Odd Rabid Rabbit adventures

[rabidbite]

Odd Rabid Rabbit Adventures Comments Thread, HERE:
startradersrpg.proboards.com/thread/2773/comments-discussion-rabid-rabbit?page=1&scrollTo=31348


This is an amateurish work. Thus, you will find typos, disjointed pacing, and many other rookie mistakes. It happens. I AM a rookie. Rabid Rabbit is a fun EVIL character




Part I



When Jack Donovan had been a small boy, in the sprawling warrens of Uerinari 3, he experienced the misfortune of coming up on the maggot infested corpse of a cat. There were so many worms that the wriggling maggots pushed the pieces of the cat's body to and fro in their frenzy to eat. The sight had been grotesque. The smell of rot crawled into his sinuses and lingered like a nightmare.

Jack couldn't help thinking about that old scene while looking down into the pit yawning below him.

The miasma emanating from the mass grave settled around him with fell gagging putrefaction. The stench kept his stomach rolling and forced him to tighten his resolve. He retreated behind the impassive mask of the Javat ship master he was currently impersonating.

“Captain," a respectful yet harsh voice pulled Jack from his observation. Standing with a group of heavily armed and armored men stood Jenon Hardigan. The man was another survivor of an alien attack. Jack didn’t ask which ones and Hardigan had never offered the information. The two men understood each other, “This is his work.”

It didn’t seem to be a question, but Jack disagreed. The mass grave was too tidy, definitely not the style of their mad pirate. He was about to point that out when Jenon’s look gave him pause. Jenon had more, “What do you have?” Jack wiped his palms on the fabric of his grey pants and stood up from his crouch.

The alien hunter led him behind some of the structures of the barely civilized township of Tapella Outpost. Even the Riventon capital only sported a rather decrepit palace, and this little piece of nothing town didn’t merit an ant’s fart of those resources. The small township had been a rather homely place. Sadly, the rumor of alien artifacts had dragged rogue traders from half-way around the quadrant. It had foreseeable sad results.

The two men turned a corner into a small town plaza where three other men stood guard.

“You’ll get an eyeful,” Jenon warned.

"Let's see."

Twelve bodies hung by hooked ankles from different points in the little plaza. Splashes of blood stained the ground and concrete where their entrails made a pile along with their skins. The bodies had been mutilated. On the side of the small plaza’s fountain, smeared in what could only be a gallon or more of rotting blood, was drawn a rabbit jerking off a carrot. Around the rabbit drawing lay heads with mouths opens. Genitalia had been carefully stuffed into each mouth.

“By Shalun…”

True vileness and humor mixed in one, Jenon was right. This was the work of their quarry, Rabid Rabbit.

A wave of poignant rage crawled from the bottom of his toes to the throb of his temple. The Mad Rabbit was close.

“These aren’t locals,” Jenon drew him over to the fountain. Pieces of DeValtos uniforms had been used as toilet paper; the fountain itself as a latrine.

“Long way home for syndics,” Jack grunted as he mused. “These killed the locals, and then Rabid Rabbit killed them?”

“Not sure. That psychotic shit is unpredictable and vicious. I can’t picture him helping anyone.”

“He didn’t, the town's folk are dead.” Jack was studying a particular symbol on the DeValtos uniforms, “That’s an Assasin’s LLC tag.”

“Assasin’s … limited liability company? That's rather tacky.”

Jack was amused to hear 'tacky' coming from Jenon's lips. Who'd have guessed the large man had a sense of style? “Yes. The name is …” Jack tried to explain. But Jenon headed him off.

"Very DeValtos...ish?"

“More or less. This group is what a certain Prince uses to hunt down particular individuals.”

Light dawned in Jenon’s expression, “Ah. So these assassins came for the Rabbit but ended up getting on his bad side. Why would they kill the township?”

Jack glanced about a little more, “No idea. One thing is for sure. The Rabbit is still on or around this planet.”

“Why would he stay if assassins have tracked him here?” Jenon sounded genuinely curious.

“That psychotic fuck will stay exactly because assassins tracked him here. Here is where the fun is. He’s hoping for more blood.” Jack looked at the blood decorated plaza, “He lives for it Jenon. He lives for it. Yet, the bastard isn’t stupid, just insane. The Mad Rabbit is well placed within the structure of every single policy in the quadrant. When he does do something … inconvenient … his connections curry enough favor to hide the incident.”

Jenon hadn’t asked before, but he did now, “How long have you been searching for him?”

Jack glanced at Jenon and shrugged, “Too long.”

There really wasn’t much else to say to that. Jenon got back on the main topic, “So Rabid Rabbit is waiting … for ‘an’ us?”

“In short.”

“Remind me again why we’re going after a guy who’s lived two centuries and has blown up more ships than most independent planets have ever seen?”

Jack stopped and turned to look fixedly at Jenon, "Do I really have to remind you?" Jack's voice was flat and hot.

The alien hunter towered over jack by about a foot, was heavier of limb and bone and carried a pulse cannon over his shoulder as well as assorted knifes. Jenon was the first to look away. “Sorry.”

Jack nodded. “Burn it all.”

rabid

[rabidbite]

“See? They didn’t notice the spy cams,” Graline said with a wink and a smile that lit her lovely features.

Rabid Rabbit always wondered how someone so girlish could, without hesitation, use the mutilated bodies of a dozen assassins as a distraction. Then again, he only wondered for a fraction of a second. Rabid wasn’t the squeamish type.

“I still think we could have done something more with those genitals, maybe replace the eyeballs with testicles or something.”

“You’re a sick fuck Rabid.”

“Hey! They were dead. The dead don’t give a shit what you do with the body afterwards, so, its rather stupid to not leave a very good and graphic explanation of what I will do to the next fucker that thinks my head is to be removed because some pansy prince can’t understand I was only killing the bitch he was fucking. SERIOUSLY, it was dark, I didn’t see him there.”

“The four DeValtos Elite Cyber guards didn’t give you a clue?”

Rabid looked sour, “No. I thought it was some sort of a joke. They died so fast. I mean, I know they’re DeValtos, but come on. You’d expect at least some more resistance. Anyways, find out who that oh-so-not-a-Javat captain is.”

Graline sauntered away, “I’ll get right on it. Maybe you’ll come in later and I can … brief you?”

Rabid snorted, “Not likely Graline.”

The bombshell pouted, “Why not? Half the quadrant would give fortunes to have what I offer you and you discard.”

There were many reasons Rabbit would never touch Graline. Many things he could say. But Rabid Rabbit stroked the battered chainsaw on his lap, “My lovely lady. I would never sleep with a woman who winks and seems joyous while talking about mutilated men and women. Is not like I’m crazy or something.”

rabid

[rabidbite]

The exo-planetary crawler grounded its way through the lava fields of Trokus, the south-eastern most continent of Tapella Outpost. The all terrain tank-like APC was one of three in the convoy. On its side was painted a fox like lady with a beer and a smiling provocative posture. In the elegant Javat script of its origin the name “Dirty Vixen” was scrawled below the depiction.

Crawlers were huge pieces of machinery, more in line with mobile fortresses. Their armor was thick and most of the needed implementations for exploration, communications, radar, and weapons, retracted into the shell. They were expensive, large, heavy and an absolute necessity for the dangerous work of exploring.

Johan Grimm made his way up to the pilot cockpit. He moved with an uneven if determinant gait; punctuated by the sound of the servos in his artificial right leg. The missing leg was a gift from a slasher plant from Gacthughoth Rift. It was a reminder to him to never get so cocky again. Just because a planet isn’t too hazardous doesn’t mean something on it can’t eat you.

“How are things looking up here Margon?"

The crawler driver shrugged, “Pretty solid boss. The hydraulics are holding steady and the heat isn’t too vicious. We’ll have to give the old girl a once over when we stop tonight and perhaps have one of the other two crawlers break path until Larin can verify everything is still tip top, but we’ll keep up.”

“What does the weather update from Intrepid say?”

The driver couldn't help a small frown, “We’re still going to get hit in a day by the storm. It’s looking pretty ugly, there will be enough winds to shake us and enough heat to ... anyways I think you might want to look at it boss.”

Margon pointed at the left most display.

Grimm settled in and reviewed the readings. Margon was understating things; 245 MPH winds weren’t just enough to ‘shake em’. Winds like those would throw rocks and debris into the air at velocities that could kill a man. The projected speeds once the atmospheric phenomenon hit the heat intense lava fields was ridiculous with double the wind speed. That would be enough to crack steel.

The projected temperature readings on the event were so high only the toughest armor might hold up against what was coming. The expedition would have to put everything in the crawlers or see it melt.

Grimm went back to the monitoring station were the cameras on top of the suits worn by his people showed varying views of the lava fields.

Coming here had been a hunch. The ancient tablets he’d purchased on Marquette Alpha depicted a world with three moons, called the sisters, where ‘the chariot of Quie Tosan slept under the life blood of the mother. Its arrival a balm on the mother’s rage’.

The tablets described a ship Terrox in origin, not a species you wanted to encounter. Grimm was betting on the factual recollection of the three hundred thousand year old writing. He was also betting on the hazards of space. Combined with other tablets and clues, this part of the quadrant was Grimm’s choice for exploration. Tapella Outpost had only two moons, but it also sported a rather large asteroid field.

What if one of those moons was now gone; fallen prey to a rogue comet or some other calamity? What if, just what if, that calamity had caused the ‘sleeping mother’ to tremble again? To … reopen old wounds of fire and ash, thus wiping out the creators of the tablets?

Six of the video feeds belonged to Grimm’s forward scouts led by Tenuclitan, a rather talented explorer in his own right. Grimm tapped the man’s link.

It took a moment or two but the scout expert came in loud and clear. Grimm could picture the sour look on the dour man. Tenuclitan hated being disturbed when scouting, and for good reason. A momentary lapse at the wrong time would cost him and his team more than just an arm and a leg.

“Grimm,” Tenuclitan said, the one word carrying waves of disapproval but also attention.

“Tenu. Finish up your sweep of sector 18. I’m taking the convoy to the valley over on sector 5. The heat hurricane headed our way has picked up speed and intensity. When that sucker drinks up the additional heat of these lava fields, is going to become an apocalyptic event. Anyone not in a crawler is going to roast, space armor or not.”

“Roger. I’ll get my people to hustle. This sector doesn’t look promising anyways. Almost lost buggy three to a gas vent already.”

Twelve hours later, the three crawlers and auxiliary vehicles crunched into a craggy valley to the north of the lava fields. It was an area with relatively stable ground, though with certain steam ducts which reinforced the fact of the highly volcanic continent.

Grimm chose to put the crawlers under the cover of a large, but solid overhang. The next couple of hours were spent preparing for the coming heat.

Unlike the northern land masses, this continent wasn’t habituated. The relatively mild weather up north was preferable to the boiling storms in this particular part of the planet.

The scouts came in three hours later. Their explorer buggies scrambled down the rocky surfaces like fleas on crack.

Tenuclitan’s armored form climbed off the first buggy and made his way to the Vixen’s hangar hatch were Grimm was busy coordinating.

“Sector 18 is a wash out. It’s also full off fire salamanders and rock gutters. We might make a little harvest if we take crystals off some of those gutter hides, but that’s about it. The echo mapping came up with zip.”

Grimm grunted, “That’s a shame. We’ll have to move over to the next field once the storm clears, and if that one doesn’t pan out we’re out of here. Sooner or later some of those rogue traders are going to figure out where we are.”

“It’s your own damn fault Grimm, success breeds attention. If you go someplace, ten explorers and twenty pirates want to follow in your wake.”

The stocky explorer captain shrugged, “Man’s got to make a living. Get some chow into you and your bunch. We'll start with sector 43. See if by going to the end of the markers we get lucky. I also think we might have to combine that echo mapping with ...Tenu?”

Tenuclitan was looking up at the ledge and around, “Huh. Grimm … why did you pick this place?”

Grimm looked about, “It’s a valley that's able to protect the crawlers from wind and heat. It has a convenient stable overhang.”

“Yes, but why this valley of all the other holes in the ground we’ve passed by?”

The Javat explorer paused at the look in Tenuclitan’s eyes. Grimm turned around and started really looking at the valley around him; the overhang, the relatively easy terrain. Why had he chosen this place? There had been other places to spend the night. Why had he chosen this one?

“Son of a bitch. I chose it because it felt familiar,” Grimm was now really looking at the outlines, the odd twisted rock formations, the lines were so alien and yet so obvious. He'd seen them many times during his studies into the field.

Tenuclitan grinned, “Like the general corroded and battered shape of a very large Terrox dreadnaught hangar bay?”

rabid

[rabidbite]

Zonk McDugal world:

Zonk McDugal was as one with the universe. Stars of glowing novas blossomed and disappeared in intricate patterns of colors. He could feel the completeness of everything in relation to where he sat in the Pilot's command chair.

In slow motion the dandelion flames of the 24 incoming torpedoes transcended the ether of his consciousness. What beauty, what an inspiration of threatening perfection and militaristic graciousness!

A part of him knew the thorns would kill him but what was the prick of a thorn compared to the beauty of a rose? Still, Zonk could not just die. There was such a thing as self preservation.

Numbers flashed through his consciousness, their intrusion a welcomed interruption, like a pause, in a symphony of movement.

Before conscious thought, Zonk's mind recognized the numbers as something important, but detected that a slight alteration of these numbers would provide ... something better. Zonk didn't quite know what that something was, but it would be better.

Instead of following the numbers specifically, Zonk wove his vessel into a dance which used the coordinates but wasn't limited to them. Oh, that's right! Those numbers were coordinates ... so pretty.

The rose of his own vessel came close enough to almost brush some of the thorns before petal darts of passion seeked the coming thorns to mate with lustful explosions.

It was all so beautiful! Tears leaked from Zonk's eyes.


The Real World:

The alien ship was too busy with the Javat heavy exploration carrier to notice the Carrot Stick before it de-cloaked and savaged its flank with torpedoes and a heavy salvo of barrage gun cannon fire. Still, it was an Alien ship and Rabid wasn’t surprised at how quickly retaliatory hoards of missiles and breaching pods sprouted from its segmented red carapace hull.

It was humongous, easily twice the size of the Intrepid, the ship the alien vessel was trying to subdue. What the hell had it been doing at Tapella Outpost? Probably out for a little fun, perhaps this time they had bitten too much to handle.

The Intrepid was putting up a hell of a fight; it was a carrier. While Rabid had chosen to hit specific concentrated spots on the alien behemoth, the carrier wasn't being so discriminating. The space between the two leviathans was filled with explosions and enough energy beans to disco to. The carrier's exterior had been peeled like an onion with heavy damage over thirty percent of its hull but in turn there were cracks on the alien ship's armor that could only come from truly severe damage. Damage the Javat warship was taking full advantage off by disgorging enough boarding pods to mimic the debris of a core explosion.

"Those Javat son's of bitches are boarding!" Rabid almost danced in his chair. The mad captain was biting his lip hard enough to draw blood. An alien vessel to pillage, an alien crew to cut and skin! What color would their blood be? How viscous its texture? Rabid Rabbit's hand almost shook as he barely kept it away from the chainsaw.

"ECM missiles away, some of the enemy fire being diverted!" his sensor crewman said.

Rabid was looking at the plot as well. His voice carried cold confidence and bloody excitement in equal measure, "Hard to Port, twenty degree down angle vector 2,9,6, half gravities acceleration, on my mark ....... MARK!

"Imputed. Pilot reacting!"

Rabid switched command channels, "Guns, give that ugly beast another love tap, armor piercing explosive charges only, aim at the hangar and crew areas." Another quick switch, “Bonnie, get your people ready, you’re going to be busy in a minute or two.”

“You aren’t going to do what I think you’re going to do, right? That ship is huge Rabid. We don’t even know what freaking species they are!”

“The bigger they are, the harder it is to miss and really who cares what species they are? Is not as if we're going to do anything different besides, shoot em and shoot some more.” Then Rabid's voice got husky and dangerous, "And Bonnie, the Javat are boarding that thing ... you bet your arse we're not going to be out 'ballsied' by a goddam Javat crew.'

Bonnie took a second to reply, "No one out-bloothirsts a Cadar, huh?"

"Just remember, if it moves kill it, if it doesn't move, kill it. If it's dead ... shoot it AND mutilate it. " Rabid didn't wait for Bonnie's response. He cut the connection.

"Oh man, this is going to be so much fun!"

Rabid got back to the fight in time to see his own torpedoes speeding towards the alien craft. The hum of the Carrot Stick's point defense gatling guns preceded the disappearance of another batch of alien missiles before his bigger heavy barrage cannons carved lines across alien hull.

A series of explosions blossomed on the alien craft and a rather inviting breach caught Rabid's eye. Rabid quickly imputed the next commands to his navigator and grinned fiercely. “Knock Knock, motherfuckers.”

The ramming reinforced prow energized.

McDugal gibbered happily around the wires sticking to and from his head. The Spice auto-injector drip hissed.

rabid

[rabidbite]

Clan Javat is one of those interstellar policies that is constantly misunderstood and endlessly underestimated. The Javat do not have Steel Song special forces, or DeValtos vast riches, or the manipulative political cunning of Rychart. The Javat are miners, factory workers and explorers by general trade. Yet, the strength of Javat does not come from its well known industries or mining projects.

The Javat endure.

The Javat can take it and keep on coming. It is a lesson the Javat continue to teach those with the predilection to prey on them. It was a lesson Johan Grimm was shoving down Terrox throats one plasma bolt and gauss round at a time.

Eight weeks of digging followed by four weeks of grabbing artifacts and loading them up to the Intrepid. It was one of the biggest hauls of his career. Yet there was always something, always.

Johan didn’t know if the exploratory team had activated a signal or if the signal had been sending the entire time and somehow his team had removed some shielding keeping the message from reaching out into the stars. What mattered was that the Terrox, one of the oldest most vicious species in the galaxy, had answered the call … and they were here.

The golden sun over green fields of Johan’s armor was stained with the blood of his crew as well as the smearing grey oil that passed for Terrox blood. The aliens were armored in carapace bioarmor that made Johan’s skin crawl. Their multi-segmented scaled limbs held spiral-like weapons which vomited neon green blasts of energy able to pierce through heavy battle armor in moments.

But Johan Grimm was Javat. Javat do not quit.

“PUSH THEM, PUSH THEM. Forward to the bridge!” came his roaring command. Once aboard the Terrrox marauder, a quick eyed crewman had seen how little effect the green blasts had on the hull material. Right now brave comrades held pieces of carapace up so that their crew mates could have enough cover to rip into the enemy with everything from military grade weapons to improvised mining lasers. They pushed, by god they pushed.

Behind them the bodies of their brethren littered the floor along with those adopted as friends. Tenuclitan was back there, body armor almost cut in half by one of the Terrox serrated blades.

Johan did not want to think about the decades of friendship ended with something as crude as a jumped up knife.

The aliens were savage and cruel, and that cruelty was a weakness. To the right one of the Terrox pulled a screaming Javat from the line with some sort of barbed retractable hook. The scream ended swiftly with a clean straight piercing of armor and body by one of those unbelievable sharp blades. Then the alien got stupid and kept hacking at the body, which gave time for the Javat to blow it to bits with concentrated fire.

Johan looked back to notice how truly thin his numbers were. Fully a quarter of the boarding pods had been destroyed outright, and his teams weren’t as concentrated as he’d like. Johan had maybe a score remaining with him out of twice that number. Clever fighting or not, the aliens were inflicting a heavy toll on the Javat forces. Given the size of the alien ship, Johan knew the attrition was to the Terrox’s favor.

Grimm ground his teeth and blew the head off one of the larger specimens. Their push was slowing down and if it stalled, it would truly be the end for them all.

rabid

[rabidbite]

If there was a way to describe the fighting style of the Carrot Stick’s crew, it would be: dirty. From the moment the Carrot Stick had rammed it’s prow into the innards of the alien vessel, it had been one ecstatic skirmish after another.

An additional squad of the nightmare creatures clattered skittered, down the hexagonal hallway. Rabid Rabbit could generally identify two types: slim and slick green-shit rifle what-cha-ma-call-its, and the slightly bulkier ‘closers’ that preferred those hooks and blades over their green-shit blasters.

Over the course of two centuries of murder, mayhem, and psychopathic fun Rabid Rabbit had learned a few things that could be summed into: what your enemy doesn’t expect will get them killed.

The first plasma grenade to hit the aliens had done nothing but darken their weird-as-fuck armor. Only concentrated fire seemed to get through the thick shells unless you got lucky with a head-shot. The bright discharge of Bonnie’s ridiculously large plasma cannon punctuated a singular exception as it burnt through wall and alien alike. Rabid would have to ask his armored military officer how he’d been able to get a scaled version of tank cannon as a portable weapon. Still, Rabid Rabbit was used to seeing that thing pulverize holes with impunity. Against these buggers, it was roasting them to death, but not disintegrating them into atoms.

Yet, Bonnie couldn’t be everywhere and the plasma cannon needed time to recharge. So how did that leave the rest of the crew? It left them doing pretty damn well. Even aliens had a lot of problem dealing with ‘dirty’.

A grenade with a yellow colored band fell among the aliens, they paid little heed to it, confident any concussion detonation would do little harm to their seriously effective battle armor; the suckers.

The grenade blew and splattered everything around it with, not shrapnel, but thick gooey magnetic neon yellow paint . Picture it: fragile humans in front, ignorable useless weapon at your feet … WHAM … everything is yellow! Sensors are screwy! I can’t see shit!

Rabid Rabbit loved it.

While the aliens were trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, Rabid Rabbit wasn’t giving them a chance. The bloodlust happy madman sprinted down the hallway and almost reached an epiphany when his jagged toothed chainsaw tasted the sweet viscosity of alien blood once more. With the swiftness of two centuries of battle experience, Rabid pressed the nuzzle of his left handed auto-pistol to the helmet of a disoriented other and blew two holes into the faceplate before spearing a third with the revolving forward edge of his trademark chainsaw.

The aliens were vicious, devastating at long range and darn dangerous at close combat. This Cadar crew was not only dangerous at close combat, it was murderous. Around Rabbit the fight was short and brutal. Vibro-blades ripped and stabbed through the off-footed aliens digging through weird-as-fuck armor with difficulty, but not impossibility. Limbs went flying, heads rolled, and alien gore splattered the walls and ad-hoc space armor.

Rabid looked about at the carnage. One of the white bunny logos on his shoulder pads was hidden behind oily blood, streaks of the same dripped down his armor, and bits of dark meat hung on the teeth of his brutal chainsaw. He looked like an avatar of destruction: madness, cruelty, and resourcefulness blended together into something … other.

“Losses?” Bonnie barked the question as he reloaded his own auto-pistol, evidence of his participation. It took a moment but someone replied.

“Four, sir.”

Rabid Rabbit snorted, “Who would have thought these bastards to be weak against crayola.”

“Captain, I think there’s fighting down that corridor to the left.”

Rabid Rabbit listened. It was true, the unmistakable sound of blaster fire and screaming and general cacophony of a good fun fight was picked up by his auriculars.

“That doesn’t sound like one of our boarding parties,” Rabid Rabbit said to Bonnie.

“Nope, we’re the only ones around here. The rest of our boys and girls are further to the east of this beast in hopes of finding an engine room.”

Rabid Rabbit thought about it for a moment, “Where there is fighting, there are aliens.” That seemed to sum up the entire deepness of his thoughts. Aliens to kill, good. No aliens to kill, bad. How something so simple could be so smart was a joke even elder stars had trouble understanding.

rabid

[rabidbite]

Johan Grimm was no pushover. He’d been in enough grim, pardon the pun, fights to know a bad situation when it happened. This one was definitely bad, but the wily Javat captain was not out of ideas and tricks. It was with mixed feelings that Johan didn’t get to use them.

What would become one of the strangest encounters of his career began with glue. To be more precise, with industrial strength super fast shipyard epoxy.

When dozens of blue banded canisters bounced on and around the concentrated mass of about two dozen or so Terrox, it was a quick eyed Javat crewman who asked, “What the hell is that?”

A few Terrox had seen the canisters and turned to fire a few reflexive shots down one of two corridors before the devices exploded and coated everything with the grayish-blue substance Johan would later identify as glue.

The Terrox were snared, their movements seriously compromised as the quickly hardening substance clung to everything. A beam of intense light cooked one of the Terrox in its bioarmor, like a lobster in its shell. Even before the glare of the beam faded, figures moving with purpose and speed burst from the corridor.

Johan could identify the figures as human.

The biggest of them had a still smoking absurdly large plasma cannon slung over his side and a heavy auto-pistol barking rounds into the hampered aliens. Proud like a dragon, the gibbous moon guarding a blazing star over a field of deep blue was emblazoned on the man’s chest and helmet.

The efficient and brutal killers of Cadar Syndicate waded into the fight.

“What the hell is going on boss?” confusion got the better of the Javat for a few moments.

Johan Grimm wasn’t sure how this particular convalescence of events had occurred, but he wasn’t about to waste it, “Alright boys, hit the flank furthest from those men! Be precise!”

It really wasn’t much of a fight at that point. The mass fire of the Javat survivors quickly cut through the relatively immobilized aliens, felling them two or three at a time.

If the Javat killed cleanly, the Cadar nuts gorged themselves in gore. Arcs of cruor and fleshy gunk went flying in different directions. The stench of entrails and offal exploded into the air. The cries of battle and the hissing rage from alien throats became punctuated by the grinding sound of close combat and the meaty growl of chainsaw.

At some point the Javat simply couldn’t fire without hitting Cadar, and they stopped. They became spectators to a truly vicious slaughter. Perhaps three Cadar went down to some unlucky blast or another, but that was all.

There came a moment when there weren’t any more aliens alive and one of the Cadar turned an odd hockey mask stylized helmet towards the Javat.
Grimm could not see the man’s eyes, but he could feel the heavy weight of that gaze on him. It was the feeling of something deciding to eat him or not.

The hockey masked Cadar walked over to the Javat. There was so much blood and ichor on the armor it was like the man had taken a bath in a meat grinder. A chainsaw was held in his right hand and it had even more gore encrusted than the armor.

“So,” said the man, “how do you want to handle this? You get the fuck out of here and leave this ship to us, or you don’t leave and we can have a discussion later about the spoils? Either way is fine by me and mine.”

Grimm was paying close attention to the Cadar, he saw it. He saw the rabbit emblem and though he wasn’t one to back away from anyone, he knew his people were hurt, and that there was a fortune in artifacts waiting for him in the hold of the Intrepid.

“No problem with us. This ship is all yours. I believe the bridge is down that other hallway to the left,” Johan supplied helpfully.

The gory madman, because there was no question in Johan Grimm’s mind that in front of him was THE madman of madmen, glanced down that hallway, “Much obliged. Of course if you stay around we can still have a pint of your vudka in a little while, swap stories, yadda yadda.”

“Right we can at that,” Johan said inanely.

The gory man trotted back to his men and the bunch disappeared down the other hallway path.

“Aren’t we going to help them, boss?”

Johan looked at his men, “No. There are people out in this quadrant you never want to meet. We just met one of those people, son. Let the Terrox keep on meeting him as many times as they can survive it. We only get one pass … and I’m taking it. We boarded to get the Intrepid free, and I think that objective is going to be a reality very soon.”

"Who the hell is he, boss?" one of Grimm's veterans came around for the question.

"Let's just say, a long time ago, I thought I was very clever and ended up loosing a ship and a promising Political Officer. I'm just glad he never found out who I was."

*** The ship and political officer scene is a Rabid Rabbit Easter Egg:)

rabid

[rabidbite]

The Carrot Stick cruised deep space in the mid-northeastern part of the quadrant. To their quadrant north east were the extended dominions of Javat and Thulun. To their quadrant south and south west the slim pathways held by Rychart.

The crew had been enjoying a well deserved rest after their magnificent haul from the alien craft a couple of months back. Though they hadn’t been able to move the alien ship before it self-destructed, they had been able to cart off enough alien artifacts to give everyone a ridiculous bonus. A few of the crew actually left to settle down, having made their ‘fortunes’.

What had brought the officers to the bridge were the emergency collision claxons and the swerving of the ship. Rabid Rabbit had been in the middle of playing his favorite “Templar Assault” game and was a little cheesed off at the interruption. He got to the bridge armed to the teeth and ready to rock and roll, but found both Bonnie and Graline already there.

“Cripes, we almost hit that thing.” Graline said as she peered up at the view screen. On it a tight debris field orbited large pieces of a wrecked space craft. The thing had been in a serious fight evidenced by the melted armor broken pieces and the long cold and cracked barrage gun cannons.

Bonnie was trying real hard to look stoic and cool without giving off that he had a thing for the slender sexy woman. Rabid Rabbit just couldn’t fathom the attraction. Having a relationship with Graline was like hugging a grenade; it would end messy. Not even in his most inebriated state had Rabid Rabbit fallen for Graline’s advances. His thoughts went back to a certain half-breed tentacle girl. To think he’d succumbed to that thing’s seduction and not Graline’s said something about his mentality … or about Graline’s.

“Can you tell what kind of ship it was from the debris field? I’d say Javat in origin because of the spider like sails, but I’m not too well versed,” Rabid Rabbit said. He pointed at Zonk, “And he’s no help. Crazy addict is still jerking off at the near collision.” Indeed, the stoned pilot was making humping gestures with his hips at nothing at all.

“I wonder what he sees,” Bonnie mused for a second. No one in their right mind would want to experience what Zonk considered reality. Alas, Bonnie really did look curious; reinforcing Rabid Rabbit’s conclusion that Bonnie, for all his calmness, fit right in with his crew.

The sensor crewman commented, “It’s a good sized ship with many decks still intact Captain. There should be some good salvage still available.”

“It’s Javat in origin. If we had an expert mechanic on board, I bet she could tell you what type of ship with a glance. As it is, I’ll need to get a good view of the markings and try to find some heraldry.” Graline cocked her hip and smiled at Rabbit coyly, “I’m all about getting close, darling.”

Rabid Rabbit tried not to put a chainsaw through her face. He knew her role but damn it was difficult.

It took them a while to get enough video mapping to build a partial image of the heraldry. The ship might have been Javat in origin but it had Syndicate Rychart markings. The breakthrough came when a partial reconstruction of the name came up.

Bonnie scratched his chin, “Short name. Starts with an ‘a’ and ends with an ‘a’. Royal class warship, Syndicate Rychart markings. Any ide…”

“It’s the Alia,” Graline’s whisper cut through the speculation. It was a sentence stated with complete certainty.

Rabid Rabbit oriented on the woman. The voice was different.

There wasn’t the hint of flirtation in her posture. She stood erect, forthright and almost at military rest. She turned her eyes to Rabid. They were cold and dead, “I’m getting on that ship Rabbit.” It wasn’t a request. It was a statement of fact.

Rabid Rabbit analyzed Graline for a few moments. Yes, it was time for the game to begin. At last. Out loud he commented, “So that’s why."

Graline arched an eyebrow, “Why what?”

“Why I hired you Graline and why I haven’t butchered you. I knew under that entire coy bullshit mask you threw at people something lurked. Nice to meet you Graline di Natash.”

The woman stared impassively at him.

Rabid Rabbit stroked the line of his hockey mask, "Tell me about the Alia, Graline, beginning with why you're able to identify it on sight."

rabid

[rabidbite]

“Check again. Do a better job this time.” Rabid Rabbit was, for once, truly irritated. Bonnie knew Rabbit wasn’t angry simply because the tech was still in one piece, but that fine line was quickly eroding.

“Captain, I’m not sure what what I’m looking for. The computer is working fine. There nav computer hasn't been hacked that I can see.”

“Is that a fact?” Rabbit murmured in thought. “How is it being done then..”
Rabid Rabbit and Bonnie were in the auxiliary bridge with their best tech guru. Bonnie wasn’t sure he knew what was going on.

“What are we looking for Rabbit?” Bonnie asked, more in the hopes of keeping the tech geek alive. There were very few that would sign up with a madman like Rabid Rabbit.

“We just ran into the damn Alia, with a goddam Rychart viper on board. Do you really think it was coincidence? There has to be something here, something we aren’t seeing.”

Bonnie felt a little hot under the collar. He never quite understood why Rabid Rabbit kept Graline at a distance. The paranoia surrounding Rabid Rabbit’s distaste of the ex-intelligence operative was getting out of hand, and dangerous. Currently Graline was in the brig and guarded over by two fully armed crew members. So she was Rychart. That didn't mean she was hatching some sort of sinister plot...

“Let’s review. Which are all the ways that we establish flight paths?”
Bonnie shrugged, “We establish where we want to go and a likely path to get there.”

“Right, so when do we change those paths? Hell knows we sure do course corrections every time we see something we want right?”

The tech scratched her chin. There was an odd look to her face, “Maybe …”
Rabid Rabbit turned his eyes on the woman. The intense gaze made the former blanch.

“Maybe the flight path alterations aren’t done illegally? Maybe they are done because of Boolean inputs of perceived threats and opportunities within the envelope of the ship’s course?”

“In freaking trade speech?”

“Someone puts shit into the sensors that makes us plot a course to a specific area.”

Bonnie glanced over at Rabbit with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Could Graline have … “Plot every course we’ve taken through this area beginning 15 quadrant years ago.”

Rabid Rabbit side glanced at him. For a long moment the madman’s eyes rested on Bonnie, and then he nodded once. Bonnie realized Rabid Rabbit had not been sure of him, was probably not sure of him still, but that at the very least Bonnie’s willingness to entertain the possibility that Graline had messed with the Carrot Stick’s navigation gave him a reprieve. Graline had boarded the ship fifteen years ago. Not long in quadrant time, but long enough.

The first grid showed the initial plots provided by the navigation computer; nothing sinister. Under Rabbit's instructions the tech added course changes which occurred by space phenomena and ships contacts.

“Remove all ship contacts that we were able to confirm through boarding or visual range or something beyond simply our sensors,” Bonnie suggested. The tech complied quickly. The snarl of flight course changes simplified considerably.

“Holy shit,” whispered the tech. On the display the Carrot Stick had conducted over sixteen trips in the area of space were the Alia lay entombed.

“Since we usually fly in this part of the quadrant, she picked our ship for her little exploration. Graline has been playing us for fifteen years. Hey, girl, do me a favor, check if there have been moments of unusual sensor activity when we cruise through the area. Say, deep space scans and the like.” Rabid Rabbit was truly and utterly pissed now.

The tech brought up those data files, thoroughly time stamped, and plotted them onto the graphical display. Bonnie ground his teeth; it was a search pattern. “We’re in trouble,” Bonnie stated. “If she has been able to alter our trajectories like this for so long, then she’s probably planted worms all over our systems. Who knows what else has been compromised?”

Rabid Rabbit tapped the tech, “Find the alterations. Get yourself all the help you can get to check and clean out the syst…”

The lights of the Carrot Stick flickered and went out. Emergency lights flickered on. Rabid Rabbit cursed, "It's all a setup. We're dancing to her tune."

The tech sounded angry “We must have tripped a failsafe … I tripped a failsafe. Someone put a failsafe in my computer system.” The smallish woman stood up, “I got to get to engineering.”

Bonnie looked over at Rabid Rabbit. The hockey mask was on and his eyes had gone flat out cold. “Your orders captain?”

Good, time to motivate him. “We kill her. We kill her now. We kill her fast. We kill her dead.”

----------------------------------------

Jack Donovan watched his display as he waited.

It had been hard, very hard, not to attack the ship out of hand. Every time he saw that red dot on his plot he’d wanted to let loose with everything his Omega Carrier had.

How the agent had kept the Wrath from the Carrot Stick's sensors was a trick he'd have to ask her.

“We got the signal sir!”

Donovan whirled and held a tight grin.

Finally the willy agent had sent the signal. Their prey was crippled. It was time for battle and the sound of death's reaping.

With the help of Jenon, Jack affixed the bulky helmet of his battle armor. The diagnostics flashed green.

He opened a signal to his boarding shuttles, “Brothers, sisters, cousins, friends.... Today we kill the Mad Rabbit." His words resonated through the com channels like thunder. "Remember our lost loved ones! Remember the horror, terror and grief this insane beast and his crew have inflicted upon our great noble family. REMEMBER THE DEAD!"

Donovan drew his sword. The Blood Animus glowed crimson with energy.

"Warriors of House Thulun! For Honor! For Glory! For Duty! Let us reap a just and inevitable VENGEANCE!"

The cheers and battle cries of the House of Lions resonated through the com channels.

"ALL SHUTTLES DEPLOY!”


rabid

[rabidbite]

Graline de Natash had forgotten to truly appreciate just how dangerous Rabid Rabbit looked. She’d mostly been in the background; gathering information, finding rumors that would lead the Carrot Stick to its next haul, researching known bounty hunters or situations.

But the moment he stood there and looked at her, armored, armed with that crude battle chainsaw and stroking the hockey mask she’d seen him use in full butchery, she knew she was seeing the Mad Rabbit in full pre-killing mode. The waves of intimidation radiating from that little look and his gesture sent a chill down her spine that robbed her of good senses for a moment.

It reminded her of their first meeting. She’d first seen Rabid Rabbit butchering his way across a DeValtos space liner chainsaw blurring and ripping goblets of flesh and bone from people. It was cheer pure bad luck that placed her in that position, but Graline had done the best of the situation. She’d impressed the Mad Rabbit by killing four of his men and coyly suggesting an arrangement.

The Shawarazan Institute of Modern Warfare had become powerful in the absence of its inspiring mother, Alia II Shawarazan. Initially dedicated to the basic aggressive tactics which made the founder so famous, the institute became bloated, fat with success and prestige. It became arrogant and immobile.

Being a Rychart prime organization, it soon became one of the many battlefields of the dance. The great game of power was as ingrained into the mind of a Rychart corporate family as breathing was to anyone else.

Eventually, the Institute commissioned a college for special operatives, the best which carried out the dirty jobs necessary for the Institute to acquire more wealth and control or to address threats to the members of its Board of Directors. In essence, the singularity of the institute descended into the banality of commonplace Rychart backstabbing and murder.

Then the capsule arrived.

It had been picked up between the rivers of deep space in an area thick with pirates, aliens, marauders and independents. A single damaged distress pod from the Alia with a garbled message containing the audio words ‘I live’.

The thought that Alia II Shawarazan might still live, beyond all probability, was a fear so strong that it required investigation. Like a religion, the Shawarazan Institute did well with an absent god. It had even dropped the name Shawarazan to simply become the Institute of Modern Warfare.

A few very highly trained agents were sent out. Among these agents was a Graline di Natash a DeValtos born mercenary, or so her cover said. Of course, once she ran into the Mad Rabbit her given assignment changed; keep track of the Rabbit. Keep track of the most dangerous pirate in existence.

Unfortunately for the Institute, Graline di Natash might have studied at its facilities, even become an agent through their training, but her true last name was Sogunu. She was Rychart. More importantly, she was a splinter house of the Shawarazan main branch.

The Shawarazan syndicate family wanted to regain control of its wayward asset.

Fifteen long years she carried out both her mandates. She kept an eye on the Mad Rabbit and she slowly insinuated herself into heart of the crew; a lover here, a fortuitous murder there. She was Rychart. Her blood was as cold as space.

On the Carrot Stick’s last traverse through the sector her sensor sweeps had found the Alia.

Graline knew her time to leave had come. But, Rabid Rabbit was too dangerous. She had to prepare.

Graline had fifteen years to get to know the handsome yet broken Mad Rabbit. He would not take betrayal well. Through her network of agents, she’d found Jack Donovan and dangled the death of Rabid Rabbit for passage and protection as soon as he was in range of Tapella Outpost. She'd never seen a more eager man.

Now it all came to this. Graline’s entire plan hinged on her performance at this moment. Rabid Rabbit’s stare was on her, hot, commanding and intimidating. It even made her a little weak at the knees. She chose her words carefully. She had to enrage him and yet survive.

“The Alia is a legend to the DeValtos and Rychart, Rabbit. You should have heard of it.”

Rabid Rabbit was fiddling with his hockey mask, if he put that on … “I haven’t heard of it. Tell me about the Alia.” Yes curiosity.

“It is the ship of a legendary pirate known as Alia II Shawarazan with ties to DeValtos and Rychart,’ she supplied. Reel him in, let him see the lie but not all of it. He already suspects you of being Rychart.

“And we just happened to run right smack into it out of sheer luck?” That’s it Rabid see the lie, create your suspicions.

“Are you insinuating something, captain?” Push him, drive him to doubt the suspicions but not enough.

“Perhaps you will tell me what I am insinuating,” his hand firmed on the hockey mask. He was about to put it on, if Rabid Rabbit did that, Graline was dead. Divert him.

“Captain Rabbit, with your permission I’ll happily be escorted to the brig while you check ship systems.” Give that sharp mind something to hone on. He locks her up and he can check. That Graline suggested it is enough to give that doubt an extra spike.

Rabid Rabbit paused for a second, “Bonnie put her in the brig. Have a couple of bruisers on her.” The mask stayed off. Got you.

Bonnie glanced between them, “What’s going on?” The big man looked confused.

Rabid Rabbit looked at him, “Humor me.”

Graline kept her face dead and expressionless as the two armored men composing the bridge security watch came to escort her to the brig. Silly Rabbit. Graline had fifteen years to compromise the loyalty of his men. She also knew exactly who was on watch.

In the lift, Graline said pleasantly, “It’s time, Traz.”

The other armored man glanced at her, “What’s she talk…arrgh!” Traz's blade went right through the visor. His watch partner hit the floor like a sack of lead.

“Aw reckon we’ bout ready tah lev’?” Traz asked her while stripping the still twitching corpse. Graline quickly donned the pieces of battle armor, the blade and auto-pistol. She wasn’t adverse to a little blood, “You reckon quite correctly my handsome friend. Let’s get to that escape shuttle before things get more complicated.”

“Ah dunn' how that’ gonna help us. Tis' here old ship has get’ herself some fine guns. Shoot’ yah out ‘d sky real quick like.”

“My dear Traz. Do you think I don’t have that particular conundrum covered? Come now, you know me better than that. Com the others. We really don’t want to be on this ship in a few more minutes. Tut tut, no more questions. You’ll find out soon enough.”


rabid

[rabidbite]

Rabid Rabbit walked briskly out of the auxiliary bridge, Bonnie shadowing him. Graline was quite a woman. She’d played him and Rabbit for fifteen years. Now the captain would praise her with the full attention he could muster.

As the two men moved quickly through the opaque halls, they ran into four armored crew with backpacks.

“Excellent. You guys read our minds get everyone suited up just in case.” Bonnie started saying. It wasn’t that Bonnie didn’t see what Rabid Rabbit saw, it was that it took him a little longer to get to it. That delay was why Rabid Rabbit was the captain, and why Bonnie was the First Officer.

“Yes, sir. We’ll do that.”

If the man was going to say anything else, he didn’t; Rabid Rabbit’s chainsaw was too firmly embedded in his neck.

Rabid Rabbit gunned the engine even as he pushed the man into the other three. The explosion of gore was somewhat magnificent and the copious amount of blood distracting. Before the men knew it, Rabid had shot three holes into two visors and had the chainsaw to the fourth’s neck.

“HAVE YOU GONE COMPLETELY CRAZY!?” Bonnie hollered in utter surprise. His plasma cannon was in his hand. Thankfully the large man wasn’t pointing it at Rabbit. He had enough sense for that.

“So, deserters. Now why would we have deserters? “ Rabid Rabbit wondered, “And where would deserters go? Ah, the escape shuttle. Guess we can't use our suit com channels just yet.”

Bonnie stared at him, “What the hell are you talking about … sir?”

“Fully armored, backpack carrying people, on our ship, less than twenty seconds after everything goes haywire? I don’t think so Bonnie. When did they have time to pack anything? Why would they pack anything?”

Bonnie’s brain finally caught up, “Son of a bitch.” He bent to check the backpacks. They were full of personal effects, though hastily thrown together.

The crewman had his hands up, “Cezno right?” Rabid Rabbit’s voice was pleasant. Bonnie took the man’s vibro-blade and auto-pistol. “I want to know how long ago you got whatever signal Graline set up. Please, PLEASE don’t bother to stall or buy time. I’m asking because I want a reason to save your life.”

“Sir I got no idea wha…” The scream of the chainsaw made his words end in a gurgle. The corpse slid into the expanding pool of blood left by the others.

“That doesn’t help, Rabbit,” Bonnie said in exasperation.

“It tells me at least that he’s willing to lie to me about it, which means whatever Graline offered them is valuable. That also means she’s going to head over to the Alia. I bet these bozos were too slow and she's already left." Rabbit stared at the corpses, “What a fucking waste.”

The Mad Rabbit spun around and headed down the hall way.

“Where are you going now, captain?”

“To the crew quarters, I want to see how many crew we have left. I also want to get everyone armored up for the visitors.”

“You think Graline has people coming?”

“Oh hell yes. Graline is able to fuck with our sensors and she needs to buy time. She knows we can get across on our own boarding shuttles, but unless our maintenance crews are completely subverted, those shuttles are still alright. So? How does she steal my escape shuttle and stops us from blowing the Alia to hell and back?”

“Don’t need to jump to that logic sir. The Alia seems to have something valuable. She could be betting on … well … our greed and curiosity. She already has the Carrot Stick generally incapacitated.” Bonnie suggested it politely. He had a point.

“I thought about it Bonnie. Graline has to make utterly sure we won’t get enough functionality in time to stop her. She could blow the engines or something, but I don’t think she’s wastefully cold blooded.”

“Like you are?”

Rabid Rabbit smiled, “Like me.” Rabid Rabbit punched open an emergency access stairway. These suckers were build for emergencies, thus, men in armor. “Well then. Let’s see how many of my men are still mine.”

rabid

[rabidbite]

Glue and paint, how had he never thought of it himself? Jack Donovan had to admire the resourcefulness of these pirates, even as he hated the very air they breathed.

In all his years, Jack had never experienced such a fight. It was invigorating!

The Cadar pirates fought like tigers. Their plasma carbines slashed like sharp claws, their odd grenades, and ad-hoc traps became the ambush of striped felines, their ferocity a match for the creatures. They were magnificent.

But tigers were extinct. For all their ferocity, for all their power and majesty, tigers fought alone or in pairs.

Lions hunted in prides.

Some had laughed at the name Rabid Rabbit, but they forgot that rabies kills no matter how small the nibble.

The defiant royal red lion over a field of sunlight was everywhere. The Thulun cut through the hull of the Carrot Stick a bare ten minutes after launch. Hundreds of Thulun Lions in dozens of shuttles fell on the infamous nemesis of their House. Jack Donovan never forgot he fought a madman. His men never forgot either. They all had lost someone to the disease they’d come to exterminate.

Then everything had gotten messy. Cadar’s in pairs and small squads began a guerrilla type battle where they struck fast and kept moving. They hampered more than actually caused casualties. Sometimes things didn’t go their way

Jack pulled his vibro-blade from the cadar armor where it had pierced the thinner side plates. Three of his men traded fire down the hallway while Jenon checked the dead to see if any of them was Rabbit.

Jack didn’t check. He knew none of them was the madman; no chainsaw. From his belt he withdrew two high-explosive grenades and lobbed them down the hallway. The dual explosions covered their advance nicely. The five Lions were among the tigers.

An armored form had been torn in half by the grenades, but two still stood, if a bit blood plastered. The left most Cadar was good and fought well in the dual manner of the type. His right hand caught at a Lion’s blade and with the other put three shots into the back of the Lion facing his buddy. Just like a Cadar, attack the weak spot even if that weak spot is not the person you’re facing.

The Cadar on the right went for Jenon whom, with boredom, sliced the sword arm off with a quick deft parry and flick. When the right man cried out, the left Cadar disappeared down the hallway, but not before three blue banded grenades fell among the Thulun crew. Jack dove back before glue stuck to everything. Jenon wasn’t even touched. How did he do that?

That was their tactic; hit, delay, and disappear. Yet, even if these Cadar fought better than his own men, his men fought well enough and had better teamwork. Thus, as far as Jack could tell, it was a one for one and a half exchange. Of course, the Lions always outnumbered the Cadar. Not bad against this particular tough crew. Still, it was a rather steep butcher's bill.

Jack finished off the one arm Cadar, one less filth to worry about.

He was about to give the order to join the teams headed to the bridge but the built in alarm in one of his men’s suit lit up. It was a signal to be used only in one particular moment. It was the alarm that said ‘I found Rabid Rabbit’.

“Track that signal! Where is it coming from?”

Half a minute later, “Sir, tracking believes its coming from their shuttle hangar bay.”

-------------------------

After verifying the absence of the escape ship, Rabid Rabbit figured that whoever was left on the Carrot Stick were going to be with him; like it or not. So he got to work rallying the troops via assault communications built in to the battle armors.

Rabid Rabbit opened a suit com, “Delaying teams. We’re ready to rock. Get to the hangar. Engineering, you got two minutes to finish with your part or you won’t make it to the hangar. Bridge crew, blow the databank, get to the hangar. We go in 15 minutes.”

Bonnie gestured at Rabbit. The mad one changed channels, “Tell me.”

“We got the last ingredient. One of the teams is bringing it now.”

“Excellent. This will work, you’ll see.”

“It’s certainly crazy enough to make the books.”

A group of four Cadar jogged in carrying a still struggling Lion. “Bastard’s tough, killed two of ours,” said one of the team.

The Lion looked at Rabid Rabbit and paused, “You’re going to kill me.”

Rabid Rabbit didn’t see any point denying it, “Yes.”

“I’ll go smiling rodent. I’m your death.”

Rabid Rabbit tilted his head considering the words, “Who knows? I got to die of something. But I don’t have the time for philosophy noble Lion.”

Rabid turned to the crews that were still painting his shuttles in the manner of House Thulun, “Ok gents, I got you some red color. Only have about 10 pints so make it last, and do this quickly.”

rabid

[rabidbite]

"Please, continue monitoring the Carrot Stick. If anything decides to join us, be so kind as to tell us first and wonder later, mkay?" Graline's voice was full of the soft seductive humor of her training.

"Roger that."

Graline felt a little ill disposed towards the armor she had donned. It wasn’t the blood or the fact that the previous owner had pissed himself in death. It was that, even with auto-adjust, the armor was male and had tubing for a man; it rubbed in the wrong places.

It had been impossible to dock with the Alia's wreckage both because of the debris and the spin. Eventually some well placed boarding tethers did the trick. To think Rabid Rabbit had boarding tethers on the escape shuttle; another indication of the offensive inclined nature of that butcher.

Graline directed the team into the bowels of the Alia. Around her were some of the people who'd she'd been able to insert into the crew of the Carrot Stick during her time as its spy officer. Traz was on point, his usually steady auto-pistol holstered in favor of a plasma carbine with an attached illuminator.

"To the left. There should be an emergency access stairway. We want to go down two levels from here."

Even with the holographic map Graline carried, the going was not as fast as she would like. Eventually her little distraction would die down and someone would come looking. Graline wanted to be off the Alia by then.

The sound of the team's magnetic boots was singular to every person as the void of space carried no sound. The old ship had signs of being boarded even beyond the damage suffered from whatever had finally disabled her. Plasma pock marks dotted the metal plates, burned out barricades were found every so often, even one or two drifting skeletons.

There was enough historical material to warrant a large payday. With no close-by ports for large salvage it was no real mystery why the old bird had been left adrift; that did not mean most of the ship hadn't been stripped bare.

"What' we looking fer' Graline?" Traz asked once they had floated down the stairway.

"I am not sure, but according to the schematic it should be a dozen feet to our right."

What they found was a crew waste disposal area aka a restroom. "I gues' yah fancy a shet?"

"Cute. Please darling, look for some sort of access panel, a switch, something that belongs but isn't exactly right."

Even with the schematic it took them a full twenty minutes to hit on the answer. One of the crapper suction tubes came off. The hole looked like it could work, but instead had a pressure switch.

The last cubicle slid back into the wall. The cubicle wall pulled back to allow for space. Graline couldn't help a smile. "And so my lovely ones, the smuggler's hold of the Alia. Let's find out the real reason Alia II Shawarazan fought to the death."

rabid

[rabidbite]

“And why weren’t the shuttles secured in the initial assault on the ship? I remember assigning you that task, lieutenant.”

“Sir, the updated orders reassigned us to the engineering assault.”

The Lion fished his pockets and brought out a small data chip. Donovan inserted it into the reader and inspected it. The data was nothing but fully authorized orders for a tactics changed. The authority: Jack Donovan.

Someone on his ship was playing a double game. Maybe it was a friend of that Rychart gal?

Jack Donovan knew he hadn’t reassigned anything. I was basic military strategy; you don’t allow mobility to enemy troops if you have a good chance of keeping it from them. This was something dangerous, but at the moment Jack had to play with the dice he’d been given.

Something of his anger must have shown because the Lions were very jumpy. Jack had to calm down a moment before issuing commands through the com net. Four score Lions waited along the hallways, with more on their way. “Alright people, this is it; grenades and smokers first. Aim low, keep your head in the game, and rely on each other. Let’s kill us a Rabbit.”

The grenades and smoke bombs covered the advance of the Lions of House Thulun so that only two of them died in the initial rush and none got glued to the floor like easy meat.

There was something different though. Before this moment, the prides of Thulun had only fought isolated Cadar. Now they faced the full brunt of a whole lot of them, and if they weren’t as excellent at teamwork as the Thulun, they now had a very effective leader. This leader’s motto was ‘Never, ever fight fair’.


-----

There were so many things that could be done with batter. It got you fat. It made things taste good. It was also very slippery by itself. Combine it with some nasty little mixture from the egg-heads in engineering, and you had something with almost zero friction. Surprise kitties.

-----

The charging Lions roared their challenge and were met by... no one. The Cadar did not charge, they waited. That particular action was very odd to Jack Donovan and he tried to stop his head long charge, only to slide out of control straight into … a man with a helmet altered to look like a hockey mask and wielding a diamond bright chainsaw.

It was him. Jack Donovan’s felt his rage burn. It was Rabid Rabbit.

rabid

[rabidbite]

If a word could be used to define the powerful House Thulun it would not be noble or even arrogant. It would be pride.

Pride was an interesting pit of a word. House Thulun had too much pride to maintain and moved in prides of Lions. That was the weakness of the house. Like a lion, House Thulun roared and commanded. Thulun did not just have confidence in its honor and nobility. It had pride in its honor and nobility. It believed that, if it charged strongly enough, all would fall before it.

A house that always charges is predictable.

To charge an enemy one needs solid footing and Cadar have always been experts in removing ‘solidity’. Many Thulun Lions lost their footing on the hyper-slippery substance and they paid for it dearly.

The Cadar fire was intense and any stumbling Thulun was prey. Plasma bolts flew back and forth scorching armor, flesh and bone. Both sides lost soldiers. Both sides fought for keeps.

Rabid Rabbit had one advantage over many of his opponents: he knew himself. His weakness was greed and a disturbing need for cruelty and bloodshed, among other more sinister realities. Knowing his disability, Rabid Rabbit tried to focus it in certain ways.

Still, the needs of his psyche were a weakness and would get him killed one day. No one was unbeatable. That day would not be today.

Rabid Rabbit smiled his delight. The commander skidding his way was wearing praetor class armor. It was the equivalent of a tank. This was going to be a fight!

Rabbit’s chainsaw made a beeline for the thin protection at the neck of the praetor. His execution was perfect, his attack precise, yet the praetor still managed to avoid the deathblow by dropping his weight and letting his plasma carbine shatter under the teeth of Rabbit’s chainsaw.

Rabid Rabbit struck again, this time his chainsaw did strike true, but the thick praetor armor reduced the damage to flesh wound level. The praetor found his footing. Rabid Rabbit leaped back to give himself space to fight.

“Finally we meet; filth. I’m going to enjoy putting you in the ground,’ the praetor and Rabbit circled each other.

“You have a rather personal sort of tone to your threat. Do I owe you money?”

“You killed my daughter and sent a vid as a warning message to the Thulun High Council.”

“They obviously didn’t get the right message from it.”

Rabid considered for a moment, “Oh, the pleading woman in that Thulun transport? That was your daughter? Well shit. I’m sure she didn’t deserve it. I tend to do horrible things to good people. Don’t take it personal.”

Rage, sheer powerful burning rage was ingrained in every movement of the Thulun. “You prey on the weak. You murder the innocent. You trample decency and mercy,’ the praetor stepped forward emanating acidic menace. “Stamping you out will not bring my daughter back, but it will keep you from inflicting such suffering on others. A father should never have to outlive his child.”

Rabbit was taken aback for a moment. A real honest to god warrior of honor and justice? Would wonders never cease. For a moment he debated not answering but the singularity of meeting someone like Jack Donovan ...

“No they shouldn’t. You have every right to want me dead. Your fight is just, but in a just world, I would have never been created.” Rabbit powered his chainsaw and his auto-pistol was in his other hand. “The world isn’t made of justice Thulun. It’s about the strong and the weak. It’s about wealth to control enough of one’s destiny. For the ambitious souls starting at the bottom, it’s about getting rich or dying in its quest.”

The tension between them was fiver pitch. They could both feel the build up, like an avalanche just on the edge of tipping over.

"But for me, Thulun, is about something more basic. I am a slave to my needs. I have as much control of my actions as a prisoner has in a cage ... so I take whatever joys I can find. I love to maim and to torture. It’s a need ingrained in every fiber of my body. To protect those around me from myself, I must inflict it on others. I must inflict my weakness on people like you.” A miasma of sadistic blood lust so thick that the air seemed to shimmer grew around the man. “I am the Mad Rabbit.”

The praetor replied softly, “I am Jack Donovan of clan Korrigan. Father. Husband. Warrior. Praetor of House Thulun.” On the armor’s left arm an energy shield sprouted to life. A blood red wicked looking vibro-blade was in the right.

“Come madman, let us see who lives and who dies.”

rabid

PS: **** the daughter's scene is somewhere in the forums.