The Baroness' Birthday

For those of you who don't know, The Baroness, Grand Matriarch of the Lohlephel clan, the main protagonists of my next trilogy of Science-Fiction books is loosely based on my long-suffering wife. This is a story that I wrote for her Birthday - She has kindly agreed to let me share it with you.

See if you can figure out who her husband, The Baron, is based on (I'm not going to give you any clues, but I'm trying to get Gary Oldman to play me... Erm, I mean him... in the upcoming film.)

-oOo-

The Baroness was cornered like a hedgehog.  In all of her years as captain of the airship, The Granthar’s Hammer, she had prided herself on always having a fool-proof escape plan. Not this time though, trapped in the claustrophobic corridor between a supply closet and the hangar bay, she eyed the scarlet steel behemoth in front of her warily. Its thick shoulder armour scraping gouges out of the plasterwork as it shuffled left and right to match her attempts to slip around it. “Get out of my way you idiot!”

Its ironclad head slowly rotated from side to side.

She sighed, “So help me, I will take a can opener to you if you do not get the hell out of my way right now.”

A deep, modulated laugh came from its external speakers and one of its gargantuan hands unfolded menacingly towards her, its flexing index finger indicating that it wanted her to follow it. She took a step back and shrugged out of its way. “I have a patrol to fly. We had a report of Spider activity in the Northern Province and you know how upset Hadleigh gets when I keep him waiting.”

It waved its finger at her admonishingly and gestured to her to follow it again.

Her head dropped to her chest as she exhaled, “Alright, if we have to go through this pitiful charade every time.” She grabbed hold of its finger and climbed up its thick leg armour, “The least you can do is give me a lift.”

It bowed deeply as she clung onto the knot of thick cables that surrounded its torso. It turned and set off at a run through the corridors. By the time it reached the wide open space of the hangar it was travelling at high speed. Its tree-trunk legs pounding into the marble floor like pistons and the Baroness was just managing to keep a grip on it with her thighs, hands and teeth. They passed by the bulk of the Hammer like a blood-red blur. She just had time to shrug at Hadleigh, the pilot, as they sped around the corner and back out of the cavernous room, the steel treads of the giant’s feet struggling to maintain grip on the polished surface. 

“Slow down you bloody imbecile, you’re going to-“ her warning was punctuated by a crash as an unfortunate maintenance construct wandered around the corner, only to be dashed to pieces by a quarter of a ton of kneecap travelling at fifty miles per hour, “- Hit somebody.” She mumbled. They continued along the corridor until they reached the atrium that signified the entrance to the Roost’s living quarters and without warning, the giant leaped thirty feet into the air, its gorilla like hands grabbing the edge of the second floor parapet and effortlessly lifting the pair of them over and onto the sumptuously decorated floor that held the Baroness’ private quarters. Its huge frame crouched as it made to once more accelerate along the corridor.

“Stop!” cried the Baroness, “Let me down, I can walk from here thank you very much.” She slid from her perch at the monster’s waist and massaged the feeling back into her legs. Looking at the crushed handprints in the stonework of the balcony, she shook her head at the featureless face towering above her. “Lead on.”

It stomped, gently but resolutely towards her chambers and stopped at the security door, it’s face on a level with that of the Stalys terminal, the artificial intelligence that controlled the Roost’s systems. There was a decidedly canine growl from the giant’s speakers and the door slid open. It then stood aside as the Baroness entered the room.

“Don’t let your daughter see you do that, she’s got enough of an attitude problem as it is without her developing an abusive relationship with the constructs.” She took off her uniform jacket and threw it on the bed, “So, what did you want? As if it wasn’t obvious.”

The huge figure clutched its hands to its chest as if it had been shot through the heart, “You wound me My Lady.” It laughed as its hands moved to each side of its head and twisted. With a click and a hiss of escaping pressure the helmet was lifted to reveal the smiling, bearded face of Baron Massimo Lohlephel. “Happy Birthday, my sweet, my ghostly tune of the first jackdaw of autumn, my babbling laughter of a woodland stream, I would like to present you with…” The spade-like gauntlets of his armoured suit slapped against his thighs. “With… I have it here somewhere…” He furiously looked around the room, “I’m sure I… Ah!” One of his suit arms went limp as he removed his real arm from it to search the inside of the suit. “Exit!” He commanded and the suit split open from neck to groin. He stepped out of it and climbed down onto the ground, holding out a flat box in front of him, which he presented reverently to the Baroness.

“Oh it’s lovely Massimo,” She gasped, holding up the Egyptian inspired necklace up to the light which skittered along its thick, gold rope. “If I may ask one question though, you old goat?”

“Anything my love, you have but to ask.”

“Do you not usually wear clothes under your power-armour?”

“Not today my sweet, no…”

Present Tense

Below is a piece of crossover fiction inspired by my recent trip to Blackpool.  It is set in the same universe as my Edward Teach stories and alludes to some of the upcoming book's plotlines, however - The antagonist is from THIS piece of Flash Fiction, you might wish to read it first.

-oOo-

I flew in from the south-east, down the lush valley between the Liverpool Free Trade Area and the ruins contained by the, in parts still radioactive, Greater Manchester wastelands.   I had originally intended to circle out over the Irish Sea and come in low over the water, but there had been some recent reports that the Welsh Separatists had managed to get hold of some ex-defense force artillery and were taking pot-shots at anything flying low enough not to leave a contrail.  I felt that keeping the crate in one piece made more sense than having a control surface obliterated by a misguided 'Son of Glyndwr' and spiraling into the briny deep with my aft section aflame.

Whilst I'm on the subject, I'm glad that I'm less than fifteen miles from the Aeroport, as I've a nasty feeling that last night's dinner is about to make an explosive re-appearance.  Fox Cheek Vindaloo has a wonderful effect on that palate, but loses something during its trip through one's lower intestine.  I decided to contact local traffic control to see if I could secure a berth near the Gentlemens' Conveniences.

'George Joseph Smith International Aeroport, this is the private flyer Gustavo, requesting clearance to land.'

'Roger Gustavo,' Replies the obviously electronic voice of the traffic control construct, 'please continue on your current heading and land in section Red Seventeen.'

'Acknowledged Control, are there comfort facilities near that particular area? There is a possibility of an impending gastric emergency.'

'Gustavo, do you wish to report a medical emergency?'

'Negative Control, just a minor digestive discomfort... Gustavo Out.'

I lock the navigational system onto the docking beam and proceed to land in the indicated bay.  Even as the landing legs were rebounding, I leap out of the cockpit and open the starboard stowage locker.  I pick out a rather fetching stovepipe hat with matching gecko-skin gloves, and make my way into the terminal building.  Once my urgent business has been taken care of and my composure has been restored, I show my documentation to the security team, and ask to be directed to the Hackney Rank.

The three mile ride into town is fairly uneventful, I am continually unnerved by the robotic horse that pulls my carriage giving me a potted history of the resort - It is not so much that it is, for all intents and purposes a talking silver horse, mainly it is that the damnable thing is looking at me over its shoulder all the time, rather than keeping its glowing blue eyes on the road.

We pass the first of the town's three piers, the silent hulks of the anti-Spider defense cannons still positioned down it's length.  skeins of bright bunting are stretched between them in a jarring juxtaposition.

'Why the decoration?' I ask the horse.

'If you had only come last week Sir, it was the twentieth anniversary of the last Spider attack, a suicide squadron had targeted the Tower and the men of the town shot down every single one.  At low tides you can still see some of the wreckage if you know where to look.'

Ah, the famous Tower, it had been the main landmark of the town for several hundred years, it had seen service as a circus, a ballroom, a radar station and had finally ended up being used as an airship mooring mast.  I crane my neck to look up as I pass it and see that a passenger liner was currently docked, its silver skin glinting brightly in the setting sun.

Moments later the Hackney pulled up at the Metropole Hotel, I disembark, pat the equine construct absently on the head and find my way to the reception desk.

'Reservation in the name of Anderson?' I announce, somewhat questioningly to the young girl behind the desk.

'Yes sir, do you have any luggage?'

Gods damn it! In my rush to leave the aeroport, I had forgotten to pick up my cases.  I am however unwilling to announce this to the general public, so I answer with braggadocio, 'No, not currently.  I would consider it a great kindness if you would ask your concierge to contact the finest local Gentleman's Costumiers and ask them to supply a brown leather dinner jacket and a selection of day-wear suitable for tomorrow's prevailing weather conditions.'

She injects my hand with the digital keys to my suite and I enter the lift.  In some strange quirk of fate, or more likely via some over-zealous research by a bored hotel employee, the music being played over the under-sized speakers is one of my great, great-grandfather's most popular tunes.  He was a local man himself and had enjoyed some small fame with a progressive musical group named after an eighteenth century agriculturalist.

The lift deposits me directly across the corridor from my room, I exit, cross the deep pile carpet and clench my hand against the sculpted mahogany of the door handle.  There is a brief sensation of heat as the key is read and the door clicks open.

I enter the room, the only source of illumination is from a shaft of sunlight streaming through the apparently amateurishly drawn curtains, picking out an ornately detailed silver bottle on the side table.  I pick it up and read the words 'Henri IV Dudognon Heritage' engraved around a golden badge on the side.

The sudden voice surprised me to the point where I almost dropped the bottle.

'Those are real diamonds, set in platinum.'

I turn, still cradling the bottle in my suddenly sweating palms.

'Who?' I ask.  The man stands, he is dressed in a vaguely military style, his impeccably pressed jacket so clean that it almost glows in the half-light.  He smiles, apologetically.

'Ah yes, how remiss of me, my name is Horner, I contacted you via The Great Cloud? You told me your story about the loss of the airship Simon Bolivar.'

'Of course, Mr Horner, I should have known.' I reply graciously, 'Thank you for the invitation I must say that I wasn't expecting this kind of payment.' I lift the bottle, the sun reflects from the thousands of brilliantly cut diamonds and momentarily the room is festooned with a plethora of small, dancing points of light.

He laughs emptily, 'Payment? Goodness me no, your story was interesting, and will definitely be published, but it wasn't worthy of that particular vintage.  No, that was merely a distraction.'

'Dis...?' I don't even feel the blade as it completely severs my neck, I only know that a sword is even involved because I can now see it in his left hand, pointing at the floor in the sabre rest position, it has blood dripping from it, my blood.

'I'm sorry old chap, but I can't risk you telling your story to anyone else, we value exclusivity at the G.A.A. you see.'

He takes a step forward, places his index finger on the bridge of my nose and applies the tiniest amount of pressure.  My head separates from my shoulders with a quiet sucking sound and I have the briefest view of my own back before the floor and oblivion hit me simultaneously.

Horner removes a small notebook from his inside pocket, and crosses off the name 'Anderson'. He then takes out a personal communicator and connects to The Great Cloud.  He dials in a number and when the party accepts the call he coughs politely.

'Mr Josiah, Yes? It's Horner of the G.A.A. I've received your story... I must say, it's rather good. I'd like to arrange payment.'

Piracy on the High Winds

'Frobisher!'

'Ma'am?'

'Which hat? The flying helmet?' She tugged on a shiny leather and brass B6 of uncertain vintage, squinted into the mirror , and removed it, 'or.. The riding hat?' she picked up a miniature top hat, decorated with lace and black roses from the table, and perched it on her head at a jaunty angle.

'I'm... Sorry... I...'

She sighed, sometimes being the corsair captain of your own fighting airship didn't leave time for the finer things in life.

'Access weather control and see what they have planned for all points between our current position and the Straits of Madripoor.'

'Working...' The lights on Frobisher's brass face dimmed slightly as he rerouted power to establish a secure, untraceable, link with The Great Cloud, 'Winds light to moderate from the South West, point seven percent chance of tropical rain, dependant on local humidity, light cloud cover beginning at nine thousand feet, temperature ranging fr....'

'Enough! Riding hat it is! Have the detailed report for the area around Chandra Island fed to my screen on the bridge, after that, put in a request to maintenance and get your contacts cleaned, you're starting to clack.'

'Ma'am.' The construct replied.

The captain fixed the hat to her elegantly coiffed hair with a selection of ornate pins, and strode from her quarters directly onto the bridge. The crew stiffened as she entered, suddenly taking a much deeper professional interest in their respective screens and readouts.

'Dr. When?' she called.

'Aye Ma'am?' He replied, the creaking of her first officer's aged leather overcoat not quite managing to mask the twang of his strange, half Cornish, half Centauri accent.

'Set a course for Chandra Island, Eastern Madripoor, best speed but keep us below detection altitude,' She sank into the command chair and started to digest the information displayed on her screen, 'Notify me at fifty miles.'

'Aye... Alright you dogs, you heard the captain, rig the gasbag for best stealth speed, ramp up the fusion engines, seal all external hatches and report when ready!'

The deck shook as the engineers stoked the huge nuclear engines into life, and the captain could feel the vibration in her bones. She closed her eyes and listened to the creak of the connecting chains tightening around the bags of gas above her. One by one the tell-tales on her panel turned from red to green. As the last one lit, she looked towards Dr. When.

'Stations reporting ready Ma'am, we move on your word.'

'Take us out nice and easy Dr. no showboating this time, Another punctured bag and I'll take it out of your share.'

'All jets ahead one quarter, when we see clear sky take her up to two thousand feet and engage fusion drive.' When turned to the captain, grinned and bowed, 'All hands - prepare for acceleration in ten! Hold on to anything you don't want to be looking for in the stern later!'

The shock of the nuclear reaction always caught her by suprise, its limitless acceleration took them from twenty-five to four hundred miles per hour in an instant. There was a cacophonous noise that rang through the ship, followed by gurgling screams.

'100 credits says cook forgot to secure his pans again?' When commented, hanging on to the guardrail behind the helm.

'200 says it was the kniferack,' The Captain replied, thumbing the switch for the shipboard intercomm, 'Medical team to The Galley on the double, patch up the cook and check the Galley for damage - He does a day in irons for every smashed pot.'

The ship settled into its cruising configuration as the gasbags finally caught up with the main hull, she was a beautiful ship, her hull built to resemble an early 18th Century Barque, the sails replaced by the voluminous gas-bag and the bowsprit replaced by a bronze and copper Ion Cannon, nicknamed 'Daisy' by the crew. She was, rather confusingly, named the Edward Teach, for reasons best known to her Captain.

'Captain!' Barked the Sensor Chief, 'We have a contact, bearing 076 degrees, speed 300, distance 20 miles, closing fast.'

'Identify!'

'Looks to be mechanised, showing no lifesigns, minimal biological mass, but plenty of movement. Wait! We're being scanned!'

'Dr When, secure us from best speed, bring Daisy to bear and fire as she rolls.'

'Aye Ma'am!' The Doctor pushed the Helmsman from his seat and took the controls himself, he locked off the engines and threw the ship into a tight turn. The hull slewed viciously under the gas-bag as the chains tried to compensate for the rapid change of vector. The Captain peered through the viewscreen as their foe came into view.

'Spiders!' She called, 'Blow them out of my Sky When!'

The Captain had tangled with the Spiders before, they were a completely mechanical life-form, developed by the military for jungle and urban warfare. Of course, as is the way of such things, they had become too good at their job, finally turning against their controllers and setting off on their own journey, attacking cargo ships and corporate supply ballons, stripping them of their power sources and taking scalps as trophies.

Daisy barked, a glittering beam of blue energy shot from the prow of the ship and hit the Spiders' vehicle amidships, deactivated spiders fell to the ground like metal snow, but the main body was still aloft.

'Hit them again!'

'Recharging!'

'They're closing!'

'Nearly there!'

'Doctor, now would be a good time!'

'Firing!'

The Spiders' were almost within boarding range as the next blast hit them. The remaining Spiders bounced of the side of the hull and fell the two thousand feet to the ground. There was a moment of furious action as everyone checked that there was no damage to the ship.

'Resume course and speed,' Ordered the Captain, finally breathing out.

The rest of the voyage went without incident, and the crew was just settling back into their normal routine when the fifty mile alarm sounded.

'All stop!' Called When.

'Take us up to fifteen thousand feet and continue on jets only.'

The sudden silence as the fusion drive was taken offline was almost deafening, the ship slowly began to rise as air from the still hot exhausts was fed into the bags to supplement the already buoyant Tritium gas. They broke through the cloud layer and started towards the island. The Captain beckoned When towards her.

'Once we are directly over the island we will be storming the base using two drop-pods, pick a team of seven and take one, I'll do the same with the other.'

'Base? What're we after?'

'Whatever we can get our hands on, as usual.'

When grinned, grabbed his chainsword and hit the intercomm,

'Khan, Russ, Guilliman, Jonson, Curze, Corax and Vulkan - Report to the podroom, we drop in 60.'

As her pod fell, the Captain looked at her assembled team, she saw in the eyes of her crewmen the glint of impending action, the lust for new booty...

'Landfall in five... Four... Three...'

The landing rockets fired, almost doubling everyone's apparent weight and the Captain instantly regretted putting on her corset and kneeboots before boarding the pod. The doors fell open as soon as they touched down and the crew jumped out of both pods, screaming like banshees. A wave of constructguards poured from the main door of the building and ran into When's whining chainsword, cogs, gears and oil sprayed in all directions, covering the ground like glistening brass snow. Their cries of 'Invaders must die!' silenced by the churning teeth.

'We bounce in ten minutes, take what you can!' Yelled the Captain, 'Split up, we'll cover more ground!'

As the flow of guards died down, her crew entered the base and scattered in all directions. She made her way through strangely quiet corridors towards the base commander's office. The trip took minutes longer than she expected and when she arrived at the door, she was faced with an ornate lock of an unknown type.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the small glowing sphere that had cost her a month's share from the Dentrassi trader at Long-Pig station. He'd said that it was guaranteed to undo any lock that could be undone, although he did look like the sort from whom it might be difficult to extract a refund.

The Captain did not care, after a few seconds of melodius humming, the door clicked open. As she entered the office, she noticed how tidy it was - She realised she was in the right place and searched the walls for an entrance into the commander's private quarters.

'Where are you? Where are you?'

'Where is who?' Commented a voice from the doorway.

The Captain froze, turning away from the slowly opening cupboard that she had found. She was confronted by perhaps the most beautiful woman she had ever seen, long, red hair, delicately chiseled features, a classically proportioned body and a flowing, black, spidersilk dress. She stood, brushed herself down, cleared her throat and asked,

'And you are?'

'I am Belinda Von Messier, I command this base, who are you and why are you in my office?'

'Well, I am Dorleith Ahralia, countess of Minidandia, Corsair, Pirate and occasional rabble-rouser, I have come to relieve you of your wardrobe.'

'My?...'

Her sentence was cut short by the timely arrival of the Doctor, his repeating siege bolt gun and two explosive shells to the head.

'We need to leave now Captain!'

'But...'

'No, now, one of the men thinks that he might have accidentally triggered some sort of self destruct mechanism, it said 120 when I left, but it was counting down. Grab what you came for, we have to leave.'

The Captain looked across to the now, fully open, open cupboard and saw:

'Shoes!'

'We're leaving!'

'But... Shoes!'

When picked her up by the waist, threw her over his shoulder and ran. The sound of huge explosions getting closer and closer. By the time they reached the exit, the wall of flame was right behind them and he could feel his ponytail starting to shrivel. He thew himself into the pod and hit the launch button. He was deafened by the roar, but not before he heard the Captain say.

'Shoes... Lovely Shoes... All gone!'


OK, much like the story about my son knocking the head off the snowman - My daughter went into Town yesterday and saw some nice boots, which she couldn't afford, only I, like, sexed it up a bit.