Day 2 one hour before sunset the Colorado Rockies The JSC _Skylark_ skimmed perilously close to the sharp peaks of the mountains. Her cloaking device was phasing her form in and out of view, the ship rippling as she was a reflection in a lake, under assault by an avalanche. When she could be seen, the tip of her port wing was smoking, charred. Inside, in the midst of smoke and electric sparks, Professor Malaclypse, occasional weapons tech for the Blood Jihad and leader of the Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow, was trying to maintain a stable flight, in between cursing his own stupidity. His helpmeet AI, Minerva, was too busy to listen to her boss ranting at himself, since she was too busy with keeping the _Skylark_ from exploding prematurely. And this morning, things had been going better..... *********** Several hours earlier. Denver Malaclypse sat at the control console of the _Skylark_, drinking a cup of coffee. For three hours, his ship had been sitting on top of one of the smaller skyscrapers downtown, watching the center of the city. So far, even though the Lyrans and their new allies had claimed the airport, there were no sponge-minions or like creatures moving into the city. asked Minerva. “Yeah, it is. Usually, the Lyrans jump at the chance to take over a city. But this time, nothing. Not even a token delegation into the City and County building, or the state capitol. They’re shooting down or at anything that goes near the airport, but no attack on the city proper. *Really* wierd.” “Christ, I hope not. If it does, that means they’re way too goal-minded for me.” Malaclypse shuddered slightly. The Lizards. A good name for the Lyran’s new friends. The cloaked surveil unit they left at the airport had gotten some good pictures of the new aliens. Tall, grey-black creatures, with reptillian muzzles and long tails. Sharp claws on the hands and feet. And covered almost entirely from head to toe with black battle armor. Unlike the usual procession of sponge-minions, wyrm-minions, and Loved Ones that populated the Lyran armies, the Lizards looked like really tough customers. Every hour, on the hour, large, black, alien transports landed at Concourse B, disgorged a large number of Lizards and assorted rabble, and then departed. God only knew where it went. All Malalypse knew was that the Lizards were building up a sizable army at Denver International Airport, and that this couldn’t be allowed to continue. He had a plan. *********** Hovering silently over the alien troop base, the _Skylark_ waited patiently for the last troopship to leave. Then, and only then, she would strike. “Minerva, unlock the gunports, and rev up Reason,” Malaclypse ordered. “The ship will be leaving soon, and as soon as it’s out of radar range, begin firing.” “Hit the tent first. The soldiers are probably going to be inside, and I want a clean, open shot at them with Reason. Use the plasma cannons to collapse it, then I’ll hit them.” On each wingtip, protective covers slid back, exposing two sleek weapons of destruction. Out of the _Skylark_’s belly dropped a smallish gun, smaller than the two plasma cannon, but much nastier than either. The Reason cannon, possibly the most destructive antipersonnel weapon ever created, spun itself into a frenzy, getting ready for the coming massacare. Of course, “coming massacare” is a very relative term... ******** Ten minutes after the alien transport had left, the throng of milling aliens and minions saw an image ripple in the sky above them. In a second, it had taken the form of a blunt-nosed spacecraft hanging over the concourse Twin bolts of blue-white energy lanced out from the wingtips, slicing across the top of the fiberglass tent covering the building. The tent shivered, then fell downwards into the center of the now-open space. Minions screamed and fled the builidng. When the Reason cannon opened up, it drenched the area around the building with purple and green blood. The X’hirjq warriors, however, were made of much sterner stuff. Instead of trying to flee the assault from the cannons above them, they ducked, behind any cover they could find, and as a unit began firing their plasma guns at the Jihad ship. The _Skylark_ buckled and jumped at the onslaught, but was otherwise unaffected. “Keep us stable, Minerva. How are the shields holding out?” Malaclypse swiveled Reason around. “Well, then, let’s contin--” A massive jolt hit the rear of the _Skylark_, pitching her forward violently. “Minerva! What the hell was *that?!?*” another jolt, this one worse than the first one <--a missile attack. We’ve just lost the port plasma cannon. And there are five Lizard fighters approaching from that direction, fast and furious.> Another jolt as the _Skylark_ swung around to face the fightercraft, this time from below. Minerva said in a toneless voice. “Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit. Minerva, begin evasive maneuvers, and let’s get the sneck out of here.” The _Skylark_ turned, bobbed close to the ground, and then shot away towards the mountains at high speed. She cloaked as she traveled, but one parting shot from the ground sent her cloak into a spastic twitch, half-cloaking, half-decloaking. *********** “Minerva!” yelled Malaclypse. “I’m losing thrust! Where can we ditch this monster?” Minerva yelled back, “Relatively? HOW relatively?” Minerva didn’t answer. “Well, allright, it’s your funeral.” Malaclypse yanked on the controls, and in a savage turn, the _Skylark_ dived towards the high ridge. The _Skylark_, pitched out of the sky and slammed into the flat top of Niwot Ridge. An abandoned CU research station was sitting in the crash path of the ship, and was smashed on the _Skylark’s_ blunt nose as the ship ground out to a torturous stop. Several minutes later, Malaclypse picked himself up off the floor and out from under the console he had been sitting in front of earlier. “Minerva? You still online, kid?” The speaker coughed and rattled. “Never mind. Forget I said anything. Now, how soon can we expect somebody to come looking for us?” A brief pause. “Allright, then it’s time to bug out. Are there any safehouses nearby?” “Well, then, we’ll forget the walk. Is the onboard teleport working?” Malaclypse frowned a little more. “Well, will it get us about three miles outside the base? On the ground? Safely?” Malaclypse began rummaging through an open equipment locker. He pulled out an old denim jacket, his favorite grey fedora, and a large backpack. Into this backpack he threw a package of emergency rations, a scalar EM transciever, and some powerpacks for a blaster gun. “Okay,” he said, “connect the self-destruct device to the teleport. Tell it to blow the ship to hell five seconds after teleport is complete.” He pulled out a blaster, and began checking it for damage. “It’s time to get the hell out of the fire.” To Be Continued....