Children of the Stainless Steel God 2: The Demon’s Eye

By George Rivers Bridger

Travelling alone through the desert of an alien world in an attempt to be reunited with her friends, escaped teenage Esper, Z, faces threat after threat of a variety she had never anticipated.

Between encounters with desert marauders, treacherous traders, agents of a rival company to that which created her as well as meetings with an old friend (and several new ones) she finds an enigmatic alien artefact that could lead her to a new level of consciousness...

...or death.

This is the Second in a series of at least Three stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: George Rivers Bridger
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465975973

George Rivers Bridger

George Rivers Bridger was born in Camperdown, Australia in 1968, a time of Black and White TV, typewriters, AM radio and where things such as VCR's, home computers, digital cameras, eBooks and mobile phones were all the products of Science Fiction but are now as commonplace as paperclips...He is currently waiting for such Sci-Fi staples as Moonbases, Friendly Space People, Flying Cars, Robot Valets and Personal Jetpacks to follow suit...

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Children of the Stainless Steel God 2.

The Demon’s Eye.

By

George Rivers Bridger.

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Copyright 2020 George Rivers Bridger.

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Children of the Stainless Steel God 2.

The Demon’s Eye.

A faint breeze wafted between the tall dunes of the (unimaginatively named) Great White Desert, its nebulous, haphazard gusts bone-dry with the insinuation of yet another sunny, cloudless and blisteringly hot day.

The silence was all pervading, as any of the local desert creatures had long ago retreated to the shelter of their nests and burrows to escape the scorching intensity of this planets binary suns, who were now well on their way to the noon position in the sky and their heat and glaring radiance was at their absolute skin-peeling, brain broiling maximum.

Humans, of course, tend to ignore such celestial displays of raw, unrestrained power, being too caught up in their - often banal - day to day meanderings to follow the example of the more pragmatic desert creatures and thus, with this in mind, it came as no surprise that the only sign of movement for miles around was the result of human activity.

Near the deserts edge, but still many kilometres from the nearest settlement (in this case, a small-to-medium sized mining town named Tungsten) a fifty metre long, Ten-wheeled Sandship crawled slowly forward, trailing a slightly larger (and significantly more bulky) cargo barge in its wake.

Though called a ship (and indeed it did superficially resemble one) the curving, white-anodised (if now, somewhat sandblasted) and streamlined shape of the vehicle was designed to make it less susceptible to wind resistance rather than for travelling through water, which was a scarce commodity on this desiccated planet at the best of times. Even the few small seas and rivers that were to be found on this largely desert world were far too small (and certainly too shallow) for sailing on.

The sandship crept its way through the uneven valleys between the dunes in a meandering course dictated by the unavoidable laws of power and weight, or to put it more accurately the ship and its cargo were far too heavy for the moderate output of its solar powered electric motors to enable it to crest anything but the smallest of hills, to attempt anything higher ran the risk of stalling the engines, stripping the transmission gears, or worst of all: capsizing the sandship and damaging the cargo.

From her position in the crows nest of the sandships foremast, sitting directly above the huge twenty metre high by fifteen wide solar-panel foresail Juno Lumiere, a flame-haired wiry, sixteen year old, carefully monitored a dial before her, as its single red marker was linked to a series of light sensors that ringed the base of the crows nest and informed her of the optimum direction of placement for the large solar sail below her, for, as wind power had proven to be impractical due to the deserts’ capricious (and often non-existent) breezes the output of the solar panels was their first, last, and (more often than not) only source of motive power.

Behind her, mounted in a similar crows nest on the slightly taller mainmast was Juno’s sister, Helena, raven-haired and two years Juno’s senior, she was currently occupied with the similar task of keeping the somewhat broader solar mainsail in alignment. Between the two of them they ensured that the large solar panels were always pointed directly at the suns and precisely angled so as to always be collecting the maximum amount of solar radiation to power the ships motors, for the more power its motors received, the faster the ship travelled and the faster the ship travelled the quicker they could get back to their store and sell their wares. And as soon as that was done they would be on their way back to their suppliers to repeat the process all over again, and the oftener they turned over their merchandise, the more money they made, and the more money they made the greater the chance that they would keep their head above water (metaphorically speaking) for another year.

Between the two sails were the large crates of their various wares, piled more than man-high along the deck and firmly lashed together with heavy plasteel ropes. It was these items, plus those stowed in the ships two large holds below deck, as well as those stacked high on the broad twelve wheeled barge they towed that were the source of their income.

Though this current shipment was mainly spare parts for mining hardware and an assortment of different types of textiles, the Lumieres were general traders and carriers by profession and would transport and sell pretty much anything they could get their hands on as long as they could find a market for it.

The marker on the dial started to crawl around slowly, as the ship was starting to move to port, following the curve of a valley; and Juno leaned over the rim of the crows nest, calling down to the crewmembers waiting below her at the base of the mast.

Rotate sail fifteen degrees to starboard! she called, and slipping on her shielded, sun-goggles she made a quick visual check of the sails surface angle in relation to the suns position in the sky Maintain current sail pitch.

Behind her, Juno could hear the voice of her elder sister calling similar instructions down to her own crew of sail-jockeys, who, like Juno’s own, immediately sprang into action, spinning moderate sized capstans to winch the sails around into their new position.

Meanwhile, Juno was checking the wind speed sensor mounted on the rim of her crows nest. For though sail-like in appearance, the large flexible solar panels were somewhat on the fragile side and any strong gust of wind could damage them, any sign of bad weather would require the furling of the sails and force the ship to proceed on its limited amount of battery power. Luckily, for the moment at least, the breezes were negligible, barely even registering on the scale.

Sail in position. called the foreman of her team from below.

Confirmed. Juno replied, noting that the marker was once again within the nominal range indicators on the dial, and she sat back on her small canvass seat and took a swig of water from her canteen.

The crows nest, although shaded from the worst of the suns rays by a pseudo-canvas and reflective Mylar umbrella was nonetheless unprotected from the dry heat of the desert air, and thus Juno was only lightly dressed in a pale-coloured sleeveless linen shirt and denim shorts in an attempt to keep cool, a practice that was only moderately successful.

She mopped her damp brow with a well-used handkerchief and seethed internally at the thought that while she, Helena and the rest of the crew did all the work her useless father was lounging around in his private cabin, getting drunk, as was usual for him. And she swore under her breath at the thought, using such creative obscenities that even the hard-edged sailors on the deck below may well have blushed if they had heard them.

There was an ominous rumbling from her stomach and she bent over and rummaged under her seat until she found the packed lunch she had parked there earlier, and coming back up a moment later with the sandwich in her hand she paused in disquiet; for there had been a flicker of light out on the horizon, she removed her goggles and rubbed her eyes.

Replacing her goggles a moment later, she strained her eyes towards the horizon, trying to see a reprise of the previous glimmer, and curious to discern what its source might be, although her darker thoughts already had a fair idea, she grabbed a pair of glare proofed binoculars from a box at the base of the sundial and scanned the dunes fearfully, hoping against all hope that her suspicions were wrong. Her sandwich lay forgotten in her lap, a cold feeling of uncertainty making Juno forget her hunger.

The flash was repeated, flickering on the crest of a not too distant dune, it was joined by several others, she rapidly brought the binoculars into focus, the tiny distant blurs resolving themselves into sharp unmistakable images.

Juno gasped, her heart pounding loudly in her ears from fear, for approaching the sandship in an all too rapid progression was a group of at least twenty small vehicles, all bearing one or more occupants and all heavily armoured, and heavily armed.

Marauders! She called out in alarm Marauders, to starboard!

Furl the sails and switch to internal batteries, ordered Helena, as she brought out her own binoculars to confirm Juno’s warning. Full speed ahead!

Juno grasped a rope and swung down to the deck, helping the others to rapidly (though carefully) furl the fragile solar sails and stow them below deck, they had perhaps only a few minutes to get everything stowed and safe before the marauders reached their position.

Moments later, with the foresail stowed, Juno ran below decks and hammered on the door to her fathers cabin, opening the door with a well aimed kick when he didn’t answer.

She found Francoise Lumiere - the man she often had trouble acknowledging in public as her father - on the floor, drunk, and she shook him roughly awake. Come on you old fool, open your eyes, we’re under attack! Juno all but screamed into his blotchy face.

This woke him up in seconds flat and had the added benefit of shocking him sober, if only momentarily.

What? he gasped, his piggy eyes widening in unrestrained fear.

You heard me. Juno replied disrespectfully there’s perhaps two dozen marauders on small vehicles heading this way at high speed, they could be here in moments, if they're not here already!

Alright, alright, no need to shout. Francoise murmured irritably. He fumbled in his pocket and produced a small sliver of crystal with a complex pattern of circuitry faintly visible embedded within it: a code-key.

Give this key to your sister, it will open the weapons locker. her father instructed, tell her to arm the crew and repel all boarders.

And what will you be doing all this time? Juno demanded suspiciously.

I’ll be guarding the cargo, in the hold. Francoise informed her with badly feigned dignity, and he pushed past her, and all but ran out of his cabin, quickly trotting down the hall on his fat legs in the direction of number one cargo hold.

Coward! Juno called after him. She pocketed the code-key and ran full speed in the direction of the stairs, making a mental note to disown her father at the first possible opportunity, behind her, the sounds of the door to number one hold being rapidly barricaded were all too audible and she hissed in disgust.

I must have been a foundling. She mused angrily, shaking her head. There is no possible way that I can share my DNA with him!

She arrived back on deck to a scene of calmly organized chaos, the crew had stowed the last of the movable items and were busily trying to raise makeshift barricades made of the larger, heavier cargo crates that had been on deck plus whatever other materials they could find, including (much to Juno’s chagrin) an old wooden surfboard she’d picked up in Plasma city and had been hoping to learn to use as soon as she’d had a chance to visit the inland sea, but it was now disrespectfully nailed and lashed in place between two large crate-lids and had had a large hole cut in the middle of it to fire through.

Remembering the task in hand, Juno found her sister and handed her the key to the gun locker. Helena eyed it thoughtfully for a moment and made her way to the rear wheelhouse - where the guns were stowed - with Juno trailing behind.

Let me guess, Father’s guarding the hold, right? Helena enquired with a grim smile.

Juno nodded.

Poor father. Helena sighed as she opened the gun locker and began handing out the weapons to the crew "He may be a good trader, but