Chronicles of the Flying Dolphin

Clusters of bubbles scattered refractions of full spectrum light through the dome as Xero's holographic image seemed to solidify before Lt. Kristal Info. The old man's mouth worked in eerie contrast to the malfunctioning audio link. But his uncharacteristic animation left no doubt as to the urgency of whatever it was he was trying to communicate. Buzzed as she was, Kristal still had the presence of mind to lock and load the mirror polished .308 Israeli Galil as she stepped through the Wizard's image to the media console to attempt an audio track to his transmission.

The Tundra Bunny fur rug came to life in the periphery of her vision. Taking what cover she could behind the console, she switched the .308 to full auto and brought it to bear on what was supposed to have been a secret escape hatch.

"Don't shoot! - It's me!" came the Privateer's voice before he showed his face, pushing the trap door noisily open with one of the twin Tommy guns he held ready in each hand.

"Get your shit together, Goddess, we've gotta split quick."

He tossed her flight suit across the room to her using one of the .45 caliber barrels as though it were an extension of his hand.

"Fuckin' Feds are all over the place! They're searching door to door..."

She took no offense. She had already stopped thinking of herself as a Federation information officer at all. She accepted the handsome spaceman's description of her true identity, although her memories of life before the Fed programming which had prepared her for the mundane tasks of loading info were possesed of a vague dreamlike quality. She knew that she knew Fractal - that they were somehow merely different aspects of the same personality - she remembered their shared childhood, and having called out with her mind for a means of reaching him. She remembered riding to a frozen wasteland on a fat, trusty Dolphin and approaching a federation away team. But she was a bit confused as to how and why it was so important for them to be together, or why they must escape.

His explanation that she was an immortal deity seemed as plausible as anything else, and went a long way toward solving the mystery of how she had escaped the total mind blanking that fed programming normally caused.

As she dressed she loaded her pockets from the bowl of fresh fruit near the door. Fractal unceremoniously cut the malfunctioning link with Xero and set a charge to go off when anyone other than the two of them entered the room.

"You, I told, 'on Terra should we be staying', no? no, butt! to sector must be going always! what now, look!"

Of course, she was right. She seldom made sense, but she was almost always right.

"Four - ten, you byslexic ditch," he teased as they ducked down the escape tube. For, while others thought Lt. Info too sweet to mention her affliction, it was a source of closeness between her and the Privateer. That closeness, together with their shared sense of humor, had seen the two through situations where any more serious team would have perished. Of course he was pissed at what the Feds had done to his childhood sweetheart's mind, but it was still pretty much intact - only scrambled a little bit.

Cubicle upon cubicle of the most neutral grey grey lined the so-called street. It was really just a slick of cold mud - even more neutral in it's greyness than the synthetic surface of the Federation offices - where grey suited, grey skinned federation troops patrolled in groups of four. Armed with their nonlethal electrical touch guns, they were no match for Kristal and Fractal's projectile firing devices from ancient Terra. But it was unlikely that any confrontation would take place, because the Feds were also a poor match for the Pirette's tactical skills.

Shadow to shadow, one shade of grey to another, the Pirettes worked their way through the mind numbing gloom of the politibuearocracy's so-called city to the Flying Dolphin. Thrice they almost ran into patrols, but the policing Feds' wits were as dim as the light that filtered through the thick atmosphere, and by sticking to the shadow's shadows the piratical pair made their way to the grey fenced lot.

The ship was merely a distortion of the surrounding impound lot, it's mirrored surface reflecting the grey mud, grey buildings and polluted grey sky of the Fed outpost. Towing beams had moved it's bulk to this planet's surface, but attempts to gain entry had proved futile. Hand in hand Fractal and Kristal stepped through the ship's skin as though it was not there. Before firing up the thought drive Fractal strapped on Trauma and had the Princess ready her own matching blade, Terror.