Having allowed the Source to guide him from Daggyboil to Tibrogargan Gas Mine Epsilon, Lurk was weaving his Cross-wing fighter through the maze of buildings which studded the top surface of the huge Cloud City structure when Arty Farty bleeped and whistled urgently. Lurk glanced down to read her comment.
Imperial battle cruiser to starboard!
Without changing course or speed—doing his best to emulate what Mal Single referred to as 'flying casual'—Lurk looked up quickly, and peered to starboard. He saw nothing. Then something about a particularly strangely shaped building caught his attention, and he looked closer. He tilted his head, and suddenly realised what he was looking at; it was an Imperial Planetary Dominator, docked with the city, but at such an angle that its distinctive wedge-shaped nose was pointed down towards the planet below, and mostly hidden behind the bulk of the city. If Arty hadn't pointed it out to him, he might never have noticed it.
A large tower came between him and the battle cruiser, and Lurk abruptly changed course so as to remain out of further view of the enemy ship. He could only hope that they had not spotted him.
He spiralled downwards, venturing deeper into the shadows, looking for somewhere to set down.
Movement below him caught his eye. A battered old ship suddenly leaped from the landing pad on which it had been sitting. It was shaped bizarrely like a finned codpiece, and it was on a collision course for Lurk's fighter. He took evasive action, and heard a swish as the other ship cleared his with barely inches to spare.
"Damn Sunday drivers," muttered Lurk. Then he angled down to claim the landing pad for himself, before somebody else beat him to it.
The engines wound down, and Lurk—having learned his lesson from the castaways on Daggyboil—engaged the security lock.
"Wait here for me, Arty," he said. "If anybody shows undue interest in the ship, take off and find a nice safe hiding spot in the clouds. Listen for my comm signal."
Arty bleeped confirmation.
Lurk clambered out of the cockpit and sealed the canopy. "Good luck," he said to the astrobot, and he slapped the side of the ship with the palm of his hand. "Hopefully I won't be long."
Arty whistled mournfully. Lurk walked away towards the doorway into the city, leaving his ship—ticking and pinging as it cooled—in Arty's capable care.
Lurk hadn't ventured far into the city before he ran into the first Imperial Shock Trooper. Much to Lurk's surprise, however, the Trooper appeared to be dead. Smoke still curled from the blaster burns in the armour. Whatever had happened here, Lurk had only just missed it.
Stepping cautiously over the body of the Trooper, Lurk moved swiftly through the twisting maze of corridors. He did not think about where he was going, simply choosing his path as he walked, based upon what felt right. Before many minutes had passed, he found himself outside one of the city's many small brigs. He placed his hand on the hilt of the light rapier hanging from his belt, took a deep breath, and keyed the door.
The room beyond was empty. Lurk stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Not quite empty, he realised. Three more Imperial Troopers lay sprawled on the floor where they had fallen. The smell of burned flesh and scorched armour was strong in the small room, and a muffled, rhythmic clunk sound kept repeating distantly. Lurk looked around carefully at the carnage. This was very recent, and he suddenly had a bad feeling about it.
Stepping over one of the bodies, Lurk studied the console. There were only three prisoners listed: Mal, Libby, and Shaggus. "Jackpot," muttered Lurk, but he couldn't shake the feeling that things were not going to go smoothly. He noted their cell numbers and headed up the narrow hallway.
The first cell was Mal's. Another dead Shock Trooper lay in the doorway, and the room beyond was empty. Every few seconds, the door slid part-closed, hit the corpse, and hissed open again. Lurk stared at the scene in puzzlement. It made no sense. More than anything, it looked as though somebody had already broken Mal out—but who, and why? And where was Mal now?
An alarm sounded distantly. Somebody must have found the first Trooper, lying back there in the hallway. Damn, thought Lurk, I'm out of time! He moved on to the next cell. Libby's. It was empty too.
Lurk keyed open the third door, and leaped back as an enraged Woonky burst out of the cell, arms flailing, mouth parted in a particularly blood-chilling snarl. "It's me," he yelled frantically as he tripped over his own feet and fell to the floor of the narrow corridor. "Shaggus, it's me!"
The Woonky roared down at the supine human, bared his teeth, then blinked in recognition. Lurk? he whuffled. Where's Mal? I think they took Libby.
Lurk shook his head. "Sorry, big guy," he said, "you know I don't understand you. Help me up." He held out his hand, and the Woonky pulled him effortlessly to his feet.
"We've got to be quick," said Lurk. "The Imperials will be here any minute now. Mal and Libby are missing, and I've got to find them. Can you make your way back to the Sparrow?"
Shaggus whuffled and snarled extensively. Lurk sighed.
"Please, Shaggus, just do as I say." Lurk placed his hand lightly on the towering Woonky's woolly green forearm. "I have the best chance of finding our friends, and once I do, we're gonna need a ship warmed up and ready to go."
Shaggus started to argue again, then stopped and slumped his shoulders, defeated by the language barrier. Finally he nodded exaggeratedly.
They headed back down the corridor, Lurk in the lead.
As they passed what had once been Mal's cell, the Woonky paused and sniffed the air. He growled something, and Lurk paused.
"Problem?" he asked.
Shaggus looked down at the young man, and shrugged his huge shoulders.
"Okay, then let's go," said Lurk.
Shaggus paused another second to relieve the dead Trooper of her blaster, then followed Lurk.
Lurk opened the door and peered out. Nothing moved. Perhaps the alarm had not been for them, or perhaps... Lurk shrugged. When the Imperials came, he would deal with them; until then, it wasn't worth worrying about what may happen.
He stepped through the door and looked around. "I'm going that way," he said, pointing. Shaggus sniffed the air again, growled softly, and pointed down a different corridor.
"Okay," said Lurk. "Be careful—and please, try to be discreet! I don't want to get back to the Sparrow, only to find the entire Imperial army camped outside her hatch!"
Shaggus snorted something. Lurk didn't understand the words but he recognised the tone. He'd heard it often enough from Mal. Hey, it's me!
"That's what I'm afraid of," said Lurk with a grin. He took a step down the corridor he had indicated, and was dragged backward by a great woolly arm, into an embrace. The Woonky snuffled something, and rubbed Lurk's head fondly.
Lurk patted the arm wrapped around his throat. "It's okay," he gasped. "Now let's go..."
The Woonky released him, and Lurk staggered away. With a last wave, the two parted company.
Lurk stood against the wall and peered cautiously around the corner. Two Troopers stood there, either side of a closed door. Their armour looked similar to that worn by standard Shock Troopers, except that it was bright red.
Elite guards of some sort? mused Lurk.
He was pretty sure he wanted to go through that door.
Reaching out for the Source, Lurk gently probed the minds of the two guards. Bent K'nobby had told him, once, that the Source could be used to manipulate those with weak minds. Walk away, suggested Lurk to the guard on the left. Leave now. You are off duty.
If anything, the guard stiffened alertly and turned his head minutely towards Lurk's position.
I guess you don't get to be an elite guard by having a weak mind! Lurk told himself. So now what?
He was pondering the best approach when a ragged scream echoed into the corridor.
"Libby!" shouted Lurk. He had covered half the distance between the corner and the guarded doorway, his light rapier blazing to life in his hand, before he fully realised he had reacted. The crimson-armoured Troopers responded instantly to his yell. One stepped towards him, knelt, and raised his blaster, all in one smooth motion. The energy bolt, when it came, was aimed directly at Lurk's head; the Jubbly Patabum swept it aside with his light rapier, and it hissed into the ceiling with an explosion of sparks. He swung his blade around in an undisciplined but effective attack. The Trooper raised one arm to deflect the blow, and the hissing energy blade sliced through armour, and arm, and neck. Crimson-armoured body parts clattered to the floor, and the helmeted head rolled away.
There was another clatter, and Lurk turned to face the second guard. And frowned. The Trooper had discarded his blaster in favour of a short staff which he detached from its place on the back of his belt. It looked like a flashlight, which made Lurk instantly wary; he had initially mistaken the rapier he now held in his hands for a simple flashlight, and only blind luck had prevented him from putting its blade through his own skull when he'd activated it.
The Trooper clenched both his fists, and made a twisting gesture. An annoying hum suddenly emitted from the suit of armour, and blue tongues of energy began to flicker and dance across the crimson. A second hum arose from the staff in the Trooper's gauntleted hand as flickering energy beams extended from each end.
Lurk took a step back and adopted a defensive stance. He knew he was in trouble. Swinging a light rapier was easy for a Jubbly; it was basically a matter of using the Source to remain aware of the position of your blade so you didn't inadvertently slice your own leg off. And so far, all he'd ever done was swing it. A duel against a trained opponent was something altogether out of his experience.
He wondered if the Trooper was Source-sensitive. For anybody who wasn't, wielding a light rapier could be dangerous.
The Trooper suddenly leaped forward. The weapon swung around, and Lurk barely managed to get his blade up in time to protect his left flank. No sooner had he blocked the blow, though, but the Trooper was swinging it the other way. Lurk threw himself backwards, but still the energy beam impacted his right elbow. It dealt a numbing blow—obviously the flickering blades were different from his own rapier blade—and only the fail-safes in his mechanical hand prevented him from losing the grip on his light rapier. He rolled backwards and, with a little assistance from the Source, bounded back to his feet. The Trooper had followed him, was right on top of him, and Lurk swung his light rapier wildly to push the Imperial back. The Trooper raised his arm, as the other had, but this time Lurk's blade skittered off of the energised armour.
Oh shit, thought Lurk as he staggered back a couple more steps and regained his original stance. These Troopers had been ready for him. They were outfitted with armour and weapons that could stand up to direct attack from a light rapier. I hope it's highly expensive, mused Lurk idly, otherwise they'll be giving it to every Trooper in the Imperium!
Another scream sounded from behind the closed door, and Lurk launched himself forward again, swinging his blade blindly. His wild flurry of blows pushed the Trooper back several paces; then the energy staff flicked out and smashed into his hand. This time the blow shorted much of the electronics in his hand, and the hilt of his light rapier went flying through the air to clatter harmlessly to the floor behind the Trooper. He had no defence, now, as the staff smashed into his left shoulder, numbing his arm, and then around to clip his temple. Half-stunned, he staggered back, falling to the floor.
The Trooper stood over him, and raised the flickering staff to deliver the final blow. Lurk reached out desperately for the Source. He felt his light rapier in his hand, he imagined it there, and the discarded weapon suddenly leaped off of the floor where it lay, and flew through the air towards the armoured back of the Trooper. Lurk squeezed with his mind, and the rapier activated. Three feet of shimmering death extended—and bounced harmlessly off the Trooper's backplate.
The Trooper paused at the distraction, then cocked his head quizzically at the youth on the floor before him.
Lurk reached for the Source again. Time to stop messing around. Time to revert to what he knew. He tweaked, and the hideous helmet that protected the Trooper's head changed into a pumpkin.
The Trooper shuddered. He dropped the weapon he held—like Lurk's light rapier, it deactivated itself when released—and began to claw frantically at the hard rind of the vegetable. He staggered blindly sideways, bumped into the wall, and fell over.
Lurk dragged himself to his feet, and stooped to pick up his light rapier. His head throbbed as he did so, and he became aware of a warm trickle running down the side of his face. He ignored it. His right hand was only partially working, but he managed to close his fingers around the hilt of his weapon. His left arm was still numb.
He straightened, and turned to look at where the fallen Trooper still scrabbled frantically at the pumpkin which enclosed his head. He wondered whether there was a void inside the pumpkin where the Trooper's head was, or whether head and pumpkin had merged into one inseparable whole—and with a shudder he pushed the thought aside. He knew from past experience it would come back to haunt his dreams later.
He staggered up to the door. Another wrenching scream sounded as he tapped the controls, and he winced. The door hissed open, and Lurk stepped through.
He took in the scene beyond in one swift glance, but his brain seemed to process each individual element in a series of flashes. Libby, strapped to a table. A very short Imperial officer. A gag. A stick. Sparks. Naked skin. Sweat.
Then the door hissed closed behind him.
"I thought I said I was not to be disturbed while I was working," said the officer, clearly annoyed. His back was to the door, and he did not turn. He was standing beside Libby, whose thick jacket and sweat-soaked blouse had been peeled open. He had one hand cupped over one of her exposed breasts; with the other hand he swung the stick he held lightly across her bare skin. Sparks flew, and Libby's whole body jerked as another strangled scream was wrung from her throat.
"Get away from her, you prick!" spat Lurk.
The officer turned his head. "What?" he demanded. "Who are you? How did you get in..." His gaze slid down Lurk's arm to the light rapier which hung limply from his fingers. "Oh," he said. "The Jubbly." Suddenly he dropped his hand from Libby's breast to the pistol holstered on his hip; to his horror he discovered that his skin was damp with the woman's sweat, and he fumbled the draw. Then Lurk gestured, and used the Source to tear the pistol from the officer's grip. It clattered into a corner.
"You can't hurt me," said the officer. "I'm an Imperial Muff. You touch me and..."
"I don't give a fuck who you are," snarled Lurk. He took a step forward, and the Muff backed up a step. Willing his hand to behave, Lurk activated his rapier, and its blue blade hissed into existence beside his leg. "And anyway," he added, "I've already got an entire station marked up against my name, not to mention the Imperator's pet Stiff Lord; what's one more Muff against all that?"
"You don't scare me," said the Muff, although the quaver in his voice revealed the statement to be a lie.
Lurk took another step forward, and another. The Muff took two steps back.
Lurk glanced away from the Imperial officer long enough to unfasten the straps that held Libby's ankles, forcing the fingers of his left hand to work. As he fumbled with the buckle he felt the artificial gravity field tug at his arm.
He looked back. The Muff had not moved.
"Where are the controls for the restraint field?" demanded Lurk.
"I'll never tell," sneered the Muff bravely, but his eyes flickered towards a console. Lurk glanced at it. He hit the switch, and the hum of the field generator died. Lurk hadn't even noticed it until it stopped.
Libby gasped in air through her nostrils, finally able to breathe without difficulty, without the weight of her ribs compressing her lungs.
Lurk moved forward another couple of paces, and the Muff backed away further, until he was pressed against the wall of the interrogation room. Lurk looked at Libby again. Tenderly he lifted one side of her blouse up, and then the other, covering her nakedness. He looked into her eyes, and she looked back wearily. He saw much in her eyes—love, hope, gratitude, pain—and he could hardly bear it.
The Muff made his move, darting forward, swagger stick raised high to strike. Without looking away from Libby, without making any outward move at all, Lurk used the Source to lift the officer off his feet and slam him hard against the wall. Holding him there, pinned, suspended above the deck, Lurk carefully unfastened the shackles around Libby's wrists. Once freed, she tried to move but he touched his hand lightly to her arm and shook his head.
"Don't," he said, his voice little more than a whisper. "Rest while you can. When we leave here, we'll be in a hurry."
Now he removed the gag from her mouth.
"Are you going to be okay?" he asked.
She nodded, although the movement was barely perceptible. "Better," she hissed, her mouth sore and dry, "now you're here." The effort to speak left her exhausted, and she slumped back onto the table.
"Rest," he told her again. Then he turned away from her.
The Muff writhed and struggled uselessly against the invisible force which held him firmly against the wall. "You won't get away with this," he shouted angrily.
"Won't I?" asked Lurk. He released the Muff, and the short officer tumbled to the floor in a tangle of limbs. "We'll see about that. We need to have a talk, you and I." He took another step closer to the Muff, and as he did so he raised his light rapier menacingly.
"You touch me, and I'll make you pay," said the Muff.
"Really?" said Lurk. "You and whose army?"
The door hissed open behind him, and Lurk spun around, lifting his rapier to readiness. Three grey-armoured Shock Troopers moved swiftly into the room, blasters drawn.
"I believe," said the Muff, "that answers your question."
Admiral Muzzel nudged the motionless corpse with his booted toe. It had once been an Imperial Honour Guard; now it had a pumpkin where its head should have been.
"What happened here, sir?" asked the Shock Trooper, the leader of this Team. He leaned over the dismembered corpse of the second Honour Guard. "These look almost like they've been inflicted by a light rapier."
"What do you know of light rapiers, Sergeant?" asked the Admiral.
"We've seen our fair share," said the Sergeant.
The Admiral nodded. "It would seem," he said, "that our Muff has a visitor."
"The Jubbly?" asked the Sergeant. "I believe I have a score or two to settle with him!" He lifted his gun, and swung toward the door to the interrogation room.
"Stand down, Sergeant," said the Admiral.
"But sir," began the Sergeant. The Admiral merely held up his hand for silence.
"Sergeant ... Strong, is it not?"
"Yes sir," said Sergeant Samson 'Mauler' Strong.
"Listen to me, Sergeant," said the Admiral. "This situation could work to our advantage. Any score you might have can wait. Do I make myself clear?"
"Sir?" said Strong.
"Sergeant? Do I make myself clear?"
Strong snapped to attention. "Yes sir," he said sharply.
"Good," said the Admiral. "Now, we go in, you secure the room—and then you follow my lead."
"Yes sir," said Strong.
"Move out, Sergeant Strong," said the Admiral.
"You heard the man," said Strong. "Fib, you take point. Jenkins, Mikki, you follow him through that door. Cover everyone, but don't fire unless your life depends on it. And Basski, you stick with me. The Admiral's safety is in your hands."
"Got it, Sarge," growled Fib. Stepping over the remains of the headless Trooper, he keyed the door and moved smoothly through the doorway, stepping to one side the instant he was clear. Jenkins and Mikki followed him closely.
"I hope you know what you're doing, sir," growled Sergeant Strong to the Admiral. "These Jubbly are dangerous!"
"I hope so too, Sergeant," said the Admiral. Then he followed the three Troopers through the doorway.
The Jubbly stood with his light rapier drawn and humming. Ready to take on a whole army, by the look in his eye, thought the Admiral. The woman lay on the table where the Muff had placed her, but her bonds had been removed. At the appearance of the Imperials, she had started struggling to push herself upright. At the back of the room, the Muff lay on the floor against the wall. Now he, too, struggled to stand.
"Ah, Muff Farquhar, there you are," said the Admiral in a conversational tone.
"Admiral," said the Muff haughtily, "take this man away and lock him up."
The Admiral turned towards Lurk and studied him as if only now seeing him. "Oh yes," said the Admiral, "I see you have visitors. Please excuse me!"
"What?" said the Muff. "Don't be silly, man, arrest this young upstart and be quick about it."
"I'm afraid I can't do that," said the Admiral.
"What? You have your orders, Admiral. I don't..."
"I'm afraid," said the Admiral pleasantly, "that I no longer take orders from you. In fact, we are here to place you under house arrest—but I see you are busy, and I know how much you hate to be disturbed, so we'll come back in ten minutes." He turned to leave.
"No wait," shrieked the Muff in sudden terror. "You can't leave me with these terrorists. They'll kill me!"
"I fail to see," said the Admiral, with a smile, "how that is my problem." He walked out of the room and, after a moment's hesitation, the Troopers of Team Badger followed him.
The door hissed closed behind them.
"Sergeant," said the Admiral, "be so good as to sound a general recall. I want all Imperial forces back on the Bermuda. We leave in fifteen minutes."
"But sir," said the Sergeant. "Won't they kill him?"
"Probably," said the Admiral.
The sergeant nodded his understanding. "But what if they don't?"
"Either way," the Admiral told him, "it won't be a problem! Now, move out."
Lurk deactivated his light rapier and returned it to his belt. Ignoring the whimpering Muff, he stepped to Libby's side and helped her to sit up. She threw her arms around him, and he held her gently.
Finally, he stepped back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, and then she glanced down at her blouse. It clung damply to her skin, but the front gaped loosely.
"Would you, please?" she said. "My hands are too weak." Her voice was harsh and hoarse. With a nod, he began to fasten the buttons up the front of her blouse.
"I knew you would come for me," she said. "I knew you would find me."
Lurk looked up, studying her face. He had no reply for her. He needed no reply.
"What about him?" he asked her, with a nod of his head toward where the Muff stood quietly in the corner.
"Maybe it's wrong," she said, "but I want him dead. I want to chop him into little bits, then incinerate what's left, then spit on the ashes."
"I can arrange that," said Lurk. Libby looked into his eyes, and she saw a darkness there that frightened her. He was serious.
"Nah," she said. "He's not worth the effort. Besides..."
"Besides?" asked Lurk.
"I'm all out of spit," she told him. She tried to smile, but could not quite manage to pull it off. "By the way," she added, "you smell dreadful."
He frowned. Then he glanced down at his flight suit. He was in the same clothes he had been wearing since leaving Hoff. Since then he had trained in them, wallowed in brackish mud, even slept in them. After spending three weeks on Daggyboil, he could not smell them, but they looked dreadful.
"I guess I do," he agreed.
"It's okay," she told him. "I love you anyway."
Again, Lurk had no reply to that. Nothing that he wanted to say to her here, anyway.
"Can you walk?" he asked her.
"I think so," she said, "if I can lean on you?"
"Any time," he told her.
"Where's Mal?" she asked him.
"Come on," he said, "we have to go now." With his arm supporting her, she lowered herself off the table and tested her legs. They didn't seem inclined to buckle beneath her, so she put her weight on them. Leaning into Lurk, she took a step, then another.
When they reached the door, she stopped. Lurk pressed the switch, and the door hissed open.
"Where's Mal?" she insisted.
Lurk turned to look into her eyes. "Not here," he told her. "I don't know. Somebody took him before I got here. But I promise you, we will find him!"
"Not here?" repeated Libby. She blinked? "And what about Shaggus? And Seepy?"
"I sent Shaggus back to the Sparrow," said Lurk. "I haven't seen Seepy, but knowing him..."
"... he'll be on the Sparrow too," finished Libby. "Okay, let's go." She stepped through the door.
Lurk followed her, but then it was his turn to hesitate. He leaned against the wall weakly.
"Lurk?" asked Libby with concern, "are you okay?"
"Just tired," he told her. "Give me a second." It was not a lie, not really. He was tired. Weary. But he felt a twinge of guilt at his deception. As he leaned against the wall, he reached out for the Source, seeking, seeking... Then, with his mind, he squeezed.
In the room they had just left, the Muff's hands clawed desperately at his constricting throat. His eyes bugged, his mouth gaped, and after several long seconds there was a hollow crunch as the bones in his neck snapped under the pressure. Muff Aleeto Farquhar slumped to the floor, dead.
"Okay," said Lurk as he pushed himself away from the wall. "Let's go."