- Small Worlds
- Chapter Thirteen
"I can imagine," Vaniah replied as he climbed out of the capsule. His entire body ached from being cooped up for who knew how long. Rolling his shoulders he massaged life back into them, slowly taking stock of his surroundings.
"Now about the blag-oh dear," Werther stopped mid-sentence. Vaniah had been stripped naked, he hadn't noticed in his panic to be free. She was gone in a flash, running from the room, her face burning brightly. Vaniah watched her go with a mix of amusement and bewilderment. Nudity wasn't something most people got worked up about, at least not in this part of the multiverse. It was quaint really.
Vaniah stalked over to the door of the cell, stretching out his long legs, taking in his surroundings. The place was pure white wall to wall, completely devoid of decoration. A plastic chair had been placed in the corner, on the floor beside it a holo-mag. A naked woman winked up at him from a crackling screen. Porn eh? Maybe there was more to this girl then he thought.
It was then that Werther returned, arms brimming with blue uniforms, the same sort she wore. It was all dumped at his feet. "I wasn't sure what would fit, so I grabbed as many as I could," she explained as he riffed through them. The largest was still ill-fitting but he slipped it on. Better then walking about naked at least.
"Where am I by the way?" he asked.
"In an SDF ship, somewhere off the Fat Satan in the Tontine Nebula. About the blaggemol," she said, "There's no knowing what Zeke, I mean Captain Holt, would do with it, could do with it. He could hold any corner of the multiverse hostage, conquer the Solar Empire, make himself a king or dra'kain, God help us" she made the sign of the cross. Again, quite quaint of her.
"Over throw the heavens, make reality his bitch, yadda yadda yadda. No, that isn't Zeke. Odds are he'll just hand it over to the magistrate, or present it to the Emperor. Which admittedly would still be pretty bad, but its a manageable scenario. Zeke's a lot of things. Greedy isn't one of them. And it ain't Zeke, or even the Empire, I'm worried about. It's a two-bit thug named Noonjack that concerns me."
"Now enough talk, get me to Zeke," he strode out of his cell, into the corridor.
He was surprised to find signs of combat. Black scorch marks ran across the walls, half the lights had been burned out in the fighting. Dark stains still covered parts of the floor in little patches. "What in the seven rings happened here?"
"Prisoner revolt," Werther explained, moving around him, "You aren't the only fugitive we've picked up," She moved quickly up the corridor to a pair of thick blast doors. "This is the maintenance elevator, few people use it other than us techs, so we should be safe riding it to the navigation deck. Captain Holt is there most days, filling reports or receiving them. If we're lucky he'll be there now," she fiddled with a screen embedded into the wall. The doors opened with a groan, the dark rumbling of ancient gears.
"Shit," Werther said. Standing before them, armoured and armed to the teeth, was a four man team of SDF soldiers. On seeing who was leading them Vaniah couldn't help but share her sentiments.
Abigail, beautiful as when he'd last seen her, wasted no time shoving the barrel of her rifle into his gut. "Well if it isn't my long lost husband," she said with snarl.