Philip Palmer - Hell Ship

For a moment, I felt a surge of annoyance; for in truth, I hated being sidelined like this. I understood of course that my role as Master was largely ceremonial; and that all major decisions were made by the Mistress Commander and the Star-Seeker and the ship’s computational brain. But this was an ugly reminder of a truth I generally preferred to, well, ignore.

However, I hid my irritation between a mask of bonhomie, charm, and self-deprecating wit; as I always do.

“Why?” I asked courteously, with my favourite irresistible smile, “are we doing all this?”

“Missiles have been launched by Explorer; power beams are being fired by Explorer; the intended target is the asteroid,” said Phylas, ignoring my question.

“Yes but why?”

“You’ll find out,” said Morval with grim pleasure, “soon enough.”

I followed the progress of the attack on the wall-screen: our ship in space, the orb of the planetary moon looming before us; the flaring colours of the gen-gun missiles, and the pillars of energy from the light-cannons arcing a slow progress towards the asteroid. It was a stately dance of colour and light set against a black cloth of night.

I assumed that the enemy were attempting to attack us; but Albinia had still told me nothing. Her lips moved silently as she and Explorer waged space war. I was tense; for the truth was, I had never been quite so close to combat before. In all the battles in which I had played a role, I had been part of the rapidly fleeing Trader fleet, protected by Navy and Explorer vessels.

Now, I was in the front line and I could die.

I saw, on the screen, our missiles flying closer and closer to the asteroid. While, on my phantom control display, a bewildering series of graphs and equations flashed before my eyes, though I had no idea what meanings they conveyed.

“Now,” said Morval, somehow managing to guess what was about to occur.

And at just that moment, the asteroid erupted. And a flock of black triple-horned warcraft emerged from it, hurtling towards us.

“Two hundred and forty-two enemy drone missiles,” said Phylas.

“The radiation trail indicates dirty nuclear bombs,” added Morval.

“They’re attacking us!” I summarised, in a cheery fashion; playing the fool with my usual panache.

“Forgive me,” said Albinia, dreamily. “I thought it better to act first, and inform you of my decisions later.”

“Very wise, beloved Mistress,” I said generously, concealing my anger.

“Sarcasming is not a word,” Morval reminded me, with his usual long memory.

“It has a ring to it,” I said defensively.

Commander Galamea arrived on the Hub, in a blaze of implicitly-rebuking-the-rest-of-us-for-being-so-lazy energy.

“Master-of-the-Ship, report!” she barked.

“Morval, brief the Commander please,” I said, sneakily.

“Explorer seems to have detected an imminent attack, we have no more data,” said Morval, which irked me, because I could have said that much.

Albinia groaned, lost in communion with Explorer.

And, just as the last of the enemy drones emerged from the artificial asteroid, Explorer’s missiles began to silently detonate. It was like a birthday sky-fire display against the blackness of space.

Moments later, a haze appeared on the screen; and the enemy drones began to slowly fall apart, like dancers breaking away from a tableau into separated solos. There were no subsequent explosions as these craft broke up; these were merely objects sundering into their myriad pieces as if changing their minds about existing.

I realised that our gen-gun missiles were not just kinetic, they also harboured atom-disruptor particles. The snarling swarm of enemy drone bombs were being destabilised at sub-atomic level.

“What information do we have about this civilisation?” asked the Commander.

“Hostile?” guessed Morval.

“Type 3, post-nuclear, pre-shiftingsands, the home planet is the gas giant fifth from the sun but they also inhabit five other planets and twelve satellites and those comets are in fact space stations with tails,” said Albinia, with her usual calm dreamy certainty.

“Explorer is preparing to fire again,” said Morval.

And thin rays of energy erupted once more from the gen-gun tubes.

And before long, the panoramic wall-screen showed nothing but empty space, and the faint wisps of former menace that was all that remained of the enemy fusillade.

“See this,” said Morval, somehow once again miraculously anticipating the action.

A juggernaut of a spaceship was emerging from the hollow asteroid. It was clearly expecting an easy passage behind its escort of killer drone bombs. Instead, it was met with a withering hail of destructive energy from Explorer. The juggernaut shimmered, like a firebird on a midsummer night about to explode; then abruptly dematerialised.

And I looked at Morval, puzzled. How did he manage, time and again, to predict so accurately what was going to happen?

Explorer glided deeper into the stellar system, until it reached planet Five, the home of these unpleasant sentients.

It was a gas giant, with six natural rings and a larger artificial ring which Explorer identified as a space defence system.

And there we waited. We had already demonstrated that we (or rather Albinia in communion with Explorer) had powers beyond the imagining of these beings. The rational response would be for them to surrender unconditionally, in the hope of averting further fatalities.

That seemed, however, unlikely.

I reclined in my Master’s chair, watching it all on the wall-screen. “How many times,” I asked Phylas, “do the wretched aliens try to kill you when you appear?”

“Always.”

“Not always,” corrected Morval.

“There was that time-”

“That was a feint. They greeted us in peace, and ambushed the Traders a century later.”

“How did you know-”

“I always know what you will say,” said Morval.

Phylas glowered; hurt at being shut out from his own conversation.

Commander Galamea prowled the deck.

“Explorer, progress report,” said Galamea.

“Wait and see,” said Albinia dreamily.

We waited.

And then an image appeared on our panoramic wall-screen; Albinia had made contact with the aliens’ leader. He was a squat, asymmetrical, slimy and undeniably ugly creature, with no visible eyes and a mouth that went up instead of across.

“Greetings,” I said. Explorer had of course been intercepting all the radio traffic from these creatures since we arrived in their system, and had gathered enough information about their language to run a translation facility.

“You speak language our,” growled the alien.

“Apparently not that well,” I conceded. “We come in peace, and so forth; and we wish to trade.”

“You kill have of hundreds our people,” said the alien.

“Albinia,” I snapped.

“Give us time; their language has a weird syntax,” Albinia said defensively.

“We did not destroy your warriors and their spaceship,” I explained carefully. “We have merely concealed them in another dimension, from which we can retrieve them easily if you prove you are peaceful. And now we wish to negotiate.”

“You hold people our hostage!” roared the alien.

“Indeed we do.”

“Smart is thinking,” said the alien, evidently reassured. “Down welcome planet ours.”

“I would be delighted,” I said.

Our landing craft emerged like a child being birthed from the hull of Explorer, and rocket-propelled across the expanse of open space. The shadow-selves of Albinia and I sat side by side in the cockpit and watched the view. I was close enough to smell her skin, and hear her breath, if she had been possessed of skin and breath.