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Chapter Eight

High Tortuga System
Pirate Stronghold

The stars spun slowly, ever so slowly, as the pilot rotated his small craft. After a lazy roll and burn, he lined up on the hodge-podge of walkways, old ships and freight canisters arrayed before him. He laughed to himself at the idiocy and gullibility of human nature and spun away, lighting his after-burners and driving his ride onto a new trajectory.

Asteroid 3789C loomed into his view-plate, the pock-marked exterior of the icy ball reminded him of his last visit and he grinned, wondering what had happened to the Williams sisters. Light flared and a blackened shape moved swiftly to intersect his course.

“You are in restricted space. Identify yourself or be destroyed!”

One finger flick and his encoded transponder sent its vital message to the Patrol Craft.

“Identified. Welcome home…” the tinny voice soon replied.

Such informality. One of the Seven surely required a little more ceremony? He would remind them of that when he had washed off a little of the sweat and grime of his extended journey, and hopefully after he had renewed his acquaintance with the viciously delightful sisters…

*

The gentle whoosh of escaping air accompanied the opening of the main lock and Captain Scarlet strode through to greet his awaiting minions. He was tall, heroically proportioned and prided himself on his dress sense. He sported  a scarlet flight jacket, whose padded shoulders accentuated his breadth of chest and the black jodhpurs, tucked into knee-length boots added to his attraction. On his head he wore a peaked flight cap, also in bright scarlet and belted to his waist was a white needle pistol.

“Captain!”

Scarlet turned, flashing a smile and blinding his fans with his perfect teeth.

“Here,” he called, waving a lazy hand, “I have returned…”

His voice died off as he noticed the number of people rushing towards him, the majority in drab battle dress. Something was wrong.
Blue, his second-in command, pushed through the crowd and panted to a halt.

“Am I glad to see you,” he began, but was cut off by a burly man dressed in patterned fatigues.

“About time, Scarlet,” he growled shoving Blue to one side, “we have a problem.”

Scarlet arched one eyebrow and struck a pose, only to be grabbed roughly by an elbow and dragged away from the throng.

“Your stupid harem,” said the man, “has well and truly screwed us this time!”

“My dear William,” drawled the Captain, “whatever do you mean?”

“Paula decided to follow-up on her sister’s idiotic game plan and between the two of them they have managed to not only lose ships, men and their own lives, but put the whole Inner End operation at risk.”

“My office!” snarled the Captain, his well-rehearsed image disappearing and his true nature showing clear, “I need more information and you know how much I hate surprises.”

The large man paled at the baleful light now dancing in Scarlet’s cold eyes.

“Of course,” he stammered, “follow me and I will fill you in…”

The crowd parted miraculously in front of the Captain, no-one wanted to feel the whiplash of his rage which now  burned almost as brightly as the colour of his famous jacket.


Alstrom Shipping Lines Scrapyard
Inner End


 â€œSo,” drawled Jace, “are all of the Pirate Lord’s this incompetent normally?”

Ronin barked a short laugh, “Do not mistake over-confidence for stupidity. Paula was a vicious and egotistical maniac, whose successes made her careless.

The results we see here, but we should not expect the others to behave the same way.”

“You expect others to follow?” asked Jace, projecting a deliberate air of surprise.

“Most definitely,” replied Ronin, shifting his weight more comfortably onto the hard-backed chair in which he sat. They were in the functional office of Alstrom’s Scrapyard,  the wreckage of the attack still strewn liberally around them.

“What possible reason could they have for wanting Inner End?” mused Jace, more to himself than asking a real question.

“That,” said Ronin, “is the million-credit question. This is not their usual mode of operation. Insistence is not a Pirate’s trait, nor is committing time and resources to the conquest of a planet.”

He watched Jace, hoping for a reaction but seeing none. The young man’s skill and the weaponry hidden in the Scrapyard were another mystery, one to which he also needed answers. The communications console on the desk beeped and Jace looked down, before grinning.

“Now he wants to talk to me,” Jace muttered, ignoring Ronin’s quizzical glance as he stood, adjusting the silver cleaver in his belt.

“Jarvis!” shouted Jace, moving out of the main door, “Find us a ride. We have an appointment with the Governor, it seems that we have suddenly become famous.”

Ronin scrambled to his feet. Jace had not invited him, but this was one meeting he was not going to miss.