The Pandoran Age Chronicles 7

The crew of the Taloned Sire and Winteroud Sole have united and confront the mysterious Demon on Rip. Lisa Sulla continues her mission, taking her star yacht out space and playing the mysterious Kunger Diary while on route. General Ossa and his fleet arrive in force at Siluria. The trial of Maximus Mercurio unfolds...and the collection of rogues draws closer to their destiny...“Alright then” Ossa said. “We go down there and find out what is really taking place on that world. If there are Predecessors alive and well, I want us breaching some form of communication with them. If not, I want to know if there is functioning machinery still throwing up defensive fields. Form exploratory teams, and start getting me the hard science that Central declined to acquire. I want to know the what, where, and when about the history of this planet-this whole nebula. I want scout ships scouring every corner of this gas cloud, every star charted, right down to the planetoids orbiting. Get the Hammerheads ready, we’re going on a field trip.”One could feel the excitement across the bridge as the General stepped out. There wasn’t a single person not engaged in some sort of motion, programming, or otherwise “looking busy.” For Ossa, another step into the unknown had been taken. CCCE had been neither asked permission, nor notified. Of course, it was always better to ask forgiveness than permission, as the old saw went. However, one didn’t ask CC for forgiveness. If that day came, it would be a one way trip to Omm’s’ wonderland of horrors, with no ticket back. When First Strike finally arrived at Siluria, Vega Ossa stood alone in the docking bay looking out at the planet and its gas giant like the first man on a new continent. This “Silurian world” as it had been named so many years ago, had answers. He was going to get them, come what may. Here, he suspected, was the last stand of the Predecessors. The last efforts of a great race of beings to stem a tide of horror the likes of which our own dimension had not produced...Rip orbit, Sagittarius Arm, 4217Blowfish brains and dancing dolphins! Why the Captain had decided to go off on his own, on some trip down memory lane, when the entire galaxy was poised on the edge of horrific invasion from extra dimensional soul sucking things that could rip you from normal space, drag you into their bizarre folded and curled dimensions like Hermit crabs from hell snatching a slug, and digest your soul in a series of primordial, acidic nightmares that could last for centuries, well, Sagamore Salvatore couldn’t fathom. Mingya! His mind raced for various curses of various worlds but little came to mind. But there it was. Inexplicable; an enigma wrapped in a mystery with a couple of holes drilled in it so it was an extra pain in the petard.The Captain’s com was being shielded-someone was blocking communication, and the Captain probably wasn’t even aware of it.A trap.Sag moved down the dark brick and stone alley of the red light district like he owned it. He sneered with disdain; Outworlds. Lame preindustrial Architecture, bad organic booze-if you’re going to sin, why there? He saw the neon and second rate hologram: “The Yellow Jaguar”He knocked once; a blue face appeared in a peephole. “What?”What?? You gotta be kidding me! Sag swung one back kick and the door collapsed. His motion never ceased. Sag had his disser out, the man’s arms twisted around his back, and the disser pressed against the back of his head before he could engage his rifle.“Tell me where my Captain is. Tell me where my Captain is NOW!” Sag bellowed. The whole nightclub became silent. Winteroud Sole stepped through the door after Sagamore, and adjusted his collar. “Well! I see we’ve made our entrance, and a grand one at that.”