Steph Bennion - Hollow Moon

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone on guard,” she noted.

“Governor Jaggarneth will have taken his security team with him to Daode,” Namtar pointed out. “A fortuitous situation which will no doubt aid our forthcoming enterprise.”

“He means there won’t be many agents around,” Inari translated, limping past them with a pained expression. He had managed to shear off the end of his boot with the laser cutter.

Inari led Surya to the back of the bus and together they started unloading a series of long canvas bags from the luggage compartment. Hanuman gestured to Ravana, Zotz, Ostara, Ganesa and Fenris to go through the hole in the fence, then turned to Namtar.

“Give us ten minutes,” he said. “Then do your thing.”

“You can count on us,” Namtar declared. “Or me, at least.”

Hanuman grinned and quickly slipped through the hole to join the others. Moments later he was leading a breathless sprint across the open ground beyond the fence, towards a cluster of low-roofed storage huts on the edge of the distant landing strip. Before long they were all gathered against the back wall of one such hut, not far from the parked spacecraft.

“Everyone okay?” he gasped. It had been a long time since he had last run like that.

“We’re fine,” replied Ganesa, smirking. “But our poor gallant captain is not used to strenuous exercise and seems to be having a heart attack.”

Hanuman gave her a withering look. Beckoning to Ravana, he crept to the end of the wall and peered around the corner. The cylindrical bulk of the Platypus loomed before them; the tips of its starboard wings, wavering gently in the breeze, were barely ten metres away.

“There’s no one in sight,” murmured Hanuman. “That’s a bit of luck.”

“The main airlock is on the port side,” Ravana told him, peering over his shoulder.

Hanuman waved to the others to follow. When Fenris hesitated, the pilot withdrew his plasma pistol, moved back to provide the necessary encouragement and motioned to Ravana to lead the group out across the airstrip. After a hurried dash beneath the purple belly of the ship, they arrived breathless at the cargo bay ramp. Ravana punched in the access code as quickly as she was able with a wriggling cat in her arms, then after what seemed an age the airlock opened and they all tumbled inside.

“My word,” murmured Ravana.

She lowered her pet to the floor. The walls and roof of the cargo bay were covered in thick tendrils, all sprouting from the main cable duct in the ceiling. Her cat nibbled at a nearby frond and gave a violent sneeze.

“What’s with the crazy plant life?” asked Ganesa, somewhat bemused.

“Woomerberg Syndrome,” Zotz told her, earning a blank look in return.

“Zotz, come with me,” said Ravana. Her foot was already on the ladder leading to the crawl tunnel. “I need to give you access to the flight systems.”

Leaving the others in the cargo bay, Ravana and Zotz hurriedly made their way to the flight deck. The strange tendrils had also spread around the cabin and part of the console, which she noticed was still minus the hatch covering the AI unit.

Ravana pressed a switch on the console. “Ship? Confirm status.”

“All systems on standby,” came the familiar female tones of the AI unit. “It is good to see you back aboard, Ravana. How may I serve you today?”

Ravana regarded the console curiously. The AI unit had generally always referred to her as ‘Miss O’Brien’ until now.

“This is Zotz Wak,” she said, introducing him to the ship. There were cameras in the cabin, but she could not remember where and gestured to Zotz to do a slow pirouette. “Please add him as a registered member of the crew and grant him co-pilot access to all systems.”

“Welcome to the crew, Master Wak. I look forward to learning your voice print.”

“Quite,” murmured Ravana. The tendrils were one thing, but a chatty spacecraft was something else entirely, especially now she knew the AI’s thoughts were the product of alien brain cells. “Ship, run pre-flight checks for a short interplanetary hop to Hemakuta spaceport, Daode. I have one last thing to do before we leave, but be ready for a quick getaway.”

“Good luck,” said Zotz quietly. He suddenly looked quite distraught.

Ravana leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Look after Jones and the Platypus for me.”

Before Zotz could reply, she quickly dropped into the crawl tunnel and returned to the cargo bay. With a wary eye upon Fenris, Hanuman was showing Ostara how to use his plasma pistol, which she held as if it were a dead fish.

“Zotz has access to the AI unit,” Ravana reported. “What now?”

“Now we wait for the diversion,” murmured Hanuman.

Surya stood at the control panel of the rocket launcher, awestruck by the simplistic yet savage lines of the weapon created from the contents of the bags. It had taken Namtar and Inari just a few minutes to assemble the device, which was essentially a barrel and flare shield fixed to a tilted frame. The battered shield had one new dent where Namtar had hit Inari with it after the fat man accidentally caught Namtar’s shins with part of the frame.

“This is amazing,” murmured Surya. He idly brushed his fingers across the panel.

“No touching!” snapped Namtar. “The firing circuits are live.”

“I haven’t loaded a rocket yet,” Inari muttered, limping towards them.

The black cylinder in his arms was half a metre long and oozed malevolence from the red cone at one end to the small rocket nozzle and guidance fins at the other. Inari lifted it to the open end of the barrel, pressed a concealed lever to make the fins retract and then dropped the rocket smoothly into the launcher. There was a soft thud as the missile slid inside and linked with the ignition mechanism at the bottom of the barrel.

“Is this what you two do in the war?” asked Surya. “Terrorist attacks?”

“We are not terrorists!” Namtar declared indignantly. “We are freedom fighters, with the right of the Dhusarian Church on our side!”

Surya was quite taken aback at this sudden outburst. Namtar frowned, well aware of how the rebels’ activities looked to Que Qiao. His own motives for joining the Dhusarian Church and Kartikeya’s royalist army were questionable, for Namtar had done so purely for personal gain, admittedly with little success.

“My father, Ravana’s mother and other innocent people have died in your fight for freedom,” Surya said at last. “Perhaps my place is here on Yuanshi. If I can help bring peace to the moon then I should. I am sure this would have been my father’s wish.”

“Honourable words indeed, my dear Raja,” said Namtar, though they all knew the late Maharaja had been far from innocent as far as the war was concerned. “It is time for us to select an apt target for creating our diversion. I am reliably informed there are a number of official transports on the far side of the palace that should serve admirably.”

Surya took this as a cue to step away from the launcher’s control panel. He watched with interest as Namtar switched on the guidance system and brought up a satellite image of Sumitra Palace and the surrounding park on the console screen. Various dark blobs were marked by a green square, with a large group of them on the other side of the palace and a further solitary one very close to their own position. Earlier, Namtar had suggested it would be better if Inari personally took a homing beacon to the car park but Inari had refused, for he was slowly becoming wise to Namtar’s homicidal tendencies.

“You’re right,” observed Inari. Surya joined him in peering over Namtar’s shoulder at the cluster of green squares on the screen. “There’s a whole convoy parked over there.”