Steph Bennion - Paw-Prints of the Gods

She was about to give up when her fingers caught a hitherto-unsuspected switch beneath the fake fur. Ravana gave a muted squeak of surprise as the cat’s inner workings promptly leapt into her mind, from its power cell and alloy skeleton to the smallest actuator and wire. The sight of the tangled web of Woomerberg Syndrome tendrils brought forth an involuntary shudder, for she could not help thinking of the silver lines within her own scars. A hurried mental swipe cleared the image from her head. Her cat remained oblivious to her probing and nibbled upon a small foil packet pulled unseen from her jumpsuit pocket.

Quirinus glanced across. “Are you warm enough?”

Ravana realised her father had mistaken her shiver for one of cold. Eager for a change of clothes, she had rifled through what Kedesh had left behind in the transport, to find that the woman’s wardrobe was essentially several versions of the same thing. The black sleeveless jumpsuit was nonetheless a good fit; although shorter than Kedesh, Ravana was equally slim but filled the tailoring far better, leaving her secretly pleased that someone had a chest flatter than hers. She smiled at her father’s reaction, who seemed perturbed by the reminder that beneath her usual baggy flight suit his teenage daughter was becoming a woman.

“I’m fine,” she reassured him. Disquieted by the memory of seeing her pet’s innards, she pushed it gently to the floor. “If you’re referring to what I’m wearing, all my spare clothes are at the dig. You should have seen what Philyra offered to lend me!”

Zotz paused in his attempts to pull the lump of foil from the cat’s paws and smiled. Beneath her survival suit, Philyra had gone for a crop top and an incredibly short skirt, in a sartorial display that had annoyed Fornax and tongue-tied Momus in equal measure. The cat released its grip and Zotz tore open the small silver package.

“Chocolate cake!” he exclaimed.

Ravana snatched it from him and returned it to her pocket. “The cake that launched a thousand hips,” she mused. Kedesh’s mania for cake got everywhere.

The Platypus hit turbulence and began to shake. Ravana’s implant was linked to the ship’s AI and through the network of tendrils she could sense the unnatural strain the heavy gravity was putting on the craft’s frame, a situation not helped by the boosters strapped to the hull. While her father eased the ship back into line, she cast an eye over the external camera views. Ahead, the new runway beside the archaeologists’ cluster of domes was coming into view. There were two other ships already parked in the desert nearby.

“Five kilometre warning,” said the AI.

“This is a lot smoother than last time,” Zotz remarked.

“It’s damn frigging slower,” muttered Momus, with a grudging nod of approval.

Ravana selected the control to lower the wheels and waited for the four clunks as the undercarriage dropped into position. She moved a hand to the communication console, paused and glanced to her father, who nodded. Ravana opened an audio channel.

“This is Ravana O’Brien of freighter Platypus calling the Arallu archaeology expedition,” she said. “Doctor Jones, Professor Cadmus, are you receiving me? Over.”

The cabin speakers buzzed with static, but that was all. Ravana sighed.

“Still no response,” she remarked. “I do hope they’re alright.”

“We’ll find out soon enough,” said Quirinus.

The Platypus swooped towards the beckoning runway. The blur of desert resolved into a series of gullies and dunes, then with a screech of tyres they were down and coasting to a halt. As they shot past the site itself, Ravana caught a glimpse of the transport linked to dome two. It had been three weeks since her disappearance from Arallu Depot. Something told her she was not about to be welcomed back with open arms.

Xuthus stared sullenly at the heavily-built infantry android, which had diligently watched over them for what seemed like days. Doctor Jones, Hestia, Urania, the two Que Qiao officers and himself were seated on hard ground with their backs to one of the habitation cabins, all nervously awaiting their fate. The young Arab man had threatened to tie them up if they tried any heroics, but in the end had settled for taking away Ininna’s and Yima’s police-issue pistols, though not before giving the robot orders to shoot anyone who attempted to escape. Yima had tried and received a low-energy plasma blast in his arm for his trouble; Dagan let Hestia tend the wound but after that the mood amongst the captives went rapidly downhill. The noise of spacecraft engines outside had not been cause for celebration.

“Anything happening?” remarked Doctor Jones.

“I can’t see anyone,” replied Xuthus, who had a limited line of sight through the walkway tunnel into dome two, not that there was much to see. “I think they’re still in the chamber.”

“What about the little boy?” asked Hestia.

“Him too,” Xuthus said irritably.

The android’s angular head suddenly twitched and turned towards the entrance to the nearby transport hangar. A hiss of escaping air broke the hush of the dome and red warning lights began to flash, signifying that someone was depressurising the hangar from outside. There was a series of clunks, followed by a loud clattering as a compressor started up to flood the hangar with air. The sound now coming from behind the airlock door was the unmistakeable thump of boots and murmur of voices.

“Wonderful,” muttered Urania. “More unwelcome visitors.”

The airlock opened and a young Indian woman in a belted black jumpsuit appeared in the shadows of the doorway. With her was a burly, bald-headed man, who slipped out of sight behind the cabin before Xuthus saw what he carried. The woman stared at the robot and its seated prisoners and walked defiantly towards them, her hands held high. At first, Xuthus failed to recognise her, then saw the scar on her face and gasped in surprise.

“Ravana!” he exclaimed. “You’ve come back!”

Govannon smiled wearily. “Now there’s a sight for sore eyes.”

The android swung its rifle towards the approaching figure.

“Halt!” Its voice was a rattling metallic monotone. “Identify yourself!”

“My name is Ravana O’Brien,” she replied calmly. “I am not armed.”

“But I am,” came a voice from behind. Quirinus had circled the cabin whilst Ravana kept the robot distracted. The cannon on his shoulder was aimed squarely at the back of the android’s head. “With a big plasma gun pointing right at your little metal skull.”

“Wow!” gasped Xuthus. “A real live space pirate!”

The robot swivelled its head through a hundred and eighty degrees and fixed Quirinus with a cold electronic stare. “The weapon is not activated,” it intoned. “You do not possess the cranium implant necessary to operate the targeting controls.”

“Damn,” grumbled Quirinus. “You noticed.”

Xuthus shifted a worried glance from Quirinus back to Ravana, who to his surprise gave him a wink and smiled. All of a sudden she dropped her arms, pulled a cricket bat from where it had been wedged unseen in her belt at her back, then with a grunt of effort leapt forward and swung it at the android with all the strength she could muster. The willow clanged against the side of the robot’s head and knocked it clean from its shoulders, sending it spinning away across the dome with murmurs of ‘Reboot me!’ trailing in its wake. Xuthus’ wide-eyed stare of disbelief went from Ravana to the robot’s torso, which stood wavering a few moments longer before crumpling slowly to the floor.

Ravana grinned and lowered the bat. “How’s that?”

“Not bad,” Quirinus said approvingly. “I’ll make a cricketer of you yet.”