Tansy Rayner Roberts's Blog, page 45

Musketeer Space Part 46: Dovecote Red

It’s Musketeer Day!

Never mind the war, it’s time for nightclub shenanigans because the Musketeers are nothing if not party animals.

Thanks to all my Patreon supporters, who have made this project viable. If you haven’t sponsored Musketeer Space yet, please consider doing so for the last four months that the serial will run. I would really love to hit the next milestone.

I’d like to draw attention to a couple of other crowdfunded projects that are dear to my heart:

Night Terrace Season 2 is the follow up to last year’s terrific Night Terrace, a Australian SF comedy series on audio, created by Ben McKenzie, John Richards, Petra Elliot & others. Starring Susan from Neighbours. Run don’t walk to watch their vid which funny and sharp and shows what their fantastic project is all about.

Defying Doomsday is a new Twelfth Planet Press anthology, edited by Tsana Dolichva and Holly Kench. Following up from the success of Kaleidoscope, this new book is about disabled protagonists dealing with the apocalypse – because the most interesting stories are not always the ones about survival of the fittest.

Now on with the drinking and the card games and the sneaky plotting of Musketeers in back rooms!

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 45

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel, “Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY ON MUSKETEER SPACE: There’s a war on and after turning down a suspicious job offer from the sinister Cardinal Richelieu Dana D’Artagnan has been doing her best to help the United Fleet. But who sent her the mysterious flasks of wine in the name of her friends the Three Musketeers?

NOW READ ON!

Chapter 46: Dovecote Red

There was nothing about the flasks that offered a clue – they held the stamp of the Cotillard Vineyard in Anjou, and a postal seal to show they were authorised for interstellar export. There was no sign that they had been tampered with, since leaving the vineyard.

But Athos had taken over Chantal’s testing chamber with a surprising amount of charm, long enough to learn that the contents of the “Anjou wine” contained enough poison to wipe out a whole platoon of Musketeers, let alone a single Arms-Sergeant.

Now, back in Dana’s cabin, Athos sat on her bunk poring over the holo-card that had accompanied the poisonous gift. “I remember this picture, it’s from over a year ago. Chevreuse took it in the hospice after the three of us were involved in a training accident, when I lost the Merci Beaucoup. She posted it on Fleetnet with the caption ‘Inseperable in Idiocy’ – Treville had a copy on her dartboard for at least a month. Anyone could have got hold of this.”

“How many ships have you actually lost, Athos?”

“I’m hoping my luck changes with the Pistachio. No ship that ugly is ever going to be blasted out of the sky.” He blinked, and looked up at Dana. “She is all right, isn’t she?”

Dana was almost touched by his alarm. He pretended he wasn’t ridiculously soft about his spaceships, but she knew true love when she saw it. “The Pistachio is fine, nothing we can’t patch up here. Grimaud is also fine, by the way, though I doubt she’ll be speaking to you by the time you ship out again.”

“That’s just the way I like it,” Athos mused, his attention drawn back to the holo-card. “Really, you couldn’t tell this was ages ago? It’s from before I grew out my beard.”

“Well, since you started shaving it close again it looks exactly the same.” Dana fiddled with one of the flasks, and Athos moved quickly, his hand covering her own.

“Keep your fingers to yourself. We don’t know what other little surprises your murderous friend has in store for you.”

Dana’s hand stuttered on the flask. “Point made.”

“I’ll take them with me when I ship out,” he said. “This is a matter for Amiral Treville, not for us.”

“There’s more,” said Dana, and quickly told him about Conrad, and the transmission Aramis had shared with her, via Chevreuse. Athos went very still when she confessed that it was Prince Alek who had staged Conrad’s rescue.

“This is bad,” he said in a low voice, once she was finished. He tapped his comm stud. “Grimaud, when will she be ready to return to base?”

“I hate you, I hate your face, I hate your ship,” his engie said, very calmly. “Six hours, if it’s an emergency, but only if you can prove you’ve had actual sleep in the mean time. And you’re not allowed at the controls, I’ll be taking her in.”

“See you in six hours.” Athos cut her off without further conversation. “See? Grimaud’s fine. Practically back to normal.”

“Just don’t tell her you’re bringing poison on board, it would be far too much of a temptation,” said Dana dryly. “Are you really going to take this to Treville?”

“Oh, yes. All this -” Athos waved a hand at the flasks with a troubled look upon his face. “This feels personal. The Cardinal has lived too long and survived too much political bullshit to indulge in personal revenge, and if she wanted you dead you wouldn’t stand a chance anyway. So who else is angry enough at you to want you dead? Should we consider that pilot with the eye-scar and the fierce hair?”

“You still don’t get to complain about ridiculous hair, given how you looked when we met,” said Dana, reaching over to rub her palm over the blond stubble of his scalp. “And no, I don’t think – Ro and I have come to an understanding. She’s all business. If she did want to kill me, I honestly think she’d prefer to be in the room at the time.”

“Such a romantic,” Athos said sarcastically. “Well, then. I can think of one suspect.”

“So can I.”

They didn’t say it – any of the names by which they knew Milord. They could not speak of the alien spy without feeling him there in the room with them.

“I can believe it,” Dana said finally. “He was furious before Conrad escaped. After – everything in Paris, I can well believe that he is taking it personally, about me.”

Athos nodded, and sat in silence for a moment. “It was better when he was working on the Cardinal’s behalf,” he said finally. “More predictable. Now – yes, now I have to have a very detailed and very uncomfortable conversation with Amiral Treville. It’s long past time that we put this Sun-kissed creature in the ground.”

Dana felt a painful tug at her stomach. “Do you have to go so soon?”

Athos smiled as if he knew what she was thinking, and tapped her lightly on the nose. “The war won’t last forever, D’Artagnan. We’ll be back, drinking in Paris with Aramis and Porthos before you know it.”

Dana said nothing. It felt a terribly long way away.

“Six hours,” Athos said, after a long pause. “I can crash here, yes? Might as well see if this sleep thing is as good as everyone claims.”

“Fine,” Dana groaned, looking at the narrow bunk and wondering how on earth they would both fit. “But take your damn boots off first.”

Forty eight hours after Athos and Grimaud left on the newly-restored Pistachio, the Hoyden rolled into the main dock of the Frenzy Kenzie.

Dana stared at it for a full minute, gathering her courage to check on whether Porthos was alive and well inside her familiar dart – but in fact, the Hoyden didn’t look like it had taken any damage at all.

Bonnie was the first one out, and she waved off the intern that Bass had sent over for a damage report. Then she caught sight of Dana across the wide expanse of space, and crooked her finger.

Huh.

Dana headed towards the Hoyden, wondering what on earth was going on, only to stumble over her feet when a tall and elegant figure in a violet flight suit stepped out, instead of Porthos.

Rosnay Cho gave her an enigmatic smile, and held out her wrist. “Captain,” she said lightly.

Dana leaned in, her wrist brushing against Ro’s, and her comm stud immediately hummed as the new orders rattled in.

“What happened to your Moth?” she couldn’t help asking, because there was something about Ro that made her blurt out the first thing that came into her mind, every single time.

“Crashed and burned in the last sortie against the Sun-kissed,” said Ro, and then laughed out loud at the horror that crossed Dana’s face. “Oh, honey, I didn’t know you cared.”

“That was a beautiful ship,” Dana muttered.

“I’m sure the Cardinal will present me with a brand new one for recent services rendered.”

Remembering why it was that she had always disliked Ro, Dana glared at her. “So what are these orders?”

“Oh, I’m relieving you of duty for 48 hours,” said Ro in an offhand sort of way. “You don’t have to show me the way to the captain’s chair – I’m sure I remember it.”

Dana blinked. “You’re what? I’m – what?”

Rosnay Cho was already walking away, a knapsack tossed casually over one shoulder. “Read your orders, D’Artagnan,” she called out behind her. “I’m sure you’ll find them enlightening.”

Porthos explained everything on the way to Chaillot Station. She made Bonnie pilot the Buttercup, so that Dana – still sadly without an engie of her own given Planchet’s continuing duties on the Frenzy Kenzie – could share the Hoyden’s cockpit and they could talk without the use of comms.

Though ‘explain’ wasn’t entirely accurate, given that Porthos had no real idea what was going on, and why Rosnay Cho of all people had been rotated on to cover for Dana on the Frenzy Kenzie.

“Athos is cooking something up with Treville, and they want us part of it,” was all she had to share. “Spy stuff, I guess.”

Dana nodded miserably. It had been categorically proven that she was terrible at spy stuff, but if Athos thought she could be useful, she wasn’t going to let him down. “How’s he doing?”

Porthos gave her a cagey look, as if trying to work out how much she already knew. “Grimaud has threatened to quit if he doesn’t cool it with the pilot drugs and the stims,” she said.

“Grimaud threatens to quit every week,” Dana sighed.

“She means it this time. She showed him a job offer she received from Claudine Jussac of the Red Guard, and he promised not to call her bluff.”

Dana was still skeptical. Grimaud had been enabling Athos for a long time, just like the rest of them. It was hard to imagine he would actually let her force him into a corner about changing his behaviour. “And is he actually cooling it with the pilot drugs and the stims?”

“He’s still hopped up on caffeine, but I haven’t seen him drunk since he got back from his near miss,” Porthos said. “But he’s spent most of his time behind closed doors with Treville, so maybe he hasn’t had time to drink.” She hesitated to continue, her fingertips tapping idly against the cables of her harness. “He’s taking this Milord business pretty damned personally.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Dana demanded.

Porthos gave her a long, hard look. “He’s acting like it’s his fault the bastard tried to poison you.”

“Oh,” Dana groaned, because of course Athos would blame himself rather than admit that Dana had got herself into the whole sticky mess. “Typical.”

“There’s also the problem with the Prince Consort,” Porthos went on. “Prince Alek is supposed to be back safely on Lunar Palais – leading the home guard, or tattooing the nursery walls or whatever else an expectant father does while his wife is out winning a war against aliens. Instead, he’s bombing around the solar system, punching spies in the head and rescuing his tailor from sinister asteroid prisons.”

“Does Athos blame himself for that too?” Dana asked tiredly.

“Nope,” said Porthos, hiding a grin. “But I’m pretty sure Treville is going to blame you.”

Dana expected to be taken to the Regent Royal’s flagship, or even the armoured command base, the Saint-Gervais. Failing that, she assumed that Treville must have commandeered an office somewhere on Chaillot Station. Instead, Porthos led her directly back to the nightclub they had spent the evening in before the proper battle began – Dovecote Red.

“This is official business, right?” Dana said dubiously as they made their way through the grinding bodies, pulsing music and spotlights that turned everything blood-red. “You haven’t just kidnapped me to show me a good time?”

“Such trust,” Porthos laughed, catching her by the hand and pulling her onwards through the club. At the far end of the bar, she gave a discreet password, and was led through to a mostly sound-proofed back room.

There, surrounded by barrels and bottles, two Musketeers sat at a game of cards, with a bottle of wine between them: Aramis and Athos.

“About time you showed up,” said Athos, not even glancing in their direction as he laid down his hand.

“It’s been forever,” said Aramis, giving Dana a friendly hug and hooking her arm around Porthos’ neck.

“No Treville?” Porthos said with a frown, pushing Aramis off and pouring herself a drink. “I thought she would have been here by now.”

“Is this or isn’t this official business?” Dana asked, unsure whether to sit and make herself comfortable. There was an odd tension in the air.

Athos looked up, finally, his eyes locking on to hers. “Not all councils of war can be held in the open,” he said finally.

There was a knock at the door.

All three of Dana’s Musketeer friends froze, their hands going to their belts. Athos’ fingers hovered at his Pilot’s Slice, but Dana noted quickly that both Aramis and Porthos were reaching for stunners.

“So we’re not supposed to be here?” she hissed. She had been right to be suspicious.

“That isn’t Treville’s knock,” Aramis said in the quietest breath of a whisper.

The door spun open, and the bright red-gold lights of the club poured across the threshold, along with the thumping beat of the music. Six soldiers of the Red Guard filed into the room, lining up against one wall, and then a mild-looking woman in full battle dress and steel-grey hair stepped in after them. The door slid shut behind her, keeping out the music and the blazing lights, though the thudding backbeat continued to vibrate through the floor.

“Musketeers,” said Cardinal Richelieu. “How fascinating.”

There was a long and strangled pause. Athos moved first, one hand curling around the neck of the nearest wine bottle. “Your Eminence. May I offer you a drink?”

Dana thought for a horrified moment that she might burst into laughter, but she kept her eyes straight ahead and managed to swallow it down.

“Too kind,” said the Cardinal. “I am here for a meeting, but I seem to have been shown to the wrong room. A glass of wine would be most hospitable.” She came forward to take the empty seat at the table, the one that Dana had not taken for herself.

Aramis hastily scrabbled the cards and coins out of the Cardinal’s way. Athos poured a glass of wine and handed it to their visitor with the aristocratic manners that he only occasionally liked to show off.

The Cardinal sipped, for all the word as if this was another tea party. “It’s the Count de la Fere, is it not?” she said, eyes on Athos and his bright blue jacket.

“I prefer Athos,” he said, as if he didn’t want to stab her for using that other name. “The other man you mentioned died a long time ago.”

“Of course, Athos. A simple name for a simple fellow.”

“I like to think so, your Eminence.”

Her eyes flicked around the room. “And young D’Artagnan, I see you there. Are you enjoying your worthy work on the supply line?”

“It keeps me busy, your Eminence,” Dana said, keeping her tone even and polite.

“I suppose you all know each other,” said the Cardinal, waving a hand at her stony-faced Red Guard. Two of them wore the uniforms of Sabre officers, while the others were general grunts.

“Paris may be the greatest city in the Solar System, but those of us in the same line of work do tend to find each other,” said Athos, with a charming smile that Dana had never seen him use before. Was he being sarcastic? It was nearly impossible to tell. “Indeed, your man Boisne there had a friendly altercation with Aramis only a fortnight ago. Not with blades, of course, because duelling is illegal. Arm-wrestling, though, is a time-honoured way of settling grievances while keeping things friendly.”

“How thrilling,” said the Cardinal, sounding genuinely amused. “Who won?”

“It was a draw, your Eminence,” said Aramis with a smile that matched the one Athos was still displaying. “I took a slight paper cut in the arm which was easily fixed, and I believe that Boisne regained the full use of his legs within 24 hours.”

“Thank goodness for today’s medical marvels,” said the Cardinal. “But really, Boisne, you know I disapprove of fighting between the ranks. We’re a Fleet United now, you know. And it seems that even… arm wrestling has its dangers.”

The Red Guard in question seemed well aware that this conversation was a trap, but managed to say “Yes, your Eminence,” without shifting his steady gaze from the Musketeers.

“All in the name of friendly rivalry, of course,” Athos went on. “You wouldn’t want your pilots to be lacking in fighting spirit, would you, your Eminence?”

The Cardinal’s eyes darkened a little. “I’ve never heard it put so succinctly before,” she said. “Of course, we also value restraint.”

“You’ll be glad to know that your own pilots are paragons of restraint,” Athos agreed. “Why, last time Captain Hardoin and I had an informal sparring session, we didn’t even try to draw our swords, did we, Yvonne?”

One of the Sabres, a muscular woman with the shape of two crossed knifes shaved into the side of her scalp, gave Athos a grin that was all teeth. “Nope,” she said. “You threw me out a window instead.”

“But I paid for the damages,” he replied. “And dinner.”

“And dinner,” Yvonne agreed.

Oh, God, were they flirting? Dana could have done with this particular insight into Athos’ love life. She also had a horrible feeling that there was no way this conversation could not end without extreme violence, and/or multiple arrests. It was all so civilised, and yet the tension was unbearable.

“But you, Captain Porthos?” said the Cardinal. “Surely you have never come to blows with any of my guards?”

Porthos ran her eye along the line of them, as if considering. She lingered on the smallest Red Guard, a man who had to be younger even than Dana, and he actually blushed under her gaze. “There may have been an incident involving a tavern bench, but the guidelines on duelling with tavern furniture is more of a grey area than where swords are concerned.”

The Cardinal laughed, a bright and happy sound. “You are all such entertaining company. I can see why young D’Artagnan is so attached to you.”

Athos’ grip on his wineglass grew a little tighter.

Another knock sounded on the door, and everyone flinched except Athos and the Cardinal.

One of the bar staff opened the door a few inches, looking mortified. “Your Eminence, I am sorry, I believe your appointment is – waiting for you in the upstairs lounge.”

“Ah, I thought it must be something like that.” The Cardinal drained the last of her wine glass and set it on the table. “I apologise for intruding on your evening, my dears.”

“It was a pleasure and an honour,” said Athos, rising with her. After barely a breath of a hesitation, the Cardinal held her hand out to him, and he bent over her ring, kissing it.

“Good evening all,” said the most powerful religious leader in the Solar System, and made her graceful exit.

The Red Guard all filed out behind her, and the door closed.

Dana let out a shaking breath, and noticed that Aramis and Porthos did the same.

“What the fuck was that?” Aramis said incredulously, and then swung around to point an accusing finger at Athos. “And who the fuck are you? With the manners and the charm and the…”

“The smiling,” said Porthos with a shudder.

Dana said nothing at all, but like the others, she was staring at Athos.He looked – well, she had seen that manic gleam in him before, usually when he was about to throw the first chair or stab the first attacker in a bar brawl. He practically glowed all over.

“Ladies,” said Athos, purring his words. “This war just got interesting.”

You have been reading Musketeer Space, by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tune in next week for another chapter! Please comment, share and link. Musketeer Space is free to read, but if you’d like to support the project for as little as $1 per month, please visit my Patreon page. Pledges can earn rewards such as ebooks, extra content, dedications and the naming of spaceships. Milestones already unlocked include the Musketeer Media Monday posts, the Robotech Rewatch posts, and “Seven Days of Joyeux,” a special Christmas prequel novella which was released in December 2014. My next funding milestone will unlock GORGEOUS COVER ART.

ROBOTECH REWATCH 44: Three’s Probably Relevant

Does this triumvirate make my butt look big?

At ease, troopers, Robotech is back.

Episode 50 – Triumvirate

So what is it with the Robotech Masters and threesomes? If the episode title is anything to go by, we’re about to find out.

Leonard makes a massive passive aggressive speech about how he appreciates the constructive criticism about his ‘shoot first ask questions later’ military policy but the time for discussion is over now and he is completely right.

Emerson is cranky.

Marie Crystal and Dana have a snarkfest on hover bike, Marie being super smug because she gets to be in the first wave of the attack (AKA Suicide Squad).

If that wasn’t enough lady sniping, Nova Satori then turns up to politely tell Dana she can back off from Zor now. Dana flares up because she doesn’t trust the scientists and she thinks he still needs her help.

“He’s mine and I’m going to keep him!”

Dana Sterling, always the professional.

Nova argues that Zor needs more probing (yes that word is used) and she is going to take over his supervision. Dana refuses to accept the orders and rages her way back to the break room.

The 15th ATAC are all disappointed that they’re being kept in reserve yet again, but Dana is too busy worrying that Nova is going to steal her man.

Luckily she has no lack of self confidence in her hotness and preens in her triple panel mirror.

Zor comes up to her room and has a minor breakdown about triumvirates when he sees Dana’s image reflected three times in the mirror. His memories are starting to come back, and he knows that the Robotech Masters acting in threes is vital.

“It sounds just screwy enough to be important.”

Dana has come to terms with the tropes of her reality.

Marie is about to set off into battle and gives Sean yet another serve of her fierce temper when he turns up to see her off. She softens, briefly, enough to stop yelling at him for five seconds before flying off to certain death.

The Robotech Masters are disappointed that their favourite reality show (AKA the live feed from Zor’s brain and eyes) is on the blink. Still, they catch sight of Zor getting into trouble for loitering from Angelo – but Dana steps in to defend him because she thought it was an awesome idea to give Zor complete freedom on the military base.

Her question ‘what do you think he is, a spy’ is obviously rhetorical, and Angie is so confused by the stupidity of the question (Zor’s kind of obviously a spy) that he doesn’t answer.

On with the battle! Leonard’s plan is put into effect and Earth stages yet another full out assault on the ships in space. Their weapons have no effect, so they keep shooting in the hopes that things will improve.

Oh humans I’m sure your military strategy used to be better than this.

Turns out that even when they do land a shot or two, the Robotech Masters’ ships heal themselves. Humans, you are screwed.

Dana and Zor hang out in a meadow while all this is going on. He actually expresses interest in her, asking if her youthful romping involved a boyfriend and she says she had a younger brother instead.

WTF? Is she talking about Bowie because otherwise I don’t know what to do with that.

They have a deep and meaningful about how hard it is for Zor to live without memories and Dana suddenly has a Big Idea that means she, Zor and Bowie get to go hooning around on hover bikes. I’m assuming this is no longer a date if Bowie gets to come…

The space battle is going terribly. They’ve lost most of their transports, hundreds if not thousands of lives, and are quite obviously outmatched in all respects. The commanders beg for permission to withdraw but Leonard won’t hear of it.

Dana leads Zor and Bowie to the isolated site of a previous battle between the humans and the invaders in the hopes that it will jog his memory. They head into a creepy cave, have a scary encounter with bats, and follow a mysterious blue light.

Then… to their amazement they find a hollowed out cave full of disco lights and amazing plants with pink orchid-like flowers. When Dana touches one, it stings her.

Zor has a revelation that the flowers, like the people in his dream, grow in threes. The three that acts as one. He declares that these plants are a new form of sinister life, and his past is buried here.

Dana suggests that they bring Leonard to see the flowers for himself and Bowie does an brilliant grumpy Leonard impression to show what a stupid idea that is. Which is true. Leonard would totally shoot the flowers.

In the battle, Marie discovers that Dana’s screwy idea about the Robotech Masters having to act in threes is of military relevance. Who would have thought it?

Dana reports to General Emerson, expecting to be in trouble because of stealing Zor. Instead, he lets her know Marie’s message and admits that the attack was a fiasco. Marie was lucky to survive, but the first wave has now disengaged.

Also, Nova is serving the coffee for Emerson which adds yet another duty to her bizarrely open job description.

Elsewhere, Leonard declares that the humans will fight to the very last man. He really makes no sense unless he is an alien saboteur at this point. Head canon accepted.

This weekly rewatch of classic animated space opera Robotech is brought to you as bonus content for the Musketeer Space project.

Thanks to everyone who has linked, commented, or sponsored me.

You can support Musketeer Space at Patreon.

Musketeer Space Part 45: Anjou Wine

Happy Musketeer Day!

Yesterday was a bit of a milestone for me as I finally found myself plotting out the last chapters of the book. Yes! I know how it ends! For those following along at home, it’s looking like it will come out to 61 chapters which is about 5 less than the original book, which means that Musketeer Space will be winding up in late July.

If you’ve been thinking of supporting the Musketeer Space Patreon campaign, with only four months to go now would be a great time to hop on board. All supporters will receive the combined e-book of Musketeer Space chapters as an exclusive edition – I’m not planning to put it up for direct sale, so becoming a Patreon supporter is the only way to get hold of the original serial as an ebook in 2015.

Eeeee part of me wants to just keep writing Musketeer space shenanigans forever, turn it into an endless space opera epic, but I promised myself I would commit to Dumas’ structure, so here we are, counting down through the last third of the story.

Hang in there, it’s going to get bumpy.

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 44

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel, “Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY ON MUSKETEER SPACE: The mysterious alien race known only as the Sun-kissed blew up Gascon Station and besieged the planet Truth, leading to a second war between themselves and the United Royal Fleet of the Solar System. Dana D’Artagnan accepted a position piloting a Musketeer supplies transport so she could be near her best friends instead of stuck on home guard. She also had an affair with an alien spy who wants her dead, thanks partly to the escape of Dana’s other sort-of boyfriend from his own abduction. I’m not even going to start on Athos’ tragic backstory, but that’s relevant here too.

NOW READ ON.

Chapter 45: Anjou Wine

The supplies and support vessels Frenzy Kenzie and La Konstantina were left in position at the edge of Truth Space, close enough that ships and personnel would be able to reach them for medical assistance and supplies, but not so close that they were at risk of being taken out by long range shots from the Sun-kissed fleet.

Dana had known when she chose this assignment that she would not be going into battle herself, but she had not realised quite how far she would be stationed from the front line.

Communications were patchy at best, because assuming that the Sun-kissed would not be able to tap into their most secure military frequencies was a mistake that had been made during the last war, and never again. Fleetnet and personal comms had all been blocked for everything but official notifications from the command posts. While Dana had been driven up the wall by the constant flippant chatter of her Musketeers friends on the journey here, the silence was worse.

She would do anything for a single snarky tweet about Porthos’ love life right now.

The crew of the Frenzy Kenzie only discovered that the first shots had been fired when three Sabre-class darts arrived unannounced, their hulls scarred with laser burn, to be taken on board St Konstantina for medical attention and repairs.

What followed was eight days of hell.

Ships – mostly darts of Sabre and Musket-class – might appear at any time of the 24 hour clock, often in packs of at least three, sometimes with multiple crews crammed into them, depending on how badly other ships had been damaged.

Bass and his engie interns, and Chantal with her supplies assistants, were run off their feet, printing and fixing Musketeer hardware to send ships back into the field. Dana, left with little to do but monitor the Frenzy Kenzie’s drift, found herself conscripted into the medibay to help Wheels to manage and monitor the wounded alongside her squadron of medical androids.

The technology did most of the work, but an extra pair of human hands was always useful, and Dana’s main responsibility quickly became supervising the movement of damaged pilots from the airlock to medibay so they didn’t keel over in a corridor en route.

The Frenzy Kenzie and the St Konstantina weren’t the only supply transports – there were at least two others based on the far side of Truth Space – and that meant that even if the Musketeers Dana knew well were injured or dented, they wouldn’t necessarily end up here.

As much as a base for supplies and repairs, the Frenzy Kenzie quickly became an unofficial gossip hub, with every tale of Sun-kissed action hoarded to be passed on to the next wave of patch-jobs. One wall of the main airlock was given over to scrawled messages from the pilots and engies to their loved ones and comrades because it was assumed that everyone would pass through here sooner or later.

Dana saw all manner of familiar faces come through her ship, including Amiral Treville at one point, escorting the Regent herself after a nasty sortie. Lalla-Louise Renard Royal had flashburns down one side of her face, and was discreetly lodged in a private room behind the medibay until she had time to heal up properly.

“Are we winning?” Dana could not help but ask Treville in a low voice, as she handed over fresh supplies for the flagship, including a crate of meal bars and newly-printed uniforms for the Regent to wear in the formal vids.

Treville was exhausted, wiping sweat from her face with a cloth. She downed a whole tube of chilled water without pausing for breath. “We’re not losing,” she grunted, which wasn’t the same thing at all.

On Day 6, Dana found herself climbing into a familiar dart to slice Captain Tracy Dubois out of her helm and harness, after the metal had been fused to the dashboard by some kind of unknown Sun-kissed weapon that scared the hell out of everyone.

“I saw Aramis two days ago,” Dubois reported quietly. Dana could have hugged her, if she wasn’t busy trying not to cut her skin off along with the melted cables. “She was doing well – the Morningstar’s barely even been grazed so far. I saw the Hoyden at a distance this morning, Porthos was in the thick of it. Took out three Teardrops in under a minute. And Athos’ wretched green thing has been all over the place, he’s impossible to miss.”

Small fragments of information like that were better than nothing, Dana told herself, except of course that ‘two days ago’ didn’t mean anything if there had been battles today, and how could she be sure that the ship Dubois had seen was even the Morningstar?

She worked, and she worried, and one day melted into another, as the Siege of Truth wore on.

On the eighth day, a Musketeer that Dana barely knew handed her a package on the way to medibay. “I had it from Juillet, who had it from Valentin, who had it from Borlois who had it from Treville,” she said, barely glancing at Dana as she stepped into the bright white room. “Hey, Wheels, here I am again.”

“Didn’t I just patch you up, Mikhail?” complained the stern, grey-haired medic, spinning around in her hover chair.

“Yeah, but this time it’s my left leg.”

Dana didn’t have time to open the package until much later, as she lay down in her bunk at the beginning of a regulation six hour shift, hoping something like sleep was going to turn up soon.

The box was lightweight and fell away to reveal two vacuum flasks of well-packed wine from Anjou, one of the finer vineyard countries in Honour, far north of the equator.

Dana wasn’t sure who might have sent them. Her first guess was Minister Chevreuse, given her recent habit of mysterious communications. Maybe even Conrad, who was supposed to be staying with her? But the truth was better. A holo-card had been included that made Dana grin ridiculously, all over her face.

It was a pic of Porthos, Aramis and Athos, all squeezed into the same bed in an unknown medibay – aboard the Sherwood, perhaps, or the Belizze – with medipatches wrapped around every visible limb.

Still, they were alive and recuperating. The message on the back read DRINK IT FOR US, WE’VE BEEN BANNED.

Dana considered it, because God knew she was unlikely to sleep without some kind of chemical assistance, but eventually she packed the flasks under her bunk to keep them safe, and let the feeling of relief wash over her like a blanket.

All three of them, alive and safe, for at least a couple more days by the looks of those medipatches. She could breathe.

Surely it would all be over soon enough that waiting to drink the wine with her friends would be no hardship.

Over the next 24 hours, Dana thought about that Anjou wine a lot. She had been dragged out of her bunk after the fourth hour, because a dozen or more darts appeared all at once, and it was all hands on deck to separate the damaged ships from the damaged pilots.

An hour later, another three ships turned up, and then more again the hour after that.

Dana was all but hallucinating about the Anjou wine at that point, and she promised herself that as soon as there was a lull, she would drag Planchet or Chantal or anyone she could find back to her room and make them drink with her until their skulls were ready to float into space.

The next wave of ships included the Pistachio.

Dana didn’t realise at first. Bass was on a sleep shift, and so his assistants and Dana were run off their feet fitting out several darts to be spaceworthy again, and free up some space in the cavernous docking level.

Dana and Planchet waved the last of these into Airlock One and watched them punch out in military formation, only to turn around and watch three more power slowly into Airlock Two, ready to be rolled inside.

One of them was green.

Planchet moved first, calling for three support droids to crack open the other ships, and for the other engie assistant – Dana couldn’t even remember her name, something beginning with Z? – to check their crews for medical triage.

But Planchet herself went straight for the Pistachio, beating one fist on the chassis before scrambling for the external lock release. Before she could get to it, the hatch folded open, and an exhausted-looking Grimaud hovered at the top of the steps.

“Superficial damage only to the ship,” she said. “Minimal repairs needed to get her back in the field.” Then she turned her head and shouted “UNLIKE THE PILOT, WHO IS A COLOSSAL ARSEHOLE!” in a furious voice.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said Dana, running up to her. “What’s wrong with Athos?” Apart from the arsehole factor, which she took as read.

“See for yourself,” Grimaud muttered, then started discussing technical specs with Planchet, making it clear that she had no interest in talking to pilots today.

Dana let herself into the Pistachio and found Athos not in the cockpit at all, but stretched out on his bunk, looking far too pale to be healthy.

His eyes were open, but he didn’t seem aware of her presence. “Are you drunk?” Dana demanded, leaning in, but that didn’t seem right. His pupils were blown wide, though. “Are you high?” she growled.

Nexus, of course he was still taking pilot drugs, she took that as read. But this reaction was too heavy for just that. She went back to the hatch and called Grimaud over. “So, how many different stims is he on just now?”

The engie stared back at her, silent.

Dana was prepared to wait all day if necessary. “Medical treatment is confidential, but you can’t not tell me.”

“You use automated medical systems on this base,” Grimaud said calmly. “Medipatches and medipacks mean sealed records, but in military hospices androids automatically report inappropriate drug usage found in patients.”

Dana winced. “Shit. Is a Sobriety patch going to make a difference before I get him to medibay?”

“He’s had three, but I think they reacted badly to the caffeine implant. And that’s not even considering the three different strains of pilot drugs he has been bouncing between for the last two days.”

Anger stabbed through Dana’s chest. “Is there a chance that me smacking him upside the head would make the situation worse right now?”

“That possibility is the only reason he doesn’t currently have a black eye from me.”

“Grimaud, I don’t know how you do it,” Dana sighed.

“Believe it or not, most pilots are idiots,” the engie said flatly. “The trick is finding one you’re willing to take stupid risks for.”

“And Athos is really that pilot for you?”

“He doesn’t make small talk. That goes a long way, with me.”

Yes, Dana had to admit that the two of them were well-matched. “I’m taking him somewhere quiet for a proper med assessment,” she sighed. “I’ll keep the androids off him if I can, but honestly – if he’s being this dangerous about stim usage, maybe we should let them report him.”

Grimaud shrugged as if she didn’t care, but gave a short nod to concede the point.

The walls of Medici College were butter-yellow, as if they were doused in sunshine even on cloudy days. Olivier Armand d’Autevielle sprawled in a window alcove with a text-reader spread across his knees, paying little attention to the revision he had to do.

“You could come home with me,” he suggested.

Auden, a beautiful, too-thin boy with silver hair and cut glass cheekbones, leaned against the glass of the window at the other end of the alcove, as if he could soak up the sunlight through the glass. “You want to turn up for the holidays hand in hand with a no-name scholarship kid and announce that we’ll be sharing your fancy four poster bed or whatever it is that rich families sleep on – gold-plated sheets and caviar throw cushions? I’m sure that will go down marvellously, sweetness.”

Olivier hated that. He hated that Auden could be so cutting and funny while putting himself down, as if he was accustomed to thinking of himself as entirely worthless and he still wanted to entertain everyone while doing so. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m the Count de la Fere now. I don’t care what my family thinks.”

“You’ve been the Count for years, and you’ve always cared.” Basking in melancholy was very high in Auden’s skillset, up there with sarcasm and dead languages. All things that Olivier loved about him.

Love. So, there was that.

“But now I’m of age,” said Olivier, speaking lightly so that Auden would not catch on that he had just been struck by a life-changing, lightning strike of a personal revelation. “So they can’t stop me doing whatever the hell I want.”

When Auden smiled, really smiled, it was like the sunlight of the ivy-draped courtyard outside was suddenly here in the room with them, warming the walls and lighting up the ancient bookshelves and wall portraits. “And you want me?”

Olivier grinned in return, pulling his boyfriend into his lap and to hell with the text reader, which fell to the floor. “I always want you,” he said honestly.

It was a dream. Of course it was a dream. He hadn’t let himself remember the good times, the happy parts of their ridiculous romance in years, but his subconscious mind was a traitor and a lovestruck fool, so it wasn’t unusual for Athos to find Auden – young and snarky and thoroughly human – in his dreams.

Other dreams weren’t nearly so pleasant.

Athos dreamed of his ship crumbling around him, of the gravity of Valour ripping through the Parry, Riposte on their way down to the surface. He dreamed of getting D’Artagnan killed in that stupid crash, while the pursuit ships fired upon them. He dreamed of Grimaud, wounded and limp in his arms.

He dreamed of the planet that he had always thought would swallow him whole, and the mountain that he had once thought would be his eternal resting place.

Valour.

Athos.

The ship exploded around him, metal scattering in vicious shards. Athos saw Grimaud dead, and D’Artagnan, and he could not save either of them.

He stared down at his feet, where the soft green grass of Valour curled gently around his ankles. Bare feet. When he looked up, he saw the face of his husband, beautiful and sad, with bright silver hair tousled around his slender neck.

“You’re not going to do this,” said Auden in a low voice, the voice that had always made Athos – Olivier – shiver with want. “You’re not going to give up what we have. I love you.”

Olivier Armand d’Autevielle, the Count de la Fere, spoke without a hint of emotion. “There’s only one way to kill a devil.”

“Is that honestly what you think I am?” Auden’s voice was a howl, a screech, several octaves too high. An alien, unfamiliar sound.

Alien, oh yes. There was that.

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” Olivier ground out between his teeth. “I lost the right to happiness when I lay down with the enemy.”

The sword was real, a family heirloom. It felt heavy and metallic in his grasp, warm to the touch. None of that cool, perfectly distributed weight of a Pilot’s Slice.

Humans knew so little about the Sun-kissed, even after surviving a war against them, and yet one fact stood out from all the rest: to kill them, you had to take the head.

Auden tilted his own head to one side, basking in his own beauty. Of course he was beautiful. His face had been manufactured, everything from the pale grey eyes to the sculpted face. He was designed to be admired, to be loved, to make humans weak at the knees for desire of him. “Kill me then, sweetness,” he breathed. “Let’s see how much better it makes you feel.”

Olivier swung the sword himself, severing his husband’s head from his neck. His duty, he reminded himself as the ugly thud vibrated through his arms, and his heart. Always duty, above everything. It had to be him who struck the blow. How could he trust it to anyone else?

His hand closed around a cold glass, relishing the way that it felt against his palm before he poured the contents of the glass down his throat.

That didn’t help, either.

Athos’ eyes snapped open. He hadn’t dreamed of that in years – oh, there had been dreams, terrible torturing dreams that regularly ripped his heart out of his chest, but not that, not the moment when he performed the execution.

The failed execution.

Cutting off their heads doesn’t work. I should warn someone about that.

“Where am I?” he muttered. “Grimaud?” It came out as more of a slur of unrelated consonants, and he realised too late that this wasn’t his bunk on the Pistachio. Damn it, had he totalled another ship so soon?

He found a flat white medipack fastened to his bare chest, and sat up in a hurry, groaning as his head churned and the bright lights of the hospice hurt his eyes.

“You’re alive, then.” It was a chirpy voice, and Athos glared at it until the blur resolved into a familiar person.

“Pigtails,” he said flatly.

“You know that’s not my name,” the teen redhead said, not remotely offended. She passed him a cup full of what turned out to be ice chips. “Dana would have hung around but she said she was likely to smother you in your sleep if she did, so she’s gone back to work.”

“Grimaud?”

“Much the same only she said ‘break his limbs’ instead of ‘smother him’ and she’s overseeing the repairs of the Pistachio.”

Athos nodded slowly. He didn’t hurt as much as he might have expected, but he still felt shaky. “Have I been grounded?”

“Inappropriate stims usage in the field, three days out of combat,” said a different voice, breaking into their conversation. “You’re to report back to Treville at Chaillot Station as soon as you’re fit to travel so she can shout at you in person.” A fifty-something in a hover chair whirred over towards them, peering at Athos through her thick glasses with professional interest. “You’re getting off lightly, kid.”

Athos had a long history with Wheels, the Musketeers’ longest-serving medic, and he was well aware that things could have gone much worse for him.

“Always a pleasure, sweetness,” he drawled at her.

Wheels gave him a dirty look. “Don’t even think about trying to flirt with me, Mr Posh Accent. I haven’t slept for forty eight hours, and I have no sympathy for self-destructive pilots. Were you actually trying to kill yourself? Suicide by Front Line?”

Athos was taken aback. “No,” he said, and meant it. There was times he had come close to that, but no – Aramis and Porthos would never forgive themselves, if he let it get that far, and they had enough of a hold on his heart that he allowed it to curb his more self-destructive impulses.

Perhaps he was due for some recalibration about what exactly counted as ‘more self-destructive.’

“Good to know.” Wheels made a check mark on the clamshell that rested on the arm of her hoverchair. “You will remain here for three more hours under my observation, and then you can get the hell out. Planchet said the Cap will let you bunk with her while you’re on enforced downtime.”

Athos blinked, not used to the idea that baby-faced D’Artagnan was a Captain now. “Am I allowed to know what happened to my pants?”

Dana was dog tired, worn to the bone, and while she wanted to check in on Athos in the hospice, she also didn’t have any energy left for the angry rant she had been building inside her head. Sleep first, shouting later.

She let herself into her small quarters and toppled head-first on to the bunk. She lay there still and silent for at least ten minutes, trying to work up the energy to take her boots off.

If she sat up, she could get at that wine, too. She would probably need to hide it when Athos was well enough to bunk with her. But she was going to drink some of it first, and to hell with hypocrisy.

In order to drink, she had to get up.

Her door chimed once, twice, three times, and even before she could react to it, she heard an urgent thumping against the door.

Damn it all to hell and back.

Dana rose slowly, staggering with exhaustion, and thumbed open the door.

Athos stood on the other side, wearing some sort of hospice-printed pyjamas and an agonised expression.

“What?” Dana snapped.

“Pigtails told me about the Anjou wine,” Athos blurted out.

Heat surged through her body, and all the anger and fear about what the fuck he had been doing to himself resolved into a single, furious punch.

Athos went down like he’d been felled by a cinquefoil pole, and Dana didn’t even feel guilty about it. She stood over him, letting her rant pour all over him – yelling about how much his friends loved him, and how he was a stupid, selfish addict who was going to break all their hearts when he got himself killed out of sheer drug-induced idiocy.

When she paused to take in a shaky breath, he tried to speak. She cut him off with another round of ranting, then sat on his chest, and hit him a couple more times around the arms.

Finally, she ran out of words and anger and just stared wordlessly down at him.

“D’Artagnan,” Athos started to say. Dana raised her hand to smack him again. He caught her hand and flipped her on to the ground, leaning over her with her wrists pinned hard above her head. “Dana, this is all very touching,” he snarled into her face. “But if you would stop emoting at me for half a minute, I didn’t come here because I was thirsty.”

Dana glared up at him, breathing hard. “Then what?”

Athos sighed, still not relinquishing her wrists. This was probably a good call since Dana was getting the urge to hit him all over again. “Aramis and Porthos and I have not been inside the same hospice or medibay since this damned war began. We’ve barely been in each other’s company since Chaillot. We never sent you any fucking wine.”

You have been reading Musketeer Space, by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tune in next week for another chapter! Please comment, share and link. Musketeer Space is free to read, but if you’d like to support the project for as little as $1 per month, please visit my Patreon page. Pledges can earn rewards such as ebooks, extra content, dedications and the naming of spaceships. Milestones already unlocked include the Musketeer Media Monday posts, the Robotech Rewatch posts, and “Seven Days of Joyeux,” a special Christmas prequel novella which was released in December 2014. My next funding milestone will unlock GORGEOUS COVER ART.

ROBOTECH REWATCH 43: “Debriefing” the Dreamboat

Hold your position. Robotech transmissions will now resume.

43. A New Recruit

Ahem, so we’re caught up now to the point where I skipped a disc. Sorry about that! All the episodes should now be rewatched in the right order

Dana is doing exhaustive sit ups when she hears her name called over the PA. She is called to Emerson’s office where she finds their prisoner of war standing all pretty in a uniform, his purple hair freshly curled. As established, his memory is completely gone, which is inconvenient for everyone hoping to drag useful intelligence out of him. Despite the fact that Dana broke into a hospital and beat him up recently, she’s now being asked to take charge of him.

Zor is in fact presented to Dana as a recruit, on the grounds that making him part of a secure military unit might help jog his memory and allow Dana to debrief him properly.

From this point on every time someone says “debrief,” it’s important to imagine inverted commas around the words, and Bow-chicka-bow-wow music going in the background. Because everyone is shipping Zor/Dana already, including the top brass.

Dana’s Zentraedi heritage is mentioned as one of the reasons why she has been given this particular job. Like – her perspective of having alien blood will help her understand this amnesiac who everyone’s going to hate and resent? Okay, then. I guess it was someone else being xenophobic at him last week.

The 15th are all pretty pissed at having an enemy pilot in their midst, except Louis who is already making heart-eyes about the possibility of little Dana-Zor alien babies. And finding out more about Robotech Masters tech, of course.

Zor beats the simulator with his amazing gun skills, and is subjected to extensive bullying by Eddie, a member of the 15th previously never really mentioned. I guess they didn’t want any of our regular guys to be a jerk about this, even though they all have a pretty good reason to resent Zor?

Sean and Dana, both dressed up for dates, bump into each other. He has an armful of flowers, and when Dana presses to find out which girl he’s after this time, it turns out that Marie Crystal is due out of hospital today and he wants to impress her.

Dana is amused, because Marie isn’t his usual type at all, and isn’t going to be “as easy as shooting skylarks” (?? Is this a metaphor for his usual brand of sexual harassment?)

Sean isn’t bothered on the grounds that he’s good at shooting (is that a metaphor? Everyone put your hormones away!) and changes the subject to point out that Dana is wearing a pretty dress. Does she have a hot date too?

She tells him she is “debriefing” Zor, giggles in an “it’s totally a date” way and runs off.

I stand by my inverted commas.

SEAN: A genuine space cadet.

I’d call him out for sexism in the workplace, but he’s not wrong. Dana, you make Minmei look deep.

In her pretty pink dress, Dana takes Zor to an amusement park, calls him a dreamboat, and falls in love with him in soft focus. Yep, “debriefing” officially means hot date.

Zor actually says: “You sure this is what the general meant by debriefing?” at one point. Poor boy.

Later, he gets overwhelmed by a repeated visual pattern on the roller coaster and receives vivid, traumatic war flashbacks. Dana, concerned about him, takes her seatbelt off (WTF!) and falls out of the roller coaster. As he lunges to rescue her, Zor remembers another woman, falling. It’s Musica.

Dana’s fine, no thanks to herself. You’d think a woman who knows how to drive a hovertank would get the basics of seatbelt technology.

Back at the base, Bowie is jealous of Zor, because Louis and Dana won’t shut up about him, and he’s not allowed to date his alien dreamboat because she’s an alien clone who lives inside an enemy military vessel.

Dana goes looking for Zor, not realising that she’s not the only lady who has been “debriefing” him.

Nova Satori, whose duties as the Fun Police Military Police continue to be varied and interesting as ever, helps Zor run through a bunch of VHS tapes of battle footage. Something snaps inside him and he ends up in bed, raving about Earth being the source of protoculture.

Nova puts the doctor under strict security protocols and quarantines Zor as he continue to blurt out sensitive information while screaming, shirtless, in a bed.

I’m pretty sure the Geneva convention says prisoners of war should be allowed to have a whole pair of pyjamas.

The Robotech Masters tune into a reality show called ‘what’s happening in Zor’s brain’ including lots of battles, internal yelling, and a montage from Dana and Zor’s date. One of the Masters refers to Dana as a juvenile female which is not innaccurate.

The Robotech Masters fret that Zor might give the humans too much information if his memory comes back, and they are grossed out by the waves of emotion coming off him, so it’s time to go in and take control of him. CREEPY.

Zor starts being weird and harsh to Dana, fed up with her attempts to debrief him and also to “debrief” him. Sean should probably give him a sexual harassment pamphlet right about now. I feel that it’s the sort of task that would be assigned to him, to teach him a lesson. Zor is attacked again by shouty Eddie, who it turns out is super aggressive because his brother was killed in action against Zor’s bioroid.

Overwhelmed with guilt and confusion, Zor angsts about killing his own people and decides he doesn’t want his memories if they have that sort of thing in them. He yells at Dana to leave him alone. She gets angry and kicks a screen that shatters, sending Zor into yet another whirl of hallucinations.

He has a memory of a beautiful green-haired girl – Musica – and the two of them being shot at. He used her as a human shield and got her killed. When he wakes up, he’s lying on top of Dana on the floor.

So Bowie’s alien Theramin playing doomed love is dead? Man, Bowie can never catch a break.

Devastated by realising what a monster he is, Zor reveals he is a manufactured clone, and that the Robotech Masters controlled him completely. When he goes to Emerson’s office to beg for more information, he overhears that the humans wanted Zor as leverage against the Robotech Masters. But the information they have got out of his head makes it ever more likely that war is their only option.

Sucks to be Zor.

This weekly rewatch of classic animated space opera Robotech is brought to you as bonus content for the Musketeer Space project.

Thanks to everyone who has linked, commented, or sponsored me.

You can support Musketeer Space at Patreon.

Issue #1 – Jem and the Holograms

Title: Jem and the Holograms #1

Writer: Kelly Thompson

Artist: Sophie Campbell (with extra covers by Amy Mebberson)

The Buzz: What isn’t the buzz? Nostalgia for classic 80’s cartoon Jem and the Holograms is at an all time high because of the movie-in-development, and so word of this comic got bounced around the web in a girlpower frenzy. (More recently, the news that adorable girlfriends Kimber and Stormer will actually have a proper Hologram/Misfit star-crossed romance in the comic meant everything got even more high-pitched, we’re not even squeeing now, we’re just breaking the sound barrier.

All You Need To Know: They’re truly, truly, truly outrageous. Oh, okay. If you were living under a rock or possibly more interested in Transformers in the 80’s (or not even born yet, shoot me now), Jem is the story of a bunch of orphaned foster kids who have their own rock band.

Lead singer Jem is actually band manager Jerrica in disguise thanks to a legacy of magic super science holograms, and they embark in all kinds of Battle of the Bands shenanigans against the wicked, ethically compromised Misfits (WE ARE THE MISFITS OUR SONGS ARE BETTER) to raise money and keep the orphanage open. They sing, they dance, they have their own film clips, and yes there was a toy line, shut up, it’s awesome.

Story: This 21st century reboot already has my attention because it has a plot that makes sense, unlike my beloved original cartoon (which, I discovered upon rewatching with my daughter who um is named Jem, shut up, is based on a crazy secrecy premise for no apparent reason). This first issue focuses on the sisters Jerrica, Kimber, Aja and Shana, who desperately want to enter a music video contest against the Misfits, but are stymied by Jerrica’s crippling stage fright. Synergy, their dad’s holographic legacy, comes to life during a storm and presents Jerrica with the power to become someone else…

Sure, they may still end up with the stupid plot line where Jerrica dates the boy she likes as both of her identities, forcing him to cheat on her despite the fact that there is no actual reason why he shouldn’t know she is Jem. But there are no boys at all in this first issue, just sisters trying to support each other and make music. The portrayals of all four characters is great and I already like Jerrica 10x better than the original 80’s version of her. Kimber is the funniest and the best.

Art: The involvement of Amy Mebberson (she of the amazing Tumblr fan project Pocket Princesses, and the My Little Pony comics) would have sucked me in, but oh my god, where has Sophie Campbell been all my life? Her art is vivid and extraordinary with a fierce use of colours absolutely worthy of the original cartoon. The four main characters come across gorgeously with sweet facial expressions and a nice range of body types (this new trend of letting ladies in comics sometimes have thighs, I like it). The fashion is extreme and very modern – as Kelly Thompson puts it in her afterword, the original cartoon was magnificently 1986 and this comic has to be magnificently 2015 – but still harks back to the styles of the original characters. Kimber’s redesign including a modernised version of her original New Romantic style costume is fabulous but my favourite so far is Aja. I want to eat this comic with a spoon.

But What Did I Miss?: THE EIGHTIES, MAN, I WAS THERE. Nah, this is a brand new story for a brand new generation, and I’m going to be reading it to my five year old as soon as she gets home from school. My ten year old might feel there’s a bit too much pink in it but I will lure her in with the promise of holograms. No preparation required, except to watch this:

Would Read Issue 2?: Try and stop me.

Read it if you Like: Fun.

PREVIOUS ISSUE #1 POSTS

Thor #1 (2014)

Spider-Woman #1 (2014)

All-New Captain America #1 (2014)

Captain America & the Mighty Avengers #1 (2014)

S.H.I.E.L.D. #1 (2014)

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #1 (2015)

Bitch Planet #1 (2014)

Secret Six #1 (2014)

Operation: S.I.N. #1

Spider-Gwen #1

Curb Stomp #1

Musketeer Space Part 44: The Boys From Auster

It’s Musketeer Day again.

I hope you’re all wearing your hats and swords.

All for one and one for all!

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 43

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel,

“Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY IN MUSKETEER SPACE: Conrad Su has been kidnapped several times because of palace politics, and his employer Prince Alek’s complicated love life. Despite all the drama of the past, their mutual friend Chevreuse is certain that the Duchess of Buckingham’s private estate on Valour is the safest place to hide Conrad until all the fuss dies down. What they don’t know is that Buck has been thoroughly compromised by the same spy who kidnapped Conrad in the first place: Milord De Winter.

NOW READ ON!

Chapter 45 – The Boys From Auster

“Well,” said Conrad Su, his arms folded comfortably behind his head as he settled into the co-pilot’s seat. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

“I am sorry it’s not up to sir’s usual standards,” replied his rescuer with far too much sarcasm. “Sonic shower not hot enough?”

“It was tolerable,” Conrad said with a smirk. “But you’d think a fancy crate like this would run to a proper claw-foot tub. And maybe a spa.”

Prince Alek rolled his eyes, and punched his friend lightly in the shoulder. “I’ll have one put in for Sir’s next voyage.”

There were many things that they were not going to talk about. Like the weeks and weeks of of imprisonment that Conrad had endured in the abandoned asteroid base that felt every inch the medieval tower.

Like the interrogation at the hands of his kidnapper, the grey-eyed man who called himself Slate.

Like the fact that Conrad was now certain that his wife Jingfei – with whom he had entered a pragmatic marriage contract that he assumed was based on mutual trust and friendship – had been selling secrets to the Cardinal, and working directly against the Crown.

Like…

He closed his eyes for a minute.

“You all right?” Alek asked hesitantly.

“Blocking out the fancy decor, it’s giving me a headache,” Conrad muttered.

He had never seen this particular ship before. The Jacaranda was a moth fighter, sleek and ordinary on the outside, but decorated inside with the lavish attention to detail worthy of a Palace boudoir.

The main colour signature was matte purple, with highlights of glossy purple, shot through with contrast details in violet, iris, lavender, and at least another dozen shades that Conrad would call something other than ‘purple’ if he was talking about bolts of cloth. The walls were lined with actual satin, and punctured with the occasional cluster of what looked like genuine pearls.

The Jacaranda was the very image of the frivolous gift one might give a prince if one knew absolutely nothing about him except for his title.

When Conrad took himself off to clean up in the cabin, he had discovered that the back part of the ship was far less objectionable – someone with more modest taste had stripped the soft furnishings off the walls and replaced them with a more restrained wood-panel lining, along with holographic windows that displayed familiar scenery from home.

The country of Auster, in the southern hemisphere of Honour, with its scalded red hills and dry, grey-green foliage with the occasional, yes, flutter of purple flowers among the dryness and the heat. A place where having a pattern of scales down your amber-brown neck didn’t mark you out as an exotic freak.

Conrad had been wrong. This half of the spaceship was worse. It made him homesick in a way he hadn’t been for years.

He didn’t want to think about Auster. Not now, when they were travelling to entirely the wrong planet. Valour, of all places. Chevreuse had laughed at the expression on his face, when he realised he wasn’t being sent back to Paris.

“We can’t afford to have the Prince Consort of the Solar System regularly disappearing on rescue missions, you know,” she chided. “He’s supposed to be keeping the home fires burning on Lunar Palais while the Regent gets all the military glory.”

“You don’t know I’d get kidnapped again,” Conrad sulked in reply.

Chevreuse had laughed again, and wrapped her arms around both of “her boys” until their shoulders relaxed into the friendly embrace. It was so long since they were all together, the three of them, without a fresh drama to worry about.

Conrad missed the days before last Joyeux – when he and Chevreuse and Alek were a fleur-de-lis team who were also friends. Practicing TeamJoust was the only time that he and Alek could be equals and friends instead of master and servant.

He should be used to it by now. Conrad’s family had been serving Alek’s since they were both children. But it was hard-going when the oldest friend you’d ever had had the power of life and death over yourself and your family.

“Valour will be good for you,” Alek said now, breaking the silence between them. “You haven’t had a holiday in years.”

No, because I couldn’t afford to leave you unsupervised, Conrad thought but did not say aloud.

“I don’t like the idea of you back in Paris without friends close by,” was what he did say. Between the Regent and the Cardinal, Alek had slowly but surely been isolated from his own allies in the court – first the companions and servants who had accompanied him from Honour, and then the new supporters like Chevreuse whom he had befriended after his marriage.

Conrad was the last of them, and he couldn’t do a lot of good for Alek hiding out on some country estate with the Duchess of frigging Buckingham.

“I wish I was coming with you,” Alek said with a twisted smile.

“Oh yes, no way that could go terribly wrong,” Conrad said dryly. After all the trouble he and Chevreuse and the Musketeers had gone to – after all the risks they had taken to enable Alek and Buck to be together, however briefly. No, letting the two of them near each other again was the ultimate bad idea.

“That’s not the reason,” Alek said, sounding remarkably serious. “I mean – yes, obviously, that’s the reason. I promised I would keep my distance from Buck for the remainder of my marriage contract, and I mean to keep my word. But that’s not the reason I have to return so hastily to Paris.”

“Go on, then,” said Conrad, his eyes fixed on his friend. “Surprise me.”

Alek relaxed his hands from the ship controls, and unfastened his embroidered jacket, letting it fall open. Underneath, he wore what looked at first to be a tactical armour vest, though it had no military identification marks on it.

Conrad leaned in, curious about the unfamiliar garment, and then jerked back when he realised what the flat silver pouches in the front of the vest must be. “Are those -”

“The future Regents of the Solar System?” Alek said with a wry smile. “God willing, they are.”

Conrad pressed his hands to his mouth. “But I thought – didn’t she agree to try body pregnancies first? It was in your marriage contract.” Because yes, there had been nights where he scoured that marriage contract, checking over the precise meanings of words and phrases, because he was terrified his friend was going to start a civil war by breaching it.

“It was never going to happen that way,” said Alek in a flat sort of voice, which made it clear he did not want to discuss the details. “The Cardinal would not support the Regent uniting the Fleet and going personally into battle without some insurance left behind, for the future of the Crown. Lalla-Louise has agreed to fake a body pregnancy to placate my family and the Elemental factions on Honour who already think I have betrayed them through this marriage. It’s not a bad idea for security reasons, anyway.”

Conrad was tempted to reach out and touch the silver pouches, but kept his hands to himself. The enormity of Alek’s sacrifice crashed in on him. Conrad himself was not a particularly devout Elemental, but it had always been so important to Alek to follow his family’s faith as closely as he could, even when his marriage to the Regent meant that he had to publicly join the Church of All.

Damn it all, the future sovereign of the Solar System was sitting on Alek’s chest, and he had still thrown himself into a physical fight to rescue his friend.

“Why on earth would you risk them to come after me?” Conrad blurted, horrified.

“Well, I wasn’t going to leave them behind,” said Alek, which didn’t answer the question at all. He reached out, and cuffed Conrad lightly on the back of the head. “It’s fine. This stuff they’re wrapped in is like armour, built to withstand laser fire and sword thrusts. Anyway, it’s supposed to be good for them to experience different sounds and vibrations while they’re gestating. Develops the brain better, or something.”

“Sounds and vibrations like you punching that bastard kidnapper of mine in the head?”

“Exactly.” Alek looked far too smug about this.

The Jacaranda was supplied with all kinds of discreet New Aristocrat protocols which meant it could bypass most of Valour’s security requirements. They landed in a green field, instead of an official air dock.

“Behold the beauty and glamour of the prettiest planet in the Solar System,” said Alek with a wave of his hand.

“I’d prefer desert and eucalypts any day of the week,” Conrad muttered as the hatch slid open. Valour even smelled wrong. It was all – grass and buttercups. Elemental, yes. The planetary gravity was heavy but welcoming. He knew that feel. But this whole sunshine and rolling green pastures business was going to take a lot of getting used to.

“You’re so fucking spoiled,” Alek laughed. “Go braid some daisies for a while.”

“Such a productive use of my skills,” Conrad sighed. He didn’t want to go. Alek might have pod babies to protect, but he was terrible at looking after himself. “We should go on to Paris together.”

“Nope,” said Alek, leaping up from the pilot’s chair and physically manhandling Conrad out the hatch. “Embrace the dirtside. I hear they even grow their own vegetables down here.”

Conrad butted his head lightly against that of his prince. “Vegetables are overrated. You’re going to end up assassinated, or worse – badly dressed. You need me.”

“Yeah,” Alek said, his voice dropping its usual archness. “I need you, mate. So keep yourself alive until that cute little Musketeer of yours comes to rescue you.”

“She’s not a Musketeer,” Conrad muttered. “And she’s not cute, either. She’s – kind of amazing.” Dana D’Artagnan. He could wait a long time for a woman like her. “Fine, I’ll find myself another fucking tower to wait in, start growing my hair like the damsel I obviously am.”

Alek’s eyes danced with amusement. “Or you could find yourself some decent fleur-de-lis players to practice against. They’ve closed the leagues for the war, so we don’t even have to worry about forfeit fines, but next year – next year is OURS, baby.”

Conrad couldn’t help grinning at that. “Okay, I’ll work on staying alive, you grow some fetuses and work on getting Chevreuse back to Paris. We’ll have the old team back together by next year.”

They exchanged manly punches, and then Prince Alek stepped back into the Jacaranda and flew away.

Conrad stood on his own in a green field, surrounded by buttercups and what had to be bluebells. In the far distance, he could see a large manor house that had to be Buck’s formal residence.

“Right,” he sighed to himself, beginning to walk. “A package holiday on the wrong planet, in the middle of nowhere, with the Duchess of Buckingham. Could be worse.”

Buck swam. She hadn’t used this pool in years, except as a site for decadent parties, and even then she preferred to swan around in whatever amazing outfit she was modelling that night instead of actually getting wet.

But over the last few days she had come here regularly, to swim methodical laps. There was something about the exercise, the burn in her muscles and the drugging sensation of keeping her head under the water as long as she could that made her think that maybe, maybe she could get through this.

Except of course that if she held her breath too long, allowed herself to flirt with the possibility of drowning herself and being free of it all, the first thing she would see when she burst clear of the surface would be Winter.

Slate. Winter. Milord De Winter, of course, though this version was not the same as the Secretary of the Interior. She had watched footage of the real Milord, and while they were similar in so many ways, she knew that the version of him that lived inside her head was a different creature altogether.

Weapon. Creature. Weapon.

If she swam hard and fast enough, until her limbs shook with exhaustion when she finally clambered out of the pool, then sleep without dreams seemed like an actual possibility.

Not today. Because today, there was a pretty young man with amber-brown skin and dark eyes, grinning at her from across the pool. His hair had been electric blue last time she saw Conrad Su, but it had grown out to its natural shiny black with blue at the tips. A pattern of gleaming gold scales ran down the side of his neck and under his shirt.

“Hey,” said Buck, spitting out a mouthful of water, because she was cool like that.

“Thanks for letting me crash here,” said Conrad, shielding his face against the bright sunlight. “You sure it’s okay?”

As Buck stared at him, she saw Winter approach Conrad on his silent bare feet. His hair blazed silver in the same bright light that was affecting Conrad’s vision. Winter leaned in and licked the side of Conrad’s neck, looking ridiculously pleased with himself.

Of course Conrad did not react because he could not feel the touch of the other man – Winter did not exist except inside Buck’s head.

He could not touch, but that did not mean Winter was not a danger to Conrad, to them both.

Buck shivered, the sun-warm water around her body suddenly dropping in temperature. “It’s fine,” she said, with a cheerful grin of the kind that used to be second nature to her. “Glad to have you. We’re going to have some fun together.”

You have been reading Musketeer Space, by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tune in next week for another chapter! Please comment, share and link. Musketeer Space is free to read, but if you’d like to support the project for as little as $1 per month, please visit my Patreon page. Pledges can earn rewards such as ebooks, extra content, dedications and the naming of spaceships. Milestones already unlocked include the Musketeer Media Monday posts, the Robotech Rewatch posts, and “Seven Days of Joyeux,” a special Christmas prequel novella which was released in December 2014. My next funding milestone will unlock GORGEOUS COVER ART.

Galactic Suburbia 116 Show Notes

Our special 2014 Galactic Suburbia Award episode! Listen to find out our winner and shortlist for our award to honour activism and/or communication that advances the feminist conversation in the field of speculative fiction.

Get the new episode HERE.

CULTURE CONSUMED:

Alisa: Haven S5, Tempest’s Reading Challenge

Alex: Tehanu, Tales of Earthsea, and The Other Wind, Ursula le Guin; Jupiter Ascending; Waistcoats and Weaponry, Gail Carriger.

Tansy: D’Artanyan i tri Mushketyora (1979); New Avengers: Breakout prose novel by Alisa Kwitney; New Avengers: Breakout, by Brian Michael Bendis; Curb Stomp #1 – Ryan Ferrier (writer), Devaki Neogi (artist); Princess Leia #1 – Mark Waid (writer) Terry & Rachel Dodson (artists).

NEXT TIME: tune in for our Ursula Le Guin essay spoilerific. We will be covering: “The Space Crone” & “Is Gender Necessary? (Redux)” (both in Dancing at the Edge of the World: Thoughts on Words, Women, and Places) and “Science Fiction and Mrs Brown”(in The Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction).

Please send feedback to us at galacticsuburbia@gmail.com, follow us on Twitter at @galacticsuburbs, check out Galactic Suburbia Podcast on Facebook, support us at Patreon and don’t forget to leave a review on iTunes if you love us!

ROBOTECH REWATCH 42: The Great Hospital Caper

Hold your position, Robotech transmissions will now resume.

Episode 47 – Outsiders

Turns out Dana can play piano too! Who knew?

While her boys all sleep soundly, she is up in the middle of the night pining over her strange visions of the purple haired pilot in the Red Bioroid. The narrator suggests that Dana’s human half and her Zentraedi half are at war with each other.

Meanwhile, Global Military Police Lieutenant Nova Satori is on a standard rubble patrol when she finds a surprisingly pretty purple-haired pilot sprawled out on the rocks, waiting for her to take him prisoner.

Apparently the first thing she does is remove his shirt, because he’s not wearing one later when the scientists examine him. Go, Nova!

General Rolf Emerson suggests it would be a very good idea if Supreme Command don’t get their hands on this pilot any time soon, given that they killed the last bioroid pilot they had.

The Robotech Masters are pleased that Zor has been taken into the human base, because they plan to use him as a spy to make the humans lead them to the lost protoculture. They watch everything he does and sees through a sophisticated neurotransmitter.

Meanwhile, Sean discovers Dana fast asleep in the breakroom.

“I don’t want to disturb you, but how long have you been guarding the piano, darling?”

I actually love every scene that Sean and Dana have together. There’s something about a platonic friendship between a flirty boy and a girl who thinks he’s ridiculous that I always enjoy in media – see Howard Stark and Peggy Carter.

Dana brushes off Sean’s concern by teasing him about his love life because it’s always an easy target. Sean snickers that he has no interest in hopeless romances – and Dana thinks he’s digging at her, but it turns out he’s mocking Bowie and all that pining he’s been doing about the green-haired girl.

Note: all the boys of the 15th were up and about when Dana was asleep on the piano, but only Sean was brave enough to wake her up.

Dana tries to get Bowie to talk about his feelings and whether or not there’s some exciting romantic gossip he needs to share with her, but ends up squabbling with Angie about whether aliens are appropriate life partners.

Bowie runs out either crying or supremely embarrassed to be seen with them all. Probably the latter.

Sean, to prove how dedicated he is to non-hopeless romances, tries to visit Marie Crystal in hospital with a big bunch of pink roses and is stopped by a nurse who refuses to let him enter. He gives up after less than a minute of trying and gives the flowers to the nurse instead, blowing her a kiss as he leaves. Marie, who has heard the whole thing, seethes at his lack of commitment.

Supreme Commander Leonard is angry to find out that the scientists (and his own command) have been hiding Zor from him, but he takes their point about his history of “accidentally” murdering prisoners of war.

Bowie is so gone on Musica. He doesn’t actually know her name, so he is pining mostly about ‘my cosmic siren.’ Oh, Bowie.

It all kicks off when a fighter comes out of hyperspace bearing two representatives from the Robotech Expeditionary Force: Major John Carpenter and his aide. Their ship is destroyed and they bug out in an escape pod, parachuting down to Earth. Dana and Sean pick them up and take them to the base.

Dana is worried about Carpenter’s questions to her about morale, because she thinks that the situation is more grave than even she thought. Because she is a goddamned professional (and not because the scriptwriters forgot to include this) she has no emotional reaction whatsoever to the fact that this is the first communication from the SDF3 (where her parents live) for years.

Leonard and Emerson are gutted when Major Carpenter reveals that the SFD3 will be sending no one else back in reinforcement – their own mission is considered more of a priority to General Reinhart, apparently the man in charge of the SDF3. (Which, hello, who is this random person who is not Rick and Lisa? Has there been a coup?)

Zor Prime, lying in a hospital bed with Nova Satori watching over him, dreams in agonised bursts about the history of the man he was cloned from. Elsewhere, Dana has a sleepless night herself, turning the words of Major Carpenter over in her head.

NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME TO TELL US WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SDF3, ROBOTECH!

Argh, this was so frustrating back in the day, and it’s almost as frustrating now, even though I know it’s because Southern Cross really had no connection to the old show at all. But – Dana needs closure about Max and Miriya! Whatever happened to Rick and Lisa? Who even is this Major Carpenter?

Never mind. I know you’re not going to tell me, show.

Episode 48 – Déjà Vu

Why do the Robotech Masters call humans Micronians, even though they are the same size as them? Such mystery.

Zor continues to be topless in Dr Cochrane’s laboratory. Nova Satori, whose job description is more varied than any other in this world, volunteers to take personal responsibility for Zor’s deprogramming, presumably so she can make the call on whether he’s ever going to be allowed to put a shirt on again.

Sean makes another try at winning Marie’s heart with a second bunch of pink roses. He does this by dodging the nurses altogether, and announcing a security raid before bouncing into her room, terribly proud of himself.

Marie holds her fury in for about ten seconds before smacking him down for his nurse-flirting ways. They fight over just about everything they can, to make up for lost time. Marie lets her resentment of the 15th Squadron, Dana and Sean and everything else spill out in an angry tirade, and sends Sean packing.

Still, she quite likes the flowers. Mixed signals much?

Sean then intercepts Dana on her way into the hospital and talks her out of going anywhere near Marie in her current mood, which may be the most genuinely gallant thing we’ve ever seen him do.

Later, Dana mopes about Marie blaming her for her injury, and Bowie tries to cheer her up by out-moping her with his disastrous love life. It mostly works.

That night, Dana wakes up screaming from a nightmare about the red Bioroid pilot shooting her dead. She bursts out of her room in her pyjamas, knocking Louis over in her haste to get into the flight simulator.

Angelo’s pyjamas, we learn, have a polo shirt style collar. I don’t know why this is cute, but it totally is. I might as well admit that Angie is my favourite. He’s so grumpy, and having Dana in charge of him makes him extra grumpy.

The boys of the 15th watch Dana bust a record in the battle simulator, cheering her on. Luckily they’re not still watching afterwards, when she gets yet another gratuitous shower scene.

You guys, Dana has now had like three times the number of nude shots that Minmei got, and her series is shorter. What’s that even about? It does mean I have been able to introduce Ms10 to the charming concept of fan service, to the point that she hides her face in a cushion and howls with feminist rage whenever Dana steps in the show.

Sean drops into the break room to tell Dana and the others that he’s figured out the mystery of what’s happening on the ninth floor of the hospital. Nova Satori has taken it over to debrief Zor. Dana is determined to investigate – she is desperate to know if that purple-haired pilot can answer her questions about why he’s in her head.

What follows is a Grand Caper.

Sean is always up for some nefarious activity, and while Angie puts up his usual token resistance, he turns out to be surprisingly good at planning a covert break and enter operation. He gets hold of a truck, and he and Louis pose as repairmen (we come to fix your hospital!) with the rest of the 15th squadron hidden in the back.

Bowie calls Nova away over the phone, actually pinching his nose to make a fake voice, because that’s the level of grifter that Dana has under her command. To make everything even more awesome, Angelo reveals he played Peter Pan in a kindergarten play and has always had theatrical ambitions.

SO MY FAVOURITE.

Sean charms Marie into a rooftop rendezvous and she falls for it, the sucker. Oh, he’s going to pay for this one, I hope. He kidnaps her on a trolley, along with his friends in masks and white coats, and they use her as a cover while Dana rappels her way up to the ninth floor with magnetic climbing tools.

Through the window, she sees her purple haired dreamboat and gazes lovingly at him.

Meanwhile, Angie in a dressing gown wanders as if by accident on to the ninth floor and plays a crazy, belligerent patient looking for his wife, in order to distract all the security guards. I love how he resists Dana’s schemes at first and oes into them with greater fervour than anyone else. This is his Hamlet.

Dana tries to stop Zor leaving the room and pulls a gun on him. He anime-leaps her and they have a slow, drawn out fight which is probably also foreplay. She accuses him of being the red Bioroid who fought her, and he is confused and angry because he doesn’t remember much of that.

She actually uses the words ‘you aliens are all the same’ which, aw, Dana, no.

Nova is on her way back. Bowie turns up in a white coat and fake glasses to rescue Angie (or rather, to rescue the many security guards he just beat up) just in time.

Dana and Zor both hear Bowie whistling to warn Dana to leave – and Zor recognises the music as something Musica used to play. Tthis distracts Dana a little too long, so Nova catches her. Dana takes off out the window, with Nova yelling at her.

Everyone else is delighted with their romp, but Dana is thoughtful and melancholy about everything she has learned about the mysterious Zor.

As for Marie Crystal’s response to being used as a prop in Sean’s latest scheme – so far, nothing.

This weekly rewatch of classic animated space opera Robotech is brought to you as bonus content for the Musketeer Space project.

Thanks to everyone who has linked, commented, or sponsored me.

You can support Musketeer Space at Patreon.

Issue #1 – Curb Stomp (2015)

Title: Curb Stomp #1

Writer: Ryan Ferrier

Artist: Devaki Neogi

The Buzz: Ferrier describes it as a timeless street gang story – not quite now, not quite 1980′s, but definitely punk rock. The book was launched by Boom! Studios as part of their general strategy to put more books out there for female audiences – along with Lumberjanes, Bee and Puppycat, and Butterfly.

All You Need To Know: Punk rock girl gangs, diverse cast of characters, brutal suburban violence, and a roller-derby style community of women protecting their own turf.

Story: Machete Betty leads The Fever, an all-female gang (her fellow warriors are called Derby Girl, Bloody Mary, Daisy Chain & Violet Volt) who protect Old Beach, a down and out borough near a wealthy city – when they’re not drinking shots, caring for their families and singing in a rock band. Betty kills a rival gang member in self defence, and the Wrath come demanding a Fever life in return.

I like this a lot – it’s a hard edged story about violence and protection with women at the centre. I especially appreciated that we got glimpses of the women’s life beyond the night clubs and the street violence – many of them have to juggle family responsibilities with their work. It’s a story about chosen family, and the physical capabilities of women pushed to the edge. The ‘timeless’ nature of the setting gives it something of an original Mad Max, post-apocalyptic feel.

Art: The Love and Rockets style art is the star of the show – it has a retro 80’s tone to it with a range of realistic body types and emphasis on facial character. Oh and a whole lot of punk rock, with fierce hair and grunge fashion. The story is about violence but the more extreme acts are presented far more tastefully than I would normally expect in comics – and I love the way that the women’s fighting styles are framed, showing them from positions of strength and power and extreme competence.

But What Did I Miss?: This is the first of a four part mini series, no preparation required.

Would Read Issue 2?: I think I will – the tone is a bit too far on the side of grimdark for me personally, but there’s a lot to appreciate here and it’s only 4 issues so I think it’s worth seeing where it will take me.

Read it if you Liked: Bitch Planet

PREVIOUS ISSUE #1 POSTS

Thor #1 (2014)

Spider-Woman #1 (2014)

All-New Captain America #1 (2014)

Captain America & the Mighty Avengers #1 (2014)

S.H.I.E.L.D. #1 (2014)

The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl #1 (2015)

Bitch Planet #1 (2014)

Secret Six #1 (2014)

Operation: S.I.N. #1



Spider-Gwen #1

Musketeer Space Part 43: Fleet United

Happy Musketeer Day!

I spent the weekend immersed in the musical hijinks of Russian Musketeers Own my Soul (1979) and any future Musketeer adaptation I watch which does not have musical numbers (or Rochefort wearing purple satin) is going to be a grave disappointment to me. I am ruined for all Musketeers, forever.

Truly, Musketeer Media Monday can be a cruel mistress.

Start reading Musketeer Space from Part 1

Missed the last installment? Track back to Part 42

Read a festive Musketeer Space prequel, “Seven Days of Joyeux.”

Main Page & Table of Contents

PREVIOUSLY ON MUSKETEER SPACE: Dana D’Artagnan is almost a Musketeer now, or at least is piloting a supplies and support transport as they all head off to war. She received a transmission that proved Conrad Su, the guy she sort of has a thing with, is still alive after being kidnapped by Dana’s greatest enemy: Milord De Winter. But there’s no time for romance and side trips with an interstellar war about to kick off… right?

NOW READ ON!

Chapter 43: Fleet United

The Second Wave of the Combined Royal Fleet that had set out from Paris six days ago was to be found in orbit around Chaillot Station, a large deep space recharging satellite that was twice the size and three times as grimy as Meung Station.

Walking into the briefing room on the Regent’s flagship with Agent Rosnay Cho at her back made the memories of that particular stopover even sharper in Dana’s mind.

“Don’t suppose you fancy a Duel, for old time’s sake?” suggested Ro in a mocking voice. Dana glared at her, and Ro held up her hands in innocence before crossing to the other side of the room, where the Regent stood with Cardinal Richelieu on one side of her, and a grim Amiral Treville on the other.

Someone seized Dana’s sleeve, and she found herself dragged into a hug by Porthos, who led her over to the corner where Aramis and Athos were waiting.

“Making new friends?” Athos said dryly.

“Befriending old enemies, I think,” said Dana with a frown. She did not really know what to think of this new friendliness of Rosnay Cho, but war did that sort of thing, didn’t it? Bringing unlikely allies together in a common cause.

“Because that worked out so well last time.”

Dana gave him a startled, wounded glance.

Athos took a sip from a flask that was decidedly non-regulation. “Too soon?”

Dana punched him in the arm. “It’s never not going to be too soon, Athos.”

Aramis put placating hands on both of them to make them quiet down. “Treville’s about to speak.”

But the Amiral did little but wave at the crowd of pilots to command silence, before introducing the Regent herself.

Lalla-Louise Renard Royal was bright-eyed and animated in her plain black flight suit, with none of the usual cosmetic enhancements or hair baubles she favoured for public appearances. Her hair was tied up in a severe top-knot similar to the one Aramis always wore on duty. Like a real pilot.

In a grave, majestic voice, the Regent outlined the situation that Rosnay Cho had already briefed Dana about, back on the Frenzy Kenzie: the enemy had engulfed the planet of Truth in a storm of ships, creating what looked like a wall wrapping entirely around the planet.

Satellite images suggested that part of the ‘wall’ effect was an illusion created by some kind of gas, but the fact remained: they no longer had individual targets to aim at, only a single enormous target that held a planet as hostage.

“Is it possible -” Dana began to ask without thinking, then clamped her mouth shut as she remembered where she was.

The Regent’s eyes flicked in her direction, and the traitorous Athos gave Dana a shove out of the corner, so she could more easily be seen.

“You have a question -” the Regent suggested in a mild voice.

“Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan,” the Cardinal supplied before Treville could speak up.

“Arms-Sergeant D’Artagnan,” said the Regent, not smiling but not looking entirely pissed off, either.

Dana swallowed, but everyone was looking at her now. She had no choice but to speak. “We know that the Sun-kissed – pretty much the only thing we know about the Sun-kissed is that they are shapechangers,” she said. “Is it possible that their technology – that their ships, can also change shape?”

All three commanders – the Regent, the Cardinal and Amiral Treville, went very still for a moment. Dana didn’t know if it was because this was a new, terrible concept to them, or if they had already been working from such a theory but had not intended to make it public.

“That is entirely possible,” the Regent said finally.

Around Dana, she heard the Musketeers and the Sabres muttering quietly amongst themselves, the muffled noise rising and falling in urgent waves. She didn’t blame them in the least.

Bad enough to fight against ships they couldn’t see, without those ships potentially changing size or shape at any moment.

“That’s the best theory we have for how their fleet expanded so quickly,” the Regent admitted after the muttering died down once more.

“But of course,” said the Cardinal, stepping closer to the Regent. “We have God on our side.”

The Regent Royal smiled as if this act of togetherness was spontaneous, instead of painstakingly rehearsed. “With Church and Crown working together, nothing can stop the Combined Fleet,” she said, her voice filling the room powerfully. “United, we have so much to fight for – including the very future of the Solar System.”

At that, she paused and placed a hand very deliberately on her abdomen, and it was clear from the quick look she received from the Cardinal that this part came as a surprise to her as much as anyone else.

For a moment, distaste crossed the Cardinal’s face – the very idea of producing children by natural rather than scientific means was not against the teachings of the Church of All, but was certainly not preferred when it came to royal heirs and expectant mothers flying into battle. It smacked of pandering to the Elemental populace, including Prince Alek himself.

But the expression passed so fleetingly that Dana could not be sure afterwards that she had really seen it at all. With her usual polite benevolence, the Cardinal led the assembled Musketeers, Sabres and other military personnel in a prayer for the safety of all members of the royal family, past and present.

When the crowd dispersed, Dana considered heading back to the Frenzy Kenzie, though they weren’t due to make the final approach to the Siege of Truth for another twelve hours and she was pretty sure she needed as much of a break as she could get from Bass and Chantal. Especially now that the two of them would be no doubt vibrating with excitement over the implications of a royal pregnancy.

Dana wanted to be alone with her thoughts about the transmission she had been sent en route, and what it might mean about Conrad Su and Milord.

In the end, she didn’t get a choice in the matter. Porthos slung an arm around her waist, preventing Dana from disappearing. “Come and drink with us,” she insisted. “We’ve clearance to head down to Chaillot as long as we’re back in our bunks by 0:00 hours.”

Reluctantly, Dana agreed. “Drink with us” turned out to mean sharing a booth in the corner of a rather loud nightclub called Dovecote Red with Athos and Porthos, surrounded by most of the rest of the Combined Fleet.

“She’s queuing at subspace transport,” said Athos, when Dana asked about Aramis. “A message from a friend that had to be collected in person rather than sent over the comms.” His weary expression, lit up by the blazing pyrotechnics that poured over them from the domed ceiling of the club, revealed exactly how bored he was by Aramis and her social life.

“Speaking of friends,” said Porthos, her eyes gleaming. “What the hell is going on with you and Agent Scarypants, Dana? You were looking very cozy when you arrived at the briefing. Isn’t she supposed to be your nemesis or something?”

“Or something,” Dana said, eyes on her glass so that she didn’t give her confusion about Ro away to either of them.

There was drinking and dancing and the night was surprisingly fun considering that they were literally on the brink of war, and this club’s light show was a little too heavy on scarlet and crimson filters that made all the sweaty dancing look grisly after a few drinks.

With only 45 minutes before their curfew came down, Dana was heading to the bar for a final refill when someone smacked into her from behind. She turned and found herself with an armful of warm, drunken Aramis, who pressed her face into Dana’s collarbone as if wanting to inhale her entirely into her lungs.

“Um,” said Dana. She caught sight of Athos over Aramis’ shoulder, who simply rolled his eyes as if this was no more than he had expected of the two of them. Porthos grinned and made an encouraging gesture that was entirely unhelpful.

If she let go now, Aramis would surely slide on to the floor, presuming she was as drunk as she was acting, which seemed – extremely out of character.

Just as Dana had this thought, Aramis slithered a little higher to nip her on the earlobe and whisper. “Go with it, we need an excuse to be alone.”

Dana opened her mouth to complain that the pretence was entirely unnecessary given that the entire Fleet knew they were friends, and it would hardly be out of character for the two of them to slope off to some quiet corner together without the need for gratuitous making out.

Her mistake was in opening her mouth, because now she had Aramis’ tongue to deal with, and there was no thinking about anything remotely practical when she was having the very breath kissed out of her.

“Well, that was discreet,” Dana managed to complain, eight lingering kisses later when they finally tumbled through the door of a private room above the club.

“Possibly there was a side bet with Porthos about how enthusiastically you’d respond to espionage kisses,” Aramis said, throwing herself on the bed with smug enthusiasm.

“Because kissing hasn’t got me into far too much trouble already since I arrived in Paris,” Dana sighed, perching on the edge of what was either a very uncomfortable bed or a very soft massage table. “What on earth is all this about?”

Aramis produced what looked like an antique pear ear-drop. When she laid it on Dana’s dark brown wrist, however, it burrowed into her skin like any other data stud. “I was asked to collect message from a mutual friend of ours – and I was interested to hear quite how acquainted you are with her, since your friendship was news to me.”

Dana gave her a bleary look. “I’ve been flying a giant space boat for nearly a week with the minimum of rest cycles, do you think you could just explain in simple words, without all the flourish?”

Aramis pouted, and wriggled back on the bed until her head hit the pillow. “Flourish is my best thing.”

“Aramis, come on!”

“Fine,” her friend sighed. “You know how your Conrad was teammates with Prince Alek and my ex, Chevreuse?”

Dana hesitated. “Yes.” That seemed safe enough.

“Well, while you were running around Paris trying to seduce the relevant information out of that backstabbing alien bastard who broke Athos’ heart -”

“Without flourish, Aramis!”

“Turns out that Prince Alek launched his own rescue mission, the second that the Regent left Lunar Palais for the front. Without involving a single Musketeer, which I’m trying really hard to not take personally.”

Aramis tapped the new pearl stud on Dana’s wrist and smiled. “Want to watch him save your boyfriend?”

Dana sat through the holographic recording, trying not to hyperventilate. This was the same transmission she had viewed back on the Frenzy Kenzie, before Bass’ security measures had severed the connection. The clip from the game, then the footage of the cell with Milord standing out of the range of the cam, taunting Conrad and, by extension, Dana.

Milord had intended her to see that footage. She knew he had. It was overwhelming to think that he had fed into someone else’s agenda as well – that this versionwas coming to her from friends instead of enemies.

“You’d be surprised how many enemies I have who think you’re worth rescuing,” she heard Milord say again. “Say hello to Sergeant D’Artagnan.”

Conrad’s eyes flicked towards the cam in surprise, then away. “You almost got me,” he said dryly. “But D’Artagnan’s not the one who’s going to get me out of here.”

“Such little faith,” mocked Milord.

“He’s quite a piece of work, this de Winter fellow,” Aramis muttered. “I mean, could he be any more villainous?”

“He’s quite good at hiding that side of him,” Dana sighed. “Under all the charm and the pretty.”

“Whatever you say, kid.” Aramis smirked. “He’s definitely not my type.”

Conrad was grinning now, his eyes looking past the cam. Even in the dingy light, his face lit up with a genuine moment of joy. “On the contrary,” he said. “I have so much faith right now, Slate.”

There was a noise: a meaty thump that meant a fight of some kind, flesh on flesh. Conrad disappeared from sight, around behind the cam.

After a moment of fighting grunts and other smacking sounds, the cam spun around to show the collapsed, unconscious figure of Milord De Winter, looking like any other battered New Aristocrat in a heap on the stone floor, his fancy suit gathering dust.

Conrad leaned into the camera with the practised ease of someone who put up with paparazzi interviews all the time. “If you’re watching this,” he said, raising his voice above the sound of a nearby commotion. “Don’t worry about coming to rescue me. My team has it covered.”

“Su, come on, stop pissing about,” said an impatient, aristocratic male voice, and another figure swept past the cam and out of range. The man was masked, and wearing the livery of a Red Guard, but Dana knew what to look for and she would have bet her life it was Alek of Auster, Prince Consort.

Conrad blew a kiss into the cam, and ran after his rescuer.

Dana stared at the fallen figure of Milord, now lifting his head slowly, before the cam feed finally bled into static again.

“They should have finished him,” she said in a low, vengeful voice. Then, more sombre than before: “I should have finished him. When I had a chance.”

Aramis lay her smooth hand on Dana’s shoulder, lightly stroking the side of her neck. “It’s a specialised skill, killing people in cold blood. We don’t all have the knack.”

The static buzzed and smoothly cut to a new recording, dated only a few hours earlier. It was Chevreuse herself, her hair pearl-white and cut into a tidy bob instead of the elaborate locks she had been sporting when Dana saw her last.

“Hey Aramis,” she said with a warm smile. Dana could practically feel her friend glow in response. “Just to let you – and your friend the little Gascon – know that the tailoring package has been delivered safely to me, and I plan to keep him well away from Paris for now.”

Chevreuse’s hand came into view long enough for her to blow a kiss. “Be valiant in battle, win the war, and get home safe, both of you.”

Relief washed over Dana. There had been a tension inside her for so long, wondering what had happened to Conrad and feeling guilty that it was at least partly her fault. He looked good, despite all that time imprisoned. She was going to get to see him again.

“She looks puffy,” said Aramis with a twist of her mouth. “Do you think she looks puffy? I mean, a little extra weight suits her, but Chev was all cheekbones and sharp edges when we were together, and now she just looks exhausted, what are they doing to her on the Daughters of Peace? I can’t imagine that a life without the Cardinal breathing down her neck is somehow less stressful than -”

“She’s pregnant,” Dana blurted out.

Aramis blinked, and looked at her. “Excuse me, now?”

Dana felt hot. She hadn’t meant to say it, possibly it wasn’t a thing even, but. “At least, she was pregnant when I saw her on Luna Palais a couple of months ago, so she must be almost completely done with being pregnant now, but there was definitely a – uh.”

“Huh,” said Aramis. “I guess that explains why she wasn’t along for the rescue, punching Milord in the head and all that. I wonder why she never mentioned it. I never thought her husband was the type to make that kind of condition. But they were re-negotiating their contract, last time I saw her in person.” She shrugged and smiled. “Fancy visiting Peace once we’re done with this whole alien armada thing? We’ll have some rec leave banked up, I can go buy ridiculous outfits for Chevreuse’s baby, and you can visit your boy.”

“That sounds like a plan,” said Dana.

Aramis gave her a big, squeezing hug. “Feel better? You can stop fretting about Conrad now – he’ll be safe with Chev until you get your squishy romantic reunion. Hey, he’s a tailor, right? He can make ridiculous outfits for the baby. Even better. I might send him some ideas, because every baby needs a miniature flight suit with sequins.”

Dana nodded, and hugged Aramis back. Safe. Conrad was safe.

WHATEVER HAPPENED THE DUCHESS OF BUCKINGHAM?

Over the last several week, Georgiana Villiers or “Buck” to her friends has become a shell of her former self. Seemingly overnight she went from one of Valour’s most-tracked celebrities, to a social media black hole.

Was it heartbreak? Drug addiction? Mental breakdown? Or something more sinister?

Our reporter, Coral Wishlist, was able to capture Buck for some one-on-one time earlier today. As you can see from the footage, the Duchess of Danger Sports is lacking her usual energy, and has gone for a dramatic image change.

CORAL: You look amazing, Buck. What are you wearing?

BUCK: The silk dressing gown is from Shania’s latest collection. If you’re going to wear pyjamas during the day, they should at least be as expensive as a new car, right?

CORAL: Well, that quote’s going straight up on our website!

[They laugh]

CORAL: Seriously, the world has been worried about you after you dropped out of sight! Tell us the truth: was it rehab?

BUCK: I wish it was that easy to explain. I’ve been working through some emotional issues, and my therapist thought it best that I stay out of the spotlight to gain some new perspective on my life. I spent some time on an ornamental llama farm, and a fortnight at a meditation retreat in the foothills. I’m feeling much stronger now.

CORAL: I’m glad to hear you’re taking care of yourself. But I hope you’ll be tweeting again soon – the digital space isn’t the same without you!

BUCK: Believe me, I’m planning my social media comeback.

CORAL: And does all this mindful silence give you any time for romance?

BUCK: Watch this space.

After the reporter and her cams had gone, Buck staggered back up to her private suite and splashed water on her face. She looked in the mirror for a long time, her fingertips brushing over the short curls that were all that remained of her wild, tangled bronze hair.

She had been sober for two weeks, and Winter had not made an appearance in her head. That was good, right? Perhaps he was done with her. Perhaps the implant, or whatever it was, simply dissolved after a certain amount of time.

Or perhaps he had been there all along, but had got better at erasing her memories without a trace. No, she couldn’t think like that, she couldn’t.

She really would go insane.

A trill caught her attention as a subspace call came through. Since she was already sitting at her bathroom mirror, she patched the call through.

“Hey Buck!”

To Buck’s astonishment, it was Chevreuse – a smiling, tired-looking Chevreuse, holding a bundle in her lap.

“Babe, is that a baby?” Buck blurted out.

“It’s a baby, I made a baby!” Chevreuse held up the tiny bundle long enough for Buck to see a pink, scrunched up face. “They’re so much better on the outside, believe me, though noisier and more likely to make unexpected mess at a moment’s notice. Still, I’m not doing the organic method again – pod hatching all the way for any future heirs to Montbazon’s fortune.” Her voice dropped to a more business-like tone. “Are you alone?”

No, never alone, never safe, never clear, don’t trust me. “Yes, of course. What’s up?”

“Our Conrad’s got himself into a bit of trouble. Alek and I just rescued him from this godawful tower where he’d been held on a freaking asteroid for more than a month. I’d keep him here, but I think people will start asking too many questions, and it’s not safe to send him back to Paris.”

Buck forced her face into a smile. “You want me to take him? I don’t think that’s a good idea …”

“Your place is huge, and there are always people in and out. I think it’s for the best, as long as you can keep his image off social media. Or maybe find him some cozy monastery somewhere? Valour has monasteries, right? I know you’re all about the historical reenactment bullshit. I’m putting him on a shuttle to you today.”

“Chev -” but Buck’s mouth wouldn’t work, wouldn’t let her voice any of the practical excuses that her brain was running overtime on creating.

“You have to keep him clear from any government officials, especially Milord De Winter – he’s the Secretary of the Interior on Valour, I think? In fact, if you can keep him clear of all government officials until after the Fleet have dealt with the Siege of Truth. After that, some Musketeers will be coming by to pick him up – or I will, if they can’t make it. Got it?”

No, no, no.

“No problem,” Buck found herself saying, the words coming out with an easy smile. “I’m sure we can keep ourselves occupied. I’m having a zero gravity tank installed in the summer house.”

Chevreuse laughed and blew kisses. “Awesome. Alek sends – well, you know. Completely platonic but genuine and politically-neutral expressions of friendship. You’ll have Conrad in two to three days, he’ll message you when he docks. Keep our boy safe.”

The call cut out, leaving Buck to sit at her bathroom mirror in a haze of shock. She could hear laughter, inside her head. No, not inside at all. She stood up, wrenching back the shower door to find the silver-haired man who called himself Winter lying in the empty bath with his bare feet up against the edge of the tub, laughing hysterically.

“I’m so glad I stuck around in your brain,” her personal hallucination managed to sputter out, half-choking on his amusement. “This is is going to be marvellous.”

You have been reading Musketeer Space, by Tansy Rayner Roberts. Tune in next week for another chapter! Please comment, share and link. Musketeer Space is free to read, but if you’d like to support the project for as little as $1 per month, please visit my Patreon page. Pledges can earn rewards such as ebooks, extra content, dedications and the naming of spaceships. Milestones already unlocked include the Musketeer Media Monday posts, the Robotech Rewatch posts, and “Seven Days of Joyeux,” a special Christmas prequel novella which was released in December 2014. My next funding milestone will unlock GORGEOUS COVER ART.