Red Cell Rising
From The Pardusian Chronicles
As I crouched behind the panel I could not believe my ears, surely they couldn't! My hands were clammy with sweat; I risked a glance over my hiding place. Indeed it was them, but surely it couldn't be happening The guards at the far end of the room were un-holstering their side arms, the former members weren’t protesting, but I could feel the tension in the room, it was palpable, like a strange invisible mist made of lead.
There must be a mistake? I could hear the muted footsteps of the two pilots on the marble floor, the tone of the heal against the hard surface changed as they passed me on the way to the exit point of the chamber, I held my breath for fear of someone hearing my heart beat in this the most secret and forbidden of places, and then with the whine of the doors solenoid, they were gone.
The following morning when I awoke I could not find it in my heart to go on, donning my flight suit I headed for the stations hub where there were bars, I could find something intoxicating to take my mind off the words that I had overheard the agent repeating, surely it was a miss-understanding?
There is no time in space, when I arrived the bar was already full of the hub-hub, smoke, and bustle that surrounds every pilots drinking whole. It was then I felt the be-gloved hand on my shoulder, he lead me to another chamber that had been prepared.
When he finished I understood it all. Why it had to happen, and how we would now be stronger. I didn't begrudge what they had done, they are still my friends, but things were going to be different now, things were going to change.
I tightened my belt and headed towards the flight bay.
Today was going to be a good day.
(An extract from the memoirs of Arjan Rivers, Red Cell Agent 237)
She sat back in her chair, rubbing her eyes with a sigh. She'd been staring at this for far too long now. Things were weighing heavily on her... she didn't need this. Not now.
Reaching over, she flipped the switch, the monitors before her fading to dark. Getting to her feet she looked around with a heavy sigh. It was going to be sooner or later. She might as well not prolong the inevitable. Bending, she pulled a case from below her bed, snapping it open as she laid it on the bed. She set to work folding and sorting, placing things into the case, and eventually snapping it shut. How ironic it was... there was such a finality in that little click. Oh well...
Dropping a hand to her side, she felt for the telecom on her hip. "Carrisey, get in touch with Lord Derrickson. I want him in the meeting hall in 15 minutes. No excuses."
"Righ away, Marchioness!" Carrisey's impish voice faded in and out. Really... why did she keep him around anyway? He was rather lazy and spent too much time ogling the female recruits under her jurisdiction. Some day or other he'd better learn some manners before one of them let him taste her particles. But that was neither here nor there. She had business to attend to.
She picked up the case, taking a last look around to make certain she wasn't forgetting anything. Sliding the telecom back into place, she walked out of the room. locking the door behind her. It would be some time before she saw the place again, but that was the way of things. She had duties to attend to. The recruits would just have to do without her for awhile. It would be more to their benefit when she returned.
Pulling the door to the meeting hall open, she set the case against the wall and walked in, sinking into one of the many padded chairs. It was but a few moments before Lord Derrickson strode in, his usual flight suit put aside for more formal attire befitting his rank. Really... he should have known it wasn't needed. He already knew what this was about. "Derrickson, I'll get right to the point. I sent for you these few days past because I have need of your services. The Emperor has need of my services again in the Ska'ari cluster. I'm entrusting the Warehouse to you for the time being. I trust you will not disappoint me?"
"Of course not, Marchioness."
"Good. Here, take this, you'll need it." She casually tossed him a keycard and sat back in the chair. "It's got all of the codes to the Warehouse. It should give you the accesses you'll need to oversee operations. Oh, and Derrickson? Don't get any ideas. Lona isn't interested." The Lord's crestfallen expression confirmed her suspicions. It was just as well - she didn't need him hounding the lady and neglecting his duties.
"Will there be anything else, Marchioness?"
"No. If you have need of me, you know how to reach me." She patted the telecom at her hip and got to her feet. He nodded and did likewise. After exchanging parting pleasantries, he left the meeting hall. Alone with her telecom once more, she sighed. "Carrisey? Tell Ul - tell the Captain I'm ready to go."
(Marchioness Fiona, former Red Cell council member)
My grip tightened on my staff as a walked across the bustle that was the flight deck gallery. The wound still bothered me, even with the latest bio-mechs and gen-parts I would always be a cripple. Cripples in a modern world where people could are enhanced for fun where a oddity, and busy walkways of Cappella High was no different.
I always wore a long cloak over my flight suit, it would go some of the way to hide my disfigurement, but I always felt more comfortable behind the thick armour-glass of my cockpit, away from condemning eyes. I was a member of the Red Cell, a co-vert member, some call us the Dark Red Cell, or Crimsons. I would report back to the overt members, the politicians, the statesmen, the figurehead fighters, traders and businessmen in each cluster. The fact that people always looked away from my form, a little revolusion at such a rare sight helped me with my role.
My steps quickened across the open floor, behind me even with the upheaval of the last few hours laying heavily on my mind, I still did not like the openness of the gallery. My glance caught a couple enjoying a coffee as they watched the freighters arrive in the dock, many thousands of tones of starship would pass thorough the port in only a few hours. Cappella High was an orbital sub station above the surface, vendors would ferry goods to various parts of the spinning blue-green globe below. The world below was one of high class, and the resident Rashir did not approve of the larger Hercs and bulk carriers polluting their sky.
I felt a harsh glance from the man, as I turned my head to see him he looked away, back to the viewing platform, afraid of my glance. What did he mean? The words seamed so clear at the time, but the slow realisation of the gravity of what lay before me was clouding my mind. What where they doing? It was bordering on piracy.
As I moved through the bay doors, the acrid smell of oil attacked my nostrils like a swarm of invisible insects, each clamouring to sink there sharp teeth into my nasal. The short walk to the Marquis De Falken on the far side of the hanger would not take long, but already all I could think about was the numbing sensation of the medi-probe I had fitted to the cockpit on my already flagging leg.
The long flight to Olbea would be a comfort, of that I had no doubt, but my apprehension of what awaits me would mean that I would not be able to relax for a single parsec.
The hawk was comforting. The gentle blue glow from the console cast a deep shadow over cockpit. Sinking back into the Sterionform seat I took a deap breath. Station air never tasted right. To satisfy different beings from different planets, cultures and races it was pumped so full of chemicals that it often take hours, and several mugs of Naval coffee to remove the flavour.
My hand passed over the left console with a movement that familiarity alone would never achieve. Cripple though I was, my fingers were nimble, and I knew every switch, panel and control by touch. As I progressed over the panel, the subtle hum of the controls were drowned out by the ebb of the ion drive spinning up to speed.
As my fingers found the display switches, the dim landing bay was outlined by computer enhanced imaging from the lidar unit. A few presses more and green text started chasing objects across the windshield as the computer identified the other craft moved in and out of the bay. A small sabre veered off to the left searching for its designated bay, the red registration number that pursed the vessel told me that it was the subject of a bounty. What was a pleasure craft of that size doing that would result in a bounty, joy riding? Petty theft? Astronomical law is marshal law, in open space the pilot would be fired upon, for murder or for something as simple as a docking violation. Bounty hunters were in-descrimate.
“Victor-India-Charlie-Eight-Four-Two requesting launch”
“Victor-India-Charlie-Eight-Four-Two Please hold for clearance…. Victor-India-Charlie-Eight-Four-Two, you are cleared for take off, please proceed to tube two”
With a small movement of my hand the Marquis gently lifted from the pad. I retracted the grav-arrestor clamp and gear. The ship became an extension of my body, it would respond to my every flex, twitch and move, like an extra limb. Now with my left hand I pressed the throttle gently forward, the dark grey of the landing bay was replaced with the dark black of space.
The blue green hues of Olbea filled the view shield, it had been an uneasy trip, my twelve by three foot 'home' may have provided sanctuary from the vacuum of space, but not the constant harassment of my thoughts.
The readout showed a perfect temperature in the cockpit, but as I moved the Marquis De Falken into a geo-stationary orbit I felt a solitary bead of sweat run down my back, its cutting chill causing me to shudder.
The mission didn't seem difficult on the surface, I had to monitor the alliance from the outside as a new Crimson was inserted. Watching shipping movements, reactions and everyday life on Olbea would give the cell a good idea how well the agent had bedded in. Sometimes you needed a 'counter agent' to assess your situation from the outside. What worried me was that this alliance contained more cut-throats and hardcore mercenaries than could be collected together from the rest of the sector. The target was suspicious and certainly wasn't stupid. I was not going to be on the front line, but, if we were discovered, my ion drive would probably not get me out of the sector in time.
The creds to join the alliance had been forwarded to the Crimson well in advance. It was standard practice for alliances such as this one to vet a prospective member in several ways, hacking there records was no doubt one method that had been employed in the last few days.
They say the new OSN has a new leader, this agent would be able to get close, he had previously been a trusted member of that organisation so his credentials held him in good stead. The problem is that the OSN had almost as many spies as Red Cell. This was going to be a long assignment.
(Arjan Rivers, Red Cell Agent 237)
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