Cricket, though it is touted as being a traditional sport of gentlemen has undergone many evolutions to become the sport we now know and love.
Unlike commercial Hockey popular on more remote worlds, Cricket has become the dominant mainstream sport of the homeworlds.
With ergonomically enhanced bats, A.I. Assisted tracking systems. Cricket has become, by far, the most technologically advanced sport in existence..
Dragonfly - Southbound Karin
The notes of the contemporary country music warbled seamlessly out of the overhead speakers. Rising and falling, it resonated around the cluttered cockpit of the Dragonfly. Music always relaxed him on long journeys, and Ryerson shifted comfortably in the pilot's chair to enjoy it.
Lieutenant Galadriel moved down the gang ladder into the command gondola carrying two cups of coffee. She pushed one of them towards him with a familiar expression she only adopted when she wasn't on duty. Ryerson accepted the cup gratefully, savouring the rich aroma of the blend. It was a welcome relief on the long, taxing flight to Blackburn Hamlet.
Galadriel seemed notably quiet, sitting staring out of the large cockpit window at the clouds slipping by. The Dragonfly was one of the larger support craft onboard the Excalibur, and since taking one of the dropships for a personal jaunt across the planet would have been major overkill, they'd decided to take the thrustlifter, more at Commander Durnham's insistence than anything else: he'd been anxious to get repairs done to the Excalibur's main flight deck, and that had required the Dragonfly be elsewhere rather than cluttering up the hangar.
"We'll be arriving shortly," Ryerson said, reaching out to adjust the trim of the ship, and reading the computer displays. Ten hours was a long flight, and while he could have taken the Dragonfly into a steep sub-orbital burn to cut down on time, he'd preferred to avoid the hassles of dealing with Karin orbital control. As it was, he was being handed off systematically from flight controller to flight controller as the Dragonfly cruised at a steady thirty thousand feet heading south.
Galadriel looked at him with a pained look, glancing up at the speakers. "Does the radio play anything other than country? Ten hours is a bit much."
Ryerson frowned. He hadn't really paid much attention to the music, he'd just accessed a couple of music archives he'd had and set it on random when they had left the Excalibur. His love of the music stemmed back to growing up where he had; he'd developed a taste for Orion music but had felt that would have been too... noisy for an extended flight.
"I'm sorry," he said, a little confused. Glancing at the radio, he reached out and changed the channel to the local radio stations.
"...on the scene suggest that it was a rouge piece of farm machinery that malfunctioned and set fire to Parkins Industrial. However, police are continuing to investigate the possibility of corporate sabotage and are interviewing Denise Delilah, the only survivor of the accident in which three people, including Jeff Parkins, the owner and manager of the firm, were killed." Paul Schofield, the voice of the Imperial News Network, paused as he led into the next story. "In election news, the colonial outpost of Thestus four has officially elected its representative for the Imperial Senate, and this makes the fifth election to be confirmed. However, the appointment of Jans Tolstien only closes the gap between the trailing Republican Party and its opponents. The 'Restorian Party', which is led by Lieutenant-Colonel Ethan Evans, the former head of Imperial Intelligence, currently hold three of the five confirmed seats so far. This is Paul Schofield for..."
Ryerson reached out again and clicked it off. "How about no radio? Restorians and Republicans," Ryerson shook his head, "I just don't care..."
"You should," Galadriel replied, "The issues are pretty simple. The Republicans support Walker's war effort, his reforms to the Senate, and the status quo. The Restorians are seeking to overturn many of his reforms, re-establish the old Imperial order, and seek peace from the Amsus while they spend time rebuilding the Apilon Rift. It's an idea that appeals to a lot of people out here. People uncomfortable with Walker's ideas about democracy, people tired of sending their children off to die in what many people see as a hopeless war. But..." Galadriel shifted again.
"But?" Ryerson pressed, looking up at her.
"A key platform issue seems to be the deification of Prince Edward," Galadriel said with a long and quiet sigh. "The key reason the Restorians are so popular, especially with House Kardiac, is that they acknowledge that Prince Edward is the Immortal Emperor. It's something Walker's faction has hesitated over, and it's hurt him... badly."
"You're really up on this stuff," Ryerson sighed, "I just don't know, I think we should just leave the decisions up to the High Council and be done with it."
"That's the Restorian stance," Galadriel murmured, "Chancellor Evans..." she shuddered at the thought, but was her hatred of Evans enough to stop her from voting for the Restorians? She agreed with most of their platforms, but not all of them. It was a dilemma everyone in the Empire was about to face. With only two parties to choose from, there really wasn't much of a choice at all. Each were equally as distasteful.
"How about we don't think about it for awhile?" Ryerson offered.
"Thanks," Galadriel said, adjusting herself in the engineering seat. "Don't you think its weird?" she asked suddenly.
"What?" Ryerson turned.
"That this ship, this is where everything all began," she smiled, running her hand across the patched console with its worn duct tape securing wires which were tucked out of the way.
"Yeah," Ryerson smiled as he looked about him at the ship, "I could have been a blockade runner," he said with a smile, "You know, flying the back space lanes, dodging Hegemony patrols..."
"Snuggling with engineers in the middle of the night?" Galadriel teased, "No, I don't see you as a Darien; you're more an Elias, short and ... funny."
"I'm not gay," Ryerson said, shaking his head, "I have a healthy libido, and..." He sighed again, adjusting the ship's speed and feeling the bumps of turbulence buffet them.
"Look, Ben," Galadriel said, turning and leaning on the engineering console just behind him, "Relax, okay? I'm just teasing you. You just... I think we both need a friend right now."
Ryerson glanced back over his shoulder at her smiling face, and he sighed at her. "Yeah, maybe. Just never brought a girl home before."
There was something funny in the way he said it, and Galadriel sat back into her seat holding her coffee, wondering what she was getting herself into in order to escape the Excalibur for a little while.
* * *
The Dragonfly touched down in an empty field to the right of the old farmhouse, the landing gears crunching into the light dusting of snow that was rapidly melting under the warmth of the sun.
The hatch cycled open and the ramp lowered, Ryerson hopping down and walking around the small blockade-runner as its engines pivoted and furled, like insect wings, tight against its back. The flight crew of the Excalibur had done a few things to make the ship fit in, invaluable during the salvage operation at Yeji-Sola. She'd earned a new lick of paint, and the VonGrippen striking falcons decorated one of her engine cowls while the other wore the peacekeeper's sword and wings.
The turret-mounted rapid-fire plasma cannons, however, were definitely new. The Skipper had requested that the Dragonfly be armed, and the only thing they could spare was one of the weapon systems from the old Mechs sitting in one of the cargo bays. Boy, it'd taken ages to get the system into place, but fixed and operational it...
He looked up at Galadriel coming down the ramp wrapped in a Marine arctic jacket, the fur hood pulled up, gloves on and a long scarf wrapped around her face for good measure.
"It's not that cold!" he laughed, dusting off his hands and straightening up.
She glared at him accusingly, astounded at the fact that he was wearing a light jacket and seeming to enjoy the brisk air. "It's minus ten!" she grumbled, "I thought you said it was summer?"
"It is," Ryerson nodded up to the dull white star, "This is as warm as it gets. Isn't it refreshing?"
"I hate you," she murmured again, reaching down to ease the pistol clipped to the outside of the coat.
"It was your idea to come," he reminded, eyeing the pistol, "You're not going to need that, well, unless you want the last spring roll, then it's every man, woman, and Ryerson sprog for themselves."
"Excalibur... Kardiac Templar... the whole 'every time one of us puts our gun down' thing?" Galadriel reminded him.
"I'm gonna..." he pointed up into the ship in the direction of the small arms locker.
She sat down on the edge of the ramp and looked down the hill towards the small hamlet, dotted farmhouses clustered around more modern tract housing. There was a general store, and trucks zipping up and down the roads. An arena - it figured, they had to do something with all the snow and ice, and Karin was definitely fond of its ice hockey. Almost as fond as Tempus was of its football - the real kind, not that imitation rugby Darien was so fond of.
She blinked.
"What...?" she murmured, standing up and climbing a little way up the ramp to stare at the herd of fast-moving creatures bounding over the snow towards them.
They were about the size of small horses, just broader, lower to the ground, huge feet acting like snow shoes as the woolly creatures leapt as a herd and charged past the Dragonfly, not even slowing down. They were fast, nimble and...
"What the hell are they!" Galadriel gaped.
"Woolocks." Ryerson came down the ramp, a pulse pistol on his belt and a field cap tucked onto his head. "They're the domestic animal of choice around here. Okay, more like they're the only domestic animal that can survive a Karin Winter. Sort of a cross between a... cow, horse, sheep and an aardvark."
"An anteater?" Galadriel stared at the now thornily-insane looking creatures.
"Yep, they eat bugs, lots of them. Which keeps my mum happy, she hates bugs..." He grinned as they walked down to the ground again, the Petty Officer angling the remote at the ship and locking it up tight. "The wool is natural thermal insulation. Your jacket's lining is made out of the stuff."
"I think I prefer sheep." She shook her head as she followed him through the snow towards the farmhouse. "So are they indigenous, or are they another Imperial special four-for-one deal?"
"Indigenous," Ryerson reassured, "No, the Imperials weren't that creative with their genetics."
Galadriel smiled as the stocky Lieutenant helped her up and over a low stone wall, the pair fighting over a snow bank and down onto the muddy driveway. A couple of young men, surprisingly like more muscled carbon copies of Ben, were working loading buckets into the back of a four by four.
The Ryerson clan, Galadriel surmised, realizing how thin Ben looked next to the others. The baby brother...
"Ben?" one of them called out, and Galadriel was instantly in love.
Not that gushy romantic comedy kind of love, but the loin-quivering, romance-novel kind of love that came in a six-foot-tall, dark-grey haired, handsome, prime-roast of man... She had images of hot, sweaty passionate encounters in the barn immediately to their right, the scratchy feel of hay on her skin, him grunting and groaning in masculine throws of passion...
"What? I was enjoying the view!" she said defensively, leaping as Ryerson touched her arm.
"I was saying," Ryerson said, eyeing her strangely, "This is my dad, Teav Ryerson, this is my crewmate, Lieutenant Galadriel..."
"Call me Mariabella," Galadriel gushed, extending her hand. Realizing that she was still swaddled in layers of clothing, she quickly doffed the hood and pulled down the scarf before shaking Ryerson's father's hand.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss," Teav drawled in a decidedly rural accent, looking back at his son, "You're parked on the wrong side of the farm, there's snow moving in, and it's going to drift against that ship. You'll have to dig it out in the morning."
"Well, whatever you think would be breast..." Galadriel winced and corrected herself, "...best, Mister Ryerson."
The younger Ryerson snapped his head around, giving her a surprised look before he started back towards the ship. "I'll move it..." he said, sounding uneasy at the thought of leaving Galadriel alone with his father and four of his twelve brothers.
Galadriel smiled at Teav seductively. "Hi."
"Miss," Teav nodded, returning to his truck to continue loading, bending over in that special way that left nothing to the imagination, but drove hers wild anyway. Yep, it was going to be the best shore leave ever.
* * *
Galadriel looked up at him. "The Lieutenant you are trying to reach is unavailable at the moment. If you would like to leave a message, please go directly to hell at the sound of the beep!"
Rikard folded his arms as he stepped back, out of the holographic projection, chuckling at the creative thinking that had left a holographic message set to play should the holographic projectors in her crew locker be activated.
She wasn't on the ship, which was going to prove problematic for his plans. He would have to locate her if he was to manage everything he needed to accomplish in one fell swoop.
He would need to find her, which meant he would have to delay. The question was, how long could he delay? Events were beginning to spin so fast that he was having trouble managing them all. But he wasn't about to let them fall apart.
The reports from his Fleet Marshals showed how incompetent Sephradon was being in leading the Amsus fleets, exactly as he had predicted. She was a sledgehammer swinging widely and not caring what she destroyed in the path of her vengeance. Exactly what he needed her to be; none of it would matter, nothing was going to matter, once...
He gritted his teeth as he folded his arms. The clinical scientist in him hated the introduction of an unstable factor into the equation. She was volatile, and would cause him problems were she not removed at just the right time.
Again the grand equation resolved to crystal clarity when it was focused upon time.
"We're here," Doctor Roberts observed as she came back into the transmission room.
Rikard nodded as he took off his glasses. Pulling on the finely-tailored suit jacket and scooping up the Imperial greatcoat, he marched up through the ship to the command gondola, looking out across the collection of Denver freighters and mercenary forces.
They were commencing docking operations with the Shifting Sands, and he would once more be aboard a ship befitting his status.
It had been an easy task to reclaim his ship. The corporate security units he employed hadn't batted an eyelid when he had paid them a juicy bonus to board the ship and clear out the mutinous crew, ensuring that there was no one left alive to corroborate Ambassador Macgregor's story about him being in league with the Amsus.
There were still the recordings; certainly they would cause him difficulties, and he was more than happy to play out her scenario, and honour his alliance with the Empire - after all, it cost him nothing. Live or die, Denver or Rikard. Again, nothing mattered but Peligia.
The clustered ships and mercenaries were the best that money could buy, the Illustrious Dar'Shar death fliers in their crescent fighters, the Dakora, as well as his own security forces. Armed freighters and escort destroyers - it wasn't much, but the Tradeliner and the freighters could hold their own in a fight.
He smiled sardonically. Even with the Imperial fleet, it would still only amount to about five hundred ships. The Amsus easily outnumbered them two to one, and once the battle was joined, tactics would be important, but it would be numbers that were decisive.
"Make sure the cargo is transferred to the Tradeliner, and check yourself in to a first class cabin," he ordered quietly.
"I'm not staying with that ship if it's going into a war zone," Roberts said, shaking her head.
"It won't be for long," Rikard reassured, "We're bound for Karin, just as soon as I can make the proper travel arrangements."