#23 PLASTIC LOVE II
Two relentless suns burnt Anorok, the dying world on Solaeyruin’s edge. Strange rumors were spreading about the awakening of its ancient inhabitants. Beings of dark magic, the Cynthians once ruled the peninsula with an iron fist. They were returning from their tombs to threaten the crumbling order and caused wars like mortals and immortals had never known.
Troubled, the Divine Inward Assembly had sent a group of adventurers as brave as they were legendary. We counted five of them: a youthful human bard of the most talkative kind, with colored silk ribbons; a dwarf, heiress of the Light and the only one from her race to claim the title of Paladin; a light-stepping Elf of the Snow with bluish skin, and a hairy gnome wielding magical forces. The last one was Thorandell, the mighty hero.
Together, these paragons of justice had traveled through the Void Jungle for nine moons, stopping only in nomadic camps or in the white shadow of ruins as old as time. They had known hunger, thirst and the repeated attacks of monsters with impenetrable chrome scales. On the tenth week, the ocean of trees broke on the shore of a glowing sea enveloped by high mountains. Stone ramparts, which might as well be a mirage, stood on the opposite banks. This was the Lost City of Cynthia, their ultimate goal.
To avoid a long detour, the party had to find a boat that could accommodate them all. Guided by the elven lurker, they had finally reached an old guard tower that seemed to be abandoned. Alas, cruel fate had led them to the lair of a monster as devious as it was fearsome: the deep dragon Tharanus. Dissipating an illusion—an art he mastered—the creature suddenly appeared to the unfortunate travelers.
“By the Ice Towers of Fla-Vor-Poph!” swore the sapphire-curled scout in her elven tongue. “I’ve led us into our doom!”
Cursing the intruders in draconic prose, the ferocious purple-scaled monstrosity spit a spray of poison that crystallized the sand at the Paladin’s feet. Dressed in plate, she brandished her hammer and enchanted shield, ready for another salvo for her god, Belinor, was fighting at her side.
She was nevertheless pushed aside by her friend the bard. Readjusting the pegs of his lute, the man donned with embroidered Thitanian dandelions warmed up his voice with unusual vocalizations. After having straightened the cat’s feathers which overhung his pink hat, he cried out with a smug air: “Let me sing, dwarf. Imma seduce the beast!”
“You will get yourself killed, brother…” the dwarf warned through her lion-shaped helmet.
Escaping a pompous sigh, the bard ignored her advice. He was already advancing alone towards the elf who was aiming her carved bow at the fearsome dragon.
Gauging his opponents, the thousand-year-old menace roared. But as he prepared for another blast of acid, he was suddenly interrupted by the scout: “Wait a minute! It’s a Deep Dragon. In this edition of Monsters & Mazes, it’s supposed to spit plasma—not acid blasts, like the Black Dragons!”
“Lee rigged the adventure again to make us die stupidly!” snapped Ali as she finished her third Bubble Jug. My partner spread a quarter pound of pink powder over her bard’s sheet as well as Pingu’s notes while the Freak frantically flipped through his rulebook to endorse his grievance.
Meanwhile, the drake was getting impatient: “Do you think this is the time? The Initiative has been rolled!”
“Can we just make this quick?” Braun growled, looking with disdain at his pre-generated character sheet of the barbarian. “It’s Mute’s turn, by the way.”
“Mute? You’re the wise magician,” I said, spinning towards the giant cicada on the right of my Dungeon Master screen. “What’s your call?”
“Fireball! Fireball! Fireball!” crackled the audio cassette through the tape recorder she had placed between two mountains of soda cans. With a murderous rage, the insect Freak was shaking her dices between her chitin fingers. The ship’s doctor didn’t need much pre-recorded audiotapes to play with us. She only used this specific destruction spell.
As Pingu was railing at Ali about how the bard wasn’t supposed to seduce every boss the team encountered, Braun, tired of our antics, sighed loudly before checking his watch. With his burgeoning beard and medium-length hair, the Marine looked like Snake Plissken as well as copying his character. It was vital that I quickly find him an eye patch to complete his unintentional cosplay. “Pingu told you twice you can’t charm a dinosaur…” he scoffed.
I ran my paw over my face. I had set up a campaign for the worst team God Darwin could give me. I began to regret that long trip alongside the crew of the Noah’s Ark. Fortunately, the game was interrupted when the Interceptor’s radio beeped in the cockpit upon us. Pingu and Winston eschewed the minis for their job as renegade soldiers and reappeared a few minutes later, looking serious.
“What’s going on?” I asked, storing my dices. “Pirates or Pinkertons?”
The end of the war in the Outer System had left the field open to bandits. The situation had since barely returned to normal despite the conjoint efforts of the Techno-Marine and a brand-new Lunar fleet and their MK-Xs killers with chrome plating.
“Lieutenant Niki—I mean Nora is on her way. She’ll be here in a minute,” Pingu explained.
“Is she okay?” Ali asked.
“She was brief,” Winston continued. “It sounds like our escape from the Middle System through the Komarov Gap lacked discretion… the DIA has definitely abandoned us and the Metal Rain is on our heels.”
“What a surprise…” Braun said while getting up.
We heard the noise of a ship clamping itself to the Ark. As we ran towards the opening airlock, Nora appeared. Her cream leather suit was covered with brown dry blood. Humping, she seemed exhausted.
“Holy shit, Nora!” Ali cried, taking her sister into her arms. “Are you okay?”
“Blood’s not mine…” The cyborg freed herself and turned to the Soviet and his crew. “Major? I got intel. No time to lose—drones are tailing me since I left Amalthea. The Colonel and other elements of the Marine decided to strike back, and are preparing a counterattack…”
“Counterattack?” Braun muttered, violently unstitching the DIA’s patch from his leather jacket. “Now, we’re rebels? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Semantic doesn’t matter anymore, Major. But under these conditions, the Ark is called to Neosterdam,” Nora declared. “Gaylord wants to regroup there and sneak our way to Kuiper with a G.T.C. convoy.”
“What about us?” I asked. “Strolling through a free port with C$2,000,000 over our head isn’t the most advisable thing to do.”
“The whole system is looking for a one-of-a-kind Swallow. You need to get rid of the Kitty,” Nora explained. “I know a shipyard around Ijiraq—”
“You will have to kill me first!” I objected.
“Listen—” Nora tried.
“Forget about that, sis’…” Ali defended me. “Lee loves the Kitty as much as you’re fond of Bill Paxton.”
“What? I’m not—anyway…” Nora sighed. “We’ll see about that. I’m coming with you on the Swallow. My ship’s fried—the Baltimore’s gone.”
“Stay in Gossamer,” Braun said. “Once we’re departing to the New Worlds. We’ll let you know—and, Ali?”
“Yes?”
The Soviet looked at her. His lips failed to translate what his mind actually pondered. “Good luck…” he concluded.
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