Superhero Adventures, UK Style

Caught in the Crossfire

The captain of the ‘Raagroowr’, a Krai Cub-class battle cruiser, looked annoyed as the desk console alerted her to the presence of Dar Graaf outside her office.

‘Will no one rid me of this turbulent aide?’ she thought, with half-a-mind to do it herself.

“Allow!” she barked at the desk, her voice detected by, and activating, the artificial intelligence that lay at the heart of the cruiser’s systems. The large metal door slid to one side, and Graaf hurried in.  The captain noted, with more annoyance than usual, that he wore an expression of excitement on his face – if there was one thing that she couldn’t abide, it was a happy Graaf.

“If it please you, your Reverence…”

‘Oh, by the thorny-barked trees of Hoorf,’ she thought, ‘how much rear fur-licking could one Dar do in a lifetime?’

“…the long-range scanners have detected a great prize within our grasp!”

The captain snarled audibly, her lips curling to reveal razor-sharp teeth that hadn’t tasted decent flesh in almost two-solar cycles, as it related to the inhabitants of this backwater planet known as Earth.

Dar Graaf took his cue impeccably, “Your grasp, oh mighty Alpha!”  He bowed so low that the captain wondered how he didn’t fall over.

She relaxed into nothing more than a threatening stare and, sensing the shift in her mood, Graaf stood again.

“My liege, an Illanian Royal yacht has made starjump into this solar system, and it is on course to pass within a few thousand miles of our vessel within a few Earth-hours.”

The captain raised an eyebrow; maybe she wouldn’t eat Graaf just yet…

“A Royal yacht is no match for this ship, Graaf.  Set an intercept course immediately!  The death of a member of the Illanian Royal Family would ensure my legacy back on Krai Prime, but…Graaf…I want that ship!”

“Yes, your pulchritude.  Immediately, if not sooner!”  With a glint in his eye, Dar Graaf left the office in a flurry of robes, heading straight to the flight deck.  He knew exactly why the captain wanted the Royal yacht; the Illanians had developed sentient crystalline intelligences many eons ago, and that technology controlled all of their systems, from propulsion to defence.  No other race in the fifteen known quadrants had anything to match the Illanians in that regard.

“Capture the yacht, Graaf, capture the yacht!  Ooh, she will be pleased when it is in her paws,” he mumbled to himself as he hurried through the gleaming metallic corridors of the cruiser, “maybe pleased enough to think about pairing…” 

And so it went, a soliloquy of secret lust that made his own fur bristle with anticipation.

—

Princess M’krell of High Illana was the only daughter and youngest child of Emperor A’dras.  Only seventeen-cycles of age, she was currently on board her personal space yacht travelling through a solar system that bordered her father’s realm.  Admittedly, it was a largely uninhabited, backwater section of his realm, but a border is a border.

This unexplored solar system was unimportant to High Illana.  Its planets revolved around an ordinary yellow dwarf star of no significance, and there had never been any response to Illana’s interstellar broadcasts, not once in over four-thousand cycles.  It had been classified as a dead system, not worthy of further investigation.

A pity, then, that she was obliged to warp into this solar system, having reached the limit of K’ro’s warping ability for the current triskal.  They would have to utilise B’ri’s flight capability for the foreseeable future; the captain had calculated that the yacht would have to clear the third planet from the G2V star before K’ro would have regenerated enough of its power to engage in warp travel again.

“It is just as well,” captain H’ust said to M’krell, “there is an area surrounding the third planet that is causing our communications officer some consternation.  Ophon U’hur, would you care to explain to the princess exactly what it is that troubles you so?”

The Ophon swivelled on her seat, turning away from the signals console to look at the captain and the princess, “Well, your whyness, it is simply a matter of radio signals.  There should not be any.  This solar system is listed as a dead zone on all Illana databases.”

M’krell frowned at the Ophon, who obviously had news to share.

“And yet?” she asked, raising an eyebrow to show curiosity.

“And yet,” the Ophon continued, “the third planet is broadcasting a multitude of electro-magnetic signals, displaying a level-one civilisation intelligence.  This could potentially become a first-contact scenario.”

M’krell laughed, “Level-one?  My father would not rise from his chrono-chamber for such news.  What, in all High Illana, makes you think that this…child-like civilisation…could possibly involve this ship and crew in a first-contact scenario?”  M’krell was young, inexperienced, but her father had taught her well enough; privilege was everything, education a choice, superiority a necessity.

“To be fair,” U’hur said, revolving back to the console and pressing a sequence of coloured crystalline buttons, “it is less about the new species on the third planet, and more about their satellite.”

The yacht’s crystal viewscreen came to life, showing a portion of the third planet on the left, and closing in to the pale grey-white sphere of its satellite as it broke into view from behind the Earth.

The captain sidled up to U’hur, “Care to explain, Ophon?”  He trusted his crew, and U’hur more than most.  She was good at her job, and if she said she had found something interesting, he knew to listen well.

The Ophon pointed to the satellite as it grew larger on the viewscreen, “That…object…is not what it appears to be.”  She pressed another sequence of buttons and a slew of scrolling characters appeared alongside the images on the screen, “I trust my console with my life.  T’jau is an old crystal, and has seen and analysed many extraordinary things during his existence…”

A final button and a new batch of characters burst onto the screen, this time fixed in place and coloured red.  U’hur swivelled around again, the captain taking a step back as he read the words before him, “Your whyness, what you see there is an anomaly.  T’jau has determined that its mass is insufficient to be a solid, rocky satellite.  Its diameter is too large to be a naturally formed satellite for the third planet.  Its position is too close to the third planet to be a natural orbit for a satellite of that size compared to its parent planet…”

“Yes, yes, enough!”  M’krell had enough on her mind already and this was getting all too much for her; too much like…work, “Spit it out, Ophon; what are you actually telling me?”

U’hur took a second, giving herself time to calm down.  What she wouldn’t give to slap that spoilt brat of a child…and breath…

“T’jau has also recognised that the…object…is broadcasting a signal.  It is an extremely high frequency radio transmission, somewhere in the zeptohertz range, incredibly difficult to locate, let alone to translate.”

U’hur saw the look on M’krell’s face.  It was a look of annoyance; she was getting bored and frustrated.

“Your whyness, that object is an Arcanni Worldship.”

M’krell looked back to the viewscreen, her jaw dropping in amazement. 

Captain H’ust shook his head in disbelief, “It cannot be!  Those legends are millions of cycles old, just stories, a…a creation myth to…to…”

“To explain where we all came from?” suggested the Ophon.

The captain leaned on U’hur’s console, his face pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow.  He was in shock, but he was professional, and he had a job to do.  He already had a plan forming in his mind, a chance to kill two j’arra with one stone.

“Helm!  Set our course for the far side of that…that object.  U’hur, keep T’jau scanning it as we approach.  We are going to slingshot past it at a distance of three-thousand yarrals and use the momentum to gain some additional speed for our journey to Bolusci.  Don’t forget,” he raised his voice so that everyone on the bridge could hear him, “we are taking Princess M’krell to her wedding.  Let’s not keep the Meg of Bolusci waiting!”

He turned to U’hur again, “Try to contact the Star Guard ship again.  I thought they would already be here waiting for us.”

The bridge crew set about their tasks, and M’krell lowered her head, turning away from the rest of the crew.  With all the talk of aliens and legends, she had almost forgotten why she was on this damned flight.  The Tri-stellar war had ravaged solar system after solar system across five quadrants of the Illana Protectorate, more across the Bolusci Empire, and it had nearly wiped out the Krai Republic.  Now, in a political move as old as the stars themselves, her father had promised her hand in marriage to Torus, the Meg of Bolusci.  The marriage would cement High Illana and Bolusci together as allies; no other star system would ever dare to challenge their combined might.  And her father…well, with her out of the way, he could reignite the debate about succession with the Supreme Council, and attempt to get her eldest brother installed as Prince Regent instead of the first-born female.  How lucky he had been to have had no sisters, but her birth had scuppered her brothers’ dreams of rulership.

She felt light-headed, distant, as though she wasn’t on the bridge at all but somewhere else, somewhere above it all.  She barely heard the alarm, didn’t notice the crew looking around, shouting, running from console to console.  She only took notice when H’ust grabbed her and half-dragged her out of the bridge.

—

The Star Guard were the elite of the Bolusci Empire, and the apple of the Meg’s eye.  Taken entirely from subsidiary worlds within the Empire’s reach, they were an anomaly to most Boluscans – aliens with abilities, superpowers, something that only the Meg possessed on the homeworld.

The escort vessel had…broken down.  Singularity, the leader of this particular team of Star Guard, was annoyed – very annoyed.  This had never happened before, and it had picked the worst possible time to happen now.

“Satellite, report.  How long is this going to take?”  His gruff voice echoed through the intercom, causing everyone to take notice.

In the engine room, a tall, thin female Jastrian rolled her eyes as she heard the voice.  She was underneath the main Polyscrolittian power generator, trying to fix the couplings and restore the flow of energy to the thrusters.  She was tired, sweaty, and really not in the mood for Singularity’s rather…singular…attitude.

“I told you earlier…sir…that it will be done when it is done.  I can do no more than I can do.  Unless, of course, you have access to another Xerto-level qualified engineer that I am unaware of!”

On the bridge of the ship, Singularity cursed and frowned, which was to say that he assumed his normal expression; dour, intense, unfriendly.  He was tall, lithe, with a wide muscular chest.  Naturally of a dark grey skin tone, he was a Drakostian, the first to be given a place in the Star Guard.  So far, his service record had been exemplary.  His failure to meet the Meg’s new bride-to-be would undoubtedly reduce his favour on the homeworld.

He stared out of the window, dead ahead, his eyes glowing.

“Fine.  Take as long as you need.  But be quick about it!”

—

Before she could fully comprehend the gravity of the situation, M’krell found herself in one of the rear airlocks, wrapped in the safety of her Royal Armour.  H’ust was taking no chances, not with her life, at least.

She was crying as she looked through the small window in the interior airlock door, alone and afraid for the first time in her life.  H’ust had fitted a thruster backpack to her armour, telling her that he had programmed it to take her to the third planet.  It was time for that First Contact scenario, whether she wanted it or not.  The captain stared back at her, sadness in his eyes.  M’krell saw him mouth ‘Goodbye, Princess’, then he was gone, back to his crew, barking orders like this was another ordinary day.

The airlock plunged into darkness briefly, before a single red light indicated that the outer doors were about to open.

“Nooooooo!”

Then she was in the cold, hard vacuum of space, no longer a princess of High Illana, just a refugee from another world, alone, without a hope.

The thrusters engaged and she was flying towards the strange blue-green world below her.  She strained her neck to look back at the yacht; it was moving, it seemed so slowly, beneath the bulk of a Krai cruiser, some twenty times the size.  M’krell could see tiny beams of energy lashing out from the yacht, evaporating against the Krai energy shields.

‘If H’ust can outmanoeuvre the Krai for a while,’ she thought to herself, ‘until K’ro can warp again…’

Twin disruptor cannons flashed from the dorsal weapons array on the Krai ship, and the yacht disintegrated in a brief, bright, silent explosion.

<Atmospheric entry warning.> The armour’s on-board computer had a peculiarly mechanised sound that did not put M’krell at ease; it was nothing like the soft, pleasant tones of their crystals.

Her vision swam with flames as she plummeted around the tiny planet, cutting a swathe through the layers of the atmosphere.  She felt the turbulence to a small degree, but her armour kept out all sound and heat until it detected a safe environment.  The trajectory was perfect; H’ust had left nothing to chance.

Hitting the device orbiting the planet was not a mistake, H’ust simply did not know it would be there. 

<Warning.  Course malfunction.  Trajectory impairment imminent.  Safety protocols initiated.>

—

Dar Graaf cowered under the console of helm control as the captain raged around the bridge of the cruiser.

“You imbeciles!” she roared, her fur standing on end like a ravening Hrarkruft, the Krai Prime equivalent of a hedgehog. 

“How could I be surrounded by so many whimpering, useless academy pups as this?  What have I done to deserve the wrath of almighty Krai’garhaar himself?”

For a second, Graaf considered an answer; the captain’s fresh roar of anger changed his mind.

“Captain!  I have detected an energy trail leaving the Illanian yacht.  It’s too small to be a life-pod.”  The helmsman’s discovery seemed to have a mild calming effect on the captain’s mood.

“What?  Let me see…could it be…?  Track it.  Find out where she lands and assume an orbit directly to her zenith.  I want the princess in my paws before the next sunrise.  Do I make myself clear?”

To a Krai, the bridge crew signalled their understanding; even Graaf, still hiding, nodded and muttered.  Perhaps talk of pairing could wait…

—

End of Crossfire Prelude

—
Mayhem On Marsh Street

Friday 19 January 2024

Taboo had enjoyed a successful Christmas and New Year holiday period.  Her well-received segment at the Royal Variety Performance at the end of October had resulted in half-a-dozen bookings during November, and, in December, a further run of ten straight nights at the Hackney Empire theatre, 291 Mare Street, London, E8 1EJ.  Her manager was extremely happy, and that meant that Taboo was happy, too.

Of course, outside of her escapology and acrobatic stage show career, Fiona was a hero.  Not publicly, perhaps; she went to great pains to ensure that her identity was never at risk; but she was ready to respond whenever a threat to life arose, with little regard for her own safety, and her recent night-time patrols of Central London had earned her the thanks of several citizens already, plus the ire of several arrested muggers and drug-dealers.

She had taken last night off from her heroics and she had enjoyed the benefits of a good night’s sleep as a result.  Rising from slumber at 7.30am, she was now sipping her morning tea whilst checking through the various local London news reports, with several small channels vying to grab her attention.  She had somewhere to be no later than 11am, but that gave her plenty of time.

Settling on London Today, Taboo chuckled at Lilly Price’s news report of a Gorilla, Gernot, a young adult male, that had escaped from his pen overnight, and apparently subsequently fled the zoo.  The zoo staff were telling the public not to approach Gernot if encountered, but to contact the zoo or the police immediately.  Camden wasn’t Fiona’s neck of the woods, and she wasn’t going to worry too much about an escaped animal – the local authorities were pretty handy in similar instances – but she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if poor Gernot wandered into the market, or made a home in Regent’s Park!

Another article seemed relevant following the recent events with the Werebear transformations, now dubbed ‘Liar’s Moon’ by the media.  The World Health Organisation, along with several western genetic research firms, were accusing the Russian government of being involved in bio-chemical research into the creation of ‘superhumans’.  Research of any kind towards this aim had been banned on a worldwide basis at the end of the Second World War, due largely to the actions of the Nazis, and Mengele in particular.  Of course, given the current invasion of Ukraine, western powers are concerned that the war could take an unexpected turn for the worst if should research were to produce viable subjects.  A Russian spokesman, Dr Grinsky Orborski, said simply to the collected press in Moscow, “This is western lies yet again.  We are conducted research into the benefits of genetic engineering for our cosmonauts, and for purposes of medical and health benefits, but we would never seek to further any activity that goes against the Berlin anti-experiments Treaty.  To suggest otherwise is slander of the worst kind.”

She took a long sip of her tea, ‘And that means they are doing precisely that!’

The next news report focussed on a meteorite that had been seen breaking up in the skies over South America last night, and whether it had actually been another failed space mission, though neither N.A.S.A. nor any private companies had reported any active missions that week.  European astronomers had commented that a shooting star seen over parts of Spain and France were possibly smaller fragments of this meteorite, glowing as they broke down in the Earth’s atmosphere.  No danger to life or property was expected.

When the next news item mentioned a missing cat, Taboo decided to freshen up and head out on her mission early.  The rest had done her good, but it seems it had made her eager for action.

By 8.55am she was perched atop the motionless London Eye ferris wheel in Lambeth, scanning the large embankment in front of County Hall, away to her right.  Situated along the bank of the Thames, opposite the Houses of Parliament, and right next to Westminster Bridge Road, County Hall was a huge building; formerly the home of the Greater London Council, it was now a multi-functional centre, housing two hotels, a gaming centre, the London Sea Life aquarium, one-hundred and fifty-six apartments, the Shrek’s Adventure complex, London Dungeon, various small businesses, and, of interest to Taboo right now, the newly revamped and refurbished London Film Museum.

The museum was due to be officially opened at 11am that morning by up-and-coming Italian actress Lola Novanna, with the ceremony being filmed on the large semi-circular stepped frontage to the Hall itself.  At just 22 years of age, Lola had already starred in half-a-dozen Italian-language romantic comedy movies, and Hollywood were rumoured to be interested in bringing her to the States to star opposite Clooney in as yet-unwritten blockbuster.

Taboo was there at the request of her good friend and D.I.C.E. colleague, Soraja Suhan, Agent Maya, who had asked Taboo to ‘babysit’ the film star.  There was no expectation of trouble at all, but there was a good reason to have D.I.C.E. operatives watching the proceedings – their new sub-station was nearing completion, and it was twenty feet under County Hall.

Whilst having a para-military organisation based under a highly populated business centre on a daily basis might seem like an accident waiting to happen, it was actually a pretty safe bet in reality.  It was secret, known only to the ministers with jurisdiction over D.I.C.E. affairs, and the associated in-house contractors and personnel that would be stationed there.  Vehicles were unmarked, and had tinted anti-camera windows so that staff were not identifiable as D.I.C.E. agents when travelling on the city streets; the same went for the licence plates.  Uniforms were kept on location; personnel wore them whilst on duty, but were obliged to return to the sub-station and to change into civilian clothing by the end of their shift.  A vehicular access point on the service road next to Liberty Park allowed anything up to a large truck access to the communal underground car parking, which in turn had a secure shuttered access to a private car park for D.I.C.E. vehicles, and lifts and stairwells down to the base.  Staff could use the general car parking if they wished, or there were several egress points throughout the ground floor of the building for them to leave, undistinguishable from any of the other people that worked at County Hall each day.  The ‘roof’ of the sub-station had been reinforced with two layers of foot-thick steel, sandwiching a five-feet thick layer of iron-mesh and concrete.  Access was biometric, by eye scans, or by a twenty-character passcode known only to the holder and the computer terminal that held that information at D.I.C.E.’s main U.K. headquarters at Broken Wharf House, 2 Broken Wharf, London, EC4V 3DT.

—

“At least there haven’t been many incidents of Werebears recently,” said Marcus, as he spooned some sugar into his third coffee of the day, “Shame, really; I could do with exercising my right foot again.”

John laughed, “Yeah, I remember that.  You floored that one, and the one you bounced him into.  That was awesome!”

Marcus chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh that made a couple of nearby diners look at him strangely.  Maybe he was a bit loud?

“Did you read about it?  The U.K. reckons that the cure we helped to get out there affected about ninety-nine-point-nine per-cent of the altered humans, but there could be a thousand or two still out there as full-blown bears!  Man, this country is so screwed right now!”

John carried on eating.  If the Brits did one thing well, it was breakfast.

“Say,” Marcus continued, “where’s Lauren got to?  She should be here by now.  I’ve saved her an O.J. already.”

John gulped down a mouthful of bacon and eggs, following it swiftly with half a cup of coffee, “Man, that’s nice!  Hmmm, she is late, that’s for sure.  Did she say anything last night about not being here?”

Marcus thought for a second or two, his eyes searching the table as he tried to remember, “Not that I can think of, no.  I walked her back to her room after a couple of drinks in the bar, but that was about 10.30; nothing late.  We said goodnight, and that was that.”

John ruminated on it, looking behind him to see if Lauren were walking in even as he thought about her.  No such luck.

“Right, I’ll go to her room.  Perhaps she’s just having a lie-in.”

Ten minutes later, John was back at the dining room.  Marcus was on seconds, and two extra rounds of toast were waiting for him as well.  He frowned as John sat down.

“Nfin?” he mumbled through a mouth full of waffles and bacon.

“No reply,” John said, rubbing his chin.  This wasn’t like Lauren.  All E.D.T. staff were supposed to check-in by 9am.  Given that they were all prized experimental assets, he was surprised that the support staff weren’t locking down the Dorchester and conducting a room-by-room search by now.

A muted hubbub of voices wafted over from the far end of the dining room, and they both looked to see what was happening.  Several patrons were staring intently at a large screen TV showing a news report.  Another couple stood up and walked over to get a better view.  A woman put her hand over her mouth in shock.  Several patrons gasped audibly at whatever was being shown.

John and Marcus looked at each other, “Let’s go see,” Marcus said, getting up.

When they were close enough, they saw that a large cloud of smoke or dust was rising over a residential area.  The news channel was showing snippets of mobile phone footage sent in by people on the scene, which was being labelled as Marsh Street, Isle of Dogs, E14.  The location meant nothing to them, other than it was in London somewhere.  More text on-screen stated a possible gas explosion; one of the diners muttered something about ‘urban gorillas’, to the amusement of the others.  The quality of the footage was not brilliant, and the dust cloud did not help, but they could clearly see that the road surface had been torn up, as though a huge finger had gouged out a channel through the tarmac.

“Perhaps we should help out?” Marcus whispered to John.

“Right, then,” he said, “I will go and find Maitlin, see if he knows anything about Lauren.”

It was a matter of moments to find Jesse Maitlin, Murgatroyd’s public liaison officer, but the reception was not good news.  He stared at Citadel blankly when asked about Sanctuary’s whereabouts.

“We don’t have a Lauren, nor an agent Sanctuary, on the Murgatroyd payroll.  That project hasn’t taken place yet.  You and Stronghold are the E.D.T. for the foreseeable future whilst the bigwigs back home make the decisions on the third team member.”

Citadel was shocked.  “This is very strange.  Is something going on we should know about?  Not that you’re gonna tell us.”

Maitlin looked equally non-plussed, “I honestly don’t know what you’re on about.  Sanctuary hasn’t even been officially sanctioned yet.  We haven’t got anybody by that code name.”

“So you say…” he muttered under his breath.

Citadel was dumbfounded.  He had spent months in training with Rodriguez, and one day he was just gone.  No-one spoke about him, no-one would give John any updates or news on him.  This was similar, although Maitlin was denying any knowledge of Lauren, whereas Murgatroyd fully accepted that Rodriguez had been part of their program.

John changed the subject, “Stronghold and I are going to check out this explosion.  Can you provide us with some transport to get us there quickly, please?”

“I’ll sort it out,” Maitlin said, tapping his mobile phone, “It’ll be ready in five.  Do you want any backup on site, or are you okay?”

“We’ll let you know when we get there.”  John was concerned about Lauren’s disappearance, but he knew he had a job to do first.

“All right,” said Maitlin, “we’ll get a team ready just in case.”

John then checked with the Dorchester reception staff; Lauren’s room was vacant, part of Murgatroyd’s penthouse floor booking, but no guests were checked into that room.  He collected Marcus from the restaurant and they headed off to get changed.

In the lift, John said, “If it’s something like a gas explosion, we’ll just help with getting people out of the area.  If it’s more sinister, we’ll make a decision on what to do.”  Then he turned to look squarely at Marcus, “You remember Sanctuary, don’t you?”

“Yeah, sort of,” he grinned, “She was here a lot, yeah.”

John knew that Marcus was joking, but he was not in the mood for jollity.

“Well, according to the guy I just spoke to, she does not exist.”

It was Marcus’s turn to look serious, “That’s a bit odd.”

“More than a bit odd.  I think Murgatroyd are playing a game with us.”

Marcus frowned, “Possibly.”  He wondered why they would.

“Oh, I think definitely.”  He shrugged, “Not much we can do about it.  Bear it in mind, in case one of us suddenly disappears.”

Marcus nodded but said nothing; right now, he just wanted to kick something.

Three minutes later they were both in uniform and in the black S.U.V. pulling away from The Dorchester.

John worried about Sanctuary all the way to Marsh Street.  Their driver, Stuart Decker, was ex-military, a burly, bald-headed man, sporting a healthy chin-strap moustache and beard, and mirrored shades, even though the day was overcast and dull.  Maitlin had used Murgatroyd’s influence with the British authorities to organise green lights on the roads, and Decker estimated a journey of around twenty minutes.  At the speed he was doing, Marcus thought they would make it in fifteen.

—

With plenty of time to spare before the 11am ceremony, Taboo had tuned her suit’s communications systems into the local news again.  She had just spotted a dust cloud some miles away when the station caught up with the ongoing situation in Marsh Street.  No deaths or injuries had been reported so far, but residents were concerned for the safety of the children and staff at the Harbinger Primary School, which was located along the entire length of Marsh Street.  Emergency services had been called but were not on scene yet.

‘Ah, I’ve got time,’ she thought, creating a portal just in front of her, in mid-air.  She stepped through, and was gone.

Twenty minutes later, Taboo stepped through a portal onto the flat rooftop of an apartment building on Harbinger Road, chosen by her specifically because it looked directly into Marsh Street.  The journey had taken twelve jumps, including this last one to the rooftop, and she had been obliged to stop after the eighth portal to allow the power unit to recharge sufficiently to continue.  The suit had not been designed with long-term usage in mind; nor, indeed, long-range.  It was meant to be an on-site asset with an average range of one-hundred yards.  Taboo had learned how to push the circuitry beyond its original design, but it had its limits; at present, that seemed to be a little over half-a-mile per portal.

She looked around.  Her position overlooked a T-junction; to left and right was Harbinger Road, with Marsh Street directly in front of her.  The cloud of dust overhead was thinning as it was pulled higher by a gentle breeze, but there was still quite a thick plume of black smoke at street level, caught in the middle of the dust cloud.  Taboo could make out the shapes of two damaged cars, dented severely down the side and the furthest one was definitely on fire, explaining the continuing thickness of the smoke.  The burning car was only a couple of yards away from the other damaged vehicle, so there was a chance that the flames could spread if they weren’t dealt with quickly.

Something else was there, obscured by the smoke; Taboo was sure that it was a person, but they glinted like metal in the flickering firelight, and they seemed to be crawling on the ground.

Taboo looked up at the rest of the apartment building that abutted her position to the left; it was two floors higher than the building she stood on, and would look down into the smoke – no good.

A small crowd of people had gathered at both ends of Marsh Street, several of whom were taking videos on their mobile phones.  Nobody seemed interested in going into the smoke, though, and Taboo couldn’t see any other people in the street.  There were no doorways in the street; on her left, the school building ran the entire length – plenty of windows, but no access.  She could hear shouting voices from behind the main building, probably the school playground, and imagined that the children had been, or were being evacuated by the teachers.  On her right, a wall ran the entire length, connecting two houses, one at either end, though the near property had its frontage on Harbinger Road.  Behind the houses, the wall sealed off the garden spaces.  Good; the lack of access meant that there were probably no civilians in danger.

Taboo created a portal, one of her medium-sized gateways that was large enough for a person to walk through, and re-appeared atop the school building, about ten-yards from the junction.  She immediately saw lines of young children in the school playground, and several adults looking after them, some on their mobiles.  In the distance, she could hear sirens.

The smoke prevented her from seeing much in Marsh Street until a gust of wind cleared her line of sight.  She saw the two cars, both badly dented but the one on the left had also suffered major damage to its front, as though something heavy had smashed into it with great force.  This was the car on fire.  Worse, she saw that the other car had a woman in the driver’s seat, unable to get out; the passenger side doors had been buckled, but the car seemed to have been pushed forward by an impact, and the driver’s side door was pressing against a bollard.  The woman was struggling, but could not release the doors.

The gouge in the tarmac led to the area where the two cars lay, suggesting to Taboo that the figure on the ground had hit the road at speed, then crashed into the woman’s vehicle before smashing into the other car, setting it ablaze.

Taboo could see glimpses of burnished metal, a metallic silver through the dust cloud.  The figure was extremely close to the burning car, and was trying to get to their feet.

There were more people crowding the far end of Marsh Street, but they were well back from the junction, and at no risk from the car fire.

The sound of shouting to her right brought Taboo’s attention back to Harbinger Road, where she saw four D.I.C.E. troopers ushering people away from the junction, and another four on the flat rooftop that she had just been standing on.  They were all armed with rifles, though not one she recognised; the guns looked like something from a sci-fi movie.  Taboo knew that D.I.C.E. had developed a ‘blaster’ sidearm, but a rifle was news to her.

The four troopers on the road were ushering the small crowd away from the junction, clearing a line of sight for the marksmen on the roof.

Another portal, and Taboo emerged onto Marsh Street, near to the car with the trapped woman inside it.  She had turned around and appeared to be talking to someone in the back seat; a step closer and Taboo realised that there was a baby in the back.  The poor mite was crying, the woman trying to calm her baby down.

Taboo ran around to the driver’s side of the vehicle.  The woman saw her and began to bang on the window, shouting for help.

A combination of shouting and hand gesturing from Taboo made the woman understand that Taboo wanted her to try winding the window down.  The woman tried but the buckled door prevented the window from dropping more than a few millimetres.

Taboo then told the woman to cover herself with her coat, as she was going to have to smash the window.  The woman shuffled herself between the gap in the front seats, getting her out of the way of the window and covering her baby at the same time.  Taboo set her stance against the side of the car, then rammed her elbow into the glass, shattering the pane.  The armoured fabric of her suit was sufficient to enable her to clear the remaining glass from the frame.

The woman began to release her baby from its child seat strappings as Taboo heard the sound of gunfire.  Two bright flashes of energy hit the tarmac on the other side of the car; in her peripheral vision, Taboo saw two more flashes explode against the armoured figure to her right.  She saw the figure stagger backwards, hitting the burning car and causing the fire to spread towards the woman’s car; fuel must have been leaking, and now the pressure was on.

Taboo took the baby from her mother’s hands through the open window, “Please, save my baby!” she cried, tears streaming down her face.

“I’ve got her,” Taboo said, “She’s safe!  Now, come on, climb through!”

More shots rang out.  It was definitely not standard projectile weaponry being fired, that much Taboo could tell.

Seconds later, she was pulling the woman through the gap with her free hand, and handing her baby back to her.

“I’m getting you out of here,” she said, as a portal opened behind them.  A quick glance back at the car told Taboo that the fuel was alight. 

Grabbing the woman’s arm Taboo pushed her through the portal and closed it down, just as the car erupted into a fireball. 

—

The woman stepped out onto Harbinger Road, a good distance away from the junction, and the crowds.

“Thank you,” she said, as the portal vanished, and then, holding her baby safely in her arms, she walked away, heading for home.

—

“Fresh smoke!” said Stronghold, spotting a plume of thick black smoke rising over the houses in front of them.  The sound of an explosion reached them over the sound of the car engine.

“Thirty seconds!” yelled Decker, swinging the wheel around to take a corner at well beyond the speed limit for a residential area.  Thanks to the ‘green light’ system that had been put in place for them, the E.D.T. had made the journey in an astonishingly rapid time, thanks mainly to Decker’s driving, and the high powered SUV in which they were speeding.  The narrow streets of the Isle of Dogs didn’t seem to bother him, and he weaved around corners, cars, and people, with equal skill.  They had overtaken a police car some time ago, and it was probably about ten minutes behind them, now.

“Has Space-X lost another one of their bloody satellites?” asked Decker nonchalantly. 

Citadel smiled briefly at the joke, “Oh, it’s had a rapid, rapid, unscheduled disassembly,” he replied, but wondered just what they were going to find.

—

Taboo somersaulted over the burning car, landed two yards in front of the armoured figure, and took a step towards…her?

A new explosion shook the car behind her, and Taboo found herself in the midst of a ball of flame, the heat searing the skin of her back even through the protective fabric.  She had been burned, that was certain, but without the suit it would have been a lot worse.

—

Decker screeched to a halt some way up Harbinger Road, allowing the two heroes to see the small crowd of onlookers and the four D.I.C.E. troopers.  To their right, a woman was hurrying away from the scene, carrying a baby in her arms.

The troopers wore dark-blue uniforms, black gloves and boots, and what appeared to be baseball caps, or something similar.  They all carried long rifles.

Stronghold and Citadel exited the vehicle, noticing the other four troopers up on the flat roof of the apartment block, framed against the pale sandy-coloured bricks of the wall behind them, the side of the taller block of flats.

The junction to Marsh Street was visible, and they could see the smoke and dust cloud over the houses near the junction in Harbinger Road.  The school was visible, or at least the southern end of the building was.  They could see that a great gouge of tarmac had been ripped up from Harbinger Road, a few yards from the junction, and that it continued into Marsh Street.  As they surveyed the area, another ‘whoosh’ was heard, and they saw a column of flames briefly appear above the rooftop of the corner house, before it receded below a fresh billow of black smoke.

“What do you want to do, Stronghold?” Citadel asked him, “Are these guys Police?”

“No, they don’t look like British police to me.  Who are they?  They’ve got some pretty big weapons there.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

Stronghold grinned, “Oh, yeah, talk to them.”

He approached one of the troopers, by-passing the small crowd of live-streamers, “Hi, guys, who are you? What’s going on?”

The trooper eyed Stronghold and Citadel suspiciously.  He, in common with his compatriots, looked rugged and burly, more like an action movie hero than a secret law-enforcement agent.  A thick dark moustache grew over his top lip, which barely moved as he said, “And you are?”

“Better to ask you the same thing,” Stronghold replied.

Citadel noted the man’s gruff voice; they obviously weren’t being paid for their public speaking skills, that was for sure.

“I am sorry,” Citadel chipped in, “I am Citadel, and this is Stronghold, of the Murgatroyd U.K. E.D.T. team.  You may have heard of us.  Who are you?”

The man shifted uneasily, gripping his rifle tighter, “We are D.I.C.E.”

Stronghold looked to Citadel, “Well, you don’t hear that every day…”

“We’re on your side, then,” said Citadel.

The man looked uneasy as the two heroes dwarfed even his burly physique, “Says who?”

“We do!”

A sound like the sizzling of a hot grill erupted from the rooftop to their left as the four D.I.C.E. troopers opened fire.  The heroes saw the laser trail disappear into the smoky unknown of Marsh Street, and corresponding explosions as the energy bolts hit home.

An alarm bell began to ring, the shrill metallic clanging emanating from the school.

Stronghold turned to the trooper in front of him, “What are you guys shooting at?”

“Classified,” the man replied, trying his best to look stern.

“Not very helpful…” muttered Stronghold, wondering why these damn fools were being so uncooperative, “Come on, Citadel!”

With that, Stronghold pushed past the D.I.C.E. agent and began to jog towards the junction.

“Oi!  What’re you…?”  The agent was left speechless as Citadel also ran past him.

Citadel gave the man a backward glance, “Yeah, you’re not being helpful.”

Reaching the T-junction, they could see that two damaged cars were burning furiously about half-way along the street.   The furthest vehicle seemed to have exploded, and pieces of twisted metal had hit the school, possibly triggering the alarm.  The gouge in the road was about four feet deep; whatever had hit it was heavy, hard, and travelling fast.

A break in the smoke screen enabled them to spot a silvery figure holding their arms across their face in a defensive posture and, just getting to her feet, they saw Taboo.  Her back was to them, and they could see that her costume had been burned.

Citadel began running to her, “Hello, again!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the din of the alarm and the fires.

As he watched, he saw Taboo gain her balance, then leap forward, arms outstretched, at the figure in metal.  Taboo reached her target in one jump of ten feet or so, her arc dipping just below the figure’s raised arms, allowing her arms to encircle the waist.  The armoured figure lurched backward, losing its balance, and both it and Taboo vanished into a glowing portal that appeared just behind them, above the surface of the road.

Stronghold heard a clang of metal somewhere behind him, turned to look, and saw, as the small group of onlookers parted to turn around as well, Taboo and the other figure rising to their feet about twenty feet behind the cordon of D.I.C.E. troopers.

Citadel stopped in his tracks as the portal closed and he quickly turned around.  Stronghold had also just turned around and, two floors up, John could see the four D.I.C.E. troopers on the roof shifting their positions to aim their rifles towards the civilians on Harbinger Road.  He quickly checked the school wall along Marsh Street and, seeing no greater damage than a cracked window or two, nor any access points, he assumed that there was no great danger for the occupants and started back towards Stronghold.  He hoped that no-one was inside the cars; if there was, they were beyond help.

Reaching Stronghold again, they both saw the other four D.I.C.E. troopers readying their rifles and aiming them towards Taboo and the armoured figure.  A shriek rang out from someone in the crowd, and they broke ranks, most running away, one brave soul stepping back quickly whilst still trying to record everything with her mobile.

The E.D.T. heroes could now hear shouting from somewhere behind the school building, adult voices, and laughing children; they sounded safe enough and, more importantly, it seemed they were heading away, perhaps exiting the grounds behind the main building.  Stronghold cast a look over the school building, checking for damage as Citadel had done, and was as satisfied that the integrity of the structure was sound.

Citadel focussed on his sixth sense and reached out around him; there was no immediate threat to him, but his mind tingled when he looked at the D.I.C.E. troopers. 

‘Strange’, he thought, ‘they are supposed to be the good guys.  What’s going on here?’

He and Stronghold could see the D.I.C.E. troopers checking their aim now that the crowd had dispersed.  All eight were fixed on Taboo and the armoured figure, and the fact hadn’t gone unnoticed by Taboo, who engaged her public address system.

“We’re a Dawson authorised extraction team.  Bugger off!”

If Taboo had hoped to distract the D.I.C.E. squad by name-dropping Major Dawson, head of the U.K. branch, her hope was in vain, as the troopers unleashed a volley of energy blasts.  Taboo saw a couple bounce off the air an inch or so from the armour of the, now definitely, female figure beside her.  The rest blew out fist-sized holes in the road surface.

‘Bloody hell!  Dawson must really have it in for me!’ she thought.  She and Dawson were poles apart, but this was extreme, even for him.

Stronghold and Citadel looked at each other, both rather shocked at the sudden turn of events.

“Oh, dear!” said Citadel, “Now we’ve got to take on D.I.C.E.”

“Right!” said Stronghold, not quite believing that he was about to get physical with what he thought was a law-enforcement agency.

“Well, they’ve they seem an ignorant set of drongos,” Citadel said, the disdain evident in his voice, “so let’s get on with it!”

Even as the E.D.T. started to move, the D.I.C.E. troopers in front of them had advanced close to Taboo who, in response, sprang directly up to one of the men, slapping his rifle aside.

“You idiot!” she shouted at him, “Move now, or I’m going to have you fired!”

The trooper took two steps back, visibly shaken by the confrontation, but two others immediately pointed their rifles at Taboo.  The last trooper was still aiming at the armoured figure, who had remained where she was, about ten feet away.

Citadel reached the two troopers on the left of their line and, in one motion, tapped them on the shoulder and somersaulted over them as they both turned their heads to look.

Stronghold saw that his teammate had distracted two of the men and used the time it gave him to activate his grappling line.  The mechanism snapped up from the storage pod in his right gauntlet, and the steel cable whipped out at speed, wrapping itself around the trunk of a lamppost on the kerbside to his right.

He was already running in an arc around the lamppost as the cable finished securing itself and, when he felt the line catch, he launched himself into the air, swinging around feet first.  He was graceful, his trajectory perfect; he was heading groundward as he missed Taboo’s head by inches and connected with two heavy kicks, knocking both troopers to the floor, their rifles skittering away.  Sensing that it was no longer needed, the cable system released its locking grip, and the thin steel line began to unwind, the whole length returning to the gauntlet in just a few seconds.  As the mechanism disappeared back into the gauntlet, Stronghold flipped in mid-air and landed perfectly on his feet, facing Taboo.

If she was impressed, her helmet didn’t show it.  The ‘T’ design was as stoic as ever, and the rest of the visor simply showed Stronghold his own face, a curved reflection of a man of action, smiling, and loving his job.

Marcus looked down at the two troopers and frowned; they were flickering!  It was like watching an old film, the ones from the turn of the previous century – one second the men were D.I.C.E. agents, the next they were in black and silver…tunics?  Uniforms?  And their skin…it looked…furry?

Marcus felt Taboo turn her head to look down at the sight.

“Interesting…” he heard her say.  What was going on?

The two troopers that Citadel had distracted were even more confused now that their two comrades had been attacked.  One returned his attention to Citadel but found himself flung to the tarmac as Citadel grabbed his rifle and used his enhanced strength to push downwards suddenly, unbalancing the man, who had to release the weapon or risk injury.  He rolled to his left, away from the heroes.

Stronghold saw a flash of light to his left.  Turning, he saw a large circular portal behind Taboo and the other person.  For a split-second, Marcus thought he saw four more D.I.C.E. troopers, all kneeling down, facing away from him; then Taboo took a step back, raising her arms to make a cruciform.  Another step and her right arm caught the armoured… woman, he noticed…knocking her backwards, falling in parallel with Taboo into the portal. 

“Hologram!” she shouted.

The portal closed and they were gone.

Citadel couldn’t quite fathom what he had just heard.  Hologram?  But he had felt the rifle, that was real enough.  Then he noticed the unconscious men on the ground, the image of them flickering between human and…something else.

‘Or they’re not actually D.I.C.E. agents!’ he realised, in a moment of  understanding.

—

Two of the troopers on the roof of the apartment block turned around as they heard a noise behind them, ruining their chance to shoot at their target on the road below them.

They really didn’t expect to see their quarry lying on the roof space, let alone the purple-clad teleporter who was running full-tilt at them.

The other two troopers did fire, their shots hitting the road just a few feet away from Stronghold and Citadel, roughly where Taboo and the armoured woman had just been standing.

—

Still running with the hologram idea, Citadel adjusted the sensitivity of the rods and cones in his eyes, the world becoming dimmer as he began to see in infrared.  He looked at the two troopers that were still conscious and found that their heat patterns did not match their human personas; they were thinner in all respects, and the shape of their heads was peculiar.  They didn’t look human!

—

As she ran at the four men, Taboo took stock of the situation.  The two on the left had heard M’krell’s armour hit the rooftop; they had looked around and were now beginning to stand up, bringing their rifles around with them.

All four were very close to the edge of the building.  They had all been kneeling, using the low wall, about a foot high, at the edge to steady themselves.  Perfect!

Had the troopers been allowed another second they would have been able to fire their weapons, but Taboo didn’t give them that time.

Finishing her run in a crouch, she sprang up like a viper, landing a kick squarely in the chest of the left-most man and sending him over the side of the building.  Even as he realised what was happening, Taboo was breaking the bones in the right hand of the second man; he screamed in agony as Taboo’s fingers rammed into the back of his hand, forcing him to release the rifle which spun out over the wall.

As Taboo pulled her right arm back, she used the momentum and shift in her balance to land a fierce left-footed kick to the back of the third man; he never even saw his attacker, and was too terrified to scream as he tumbled into mid-air.  Taboo then straightened her arms and leaned into a handstand, bending her legs at the knees and bringing them down to her waist.  The last remaining shooter did manage to turn around fully before Taboo allowed herself to fall slightly; when her feet were angled towards the man Taboo uncoiled, both feet slamming into his chest.  He flew off his feet, curling gracefully over the wall.

—

Stronghold didn’t need to use his ability to detect humanoid life; he could quite clearly see the three D.I.C.E. troopers spilling from the rooftop away to his right.  They hit the ground, a parking zone for the flats, in quick succession with sickening thuds, as befitted a fall of around twenty feet.

Marcus heard the first trooper make an involuntary grunt before he lay still.  He had landed face first, and Marcus saw that he was no longer a man, but a thin-limbed figure wearing a black and silver uniform.  The second man landed on his side and yelled out, holding his shoulder.  He began to flicker, much like the trooper that Citadel had manhandled a few moments earlier.  The third trooper hit the ground flat on his back.  Stronghold saw the back of his head bounce off the tarmac, then his body go limp.  He remained looking like a human, for whatever reason.

Now, Stronghold did use his ability to detect life; three on the roof, three on the ground.  All alive.

Stronghold strode over to them, grabbing their rifles.

If anyone was going to say it, it seemed quite fitting that it would be Citadel, “All right, then; bear heads again!”

With that, he grabbed the man that he had dragged to the floor and pulled him to his feet.  Citadel shifted his feet until he had lined himself up with the man in front of him, and the only remaining armed D.I.C.E. imposter.  Then, with a smile on his face, he planted an open hand into the man’s chest that sent him hurtling backwards to crash into the armed man behind him.  A rib, maybe two, cracked under Citadel’s palm as the blow landed, and the man was unconscious before he bowled his comrade over in a heap of flailing limbs.

Citadel kicked the rifle away, rolled the comatose man off the struggling, flickering man beneath him, then grabbed a handful of his dark blue uniform.  He felt something snap in his grasp, and the D.I.C.E. uniform vanished, revealing a black and silver tunic, and the dark brown fur of something totally alien.

The creature looked similar to the werebears that the E.D.T. had encountered last Hallowe’en; to be precise, it resembled what had become known as ‘Phase Two’ of the transformation.  It was difficult to imagine what a bear’s head would look like with most of its fur shaved off but, effectively, that’s exactly what this was.

“Now, bear face, what are you doing on my planet?”

The creature growled, the pitch and tone changing as though it were trying to speak, perhaps, but the result was just a guttural snarl of noises.

“Oh, for God’s sake, give my dog some biscuits.”

Citadel lifted the alien up so that his feet left the tarmac of the road, then used the comms to reach Taboo.

“Hi! Taboo!”

Taboo was kneeling by the injured man on the roof, but she looked over at Citadel when she heard her name.

Citadel continued, “You know what these things are?”

“Are they related to the werebears we played with last time?” she asked.

“Don’t think so.  Not nearly as hard.”

Taboo was quiet for a long moment before she replied, “I didn’t think they were.”

—

Citadel switched calls via the comms system in his cowl.

[Hello!  You’re through to Murgatroyd’s AI network.  How may I assist you?]

“This is Citadel.”

[Acknowledged.]

“I have been in combat with aliens.  I require urgent assistance.  I have one living alien as a prisoner.”

[Understood.  Team dispatched.  Your location in twenty minutes.]

“Okay.”

‘That’, he thought, ‘was more like it.  About time they fixed that glitch’.

—

Back on the roof, Taboo was staying close to the disguised alien when she felt a nudge on her elbow.  Turning, she saw the armoured female standing beside her.  Fiona smiled, knowing that her face couldn’t be seen, but hoping that the gesture could be felt.

“Do you understand English?” she asked, quietly

The figure straightened visibly, head cocked slightly, “I didn’t know that I did, so my suit must be translating your language.”

“Who are you? Why are you here?”

“I am Princess M’krell.  I am here because my yacht was destroyed.  This,” she gestured to the armour, “is a survival suit.  The captain got me out of the ship.”

“Can you breathe oxygen as found on this planet?”

“All of my species breathe oxygen.”

“Okay,” Taboo said, “do you want to take your helmet off?  At the moment you’re standing out as an obvious target; we want to reduce your visibility slightly.”

“I will do so.” M’krell reached up to the neck area of her suit and, with a couple of clicks and the hiss of escaping gases, she removed the helmet.

Taboo looked at M’krell.  Without the helmet on, the princess was obviously…different.  Humanoid, yes, but her eyes were similar to portrayals of the almond-eyed ‘Greys’, much larger than human, albeit she did have irises and sclera.  Her hair looked as normal as anyone’s, though it seemed to grow upwards and appeared to be stiffer than human hair – it barely moved in the breeze that blew across the rooftop.  Her skin was pale; that, together with the large eyes, made Taboo wonder whether her home world had a lower ambient light than the Earth.  The more she looked at M’krell, the more attractive she found her.

“Welcome to earth,” Taboo said, “I take it these creatures were trying to capture you, or kill you.  Do you know why?”

The alien woman spoke, but Taboo instantly saw that her lips did not match the words; that and the electronic sound behind the soft voice told Taboo that the armour was somehow translating her native speech into English.

“They are the Krai.  They are our sworn enemies.  I would be a great prize for their leader.”

‘A damsel in distress, then’, thought Taboo.

“Let’s get you to safety first, and then you can tell us more about these Krai.”

She used her suit’s communications system to patch herself through to Citadel and Stronghold.

“I’ve got a little visitor here on a day trip.  Might need a little bit of help.  Can one of you two manage to find some sort of hooded disguise?  A coat, or some sort of cloak ?”

Citadel was the first to respond, “Okay, right.  We have got one of these things as a prisoner, though it doesn’t seem to understand English.”

“No,” said Taboo, “but I have somebody who might be able to translate, though I’m not sure how safe it is for her.”

“I will hang on to this this guy, then.  Stronghold, you want to have a look around for something to help her?”

As he finished speaking, Citadel had a bad feeling.  His sixth sense had kicked in, sensing danger that affected him directly.  He looked around quickly, but the next second he realised that the danger had something to do with the Krai he was holding.  He had the urge to release the creature, to let go of it right there and then.  His intuition was telling him that it would not be good for him to hold on to the creature any longer.

He didn’t want to release the Krai, but he had learned to trust what his sixth sense told him; he threw the creature away, to his right, hard.

On the rooftop, Taboo felt M’krell’s eyes boring into her, and she turned to look at her.

“They will get away, you know.”

“At the moment my priority is to keep you safe.”

Taboo then heard a ‘click’ from behind her.

Her martial arts training kicked in.  She spun around, her right leg extended, bending her left leg at the knee to reduce her height – a sweeping kick that connected with the Krai’s thigh and sent him over the low wall at the edge of the roof.  As he fell, Taboo could see that he held a black object in his useable hand, a small round object, possibly a metal disk, about the size of a fifty-pence coin.

The falling alien seemed to freeze in mid-air for a split-second before he began to glow.  Vertical beams of light, shades of golden-yellow, sprouted from the Krai’s body, head to foot, seeming to shoot into the sky.  In a heartbeat, he was gone.

On Harbinger Road Citadel and Stronghold saw the same thing happen to the other aliens.  A second later, they were all gone.  Only their rifles remained behind.

Citadel followed the vertical lines until he was looking up to the overcast January sky, “Come in, your time is up.”  He looked around him, switching to infra-red vision in case the Krai had become invisible.  Doubtful, but it was better to check.

As he confirmed that the Krai were, indeed, gone, he heard approaching sirens, and seconds later the police arrived, closely followed by an ambulance and two fire engines.

Taboo spoke to the E.D.T. again, “Forgive me, but given the circumstances, what’s already happened, and the ability for these other creatures to be able to disguise themselves, I don’t want this alien to be taken into custody, shall we say.”

Citadel came back, “Okay, keep her out of sight, and I’ll go and talk to these policemen.”

Once again using his infra-red vision, Citadel checked the policemen, and some of the other emergency service personnel.  This time, the heat traces matched the visible shape, and he was assured that he was about to talk to some real humans.

“Hi,” he said to the leading officer, Watkins, by his name badge, “I am Citadel, of the Murgatroyd E.D.T.  You may have had some instructions with regards to me and my team-mate, Stronghold?”

Watkins was taken aback somewhat; this was his first time meeting a real-life superhero, and no amount of Met memos could have prepared him for it.  He smiled wanly, and managed to say, “What’s going on?”

“There’s been some kind of strange disturbance,” Citadel said, “A number of people were present who appeared to be D.I.C.E. officers, but they have mysteriously disappeared.  There’s a team of assistants on its way from Murgatroyd, my employers, but I’m here to serve the British people and the British Government.”

He tried his best to sound normal, natural, and he finished with a wide smile.

It had the desired effect, as Watkins seemed to relax, “Great.  So, who’s caused all that damage, then?”  He had nodded towards Marsh Street, and the deep gouge in the road.

Citadel followed the policeman’s gaze, “It appears that something has fallen to earth, but there’s no sign of any wreckage or anything, just what you can see there.”

“Is anybody injured?” Watkins asked.

“No.  The school over there, we think it has been evacuated on the other side.”

Watkins turned round, seeing his patrol partner standing by the police car.

“Jones” He pointed towards the Harbinger Primary School, “School!  Check that everyone’s alright, will you?”

With a nod of his head, Jones started walking down the road, using his radio to inform his command centre of his intentions.

Citadel heard a familiar voice in his ear, “You might want to mention the possibility of a gas explosion.  That’s what everybody tells you at these times.”

Taboo was savvy, he had to give her that.

“In view of the damage, officer,” Citadel said, “I fear there might be a danger of a gas explosion.  Also, when I arrived on the scene, a woman carrying a young child ran past me.  I don’t know where she came from or where she’s gone, but I think she’d been involved in the incident in some way.”

Watkins scanned the crowd, “All right.  Can’t see any woman with a child.  She’s probably headed off home, or whatever.”

The policeman didn’t seem too concerned, “We’ll ask around.  We’ll find her.”

“Okay,” said Citadel, “Is there anything we can do to assist you?”

The officer looked at the blazing carcasses of the two vehicles in Marsh Street.

“Are you any good at putting car fires out?”

Citadel was visibly taken aback; he was tough, but he wasn’t fireproof!

The officer seemed to guess what was going through the Australian’s mind, “No, let the fire brigade do it.  Don’t worry.  What are all these?”  He pointed to the blaster weapons left behind by the vanished aliens, “Is this a rifle?”

Citadel knew better than to let on that they had been dealing with aliens and their unearthly technology, “I don’t know what those are.  The people who appeared to be D.I.C.E. officers left them behind.”

The policeman looked enquiringly at Citadel, “You could help me collect these up…”

Citadel did so, grabbing several of the weapons, then following the officer to the boot of his police car, where the rifles were deposited and the vehicle sealed.

The policeman shook Citadel’s hand, “You guys are all right.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Citadel, genuinely pleased to receive warm thanks from a law enforcement professional.

Overhearing the chat, stronghold said, “Yeah, thanks.”

—

On the flat rooftop, out of sight from the road below, Princess M’Krell continued her tale.  Taboo put the conversation onto broadcast, patching the E.D.T. in, so that they could all hear what she had to say.

“The Krai have been at war with my people, the High Illanians.  It has been almost three-hundred cycles since the Tri-stellar war started.  At first, it was every man for himself; the High Illanians under my father’s rule, and the Emissariate of Bolusci, ruled by the Meg of Bolusci, and the Krai. 

“Only recently within the last two solar cycles have the Bolusci and my father reached an agreement.  I was being sent to my wedding with the Meg of Bolusci and it would seal the pact between our two peoples.  We have been working together over the past two cycles and we have beaten the Krai back with great loss on their part.

“Once we seal the pact between our two races we intend to annihilate their home world.”

Taboo wasn’t certain that she liked the idea of interstellar genocide, but as things stood right now M’Krell was the injured party, and her safety and wellbeing were Taboo’s responsibility.

“Right.  So, what do these other two races look like?  I assume that your race all look similar to yourself, what we would call ‘humanoid’?”

M’krell nodded, “Yes, the High Illanians, you would say, perhaps, look very similar to myself.  The Bolusci is a conglomerate empire.  They have many thousands of worlds, and so many different races; it is only the Bolusci themselves who look quite similar to your people, but their skin is much more golden, white-haired.”

“And these three races, including your own, of course, are they close to the Earth, this planet?  Are we at risk from this war of yours?”  Taboo was eager to learn whether the Earth was under threat; if M’krell had found Earth, even by accident, and the Krai certainly had, how far behind would the Bolusci be, or another war-like race?

M’krell shrugged awkwardly, “You are a surprise to me.  We did not know that there was a Level One intelligence in this sector.”

“Level One being primitive?  Or Level One being advanced so we can understand?” asked Taboo.

“Well…” M’krell mused for a moment, “Do you have sentient crystal life forms here?”

“Not as such, no.”  Taboo told herself that this was like something out of that David Bowie concept film, ‘The alien who fell to Earth’, or some such.

M’krell continued, “Then you cannot be more than a Level Two civilisation.”

Taboo nodded her understanding, “Right.  So we are considered to be quite primitive in comparison to the other races?  Good to know.  At least we understand where we stand, what risks we may be facing.”

“My people would be Level Four on the scale that we use.”  The Princess was not bragging; she said it very matter-of-factly.

“Are we at risk from having you on this planet?” Taboo asked M’krell.

“If Captain H’ust managed to send a relay signal back home, my father could send assistance, maybe within half a cycle.  I do not believe you would be at risk, since you have offered me assistance.  My father would find your planet…,” she searched for the right word, “quaint.”

Under her helmet, Taboo smiled ruefully.  Of course he would find it quaint.  These were species that had mastered space travel between galaxies; Earth had only managed to reach its own satellite.

“Right,” she said, “how do we get you home, then?  Or get you to somewhere safe?”

M’krell shook her head, “I cannot get home unless my people come for me.  The Star Guard did not arrive, even if they are near here, but I wouldn’t know how to contact them.”  The Princess was beginning to sound scared again, and why shouldn’t she?  Alone on a backward world, who knows how many light-years from her home…and what about this arranged marriage?  What would the Bolusci do if she was unable to fulfil the treaty?

Taboo gently placed a hand on M’krell’s armoured shoulder, “Well, obviously our first priority is to keep you safe from any future attacks by these Krai.”

“Thank you,” the Princess said, her large eyes leaking water.

“Right, you two!” Taboo said, meaning Stronghold and Citadel, “Any questions you want to ask?  Or have you a suggestion as to where we can currently hide out with the Princess?”

Citadel was the first to chip in, “Well, I think we have two choices.  Either you arrange something for her, or we tell Murgatroyd about her.”

Taboo was quick to reply, “I would rather that, at this stage, we didn’t put her at risk of examination and questioning.”

“Very well,” Citadel said, “Murgatroyd will be arriving here shortly.  So I would basically suggest that you get you get her right out of the way before they turn up.”

“I agree with you,” said Taboo, looking over the edge of the rooftop and noticing that Stronghold has disappeared, “You’re remarkably quiet, Stronghold…”

“Yeah, well, that’s because I’ve popped around to the school,” Stronghold said.

“The place is empty, everybody is out across the road behind this old place, so I thought I’d see if I can find any dressing up clothes.”

—

Then came the question of where to hide M’krell, if she even could be hidden.  The Krai had found her pretty quickly; how had they managed that?

She didn’t think that she could trust D.I.C.E., not now, after the Krai had impersonated their field agents.  As for Dawson…he was still largely an unknown quantity.  Abrupt, yes; belligerent, certainly; but he also cared deeply for his staff and would lay down his life for any of them, but…would he feel the same about an alien whose very presence could bring an alien invasion to their doorstep?

No, if anyone at D.I.C.E. could be trusted, it was Taboo’s mentor and friend, Sojara Suhan, otherwise known as Agent Maya.  

Citadel’s voice cut across the comms, bringing Taboo back to the moment, “I wonder how they knew about D.I.C.E.?”

“Good question!” answered Stronghold.  He was walking back up Harbinger Road, a bundle of coloured fabrics in his large arms.

“I have no answers,” Taboo admitted.

“No, I’m sorry,” Stronghold said, “no idea.”

—

Taboo used the H.U.D. system in her helmet to patch a call through to Agent Maya.  It was answered almost immediately.

“Hey, Sojara!  Listen, can you meet me now?  Or, at least, in the very near future?  And do you have a safehouse in town that I could use, but is off the books?”

“Well, yeah, but” Sojara’s Indian-accented voice flowed across the comms, “I thought you were on-site?”

Taboo knew that she meant the opening of the Film Museum at County Hall, “I got distracted, following up on something, keeping an eye open on a certain group.”

“Oh!  Oh, okay.  That’s all right.”  Sojara didn’t seem to mind; she had always been a very easy-going person, and changes to procedure didn’t seem to bother her greatly.

“But, I have got somebody who is in danger, and I need to find somewhere safer to stay for the moment.  I don’t want to go through D.I.C.E.”  Taboo wondered whether a request like this would put their friendship under a strain that would be difficult to reverse.

“Ah! Now I understand,” Sojara said.

“It would be a personal favour,” Taboo finished.

“Okay,” Sojara said, “in that case, get to 27 Colchester Road, E10 6HB.  I will get to you there, A.S.A.P.”

Agent Maya closed the call and Taboo, still standing close to the edge of the flat rooftop, noticed Stronghold walking back from his scavenging trip to the school, waving a collection of clothing at her; he had obviously thought ahead, and found some items that M’krell could use to hide her alien appearance for a while.

Taboo used her hand to signal that M’krell should fall back a distance from the edge.  The houses opposite did not seem to be occupied, but anyone looking out of the upper floor windows would almost certainly see them both.  A portal formed, and Taboo reached through, grabbing the clothing from Stronghold.

“Here,” said Taboo, walking back to the princess, “let’s use some of these to cover your head and torso, at least.  You need to keep a low profile whilst we get you to a safe place.”

M’krell smiled, and just a minute later she had been wrapped in some cloaks and a baggy Christmas Elf blouse.  Her two-toed feet were still visible, but Taboo hoped that nobody would waste their time looking at them, should they be espied en route to the safe house.

—

[Operative Stronghold, operative Citadel.  Murgatroyd team two minutes away.]

“Thank you,” said Citadel, and the AI closed the call.  “Right, Taboo?”

Using her patched-in comms, Taboo said, “I am forwarding a number to you both, should you need to contact me, but I’ll keep the actual safe house location secret, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine for the moment.  Now, when Murgatroyd gets here, my plan, and whether you agree, Stronghold, is to say exactly what happened without admitting that we communicated with Taboo, or that we know where the mysterious figure went.”

Stronghold gave a thumbs up, “Got it, okay.”

“In other words, we’ll say what other witnesses may have seen, because we can’t be sure how many people there were watching all this, but we won’t admit to Taboo’s actual role in it.  Just that we saw two small figures.”

“Yep.”

“And say the police have got their weapons.”

Stronghold nodded.  They were on the same wavelength.  Something was a little off with some of the Murgatroyd support staff, and it felt good to keep some secrets from their employers.  At least they didn’t know much, if anything, about Taboo, and the fact that her suit could access their comms system secretly was a useful gimmick.

As if on cue, the Murgatroyd field team arrived, stopping next to the police car with a screech of tyres.  Four men exited the S.U.V., all clad in black suits and wearing dark shades.  One of the men waved some identification in the face of the policeman and made straight for Citadel.

“Stiller, Field Team Beta.  Are you guys okay?”

Stiller was one of the new breed of private security agents, all good looks, short hair, and six-hour shifts in the gym.  No doubt he, and the others, had concealed handguns about their persons, and a diplomatic visa allowing their use.

Citadel nodded.  ‘Wait for it,’ he thought.

“We were monitoring the local news feeds on the way here, and we have collated some of the footage taken by civilians on scene.  Did you notice anything about a figure in what looked like a silver spacesuit?”

Inwardly, Citadel winced; these guys didn’t seem to miss a trick.

“Vaguely.  There was something hidden in all this smoke.  The aliens appeared to be shooting at it, but it vanished.”

Stiller was tight-lipped as he nodded his understanding, “And what can you tell us about these other aliens?”

Citadel decided to get technical, “Well, viewed in infrared, they look too slim to be humans.  They claim to be D.I.C.E. agents.  They were wearing what appeared to be D.I.C.E. uniforms.  They had weapons that looked like laser guns of some kind, which the police have got.  And after we’d fought with the aliens, they all vanished; I mean, literally, vanished into thin air.  We assume they’d been teleported away somewhere, but they did leave the guns behind.”

Stiller had remained emotionless through Citadel’s report, but at the mention of the aliens vanishing he raised one eyebrow.

Citadel carried on, “I will mention, by the way, that they had an odd appearance.  They looked like hairless dogs, or bears.  I tried to speak to one of them, and it just made noises in reply.  Either it didn’t understand English, or couldn’t speak English.”

Stiller seemed to mull this information over, still nodding as he looked around.

“Okay.  So, anything we can do?  Anything you’d like us to do?”

Inwardly, Citadel breathed a sigh of relief.  It seemed that he and Stronghold were going to get off lightly.

“No, we’re done here.  The aliens are gone, the police are tidying up.”

Stiller agreed, “That’s fine.  Okay, we’ll take care of things with the police from here, then.  Do you and Stronghold want to go back with your original driver?”

“Yes, if he’s still around.  We’re happy to go back with him.”

Stiller turned away, touching his right ear and speaking to someone.  From further up Harbinger Road the E.D.T. heard a powerful engine roar into life, Decker and the S.U.V. coming into sight as he drove towards them.  Decker parked next to the other Murgatroyd car, got out, and opened the rear doors, beckoning Stronghold and Citadel over.

As the two heroes got in, they noticed Stiller talking to the policeman who had thanked them for their help.  They couldn’t hear what Stiller was saying, but they both wondered how long it would be before the alien blaster rifles were in the hands of the Murgatroyd Corporation.

Decker strapped himself in and gunned the engine, “Where to?”

Citadel leaned back in his seat.  He was parched, and he needed a long shower, “Back to the Dorchester.”

Stronghold settled in and rubbed his belly, “Got a breakfast to finish.”

—

It was a long haul for Taboo.

She managed to get herself and M’krell to the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park at Stratford before the suit required a recharge.  Although the two women had been spotted by members of the public twice already, their rather unusual ‘disguise’ had worked, after a fashion, and other than a few curious stares, they had not been harassed.

Even now, as they huddled together in the relative safety of a large shrubbery, they looked more like homeless people than aliens and superheroes, and the few passers-by gave them little heed. 

What might have been a class of local schoolchildren wandered past, accompanied by three teachers.  The children, boys and girls alike, were all dressed as Knights of Olde, with colourful tabards, cardboard helmets, and foam swords.  A few were knocking coconut halves together; several boys were shouting “Nee!  Nee!”

Thankfully, they remained unnoticed.  Nevertheless, Fiona was nervous, and eager to get moving.  She didn’t relish the idea of being caught out in the open by another Krai assault squad.

The minutes seemed to crawl by but, eventually, the power cells were refreshed and Taboo got them under way again.

When the final portal closed behind them, Taboo did not stand on ceremony; they were on the black and white tiled driveway of 27 Colchester Road, Leyton, E10 6HB, and waiting for them was Agent Maya.

/27 Colchester Road, Leyton, E10 6HB

Large mid-terrace house, 4 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, 2 reception rooms.

—

A short time later, Taboo and M’krell were sitting down, drinking water, in the rear living room of the spacious mid-terrace house.

It was spartan, with a rather old-fashioned fabric sofa, a couple of mis-matched armchairs, and a sixties-style sideboard pushed against the wall.  The flowery curtains were drawn across the back window, the room illuminated by the triple-bulb light fitting in the centre of the ceiling.  The only picture hanging up was the well-known print of several anthropomorphic dogs playing a game of pool.

“Daschkani!” exclaimed M’krell, pointing at the picture.

Suhan smiled sweetly at her guest, and obviously had no idea what the alien was talking about.

Sojara Suhan was Indian, by birth at least, though she had made England her home several years ago.  She was already a member of D.I.C.E. U.K. by the time that Fiona had joined, and was now head of the Superhuman Resource Section, the S.R.S.  She was thirty-four, single, attractive, with perfect skin and a full head of bouncy black wavy hair.

Fiona had also removed her helmet, more out of respect for M’krell and Sojara than her own desire to be free of it; without the helmet around her head, she could not utilise the suit’s true functions.  Her innate skills could get her so far on their own, but the suit made Taboo who she was.

With bottles of water to hand, Fiona asked everyone to sit and get comfortable, then she gave Sojara a detailed review of everything that had happened thus far, asking her team leader, “Has the U.K. D.I.C.E. had contact with aliens before now?”

Sojara shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of.  Dawson’s never mentioned anything about it.”

“Well,” Taboo continued, “we seem to have a situation where we have three rather large interstellar empires, that are on our doorstep, and this young lady, this princess I have here, may well be the key to keeping us from getting involved in their little affair.”

Sojara puffed out her cheeks and blew out a long breath, “I can hardly believe it; three alien races…”

“Three known alien races.  I’ll let you talk to her.  She can’t speak English, but she says that her suit is translating our language for her.  Her people have a sentient crystal technology.”

M’krell did, indeed, speak with Sojara for some time, explaining the political machinations of her own race, and that of the Krai and the Bolusci.  The more that Sojara listened, the more she looked at the princess, the more she found the woman interesting…attractive.  M’krell had a way about her, a natural aura, beauty and innocence, and it was intoxicating.

When M’krell had brought Sojara up-to-date, Fiona said, “Somehow or other, we have to try and find some way to get her safely back to her people, so that we don’t end up getting involved in this little scuffle.”

Sojara fixed Fiona with a stern stare, only broken by the slightest smile on her lips, “You do know that if this was anybody other than you, I would throw you out?”

She looked back to her guest, “But I can’t deny that M’krell is not human.  Oh, boy!”

Fiona could see that her friend was struggling with the situation, and it was no surprise; who would be prepared to meet an alien and learn about an interstellar war in one morning?

“The problem is,” Fiona said, “that the aliens that tried to take her down on the Isle of Dogs were dressed as D.I.C.E. agents.  They were using a holograph to cover themselves.  That makes me worried that, perhaps, D.I.C.E. may be infiltrated, so I don’t want to take this all the way back, even if I did trust Dawson, which I don’t, further than I can spit him.”

Sojara looked concerned, and rightly so.  Every precaution was taken when vetting potential D.I.C.E. operatives, but if someone had been compromised…replaced…by an alien, a Krai, using sophisticated holographic technology to disguise themselves as an agent, how would they ever know until it was too late?

Princess M’krell cleared her throat and, ever so politely, said, “I would not be too concerned about this…D.I.C.E…being infiltrated.  The Krai have extremely advanced hologram technology, translation systems; they could monitor your planet’s broadcasts, as did Captain Hust, and could easily have realized that your D.I.C.E. would be the best organization to copy their uniforms.  I am sorry to say that your technology would be an open book to them, as it would be to my people.”

Sojara was taken aback; if a war was coming to Earth, it was one that humanity could never hope to win.

Fiona’s voice brought Sojara back into the moment.

“What we need to do, is to get this young woman home safely.  Princess, I’m wondering…is there a way that we can broadcast a signal, if we were able to send one out, that could be picked up by your people?”

“It would require an interstellar relay.”  M’krell seemed knowledgeable, though it was, perhaps, to be expected.

“Is there one close by that we can send a signal to?”

M’krell thought about this briefly, “We passed one as we left my father’s empire.  Well, K’ro made a warp jump from its location, so it is potentially twenty-five light years away.  I do not think a Level One civilisation will be able to help me.”

M’krell’s eyes filled with tears.  Fiona’s heart sank.  This was Outer Space they were dealing with, and she was out of her depth.  Even if a signal could travel at the speed of light, M’krell was saying that it would take twenty-five years to reach the relay beacon, and who knows how long after that for help to arrive?

‘Focus, Fiona’, she told herself, ‘small steps, think it through’.

“Well,” Fiona said, “at the moment, we need to figure out what you need to survive.  Do you drink water?  H2O?”  She pointed at the bottle resting on the carpet by M’krell’s chair, so far untouched.

“Yes.  Hydrogen and oxygen, mixed in a liquid form.  Yes, we drink.”

“What type of protein do you take?” Fiona asked, “We’re going to need to try and figure out some food sources for you to see whether we can find something that is compatible with your biology.”

The princess understood what she was being asked, “We mainly live on skiwit.  It is small, has four legs, and a long tail.”

—

Back at The Dorchester, Marcus and John were debriefed in double-quick time.  As usual, no-one would give either of them a straight answer, but they could tell that something was going on behind the scenes; the support staff were distracted, eager to wrap up and cut them loose.  Whatever was going on, it was big enough for the E.D.T. to be stood down for the rest of the day.

In casual clothing, John and Marcus retired to the public bar.

“Come on, Marcus, let’s sit over there, where it seems quite noisy.”

It wasn’t quite midday, but the bar was already busy with City workers who enjoyed early, and long, lunches.  There were rich tourists, too; American and Japanese mainly, and the two heroes felt out-of-place, but it was the best that John could do.

They sat at a small table, laden with menus and cutlery, covered with a pristine white cotton table cloth.  Soft drinks set down, John began.

“I’d like to have a discussion about what seems to have happened to Sanctuary.  At least here, in the bar, I think we can count on not being overheard.”

Marcus frowned at his colleague, “Hmm?  What’s on your mind, J?”

John took his time, his eyes roaming the table as he thought.  Marcus could tell that he was building up to something, so he didn’t push.

Eventually, John pressed the palms of his hands onto the cloth, and drew a deep breath.  Breathing out, he stared at Marcus.

“When I was first recruited as Citadel, I recall that I was in training with a guy called Rodriguez.  A few month’s in, Rodriguez suddenly and mysteriously disappeared, and no-one in Murgatroyd will tell me what’s happened to him.”

Marcus was surprised.  This was news to him; he had never had a training partner back in Michigan.

“So,” John said, “I’m worried.  Now, has something happened to Sanctuary?  Has she been disposed of for some reason?”  Even with the noise of the clientele, John was speaking quietly.

“I mean,” he continued after a quick glance around the bar, “I am starting to distrust Murgatroyd!”

Marcus nodded, “Yeah, but listen; there were comms between us and Sanctuary before, is there any way we can try and ring her up on that circuit and see if she responds?”

John looked deflated and shook his head, “Well, given that we’ve been told she doesn’t exist, I very much doubt that we’ll be able to make contact because it’s a Murgatroyd circuit.”

“Ah, yeah!  Damn.”

“And it’ll probably be no surprise when there’s no connection to anyone named Sanctuary in the Murgatroyd Network.  Mobile phone, it’s the same issue.”

Marcus realised that he hadn’t even checked his phone and pulled it from his chinos pocket.  Seeing this, John went for his mobile, too.  It was maddening when they discovered that Lauren was no longer listed as a contact.

“Damn!  I know I haven’t deleted her details, John.”

“Yes, and the texts we have exchanged with her, all mysteriously vanished.”

Both men were stumped.

“I saw her last night!” said Marcus, “We said goodnight after a drink, in here!”

John was drumming his fingers on the table, deep in thought.  He had spoken to the reception staff earlier that morning, and their computer was telling them that Lauren’s room was vacant.  What might the cleaning staff have to say?

“I bet,” he said to Marcus, “if we ask the hotel staff, we get the same answer.”

“One way to find out,” Marcus replied, standing up.

They started with the cleaning staff, managing to catch two room attendants who were vetted and cleared to clean the penthouse level.  They seemed genuinely confused when asked about Lauren; they certainly appeared to not remember a young American woman with platinum blonde hair in room four.

It was the same with other staff; the restaurant waiters, the barmaid, nobody remembered Sanctuary.

—

Fiona put her helmet on.  A call was coming through, the bleep warning Fiona that it was on her private channel.

“Taboo.”

“Hey, Taboo, it’s Citadel.  Strange question, but do you remember Sanctuary?”

She checked the channel, seeing that Stronghold was also on the call, but they were otherwise not being monitored.

“Yes, of course.  Body of a renaissance goddess, costume far too small to cover it all.”

She heard Citadel laugh, “Yes, accurate.  We remember her, too.  Problem is, nobody else does.  No memories of her, no digital footprints, no belongings…she’s not even on the hotel booking system.”

Fiona wondered why Sanctuary hadn’t been there that morning, but hadn’t counted on her having vanished.

“So,” she said, “not everybody’s been affected, it’s just some sort of cover up, then?”

“Oh, very much so.  Murgatroyd are good at those.”

Suddenly, Fiona noticed a fourth signal access the call.  Unseen behind her visor, she looked to Sojara, then to M’krell.

Princess M’krell looked genuinely apologetic, “I am sorry I have no help to give.”

“Hey!” Citadel exclaimed, surprised by the strange lilting electronic voice that had cut in on their conversation.

“I do not know what to do,” the princess said, “I am stuck here.”

Stronghold chimed in, “But if people do come after her, has she got any way of receiving a message?”

His question wasn’t aimed directly at M’krell, but she responded anyway, “The armour is poorly.”

“What can we do to repair it?” Citadel asked.

“I would need advanced technology.”

“Does she actually understand anything about how the armour works?” asked Citadel, leaving the question open to all.

M’krell replied again, “Yes, but I need the right tools, a sophisticated laboratory, high end materials…the flight systems are inoperative, my communications are down.  The translation system is working.  As for the defences…the force field is problematic, and is not functioning fully.  The integrity of the space survival armour is acceptable, but I would need the communication system and the force field circuitry to be fully operational if I was to have any chance of survival in vacuum.”

“Do your people know that you are on this planet, or in this system?” Taboo asked her.

“Captain H’ust sent me here for safety, when the Krai ship was detected.  It depends whether he managed to get a message out before…” she bowed her head, her fingers entwined on her lap.

“The last I heard, the Ophon, U’hur, was trying to signal the Star Guard escort, but we don’t know if they were in range.  They were late for the rendezvous.”

Taboo again, “What will be the result if you are not rescued quickly?”

“The Krai may try again.”  M’krell said it quite simply, as though it was inevitable.  Everyone understood the ramifications of her words.

Stronghold broke the pause, “The scientific people we collaborated with in Cornwall…is there any way we can get in touch with them without alerting Murgatroyd?  Can we use some personal context to get some scientists on site there?”

“We would have to be careful,” said Citadel, “Even in cooperation with the British authorities, we are still monitored as often as possible because we are still effectively test subjects.  Every time we are on active duty, Murgatroyd want to see how we operate and whether their property is fit for purpose.”

“So,” Stronghold suggested, “we could be checking in with the science guys just as, say, a follow-up to what happened previously, and trying to understand what happened, and so on.  Maybe see if that science guy, the vague fella with Alzheimer’s, could be brought in?”

“Give me a moment,” said Taboo.  She used her suit’s communications system to call Spaceport Cornwall, asking to contact the one name she could remember from her previous visit – Terry Debenham.

“All yours, Stronghold.”

A phone rang a few times, before a man’s voice came over the line, “Hi, lab three, Terry speaking.”

“Yeah, hi Terry.  This is Stronghold, from last year?”

“Oh, yes!  Hello!  How are you?”

“Yeah, we’re all good thanks.  Listen, we think we may have a bit of alien kit, and that it might be connected with the previous event.  You were thinking that there were some aliens involved, or maybe someone else there did…”

“Oh, yeah, that…oh, what’s his name?  That professor guy?  Anyway, you think you’ve got some alien object?”  Terry sounded excited at the prospect of seeing something extra-terrestrial.

“Oh, I think so.  And if you take a look at it, you can tell us whether it’s…”

Stronghold didn’t get to finish his sentence, as Terry cut in, “Oh, good!  Are you coming to us then?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, we’ll come to you.”

End of Episode One

Interlude – Film Flap

The opening ceremony of the revamped Film Museum had gone very well indeed.  At least one-hundred avid film fans were queueing patiently outside the main doors, having taken in the sight of Lola Novanna making a motivational speech and cutting the obligatory red tape to signal the re-opening of the museum.  Staff were expected to open the doors to the public at 1pm, following a final appearance by Lola on the steps down to the embankment.

Lola, along with a select group of U.K. film industry bigwigs, had enjoyed a relaxed private tour of the exhibits – and a cheeky glass of bubbly – before she had spoken to an executive producer from Hollywood about a sensational contract for the proposed movie with Clooney.  A light finger-buffet had served as lunch, and the time had crept around towards the public’s admittance.

Despite appearing in a black dress and light jacket for the morning address, Lola had borrowed a thicker long coat from one of her entourage for her second appearance.  It was a chill day in London, and she was not used to temperatures this low.

The cameras flashed, live TV was streamed, and Lilly Price of London Today got a thirty-second exclusive chat with Lola before the unthinkable happened.

A jet black shadow appeared just behind Lola as Lily thanked her for her time.  It resolved itself into a man, or, at least, a male; if it was human, it was a very unusual human.

It wore a skin-tight dark blue bodysuit that covered its form from its feet right up to its neck.  On the right of his chest was an eight-pointed star in gold.  His head was bare, bald, no hair of any kind, and the skin was basalt black, highlighted to shades of slate grey by the early afternoon light.  It took a step forward, and wrapped two long arms around Lola.

“You take one of ours, we take one of yours!”

Lilly thought that the lips did not match the words, as though he had been badly dubbed in one of Lola’s movies.  She opened her mouth to shout for help, but the shadow returned to swallow the man and Lola.

The next second, they vanished.

—

Major Frank Dawson groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position.  His head was splitting, and he remembered that a D.I.C.E. agent had hit him with the butt of a rifle.  At first, he thought that the noise was just in his head but, as his vision cleared and his senses began to return, he realised that the noise was all around him.

The sub-station was in chaos.  Dawson heard the sizzle of blasters firing, people screaming; he could sense that people were running in the corridors around him.  He opened his eyes slowly, re-adjusting to the light, and saw the D.I.C.E. trooper who had hit him.  This time, the man was pointing a blaster rifle at him.  Dawson looked for his sidearm; the holster was empty.

“Looking for this?” said a fuzzy, electronic voice.

He looked up again, into the eyes of…of…a bear?  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  The thing was around seven feet tall, standing on its hind legs as though it was human, except…yes, that was it!  It wasn’t a bear standing up, it was a humanoid that resembled a bear!  Its stance, its posture, its very structure, revealed that it had always walked upright.  It was huge, the limbs thick and packed with muscle.  It wore a black and silver tunic, and black trousers, with a strip of four silver-metallic pips on its left shoulder.  The feet and arms were unclothed, the short shiny fur a shade of light sandy brown in the glare of the strip lighting.  And it had breasts!

The Krai captain looked down at Dawson, her lips drawn back in a feral snarl of disdain.

“Give me the princess, and I may decide not to kill you!”