11.
Cmdr. Brixton Millennium Turgid lounged in leisure, swallowing synth-wine in big flourishing gulps; unaware of the destruction of his prized Special Fighting Group at the hands, or rather scythes, of the diabolical Corpse Corps. He drained his glass with the gusto of a practiced drinker and held it out for more. His intricately blown glass was promptly filled to the brim. The hand that held the bottle had long and supple fingers that at a glance one could tell were skilled in the art of manipulation. The owner of the hand, and thusly the fingers, was also well versed in the manipulative arts, more mental than physical. Due primarily to necessity, since on Crystos the ugly had to strive much harder to achieve their desires than the normally beautiful indigenous population.
And indeed the owner of that hand was ugly. The body was, thankfully, of an average aesthetic. The face however, a twisted malignant mask that caused revulsion in most who had the misfortune to catch a glimpse of it. Ironically the owner of the face wore another mask all together, a plain white featureless covering, in order to distinguish itself as one whose features deserved veiling. At this particular moment though the plain white mask lay on the table between its owner and our intrepid Commander.
"Tell me again Wistok, why is it that you stay on Crystos if you are so reviled? Surely with your brain you could find...ahem...better employment?" The Commander gulped down the synth-wine in nearly one swallow.
"Well sir, a simple soldier is all I be knowing how to do. And Quarter-mastering itself being among the best of my talents, it stands to reason that here on my home I am serving better than I would able be any other place." The soldier's face muscles writhed and twitched nauseatingly while he spoke and his fingers, the ones not clasped to the synth-wine bottle, occupied themselves fidgeting with the mask. The nervousness he displayed however was merely an act, an attempt to lure Cmdr. Turgid into a false sense of security. Cmdr. Turgid, having adventuresome instincts honed by years of application, was not fooled in the least, but he played along...for now.
Wistok stopped toying with his mask and scratched to bulbous appendage, resembling a tomato but in actuality his nose, which drooped unattractively from his face. Wistok eyed the Commander, trying to take stock of how inebriated he actually was. A normal man would have never been able to make it through the first drink, what with all the narco-drops Wistok had dissolved into the wine, but Cmdr. Brick Turgid was no ordinary man. Wistok felt perspiration bead on his cragged and poke-marked brow. He only had a few short minutes left to render the Commander unconscious. His orders were to do this with out the Commander being aware, but that was proving more difficult than he had originally surmised.
It was in the midst of these thoughts that Cmdr. Turgid finally received the telepathic vox communique from Angel Wing's chief. The wavelength had had to fight its way through some pretty severe shielding, this accounted for the delay between transmission.
"Vox J to Vox T. Vox J to Vox T...." The Commander listened to the transmission with out betraying its reception. He smiled languidly at the hideous Quartermaster.
"Another of that fine vintage, if you please?"
"Rightly ever so." Wistok replied and began to pour more of the narco=enhanced liquid into the Commander's glass. Cmdr. Turgid leaned forward, swaying slightly in order to give the impression of extreme drunkenness and as he reached for the luted glass he let his head fall to the table and pretended to pass into unconsciousness.
Wistok immediately stood and keyed the hidden communicator in his lapel.
"Zeta Five One Twelve. Alpha is neutral. Repeat Alpha is neutral." Wistok slid over to the seemingly unaware Commander, replacing the white mask to once again hide his deformity. Wistok's spidery fingers skittered across Cmdr. Turgid's tunic; seeking, probing. They twitched over the clasp of the Commander customized combat belt, searching for a way to remove it from around Turgid's waist. It was then that the Commander gave way the ruse. His strong, beefy hands gripped Wistok's with crushing pressure.
Wistok attempted to free his hands from the vices in which they were ensnared to no avail. Cmdr. Turgid, all pretense of cordiality and civility gone, spoke, his tone like ice.
"You've made another mistake Wistok. The first was thinking you could trick me."
The masked Quartermaster shook and convulsed in terror.
"I...I...I never meant for you be to coming harm sir. I was only ordered be to making you sleep!" This an amplified and mechanical stammer via the mask's vox speaker. Turgid stood, gracefully never yielding the pressure he was inflicting on the ugly soldiers wrists. At his full height he towered over the cringing, simpering alien betrayer.
"Whether it was your plan or your master's its come to no good, thankfully. I only hope there is still time to stop the damage you've already incurred from getting worse. Now sing to me little canary. Tell me what that plan was."
The imprisoned military domo sputtered and stammered at first, an attempt to stall most likely, but with a little more pressure from Cmdr. Turgid's steely hands he soon revealed all.
"A two pronged attack, sir. One on you and your Angel Wing, another on the Royal House. Once you were properly sedated and your fighting group dispatched you were to be brought before the Opal Vizier along with the Princess and made to submit to his will." This brought another tight squeeze of the wrists and the mangled faced Quartermaster shrieked in agony.
"I know by now there's probably a small squad of troopers coming to cart me off, yes?" The masked soldier nodded affirmatively.
"Major Ajex is probably seeing the worst of it by know also. But the Princess is unattended and her staff no match for even the weakest contingent of the Corpse Corps. You will help me Wistok or you wont be getting these back!" to press home the point Turgid shook the limp hands at the ends of the wrists his vice like grip still clenched. The subdued Quartermaster only whimpered but it was a whimper of acquiescence.
With only seconds to spare Turgid gave his orders to the twice-turned turncoat and then stood nonchalantly awaiting the arrival of his 'captors'.
The hover transport swung languidly into view outside the glass window. Carrying only a handful of troopers to escort a supposedly unconscious and unresisting captive. They were lax and unalert, two things never to be when dealing with Commander Brixton Millennium Turgid! Cmdr. Turgid sprang into action, running at full bore toward the glass wall between.
At the last moment he hurled himself at the wall with a terrific jump. The wall shattered in a cascade of twinkling mineral rain and the explosive release of vacuum pressure from the destabilized room atmosphere helped propel him the twenty feet distance over the gap to the hover transport. He landed with the grace of a Prancian lion in the midst of the unexpecting troopers. Before they could even bring their weapons to bare Cmdr. Turgid had thrown them all over the side of the open backed hover platform to the unending drop below. He quickly turned and made for the hover transports pilot cab.
The pilot, having only a few scant seconds more awareness than his unfortunate cohorts, desperately attempted to shake the Commander from the floating vehicle. He juked the controls left and right viciously trying to shake the legendary combatant free. To no avail. The Commander had had the opportunity to grab hold of the cab door handle and nothing could escape the Commander's grasp once he had it fixed. The pilot only managed two more shimmies before Cmdr. Turgid forced his way into the cab and unceremoniously tossed the pilot to the dark aerial fathoms below.
Cmdr. Turgid, with expert hands, stabilized the slanting hover transport and brought it around closer to the shattered window he had exited only half a minute before. Standing on legs of jelly Quartermaster Wistok clutched one of the remaining frameworks by the opening, this was how he had avoided being sucked out of the unpressurized viewing chamber when the window had exploded. Cmdr. Turgid's voice boomed the distance. Wistok had no trouble hearing him over the gusty wind that buffeted the heights of this crystal spire.
"Now make way to the Princess and do as I told you! And remember what consequences you face if you betray me again!" With that Cmdr. Turgid pivoted the hover vehicle with expert ease and jetted downward into the misty clouds 100 stories below. Wistok stood only a moment more at the window gaping open mouthed behind his blank white mask, then he bolted out the chamber door and down the corridor to the transport hall where he leaped into his personal hover-car and darted off in the direction of the Royal House. He did not stop shaking the entire ride, images of the feral brutality Cmdr. Turgid had exhibited burned into his mind. There was no room for thoughts of betrayal only terror at not following the legendary warrior's commands.
