Chapter Six

Whereas the northern continent was broken by mountain ranges and mines and populated by gruff but well brought up miners, the southern continent was occupied with vast rolling plains and gentle wooded hills all used exclusively for the agricultural growth that was made possible by calm seasonal weather. In the south, there were families and commuities, all employees of the same corporation the miners to the north belonged to, the corporation in turn owned by a far-away monarch whose strange order Prefect Armadeus Judah read for the umpteenth time.

It was a strange order because every single ship, colony, business and planet the Prefect's monarch owned or ruled had been sent the order. Like all official dispatches, Armadeus had read it obediently at first, then tossed it to the side wondering for a moment why he had received such a strange order: to notify the Prince himself if either or both of two women (photos included) had been recently seen in their (the Prefect's) vicinity.

Looking at the attractive women, Armadeus knew that there was no possibility that they would come to his patch of rock in space for all the money in the universe. Why would they? Heilsberg was a boring world full or boring people, but he, aged sixty-four and 'retired' to the backwater, liked it because it was boring, stress-free.

But not now, the antacid pill dissolving noisily in another glass of pure water, Heilsberg's serenity was going to be disrupted by the arrival of a squadron of the Prince's own Royal Flotilla. His own orders were to make sure the women - he had been told five in all - were to stay on-planet until the squadron came to meet them.

Drinking from the glass Armadeus ruefully thought how it would have been better for him not to report on the arrival of the women at Grosen, and he cursed the port manager who had inquired about their arrival, supposed from the south. He just knew that the meeting the Royal Flotilla had in mind would not be a friendly one.

What had the women done, who were they?

A golden blonde, and a dark-skinned brunette. There was something familiar about the brunette, her face. vague. but, Armadeus chuckled, who would not want to think that they knew her? She was beautiful.

Sol

Marquis Fernon du'Mans was a distant relation of the Prince, and so royalty, and so again allowed to captain a royal ship of the line. On the busy bridge of the destroyer Immolator he stood with hands clasped behind his back, staring out into space with satisfaction.

The Marquis was satisfied because it was he who was going to recapture the exotic Feb Farlan for his Prince, and likely have choice of the target's friends as well. He chuckled.

"How long?" said the Marquis.

Below him by a long bank of panels and irritatingly blinking lights was the XO. "Twelve hours, Sir," the XO replied, thinking to himself, half an hour less than the last time you asked and half an hour before that. Pompous git.

"Good, good. Let me know when we arrive, I am retiring to my quarters to prepare a speech and to be fully rested for the occasion."

"Yes, Sir," and good riddance. Let me run the ship, and you play captain, the XO grumbled mentally. By all rights and fairness the Immolator should have been his ship after Count Rogan had been transferred to the Prince's own squadron. But the he wasn't royalty and so could not command a ship, no matter how small, of the Royal Flotilla. Maybe it was time to move back to the regular navy. or to take up that offer with Earth.

Sol

Fernon reached his large and comfortable quarters, located behind heavy blast shields and armour in the middle of the ship. Sitting down next to his Prince's order, he looked at the pictures of his Prince's target, and her friend.

Again he exclaimed at their beauty, pining for a moment over the dark trussed Feb. She could only be a fantasy, for the Prince wanted her, and her ship. Yes, the famous Sol Bianca, even at the Court it's name and exploits were whispered. Rumour had it that the Prince had lost the ship, and this fiery Feb some years ago. And if the rumours about the ship were even half true then it was a powerful marvel. Too bad there wasn't an image of the Sol Bianca.

The Marquis contented himself by looking at her, and her: April. A strong willed one, she looked. Self assured, confident. Making her his would be an experience, to have a woman like that, breaking her in, even the Prince would be jealous. Once he had her, unlike the Prince, he would not let his woman get away.

"Ah, the thing we men do for the hearts of women." Fernon mused to the empty air. "I must sleep, and be ready to met them as the Prince's man." And blonde April would be his.

Sol

Director's Notes: Every good (or decent) story needs good villains. And not villains who are exceedingly evil or cruel, or bumbling fools. Villains have to be as rounded as their goodly counterparts: they need personality and motivation. It is too easy to create super-villains who have all the power, strength, and weapons that make the heroines task seem all but impossible, but they are able to overcome (predictably) anyway. Villains need to be in a position of strength however, of who would take them seriously? But a position of strength does not have to mean power/weapons or hordes of suicidal followers etc, it can be that the villain has some hold over a heroine and uses that to abuse/control her (like a drug, incriminating evidence, and so on), or the villain can be 'ordinary' and just plain evil.