredulous.

Bert just nodded while he worked on yet another pint of the local brew, finally he put the wooden mug down and gave a burp, "Sorry, yeah, they call it the Crickets."

"The crickets eh? Well Crickets generally have a good..." Greenborne began, but at that very moment the music stopped.

"And now we'd like to play something from our latest collection of songs," one of the four strange looking musicians said, "we call this collection the Black Album, and this song is Maxwells Silverhammer..."

A small library in the Council Building

De Alanville was as happy as a clam, once more he was able to do what he loved most of all. That is to sit at a creaky old desk, forgetting how the hard chair made his bones ache, and peer through an ancient musty old tome, faithfully copied through the generations. Every now and again he he'd frown, go "hu-hum," and dip his pen in the inkwell, before scratching it across the paper he had brought, making careful notes of interesting things.

"Find anything interesting Professor?"

"Huh!" de Alanville started, only to notice that it was Winter who was standing behind him, wearing a simple grey dress, "No, alas no Mrs Winter, I fear that aside from some interesting facts of their laws... very peculiar they are, there's not much of any interest here, which is very peculiar indeed Mrs Winter!"

"Oh? Why is that Professor," Winter asked, while she spoke she found another chair and pulled it up, it screeched a bit against the floor forcing her to repeat her question as she sat down.

"Because, this law, this law seems to be created Mrs Winter ... I can't shake the feeling that this law is not really made for people," de Alanville said, "it's like, well."

Winter leaned over the notes he had made, carefully reading through them, "it's like, if you'll forgive me Professor, some Radical had passed an utopian law, and then over time it become as the Books of Moses to these people."

"Yes, perhaps Mrs Winter, perhaps you are right," de Alanville frowned a bit, annoying at her disordering his papers, but unwilling to criticize a charming and well schooled young lady.

"If only we could get a good look at Landing Island..." Winter muttered, half to herself, she peered curiously at the notes.

Sunday 8 October 1005 NE

Honeyblossom Field

About Noon

Honeyblossom Field was beautiful in October it was a large field, not quite flat but rather gently rolling in wide low mounds like the ocean on a calm day. These low mounds were covered in tall grass, often as tall as a mans knee, and scattered among the grass were colourful flowers frequently visited by the bees that flittered from blossom to blossom. Yes indeed, when you sat on the rough stone fence (not created to mark ownership mind, but rather created over time as a result of clearing away rock), the Pendletonians remembered the green fields of their native land.

Of course in Pendleton, in those lovely Anglo-Saxons rolling hills, there's rather a paucity of frolicking six ton triceratops. The enormous triceratops' ran around the field at an astounding pace, reaching as much as twentyfive miles an hour. When these creatures ran against one another, you felt the ground shake, and when they butted heads, it was like a thunderclap.

Greenborne, Bert, and Huguelet were watching from the fence, along with their guide, the friendly man they had met on the first day. The mock fighting was an impressive sight for the Pendletonians, and they watched big eyed as the huge creatures got up after the impacts as if nothing was wrong.

"Mon dieu, but don't they kill each other if they go at it like that Sir?" Huguelet asked.

"Naw, they're just playing a little," Kenneth, the guide, told them, as he shifted the strawhat a bit, "just a bit of fun, naw, if you want to see real fighting..." he stopped there.

"Real fighting you say?" Greenborne asked casually, but his ears had perked up at those words.

"No, no," Kenneth said, seeming a bit embarrassed, "we don't have real fighting, that's like against our principles man, we don't fight here, we all get along."

"And what about those that don't get along?" Greenborne asked.

Kenneth shrugged, "Sometimes there's an ornery fellow that gets shunned, or chased into the mountains till he sees the errors of his ways, and there's a few young males that get a little excited, but... usually they're just confused, and it's all up to the threehorns themselves to handle that. Who are we to talk about their ways, right man?"

"Ah, but Sir, if you believe something to be morally wrong shouldn't you take a stand?" Huguelet asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Well I suppose, but... where do you draw the line, I mean we don't want police, and, and soldiers, and all kinds of people going around sticking their noses into other peoples affairs, and ... that's so wrong man, we need to all get along you know?"

While Huguelet and Kenneth continued their debate, which went on in that vein for some time, Bert and Greenborne had a whispered conversation of their own.

"Lookit'em go eh?" Bert said as he watched a young threehorn test his strength against a nearby boulder, though the thing easily weighed a ton the huge creature easily pushed it around like it was a pebble.

Greenborne nodded, "can you imagine what they could do on the battlefield," he asked.

"I sure can, man you..." Bert smiled and let out a laugh, "I'm telling you Sir, these people get to you."

"Sometimes, Sir, it seems every other word they say is man, chill, or mellow," Greenborne said, seeming a bit distant, "but you are seeing something in your minds eye right?"

"Yeah, howdahs armoured ones, mithril shields on the threehorns, and you could put a couple of Maxim guns and a four pounder in that howdah," Bert started grinning, "and you could have metal tipped horns..."

"Cleats under the feet."

"Maybe a squad of soldiers too."

The two men stopped for a moment, smiles on their lips, for there aren't many things that will make men anywhere in the multi-verse smile, but... well... Seven ton dinosaurs, with metal tipped horns, trampling about the battlefield, carrying an armoured howdah, a pair of Maxim guns, and a four pounder cannon. Well it's one of those things that are just so right.

Monday 9 October 1005 NE

The Docks

Morning

Once more it was time for departure, this time a small crowd had gathered to see the Pendletonians off, most of them were good natured well wishers, but hidden within the crowd there were a handful of Communist agents seething at the stupidity of the masses around them.

As the Pendletonians milled aboard the Whalefish the doors clanged shut behind them and they could finally take a breath of relief as they went to their quarters.

Moments later the enormous flying fish began to stir once more, it would be tedious to repeat the motion of the enormous engine, and how the might wings began to beat, or even how the dozens of cables stretched along the wing manipulated the fabric of the wing so as to best catch the wind. Suffice it to say that the wings and tail began to move, and the ponderous vessel moved forward in the water.

Then slowly, oh so slowly, the belly began to pull out of the water, and the assembled crowd watched as the Whalefish lifted out of the water and flew up into the air. Faster and faster it went, till it was nothing more than a pin prick in the sky, and then it vanished entirely from view.

Thursday 12 October 1005 NE

Approach to Space Station I'liya

Afternoon

The Deep Sky around R'ma was filled with all kinds of ships and airplanes flittering about, after all it was a centre of diplomacy and trade, after a fashion at least. From where they were I'liya, indeed R'ma itself, was nothing more than a particularly large bright star in the dark expanse of the Deep Sky. They were barely close enough to watch the two lights separate slightly, for a while they were like Mizar and Alcor, it took a keen eye to see them apart, but as they grew closer they could see I'liya moving slowly around R'ma.

The interior of Whitefish's bridge was bathed in pale white light of the R'ma system, making the faces of the crew look pale and sickly. Huguelet was at the helm handling the last approach. Behind him, Winter was seated at the communications and sensors console, where dozens of little flashing bulbs, and flickering green cathode screen were coming to life.

"Sir," Winter called, she gently pushed the leather padded headset closer to her ear, "I'm getting a signal."

Huguelet didn't look away from his position at the helm, "Yes Mrs Winter?"

"Some kind of machine Sir," Winter flicked a switch and a loud staccato sound, like a mad woodpecker hammering away at a Morse key, combined with a squealing sound like dissonant pan-flutes, filled the room. After a few moments, she turned it back off again.

"Can you get a human operator Mrs Winter?"

"I will try Sir."

Try she did, but it took her nearly half an hour to convince whoever was at the station that she needed a human operator, in the meantime she got a headache from trying to link up with the machine. When she finally did get a human, or living, operator, it was a bit peculiar.

"Welcome to R'ma, please maintain your current course and direction, do you wish me to inform you of the tourism offers on the station?"

Winter covered the microphone with her hand, "Sir, do we want to hear about tourism offers?"

Huguelet just shrugged in response, violating etiquette a bit, and as if realising this he spoke up in a slightly apologetic tone, "But of course Mrs Winter, I'm all for seeing the sights!"

"Certainly, go ahead Ma'am," Winter said, then after half a minute she began to fidget, after a minute her ears turned red, but then suddenly she gasped, turned beet red and yanked off the headset! "I SAY!" she yelped, her lips quivering slightly, "These people are perverse!"

"Mah oui?" Huguelet asked, he placed his face in stern folds, "I shall fortify myself against their wiles Mrs Winter!"

"Since they are all sapphites Sir, I doubt that will be much of a problem."

Huguelet straightened a bit, "A, so sad, we should bring them proper order! Do not forget la mission civilatrice!"

"Mmmph," Winter mumbled, "From what I heard Sir it'd be more like la mission dominatrix."

Space Station I'liya

The Space Station I'liya was a long strange looking cylinder, seemingly carved from crystal into a most peculiar shape, part of the cylinder rotated gently around its own axis, but the bulk of it lay quite still. In the middle there seemed to be a ring of clear blue water gently drifting like a blue ring twisting around a crystal finger. Jutting out from one end were a pair of very long docking arms, where several big ships were moored, the square metal ships looked quite peculiar against the crystal surface of the station. Between these huge arms there was an enormous square door through which smaller shuttles flittered in an out like a swarm of mosquitoes out of a crystal honey jar.

As the Whalefish slowly approached, the enormous wings moving in a gentler slower pattern, they could see large openings in the side of the station. The openings were arranged in an elaborate honeycomb pattern that grew clearer as they approached. Here too there was much activity, ships and aircraft of every size and shape it seemed, some of them looked like mechanical birds, some were airships, others again were sleek grey aeroplanes.

Their intended gate grew bigger too, much bigger, until it filled the entire field of vision within the bridge. Then the Whalefish pushed through and found itself... flying above what appeared to be a vast expanse of temperate forest, it seemed to stretch on forever and ever, but this was in part an artefact of being inside the gently curving cylinder.

The ponderous Whalefish came down for landing, choosing a section of the forest that included what appeared to be a large pond, or small lake, at any rate big enough for the enormous metal fish to land on. IT splashed down, spraying water left and right in two enormous cascades, as it came to a halt.

Moments later a metal gangway was lowered from the side of the house-howdah on top of the Whalefish, and a small party descended: It included Greenborne, Winters, and Captain Smythers with two of his commandoes; the enforced passivity of the journey disagreed strongly with him, and he'd been quite insistent about being included.

The end of the gangway had sunken an inch or so into the yielding forest floor, it felt quite firm beneath their feet, and the temperature though warm was quite agreeable. As if on cue a light breeze blew across the forest, making the branches move gently, but other than the sound of the wind, and what sound they themselves made, it was quite silent.

"I don't like it, too quiet, and..." Captain Smythers frowned, "I say there's something missing here." In the distance a bird began to sing.

"Bugs," Greenborne said, "Place like this, nice and warm, ought to be swarming with bugs, Crater Lake... right now we'd be eaten alive."

"Humidity too," Winter commented, "A place this warm," she seemed a tad uncomfortable in her floor length brown skirt, even if she wore only a light jacket and a white cotton shirt beneath that, "with water, should be humid."

Elsewhere on I'liya

Two Buckets Bar

In a darkened bar, deep in the bowels of the space station, two men, or what appeared to be two men, sat in silence. Their eyes met occasionally, they'd sip some wine drinking enough to keep the bartender happy, but no more. They were dressed in dark clothes, one of them had a hint of a potbelly, but there was nothing exceptional or unusual about either one of them.

It was a very peculiar place, filled with the chatter of dozens of languages, sitting on the bar stools, and by the tables, were people from all over known space. Here were elves with fair haughty features, and pointed ears, slumming with lesser races. Here were Phoenicians, sometimes gaudy, sometimes stylish, but loud and generous with their funds. Here were also Thersonians and Ohms, both beer drinkers, both cheerful and sociable when drunk, but the Thersons would all join together in some jolly song, while the Ohms would gather in smaller groups, laugh, gossip, and play darts. Countless other variants existed, raising the noise of the bar so nothing could be heard.

In a dark corner there sat a mysterious stranger, he had downed many shots of a clear, odourless booze, but it didn't appear to have affected him much, other than make him even more brooding. Yefim Mikhailovich Galkine had reason to brood, the damnable capitalists were making steady progress, and he was at a lost for what to do. He emptied another glass of Vodka, feeling the pleasing burn down his throat, then he slammed the tumbler hard as he could against the wooden table top; BANG the sound was like a gunshot, audible even over the murmur of the bar. A second later a waiter appeared and poured him another shot, filling the glass almost to the brim.

The two men studied him discretely, he was dressed in a common enough outfit, a battered Thetan mae jacket with the brand name "NUKE" written on it back and front in big white letters (now that rankled the proud communist), khaki trousers, and a pair of battered old leather shoes. In short he fitted in well with the misfits and renegades of the bar.

After making sure that no one was watching him the two men walked over, weaving their way through the throngs in the bar, then they stopped in front of him.

<< Comrade, we wish words with you >>

Galkine looked up, locking eyes with them one after another, then he crooked his finger at them, waiting for them to bend closer. "If you want words," he said in a cold voice, "Then talk to me."

The two men exchanged looks, then one of them pulled out a chair and sat down, the other one fetched another chair from a nearby table before he too sat down. The three of them exchanged looks for a while, then one of the men, the leader, placed a small box on the table; it wasn't much, roughly the size of a pack of cigarettes, but the sounds around them grew muffled.

The leader bent forward again, "Comrade, we ask for this meeting for your help," he said in a low voice, he raised his finger to order a drink very inconspicuously.

After the waitress had served him Galkine looked the stranger over, he'd seen the type before, expressionless, ordinary, able to fit in about anywhere One of my Socialist friends, but not Xannis, even if they claim to be. "Help me, or help you, Comrade," Galkine said slowly and deliberately.

"Perhaps both Comrade."

"Do not waste my time, we both know that such talk is nonsense... Comrade."

"Very well, help us, we wish to stop the Pendleton expedition to Alfhame."

"Why?"

"We have... interests that would be bothered by them, and at any rate Comrade... well, you surely wouldn't mind giving those bandits a lesson?" Galkine was silent, forcing the other man to continue, "The cause of Socialism, it'd benefit from stopping them."

Socialism eh? Either you are desperate or naïve, Galkine thought quickly, he threw back another shot, "Why do you think I can do this Comrade? I am reduced to pursuing them, almost on foot in fact."

The leader tried to be friendly, but they exchanged looks, looks that said "He's drunk, the fool," so they felt confident tipping their hand a little "Comrade, you've kept up with them since Pendleton, and surely you have... Some resources, and it's in the name of Socialist co-operation."

So they know about my little friend eh? Damnation, I'd hope to keep it a secret, but if these people are Xannis then I'm a shoehorn, he shrugged "Socialist Solidarity eh?" There was a flicker across their eyes, he smiled, "IF the tin pot at Tartarus wants our help, he'll have to ask in his own name, and don't deny it Comrade."

The two men exchanged looks again, unspoken words, literally as well as figuratively, passed between them, "Very well Comrade, the Novgorky Soviet wants to stop this expedition, and we will be ... friendly in return."

"Very well, I will communicate this to my superiors Comrade," Galkine said, then he emptied another tumbler and slammed it hard into the surface of the table, summoning the waiter again.

After the two men departed his table Galkine followed them with his eyes, then when they left the bar he allowed himself a smile, then he rose up and approach the waiter.

"Here Walter," he said offering the man some crumbled Thetan banknotes, "A small tip."

"Thank you Sir, I hope everything was alright," Walter said as he discretely pocketed the tip.

"Fine, fine," Galkine said, he saluted with his index finger and then left, for all the sophistication the Tartarans couldn't handle a simple trick: Always drink Vodka or gin, it looks and smells like water, and that way a waiter can give you tumblers of water, and let you pretend to drink, even when you're really being sober.

The Whalefish

Later that night

The engine room was an eerie place when it was dark, in day time the enormous steam engine looked impressive, frightening too perhaps, but at night... At night the enormous pinwheels cast strange shadows, the faint greenish-red glow of the boiler reflected of the polished brass, and the sound of the traitors footsteps on the thick redwood floor seemed to fill the room.

Every few steps he looked around, was there something hidden beneath that metal wing bone? Someone crouched behind that sprocket? He kept expecting for the lights to come on, and one of the officers to rise up, pistol drawn, and call out "What are you doing here?" Nothing happened though, and he tried convincing himself that no one would see anything odd about him being here, even at night.

Quickly he walked over to the engine, he took a deep breath, then he reached into a pouch he had and carefully poured the contents into the right spot. It wasn't much, just some iron filings, some small nails, things of that nature, but once that worked itself into the more sensitive parts of the machine...

When he was done he scurried out, his heart beating madly, and a prayer on his lips that no one would find out.

Friday 13 October 1005 NE

The bridge of the Whalefish
Docking bay at the Space Station I'liya

Morning

For once the bridge was brightly lit, and everyone had been polished and dusted giving it a very pristine appearance. The artificial light outside, which resembled sunlight, made the various brass ornaments, knobs, and dials shine like they were made from gold. Standing by a lever was one of the mechanics, breathing on it gently, and then rubbing it vigorously with a cloth until it had that golden gleam.

Greenborne entered the bridge along with Captain Huguelet, and Winter, after the latter two had taken their seats Greenborne remained standing, looking out the window at the arboreal scene.

"Strange," he muttered, "A forest built in space."

"Ah but it is lovely M. le Commandante," Huguelet said as he began gathering the mystical energies to control the ornithopter.

"It reminds me of fairy land," Winter said quietly.

"Fairy land Mrs Winter? I thought you did not like this place?" Huguelet asked in slightly curious tone as he twisted a series of knobs, "Engine pressure," he cried out.

"Engine pressure clear," came the response. Then there was an exchange of the usual calls that come when the Whalefish was prepared for takeoff.

Winter waited until it was all over, then she said, in a quiet tone, "Comparing it to fairy land is not a compliment Sir."

"I see Mrs Winter, La Belle Dame sans Merci," he said with a gaullic smile.

"Mr Huguelet, I'd say it's more La Folle Dame sans Raison," Greenborne said in a slightly gruff tone.

"I think you're both right gentlemen," Winter quickly interjected, "And I shall be well pleased to leave, I fear that their appetites are not to my liking."

"Of course M. le Commandante," Huguelet said, "but now please brace for take of, and we'll..."

He didn't continue, instead of the low gentle tremors, growing quickly stronger until the bridge shook like a railway carriage moving at a hundred miles an hour, there was a loud grinding sound; and then the sound of metal strained and bending. The tremors were the worst thing, Greenborne barely managed to grab hold of something before the ground shook like and earthquake, panels popped open, glass shattered, and everything shook. Then the Whalefish was half lifted up into the air, where it lurched forward, before with a last shock it dropped like a rock back into the pond, sending tall waves splashing against the shore.

Engine Room

Bert had watched the boiler slowing heating, the greenish etheric flame brought to water to a hotter boil than could ever be possible with conventional fires, between the boiler where the flames touched there were spots were the heated metal glowed green as well as red. Then as the boiler was ready he began feeding steam into the engine itself, watching how the four cylinders of the steam engine began to up and down, slowly at first but then picking up speed. Chuuuuuunk-chuuuuuunk chunk-chunk-chunk chuggachuggachugga to any engineer there was no sweeter sound than that, then the huge pinwheels and fanbelts began to move, and the wings slowly flapped.

Everything was fine, before suddenly he heard something he didn't like, creeeaaaak at first it was a faint sound, but then it grew, like a big machine moving without oil. The events now were so sudden that even while he yelled "STOP THE ENGINE," the word seeming to come out like molasses, disaster struck.

The whole engine began to shudder and sputter, loud creaking snapping sounds, gufts of black smoke, the movement of the cylinders grew jerky, and suddenly huge red sparks of hot iron and steel filings shot out of the engine. The machine shook desperately, with a sheer effort of will one of the mechanics undid the safety valve, make a fume of steam shoot out like a whale blowing water. Two fifty yard high torrents blasted up from the Whalefish; white water that turned black from oil, and then with another shudder the spray turned a frightening purplish-red as the ether mixed with the steam.

That however paled with the effect of the wings lifting the Whalefish up out of the water, only for the wings to stop cold as the steam gushed out, and the entire body of the vessel come crashing down. The shock sent several of the mechanics, Bert and George of course, falling flat over. It also made pinwheels and cogs tear themselves loose from the machine, and come bouncing around the room, like a barrel band played with by a giant child.

One of the sprockets came flying across the room, it cracked into the floor but two inches from Berts hand, chipping the floor. Then it flew back up again and buried itself in the far wall, exposing the paler wood inside the wall. Berts hand trembled slightly as he pulled it back, he eyed the engine carefully, then when he felt the floor was still he scrambled back up and rushed over to the engine.

"Damnation!" he yelled as he saw just how damaged it was, he moved closer, ignoring the heat, as he began to examine it what could have caused this? In the corner of his eye he noticed someone closing, it was George. "Back off!" Bert yelled, he felt a bit bad about it afterwards, but right now he didn't want anyone else fouling up his investigation.

George pulled away quickly, watching Bert avidly, there was a certain hurt, almost sour, expression on George's face, but he knew that saying something now would only make things worse.

Five minutes later Greenborne walked in through the door, he looked at Bert who was on his hands and knees, already daring the damaged engine, "The intercom seems to be on the blitz Mr Wilson."

"Uh yes Sir," Bert said, he pulled back a little, extracting himself from the engine parts, before he rose up. By now his hands were a bit sore from the heat, and streaks of black oil and soot crossed his face, and his overalls. "I'm trying to figure out what went wrong," he added.

"Anyone hurt?" Greenborne asked in a more quiet tone.

Bert shook his head, "No, no one, just me and George over there in the room," he flicked an eye towards George, and then the engine.

"Find out what went wrong, and I want to know how long it will take to fix this," Greenborne said, then out loud he added "I'll leave you to it then Mr Wilson."

"Yes Sir," Bert said, nodding politely, as Greenborne turned and left.

Bert went back down on his hands and knees, crawling into the machine, there were areas where he had to wait for the metal to cool, but he persevered. For the longest time he couldn't see what had gone wrong, here a valve had shot open, but why? There a sprocket had burst for no readily apparently reason.

After a while Mike also returned, his offer to help was also rebuffed by Bert, who continued his search through the engine. The two mechanics were, however, told to fix whatever was wrong elsewhere in the aeroplane. They were however somewhat despondent at being dismissed like this, but seeing Bert in a dark mood they obeyed.

Now Bert had quite a task cut out for him, the engine was quite large, and he had to go through it slowly step by step. The valves seemed fine, and the boiler was as well, so if the machine was not blown from a surfeit of steam what had done it?

He sat down, leaning his back against a wall, a deep breath, then he leaned his head back letting it rest against the wall as well. What am I missing? there was some strange feeling in the back of his head that he couldn't quite shake, somethings wrong...

Suddenly his eyes flashed open and he rose again, once more he began scrounging through the wreckage of the engine, there were lots of nuts and bolts about torn loose but... he grabbed a handful, they were twisted and torn in ways that were simply not natural.

Officers Ready Room at the Whalefish
Docking bay at the Space Station I'liya

Evening

The oily nuts and bolts poured from Berts hands into a clean ashtray on the desk, they made a small mound gleaming slightly as the light reflected of the oil. "Sabotage Mrs Winter, Gentlemen," Bert announced, he pushed the ashtray forward.

There was silence at first, then Captain Smythers leaned forward and poked at the nuts and bolts, "Are you sure Mr Wilson?" he asked.

"Yes Captain, those nuts and bolts have no business being there, so someone put them there, that's for sure," Bert replied.

"So who is the traitor?" Greenborne asked, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know Sir, I wish to God I did, but I don't, but..." Bert fidgeted, "I reckon that it has to be one of the mechanics."

Greenborne picked up the ashtray, "Mrs Winter, could you tell who has done this?" he said as he offered the tray up to her.

"I could try Sir," Winter said as she took the ashtray into her hand, "I shall need a hammer and some brass tacks if you please Mr Wilson," Winter announced first.

After the materials had been procured, she began to chant aloud reciting certain ancient words. While she chanted she walked across the room before stopping in mid step, her foot drew a circle in the ground, and the circle came alive with low flames like a bog fire. She knelt down around it, and drew strange names and symbols around it, before writing the names of every mechanic onto a piece of paper, and tearing the paper into ribbons one to each name, scattering them around the circle.

"Let the Mischief Maker be revealed!" she called aloud in a commanding tone of voice then she took a brass tack and hammered it hard as she might into the centre of the circle, while speaking out loud the words "Justis es Domine, & justa judicia tua." Something very peculiar happened then, one of the streams of paper began to bleed around the edges, at once Winter snatched it up and held it up to the light for all to see.

Bert eyes widened, "Him?" he asked with evident surprise in his voice.

"Let's go get the rascal!" Captain Smythers announced, half out of his chair before anyone had a chance to react.

"We should wait," Greenborne said, "Leave port first, and then take him," he looked at Bert, "How long Mr Wilson until we can leave?"

"A month at least Sir," Bert said, "There's a lot of stuff that's just twisted around."

"Is there no way to speed this up?" Greenborne asked.

Then the whole thing devolved into a debate as to whether or not the rascal should be apprehended right away, and if there was some way of getting the job done quicker. There was a great deal of concern that if they stayed a month the culprit might escape, and it would be hard to deal with him while on an R'man station.

While they spoke Winter gathered up the nuts and bolts in her hands, she whispered words over them, and suddenly the metal seemed to change character. It turned from hard and greyish black, to a translucent mass that flowed slowly through the air, she looked at it and suddenly it assumed the shape of a pinwheel, then it turned solid again. Winter held up the pinwheel for all to see, "I dare say gentlemen that I can untwist anything that's been twisted, or broken, if that can be of any help?"

"Yes Ma'am, I should say so," Bert said, looking most surprised, "It would cut down the time I need to under a week I should say."

"Excellent," Winter said, her eyes twinkled a bit, "And if you'll forgive me Captain Whippling, I have just the thing in mind for our little traitor," she smiled, and for some reason Greenborne noticed her fine white teeth, how sharp they suddenly seemed.

Space Station I'liya
R'ma Orbit

Wednesday 18 October 1005 NE

A Non-descript apartment

Morning

Galkine felt most pleased with the latest report from his spy on the Whalefish, the latest active action had been perilous, but it seemed to have paid off. As he sipped a glass of strong green tea he pondered what to do next, whether to attempt another sabotage, to suborn the R'mans perhaps, or to tell the Tartarans to spend the month well.

Then all of a sudden there was a low harmonious tone, the R'man idea of a doorbell, Galkine sighed as he put down his tea and moved to the door. Outside he found one of his local contacts looking quite agitated, breathing heavily, while resting one hand against the wall. The man was of course non-descript, and usually quite discrete, so his sudden arrival, and his obvious haste was worrying.

"What is it Comrade?" he asked in a low voice.

The other man continued to breathe heavily for a while, but finally wheezed out, "They're ..." deep breath, "Leaving."

"Who are?" Galkine asked, but he felt a knot forming in his guts.

"The Pendletonians..."

"Impossible..." Galkine muttered, he had reports from his agent inside but, somehow, he knew it was true.

The Whalefish
R'ma System

Wednesday 18 October 1005 NE

The Observation Deck

Morning

A small group was standing on the observation deck, watching the R'man space station shrink until it was no more than a particularly bright star, all the senior officers were present, including Bert. The Captains orderlies were acting as servants for the occasion, carrying trays of canapés and champagne to serve the company.

"Well here's to you R'ma, it's been an experience very bizarre, adieu," Huguelet offered as he lifted his glass to a toast.

"I wish I could have studied them a bit, the fellows at the natural history department would be so fascinated," De Alanville lamented.

Greenborne looked at Winter, "And you Mrs Winter? Forgive me but you seem silent."

"I was merely pondering what a strange place it was, the locals, most peculiar, but they did resolve our little problem Sir," Winter said, she sipped her champagne permitting her to be silent for a bit longer.

Feeling the silence being awkward Huguelet spoke up, "Well Mrs Winter, Gentlemen; it was a barbarous kind of place, only imported foods, the natives, horrid! These lands need to be civilized, and moulded."

"Moulded into what Sir?" Captain Whippling spoke up, in a slow enunciated way, "End the barbarous customs of their land yes, but mould them? No, I for one am not fond of foreigners imitating our ways."

"Is it not flattery Sir?" Huguelet said, "The emulation of those of higher civilization?"

"It's damned impudence Sir, that is what it is!" Whippling announced, and to this Smythers, always filled with nervous energy was quick to join in the debate. Indeed the discussion was quite fierce between those, like Huguelet and de Alanville, wished to civilize the R'mans to emulate the Republic, or the Nouveau Aquitainian part of it; and Whippling and Smythers, who believed that some sort of R'man republic with the nastiest bits removed was the finest course. Indeed here you had the difference between the Gaullic and the Anglo-Saxon view on civilizing the savages, but its too much to go into this discussion now.

While this was going on Greenborne and Winter entered into a private conversation, unnoticed by the others on the observation deck.

"Well Mrs Winter, I hope the strain of dealing with the R'mans was not too much."

"Not in the least Sir, but I must say that I am glad it is over."

"Socializing with them was not to your liking then?"

"No, indeed not, they were," she shook her head, "Quite impossible, and of course they served only seafood, which I do not much enjoy."

"You don't like fish?"

"No Sir, indeed not."

"Ah, I see Mrs Winter, Degustibus non disputatum est and all that rot."

"Indeed, and my tastes run to red meat."

"I see, so you never eat fish then?"

She smiled, "Only on Fridays."

"Quite."

There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence, Winter discretely discarded her first champagne flute and picked up a second, "At any rate our problem is quite resolved."

"Whatever happened to him anyway?"

Winter just smiled, "Well Sir, let me just say he got his just deserts..."

Space Station I'liya
R'ma Orbit

Wednesday 18 October 1005 NE

A Non-descript apartment

Late Morning

The two non-descript men had shown up at his door some ten minutes ago, they did not, to put in mildly, look too pleased with the situation. Without waiting for permission they had pushed inside, "Comrade, we are most distressed."

Their eyes scanned the contents of the room, noting the wardrobe sunken into the wall, both made from the same misty grey grystal; the cheap table that stood in the centre of the room, with four chairs around it; and of course the rumpled undone bed, the sheets tangled on the floor.

The first man, potbelly, was doing the talking now, "Do you have anything to say for yourself Comrade?"

"I don't think I answer to you," Galkine replied coldly, his eyes darted to the side watching guy number two walk over to the wardrobe Yes, check the wardrobe.

"Think again Comrade!" Potbelly said as he pulled out a gun, Galkine didn't recognise it but as a matter of principle he took note of anything that was aimed at his guts, "We are most disappointed in you Comrade, and we must ask ourselves... is your failure due to a lack of revolutionary fervour?"

"Once more, Comrade, you are acting in an unfriendly fashion, and I answer to the Krasnayan Soviet," that was as far as Galkine came before there was a low hum from the gun and it was aimed at his face.

"Sit down Comrade, we'll have a little talk," Potbelly announced in a threatening voice, shadowing Galkine with his gun until he, Galkine that is, had pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.

Meanwhile the other fellow had thrown open the wardrobe, throwing the clothes out on the floor, and then carefully examining the inside of the wardrobe to make sure there were no surprises. He proceeded to check the bed too, throwing the sheets away, they were still warm, feeling curious he touched the mattress; it was soft yet firm, and quite warm too, it felt like thick hide to touch, and then he felt soft pulsing beat from it, like many other things on I'liya the mattress was alive. He cursed softly in Russian, before throwing open the door to the bathroom and checking it too, then finally he returned, calling out "Everything's clean here Comrade."

Galkine was very silent, he had a bad feeling about this, and he was debating the virtues of blustering, versus silence, versus more extreme action. He watched both men very carefully where he sat, they moved carefully, they were fast, but they didn't seem to be dedicated combat agents.

"Now Comrade Galkine," potbelly announced, "We were thinking of Self-Criticism, but unfortunately your lack of fervour and lack of understanding of the necessity of your duties mean that you require Constructive Criticism." There was something cold and ominous in those words, you could hear the capitals, and you knew that it didn't bode well.

"I don't think so Comrades," Galkine said quietly, extreme action it is then.

The other fellow punched him in the face, "HOW DARE YOU DENY YOUR GUILT YOU KRYPTO-CAPITALIST PIG?"

Galkine felt his lip sting, a faint taste of blood inside his mouth, a trickle of drool running over his lip, "I think I'll have to..." both of them paid attention now, "Kill the both of you."

"What?" the other guy drew his hand back again, but at that very moment there was a shhhhhh sound, like the wind through the reeds. Suddenly there was a holy in Potbelly's forehead, he shook for a fraction of a second before falling over. Other Guy scrambled back, reaching into his jacket for a weapon of some sort, then he too was struck: First in the chest, though he still staggered back after that, then in the head, after which he simple dropped down.

Galkine looked up, in the ceiling there was a flying saucer, it wasn't a big one indeed it was the size of a medium pizza, though a lot thicker. It looked black and ominous now, indeed its stealth abilities were sub-par, but for some reason no one ever seemed to look up at the ceiling. He rose up from his seat, wiping the gore from his face, his lips moved as if he was about to say something No, don't try to be dramatic.

Half an hour later

His hair was still wet from the shower, and now his hands were trembling slightly, he felt queasy. Looking into the mirror in the bathroom he noticed that his lip was noticeably swollen, he also noticed arm sticking out of the bathtub, he hadn't found anywhere else to put them. I look like I've been in a bar brawl, he carefully administrated the first aid stick to the lip feeling the healing burn well another fifteen minutes and I'll be good to go.

He was almost ready to leave, having found a set of clothes that were still clean, and the swollen lip had gone down, when there was a chirp at the door. What is it now? he thought as he rushed to the door, he looked back into the room, a bit messy but nothing immediately visible.

"Who is it?"

"Package from a Comrade M." came a female voice.

Galkine opened the door and stepped outside, there stood a native R'man, looking reasonably normal which was a change, and there on a hovering trolley there was a very large black crystal crate with airholes in them. "A package for me Miss?"

"It's addressed to occupant," the woman said, "I've got to deliver it to someone, Mr Occupant."

"I see, may I borrow your trolley to bring it inside?" he asked in his most reasonable tone.

"I'm not supposed to," she began, but the moment he held up a couple of banknotes she smiled and snatched them, "but if it's just to bring it inside Mr Occupant, no problem."

After getting the crate inside, and making sure that the trolley and the delivery woman had indeed gone, he began to examine the crate. It was a peculiar thing, about four feet high, three by three feet wide, with lots of tiny air holes in it, and two grey circles roughly a foot apart. Brazing himself he touched the two circles, and then stepped back, the crate began to disintegrate before his eyes. First it turned grey and semi-translucent, then it began to turn into a soft mist which literally vanished into thin air.

When it was all gone Galkine could see that the package was not from Comrade M, more accurately the package was Comrade M, and other things. He was still alive, after a fashion, but altered, different. "Bozhemoi" Galkine said, as he staggered back, he took short sharp breaths as he tried not to contemplate what he was watching. He had heard that both the R'mans, and certain mages, could do such things, but hearing it and seeing it were two different things. It was unspeakable, perverse, twisted, almost artistic, and deep down he knew that it was the R'mans, his erstwhile socialist allies, who had somehow been tricked, or persuaded, to do this; for however bad the Pendletonians were this was simply beyond them.

Comrade M made a sound, it was probably pleading, and finally Galkine pulled himself together. "I'm sorry Comrade," he said as he raised his gun, "but this is a mercy, is it not?"

The Whalefish
Alfhame System

Saturday 21 October 1005 NE

The Observation Deck

Morning

The room was dimmed so that there'd be no reflections in the glass to interfere with the view of the approaching planet Alfhame. Standing by one of the large telescopes was of course de Alanville, this dignitary had been there for hours, seemingly forgetting his age and fatigue, as he eagerly studied the destination of their journey. Also present was the original party, who sat around the tables, taking note of de Alanville's observations.

"Aha!" he cried out, "It has a moon, and what a moon..."

"It is most fascinating Msr le Professeur, from a mythical point of view, but perhaps a little rest," Huguelet suggested.

"Yes, the moment that I can have some view of the continents, I wonder if it will be day or night when we arrive," de Allanville mused, "it would be good to land there early!"

"Both," Winter said impishly, "It will be both day and night, depending on your point of view Msr le Professeur"

De Allanville let out a low harrumph.

"I apologise Professor," Winter said, a smile around her lips.

"Oh it's quite alright Mrs Winter, I dare say I walked into that one," de Alanville said, he finally looked away from the telescope and walked towards the table, "I just wish we knew more about this place, other than bizarre myths about fairy wars!"

Winters & Voights Quarters

That Night

The quarters were cramped, about the size of a first class railway sleeping compartment, for space was always at a premium aboard an aeroplane. Officers quarters and ratings quarters were similar in size, but the officers quarters housed two, instead of four or even eight. Naturally the ratings quarters also lacked the plush wall to wll carpeting, and the wood panelling.

It was dark in the quarters, only the pale starlight through the brass porthole on the wall kept it from being pitch black. In the starlight you could see one bed on either side of the room, with the porthole between them, the sheets slowly rose and sank as the occupants slept soundly. Then suddenly the approaching planet appeared, just a for a moment, in the porthole, and the room was bathed in light. One of the sleepers let out a long breath, stirred a bit, and rolled over in her sleep, but then Alfhame vanished from view leaving the quarters once more in darkness.

Oddly enough a light began to emanate from the drawer in the nightstand next to Winter, a pale green light that grew slowly stronger, sending fingers of light out from every crack and crevice in the nightstand. One of these fingers of light landed upon Winter's face, she fidgeted, her eyes starting to twitch rapidly and she dreamed.

Around her were wide green fields, where wild flowers grew, and they were so colourful. The wind blew through the tall green grass, which bent and whispered softly, and it carried to her an impossibly intense floral scent. Then she noticed birds singing, she turned around and saw a copse of trees, oaks and goat willow it seemed, the oaks had to be centuries old to have grown so big. There was a gust of wind and the leaves shook sending a cloud of birds up into the air, they danced around before they dove back into cover.

She walked towards the trees, somehow she knew that this had to be a dream, but the grass felt so real, it was soft and slightly wet, turning the hem of her skirt dark. Walking through the copse of trees she touched their bark, the bark of the oak trees was rough, offering resistance to her palm as she rubbed it against them. At the end of the copse she suddenly saw something on top of a nearby hill, it was a castle, but a very peculiar one: it was surrounded by tall walls that gleamed like glass, and the castle itself though somewhat rough in a way seemed impossibly powerful. A fluttering penant flying over it proclaimed that the master, whomever that was, was at home.

"Don't follow them," a voice said, she startled and turned around, it was a mans voice; a handsome man at that, he was tall and blonde, with long hair, but a healthy well tended beard. Around his neck was a golden torque, with dragons head ends touching one another, his arms too had torques, and there was a sword by his side with a golden hilt. His dress was very peculiar, it was a tartan kilt of sorts, but it was much larger and more ornate than any she had seen before, like he'd draped himself in a single piece of cloth rather than the short skirts she had seen some of the Gael Cygni wearing.

"Who?" she asked, then she turned around to see who he was pointing at.

They were beautiful, and so cheerful, men and women blonde, red haired, and oh so fair skinned. They wore magnificent golden jewellery, mixed with chains of flowers wrapped around their limbs. Some of them were nearly naked, either wearing very little, or else wearing clothes that were diaphanous; others again were dressed in long flowing skirts, or ornate old fashioned kilts like her companion. As the procession drew nearer she saw that they were playing harps and flutes, some of them dancing around gracefully, others drinking from bulging wineskins.

Snatches of the song reached her, "Come with us... merrily... sing and dance... in the sun...", it was so lovely, and so obviously an invitation. For a moment she thought of running away, but something in her mind warned her, she gripped one of the oaks, then she closed her eyes, when she opened them again they were gone.

He smiled at her, "Very good," he said, then he let out a laugh, "Ah they were a tad disappointed I fear, saw you as an easy prey." Seeing her befuddled, and somewhat worried expression he added, "But do not worry my sweet," he leaned so close she could smell his sweet, warm, breath, "I would have protected you." Then he reached out and touched her cheek, brushing it, but now suddenly a look of surprise, and sorrow, crossed his face, "You have my ring... so I am dead, am I not?"

Before she could answer anything he removed his hand, and Winter started awake in her bed, clutching the sheets to her chest, her breath was like a bellows, and her heart thumped madly in her chest. She didn't know why, but she felt a cold bead of sweat run down her brow.

"It's just a dream," she said out loud, then for some reason she called "LIGHT!" and a white blazing magical light in the shape of an orb formed in the middle of the room. Even it couldn't however hide the green light emanating from the nightstand.

Rhys Dun
Alfhame

Saturday 21 October 1005 NE

Deep beneath the hill

Evening

The room was pitch black, the occupants had no need for light, but if the lights had been turned on the scene would have been most peculiar: lining what appeared to be a more or less natural cave there was not stalagmites or blind cave fish, but rather black boxes linked with lengths of thick plastic covered cable. Occasionally small metal spiders would scurry between the boxes, and into them, for incomprehensible purposes. More ominously several humanoid shapes, clutching long rifles, also lined the walls, appearing even more frightening for the fact that none of them moved even a fraction of an inch. Of course it was all pitch black, so none of this could be seen, but the malignant mind that commanded it all knew where everything was.

<< Calculating 84% probability that Pendletonians will land in the morning.
Calculating 98% probability that Pendletonians will land within 48 hours.
Calculating 92% probability that this is their destination.
Calculating 92% probability that they will succeed in reaching the castle if not stopped by outside events.
Preparing corrective measures... >>

At once several of the humanoid shapes began to move, slowly and deliberately.

Near Rhys Dun
Alfhame

Sunday 22 October 1005 NE

The Whalefish

Local Morning

The Whalefish rested safely in one of the many lakes that littered the forest region, and now groups of stern men in uniform were disembarking at a convenient clearing by the lakeside. Before them stood the dense forests of Alfhame, they were not the pleasant woods that you may find in your neighbourhood, but neither were they the dark tangled nightmare you might find around crater lake. IT was however old growth forest, with all that this entails, and they prepared for a long trek over to the castle.

After a while the officers also assembled, Voight and Vincelette were left behind, while the rest of the group would proceed onwards to the castle. The moment they were all ashore the Whalefish pushed out the centre of the lake, where it would hopefully be safe. Just in case though, the remaining soldiers manned the two pom-pom guns, and the maxim guns.

It took them a few moments to barge through the thick brush surrounding the forest, but then they found themselves covered entirely by the forest canopy. There was light of course, filtered through the leaves, and in spots the sky could be seen, but if you put your mind to it you could travel for miles in this forest without once setting foot under the open spy. The ground was covered in soft moist moss, that occasionally gave away, tall grass, and of course a surprising variety of ferns scattered all over the forest bottom.

While they proceeded through the forest Greenborne had a whispered conversation with Winter, Huguelet and de Allanville; Smythers and Whippling were far too busy managing the troops, and wouldn't have been able to contribute to the subject anyway.

"So you don't think it was just a dream Mrs Winter?"

Winter shook her head, "No, not at all Sir," she said, "I've seen dream messages, and impressions, before but never so vivid and powerful," she looked in the direction of the dun, tilting her head a bit, "It was so real."

"Ancient magics are often the most real, Madame," Huguelet said, "I've heard stories of sensitive mages have recurring dreams when sleeping next to antiquities or ancient battlegrounds."

"Yes I know, I'm sure there's a perfectly natural explanation gentlemen, just a psychic impression, or some magical contingency, but ... it was so powerful," Winter said.

After about an hour walking through the forest they stopped for a break, the sun was still rising, and it was getting warmer. They found an open area, but instead of making a fire and perhaps getting unwanted attention they spread out their rubber blankets and sat down to eat some tinned biscuit and spam.

Winter had felt the need for some privacy so she had sat down by a fallen tree, huddled among the roots, and there she stayed while the others sat down. After a while though she got the strangest feeling of deja-vu, so she rose up, apparently unnoticed by the rest, and walked into the woods.

In front of her there were oaks, enormous ancient oaks, easily forty feet in diameter, and over a hundred feet tall. The branches spread out high above it, covering the ground beneath the oak tree in a perpetual shade where only thick ferns and slippery moss would grow. The bark of the tree itself was covered in moss, and she could see mistletoe dangling from some of the branches that'd be worth a fortune back home she mused as she touched the bark.

The bark of the tree was rough, and it rubbed against her hand as she ran it across the bark, she walked further around the tree and suddenly realised she was amidst a grove of some of the most ancient oaks she had ever seen. For some reason the trees behind the grove seemed wrong, she blinked, but they were still there, and she couldn't say what was wrong with them.

"Don't go there Ma'am," a voice said behind her, a male voice. It made her start, she spun around, her mouth open and her eyes wide, her back pressing against the oak tree. It was one of the soldiers that formed the perimeter guard, making sure that no one snuck up on them. He was handsome, fit at least, but dark and slightly stocky, and dressed in a common Lincoln green uniform.

"Go where Corporal?" she asked, trying, and failing, to keep her voice steady.

"Away from the party Ma'am," he said, then a look of concern crossed his face, "Are you feeling well Ma'am?"

"Yes I'm fine, I'm fine," she muttered as she made her way back to the camp.

When she got there she was greeted by Greenborne, who looked a tad worried, "Where were you at Mrs Winter?"

"I found the grove."

"I see, and in Imperial?"

"The oak grove in my dream, it's there," Winter explained.

Greenborne just nodded, "Excuse me please Mrs Winter," then he walked to Captain Whippling and spoke with him briefly, "How far would you think we are from the castle?"

"About a mile and a half Sir."

"I see," Greenborne said, it was the very same distance Winter had indicated when she first told of her dream, so that part at least checked out.

It took them an hour or so to cover the remaining distance, the ground seemed to grow rougher as they approached the castle, and quite often they came across evidence of some ancient cataclysm. Big rocks broken into sharp pieces, though the edges were worn with a millennia of erosion, gaping holes in the ground, and a few strange barren spots where the grass and moss seemed to recede to reveal nothing but sand.

Up ahead the forest cleared out just enough to reveal a rocky hill, partly covered in moss, partly marked with the odd sheer surface where only moss or the odd tree could be seen. On top of the hill there lay a castle, it was old and worn down, with tall glassy walls around it; sections of the castle had collapsed, revealing the rough stony interior, while the walls surrounding it had cracked in many places sending enormous spider like pattern across the glassy surface. Moss and winding plants were beginning to cover the ruin, but the higher levels seemed amazingly free of them, as if neither the moss nor the winding plants had any power over the castle or its broken towers.

The old road was still barely discernable, scattered cobblestones sticking up from the grass, or piled up around the stems of large trees that had jutted up in the old roadway. It was there however, leading up to a large empty gate, where hints of an old door could still be seen, enormous splinters dangling from impossibly large brass hinges.

"Well there we are then," Captain Smythers announced, he shifted slightly, "Shall I take the lead Sir?"

"Do so Captain."

Slowly and deliberately the party began its advance, a squad of eight men leading the advance. Onwards they moved, occasionally stopping to make sure everything was clear, the castle was deceptively close, and its sheer size became clear when you expected to arrive at it any moment; only to walk and walk, and see it grow increasingly larger.

From Winters rucksack a green light began to emanate, dull at first, but then growing ever stronger. They stopped at once and Winter scrambled to pull out the orb that was now glowing with a clean brilliant green light, "It would appear it can sense it's going home," Winter said as she held it up.

The moment that she did so a tremor went through it, and a visible ray of light, as visible as an emerald beam, linked the orb and the castle. Before anything could say anything the orb drifted up out of their hand, and began to slowly glide through the air towards the gates ahead of them.

"Some kind of homing device then," Huguelet said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Deep beneath the hill

<< Interference with sensors >>

Scurrying metal spiders had gone all over the underground cavern, desperately trying to find the source of the problem, but whatever it was didn't seem to be there. The Tartaran AI was starting to worry now, as much as a mechanical mind can worry, for its attempts to repair the sensor grid in the castle proper had failed.

<< Receiving audio from castle.
Human voices, speaking a non-Imperial language.
Cannot identify source of voices, cannot identify content of conversation.
Cannot get clear sensor readings.
Commence defensive operations. >>

In the castle dark figures took up position, prepared to hold the building. Meanwhile in the surrounding forest, mechanical figures began to move, cracking through the underbrush and scaring up animals, but always moving forward.

The Pendleton Party
Just outside Rhys Dun

A cloud of birds suddenly rose from a nearby copse of trees, and suddenly everything seemed awfully silent, only sound was the wind.

"Quiet Sir," Whippling said, half a request, half a statement, his beefy hand rested on the butt of his revolver.

"Too quiet," Greenborne said, "much too quiet, somethings wrong."

Whippling nodded slowly, then he began to bark out orders"Everybody down, sergeant set up a perimeter, civilians take over between those trees."

Within moments the civilians had found cover among a copse of big trees, they hugged the stems close, while peering around them to see if they could spot something. Meanwhile the soldiers spread out, forming a perimeter around the rest of the group.

Suddenly there was a sound of a branch snapping, and the instinct of the trained soldier told them something was wrong, "I can feel it in me bones," as the grizzled old Sergeant put it. Another snap and everyone loaded their rifles and aimed, as something approached with great speed.

Rhys Dun
Alfhame

Sunday 22 October 1005 NE

Noon

The Tartaran metal men were as fast as any real man, and quite a bit stronger, but what really made their units so fearsome was the fact that each of them had a built in wireless with which to communicate with all the others. Therefore they could afford to spread out far more than a normal unit would ever dare, confident, if that word can be used about machines, that they would be able to co-ordinate nevertheless.

Despite being machines they were quite silent as they pushed through the underbrush, unfazed by the stinging branches and the nettles. Occasionally some small woodland creature would scurry away from the intruders, but in the main it was the silence they caused that gave them away. Some forty-fifty feet away from the Pendletonians they raised their weapons, nasty looking black rifles with a grenade launcher strapped beneath the barrel.

The enemy spread out and were ready for a fight, but it was of no concern to them, they aimed and began firing. There was no muzzle flame from their guns, but a sound like the snapping of thousands of whips at the same time. The swarm of bullets shredded the forest ahead of it, but other than the shaking and shredding of branches and shrubs there was nothing to give away their position.

For the Pendletonians it was as if the scythe of death had come upon them, cutting two of the lead Commandoes into pieces, it was an amazingly gory scene. The attack was impossibly fierce, and came from two directions at once, so it was a minor wonder that there were only two fatalities.

By now the main Pendletonian party had hit the dirt, crawling across the wet mossy floor of the forest, and returning fire whenever they saw something moving. It didn't appear to have much effect, but shooting back at least made them feel better. The cracking of the SMLE's mixed with the snapping of the communist weapons, for a while, maybe a minute, it seemed that there was a stand off, but then an explosion came overhead raining shrapnel down on the Pendletons. Another explosion, this one tore several branches out of a tree and sent them crashing down, one of the Commandoes injured his leg but once more there were no serious wounds.

Then there was silence, and suddenly a booming voice crossed the grounds, "SURRENDER NOW! IF YOU SURRENDER YOU WILL BE TREATED WELL! YOU STAND NO HOPE OF VICTORY! WE WILL GIVE YOU THREE MINUTES TO CONSIDER!" Then there was silence, total silence as the weapon fire died down.

The command group remained still, whispering to each other as they pondered their options, it wasn't always easy since they didn't know if raising their heads would get them a bullet.

"WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU SHOOTING AT US?" Greenborne shouted back.

"YOU ARE IN VIOLATION OF OUR TERRITORY! SURRENDER NOW AND YOU WILL BE TREATED WELL!"

"I say we give them a two finger salute and go up and at them for Pendleton and St George!" Captain Smythers suggested at once.

Huguelet nodded, "Yes! I will give them some fireballs to make them think the better of attacking us, and then we can break through their lines."

"Surrender is not an option, but..." Captain Whippling peered over the fallen log that he hid behind, "They have dozens of Maxim guns, we would be mowed down."

IT was Greenborne that broke the impasse, "Mrs Winter, can you use a spell to give us some cover? Then Huguelet can use fireballs, and we can break through and find a better position?"

"Certainly but," Winter looked confused, "There are no minds... I can't sense anything out there other than animals, and..."

"Automatons," Huguelet chimed in, "For certain, automatons, but..."

"YOUR TIME IS NEARLY UP! COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!" came the booming voice again, "WE WILL TREAT YOU WELL!" it assured them.

"I mean to recall something," de Alanville croaked, the old man looked quite distressed where he lay, a bruise spreading across his face from where he landed, "The castle... the magic castle may protect us if we're inside it!"

"May and if..." Greenborne said, his eyes narrowed as he peered up, "It's not that far but... Mrs Winter use your spell, it's our only hope as far as I can tell."

There was a moment of silence, finally Captain Whippling spoke up, "Sir, let's go."

"Cast the spell the moment they shoot at us again," Greenborne told Winter, then they waited.

"YOUR TIME IS UP!" the voice boomed.

Meanwhile in the forest the robots were preparing a different sort of grenade, they had tiny manoeuvrable fins on them, and a small guidance camera in the nose. When launched they would detonate very precisely directly above the enemy, then the robots would sweep in to finish off the Capitalist enemies.

It was at that very moment that Winter lifted her arms and cried out, "Angel Who Hid David From Saul, Obfuscate Our Foes, Upset Their Knavish Plots, Conceal Us From Hostile Eyes!" The effect of the spell was different from what she expected, it was like a haze filled with tiny sparks of electricity spread around the glen.

Suddenly the robots froze their last communication from their commander went <<Continue exter... NO CARRIER>>, for a moment they froze at this unexpected development, but then they began firing their grenades in a ragged undisciplined salvo. Pom... Pom-Pom-Pom... ... Pom-Pom...

The Pendletonians were able to hit the dirt again after the first grenades exploded nearby, but mostly the grenades sailed serenely above them and didn't detonate until they struck some branch or stem. There were explosions, snapping sounds, branches went flying, sending bark and wooden splinters flying as the grenades made huge craters in the biggest trees, and snapped smaller ones in half.

"We can't stay here!" Greenborne shouted and scrambled back up, he pulled Winter up and half dragged her till she could run on her own, all the while the grenades made branches fly down around them. Winter let out a scream as a large splinter pierced her arm, but she continued to run, and moments after the entire Pendletonian expedition had gotten back on its feet and were scrambling as fast as they could for the castle.

The robots began to open fire again, in a running pursuit, their rounds striking perilously close to the fleeing Pendletonians. Then suddenly a fireball came streaking out of the air with a loud hiss, it struck a nearby tree, exploded with the power of a mortar shell, tearing the tree into pieces and sending several robots flying. The machines were not seriously injured, but a second fireball came perilously close to knocking out several of them.

The lead robot began shouting orders in Russian, which of course the Pendletonians didn't understand, but they did notice that the pursuit seemed to have ended.

"They're not going after us anymore," Captain Smythers said, "We must have scared them off!"

"Doubtful, we didn't hurt them much," Whippling said, "They'll be back."

Deep Beneath the Hill

Beneath the hill the massive calculating machine continued its operations, as it prepared to defend against the hostile encroachments. The cavern was growing empty as most of its robots had been sent out to deal with the Pendletonians, but there were still some units remaining.

<< Enemy proceeding towards position
Cannot contact advance parties
Estimate probability of advance parties in pursuit of enemy 92%
Calculating...
Tactical analysis allow enemy to enter castle grounds, establish kill zone within castle where enemy will be incapable of deploying heavy weaponry >>

Immediately additional robots within the chamber began to move entering the passageway leading upwards to the castle, dark metal shapes looking very odd against the cut stone walls.

<< Sensor readings disrupted
Communications disrupted
Land fibreoptics line operational...
Dispatching note to SMKD... >>

The Lake

Deep beneath the lake there was a small tunnel of sorts, at first it might look like a regular thing made by some burrowing creature, or perhaps the action of an underground stream. However on closer inspection it seemed to be a concrete pipe now covered in mud and underwater growths, if you entered this long dark tube you would find that it culminated in an onion like room where the upper half had air in it.

There was only one inhabitant of this room, a partially submerged metal fish, it was quite nasty looking with its dark grey scales, and a sharp jagged ridge on its back. Beneath the water it had a pair of dull red eyes, quite large, and instead of a mouth two round openings each roughly 5" in diameter. These openings were its micro-torpedo tubes. Written on its side in dull Cyrillic letters was the text SMKD.

Suddenly there was a light, and an instrument panel in the roof of the room came alive, moments later the SMKD submerged entirely and made its way through the tunnel out to the lake.

Meanwhile at the Whalefish things were calm, but nevertheless everyone was out and about on the house on the ships back. They were rather agitated and looking in the direction of the distant explosions and gunfire.

"I don't like this, not one little bit," Samantha Voight mused, she touched her fingers to her temples and tried to reach out, "I can't get through to them either..."

"Madame Voight, I am certain that they can 'andle whatever this planet throws at them," Lieutenant Vincelette assured her, taking note that she was actually quite fetching.

Samantha Voight looked a bit relaxed, "Do you think so Lieutenant," she asked, her clear blue eyes filled with hope, and perhaps a little admiration.

"Why of course Madame, I assure you that I..." Vincelette felt quite encouraged.

"I'm so worried," Voight said, turning back to the sounds, "Ah," she blushed a bit, "It is warm here..."

"Yes, a bit..." he smiled.

Before he could get anywhere with his slick Gallic routine there was a cry from one of the lookouts, "AHOY! Sumpthin' in da water!" All eyes turned to see what this could be, and what they saw was most perplexing indeed! What appeared to be a giant fish was running towards them, white sea foam rose around the ridge on its back as it approached.

"It's comin' fer us!" the look out hollered.

"Oh no!" Voight cried out, surprise and fear in her eyes as she saw some monster attacking their ship.

"Have no fear Madame!" Vincelette announced, "Let me strike it down," he called up his magical powers and suddenly he held in his hands a glowing amber ball which he threw straight towards the fish. His aim was true and it struck home, but alas all it did was raise a cloud of steam, and scorch the back of the beast, which continued uninterrupted!

"Mon Dieu! it's not a fish, it is a... submarine," at once he began to summon up a more powerful spell, but it was too late! The fish rammed into the belly of the Whalefish, tearing through the wooden planks there, and gutting. Then after having done this it rushed across the lake before turning around and preparing for a second run.

Before Vincelette could cast another spell, this time a big one that would surely break the fish, the creature vanished beneath the waves. "I think it's leaving," he said, but somehow he couldn't quite make himself believe it.

"I hear you Sir," Voight said, but she didn't feel too confident right now.

Inside the engine and boiler room everyone had been surprised by the shock of the impact, fortunately no one had fallen over, and now Bert called out, "Repair party to the lower decks!" He was the first to lead the rush of mechanics, or the two mechanics and four crew men, down below decks to see what was there.

The sight that greeted them was a grim one, there were already three feet of water in the cargo bay, and even though the pumps were working all out it just wasn't enough. Immediately the repair party began emergency patching of the hull, while Bert ran over to the pumps to see if he could coax a few extra horsepowers out of them.

While he was examining the pumps there was a slight tremor that passed through the whale, Bert stopped for a moment and frowned, then it came again, and for some reason he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. "OUT! OUT! OUT!" he yelled at the height of his voice as he began to run for the ladder leading out, he was about half way up when... he wasn't sure what happened actually, except that there was a fountain of water which pushed him at high speed out of the cargo hold throwing him overboard.

On the observation deck however they had, oddly enough, a better idea of what had struck. Beneath the water a strange white line could be seen reaching directly for the ship, it didn't look like a torpedo, and indeed it wasn't, but for some reason huge airbubbles rose up from the white streak. Then it touched the Whalefish, first the belly of the Whalefish was pushed up so hard that the middle of it actually got out of the water, snapping planks and bending the metal back of the ornithopter. Then something, they didn't know what it was, sucked it back in with enormous force, bending the metal back the other way nearly snapping the Whalefish in half.

Within a minute it had sunk until its broken belly rested on the shore bottom. By some miracle they didn't sink entirely since they had found one of the few patches of shallow water, but only the upper two thirds of the howdah stuck up out of the water, leaving the engine room submerged, and a steady stream of steam rising from the red hot submerged boiler.

The waves of the lake gently lapped up onto Lt Vincelette and Samantha Voight, who were both clutching the railing with all of their might. Around them the shocked survivors were splashing around in the water, a few lucky souls managed to swim out of the ship, but many others drowned.

"God have mercy on us," Voight said as tears rolled down her face, she shivered madly, but even in her horror she had the common sense to call out "We have to get away now..."

Rhys Dun

The Pendletonian party rushed towards the vast castle ahead of them, behind them, but never too close, were the Tartaran robots. It was quite harrowing since every now and again the Tartarans would open fire, and the dense fire would make tiny branches and bits of leaves rain down on the Pendletonians, or else tear up moss and dirt splattering it on them.

Little did they know that they were running into a carefully prepared kill zone, a gun had been set up, and several robots waited to attack them the moment they entered the castle. Their one problem was a certain lack of co-ordination, for some reason the effect of the spell seemed to linger rather longer than it should have. That was when something unexpected occurred...

From nowhere a thick fog suddenly appeared, it seemed to just rise up from the ground, and within moments it was nearly impossible to see more than six feets in front of you. The Pendletonians called out to one another and before too long they had formed a long line where everyone was within touching range. It was quite strange, everything seemed to go silent, not even a bird could be heard, but one thing did brighten the way: The long shimmering string of light linking the orb to the castle was still very visible in the fog, and so with nothing better to think of they followed that trail onwards.

Before too long they found that they were walking on cobble stones, but the fog was also growing thicker and denser, it seemed to muffle sound as well as sight so that you couldn't see more than a foot ahead of you. After shuffling forward for what seemed like an eternity there was suddenly the sound of an enormous door slamming shut, and then the fog began to lift...

They found themselves standing inside a huge hall blazing torches held by torch-holders shaped like arms lined the walls, the ceiling was high up but appeared to be a barrel vault of sorts, other than that the hall was quite sparse.

"Forgive me but... weren't those doors in rather poor repair," Winter asked as she looked at the massive walls that were closed behind them.

"Yes, so they were," Greenborne said.

"There are murder holes in the walls," Captain Whippling said, he pointed to the well disguised holes that could be seen between the stones, then he looked up, "And in the ceiling too..." Murder holes being openings through which the defenders of the castle could shoot at an enemy.

"Bit anachronistic," de Alanville said as he bowed to study one of the holes, "This appears to be a mixture of legendary Celtic and, ah, early Erdish architecture, as for the doors well..." he wiped his glasses a bit, "As I was saying earlier I believe the castle is magical, indeed there may be two castles the one we saw earlier, and..."

"The one we're in now," Greenborne said, completing the sentence.

"Yes, well, that would explain a lot..."

"Well then Gentlemen, Madam, shall we go further inside!" Captain Smythers announced, he pulled out his handgun, and appeared ready for anything.

Captain Whippling raised an eyebrow, but Greenborne nodded, "Yes, I concur Mr Smythers."

Further inside they went, their path lit by the flickering fires of the torches, and the strand of light emanating from the orb. The entrance hall was quite long and large, no doubt intended to awe visitors, and it ended up by an enormous door seemingly made from dull brass. Engraved on the door were elaborate Celtic designs that seemed to move slowly under the torchlight, but whenever you put your eyes on one of them it froze revealing itself to be nothing more than brass.

These doors offered some problems, the Pendletonians pushed them as hard as they could, but only grudgingly did the doors slide open. On the other side they found a far more appealing room, long benches stretched alongside the wall, along with colourful wall hangings depicting hunting scenes, and there were many other peculiar decorations: strange weapons, artwork of a vaguely celtic sort, a large throne towards the rear of the room. Two things however stuck out, the first was the large cauldron resting over a fireplace, and the second were the bodies...

All around the room lay smashed metal men, the robots, some of them looked as if enormous mauls had been applied to them, others again had been torn to pieces, while a few were just... dead, or non-functioning. Two machineguns could be seen on either side of the door, their barrels pushed through the murder holes, and the military men shuddered as they realised how close they had come to this trap.

"If we couldn't even dent them..." Winter asked as she looked at the damage, "Then who, or what, did this?"

"More importantly Mrs Winter, will they do it to us?" Greenborne said.

At that very same moment the strand of light emanating from the orb suddenly vanished, leaving them without guidance. Then as if to make matters worse the huge brass doors that they had opened only with the greatest of effort, suddenly moved so fast that they had trouble seeing it, in a blur they slammed shut with a BOOOOOOM making several Pendletonians grab their ears.

"Ah, perhaps this would be a good time to tell you about the legends of the internal defences of magical castles," De Alanville began, he polished his glasses again, put them on his nose, then, quite oblivious to the looks from the crowd, he stroked his long white beard and began to talk.

The Lake

The whole body of the Pendletonians, the survivors at any rate, had made it ashore now, not too keen on spending any more time on the lake. However they had improvised some tents, stretching lengths of cloth between branches, and some impromptu frame beds made from cloth and long chopped down branches were arranged for the wounded. They'd made a fire where a teakettle was coming to a boil, along with a regular kettle with some fish and potatoes, the scent of both tea and food spread across the campground relaxing wounded people.

Voight was tending to the wounded using her healing hand, most of their wounds were of the regular kind that she could easily repair, most but not all. It took her quite some time to go through them all, placing her hands on them and whispering her spell, after which a healing glow would spread across their bodies. She was almost done, smiling at the grateful men who bowed and touched their forelocks to the Lady, when it happened...

"It's back!" one of the men shouted, he pointed out into the lake and there, sure enough, they could see the jagged metal back of the creature that had sunk the Whalefish.

They stood still for a moment as they watched it, then suddenly one of the men yelled, "Hah! What will you do now you poncy bastard? We're on land!" He gave the fish a rather rude two finger salute, and there were rousing cheers all around.

Suddenly there were air bubbles around the metal fish, one of the wits broke out, "Is it breaking wind?" before quickly adding "Sorry Ma'am."

The fish reared up revealing the dark red eyes on its body, unbeknown to the Pendletonians the metal fish had filled its stern ballast tanks to expose those same eyes. Suddenly there was a flash of light from the eyes, a searing beam that touched the mocker scorching his flesh and setting his clothes on fire! The poor soul let out a blood curdling scream as he was engulfed in flames, and then waving his arms he leapt into the water and vanished!

"It's firing beams of light from it's eyes! Good lord a metal shark with concentrated light beams!" another man shouted, just as he was about to expound on this he too was struck, "AAAAH!" he screamed. At this point Voight quickly used her magics to put out the fire, but the fish blazed away at them, burning several of them, setting the cloth tents on fire, lighting up the underbrush, and most horrifically ruining the kettle of tea!

"We have to get out of here!" Vincelette shouted, he sent a fireball in the direction of the metal fish, which quickly ducked beneath the boiling waves.

Everywhere around them the fires were blazing higher as the undergrowth caught fire, and the flames licked up the sides of the trees. Running quickly the surviving Pendletonians escaped, abandoning their makeshift camp, and seeking safety in the deep, dark, uncharted forests of Alfhame.

Rhys Dun

The Pendletonians had idled for quite some time in the hall, outside they could hear faint explosions and the wild snapping of the enemy weapons, apparently the attackers failed even in penetrating to the entrance hall. There was a quiet eerie mood over the party Professor de Alanville's elaborate tale of the defences of such magical castles was enough to chill the blood of even the most hardened soldier.

Those of you who have enjoyed seriously bowdlerized fairy tales in your childhood may find this puzzling, after all what is so terrifying about them? However anyone who has heard the real stories collected by the Grimm's, the Moe's, and so forth will know that they are filled with as much horror as any macabre tale by modern authors.

The officers and the enlisted men had of course separated, sitting down at separate benches, and talking among themselves. The smell of the stew cooking in the cauldron was quite tempting, but no one had yet dared taste of it even though Winter's spell told her it was fine.

"Do we even know who it was who attacked us?" Greenborne asked the officers, all around there were denials no one had the slightest idea.

"Gentlemen," Winter said, getting their attention, "Let us be logical, we know that these people opened fire on us, and we know they were some sort of automatons, so who do we know that use automatons and don't like outsiders?"

There was silence for a moment, then Captain Whippling, being somewhat well informed of outside affairs, called out "The Communists!"

"Indeed Captain, indeed," Winter replied.

"We know something else too Mrs Winter!" Greenborne said, "They had access to this castle, indeed they attacked us when we drew near..." he looked around the room, then back to Winter, "Can you cast an augur Mrs Winter?"

"I could try Sir, but... this castle may not appreciate such ventures," Winter said, but she rose up and stepped onto the middle of the floor, searching through her luggage she found several piece of chalk with which she began to make a circle on the floor. Once the circle was done she marked the area around it with occult symbols, and then stepped inside before kneeling on the ground, and beginning a slow Latin chant.

The power flushed over her, her eyes shot open and began to shine in a dull way, but this was outshone by the way that the circle and the mystic symbols lit up like the sun blinding the other Pendletonians. Winter took a deep breath, and her head tilted back, mouth and eyes open as she realised to her shock too fast, too power, something is wrong...

She could see... the castle was like a mist, she could see through the walls and deep beneath the castle, in the bowels of the mountain, something was happening. There was a fight, patterns fighting each other, one below dark, malicious, angular, mechanical, and one above rounded wild and unpredictable, they were struggling against one another in a fight part mental and part physical. So that is the heart of the beast... she thought, then something drew her attention to a crack in a wall, a large crack, which seemed to lead downwards, far downwards.

When she came too she felt that half her face was slick and wet with some slimy mass, and her mouth felt peculiar, to her shock and dismay she had apparently drooled quite a bit. She wiped her face with her handkerchief, and blinked to get the bright lights out of her eyes, that problem was shared by the other Pendletonians there.

"There's something beneath us," Winter said, she blinked again and the wild colourful shapes receded a bit, "Something mechanical, something evil I think, some kind of Communist Master Machine unless I miss my guess."

"I say!" Captain Whippling announced, "Let us go down there and teach this oversized pocket watch what's what!"

"Yes I think that's the best option too," Greenborne agreed, he checked his revolvers, "Well, where is the crack into the abyss Mrs Winter?"

"Over there Sir," Winter pointed, "It's some ways to go..."

"Wait, Mrs Winter stay in the middle of our formation please," Greenborne said, "We don't know if there are more communists about, the same goes for you Msr Huguelet, we cannot risk losing our only mage."

"I would prefer to be in front Sir," Huguelet said, his Gallic pride stung by being relegated away from the front lines.

"Sir, this is neither the time nor place," Captain Smythers said simply.

"Quite, I understand eagerness to be in front, but we cannot afford to lose our heavy firepower," Greenborne said, "Mr Whippling protect our rear, Mr Smythers in front, and we move now!"

The Pendletonian soldiers being well drilled fell into position at once, moving through the eerie torch lit halls of the castle. In a corner of his mind Greenborne noticed that only the corridors leading to the crack seemed to be lit, but he wasn't quite sure what this meant.

Finally they found it, the walls of the castle were very powerful, but here was a definite crack about as wide and tall as a man, and beyond they could see a long crude tunnel arching downwards. One of the Mage Hunters bent down and studied the dirt inside the tunnel, "Someone walked here recently," he announced.

"That figures, those machine men must have come from somewhere," Greenborne said, he turned to Smythers, "Lead the way, but take care, there may be more of them."

Down into the tunnel they went, it was time to finish this thing!

Rhys Dun
Alfhame

Sunday 22 October 1005 NE

Evening

The tunnel was cramped, at most two men might move side by side, and there were spots where you had to crouch slightly as you walked, while your heads and shoulders broke loose little pieces of dirt and stone that had an annoying tendency to get into your clothes.

The two point men were moving carefully, their pump-action 12 gauge shotguns at the ready, and behind them another pair of their fellows with SMLE rifles in case the shotguns couldn't punch through the metal men. It was quite nerve wracking as there was absolutely no light whatsoever, all they could see was the light from their own hooded oil lantern, and that light was used sparingly to keep from giving away their position.

So weak was the light that none of them noticed a small metal spider, about the size of a mans hand, that seemed to startle when it spotted them. Nor did they notice when it skittered down the tunnel at a speed much greater than any spider had any business of making.

Deep Beneath the Hill

The spider scrambled into the large cavernous room beneath the hill, and at once practically threw itself into one of the metal containers. At once the remaining robots began to move into defensive positions, and other surprises were also prepared: Ominous metal turrets lurked in dark corners, strange square boxes were camouflaged along the walls, and dozens of metal spiders clung to the ceiling.

<< Cannot re-establish contact with surface team...
The Castle has come back to life...
Hostile forces are approaching the GHQ for Alfhame...
Have destroyed enemy transportation, but estimate low chances of removing hostile presence, base location is compromised.
If GHQ is destroyed I have issued orders to launch all remaining aerospace units to conduct an attack run on the castle, before if possible returning to Tartarus or R'ma. >>

By way of fibre-optic wire the message was sent to the carefully hidden bomber hangar nearby, so that RDSU Prime would be alerted if the intruders should succeed. The AI was quite detached, it was one of the coldest most methodical AIs ever manufactured, and so all it did was prepare to fight to the very end.

The Tunnel

Almost imperceptibly the tunnel began to widen, it wasn't until it was wide enough for three men to walk abreast that the Pendletonians truly noticed, that and the floor was getting smoother and flatter. The whole column slowed down, readying their weapons, the point men hugged the walls brushing their backs against them as they walked slowly with their shotguns raised, behind them two Commandoes with SMLE's stood read, and behind that again Huguelet prepared a minor fireball.

Right ahead of them there was a dull blue and green glow, and the floors were now poured concrete, the odd cable ran across the walls. The leaders nodded, and the point began to leapfrog forward, two of them stopping to cover the rest while the other two moved ahead. IT was nerve-wracking work, as they never knew when there might be an attack, sweat ran down their brows, and they clutched the wooden stocks of their weapons tighter.

Suddenly there came a loud, but quite pleasant, voice out of nowhere, "Please friends, there is no need for unpleasantness."

Everyone hit the dirt, or crouched down pressed against the walls, their weapons aimed right at the source of the sound. By now the glow was strong enough that it lit up the faces of the men with unnatural colour, making them appear pale and green skinned, but behind the pointmen came the more natural glow of a fireball being prepared. Huguelet caressed it in his hands like a fortune teller rubbing her crystal ball, but he had enough sense to crouch down and take cover behind the point.

"Who are you?" Greenborne called out as the party slowly inched forward.

"I am a friend."

"Strange friendship to open fire on us."

"Please Sir, see it from our point of view, you were trespassing on our lands and refused to surrender, surely you would not act much differently if someone came across one of your bases," the voice sounded friendly, and quite reasonable.

"Forgive me Sir, or should I say Comrade..." Greenborne began, at once he regretted it, tipping his hand like that, but he forged on, "Somehow I doubt your good will!"

"We are both soldiers, the ideology of our nations should be irrelevant, and I assure you that I have no ill will towards you personally, nor any desire to harm you."

The voice was very reasonable, very reasonable indeed, and several of the Pendletonians wondered if maybe it was right. For Winter this was a critical moment, she didn't feel direct magical manipulation, but there was an odd feeling as if something was not quite right. Then suddenly she felt something slip through the disturbances that surrounded the site, a mental message of great force and anguish...

"LIAR!" she cried out, "Voight got through just now! While this thing speaks of peace and friendship it forgets to mention that it has attacked the Whalefish, sinking it, and then opened fire on the refugees as they scrambled ashore!"

"Surely this is no time for recriminations, any actions taken are..." the voice began.

It never got a chance to complete, "Attack! Quickly!" Greenborne called.

"Full charge!" Captain Smythers shouted, and his sergeant joined in the call as the front party rushed ahead into the cavern.

Those were his last words, for in that precise moment there was a hissing sound, and dozens of strange metal objects fell down into the corridor. They were metal spiders, and before Smythers could react one of them had reached his throat and bit through it, burrowing into him, another one tore through the belly of his uniform and into the soft flesh beneath. Nor was he the only one so attacked, half a dozen of the rest of the party were grappled in legs or arms as the spiders bit and burrowed into the flesh.

"Damnation!" Greenborne shouted as a spider went for him, with lightning fast motions he fired his revolver, the .44 slug tore through the mechanic spider spraying metal guts over the corridor. Others smashed the spiders with their rifle buts, or shout at the burrowing arachnid even through the flesh of their comrades, in this fashion four of the wounded were saved, but two more were killed.

For a moment they halted while Winter applied healing magic to the wounded, closing their wounds and letting them move about again, even though their uniforms were by now soaked in blood.

They all looked up at the ceiling, for in the distance there was a skittering sound... then there came a woosh, and a bright round object flew past them, exploding in the distance and filling the tunnel with flames. The flames licked back far enough to singe the eyebrows of the pointmen, "Oww, blimey!" one of them shouted as the metal of his rifle turned uncomfortable hot to the touch.

"Move on!" Greenborne ordered, much against his instincts they had to leave the dead behind, only stopping briefly to recover ammunition, before they rushed further into the caves.

"This really won't do you any good, there are greater dangers in here than a few metal spiders," the voice came back, "Do you think you can stop them all?"

It was only a minute later, where the tunnel began expanding out to form a cavern of sorts, that they discovered the second danger. There was an ominous click, and suddenly there came an explosion sending scores of tiny metal balls flying right towards the party. The two mage-hunters in front were struck full on by what was effective a blast of grapeshot, and they were not to mince words torn limb from limb, spraying blood and guts on the people behind.

Only the quick action of Huguelet who threw up a defensive shield prevented the rest of them from having the same fate, but the shield flickered as thousands of metal balls bounced of it at high speeds, cracking of the stone walls of the cavern, and sending sprays of stone splinters flying down.

"Mrs Winter, can you check if there are more of those devices ahead," Greenborne asked.

"I can make a false image of a couple of soldiers walking ahead," Winter offered, "It would trigger any simple traps."

"Do so."

With a movement of her hand Winter summoned up what seemed to the eye to be two non-descript soldiers who quietly, and rather sheepishly, took the front. As the party advanced these poor unfortunate triggered dozens of traps, there were so many explosions that the Pendletonians could scarcely hear anything other than the persistent chiming in their ears.

By now everyone was on edge, looking up, down, sideways, at the rough dark brownish-black rocks, waiting to see a tiny rock move aside to reveal a murder hole with the muzzle of a machine-gun, or see some tiny creature scurry at ungodly rates across the floor or the ceiling. None of that happened, but the cavern grew much larger, the greenish-blue light had vanished, apparently it had simple been a rouse, and now they had trouble seeing both walls of the cavern.

Deep in the darkness of the cavern, beyond what the Pendletonians could see, there stood a group of four robots in the darkness, they were crouching with their weapons at the ready. If the Pendletonians had been able to see through their eyes they'd have been most surprised, for the robots saw everything quite clearly, albeit bathed in a strange greenish light. Dark cross hairs moved across their line of vision, showing them exactly where their weapons would hit, and now they prepared an initial barrage.

The first sign of trouble was the snapping sounds, and the sudden disappearance of the dummy soldiers, fortunately the robots had mistaken them for the real deal. Unfortunately they were not mistaken about two other Commandoes and a Mage hunter, who were mowed down in the motion of getting to the ground, now instead they slumped mouths open and blood pooling around their bodies.

For the Pendletonians this attack was not only surprising, but it was near impossible to deal with, there were no muzzle flames and in the darkness of the cavern the gunshots echoed over and over so even they were useless. The Pendletonians hit the dirt, scrambling behind loose rocks, hugging the walls, or even in some cases using their fallen comrades as cover. Then for a moment the enemy firing ceased, while the Pendletonians returned fire in a desultory and confused fashion, long muzzle-flames lighting up the darkness of the cavern.

Unfortunately for the robots Winter could see them just fine, even in the darkness they had an aura that was quite unmistakable. She closed her eyes and focussed, letting her mind roam, and then the moment she found something she used her magic to gently undo a few circuits in each robot.

The first robot had no idea what struck him when all of a sudden his Etheric battery overcharged, he had a few seconds to wallow around before he suddenly fell over and light green etheric flames leapt up from his back. The others activated counter-measures, making their outlines look hazy to Winters eyes, but instead of attempting another sabotage she focussed and suddenly a bright white flare appeared over the cavern.

In that very same second a fireball, full strength, erupted, it exploded among the robots destroying two of them outright, exposing their mechanical innards and tearing them into two or three large pieces. The second was merely thrown against the wall, and sorely injured, but a barrage of well placed SMLE rounds soon finished him off as well.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, ether, and cordite, everyone was very quiet while Winter examined the dead. She shuddered and suppressed tears, her hand covered her mouth, but she pulled it away when she realised she smeared her face with blood, and even her best efforts just couldn't get it away from her hands and face. From the ceiling stones began to drop, and when they shone a light up there they could see fissures in the stone.

"Damnation! That fireball of mine was not agreeable to the ceiling..." Huguelet said.

"Come, we have to continue!" Greenborne called, several of the non-combatants looked distinctly shocked by now, but he daren't leave them behind out of fear of an ambush.

As they continued their run down the cavern there was a crumbling sound above them, "Faster!" Huguelet called, he held out his hand and managed to briefly freeze the increasing crack, but even his magical efforts wouldn't last that long. As the last soldier rushed past him the rock came flying down, an enormous piece smashed into the floor, making the whole cavern shake, and then followed a smaller rockslide that settled on top of it. If they had ever wondered about returning that hope was gone now, there was only one way out and that was forward.

They proceeded forward in two groups, the mages in the rear one, and the soldiers in front, and they were moving at quite a clip considering speed to be more important than caution at this point. By now the cables on the walls were getting denser, and they could spot lights in the distance, immediately they began moving at an even faster clip practically running towards the light.

They entered a very strange part of the cavern, there were huge black cabinets lining the walls, with dozens of thick bundled cables linking them. Along the walls were several niches with loose cables hanging from them, they were so large that a man might stand in one without trouble. In the distance there was a concrete lined corridor stretching away as far as the eye could see, the end vanishing into darkness.

"You shouldn't have come here," the voice said, it still sounded very nice, "I suggest you put your weapons down now."

"Well if you'll forgive me," Greenborne said, giving it a two finger salute, "I really don't think you're in a position to..."

"Just remember I asked you nicely..."

Before anyone could say anything else turrets dropped from the ceiling, and nasty looking barrels emerged from them, before anyone could react they opened fire. It was quite uncanny, one burst tore away Greenborne's hand, leaving him with nothing more than a bleeding stump. Other bursts tore into the soldiers, the noise was horrible, like hundreds of snapping whips but not a single muzzle flame could be seen. The bullets came in streams so thick that they were more like a cutting blade than a gun, literally slicing away arms and legs, or cutting men in half.

Winter was struck in her mid-section, dropping down with blood pouring from her mouth. Huguelets impromptu shield flickered, he was still thrown against a wall and a steady stream of bullets kept him from doing anything other than focus on his shield. Greenborne felt woozy, blood gushed in streams from his stump, and he went down on a knee, clutching it desperately as he tried to staunch the flow. A couple of rounds killed Captain Whippling outright, smearing his brains against a wall.

Then suddenly, as all the Commandoes and Mage Hunters were dead the shots stopped, aside from the barrage pouncing Huguelet, for a split second he managed to hold back the combined fire of every single turret.

It was then that it made its fatal mistake, it ignored Winter, no doubt realizing she was dead and incapable of casting any magic. However in between fighting with the castle upstairs, and taking care of the intruders, it had somehow made a little mistake.

Winter moved her lips, blood came out of her mouth, words came out of her mouth, dread terrible words that somehow didn't seem as if they belonged to her at all "Estuans interius ira vehementi..." the blood evaporated on her lips as she spread her arms out wide "Ordinatrum detestabilis status malus." Several turrets now trained on her blazing away but the bullets seemed to pass through her without causing any harm to her. The next few syllables were detestable, but after speaking them waves of etheric energy spread out around her like the ripples in water after a stone is thrown into it.

These ripples had a terrible effect to the great machine, they seamed to deform it, to melt it, to twist it like a potter twists clay, or like wax melts if left out in the hot sun. The shapes it was formed into were often perverse, detestable illusions of eyes, screaming mouths, hands pushing against it, as if some being was tormented to death within the machine and tried to flee.

The turrets died, and Winter fell forward, clutching her wounded guts, but somehow she was able to cast one healing spell closing her wounds and letting her stagger up to her feet again.

"Mon Dieu!" Huguelet called, "That was astounding? Where did you get a spell of this power?"

"I..." Winter coughed, phlegm mixed with blood hit the floor, "I don't know it just... flowed through me..."

"I think Gentlemen, Ma'am," de Alanville began, he stopped though when Winter ran over to Greenborne, she quickly tied a tourniquet around his arm staunching the bleeding. After that de Alanville began again, "I think that..." The entire room began to shake, and in the distance there were loud roaring drones, like enormous engines starting up, it lasted for a couple of minutes and then everything was silent.

"Somehow I doubt," Greenborne stopped, recovered some strength, "I doubt that sound was good for us."

"Neither do I monsieur... but there is only one way out and..." Huguelet began, then he noticed Winter's expression.

"We have to get out now!" she said simply enough, "That's the only way, and we must run!"

The men exchanged looks, then Greenborne got up, "Lets go!" he called before he started the trudge down the long dark concrete corridor. Right behind him the rest of them followed, their path lit by a dancing oil lantern, and the air filled with the sound of boots against concrete and heavy breathing.

After a few minutes they came out into a very large hall, it was fifty feet high at the very least, and lit with natural light. In one end there was a large rectangular opening, like someone had removed the wall that went there. White and yellow lines had been painted onto the floor of the hall, and the walls were lined with huge barrels, and big crates filled with all kinds of strange things. Other than that there was no sign of what the place had been used for, whatever had been stored here was gone, presumably the departure was the source of the sound.

Then they spotted it, a large oval object laying on the ground, it looked a bit like, well, a really big air dropped bomb. They exchanged looks, then they looked at the exit, then back at each other, and without any words the entire party began to run as fast as they might directly for the exit.

The Forrest

Vincelette, Voight, and the other survivors had made it quite a way into the forest, far enough at any rate that they were no longer worried about the steel fish, but the forest itself was frightening enough. It was incredibly deep and tangled, winding plants, thick three canopies, and moss covered tree trunks with old leafless branches, somehow they looked suggestive in a disturbing way.

They were therefore greatly relieved when they found a glen on top of a hill, and doubly so when they realised they could see the distant castle from there. It looked quite romantic in the far distance, so far gone they couldn't make out any of the details, and so they made up a quick camp, hoping that the next day would let them return to the Whalefish.

Then they heard it, a loud drone in the distance, like a distant thunder, from the direction of the castle. Looking towards it they could see sleek aeroplanes departing from an opening in the hill, an opening that had not been there a few minutes ago. One by one the aeroplanes exited and began to ascend, as they picked up speed their wings swept back, and the rumble from the engines grew deeper and they trailed long etheric flames.

There was a pause, and suddenly Bert called, "Look! Someones running out of the opening!"

"It's ... Winter, Greenborne and..." Voight began, then she suddenly paled, "Where are the others?"

There was a pregnant silence, then someone added, "What are they running from?"

Down the Hill

They had found a small hollow on the other side of a small hill, and there Greenborne, de Alanville, Winter, Huguelet, and the surviving BOSS agents and savants huddled as they waited for the inevitable explosion. They waited for quite a while, minutes went by, a quarter of an hour, half an hour... nothing...

The Tartaran Hangar

Night

The hangar was pitch dark, but over by the opening a light could be seen, first one, then another, they flickered slightly showing them to be oil lamps. They looked quite out of place in the eerie dark hangar, and so did the people accompanying the oil lamps, Winter had insisted on coming, as had Greenborne, and a couple of the BOSS agents while the rest of the party remained outside.

In the middle of the hangar, looking quite menacing, lay the bomb, it was about the size of a double wardrobe, but rounded and smooth. They walked around it, illuminating it with their lamps, the flickering light of the lamps and the play of the shadows only added to the menace.

"See anything?" Greenborne called to one of the agents.

"Nothing Sir, wait... there's something here, some kind of panel but," the agent tried as best as he could, but he could barely make out the hair thin outline of the panel, he certainly couldn't open it.

All four of them came over to where he was, Winter bent forward a bit and placed her hand on the panel, then she muttered a few words and suddenly the panel bent open in her hands. Inside they spotted a tangle of wires running to and fro, and a single monitor screen of the sort they'd seen electric computers use. On the screen was a set of red Cyrillic letters, and a red edge that flashed continually, once more Winter muttered some words to decipher the screen.

A smile spread on her lips, "Oh my," she said and let out a chuckle, "It says 'Primary Ignition Failed - Malfunction' apparently the bomb is a dud."

Greenborne rested his back against the bomb, he looked at the stump of his hand, and then he laughed, and laughed, and laughed, the kind of wild uninhibited laughter that sometimes hits strong men after some horrid ordeal is over. "Those poor bastards, not only did we take their base, destroy their machines, but now we got their bomb as well!" he cried.

That night they slept soundly inside the castle, and despite their strange surroundings their rest was not disturbed by dreams or other menacing things, indeed they were at any rate far too exhausted in mind and body to notice such distractions.

Rhys Dun
Alfhame

Wednesday 25 October 1005 NE

Noon

Earlier in the week they had summoned the courage to go down to the lake again, they hadn't seen the metal fish, but they had found the remains of the Whalefish. Remains being the right word, only a few scattered remains, broken wood, flotsam, and garbage lining the shore, had remained of their aeroplane, with it had gone their only way home.

Within the castle de Alanville was elated, there were mysteries and wonders around every corner, and the castle seemed to change somewhat to continually provide new finds. However it still defied their control, and they still felt as if they were being tolerated more than accepted.

Outside the castle, in a small clearing covered with flowers, there were now twenty-three graves each neatly marked with a hand-carved cross, and a simple wooden marker with his name and rank. Greenborne had just finished the last one, pushing it into the soft receiving soil, "George Harranby, Corporal, God Have Mercy On His Soul."

He stood for a moment watching the grave, he could feel Winter approaching and hear her footsteps, "Lord help me... I scarcely knew his name."

"I know," Winter said sadly, "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Greenborne said, sighing, "Let's hope that they send another expedition."

"I'm sure they will, but in the meantime Sir, please let me look at that arm of yours," Winter said in a soothing worried tone.

"Yes..." he looked around the wild savage landscape, "Yes, you're right."

"I'm sure you'll find it," Winter said as they walked up towards the castle, "The treasure I mean."

"Hmmmm," Greenborne said, he stopped for a moment and studied the castle as it stretched before them, "I wonder if we already have... if maybe what he was looking for was his home, but... well we'll have a lot of time to find out."

They walked side by side through the enormous double gate, which quietly swung open as they approached, and into the castle, the doors silently closing behind them.

Armstrong Spacedock
Erde Orbit
Pendleton

Monday 1 January 1006 NE

Morning

An enormous fleet had gathered around the newly finished orbital docks, battleships, armoured cruisers, frigates, freighters, and several dark grey airships looking quite peculiar alongside the angular multi-turreted warships. A shuttle gave you some idea of the size of the ships here, it looked like a finch flying around a buffalo.

From the observation lounge of the Armstrong Spacedock the assembled dignitaries had an excellent view of the fleet. In the distance battleships with names like Formidable, Irresistible, Implacable, and Bulwark drifted slowly by in the vastness of the Deep Sky. These names were legendary on Pendleton, resonating deeply in history, and so were the names of the armoured cruisers like Achilles, Minotaur and Orlando.

They were in their own way quite beautiful as they came to life, steam rockets belching out long streams of white-green etheric fire and old fashioned stacks trailing clouds of ether smoke. Each battleship sported massive double turrets with the latest Mark X 12 inch guns, as well as four smaller secondary turrets with 9 inch guns for anti-cruiser work. Along each flank were five 6-inch guns of the battery, able to deal with smaller torpedo boats, amidships a set of 12 pounders, and astern and aback were 3 pounders; these last were the new anti-aeroplane arsenal of the ships. The armour was welded in parts using the latest techniques far better than the older bolted armour, and the face hardened Krupp steel would shake off shells that would punch through the old iron or compound hulls.

Among the assembled gentlefolk were General Francisco Santini and Admiral Alexander Everly, both dressed in full uniform with swords, enormous gold medal, and wide silken sashes. They were speaking quietly on military matters, the subject of course was the approaching expedition.

Suddenly there was a change in the view; an enormous maelstrom opened up in space, the colours were deep green and purple, the first flash was very bright almost painful to the eyes, then it darkened and the maelstrom seemed to twist the space and the stars around it tearing apart the very fabric of space. What was left behind was a vaguely opaque circle, with a strangely fascinating swirling rim like something you'd see in a kaleidoscope, this then was the gateway to R'ma.

"Yes most impressive Sir," General Santini said, he lifted his fist to underline his points, "Great powerful ships yes?"

Admiral Everly took this show of southern passion in stride, "Yes, quite," he looked discreetly at his companion noticing with some amusement how Santini's love of armaments conflicted with his desire to see next years budget benefit the army, and not the Navy.

"The Communists would no doubt tremble if we had sent a full fleet on this mission," Santini said, looking quite stern and satisfied as one of the battleships began its approach to the gate.

Admiral Everly however looked out, a neutral expression on his face, "I am reminded by Apelles Sir."

"Apelles Sir?"

"Yes Sir Ne sutor ultra crepidam."

"Bah! We have a military with honour, strength, and the ability to strike fear in the hearts of our enemies Sir!"

"Fear Sir?"

"Or steel as the case may be."

"Quite so, but this is a naval matter."

Before this conversation could go any further Lady de Vincour entered the observation lounge, a single strand of loose hair stuck to her forehead, and she appeared to perspire a bit. Moments later one of the servants gave her a tall glass of ice water that she drank quickly, but discreetly, before approaching the gentlemen.

"My apologies Gentlemen, I had some affairs to attend to," she looked out the window at the gateway, "It went rather well I think."

R'ma Orbit
R'ma

Monday 1 January 1006 NE

Morning

Outside I'liya traffic was relatively light, it was New Years Day and a lot of the expatriates and natives had celebrated heavily, the same went for ship crews. There were nevertheless dozens of ships in the space around the station, ships like the Albermarle a common tramp freighter of no particular nationality...

Roger Conway, the ships sensor man, was quite tired from the New Years Eve celebrations, and from staring at a monitor since the day began, he scratched his stubble, and took a deep sip from his large mug of lukewarm coffee, then he grimaced but took another sip anyway.

"Damn it! Mike! Hot coffee!" he yelled to the smooth faced cabin boy while waving his mug.

"Right away Mr Conway!" Mike called before fetching the pot, "Nice and strong, and lots of sug..." That was as far as he got before a flash of light made him spill coffee all across the mug and onto the floor, his left hand instinctively shot up to protect his eyes, "AIEEE!"

"DAMN!" Conway yelled as he yanked his own hand away, he put the mug down on a nearby surface, ignoring the brown ring spreading around it, while shaking his hand hoping it hadn't been scalded. The view on the sensor monitor, not to mention the one on the left viewscreen, made him forget the pain entirely: A giant swirling maelstrom of light grew out of space, and something appeared to be moving through it!

Finally the shape materialized, it was long, grey, and heavily armed; bristling with turrets and casemates of every size, and though old fashioned Conway had no doubt that it could eat civilian ships for breakfast!

"Are we being attacked?" John Maynard Smith, the ships mate, called out at once, then he slammed the alarm button making klaxons go off all across the ship.

Jesus, please, please, no Conway thought as he noticed more ships coming through, another battleship roughly the same as the first, and then a pair of smaller warships cruisers, same design.

"R'ma traffic control on," Jane Tyler called out she was the communications officer. She looked worried, and having dark rings beneath her bloodshot eyes, and her hair ruffled like a fortune troll didn't make things seem any better. Finally a look of disbelief came across her face as she clutched a single headphone to her ear, "They say it's a scheduled arrival."

"How nice of them to tell us," J.M. Smith said.

"There's more, the new arrivals are broadcasting wide it's..." Jane Tyler looked up, a slightly relieved expression on her face, "A good will visit."

Space Station I'lliya
R'ma system

Monday 1 January 1006 NE

Noon

I'lliya, or however you might spell it, was actually quite astounding in its own way, covered in crystal armour and filled with extensive gardens, as well as bazaars, restaurants, hotels, and meeting areas.

A pair of Pendletonians, Captain Rodburry and Lt Burbank, were making their way through one of the bazaars. It was filled with all kinds of strange people hawking their goods, dodging pushy merchants, and trying to spot their contact. One good thing about this place, with all of its blazing cacophony, small dingy stores selling bright metal disks, crystals with music recordings, swords, revolvers, and rayguns, well whateve you could imagine really; the good thing was that no one stood out, not even the Pendletonians in their khaki coloured explorer outfits.

Behind the display of one of the larger stores stood a woman, there was a big display out in the open filled with strange jewellery, and even stranger art objects. "Come! Come!" she called when she saw them, "You want some lovely jewellery for a lovely lady!" they were about to walk past her when she added, "Pretty belongings for pretty belongings!" that was the signal.

They stopped by the shop, pretending to study the merchandise. Captain Rodburry studied her for a moment, she was big, fat, dressed in a very colourful single piece dress which clung to her body in a displeasing way (it showed too much of it), and with a strange round hat on her head gave her an almost comical effect. She moved her hands, light flashing of her rings, "Come, I have some special items inside!" she added.

Inside the store there were indeed other items, strange wooden masks, painted statues, large brass phalluses, and so forth. There were also a lot of herbs wrapped into bundled with twine, some of them looked quite peculiar. Captain Rodburry picked a bundle up and looked at Lt Burbank, he sniffed it and suddenly felt a bit woozy.

"Very good shit yes?" the woman asked, she smiled revealing surprisingly good teeth.

"Shit?" Rodburry said.

"I mean... very good produce, it comes from the world you are going to, when eaten it calms savage beasts, but if smoked," she smiled again and spread her flabby hands, "You must try some day!"

"Maybe later..." Rodburry said.

"Yes, later," the woman smiled again, "Call me Cae'sr'a."

"You don't look R'man."

"Looks can be deceiving," Cae'sr'a said, and then with a chuckle she showed them how. She opened her mouth wide and jammed her hands into it pulling at her lips, they stretched like rubber as she yanked her face back, leaving a trail of slime behind. As she pulled she revealed a second face beneath the first one, moments later the second face, that of an attractive if strange woman, was fully visible, and a few dreadful pulls later the old face hung like a hood from her neck. She was a pretty woman, even with her face covered in slick slime and her short dark hair clinging to her scalp.

"Good lord!" Burbank said, his eyes widening slightly.

"Most impressive Ma'am," Cpt Rodburry said.

"Thank you, I apologise for the cloak and dagger but ... well you were not very subtle in coming here, we were expecting something a little less..." Cae'sr'a bobbed her head a bit and moved her hand in small circles.

"Obvious? Battleship like?" Rodburry asked.

"Yes, that."

"Well ma'am we have some other affairs to cover, and this was a nice opportunity to make some good will visits."

"The Communists are taking note though."

"True, true, but with some luck they'll not look at what we are doing, and... well we have brought our assets with us for the assignment, now then where do we deposit them?"

Cae'sr'a gave him a small package, "There's a docking bay that's not in common use, have your assets disembark there."

"We will."

"And your payment?"

"We will pick it up when we return from ... our good will tour," Cpt Rodburry gave a charming smile and nod, "If there's nothing further ma'am it's been a pleasure."

Space Station I'lliya
R'ma system

Wednesday 3 January 1006 NE

Morning

From his chair in one of the many observation lounges Yegor Fortunatov watched the Pendletonians leave R'ma, his vast hairy eyebrows moved slightly when the battleships passed by primitive capitalist vermin, that they cause us so much trouble? He made some mental notes of the ships, big, primitive, cumbersome, but no doubt accompanied by mages.

Then came the freighters there were a lot of them, primitive clunky ones like old steamers in space, of course there were thirty of them and that translated out to... closing his eyes he did the numbers in his head Bozhemoi, at least 450 000 standard units... what are they doing with all that capacity? Ether, supplies of course, but that much cargo capacity means they are up to something.

Once the ships were gone he walked over to a nearby table, it was cut crystal and seemed to grow straight out of the floor. He threw himself down onto the chair, the spindly eight-legged creature squealed pitifully from his weight, then he made some quick notes on a tablet computer.

The observation lounge didn't please him, it was too R'man, too decadent, filled with colourful living land coral statues that had to be regularly trimmed to retain their shape. Earlier he had cut himself on one of them they were devilishly sharp. Then you had the chairs strange spider like creatures with backs jutting up from them, the R'man love of bio-technology was quite frankly unnerving.

Moments later Captain Valentinova walked in through the door, as usual dressed in every day skirt uniform, displaying lengths of delicious calves, and pouty lips a little too red to be natural. The greyish-green uniform was not the most flattering, but some women would look good in anything, she wore her jacket buttoned up though apparently with some vain hope that it made her look more professional and worker like.

"Comrade Colonel, I bring you the latest data on the Pendleton ships," she said in her usual clear, but slightly hoarse, voice.

"Good, Comrade Captain," he smiled, he had a big mole with long rough white hairs sticking from it, and when he smiled they twitched like a dogs whiskers, "Sit down and let us go through this."

"Yes Comrade Colonel," she said, the corner of her mouth twitched nervously as she saw the chairs, a light shiver passed through her body, "May I stand Comrade Colonel?" She regretted it the moment she said it.

"Comrade Captain we must not let Capitalist bourgeoisie sentimentality affect us, have a seat," he motioned at the free seat.

Valentinova suppressed a shudder as she chair pulled away from the table and presented itself for her to sit down in it. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the seat and began to present the data that she had gathered, while she spoke Fortunatov nodded slowly but said nothing. Finally she closed her tablet computer, "What shall we do about it Comrade Colonel?"

"Send it to our allies..."

Valentinova raised an eyebrow, "And will they give us some great atomic secrets in return Comrade Colonel?"

He laughed, "No, I doubt that, but send it anyway, do we have any assets that can figure out what they are moving?"

"They disembarked something earlier..." she offered.

"Not enough, not enough at all, no... they are doing something and we need to know what!"

Beneath Rhys Dun
Alfhame system

Thursday 4 January 1006 NE

Morning

Deep beneath Rhys Dun, in the bowels of the hill, in the abandoned Communist fortress, the Alfhame Expedition were making the best of things. Over the last few months they had explored every nook and cranny of the abandoned communist Fortress which they had dubbed Fort Whippling-Smythers in honour of the two Captains that fell during the last charge.

As they walked through those dim corridors, their passage lit initially by flickering oil lanterns, or glowing magical orbs if one of the mages were nearby, they found them cold and dry and generally unpleasant. The machines that built them had not cared much for human comfort, and yet much of the fort was built according to approximately human standards. Corridors wide enough for two men to walk abreast, leading to warehouses, rooms filled with silent machinery, or to large empty rooms that served no discernable purpose.

They had also found rooms there of course it had seemed that the machines that built the base didn't care much for human comforts. The rooms were in long dreary corridor with numbered doors that reminded them of a cheap hotel, and the quality of the rooms did not really change this impression. The rooms were quite cold and dreary, there were a few communist posters on the walls, cot beds with white sheets and beige blankets, and every other piece of furniture made from metal and a dark flexible material. Instead of proper baths only simple showers were installed, and the tap water tasted foul and metallic.

A strange incident did however occur when they examined the rooms, indicative of the depravity of Communism...

The two lady sorceresses had agreed to share one of the larger rooms, no doubt originally reserved for some official or officer, and after magically cleaning the rooms they were settling in. The room was rather large, with room for two beds, and it had its own shower unlike many of the smaller rooms. It was nevertheless quite dreary something that even the flowers, and some salvaged items from the Whalefish, could not truly remedy.

Winter was in the main room looking it over, her brow furrowed slightly as she pondered the changes she might make, when suddenly she noticed Samantha Voights head sticking out from the bathroom door.

"Ma'am? Uhm," Voight seemed a bit embarrassed, she walked into the main room revealing that she had stripped down to pantaloons and her corset.

Winter raised an eyebrow at this, then she motioned at the door which immediately though silently locked itself, "I say Miss Voight, you should be more careful, a young lady should not walk around in her unmentionables when there are men about!"

"Surely they'd knock Ma'am?"

"Well yes, they probably would, but that is neither here nor there weren't you taking a shower?" Winter asked in a slightly testy voice.

"I was but, weeeeeell," Voight fidgeted a bit.

"Is there something wrong with the shower?"

"No it's not that..."

"What is it then? You seem a bit upset."

"It's probably nothing but, I get this feeling when I'm in there, when I was taking my clothes off..."

"A feeling?" Winter frowned quizzically, her voice softened a bit, "What kind of feeling? Please tell me."

"Like someone is watching me you see, I can't shake it, my hairs stand on edge."

There was an uncomfortable silence, finally Winter nodded, she smiled at Voight, "Come now, let us cast a spell together and see what comes of it."

With a piece of chalk consecrated for that purpose they drew a magical circle on the ground, writing strange alchemical signs around it, and then they placed themselves inside of it and began their chant. Within moments ripples of magical energy began to spread from the circle, like ripples in water when a stone is thrown in, the ripples touched the walls and ceiling of the room and suddenly various spots began to glow visibly. Voights expression was one of intense embarrassment, she turned beet red, while Winter frowned angrily and quickly daubed both their foreheads with a touch of oil.

"Let us examine the bath first please," Voight pleaded as they stepped out of the magical circle, thanks to the mark on their foreheads they could still see the glowing spots.

"Yes I agree."

They entered the showers and found several glowing spots there, one behind the mirror directly above the bathroom sink, and a few others in the ceiling. Fortunately the mirror was set in a simple frame on the wall, and it was easy enough to pull it up out of the frame, revealing that it was a peculiar design that could be seen through from the side facing the wall. Examining the concrete wall they found what was glowing, it was a tiny object about the size of a house fly with a bright black lens in it like that of a microscopic camera or cinematography recorder.

"Good grief!" Winter said as she crushed it in her hand, "I hope you didn't undress fully?"

Voight was now entirely red, her mouth slightly open, "Oh dear..." she was very close to fainting.

"Come lets find where they did the recordings and destroy them before anyone else finds them!" Winter said, and a slightly dazed Voight could not help but agree.

Needless to say the offending recordings were swiftly found and destroyed before anyone could see them, and afterwards the rest of the party were alerted to the unwelcome devices in the rooms.

Another incident occurred shortly after when they discovered that the various rooms filled with machinery were in fact automated factories, no doubt used by the machine to manufacture upkeep on the spot. In addition they found several storage rooms filled with spare robot parts, many of them quite valuable on the open market. This of course opened up another exciting possibility that would be revealed later on!

Beneath Rhys Dun
Alfhame system

Friday 26 January 1006 NE

Morning

It was quite tiresome to sit in the wireless shack day after day, the captured Communist radios were hard to operate, and they used that infernal Cyrillic alphabet and something they called the "metric system." Bert could not for the life of him understand why any normal sensible people wouldn't use pounds, inches, and pints, they kept things simple and easy to count with it did.

While he was musing on this he suddenly noticed a faint bip bip bip sound coming from the wireless, faintly bored he leaned forward and twisted the main dial while fiddling with the IF passband to narrow the frequency a bit. It was difficult and there was a lot of popping and crackling, and weird Atesian voices, but soon he'd narrowed it down to a weak but distinct Morse signal.

He pulled out a pad and began taking down notes as fast as he could, the signal was very slow and deliberate are you receiving us STOP this is the prs formidable on a good will. He made notes robotically fortunately the message was repeated over and over, he waited till he had received it twice before he picked up the intercom, "Sir they're here!"

Afternoon

The first couple of transport ships were descending through the atmosphere, their bows surrounded by white buffeting air, and long white contrails trailing from their sterns. The sound was like distant thunder coming closer and closer, but the sound stayed about the same since the freighters gently slowed down on their final approach. Towards the end you could see the bulky ships glide serenely through the air as they approached the fortress.

On the ground just outside the fortress entrance Voight and Vincelette were using their spells to light up the way, a long stream of light and several fires guiding the freighters to the large but hidden entrance to the fortress. The two mages looked up as the ships passed over them, the gush of their passing tore Vincelette hat away sending it flying through the air, while Voights hair was rather more disorderly than it had originally been.

Within the landing bay itself Greenborne absent-mindedly touched the bandaged stump of his right hand, he had put on his best, well only remaining, uniform with the insignia and buttons polished to a shine. Winter and Huguelet were likewise in their best uniforms, Winter in particular looking striking if for no other reason than the novelty of a woman in uniform.

The freighters drew up inside the enormous cavernous bays of the fortress, they hovered in the air for a few seconds while powerful rear rockets burned black patches in the floor. Then with a loud thud, and the sound of groaning metal and powerful springs being compressed, they lowered themselves fully to the ground. Moments later jets of steam burst out as the excess was released, then a group of large gangways were lowered, and a group of maybe a dozen officers and other ranks descended.

The leader of the group was a tall elderly man, white hair and a worn, trustworthy face, he looked every bit the old warhorse. He was wearing a Brigadiers dress uniform, but when he approached Greenborne he saluted before Greenborne had a chance to do so, "Sir, Brigadier Thomas Fenwick of the relief force at your service."

Greenborne instinctively returned the salute, lifting the stump of his hand up, then he stopped but feeling the awkwardness he quickly joked, "Well either I can't salute you or I'll use the left hand, what a choice," and gave a polite smile.

"Left hand or right Sir I'm honoured to accept your salute," the Brigadier said.