Tales of the "Pink Mist" Ch. 07

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Their trick seemed to be working. The "watch" sensor which Quillan had dropped on approach had embedded itself in a rock and scanned the skies. Simple in design, it merely recorded data, most notably metal. Rather than providing an actual picture of the overhead sky, it displayed symbols and letters similar to DOS games of almost a millenia ago. X's and O's filled a monochromatic two-dimensional field, with another letter or number next to it to denote planets, ships, and other debris. Very cheap. Very simple. Very effective. The data signal from it was almost non-existent to lessen the chances of discovery. At random intervals, it squirted its data in all directions at once.

Upon stopping, Quillan had shut down the shields, transmitters, and engines in order to project as small an electronic signature as possible. Then, she and Alice moved into the small living area to settle down for the next two weeks. The powered armor suit's small fusion reactor would certainly draw attention, however, it would provide enough "fuzz" on a scanner that life signs would blend in and become invisible. Since Alice's cyborg body was powered by the bioelectric energy inherent in all living things...

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The EXETER came out of warp at a distance of five hundred thousand miles from Katham VIII. An easy two-day cruise and they made planetfall just outside of Colony Gelan. As was the case a few days previously, Chief of Station Arliss Ramaza and a few militia arrived to greet them.

"Commander," greeted a smiling Ramaza, as Charleen descended the gangplank, Amanda at her side, "it's a pleasure to see you again so soon after your departure. The paint still looks wet."

"I'm a captain now," she grinned, shaking his hand, "and this is my ship. We need to hide out for a while, if you don't mind. We managed to REALLY piss off the Mongans, this time."

"Of course! Stay here as long as you wish." He turned to one of the militiamen. "Get some stealth modules out here. I want this ship to vanish from existence in four hours."

The top of the EXETER clamshelled open, accompanied by the roar of fighter engines. The fighters lifted out of the bay and shot away by twos in different directions. The last out was the bright pink Mongan fighter. It nosed down and slowly approached the small group, Krystine "Witchypoo" Talbot sitting in the pilot's seat. She grinned her shark-toothed grin, gave the thumbs-up and shot straight up faster than the eye could follow.

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In the cockpit of "PM One," as it was now officially designated, Krystine watched the ground beneath her fall away as the gee forces crushed her into the seat.

"Salli," she asked, once she was at sufficient height, "is everyone ready?"

"You betcha, Witchypoo! Go get 'em!" Salli's ever cheerful voice replied.

"PM flight, this is Witchypoo. I have received confirmation that all of you people are ready to get your asses kicked. The hard deck is two hundred, I say again, two zero zero feet. Anything below that altitude and you are effectively smeared across the landscape."

She spied the wink of sunlight from a pair of fighters a few miles to her right and pointed her fighter in that direction. First ones to go down...

"Safety is first. Fun is second. The planet is your playground. Tally ho!"

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"Captain Wilkerson," wondered Ramaza as he watched the fighters streak away, "didn't you just come from battle? Don't your pilots need a break?"

Charleen shrugged and scratched her cheek, then put an arm around Amanda.

"In Witchypoo's mind," she replied, gesturing at the dot in the sky, "rest time comes when SHE gets tired. Ever see vids of a Calathian razormoth in action?"

"Yes, indeed. I'd hate to meet one."

"She ate one for lunch yesterday."

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Alice was in such a state that it was next to impossible to think of anything but their own survival. The watch scanner, sending data at irregular intervals of between a half hour and five hours, hadn't shown any indication that the Mongans suspected the two women were close by. Little by little, the debris disappeared, proving that they were salvaging what they could.

Quillan sat on a bunk with her back in a corner as she cradled Alice and stroked her lovingly, occasionally muttering platitudes and whispered declarations of love.

They were unable to check the full extent of the damage to PINK MIST, as powering up any scanner would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone was alive and hiding down here. Even taking a shower would activate the water pumps, emitting a different kind of electromagnetic field which could be picked up. Moist towelettes were used for personal hygiene, and a coupling had been loosened to allow the gathering of drinking water. Several empty buckets were to be used for waste disposal. Since life-support systems were tied directly to the fusion reactor, it was assumed by those above that it was behaving normally.

The fact that Cyborg Alice was still operational was indication enough that the PINK MIST's mainframe computer was working...somewhat.

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Charleen and Amanda wandered hand in hand down the road outside of the colony. The stars above were spectacular. Gradually, they turned off the road to make their way across a field, Amanda mooing at the few cows around. The cows gave both women curious glances, then wandered away from the unfamiliar duo.

The pair found a chuckling stream, Amanda the Parrot imitating the sound perfectly. Charleen had long ago become used to Amanda's quirks: talking to herself or others in various voices, half-completed rambles, the sudden imitation of a new sound; finding them endearing rather than irritating.

A low hiss approached from the sky overhead. As Salli hadn't given any indication of danger, Charleen merely turned her head to try to identify the sound.

"Amanda, cover your ears!" Charleen said quickly, putting her palms over her own ears.

Amanda didn't question the action, having complete trust in her love and captain. She slammed her hands over her ears just as the hiss reached a point directly overhead. A second later, a thunderous boom shook their bodies as a bright pink one-man fighter streaked overhead, exceeding the speed of sound.

Still holding her ears, Charleen turned back to look in the same direction to spy another pink fighter in the moonlight. This one was PM One with Witchypoo at the stick. It blasted overhead, in hot pursuit of the first.

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"Witchypoo," yawned Twinkie into her headset, twitching her fighter to avoid a missile lock, "we can keep this shit up all night, but I'm hungry."

"Fuck you, Twinkie," chuckled Witchypoo. "Shoulda ate before we started this. Besides, I damn near had you over that lava field."

"You're the boss, babe," replied Twinkie, "but my seat is absolutely drenched. The gee forces broke the urine collection bladder when I dodged behind that last outcropping. We've been in the air for seven hours and you've had me on the run for four of those. I concede defeat."

"Chicken..." snickered Witchypoo, her eyes bloodshot, every muscle in her body screaming for a hot bath. "Alright, head on back to the EXETER. PM One is clear."

Krystine banked her fighter to the right and headed for the EXETER. She'd found her personal limits with this fighter, not daring to push the alien technology to its own limits; it would definitely kill her. With Salli monitoring and remote piloting as necessary, Witchypoo had blacked out four times during the day due to the extreme maneuvers she had performed. She now knew precisely what she could and could not do with the fighter. As she was motionless in mid air, hovering in preparation for settling into the EXETER'S launch bay, her missile lock indicator sounded an alarm.

"Gotcha, bitch!" laughed Twinkie. "You keep drilling into us that the fight is NEVER over until everyone's on the ground...in one form or another." Her laughter was joined by Krystine's.

"Sneaky slut," Krystine continued to chuckle as she powered down the craft. "Join me for a shower and dinner?"

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NEWSCOM, Earth-Actual – Military Intelligence reports that an armada of over five hundred Mongan ships has massed on the edge of Alliance territory. Details are sketchy at this time, but the Dreadnaught Battle Groups MALCOLM H RAYBURN and JEFFERY T KIRK are en-route. They are expected to arrive on scene shortly.

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"This is the MALCOLM H RAYBURN battle group to the Mongan armada currently situated one quarter million miles from our space. State your intentions immediately."

The vision of the Mongan commander appeared on the viewscreen.

"This is the MON-JALARI, command vessel of this fleet, Royal Fleet Master Denlom Ganastra at your service, captain. We wish no trouble. We are merely rescuing some of our own from an unfortunate accident in neutrally appointed space. The reactor on one of our mining ships overloaded and detonated. We are searching for survivors and cleaning up the area; errant debris is so bothersome to space travel, don't you think? We'll be departing in two days, if that is permissible."

Captain Alphonso Ramirez looked over at his navigator, her eyes locked on her instruments. She gave a slight shake of the head in reply.

"Come on, Royal Fleet Master," Ramirez leaned forward in his seat, assuming a "let's be honest" posture. "Your guys ran into some trouble, got your asses kicked, and are looking for the people who did it. Right?"

The orange-skinned Mongan grumbled slightly, caught in his standard lie.

"Very astute observation, captain," replied Ganastra. "Would you happen to know who destroyed our ships?"

Ramirez laughed long and loud.

"Fleet Master, you MUST be joking! You know very well that I couldn't tell you, even if I knew. Come, sir. You are not an idiot and neither am I. I can assure you, though, it wasn't an Alliance ship or I'd have heard about it. Just take what you came for and leave peacefully. Neither of us wants to start a fight. Leave that to the politicos." Ramirez leaned back in his seat again. "And please don't give me that line, 'we've got more ships than you,' it's insulting."

Ganastra smiled, showing rows of teeth.

"My apologies if I insulted you, Captain," he said. "But, you have to admit that it was worth a try. We'll be gone in two days' time. Feel free to monitor us, if you wish."

"Indeed we will monitor, Fleet Master. Very closely," Ramirez nodded in acknowledgment. "One last thing...don't direct any more scans toward Alliance territory. I've been told to interpret it as an act of war."

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A scraping sound on the hull jerked them both awake. They lay embracing each other. More scraping sounds made them both sit up and grab for their slug throwers at the same time, then pad silently, Quillan in the lead, toward the sound. The scraping sound seemed to be moving toward the starboard airlock. As they passed it, Quillan reached a hand to turn out the overhead lights. Since there were no windows in this part of the ship, no light could escape to give them away.

As soon as the lights went out, Alice's automatic systems switched her vision to passive infrared overlayed with a readout from her aural sensors, similar to ultrasound. This enabled her to "look" through the hull, as well as pinpoint the thumps and scrapes. She carefully laid a hand on Quillan's shoulder and pulled the redhead back slightly, indicating that the captain should follow. Quillan stopped to let Alice pass, then placed her free hand on Alice's right shoulder.

Alice could see the very faint outlines of four humans moving slowly toward the airlock. They were waving their arms as one would do when moving heavy objects. Presently, a powerful searchlight appeared in the small window of the airlock and quickly withdrew when its owner spied two scared women with lethal slug throwers in their hands. The thought that he was in bulletproof powered armor never entered his mind.

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Several miles above the planet, a small relay satellite received a signal and squirted the message to Katham VIII. The following nuclear explosion barely registered on the MALCOM H RAYBURN's shields.

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Warning horns sounded aboard the EXETER. Charleen's hand flew to her hand-held carrier as she stood just outside the colony's limits watching crew members scramble from the ship; the deep rumble of the lift engines starting.

"Salli," she asked, "what's going on?"

"Captain Wilkerson, everyone needs to leave the ship!" Salli said, hurriedly. "I need to get out of here and get to a safe distance! No time to explain!"

"Salli, I know you can do several things at once," Charleen said, with a "cut the crap" tone. "Now, tell me what's happening."

The EXETER lifted off, her launch bay doors closing; all the people safely outside, all the fighters safely inside.

"Captain," Salli said, calmly now that she was off the ground, "my sister's asked me to do something for her. Please don't make me tell you what it is. I can promise that it's for the best and you'll like the outcome. I'll be back in a few days. You're safe here."

The EXETER quickly shrank to a pinpoint in the sky and was gone.

Cursing a solid stream of epithets to do a Stellar Marine proud, Charleen slammed her hand-held carrier to the ground, stomped it a few times, then whirled and sprinted towards the communications building, her immense tits threatening to rip the fabric of her jumpsuit. Amanda, a few steps behind, was amazed that so large a woman could move so fast. Charleen burst into the room and yelled at the comm man to make contact with the EXETER and the PINK MIST at all costs. And get all of her crew to the meeting hall. Now.

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"Captain Margoles," said Ramirez as he strode into the medical bay aboard the MALCOLM H RAYBURN, "we meet again." He cast an appreciative eye at Alice, his eyes lingering on her chest as he licked his lips.

"Captain Ramirez, there's really no reason for us to be in medical. We weren't harmed in the landing, we had adequate food and water, and all we had to pass the time was sleep. I assure you that we are both in quite good health." Quillan sat with her legs hanging off the examination table, a medibot scanning her. Alice stood next to her, a look of defiance in those gorgeous green eyes...albeit not as bright as usual.

Both women looked healthy enough, to be sure, but they could use a good shower and fresh clothes. Although the moist towelettes were handy for getting rid of body odor, they did little in the way of cleaning jumpsuits.

"I understand, miss," he replied, "but this is a precaution. If I presented you to the President in anything less than spectacular condition, it wouldn't look too good on my record."

Quillan quirked an eyebrow, narrowing her opposite eye. Alice's face took on that amused look again at seeing her girlfriend's expression. THAT was Quillan's, "You're shittin' me," look. The redhead hopped down from the table, drawing herself up to her full height and brushing the medibot away with a dismissive hand.

"'Present me?' Like a trophy? What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, holding her arms tightly to her sides to stanch the funky smell.

"Is President Cuthbertson coming here?" asked a smoky-voiced Alice. Ramirez was taken aback by the inquiry; not so much as the question itself, rather the tone and timbre of the sexpot before him, silent until now. His dick twitched and he vowed to himself to get her into bed before the day was through.

"Uh, that would be a negative, Ghost Rider," he replied, quoting an old Tri-D movie. "This part of Alliance space is much too dangerous for him to visit. We're going to establish a realtime commlink for a little pow-wow." He looked over to the medibot, "Are they cleared to leave this space?"

"Affirmative, Captain," stated the medibot flatly. "Advise against Commander Nine performing any strenuous activity for the next thirty-six to forty-eight hours. Her physiology is weakened for an unknown reason."

"This way," Ramirez said, as if he hadn't heard the bot. He led the way toward the door. "Our guest quarters are directly next to mine."

The layout of the RAYBURN was identical to that of the PINK MIST, both being Class 9 Dreadnaughts. Alice and Quillan followed Ramirez simply because it was his ship and they were guests. He walked up to the appropriate door, waited for it to obediently slide open, and gestured the pair inside. He actually leered when Alice passed him, eyes lingering on her well-rounded ass.

"Realtime comm with Earth-Actual will be in two hours," he said, cordially, "fresh clothes are in the closet. Sorry they aren't pink, but I'm sure you understand."

Quillan turned and smiled in return, unaware that he had been watching Alice.

"Thank you, Captain Ramirez," she said, pleasantly. "What is to become of my ship?"

"That will be discussed during the meeting," he replied, flicking a glance to Alice's chest one last time. The door closed.

Before Quillan could move, Alice held up a finger, looking to the ceiling meaningfully. Quillan slowly closed her eyes in acknowledgment. The room was being monitored.

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A bright pink Mongan carrier cruised slowly into sensor range of Infernus' Purgatory. A few curious ship's captains, several of them being Alliance, turned their sensors toward her, receiving readouts that she was indeed of Mongan registry. All of them figured that it was a craft probably built for specialized operations and so gave the ship a wide berth. It had been nothing for Salli to alter her automated return signals to those of the original MON-COFFLA, after all, this WAS the MON-COFFLA. She also sent a request for docking procedures.

Infernus was no dummy. He had deliberately picked this particular spot in space in order to create a neutral area for all races and nationalities to carry on their legal or illegal activities. A million miles separated Purgatory from Alliance space, half a million from Mongan space, with various other distances to lesser declared territories. Infernus brooked no bullshit, though. Any hostility from any race brought swift retribution from Purgatory's massive arsenal. Hence, all patrons of the station minded their manners. They might not like each other, but they tolerated their enemies.

The man in Docking Control dutifully scanned the board for an open bay close to the Mongan carrier and was mildly surprised that all were filled save the one directly beneath Infernus' office. That bay was usually reserved for the Boss' ship; the Big Guy must be off on a pleasure cruise. He started to send her to the other side of the station in order to keep this one open for the Boss, but the other bays just filled up. All of them. This was the only bay available. He weighed the options open to him: dock the carrier and let the crew spend their hard-earned cash aboard Purgatory, or risk the wrath of Infernus.

He was certain that once Infernus, a greedy businessman, saw the reasoning behind his actions, he'd get off with merely being yelled at. Besides, this carrier had said that their length-of-stay would be no more than eight hours.

He sent the required docking instructions and then went back to watching the Tri-D program in which he had been engrossed. He didn't notice that several bays suddenly opened up for docking.