Redbeard grimaced. “Arrr, just enough, Cap’n.”
As the ship passed through the opening in the bubble, Harry could feel his host’s heart thudding inside his ribcage. Buddy, can you believe it? We get to see a gas station!
“Docking now,” announced Spiner.
The docking area, comprising a wide-open space with a bank of several mechanical contraptions on the side, came into clear view as the ship lowered toward the ground. As the ship came to rest, a dull thud resonated through the walls and floor of the bridge, followed by a distinctive groaning sound.
“Uh oh,” said Redbeard.
“Docking complete,” said Spiner.
“Great landing,” said Node, his red eye appearing on the screen, laid over the visual of the dock. “Not even a dent.”
Eager to be useful, Harry inserted himself into the conversation with the first thing that came to mind. “It sounded like the ship farted!”
The captain rolled her eyes. “Real funny.” She swiveled to face Kitt. “What the hell was that?”
“One moment.” Kitt tapped the screen, paused, then tapped again. “The pumps for the environmental backups, including life support, are reporting a rupture.”
Redbeard cursed. “Blimey. How hard is it to land?”
The captain ignored him. “Can you fix it?”
“I’ll have to take a look,” Kitt replied.
Captain Cass nodded and rose from her chair. “Okay. You’ll stay here and report what you find out. The rest of you will be coming with me.”
Harry scrambled to his feet as quickly as his donkey legs would allow. “Do I get to come, too? I’ve never seen a gas station before.”
Kitt growled. “Take it, please. I can’t concentrate with that thing around.”
“Fine.” The captain gave Harry a long look. “Stay close and don’t talk unless you’re spoken to.”
Buddy, do you hear that? We get to go to a gas station! Harry darted around in a tight circle, his version of a happy dance. “Hee-haw, hee-haw! Thanks, Captain!”
As the pirates walked off the bridge, Redbeard stepped in front of Harry and leaned down until he was inches away from the donkey’s nose. “Don’t think yer one of us, arse. Keep yer head down an’ yer mouth shut. Or else.” As he stood, he drew his hand across his throat in a strange side-to-side motion. Then he turned and stomped away.
“Er … okay.” Harry wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but it hadn’t sounded friendly. He followed cautiously, drawing up alongside Spiner. “Hey, friend.”
Spiner peered down without breaking stride. “Yes?”
“What does it mean when you draw your hand side-to-side across your throat?”
Spiner looked away. “Nothing good. It might be best to stay out of Redbeard’s way … I don’t think he likes you.”
“Oh.” Harry kept quiet as he fell back to the back of the line, his earlier excitement fading into something more somber. And then slightly irritated. Maybe even a lot irritated.
I’m angry, Buddy. Really, really angry. Why am I so angry?
In answer, Buddy’s stomach grumbled and lurched violently. How long had it been since they’d last eaten?
12
They left the SS Bray through the starboard airlock, starboard meaning right, according to Node, and emerged into a long tunnel, lined on either side with windows that looked out onto the asteroid and the gas station, very close now.
Harry scampered to the nearest window and pressed his nose up against it, gawking at the brightly colored building now only about fifty yards away, by the Imperial system of measurement the Overlords had taught.
The tunnel they stood in curved around to eventually join with the gas station building itself. He brayed with excitement. They were almost there!
“What in tha blazes is all this business?” Redbeard scowled, and Harry turned to see the big pirate standing in front of a console along the tunnel wall not far from the airlock.
Bright yellow lettering across the top of the console read: PAY FOR PUMP FIVE HERE. There were several other lines of text he couldn’t decipher beneath the glowing letters.
Harry looked back out the window to the bank of mechanical contraptions alongside the bulk of their ship. The number 5 was burnished upon a little worn-out flag atop a pole that extended from the bank of contraptions below.
Oh, that must be pump five … and this is where we pay. Commerce! The funny little fellow with big ears on Deep Space Nine loved commerce.
He joined Captain Cass, Redbeard, and Spiner at the console, where they were currently frowning, and shoved his head beneath Spiner’s arm to see how it all worked.
A small square screen showed a man and woman relaxing in chairs by a lake, holding hands, each wearing an unwieldy pair of goggles. A male voice narrated:
“Tired of having to fumble with clumsy binoculars or never quite being able to find the right focus? Our patented Zoomels allow you to enjoy all of nature’s beauty hands-free! And, the smart-technology lenses automatically detect your visual prescription from a targeted laser mapping of your retinas, allowing the Zoomels to give you the perfect focus, every time!”
Harry was taken by the way the narrator’s voice pitched upwards at the conclusion of every sentence.
The screen changed to reflect how Zoomels could improve the wearer’s vision, comparing a “without Zoomels” view to a “with Zoomels view.” Harry noted that with the goggles, the distant pair of swans on the lake appeared much clearer and closer.
“Wow!” he breathed.
His comment seemed to shake the others from their frowning stupor. Captain Cass blinked and sighed, then hit a big green MAKE PAYMENT button on the bottom corner of the screen.
The swans on the lake were replaced with lines of text, but the narrator continued to espouse the virtues of the Zoomels. “Binoculars can crack or break, but not Zoomels! Designed for the adventuring outdoorsman—or outdoors woman—Zoomels have been thoroughly tested against all manner of common wear and tear and are guaranteed to be fireproof, blast proof—”
“Mmm,” Redbeard murmured, stroking his wild beard.
“...laser-proof, bullet-proof…”
“Wish this damn thing would shut up,” Captain Cass grumbled, answering NO when the machine asked if she would like a spaceship wash with her fuel purchase.
“...shatter proof, water proof…”
An image of a triangular piece of food heaped with what looked like meat and cheese flashed up on the screen then, accompanied by bright blue flashing text: GET A LARGE PIZZA 20% OFF WITH YOUR FUEL PURCHASE, TODAY ONLY!
Harry’s stomach rumbled. “Oh, can we get a … a pie-zza?” he asked. “Please? I’m starving!”
“A peets-za,” Spiner corrected.
“No,” Captain Cass said, pushing the accompanying NO button once more. “The bridge smells bad enough, already.”
Harry groaned and rested his chin on the edge of the console.
“...Zoomels are even guaranteed to hold up against the acidic venom of the tubernorlf worm of Annelida!” The narrator was still going on about the goggles. They sounded amazing. “More than two eyes? No problem! We have Zoomels to accommodate every known ocular arrangement and facial structure in the known Universe! And, each pair of Zoomels comes with a lifetime warranty … buy yourself some Zoomels today, you won’t regret it!”
Another picture of food appeared on the screen, this one a doughy circle drizzled in chocolate and sprinkles.
Harry’s ears perked up and he straightened. “Oh! Can we get some of those?”
ONE DOZEN DONUTS TO FEED YOU AND YOUR CREW, ONLY 25 GALACTIC CREDITS WHEN YOU SPEND 2000 CREDITS OR MORE ON FUEL!
“No,” Captain Cass said again, this time punching the button with force. “For the love of God, is this thing ever going to let us actually get fuel!?”
Redbeard muttered something under his breath.
“Zoomels can be yours for only seven easy installments of ninety-nine, nin
ety-nine,” the exuberant voice continued relentlessly in the background. “Or find a pair at a Spaceway near you for the special distributor price of five hundred credits!”
“Mmm,” Redbeard said again, and looked over his shoulder at the bright orange and yellow building through the windows.
PLEASE SELECT YOUR FUEL TYPE, the console prompted.
“Finally!” Captain Cass scanned the list, and Harry’s eyes went crossed. There must have been at least twenty options.
Wow, piloting a spaceship is kind of complicated … how can you tell one kind of fuel from another?
Harry’s stomach growled again, and he heaved a sigh, bouncing from hoof to hoof with impatience. When were they going inside, already?
“Here it is, Captain,” Spiner offered, pointing a long green finger to one of the fuel types.
“Ah, thank you.” She selected it.
PLEASE SELECT FUEL GRADE.
Captain Cass growled, scanning the provided list once more and finally pushing the number that read 9100.
A musical fanfare started up in the background, replacing the male narrator. This time, it was an enthusiastic female voice that spoke. “Are you tired of bad hair days?” she asked.
Harry reflexively looked up at Redbeard, who caught his glance and glared back, bushy brows lowering over his fierce dark eyes.
Harry looked quickly back to the screen, but noticed from the corner of his eye that Redbeard was absently smoothing his bushy hair. It did nothing to tame the wild locks.
“... how can you look your best when your hair is subjected to the elements of strange planets and recycled air?” the woman continued.
In contrast to the male announcer, this one’s voice started on a higher register and dropped down as she went. If one thing was clear to Harry, it was that nothing was worse than having a bad hair day. Not that he’d ever given it much thought before.
“Surely there is a mute button around here somewhere…” Captain Cass ignored the next question on the screen to study the top, bottom, and sides of the console.
Spiner tried to help, but ultimately he straightened and shook his head. “It does not appear so, Captain.”
Her scowl deepened as she smashed the NO button for the question: DO YOU HAVE A DILLBILLY LOYALTY CARD? Only to be confronted with another question: DO YOU WISH TO APPLY FOR A DILLBILLY LOYALTY CARD TODAY? GET 5% OFF WITH EVERY FUEL PURCHASE!
“...we have the solution for you!” the woman continued, her voice pitching upwards, once again filling Harry with excitement. “Our Personal Styling Bot is equipped with a database of all known habitable planet atmospheres, and can style your hair accordingly to each planet’s weather and culture!”
The captain hung her head, putting her hands on her hips and sucking in a deep breath.
“That’s right! Not only does this cute little bot excel at hair styling, but it can give you fashion advice, too! Never suffer from fashion faux pas again!”
“Arrr to hell with this shite, Cap’n,” Redbeard growled suddenly, pulling his giant rifle off his back. “Lemme go in an’ I’ll get us our fuel fer free!”
“No,” the captain said again, exhaling evenly. “No.” She put a hand on the end of Redbeard’s rifle and pushed the muzzle downward until it was pointing at the ground. “Let’s not resort to that … yet.” She gave the console a dirty look.
“For only three easy payments of one thousand ninety-nine credits, the Personal Styling Bot can be yours!”
The captain closed her eyes and massaged her temples.
Harry’s stomach growled loudly.
“C’mon, Cap’n,” Redbeard pressed. “We’re runnin’ low on funds, anyway. This way we can keep ‘em fer somethin’ more important, should the need arise.”
She looked at him, eyebrow quirked. “Something more important than fuel and supplies?”
He shrugged. “You never know…”
The captain sighed. “I don’t want to cause a scene unless we really have to. If we go around shooting up every place we stop at, it’ll be all that much easier for the Feds to find us.”
Harry perked up at the mention of shooting things.
Redbeard mumbled curses, but returned his rifle to its holster along his back. “Fine. But I don’t like it.”
“I am aware of that.” The captain turned back to the console screen with a glare.
“Here,” Spiner said, “allow me, Captain.”
She made a grand, sweeping gesture. “Please, be my guest.”
The android moved in front of the console and began tapping buttons in quick succession. After a slew of additional questions, the screen finally displayed the words NOW FUELING.
“Bout damn time,” Redbeard grumbled.
Harry left the screen to look back out the window, fascinated by the large mechanical contraption next to the ship, which was now in motion. Or at least, pieces of it were moving. A long, telescoping robot arm attached a tube to the side of the ship.
“Wow, that is so cool!”
His breath fogged against the glass. His stomach growled again, drawing his attention away from the fuel pump. He trotted back to the captain’s side, his tail swishing side to side.
“Are you sure we can’t get a peets-za, Captain? I’ve never had a peets-za before and I’m really, really hungry. Please? Pretty please?”
She rolled her eyes, then looked over to where Redbeard paced restlessly along the windows. “Fine. You can get a snack from the General Store when we get supplies. A small snack, mind you. Red, why don’t you go ahead and go inside, start stocking up on what we need and take Harry to get a snack.”
“Who?”
The captain blinked at him and jerked her head in Harry’s direction.
Redbeard’s expression soured. “Aw, you don’t let me shoot up tha place and now yer makin’ me babysit the arse?”
Captain Cass only looked at him, one eyebrow raised.
Redbeard’s mighty shoulders sagged.
“And remember, no violence.” She glanced over her shoulder at Spiner, who was still tapping buttons on the console. “For now.”
Redbeard’s eyes lit up at the prospect of potential future violence. “Aye, arrr, Cap’n.” Then he grumbled as he turned to Harry. “C’mon, you. Do as I say, got it? An’ don’t be talkin’ while we’re in there … to no one. Got it?”
Harry nodded vigorously. “Aye, aye, sir!”
It was Redbeard’s turn to roll his eyes, and he stomped away down the tunnel.
Harry trotted after him gleefully. Yay! Finally I get to see the gas station! And find out what a store is! His stomach growled, the hunger almost painful now. And get some damn food!
He jolted to a halt, gasping. What did I just say? I just said a swear word!
“Hey, hey Red!” he called, running to catch up to the big pirate. “I just said a swear word!”
“I didn’t hear nuffin’,” Redbeard muttered. “For once you were bein’ quiet, just like I like it.”
“Well, I thought it,” Harry amended. “I thought a swear word!”
“Oh for the love of—”
“Will you teach me to swear, huh? You’re really good at it. Will you teach me to swear like a pirate?”
Redbeard only grumbled in reply.
Harold trailed behind a silent Redbeard as they approached the end of the tunnel. His tail swished in agitation as he repeated to himself again and again, “Peets-za, peets-za, peets-za.”
Redbeard came to a halt in front of two transparent sliding doors, each flanked by a wall covered in colorful images with lots of text.
One glossy poster featured a dripping, creamy triangle topped with smooth globs of fat. “Ooo, is that peets-za?”
“Arrr,” Redbeard said. He stared at a little poster that read, ZOOMELS SOLD HERE. He glanced sideways at Harry and waved a hand at him. “C’mon, then.”
The doors slid open as Redbeard stepped forward, a blast of warm air sweeping over them from inside.
An ass
ortment of smells assaulted Harry’s nose, ranging from acrid and chemical to fresh and savory. Standing off to the right, a tall, lean green figure was stationed behind a cramped counter. To each side of the counter, glassy displays beckoned.
The lean figure said, “Howdy there, y’all, welcome to Dillbilly’s General Store. I’m Dillbilly.”
Upon closer inspection, the exposed parts of Dillbilly’s green skin featured splotches of every shade of green and yellow, as well as dotted, raised bumps. A round hat topped his head, made from straw. He was also sporting a yellow tunic, topped by orange overalls.
Harry was instantly taken by this fellow. I’ve never seen anybody like him before, he marveled. He trotted right up to the counter. “Hi, I’m Harold! What are you?”
Dillbilly, whose attention had been turned to the towering, glowering Redbeard, squinted down at Harry. His eyes widened with surprise, then darted back to the pirate. “Friend, am I to surmise that you have a walkin’, talkin’ ass?”
Redbeard, who had been sweeping his eyes back and forth across rows of merchandise, paused to regard the merchant. “Wha’? Were you talkin’ ‘bout me arse?”
Dillbilly gulped and looked the red giant up and down, his eyes growing larger as he took in the rifle slung across the pirate’s back. “I’m not lookin’ for trouble, friend. Just askin’ after your donkey, is all.”
Redbeard grunted, then flicked his gaze down at Harry and back. “Oh, aye. Me arse. How ‘bout you two bother each other an’ I’ll have a look around at the booty—err, the goods.”
A thrill of excitement ran down Harry’s spine. His ears perked up instantly. “Yay! I’ll talk to this friendly green man and see if he has peets-za.”
Redbeard was already walking off to inspect the nearest row of goods.
Harry shuffled closer to the counter, his ears growing taller and taller, eyes wider and wider, as he took in the varieties of savory-looking foods. A rush of saliva flooded his host’s mouth.
Hold on there, Buddy, we’ll have food for you in no time.
Dillbilly eyed Harry with a peculiar expression that Harry had never seen before. Others might have recognized the look as calculated greed, but not Harry. “Howdy there, my fine feller,” Dillbilly drawled.
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