by Tom Dublin
"She's got a point, Nathan," Jack said. "I can't say my wardrobe boasts any purple clothing, either. We're not exactly going to look respectful."
"Relax," insisted Nathan. "We've got you covered. You'll find suitable outfits in your size waiting in the storage compartment of The Pegasus."
"That sweet space cruiser?" said Tc'aarlat, excitedly. "We get to turn up in that baby? We'll be the envy of everyone there."
"We're going to a funeral, Tc'aarlat," Adina reminded him. "Not a movie premiere!"
Tc'aarlat utilized his well-practiced shrug once again. "It's all about image at these events. We're the official representatives of the Etheric Empire - the most powerful alliance in this part of the universe. We have to look the part."
Jack frowned. "Is this the same Etheric Empire you said was full of, what was it now... shit for brains piss-gargling hobo-huggers?"
The Yollin's mandibles froze wide open as his eyes flicked up to Nathan's face on the view screen. "Hahahahaha!" he exclaimed loudly. "Nice one, Jack. Good to see the ass-kicking you got at the hands of that werewolf hasn't affected your sense of humor!"
Nathan's video feed slid to one side of the screen allowing Solo to fill the other half. "I'm so sorry to interrupt your briefing, but I wanted to let you know that we've arrived at the first Gate."
"I'll leave you to it," said Nathan, sliding his paperwork back inside the folder and setting it aside. "Contact me when you arrive at Alma Nine, and we'll discuss the finer details of your mission from there."
The video link ended and the view of Nathan's office disappeared, revealing the team's first view of the Gate they were about to pass through. The gold and green metallic hoop seemed to simply hang in space out in front of them.
"Whoa!" cried Adina. "They're much more impressive up close than the ones I tried to get this ship through in the simulations."
Jack turned, his brow furrowing. "Tried?"
Adina smiled, winningly. "Tried, and succeeded!" she beamed, before spinning to face her own control panel and studying the readouts.
"Can I please ask you all to secure your seatbelts and safety harnesses without delay," said Solo.
Jack looked down, surprised to see his new seat had a pristine grey seatbelt attached. "Is that really necessary?" he asked.
Solo scowled. "Yes, Jack, it is. You will find that I insist on safety first, and I will not take this ship any further until you are all securely fastened into your chairs."
Tc'aarlat threw Jack a look. "What the fu-?"
"I mean it!" Solo assured them. "While you are on board this vessel, you are my responsibility. And it is a responsibility I intend to take very seriously. Now, fasten your seatbelts."
"It's just like dealing with my mum," said Jack with a sigh. "Come on, we'd better do as she says or we'll be here all day."
Solo watched as the trio clicked and clunked their safety belts and harnesses into place. Mist flew down from the camera high in the corner and took her usual place on Tc'aarlat's shoulder.
"OK," said Jack. "Now can we pass through the Gate and continue with our important mission?"
"Of course, Captain Marber," replied Solo with a sweet smile. "Hold on tightly, everyone. Here we go..."
15
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Building, Front Steps
Bay Don pulled her coat tightly around herself and hurried down the steps of the government building, taking care not to slip in the six inches of snow that had amassed over the past 12 hours.
The afternoon's weather report had promised clear skies, sunshine, and just enough rain to keep local gardeners satisfied.
That clearly wasn't how it had turned out.
Dipping her head in an attempt to stop the icy wind from biting her face, Bay Don turned towards the blizzard and stamped purposely along the now pure white street.
Funeral arrangements for her boss - and friend - Tor Val were taking up the majority of her time now. The day to day affairs of government seemed to have faded into the background, like distant music played at a gathering where introductions and polite conversation were the order of the day.
Where once Bay Don's desk had been home to an endless stream of urgent messages and documents requiring the President's signature, there were now letters of condolence, requests for statements and passive aggressive cards stealthily demanding to know why certain members of society were not among the numbers invited to the impending state funeral.
Yet, somehow, Tor Val's assistant found the strength to push them all aside, instead focusing the majority of her energy on ensuring the well-being of Tor Val’s two distraught daughters.
Both Mas Val and Ran Val now clung to their mother's trusted employee, trusting in her ability to keep both the prying press and well-intentioned citizens at bay while they tried to grieve.
Bay Don remained acutely aware that both girls had been through all of this before, when their father had died so valiantly, and publicly, during the colonists’ journey to what they hoped and prayed would be a new home, and a fresh start.
Now, the girls had no-one left to turn to. No-one, that was, except for Bay-Don herself.
Arriving at the entrance of the weather control center, Bay Don stomped the snow from her boots, then swung open the large glass door and stepped into the heated lobby. A wave of warmth swept over her, and she quickly pulled down the zipper on her padded coat as she approached the guard.
"Bay Don to see Yan Mil," she said, accepting a tablet from the uniformed sentry and pressing her thumb to the fingerprint scanner on the screen. Instantly, her name and photograph appeared, confirming her identity and allowing her access to the laboratories hidden deep below ground on the lower floors of the facility.
The guard grunted what may have been a welcome as Bay Don made for the bank of elevators at the rear of the entrance hall. She pressed a button, glancing back at the wild, unpredicted weather outside the building's doors while she waited for the car to arrive.
She had tried to call the weather control laboratories on many occasions for the past two days, but had constantly received a busy signal. Although it wasn't technically her job to keep tabs on what the scientists were doing, the thought of Tor Val's funeral taking place in the midst of a storm was extremely upsetting.
It was time to find out exactly what was going on.
The elevator arrived, and Bay Don stepped inside, pressing the appropriate button for the main labs. As she was carried deep into the building's lower levels, she pulled back the hood of her coat and ran her hand across the short layer of now damp hair on her head.
She'd only ever seen snow from a distance before, on the peaks of distant mountains far to the east of Taron City. Dangerous increases in temperature meant her home world of Malatia hadn't seen snow for several generations by the time she was born. As a result, she had grown up believing snow to be a romantic, almost magical substance.
As she stood in the warmth of the elevator simultaneously shivering and steaming, she realized that she had very quickly come to change her mind.
Snow was shit. Cold, wet shit. And, the sooner the weather control system was up and working again, the better.
With a ding, the doors slid open and Bay Don took a step forward to alight from the car, then froze.
The entire laboratory was in a state of utter chaos.
ICS Fortitude, Bridge
"Excuse me, Captain Marber..." Solo's voice rang out as her image appeared on the view screen. "My apologies for interrupting while you are reading."
Jack looked up from his tablet where he had been studying the political history of Malatia, and how many of the planet's partisan prejudices had followed the world's colonists to their new home on Alma Nine. He placed the tablet aside and stretched.
"Interrupt away, Solo, this stuff's about as exciting as navel lint. And, I've already told you, please just call me Jack.
"If you insist, Jack" Solo replied, "although I do believe the use of your official title more approp
riate when discussing mission elements."
"Mission elements?" asked Adina, looking up from the same historical document on her own tablet.
"Yes," confirmed Solo. "We are now in the final stages of our approach to the planet of Alma Nine, and have been hailed by their docking computer, requesting confirmation of our identity. Am I free to respond?"
"Yes, of course," Jack assured the E.I. "There's no need to check with me for things like that. I more than trust you to handle it."
"Thank you, Jack," said Solo with a smile. "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities. I merely wondered if telling them you were a covert team of espionage agents posing as the crew of a cargo freighter may undermine what you're trying to achieve. But, if you'd prefer honesty, I'm happy to-"
"No!" cried Jack, jumping to his feet. "Don't tell them that bit. Just the name of the ship, and that we're here to deliver their railings."
"And that we're the official representatives of the Etheric Empire for the president's funeral," Adina reminded him.
"Yes, that too."
Solo's image nodded slightly. "Yes, of course. I shall remain discrete in all further communications."
With that, the screens returned to show the vast multi-colored clouds of dust and raw elements the ICS Fortitude had been traveling through ever since passing the second Gate three hours previously.
Now, barely visible among the space dust, a small grey and green planet could just about be seen, growing larger with each passing minute.
Glancing up at the screen, Jack crossed to Adina and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You're a bit of a computer boffin, right?"
Adina's brow furrowed. "I wouldn't say boffin exactly, but I know a bit about tech systems, yes."
"You don't suppose something went wrong with Solo, do you?" Jack continued. "It's just that she doesn't seem to be, how can I put this... fully installed."
Adina smirked. "She's certainly one of the more quirky pieces of Entity Intelligence software I've countered," she admitted. "If you like, I'll try to take a peek at her core data without her knowing."
"Without who knowing what?" asked a voice.
Jack and Adina turned to find Tc'aarlat standing behind them. He had excused himself from the bridge around thirty minutes earlier, and had now returned dressed a little differently.
"What in the name of all things holy are you wearing?" demanded Jack.
Tc'aarlat grabbed the edge of the floor-length purple cape he had tied around his neck and twirled on the spot, allowing the soft, silky material to billow out impressively.
"What, this old thing?" he grinned, mandibles quivering. "It's just something I threw on to lounge around in."
Adina chuckled. "It's certainly... flamboyant," she commented.
"And, it matches these," said Tc'aarlat excitedly. He tossed the cape back from his shoulder to reveal a purple shoulder pad, made from the same leather-looking material as the new cuffs fastened around his wrists.
"Go on, be honest... How do I look?"
Jack looked the ensemble up and down. "Like an extra from a bad pirate movie," he grinned. "All you need is the parrot."
Tc'aarlat glanced over his shoulder and whistled. A few seconds later, Mist flew onto the bridge and landed on her master's shoulder.
"You were saying..."
"Just a shame she clashes with the purple," said Adina.
"Got it covered," Tc'aarlat replied. He whistled again, and Mist stood perfectly still for a moment, allowing the burgundy coloring of her feathers to morph into the exact shade of purple of the Yollin's outfit.
"Purple!" cried Jack as the realization hit him. "That's what you've been given to wear for Tor Val's funeral."
"Exactly," Tc'aarlat confirmed. "I've hung both your outfits on your cabin doors, if you want to-"
Suddenly, the ship plunged down a short distance, almost as though they had fallen into some kind of hole. A second later, the movement happened again, and the bridge began to shake and judder.
To Jack, it felt like the turbulence he had often experienced while flying on operations with his Marine platoon.
Tc'aarlat stumbled back hard against the wall, Mist crying out as he fell.
Jack spun, clutching the back of his chair. "Solo! Urgent update!"
Solo's face reappeared, briefly blocking the view of Alma Nine below. "I'm studying the data now, Captain," she said, "or would you prefer me to call you Jack in situations such as this?"
"I don't care what you call me!" Jack roared. "Just tell me what the fuck is going on!"
"Certainly Captain," responded Solo calmly. Her face faded from the screen as she continued to speak, allowing the three crew members a clear view of the planet below as it rushed towards them.
"Basically, we're crashing."
Alma Nine, Taron City, North West Suburb
It took Pol Tod almost ten minutes to realize her hands were shaking.
She had vaguely been aware that she was gripping the steering wheel much more tightly than she usually did, and she was conscious that she was purposefully driving below the sign-posted speed limit. But the tremors coursing down her arms and through her fingers came as a surprise.
Checking there wasn't another vehicle behind her, Pol Tod flicked on her blinker and pulled over to the side of the road. Shifting into 'park', she held up her hands and watched them trembling for a few seconds.
Then, without warning, she burst into tears.
In eleven years as a first responder, no emergency had ever affected her as the one she had attended yesterday evening. The things she had seen would never leave her memory. And, if the bad dreams she had suffered the night before were anything to go by, she was destined to experience savage nightmares for a long, long time to come.
Reaching into her purse, Pol Tod grabbed a handful of tissues and did her best to bring her sobs under control. She angled the rearview mirror to study her reflection, but quickly wished she hadn't.
Her bloodshot eyes were circled with dark rings - the result of working a typical shift after an entirely sleepless night.
The headlights of an approaching car dazzled her, and she reached up to move the mirror back to its usual position. A few seconds later, the car passed by - and Pol Tod was crying all over again.
The vehicle now shrinking into the distance was a limousine - just like the one she'd been called to last night. Except that this one wasn't a mangled mess of twisted metal and body parts.
Pol Tod had been the first paramedic on the scene, less than eight minutes after the president's car had veered off the highway and slammed into the side of a high school building.
She'd noticed there didn't appear to be any skid marks or other signs the car had been braking when it plowed through the crash barrier and left the road, but she pushed the detail from her mind as she'd scrambled down the shallow verge to reach the battered vehicle, hoping the occupants had somehow survived the disastrous impact.
It was quickly clear that neither of them had.
The driver - a large man in a chauffeur's uniform - had been thrown through the windshield, the razor-sharp metal of the buckled hood almost completely decapitating him before the school wall had brought the vehicle to a sudden and violent stop.
Determining there was nothing she could do to help him, Pol Tod had turned her attention to the passenger in the back seat. Whether down to the dim light of the evening, the fact that the woman was covered in blood, or a combination of the two, she hadn't recognized Tor Val as she fought to get through the crumpled rear door to reach the victim.
Then, as she had been pulling to open the door a few inches wider, the woman had opened her eyes and groaned.
Quickly doubling her efforts, Pol Tod had managed to move the door just wide enough to squeeze through the narrow gap she had created and climb inside.
"It's OK," she had said as soothingly as possible. "I'm here to help. There's an ambulance on the way."
The injured woman had murmured something
Pol Tod hadn't been able to understand at the time, but would later work out were the names of Tor Val's two daughters. Then she had closed her eyes once more.
Never to open them again.
Pol Tod was still performing CPR when one of the recently arrived ambulance crew had taken hold of her bloodied hands and gently pulled them away from Tor Val's motionless chest.
"It's too late," the man had whispered. "She's gone."
Later, at the hospital, Pol Tod had recounted the events of the evening over and over to law enforcement officers before pushing her way through the hordes of shouting paparazzi gathered outside and setting off for the remaining few hours of her shift.
Tor Val was dead, and nothing would ever be the same again.
16
Alma Nine, Taron City, Weather Control Center, Main Laboratory
Lab assistants ran around the room like farm animals fleeing a hungry, ax-wielding butcher.
Every computer screen flashed with urgent warnings of torrential rain, gale-force storms, icy snow blizzards or potentially lethal hail. A bank of over-heated printers spewed out lengthy paper chains of data, the bulk of which simply gathered in piles on the floor, unnoticed and unread.
And, completing the pandemonium, radio and television channels barked hastily prepared and completely conflicting soundbites of advice on how to protect yourself and your loved ones against this unexpected onslaught of atrocious weather.
"Excuse me..."
Bay Don stood in front of the closing elevator doors and tried to attract the attention of one of the distracted lab technicians. If the woman had heard her, she gave no indication and simply dashed past her, reading from a tablet and wearing an expression of pure dread.
"EXCUSE ME!"
Raising her voice, she reached out and grabbed the arm of the next stampeding scientist to stray in her direction. She read his name tag as he slowed and turned to face her.
"Jon Rey," she said, maintaining her grip on his arm in case he showed any desire to continue scurrying about the room in a protracted panic. "Please can you tell me what's happening with the weather?"
