~~~~~~
York pulled up to an abandoned coal plant.
Gumshoe stopped behind the policeman, and Jack stopped behind Gumshoe. They waited while York opened the gate using his police code.
“Anyone can fly over the gate, boss.”
“Yeah, that’s probably how the airship got in. York’s a by-the-book kind of mole.” He chuckled.
“Aren’t they all?” Shotgun quipped.
“Yeah,” said Jack.
“Thornmocker Organics. This is where it all happened. Thornmocker made the fortune that built Nodlon. It looks haunted.”
“Afraid of a coal miner’s ghost, Shotgun?”
“No, I’m just saying the place looks haunted. It’s a great place for an ambush.”
“Yeah,” said Jack. “I’m afraid you’re right, but this time we’re prepared.”
The gate opened with a clank and a screech, sending a shiver up Jack’s back. They followed the two police cruisers into the plant.
Twilight hung over the cavernous interior. They drove up a bridge and over a wide ditch with a conveyor on the bottom. At the end, a machine with a monstrous maw and dull gray teeth waited silently to be fed a mountain of coal that would never come.
“Would they ever use this place again?” asked Shotgun.
“Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose if anyone ever decides to build another Great Station, it’s possible.”
“The out-worlds use methane from Titan,” said Shotgun. “I doubt they would need complex carbon compounds from Earth.”
“Sounds like you know the answer, then.”
They drove around the next bay, and entered the intake hall. An enormous wheel with bucket scoops stood at attention in a pit. They crossed the chasm overlooking the wheel, and gawked at the size of the machine. The buckets disappeared in the dark.
“Can you see the bottom?” asked Jack.
“No, boss. It’s deep, real deep.”
“How far down do you think it goes?”
“It must lead to the mines, half a mile at least, maybe more.”
“York is stopping,” said Jack.
“Yeah, that’s the landing bay ahead,” said Shotgun. “Hey, boss, do you see what I see?”
“A spaceship sitting in the dock?” asked Jack. “Yeah, I see it too. I think that’s why we’re stopping.”
Jack pulled alongside Gumshoe and lowered his window. “So what do you make of it old-timer?”
“It’s not a ghost ship,” said Gumshoe. “It’s too solid. And it can’t be a hallucination, since we’re all seeing it. York’s calling for backup.” He studied the ship, and punched his caster. “York, I’ll run the ship’s registration number and see what I get.”
Momentarily out of the loop, Jack glanced at Shotgun. “What do you make of it?”
“It’s a supertanker,” said Shotgun. “I’m guessing it’s designed for the long hauls to the out-worlds.”
Jack pointed to a series of concentric levitation rings on the ship’s hull. “When those levitators kick in, I bet everything on the business end gets turned inside out.”
“Yeah,” agreed Shotgun. “And it’ll flatten everything not nailed down like Millikan’s oil drop.”
“York’s getting out, let’s go.”
They left the Andromeda and joined Gumshoe and York. “Any ideas?”
The sergeant stared at the ship. “I’m thinking we may have stumbled on a smuggling operation. Smugglers and traffickers use abandoned landing bays. The technology to fool traffic control is tricky, but usually those aboveground can’t tell the difference, and those of us below ground don’t even know the bay is in use.”
“Doubtful, Sergeant,” said Gumshoe. “Although your analysis is interesting, smugglers rarely employ a Galaxy class supertanker. That ship’s designed to haul goods all the way to the Oort Cloud.”
“Yeah, even a blind space traffic controller can see a ship that big,” said Shotgun.
Gumshoe’s caster beeped. “My registration search has come back. She’s flagged on Mars, but she’s registered to Warburg. And you guys are not gonna believe this.” The Inspector let out a low hoot.
“Believe what?” asked Jack.
“She’s named the Marie Celeste.”
“Guess old Warburg has a sense of humor.”
“Who would sail a ship named for a ghost?” asked Shotgun, shuddering.
“Someone who would park her in an abandoned coal reprocessing facility would be my guess.” York smirked.
“Very funny,” said Jack.
“Let’s look around; we can’t wait for that backup all day.” Gumshoe snapped his holster straps, and stepped off towards the Celeste.
“Speak of the devils, and here they come.” York pointed to a green cruiser, which pulled up next to his own.
A couple of officers got out of the cruiser, and joined them. “Sergeant York, sorry we’re late, but we had to find you.”
“Well if ain’t tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum,” quipped York. “If I haven’t got bad luck drawing you two blockheads, I’d have no luck at all today.”
“Adam and Jones at your service, sir,” said Adam.
“Yeah, Sergeant, the finest cannon fodder in the Surete,” said Jones.
“What are we up against Sergeant?” asked Adam.
“We haven’t a clue, but we were looking for a black airship, and we found a supertanker parked in a loading bay that hasn’t been used in about a hundred years. So, keep your eyes open and shut your mole holes.”
“If everyone stays within eyeshot of me, I can shield you,” said Jack. “We should set our weapons to stun.” He cast a shield around his companions and followed Gumshoe.
“Good idea, Jack.” Gumshoe drew his weapon. “Do as he says, gentlemen. Set your weapons to stun. I’ll explain later. Let’s go.”
The landing bay was a silo about two hundred yards across. Several cavernous openings led away in all directions. The Celeste rested in a cradle formed by the gantry arms. Hoses hung from the gantries ready to blow processed coal into the ship.
The officers and the amateurs searched each of the openings. Flotsam and jetsam were strewn across the bay floor of the abandoned factory. Rusting hulks of unidentifiable origin waited to be scrapped.
“What are we looking for?” asked Shotgun.
“Anything suspicious,” said Gumshoe.
“Or an ambush,” muttered Shotgun.
Circling the bay, they found nothing unusual apart from the great ship itself hanging over their heads in the docking cradle.
“Maybe we’re on a wild goose chase,” said Shotgun.
“No,” said Gumshoe. “We’re hot on the trail. I’m just not sure what trail we’re on.”
“Shall we check the ship?” asked Jack. “There’s a gang plank at the top of that gantry.”
“Yeah, maybe we’ll find an answer up there,” said Gumshoe. “If we can figure out why the ship is here, we can probably root out the culprits.”
The Inspector led the way across the landing bay.
Jack searched the bottom of the spacecraft for a clue. The levitator rings encircled the hull separated by hatches, and ports of unknown purpose.
The gravity distortion put out by my little Andromeda pales next to those monsters. The ship was in good condition. Only a few scars on the reentry tiles told of her journeys through space. “What are you worth on a used spacecraft lot?” he asked.
“Whoa,” cried Shotgun. “Inspector!”
Jack searched for his butler. Seeing him near the center of the bay, he ran to join the dwarf. Jogging with the others, he caught up to Shotgun.
Etched into the concrete was a pentagram.
“That looks familiar,” said Jack.
“Yeah, you’re right,” said Gumshoe, “Thanks for stating the obvious, Jack. That’s usually my job.” The detective drew his pistol and looked around. “Sergeant York, we’re definitely on the right path. Wat
ch yourself. Have your men fan out and stun anything that moves. The last time we ran into these guys, a dozen dwarves tried to kill us.”
“Got it,” said York. “Adam, Jones, you heard the man. Jones, you cover the gantry. Adam, you cover Jones, and watch the exits. We’re going up.”
Gumshoe led the way up the nearest gantry, and York brought up the rear.
Shotgun struggled to keep up with the taller men. “Does this gantry go to a crew entrance or a cargo hold?”
“How the heck should I know?” Gumshoe said. “Keep it down, Shotgun,” he added.
They climbed a few flights, and Clay began to comprehend the size of the ship. A buttress soared over their heads supporting a gantry arm cradling the ship. Clay counted a half dozen or more gantries surrounding the landing. Looking up, the Celeste’s hull loomed over them. Holding a rail, he peeked over the side. Adam and Jones had become ants watching them climb.
Gumshoe reached the next landing and turned the corner.
A flash blinded Jack. A thunderclap shook the gantry. His ears rang. Too late, he remembered his forgotten promise to see an audiologist. Blinking, he renewed their shields, and cast sunglasses of ice.
The force of the blow threw Gumshoe against the rail. The policeman bounced off the rail and tripped. Jack caught him, and helped steady the detective.
“I think you’ve found our villains,” Jack shouted.
“Yeah, tell York to call for more backup.” Gumshoe crouched against the stairs, preparing to rush up the landing.
Jack looked back, and saw York yelling into his caster. Shotgun crouched under the stairs.
Above him, he heard Gumshoe shout, “Jack, have I got a shield?” Jack gave him a thumbs up, and added a touch of blue to the shield.
A dwarf bounded down the stairs, and jumped onto the landing. Spinning around the rail, he unleashed a volley of lightning bolts. The bolts bounced off their shields, and slapped the metal gantry. Sparks flew across the trellises supporting the stairs. The static crackled and Jack’s hands tingled as the current searched for a path to ground. Seeing no effect, the dwarf sidled to the corner and redoubled his firing.
Raising his free arm to protect his eyes from the flashes, Gumshoe tried to aim his pistol.
The dwarf fired. His bolt bounced off Gumshoe’s shield, ricocheted, and struck the dwarf. The unfortunate minion flipped over the rail.
Gumshoe rushed up to the landing, and fired up the stairs. Dwarves on the other gantries started firing. Lightning bolts ricocheted off the gantry. The landing bay filled with hot shots of electric death. Gumshoe ducked, and protected his face from the flashes and noise.
A dwarf above them bounded down the stairs, and Gumshoe stunned him.
Adam and Jones returned fire on the other gantries. Shooting at the dwarves drew their fire. Lightning bolts crisscrossed the bay. The fire pinned the officers down.
The distraction relieved the fire on their gantry.
Gumshoe rushed the upper landing again into the gap.
“Go, go, go,” yelled the Inspector, running up the stairs.
Rounding the landing, Jack saw the dwarf’s lightning gun caught on the rail. He snatched the fallen weapon, and set it to stun. He bounded up the gantry steps. Youth and good health carried him up to the next landing.
Spinning around the rail, he ran into the Inspector, and nearly flattened him.
Ahead of them, a catwalk soared over the gantry arm to an open hatch. Two dwarves guarded the hatch. Seeing Clay, the dwarves fired bolts down the catwalk. He heard the thunderclaps and the sizzle as the bolts marked the gantry. Sparks and molten shards showered over him. His icy sunglasses helped, but he saw stars in his eyes.
Gumshoe tried to recover and push himself up.
Adrenaline coursed through Jack’s veins, and his vision narrowed. “Stay down,” shouted Clay, pushing the older man down.
He leaped over Gumshoe, and sprinted down the catwalk, letting the bolts bounce off his shields. Nearing the hatch, he lifted the lightning gun, and fired. Belatedly, the dwarves broke cover, and fired at him point blank. Clay returned their fire and stunned them.
He waved at Gumshoe, “Now, go, go, go!” The Inspector jogged across the catwalk, with Shotgun and York on his heels.
Bolts from the other gantries zinged past the catwalk. One or two caught the gantry and sparks exploded from the metal.
Aiming, Jack fired stun bolts to cover his companions.
One of the dwarves broke cover, firing wildly at the men storming the ship.
Jack took aim at the exposed dwarf, and stunned him. The dwarf fell on the landing, and he hoped the dwarf would recover. He continued firing over the catwalk’s rail as the others dove through the hatch. Backing into the Celeste, he slapped the door latch, and the hatch closed.
“Phew,” said Gumshoe. “Thanks, Jack. I’m too old for running up stairs.”
“Need some more time on the treadmill, old-timer,” said Jack. “Everyone okay?” All of his companions nodded.
Breathing heavily, Gumshoe wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “Yeah, we’ve got to find out what they’re guarding.”
“We can scan the whole ship from the bridge,” said Shotgun.
“Follow me,” said Jack.
Not waiting for an answer, he peeked out of the airlock. Seeing no opposition, he jogged down the corridor, which ran into the bowels of the ship. At the end he ducked through an open bulkhead.
A catwalk extended over the cargo hold. The catwalk spanned the diameter of the spacecraft and joined others over the cavernous space. Rails, tracks, conveyors, and tanks divided the hold.
Jack bounded up the stairs looking for some signs of the bridge with the detective hot on his heels. An observation deck overlooked the hold on the other side.
“Jack,” called Gumshoe, wheezing. The older man crouched at the bottom of the stairs blocking the path. He pointed to a control room overlooking the hold, “That’s the stevedore’s cab. Maybe the bridge is over there.”
A jet of orange plasma struck the stairs, and the steps fell out from under him. Jack instinctively clung to the rail. Unsupported, the stairs swung away from the catwalk.
Bolts popped and the stairs slung them over the empty hold. They clung to the stairs hanging on for their lives. The stairs rolled downward.
The stairs slammed into the inner hull. Stars flashed before Jack’s eyes and he squeezed the catwalk’s dangling rail with a death grip.
Gumshoe grabbed the rail. The stairs bounced off the hull, and then his fingers slipped. The detective fell into the deep hold.
Shotgun snatched at the Inspector’s trench coat but missed. Teetering on the edge of the shaking catwalk, Shotgun nearly fell, but York caught his belt.
Composed, York yanked Shotgun off the catwalk, and threw the dwarf back towards the hatch. He stepped back from the edge of dangling catwalk and tried to retreat to the hatch.
Spinning on the end of the loose rail, Jack saw Gumshoe fall. Recovering his wits, he levitated the Inspector. He let go of the rail, and let himself drop. Levitating, he sailed to Gumshoe’s aid, and grabbed the Inspector’s hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you!”
A plasma jet struck York and Shotgun. Their shields deflected the blast’s fury, but the jet sliced the catwalk in half.
The walk separated from the hatch and flipped forward on its struts. With one hand York caught the catwalk rail. With the other he grabbed the dwarf.
The walk slammed into the hull, smashing his fingers. “Ouch!” The dwarf stopped at the end of his arm and he felt his shoulder separate. “Oh, my goodness.”
The catwalk bounced and the bolts screeched, but it came to a halt with the policeman and the dwarf hanging over the hold.
Shotgun’s trousers let out a rip. “Don’t drop me,” he cried.
“I’ve got you,” York yelled.
“If man was meant to fly,” complained Gumshoe, “he would have invented ant
i-gravity.”
“Gripe, bleat, and complain why don’t you?” Jack shot back.
A plasma jet struck Jack and Gumshoe, and bounced off their shields. They covered their eyes trying to see.
“Where is that jet coming from?” yelled Gumshoe.
Shotgun and York hung from the catwalk, which dangled from the struts that had braced it.
“Don’t know, but we’ve got other problems.”
Concentrating, Jack flew up to York and Shotgun.
“Relax, and let go,” he shouted, “I’ll levitate you.”
Immediately, York let go of the catwalk. The moleman and the dwarf fell into the hold.
Startled, Jack levitated them. He dropped down to them. “Now, I’ve got you!”
“Whoa,” shouted York, “I thought you had us.”
“Sorry, I’ve never had anyone trust me their first time.”
A plasma jet over their heads struck the bulk head and the hatch collapsed sealing their exit. The catwalk crashed to the floor of the hold.
“Guess, that answers that question,” said Jack. “Hang on, we’re going to fly.”
Levitating them all, Jack shot after the source of the intense jets. Sailing across the hold, a plasma jet struck again. The force of the blow slowed his flight, but his shield deflected the deadly fire. As he flew on, a volley of jets hit them faster and faster. Egged on, Clay boldly pushed forward, eager to attack the aggressor.
“There,” shouted York, pointing at a lone figure standing at the end of the hold.
Drawing their weapons, Gumshoe and York fired on the black clad figure. Their stun bolts bounced off the little man and fizzled. Registering no effect, their attacker laughed.
Approaching their attacker, Jack saw the figure wore a sorcerer’s robe and carried a staff. “Welcome to the end of the line, gentlemen, I hope you enjoyed my little challenges. They will be your last on this side of eternity.”
“Who are you?” shouted Clay.
“A better question, Jack Clay, is who are you?”
“What?” Clay hesitated. “I’m asking the questions. Who are you?”
“For the brief time left to you, you may call me the Black Dwarf. But back to my question, wouldn’t you like to know who you are?”
“I know who I am!”
“Do you Phaedra’s son? Devil’s spawn, you are nothing more than a traitor to your father who shall be damned for his betrayal.”
“Shut your lying trap. I’m not here to play games!”
Unsure of what game the Black Dwarf was playing, Clay bluffed. “Lay down your weapons and surrender! Don’t force me to hurt you!”
“Bravely said, Phaedra’s son, but you have no idea who you are or who you face.” The Black Dwarf shifted his stance, and attacked. The warlock laughed, and twirled his staff.
Jack guessed the conversation was over. A tornado leapt from his hands and struck Jack and his companions. The whirlwind drove them down into the hold, and slammed them into the floor. Jack rolled over a rail, slid back into the whirlwind and back flipped over a geared train track.
Gears struck his back, and penetrated his shield. Pain forced him to focus, and he renewed his shields.
Angry, Jack fired a telekinetic bolt at the sorcerer. He used telekinetic balls in his show to knock back mock attackers. The ball struck the dwarf, and bounced off without effect.