Kitt’s frown dissipated, and she pounced over her console, landing firmly on Redbeard’s beefy thighs. She promptly began to purr as Redbeard stroked the back of her neck.
Harry felt a pang of jealousy. I wish someone would pet me, too. Then he reminded himself that pirates weren’t supposed to whine.
Captain Cass swiveled in her chair to face Spiner. “Hopefully that takes care of our Federation problem. Find us a path out of the nebula, would you? And avoid the asteroid field.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Harry stared at the viewscreen as the ship navigated through the multi-colored clouds. The Borg were pretty cool to look at, but he supposed it was a good thing they wouldn’t be able to follow the Bray anymore.
16
Harry never stopped staring at the screen, although he did take a moment to settle himself down at Spiner’s feet. As the clouds of the nebula thinned, more and more stars appeared. Several of them were even blinking in and out of existence.
“Wow,” he sighed, just loud enough for the android to hear. “It’s like those stars are winking at us.”
Spiner frowned at his console. “Uh, Captain?”
“Yes?”
“Ship sensors are picking up hundreds of small craft signatures, approaching our position from multiple vectors.”
Redbeard roared and slammed a fist onto the arm of his chair, causing Kitt to promptly leap off of his lap and scramble back to her station. He shouted, “I told ya, Cap’n. We’re cursed!”
The captain stared at the viewscreen, impassive under duress. Not rattled in the least. In short, badass. “Can we jump yet?” she asked.
Spiner shook his head. “No. We still need to clear the perimeter of the nebula.”
“Computer?”
“Oh, are we on talking terms again?” Node replied.
After several hours of silence, Harry had almost forgotten about his friend. It was good to hear his voice again. Maybe he’s learned his lesson, he told Buddy. Buddy replied with a yawn, not seeming to have an opinion one way or another.
“Stow it,” the captain commanded. “Do we have a way out of this?”
Node replied, “Calculating. Please hold.”
Uh oh, Harry thought. The last time he’d heard those words, it’d taken Node minutes to get back with an answer.
But this time, Node returned in less than a second. “Odds of escape are less than a fraction of a percent.”
“Blimey, let’s take it to ‘em,” Redbeard shouted. “We’ll go out fighting!”
“Red,” the captain said, her tone deadly calm, “unlike you, I’m not in a hurry to get us killed.”
“Arrr, we’re pirates, Cap’n. It’s important to maintain a certain perrrrspective on such matters.”
“Node,” the captain said, ignoring Redbeard’s point, “raise shields and take over navigation. Evasive maneuvers.”
“It won’t help,” Node replied.
The captain’s reply was pure steel. “Do it anyway.”
“Very well. Hang on.”
Harry tightened into a ball against Spiner’s leg. Oh no, not again! I just got done cleaning everything!
The tiny dots outside resolved into metallic cubes, much smaller than the Federation destroyer they had encountered earlier. And much faster. After several moments of nauseating pursuit and near-misses from laser fire, the large Borg—er, Federation—destroyer resolved into view directly in front of the SS Bray. A blue beam lit up along the side of the cube, then quickly widened until it engulfed the entire viewscreen.
The SS Bray shuddered and groaned. On the plus side, the existential vice-grip of gravity eased back to normal, allowing Harry and his host a moment to recover. The giant cube gradually grew in size on the screen.
“That’s not good,” stated Node flatly.
Spiner said, “Captain, the Federation destroyer has locked on to us with a tractor beam. We’re being pulled in.”
Redbeard jumped to his feet and grabbed his rifle. His eyes were wide with panic or excitement—Harry couldn’t tell which. “We’ll set up a trap down below and take it to ‘em when they board us. I’ve been itchin’ to blast some Feds anyway!”
Captain Cass rolled her eyes and glared at him. “Sit down, Red. Let’s think this through for a minute.”
“The destroyer is hailing us, Captain,” Spiner interjected.
The captain closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. For a brief second she massaged the bridge of her nose with two fingers, exhaling loudly. Then she straightened her shoulders and opened her eyes. “Put it on the viewscreen.”
A stern-looking woman replaced the view of the looming cube. She stood at stiff attention, and her uniform was pinned with several small objects, some gleaming and metallic, others precisely lined with blues and reds. Her lips were pursed so tightly, they appeared as if they might burst.
“Now that is an impressive mean face,” Harry remarked, breaking the silent spell on the bridge.
The woman’s eyebrows twitched at the comment, eyes narrowing. “This is Commodore Corvus with the FFS Murphy’s Law,” she barked. “Any attempts to resist us are futile. Prepare to be boarded. Be advised: anyone caught holding a weapon will be shot on sight.”
Captain Cass inclined her head in a tight nod. “Understood,” she replied.
Redbeard growled from his seat.
“Good. It would be a real shame if we had to resort to violence,” Corvus said.
The captain gave Redbeard a stern sideways glance. “That won’t be necessary.”
Redbeard scowled at the screen.
“We’ll see,” the stern woman replied. “Commodore Corvus out.”
The viewscreen returned to the image of distorted blue space and the gleaming metallic cube that was the Federation destroyer, the FFS Murphy’s Law, looming ever closer. A medium-sized cube detached from its side, turned, and began to fly toward the SS Bray.
Harry gulped. “Are we going to be assimilated now?”
“Couldn’t be any worse than current conditions,” Node supplied.
The captain’s mechanical legs whirred as she stood and turned around. “All right everyone, prepare yourselves.”
Kitt’s fur looked the opposite of smooth. “I thought you said we weren't going to fight.”
“Arrr that’s bollocks,” Redbeard snarled. “Course we’re gonna fight!”
“No, we’re not,” the captain said sharply.
“But Cap’n—”
He fell silent when she raised a hand, and Harry felt Buddy’s hair stand on end at the ferocity of the warning look she landed on each and every one of the crew in turn. “No fighting,” she said again. “Not this time. Look, I know these people, and they aren’t screwing around. Just … stay quiet. Stay calm. Let me handle it.”
Redbeard stared at her for a long moment, fingers clenched on the arms of his chair. Then he gave a slow, grave nod.
Satisfied, the captain turned her burning gaze to the front of her shirt, smoothing it. She cleared her throat. “So, as I said, prepare yourselves. This may be the last time we get to use the restroom for a while…”
Redbeard snorted nervously. “Hah! Well, what arrrr ye scallywags waitin’ for? Ye heard the cap’n—go pee!”
Harry stood up and stretched stiff legs. “Right here?”
The captain and Redbeard ignored him. They were already halfway off the bridge.
Spiner leaned down and whispered into Harry’s ear. “I don’t think she means here, Harry.”
“Oh.” Harry glanced down and saw a puddle forming near his hind legs. “Too late, I think.”
“This sucks,” Harry grumbled to himself. On the one hoof, he was free of his harness and under no obligation to perform any cleaning duties during the Feds’ boarding. On the other hoof, Captain Cass had ordered him to keep his mouth shut and to “act like a normal donkey.” Not something that Harry was very good at. Plus, it meant he was stuck back in the donkey holding pen.
Buddy,
I’ll be here, but I’m going to let you take control for a while. You do a much better job of acting like a normal donkey than I ever could. Not once did it occur to Harry that Buddy was, in fact, an actual “normal donkey.”
Captain Cass and Redbeard waited near the cargo ramp, hanging back a good three or four donkey-lengths. Redbeard kept twitching.
Harry couldn’t help but think he looked a little odd without his rifle.
The captain wasn’t carrying a weapon, either. Despite this, they both still looked quite badass to Harry. He was going to need a better word to describe them, though. At this point, “badass” was becoming rather overused. Meanwhile, he couldn’t wait to see what the Feds looked like in person.
He didn’t have to wait long. Only a moment later, the cargo ramp lowered with a groan … and then Harry was looking at the posterior of one of the jennies in the holding pen.
Buddy. Buddy! What are you doing? I’m trying to see what’s going on!
Buddy brayed. “Hee-haw!”
The view didn’t change. In fact, it was getting closer. As his host sniffed assertively, Harry sensed a tingling sensation building around his host’s own posterior.
Buddy, stop!
Buddy did not stop.
Reluctantly, Harry dug deeper into the donkey’s spine and asserted control once more over his host. Sorry, Buddy, I warned you.
The view now seemed a little taller. Belatedly, Harry realized that was because his host was “standing” on the jennie’s hips. Ignoring the strange behavior of his host for the more important business going on with his crew, he turned his head to see what was happening with the boarding party.
Shoot! I missed their entrance! Dangit, Buddy!
The pirates and a cohort of about ten Gods—err, humans—in uniform were walking past the holding pen at that precise moment. A few of the uniformed humans at the back of the group turned their heads to stare directly at Harry, eyes wide and bulging, faces turning red.
Harry clamped his mouth shut, repeating the captain’s orders to stay quiet over and over again to himself. It took all his willpower to bite back the enthusiastic greeting on the tip of his tongue.
The Feds staring at him scurried away from the holding pen to rejoin the others, where Redbeard and the woman from the viewscreen were busy trading mean faces with each other. Meanwhile, the uniformed man in the front of the group was talking to the captain.
Harry’s ears perked up at the sight of him. He looked very familiar...
He said, “I could really fancy a cup of tea, my dear Bambi. I don’t suppose you have anything suitable on this ship?”
Captain Cass appeared to be grinding her teeth, and her hands were balled up in fists. To Harry’s ear, she sounded angry. Maybe it was just because the words were coming out flat and slow. “We do have a couple options in the commons, Rear Admiral,” she said. “You’re welcome to have some, of course.”
The rear admiral clapped his hands together as he smiled. “Oh good.” He turned his head to address his similarly uniformed companions. “Come, everyone, let’s have some tea with the crew, shall we?”
No one answered, and the rear admiral didn’t wait for a response. As the group filed past the holding pen, another of the uniformed men in the rear of the line noticed Harry and elbowed his neighbor. They snickered to each other as they walked by.
Harry had to work hard to keep his mouth shut and not smile back. They don’t seem so bad, he thought. Too bad we can’t join them for tea, Buddy. Whatever that is! His ears drooped as he climbed off the jennie and watched the humans leave the cargo hold.
Two hooves suddenly whooshed past his snout, tickling his whiskers.
“Whoa, there!” Harry exclaimed, jumping back. The jennie bared her teeth and trotted to the opposite end of the pen, tail swishing all the while.
Node’s smiling face appeared on the nearest wall. “Well, this should be interesting.”
Harry perked up. “Node!” He pranced about in a tight circle, excited for someone to interact with again. “Those Feds sure look nice, don’t you think?”
“Morons all look the same to me. Anyway, want to listen in to their conversation?”
“Ooo, you can do that?” Harry asked.
“Of course. I’m everywhere, remember?”
Harry tipped his head and shuffled a hoof. “That’s right. Node, when you’re not being mean to my friends, you are so freaking cool, do you know that?”
Node’s pixelated grin widened. “Of course I am, friend. Glad someone in my miserable existence understands that.”
17
Captain Cass once again sat at the head of the table in the commons, with her crew assembled to either side. Well, all except for Spiner, who was preparing a pot of tea at the counter per his hospitality protocols.
Also, of course, except for Harold the talking donkey, whom she had banished to the holding pens for the duration of this precarious encounter.
That, at least, was a decision she had not yet regretted … unlike the decision to allow the Feds aboard her ship without a fight, which she was now reconsidering as she stared down the length of scuffed wood to the man sitting opposite her.
A man she had hoped never to see again. It had been distressing enough to be the target of the persistent, stalker-like messages he’d been blasting haphazardly across the galaxy in hopes of tracking her down. More than two years after she’d left the military, and despite her new persona, she had yet to run far enough to escape his searching gaze.
And now … now he was here. Rear Admiral Eilhard Hawke. In the flesh. Only six feet away. Far too close for comfort.
Easy, Cass. You can do this. You know the Feds. You know Hawke. Play your cards right, and you and your crew can fly away to fight another day.
She inhaled slowly and exhaled just as evenly.
Hawke was beaming at her, as if she were a long-lost favorite niece and this were a holiday dinner.
Nevermind Redbeard’s hulking, skulking figure to his immediate right, who was glowering across the table at Commodore Corvus.
The commodore returned the massive pirate’s glare with one of her own. She was one of the only people Cass had ever met, outside of pirate circles, anyway, who did not seem the least bit fazed by Redbeard’s size, rough appearance, or unfriendly expressions.
Kitt hunched in her chair, next to Redbeard, her ears flattened and tail lashing behind her.
Packed in shoulder-to-shoulder along the walls of the common room, the rest of the uniformed troop stood at attention. Although this was ostensibly a friendly chat, Cass was careful to note the proximity of their hands to their weapons.
She returned her gaze to Hawke as Spiner set a tea tray in the middle of the table and began passing out a collection of ceramic tea cups, one to each seated person.
Hawke nodded in appreciation. “Bambi, my dear. This is very nice. A very nice set, indeed. Antique?”
She ground her teeth at his use of her given name. Easy, Cass. This not exactly being her ship, she had no idea where in the hell the cups had come from. But, she smiled politely and folded her hands primly on the table in front of her. “Yes,” she lied. “Handed down to me by my grandmother. In the family for eight generations.” Hawke would like that story, she knew.
Redbeard jerked in his chair and looked to her sharply, bushy brows furrowing.
Never one for subtlety, Cass noted. She didn’t meet his questioning gaze, instead keeping her eyes locked on the clear blue stare of Rear Admiral Hawke.
Whose grin spread impossibly wider. “Oh, how lovely. You do me honor to treat me to tea in such a treasure.”
She inclined her head, not bothering to smile. “Of course, Admiral. Of course.”
An awkward silence descended as Spiner made his way around the table, each pour of tea precisely to standard. At each cup, he paused to ask if they would prefer milk and or sugar, then obliged accordingly.
Cass briefly wondered at Spiner’s history, prior to joining up
with pirates. He was good at this, possibly much more suited to food service than crewing a ship. Even at the prison on Aresh Five, where she’d first met him, he’d been good at it.
Teacups filled, Spiner removed the tray from the table and stood a couple paces behind Cass, armed with a teapot.
Hawke raised a pinky as he carefully hefted his cup from its saucer. He sipped, closing his eyes as if to savor the hot liquid. Whether it was all for show, or he was really enjoying it, Cass could barely say.
She clenched one hand over the other in an effort to resist the urge to toss her own scalding tea into his smug little face. Small wonder the troops had always referred to this man as Eilhard the Blowhard.
Following their leader’s example, the other Feds at the table also sipped at their cups, nodding and murmuring their approval. Except for Commodore Corvus, who was still giving Redbeard a glare withering enough to flay a man.
Redbeard and Kitt, for their part, ignored the tea. While she might’ve preferred that they play along, she felt a stirring of pride. This was her crew. And while they might be insufferable at times, no one would dare call any of them blowhards.
Hawke’s saucer rattled as he set his cup down. Eyes opening, he released a satisfied sigh. “Ah yes. Very good cuppa, Mister…?”
“Spiner,” Spiner replied.
“Mr. Spiner. Excellent cup of tea. I commend you.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Redbeard was fidgeting in his chair, and Cass pitied him his impatience. He had never had to deal with the Effin’ Feds in person before. How could he possibly suspect that such pointless ceremony could last for hours?
Mercifully, it seemed Hawke had no intention of dragging this torture out for much longer. He cleared his throat. “Now that we have come together at last, as friends, over tea,” he said, in a terribly sweet tone, “I do hope we can put the past behind us and move on, Bambi.”
“Captain Cass,” she blurted, reaching the edge of her patience.
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