The Lost Goats, 46
Aug. 1st, 2012 03:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencer"I don't suppose you've ever heard this before," Jenny said, "but I think you're bluffing."
There was a microscopic pause.
"Bluffing? Me? How dare you, well of course I am, who wouldn't, I mean I'd be a fool not to, but the question you have to ask yourself is how much am I bluffing? And about what?" Soren could imagine Zander, wide-eyed and wild-haired, grinning like a fool. He always enjoyed a chance to do this. "About Vigil, or about Soren's medication? Well, I can tell you that that part was absolutely true, you definitely wouldn't like him if he has to go without it, but since you probably don't like him much anyway and I don't blame you, that doesn't help you an awful lot. As for the Vigil, well of course I wouldn't let them on the ship any more than I would you, but since they think I'm conveying a cargo of highly infectious orphans to the nearest major hospital, they aren't straining at the slips to come on board. Which of course I could be. Conveying infectious orphans, that is. Do you want to come on board and find out? Do I hear a call for volunteers?"
Jenny hesitated.
"You see, they know we occasionally do things like that. Oh, and there is another thing..." Zander coughed. "These smallships, you know, quite old, much repaired and jury-rigged, and this particular one has a tendency for the drive core to overheat, well I've rigged up a cooling system, but unfortunately that draws power from the surrounding solar winds and since your ships are blocking them at the moment there's really not a lot getting through, I only mention it because the explosion is going to be quite big and since I'll probably be blown to atoms first in any case I'm not that concerned about how many other people it kills, so the question of whether I have actually talked to the Vigil or whether Soren goes on a destructive rampage if he doesn't get massaged with anti-sciatica cream on a daily basis really becomes rather academic." Behind the interminable prattling Soren could hear a steadily rising whine. "Well, it's into the red zone now, so I guess this is goodbye, Soren old scout. It's been a blinder."
Soren swallowed. "See you on the flipside, Zan. Gods bless."
Jenny hesitated a moment more, then barked swift orders.
The smallship waited till the ships had withdrawn to a safe distance, then the drive tubes flared and it disappeared from the forward screens..
"He's gone," one of Jenny's crew (light tenor, from the sound) reported.
"So much for loyalty among Nyronds," Jenny scoffed. "Oh well, I still have you. Get us away from the Vigil ships, quick as you like, and put this in a cell. I'll enjoy--"
"The Vigil ships have gone too, Captain," came another voice, possibly a coloratura before she retired.
"Even better," Jenny murmured. "I know I can't kill you," she said to Soren as he was seized by several burly chorus boys, "but in a way that rather adds to the fun, doesn't it?"
"We'll see," Soren said evenly. "I think your definition of fun and mine may differ slightly."
"Something lingering, with melted lead, I think was the line," Jenny said, and gestured for him to be taken away.
The chorus boys hustled Soren down a flight of steps, along a corridor and into a lift.
"Here," one of them said, "he's got some horrible skin disease."
"Well don't touch it, then," retorted another.
"It's too late," said the first speaker. "It's all over me. I can't--aaagh!!" He let go of Soren and fell to the floor, vigorously scratching at himself and screaming. The other toughs relaxed their vigilance for a moment to stare, and a moment later were peacefully slumbering.
"You took your time," Soren said.
"Well, I wasn't sure whether you actually wanted to leave, you and she seemed to be getting on so well, and I know you like a girl with spirit." Zander pressed the button for the cargo bays, and the lift smoothly changed direction.
"Spirit, yes; melted lead, no," Soren said. "By the way, your eyes have changed colour again."
"Swimming through vacuum always does that to me. I may have popped another eardrum as well. Did that recording sound all right to you?"
"Er," Soren said, "it sounded like Zander."
"Thank you, my fan." They emerged from the lift, skulked through the all-but-empty cargo bays to the emergency hatch. As they reached it, shipwide alarms belled out, and Jenny's voice boomed through the big empty space. "Some fool has lost the prisoner. Anyone who finds him is excused patter songs for a month. Get to it, you scabrous dogs!"
Zander twirled the emergency override, and the hatch burst open, letting air out in a torrent. Soren and Zander flew out with it; Soren caught hold of a grab bar, Zander caught hold of Soren's boot, and thus they made their way, hand over careful hand, to where the smallship was parked snugly in the blind spot on the underbelly of the pirate vessel.
"Let's see Captain frodding Jack Sparrow try that one," Zander puffed, when they were safely aboard and there was air to talk with again.
Soren massaged the hand that had grabbed the bar. "Let's get away from here quick, before the Vigil get back. And remind me, Zan; forty-four hats, assorted, ASAP. I can't be doing with this all the time."
"Otslag, then, by circuitous routes and back doubles, it is," Zander said. "And let's hope we've seen the last of Definitely-Not-A-Nice-Person Jenny."
This hope, sadly, like so many others...
There was a microscopic pause.
"Bluffing? Me? How dare you, well of course I am, who wouldn't, I mean I'd be a fool not to, but the question you have to ask yourself is how much am I bluffing? And about what?" Soren could imagine Zander, wide-eyed and wild-haired, grinning like a fool. He always enjoyed a chance to do this. "About Vigil, or about Soren's medication? Well, I can tell you that that part was absolutely true, you definitely wouldn't like him if he has to go without it, but since you probably don't like him much anyway and I don't blame you, that doesn't help you an awful lot. As for the Vigil, well of course I wouldn't let them on the ship any more than I would you, but since they think I'm conveying a cargo of highly infectious orphans to the nearest major hospital, they aren't straining at the slips to come on board. Which of course I could be. Conveying infectious orphans, that is. Do you want to come on board and find out? Do I hear a call for volunteers?"
Jenny hesitated.
"You see, they know we occasionally do things like that. Oh, and there is another thing..." Zander coughed. "These smallships, you know, quite old, much repaired and jury-rigged, and this particular one has a tendency for the drive core to overheat, well I've rigged up a cooling system, but unfortunately that draws power from the surrounding solar winds and since your ships are blocking them at the moment there's really not a lot getting through, I only mention it because the explosion is going to be quite big and since I'll probably be blown to atoms first in any case I'm not that concerned about how many other people it kills, so the question of whether I have actually talked to the Vigil or whether Soren goes on a destructive rampage if he doesn't get massaged with anti-sciatica cream on a daily basis really becomes rather academic." Behind the interminable prattling Soren could hear a steadily rising whine. "Well, it's into the red zone now, so I guess this is goodbye, Soren old scout. It's been a blinder."
Soren swallowed. "See you on the flipside, Zan. Gods bless."
Jenny hesitated a moment more, then barked swift orders.
The smallship waited till the ships had withdrawn to a safe distance, then the drive tubes flared and it disappeared from the forward screens..
"He's gone," one of Jenny's crew (light tenor, from the sound) reported.
"So much for loyalty among Nyronds," Jenny scoffed. "Oh well, I still have you. Get us away from the Vigil ships, quick as you like, and put this in a cell. I'll enjoy--"
"The Vigil ships have gone too, Captain," came another voice, possibly a coloratura before she retired.
"Even better," Jenny murmured. "I know I can't kill you," she said to Soren as he was seized by several burly chorus boys, "but in a way that rather adds to the fun, doesn't it?"
"We'll see," Soren said evenly. "I think your definition of fun and mine may differ slightly."
"Something lingering, with melted lead, I think was the line," Jenny said, and gestured for him to be taken away.
The chorus boys hustled Soren down a flight of steps, along a corridor and into a lift.
"Here," one of them said, "he's got some horrible skin disease."
"Well don't touch it, then," retorted another.
"It's too late," said the first speaker. "It's all over me. I can't--aaagh!!" He let go of Soren and fell to the floor, vigorously scratching at himself and screaming. The other toughs relaxed their vigilance for a moment to stare, and a moment later were peacefully slumbering.
"You took your time," Soren said.
"Well, I wasn't sure whether you actually wanted to leave, you and she seemed to be getting on so well, and I know you like a girl with spirit." Zander pressed the button for the cargo bays, and the lift smoothly changed direction.
"Spirit, yes; melted lead, no," Soren said. "By the way, your eyes have changed colour again."
"Swimming through vacuum always does that to me. I may have popped another eardrum as well. Did that recording sound all right to you?"
"Er," Soren said, "it sounded like Zander."
"Thank you, my fan." They emerged from the lift, skulked through the all-but-empty cargo bays to the emergency hatch. As they reached it, shipwide alarms belled out, and Jenny's voice boomed through the big empty space. "Some fool has lost the prisoner. Anyone who finds him is excused patter songs for a month. Get to it, you scabrous dogs!"
Zander twirled the emergency override, and the hatch burst open, letting air out in a torrent. Soren and Zander flew out with it; Soren caught hold of a grab bar, Zander caught hold of Soren's boot, and thus they made their way, hand over careful hand, to where the smallship was parked snugly in the blind spot on the underbelly of the pirate vessel.
"Let's see Captain frodding Jack Sparrow try that one," Zander puffed, when they were safely aboard and there was air to talk with again.
Soren massaged the hand that had grabbed the bar. "Let's get away from here quick, before the Vigil get back. And remind me, Zan; forty-four hats, assorted, ASAP. I can't be doing with this all the time."
"Otslag, then, by circuitous routes and back doubles, it is," Zander said. "And let's hope we've seen the last of Definitely-Not-A-Nice-Person Jenny."
This hope, sadly, like so many others...
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Date: 2012-08-02 07:05 am (UTC)Soren shot off the smallship and headed, helter-skelter, for a milliners, then for a military surplus store, in search of the necessary hats. (The fact that, eventually, he was forced to settle for the local offices of the Feline Protection League (together with a hastily-forged certificate that he, Soren Ichabod Nyrond, being otherwise of sound mind and not-yet-terminally-abused body, was and always had been suffering a mild case of dislexya) may serve to indicate the exigencies to which he found himself being forced).
Zander, meanwhile, had found himself hoist into detailed discussion with Probity Morganstern over whether there was any means by which Snood's scheme could be derailed short either of terminally derailing Snood in person, or melting down the entire planetary (and now system-wide) economy.
"I fear, dear lady," Zander said, "that while Hilary is at heart a plunderer rather than a schemer, his Auto-da-Fe is a thoroughly robust apparatus for separating punter from money. That it also separates subject from sanity, moral compass, and any sort of self-will is a by-product which is, I also fear, entirely at one with Hilary's idea of subtlety."
"But, surely," Imbiss commented, "if one Nyrond designed a coup, another must be able to ... well, do an end-run round it. I mean, suppose that he pulled it on one of you -- "
It was at that moment that Soren entered the laboratory, with an esctatic look on his face, and a day-glo Poppo tyicket the size of a basset-hound in his hand.