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Requiem for a Leader by Spaced Angel Part Seven As Chairs Went

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Requiem for a Leader by Spaced Angel Part Seven As Chairs Went Requiem for a Leader By Spaced Angel Part Seven As chairs went, the one provided for the use of the occupants of the Control Room was lacking in the basic requirement of comfort. After an hour of shifting, turning, getting up and sitting down again, Bengali had made a mental note to mention its shortcomings at the next meeting of the Thundercats council. However he positioned himself, parts of it dug uncomfortably into him. Leaning back meant that it cut him across his shoulders. Sitting forward allowed its uncushioned edge to stop the circulation in his legs. It was not fit for its purpose and, as designer of the Lair, Tygra should have known better. Bengali had a few choice words to put to him about the subject. That was, if he ever returned. “We should have heard something by now,” he said with a sigh. His words were addressed to the other occupant of the room. Snarf sat in the opposite chair, calmly peeling candy fruit since the others had left. Now a bucket of skinless fruit was brimming to the point of overflowing at his side. Conversation between them so far had been limited. Snarf poured all his energy into his work lately, as he had done ever since Lion-O had died. At times like these, Bengali envied his ability to block unwelcome thoughts by absorbing himself in his duties. All he had to contend with was the uncooperative chair. “They will,” Snarf said suddenly, not looking up from the fruit he was stripping of its peel. “They said they would call.” “They will.” There was something about Snarf’s confidence that was intensely irritating. Not that Bengali was convinced by this bravado for a moment; if Snarf refused to believe that disaster could follow so quickly on the heels of one tragedy, then he was in for a rude awakening. “Snarf, something’s wrong. Trust me.” Snarf looked up. “Brrr, you don’t know that, Bengali. You don’t have a sixth sense like Cheetara.” His feeling of annoyance intensified. “So? I don’t need a sixth sense to know that something’s not right. It’s a gut instinct.” “Doesn’t mean you’re right, snarf, snarf.” “No, I hope not.” He got to his feet, arching his back to relieve the ache caused by the chair. Staring down at the communicator pad, he willed the dull red light to flash. Any news, good or bad, would be a comfort. At least he would know one way or the other. This infernal waiting was driving him to the brink of madness. “What are you going to do?” Snarf asked, echoing Bengali’s own thoughts. “You know we have to stay and guard the Lair.” “Agreed,” Bengali said. Tygra had given him an order and, as acting Lord of the Thundercats, he had to be obeyed. In the circumstances, it was the logical thing to do. Nothing was to be gained from rushing out into a trap and losing the Lair. “You could try contacting them,” Snarf suggested. “That would put your mind at rest.” Bengali bristled at the implication that he was being paranoid. “Aren’t you worried, Snarf? Our friends are out there, facing the Mutants with nothing but a fake Sword of Omens. How can you be so calm?” He regretted his words immediately on seeing the expression on Snarf’s face. Of course he was worried, but unlike Bengali, he had been putting a brave face on his fears. Another candy fruit dropped into the bucket, dislodging several that escaped and rolled out across the floor. “I do worry,” Snarf replied. “But what can I do? I’m just an old snarf. I couldn’t help Lion-O, so how can I help anyone else?” Bengali retrieved the escapee fruit and returned them to the bucket. “Snarf, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--” He broke off suddenly as a warning siren started to wail. The screen blinked into life and homed in on the source of the alert. Approaching the Lair were the Mutants. Slithe and Vultureman led the way, leaving Monkian and Jackalman to haul what looked like the forward cannon of Vultureman’s Flying Machine between them. “I guess that answers our questions about the other Thundercats,” Bengali said grimly. “Looks like it’s just us Snarf.” “Give them a blast with the Cat’s Eyes, Bengali. That should get rid of them.” There was the sound of grinding gears from above as the mighty head of the Lair moved into position. The lasers built to their maximum charge and then shot a beam of fierce red light at the intruders. On the screen, Bengali had the satisfaction of seeing the Mutants dive for cover as the laser cut up the ground towards them. The respite was temporary, for Slithe quickly reappeared, his fat features plastered with a broad grin, and something in his hand, which he raised to his mouth. “Give it up, Thundercat, yesss,” came his voice from the communicator. “Surrender and we won’t hurt you… too much.” The sound of laughter came across the air waves as the group shared a private joke. “Weeow, doesn’t sound funny to me,” purred Snarf. “Nor me,” Bengali agreed. “Let’s find out why they’re here.” “Your friends are dead,” Slithe replied in answer to his question. “Only you remain. Make it easy on yourself and surrender!” “Dead?” whispered Snarf. “All our friends?” “I don’t believe you,” said Bengali into the communicator. “Prove it!” “Prove it?” Snarf echoed. “Why?” “Because I need time to think,” he replied testily. “If they are dead, then…” He swallowed, trying to force away the horror of that thought. “If they are, then we have a duty to preserve what remains of the Thundercats. You and me, Snarf, we might be all that’s left.” Snarf gulped. “Against all those Mutants?” “Against everyone. We can’t let ourselves be captured. We have to get the Sword of Omens and…” A thought struck him. “Do you think I could be Lord of the Thundercats now?” “I thought you didn’t want to be.” “But what if I am?” Slithe’s voice sounded across a channel laced with static. “Maybe they’re not quite dead, yes.” Bengali shot Snarf a look of triumph. There was still hope. “Wouldn’t you like to see them before Mumm-Ra sends them to the Astral Plain?” “Mumm-Ra!” worried Snarf. “I should have known he would be behind this.” “Yes. It gives us a clue where they’re being held too.” Slithe pressed his case again. “And I thought Thundercats always stuck together. Are you afraid of us, Bengali? Are you a scaredy-cat?” He let the insult wash over him, instead turning over his options in his mind. Despite the Lair’s capabilities, he could not hold out here indefinitely. He was effectively under siege conditions. Food and water supplies were plentiful, and could sustain both of them for many months. The same could not be said for energy levels. Using the lasers and operating the systems under conditions of high alert would drain their Thundrillium supplies in a matter of weeks. Sooner or later, he would have to surrender. By that time, Mumm-Ra could have carried out his threat of execution on the other Thundercats and with them would die any hope of his own survival. Surrendering at this point was not exactly appealing either. He would lose the Lair and end up like the others, Mumm-Ra’s prisoner, unable either to help himself or his friends. The only other option was to disobey Tygra’s orders and abandon the Lair. He put his idea to Snarf and was surprised when the little creature gave him his full support. “Seriously, you mean that?” Snarf nodded. “If we can rescue the other Thundercats, we can return to the Lair before the Mutants cause too much damage.” His gaze travelled around the room. “Weeow, I’m not too happy about leaving the Sword of Omens here though. If only Tygra had told us where he hid it, snarf, snarf.” “He had his reasons,” Bengali mused. “Tygra will be angry that I disobeyed him.” “I think he will be angrier if he ends up dead,” said Snarf. “What’s the plan?” Instead of answering, Bengali flicked open the communicator channel. “All right, Slithe, you win. We surrender. I’ll open the Paw and you can come in.” Snarf’s jaw had hit his chest. “How will that help?” “Because while Slithe’s coming in through one Paw, we’ll be leaving through the other. It’s a classic diversion, Snarf.” “You hope,” he muttered, leaping down from his chair. Bengali resisted the urge to counter with a smart remark. Snarf was right. Handing the Lair over to the Mutants was insane. At this moment, however, he could see no alternative. While the cliff wall behind them and the ravine in front offered them an enviable level of protection, it did mean they were effectively trapped if the drawbridge became inaccessible. It was not impossible to scale the cliff, but with the Mutants, he knew he would not get far. This way, they stood a chance of getting the Lair back in one piece. Even Slithe, technophobe that he was, could see the benefit in maintaining the Lair’s superior systems over those at Castle Plun-darr. Down in the Paw Hangar, the Hovercat was where Bengali had left it, fuelled and ready to go. The remote viewer had showed him that Slithe and the others were already across the bridge and waiting for him to give them access.
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