Chapter 6: Doomsquad

The advent of space travel had exposed the human body to strange new environments and stresses. Zero-gravity, cosmic rays, a massive spectrum of different radiations, and things that forced human society to invent whole new words, and, in one notable case, a new verb tense. New branches of medicine and biometric technologies had been birthed and fed by the demand to adapt the human body to an environment in which it had never been meant to exist. Cyborgs and the genetically modified soared and danced through the heavens and space just as the ancient humans might have seen angels frolic through the heavens, a testament to the sheer boundlessness of the human spirit.

However, one thing almost never demanded of the body of a spacer is the ability to sustain a prolonged sprint.

At first the advantage in the frantic run from Crazy Ivan's to the spaceport was decidedly Parson's. Parson was younger than Gizmo and in much better shape physically from a reasonably balanced diet and being dragged into countless bar fights of extraordinary length by Chris Ennings. Gizmo's shorter legs, portly physique, and tendency to eat potted meat and synthocheez while figuring out how to turn Ennings' new pizza oven into a Neutron Alchemist soon left him red and wheezing in Parson's wake.

But like all of the inner circle of the Perse crew, Gizmo knew how to play to his strengths. Mopping the sweat from his brow with one hand, Gizmo pulled a small, dark gray rectangle from his back pocket. With a few quick twists and folds, carbon nanotubes interlocked and micronic circuits had activated to produce a small, reddish mat, already refining solar energy into contragravitational forces in the form of hovering. Its middle bowed slightly as Gizmo stepped aboard, and with a slight shifting of weight he was zipping forward, easily swerving around Parson.

“Hold on a second!” Parson called after Gizmo, who obligingly whipped the rug around with a deft turn of ankle and came to a stop facing Parson.

“You've had that thing all this time?” demanded Parson, panting slightly from his run.

“Around four years.” Gizmo shrugged. “I made it from Captain Ennings' cappucino maker. I was going to call it a 'Shagway' but every time I said it Ennings would try choking me for some reason.”

“You don't say. So why haven't you used it before now?”

“Well I never really needed it for myself before. I'm always in my lab on the ship, I seldom go planetside. But I usually use it to move bigger parts. It's how I got that trifusion cascader down to those methane caves quickly enough to thaw Ennings out of the wall. And you see this part?” Gizmo waved his arms through the empty air around him, “That's the part that doesn't protect me from dirtsharks.”

“I see,” Parson replied. “But I was asking why you started out running from Ivan's.”

“Years of experience with you and Ennings has taught me that when one of you starts running that I should follow immediately and worry about everything else later.”

“That is certainly wise.” Parson paused. “So, do you have another one of those magic carpets?”

“Yes.” Another pause. “OH! You want to use it! Sure, here you go.” Gizmo quickly produced a second Shagway and tossed it to Parson.

Parson railed an eyebrow as he stepped on. “Pink?”

“I'm hoping Ennings needs it someday.” The two men laughed as they zipped toward the Spaceport.


Ennings frowned as a sea of stained concrete, broken windows, and a complete lack of activity came into view. “What the hell is this dump?” he demanded.

“The spaceport, sir.” Philo didn't look over from beneath the sunglasses he'd procured from their vehicle's owner. “The autonav says-”

“To hell with the autonav! It's probably as broken and defective as the rest of this ruined planet. I know spaceports. I've been to hundreds of spaceports. I, in matter of fact, grew up in spaceports. This is not a spaceport. Spaceports have activity. Ships and people and electricity and that stink of scorched atmosphere and terrible caustic chemicals and people who haven't bathed in a solar year. This has none of these things but the stink.” He sniffed.

“Sir, as I was telling you during our landing, the main planetfall here was relocated to Clockwerx City by Clockwerx when he seized power, and as a consequence the spaceport here was abandoned.”

“Well what in the flaming supernovas of crunched quasars would Gizmo and Parson find so important in an abandoned- wait. Did you say you were telling us about the planet during our LANDING?”

“Yes, sir. As you may remember I always take the time during planetfall to give you an overview of the planet.”

“Philo, did the fact we were screaming and crashing not tell you that we weren't listening?”

“In point of fact, sir, we so frequently find ourselves in a situation with an overabundance of screaming, crashing, shooting, or some other form of chaos that were I to interrupt my normal functions and duties for them they would remain off indefinitely.”

Ennings opened his mouth, paused, then shut it again. “Well I can't really argue with that.” Ennings admitted, stroking his chin. “Good job on adapting to the unexpected. Now as I was saying before, What would Gizmo and Parson want in an abandoned spaceport?”

“Well as they were tasked with locating a ship, the logical assumption would be that they have found one. As you'll recall from my briefing, there are rumors that Merchants have starting using the empty buildings.”

“Philo, the only thing I recall about your briefing is everyone but you screaming, various things on fire, a minicryo with my ex-cook's head in it and making a sizable crater in a dirtshark nest. If the topic is not one of those things I assure you that I do not recall it.”

“Understood, sir.”

Ennings yanked the wheel and pulled off into a parking lot for an abandoned Meet 'N' Cheez.

“Sir-” Philo started as he noticed Ennings' suddenly grim face. Ennings pointed to the squadron of red-and-black vehicles, troopers, and Doombots heading into the rows of hangars.

Philo took a picosecond to scan his vast data banks. “Oh.” he said. “Fuck.”


Gizmo and Parson folded up their Shagways as they stood in front of Hangar 18.

“Should we knock?” Gizmo asked.

“No,” Parson replied as he walked through the office door. A Merchant had been here- Parson saw, and smelled, that the inside of the door frame had recently been ringed with Doorchime charges. A bit excessive when dealing with an old corvette, but then again this Merchant had to work under Clockwerx.

Parson pushed open the door into the hangar. “I can see why this thing was so cheap. It sure doesn't look like much. Were those pirates hauling garbage with it?”

Gizmo gasped as he followed. “The kid wasn't joking! That's a Geller ship!”

Parson whistled. “Damn thing's an antique. Weren't they designed for, like, wizards, or something?”

“Psychics.” Gizmo corrected. “These things predate the goddamn Interplanetary Interstate. Supposedly, they could jump into Aetherspace without using a drive. Less than a hundred were ever produced, or so I've been told.”

“Why so few?” Parson asked.

“How many psychics do you think there were, exactly?” Gizmo asked.

Parson shrugged.“Well, you always hear stories about psychics finding murder victims, or mansions haunted by ghosts, or wizards curing cancer without hyperscalpels. . .” Parson said. “Just seems like the past was a might bit more magical than the world we're living in.” Gizmo nodded.

“Right on that count. There's no wonder in living, anymore.” He then scratched his butt with the heel of his Shagway controller and spat. “I reckon we could make a killing just selling off the parts as mementos. There are an awful lot of eccentric rich weirdoes into stuff like that. I know a guy who designed his entire mansion to run on steam.” Gizmo twitched his moustache in contemplation.

“I don't care what you do with it. A psidrive's as useful as a diesel engine- there's nothing to run either of them anymore. But first let's find the buyer and work out a deal.” Parson unconsciously hitched his pants, feeling the weight of his pistol bounce against his thigh. The two men walked around to the stern loading hatch. Gizmo inspected the controls. “It's unlocked. Stand clear.” The door silently swung down to form a boarding ramp that the pair strode up and into the ship.

“Anyone here?” Parson called out as they walked up the narrow gangway. As they approached the bridge door an autogun unfolded from the ceiling and pointed at them. The men wisely froze.

The bridge door slid open and a young woman stepped out, wearing a poofy pink dress with ruffed sleeves, a skirt-apron bastard spawn, and a headband with matching kitty ears. Her dark hair made the crimson band across her forehead even more noticeable. Cold eyes measured their worth. The autogun's barrel moved in tandem with them.

“Who are you and why are you on my ship?” she demanded.

There was a long pause, finally broken by Parson.

“Are- are those kitty ears?” Parson stammered.

“What?” The girl's hand went to her head and pulled off the headband. “I'd completely forgotten about this thing.”

Parson and Gizmo looked at each other and started laughing hysterically.

“Damn it this is not funny!' the girl fumed, causing the two men to laugh even harder. She looked down over the work uniform she'd forgotten she was wearing, the pink fuzzy cat ears in her hands, and let loose a few choking gasps of laughter as well, equal parts nerve and shame.

Gizmo was doubled over against the wall. Parson had tears running down his face and was on the floor, pointing at the cat ears. Jenny dabbed at the corner of her eyes with her apron and tried to regain command of the situation. Laughter echoed throughout the ship.

The girl wiped her nose on her sleeve, and the autogun fired, leaving a smoking hole in the floor. The laughter abruptly stopped as all three stared wide-eyed at the wisps of smoke curling up from the floor.
“Huh. I didn't actually expect that gun to work.” the girl admitted.

“Well, that was about as sobering as seeing your mother naked.” Parson said, climbing to his feet. “Look, kid-”

“Jenny.” the girl interjected.

“Jenny.” Parson nodded. “My name's John Parson and my associate here is called. . . Gizmo.” Gizmo nodded. “We are in a really bad way right now, and we want to buy your ship. Just name your price.” this was not the first time that Parson had gambled on Ennings' money-making abilities.

“It's not for sale.” The coldness had returned to Jenny's eyes.

“Really, with the money we give you you can go buy another ship, a much nicer one. We just need-”

“Wait, Parson.” Gizmo stepped closer to Jenny. “That's a T.I.A.R.A.” It wasn't a question.

Jenny nodded warily.

Parson's eyes widened. “You're an Esper?”

“There's no hiding it now!” Jenny grumbled.

Parson found himself at a loss for words for one of a very small number of times in his life.

The ship shook from a massive explosion outside. The crown seemed to hum and Jenny gasped and paled. She braced herself against the door to keep herself upright.

“Doomsquad” she gasped in reply to everyone's unvoiced question. “Shot through the door. I'm new to this and I didn't think to scan outside the ship. I've got the forward shields up. Run out the back door- there's no one that way.”

Parson tensed up. He saw something familiar in Jenny's eyes. Something he used to see in himself, not so long ago, before he met Ennings.

“No.” Jenny and Gizmo both looked surprised. Parson looked at Jenny. “Look, we need you and right now, you need us. Let us through and you have my word we'll help you.” He put a reassuring hand on Jenny's shoulder. Jenny stared at him, looking for something in his eyes.

The ship shook again.

Neither Parson nor Jenny moved.

Finally, Jenny sighed and stepped aside. The bridge door slid open.

“You won't regret this, Jenny.” Parson helped Jenny into the command chair before turning to Gizmo. “Find the Systems console and see what we've got in the way of hauling ass out of here. I'm going to check defenses.”

Gizmo nodded. “I'll try to get the reactor up so everything isn't running off of her.”

“you mean-”

“Yes. Psidrives use Psi energy and she is the source.”

Parson looked at Jenny. “Stars, Gizmo, she's just a kid . . .”

Gizmo was working on a console. “She's older than most of them were. Fusion up in 30 seconds.” Gizmo tapped at a few keys, and squinted. “There are a pair of mass drivers embedded in the nose of the craft. Think they're loaded?” Jenny shrugged, almost falling out of the chair from the sudden burst of vertigo. She tightened the six-point restraint system currently securing her bepoofed butt to the chair.

Parson sat down at a console showing shield information. “Chris is going to love this.” he muttered, as he started locking down the ship.