Wanted: Intact or Vapourised

Chapter 5

As The Marquis entered the skin of Ishtar, it was clogged by webs of stinking mould which hung in opaque clouds.

Unglamorous phenomenon. Halfway between a canopy and a sky in the most disgusting sort of way.

It was a moon that was hated by anyone who wanted to keep their ship clean.

Ptolemy believed anyone who wanted to keep their ship clean was fighting a losing battle. Persephone on the other hand was that sort of person. Perhaps it was because she was the only one who flew it.

And that he was never allowed to even try anymore after the first few disasters was part of a relatively stable dynamic the two had developed. It had taken time, since despite being twins, they hadn't exactly been raised together.

And now a third party had entered their hallowed space.

Well, not a hallowed space.

But a third party had entered, like a bundle of grinning confusion.

Oro (the Rehon-stealth fighter) could be bright eyed if he had visible eyes, and he had spent the two hour journey through the wake space almost entirely asleep.

He had fallen asleep on command in an impressive display of control over his body.

Oro was, as far as Ptolemy was concerned, an ancient being. And yet he was, well,

Feckless.

He had tried to search for a better word, one less offensive, or more profane, or more biting, or more poignant. It was a hopeless adventure.

Feckless would do.

But now he was awake, and he was preoccupying this new time with asking questions.

He had seemed to connect with Persephone very well.

"If I didn't know better" he'd chatter through needle teeth

"I'd say you had a bit of Rehon in you. But, what's so bad about Ishtar?"

His long neck leered down from the ceiling to which he had attached himself with mucus. His outer teeth splayed and dribbled, falling onto the mountain of towels Ptolemy had placed in panic.

"Nothing's wrong with Ishtar." Persephone replied through her teeth as she tried to navigate titan webs of sky-mold with white knuckled fists.

"I just hate it. You ever just hate something, Oro?"

Oro froze for a moment.

"What a terrible way to go about life."

Ptolemy smiled.

"See Percy, the Stealth Fighter gets it."

Through the haze of the webs was now the traces of the city, a shining grid of lights, doubtless beaming up from the cracks in dark slab-like networks of roofs.

"No I don't get it," said Oro, clacking and chirping. "I don't get it at all."

Persephone sighed.

"There is nothing to get. He's just trying to tire you into agreeing, it's what he does. He'll try and shoot you when it doesn't work. And it doesn't work."

Oro's dark glassy jaws turned to Ptolemy, hanging open.

"Are you going to shoot me?" He asked inquisitively.

"Of course not." Said Ptolemy.

"Are you trying to tire me into agreeing?"

"Of course not, I would never!"