Friday, 9 December 2011

An Eye on the Prize. Part Three.

You may want to read Part The First and then Part The Second before starting this.

Fleeing the Dreadnought 'Dogmatist': Week Six. Day Two. Pallata Beta.

Captain Morgan Willmot was roaring again.

He had spent the four days since they wove into the new system secreted away with First-of-the-Bridge Sing (his mind as bright as his smile) in the Orrary room; calculating a snaking path past the planets in-system. His crew had confidently and efficiently carried out three low atmosphere passes of the wildest kind. Should the chasing Dreadnought attempt such manoeuvres he would have little time to calculate and would have to slow considerably to ensure he did not miss-math and get dragged down and smashed into the surface of the planet.

Yet when Morgan stared into the overscope the far off silhouette of his tormentor still taunted him.

'We've barely gained half a day on him, Sing. He's a devol. A very devol.'

The avuncular Sekhur stood on the aft quarterdeck behind and left of Morgan, arms behind his back.(His smile spread upon his bearded face.)

'Or he lets an Ai do the navigating, My Captain.'

Morgan looked appalled.

'He would not! That would be most improper, most improper indeed.' Morgan paused running his tongue along his top lip, dry in the fierce heat of the valveship at thrust. 'Though it would explain why he is showing no colours, just has his hull striped pirate-black and white. I thought he was trying to scare us with his no-mercy scheme but if I ran under Ai then I too would hide my ship's true hullflags and want none left alive to tell of me.'

'I shall start the men in the early dynamo-canon practice, My Captain,' said Sing. (In caramel tones of deep respect.)

Before Morgan could reply the entire ship shuddered and groaned, her engines died and, one by one, her fizzing lights went out.

'Ape's breath!' muttered the Captain. 'We may have to decel cannon practice, Mr. Sing. I fear more pressing matters have arisen.'

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