Starship Ass Complete Omnibus

by Ethan Freckleton

  As the door slid shut, Cass allowed herself to sink into the chair, attempting to look as relaxed as she possibly could in spite of her revulsion to this entire situation. Despite herself, flashes of memories and images from her past seeped into her consciousness. How many years of her life had she wasted in service to the patronizing, suffocating Federation?

  Too many.

  Hawke resumed his seat as well, then propped his elbows on the edge of his desk and steepled his fingers. “So, now that you’ve returned to us, we can discuss the details of your reintegration into Federation ranks. In anticipation of likely resistance from those sailors who know of your desertion, I will write up new orders to have them re-assigned. I want your return to be as comfortable as possible.”

  Wow, uprooting how many other sailors just to smooth over my transition? This guy is something else. “Thank you,” she said aloud. “I appreciate that.”

  Hawke prattled on, but Cass’s attention drifted in and out. He mentioned something about her resuming command eventually, getting her own ship again, things going back to the way they used to be … he didn’t even bother to ask what she might want. In that sense, things were already back to normal. Well, if her coming back here had done anything, it had reassured her that desertion had been the right choice.

  Her pirate crew might not have been as cleanly or polite as Federation sailors, and they might’ve been a little crazy and quick to murder, but she would have rather served with them over a Federation crew any day.

  Mercifully, Commodore Corvus returned with the tea tray then, interrupting Hawke’s excited chatter about Cass’s upcoming opportunities to once again contribute to maintaining order and etiquette throughout the galaxy.

  “Oh, yes, lovely,” Hawke said, as Anasua placed the tray down on his desk in front of him, a little too hard. The tea cups made sharp clinks as they jostled. “Thank you, Ana.”

  Wordlessly, Commodore Corvus snatched up the tea cups one by one and poured them full, her hands grasping so tightly that Cass feared the cups might shatter. If Hawke noticed her foul mood, he made no mention of it. Maybe she was always like this.

  Once everyone had added milk and sugar to their liking and was settled with their cups, Hawke resumed his monologue.

  Cass wondered if he’d ever shut up. On the other hand, the more he talked, the less she needed to volunteer or improvise. And, the more time Harry had to find the dog.

  “So,” he said, then paused to take a sip of his tea with pinky extended.

  Cass blinked at him. Who actually drinks tea like that? Judging by the commodore’s glare, Cass wasn’t the only one put off by the whole ceremony. Given common cause, Cass could almost forgive the woman for the laser beam to the gut.

  Hawke set his cup back in its saucer. “The next time we dock at Orbital HQ-1, we’ll get all the official paperwork completed, and you can take command of the next available ship. Does that sound suitable to you?”

  Not at all, it sounds like a living Hell. Cass cleared her throat. “Certainly. More than suitable, but … I do have a question.”

  “Yes? Please, ask away.”

  “I noticed the Brickhouse here is rather far outside of normal Federation shipping lanes. That seems highly unusual, especially if you are planning to fly me back to headquarters, which is on the other side of the quadrant.”

  “Ah, yes. Very observant.” He smiled and tossed a look to Commodore Corvus, beaming with pride. “You see, Anasua? This is why we need Bambi back. We need more commanders like her, those who notice the little details.”

  Anasua’s lip curled. “As you say, Rear Admiral.” She lifted her teacup and gulped her tea down.

  Cass tried not to laugh at the poor woman. Any amount of time spent in Rear Admiral Hawke’s company was enough to drive anyone to fits of rage. And as his XO, Anasua must be truly raving by now.

  “Yes, your assessment is not wrong,” Hawke said, facing Cass again. “We are currently in the middle of a vital mission, and I am very pleased you will be here to witness it.”

  “Oh?”

  “You’ve no doubt heard of the Outliers?”

  “A conspiracy theory,” Anasua spat.

  Hawke pressed his lips together and toyed with a teaspoon. “There are those in the Federation who do not take this threat seriously, but we now have the tools to sniff out this resistance to our comfortable way of life. No, I intend to unravel this conspiracy before it can do serious harm.”

  Cass had heard the term before, once or twice. Outliers was a catch-all phrase for anyone who didn’t see eye-to-eye with Federation ideals. Really, just about anyone who wanted to be left alone and free to chart their own course in life could be considered an Outlier. The pirates of Haven were one such group. On the fringes of inhabited space, there were doubtless many more. “Let’s say these Outliers are real,” Cass began. “How do you intend to track them down?”

  “Of course they’re real, my dear. Who else would have the gall to tempt citizens away from Federation rule? No … I have a reliable source as to the whereabouts of some of these dissidents.”

  Anasua vented an explosive breath. “Really, now, Rear Admiral. We’re calling pirates and rogues reliable sources?”

  Cass felt a familiar twinge in her gut. Her intuition was pinging loud and clear. “You’re surely not referring to the low-life scum known as Djerke?”

  Hawke straightened. “Why, yes … the same. How’d you guess?” He paused, then smiled. “Of course you’d guess. You were always a sharp one.”

  Cass remembered how the Feds had found her and her crew on Irrakeen despite the fact they’d changed their transponder. They’d been being tailed … by Djerke, she’d guessed at the time. That had seemed like the most probable conclusion. Now, hearing Hawke admit the man was acting as an informant for him, she was sure of it. And then that self-serving bastard had made off with their Running of the Donkey prize money. And if Djerke was still feeding intelligence to the Federation, these so-called “Outliers” he was ratting out were probably under the protection of the pirates of Haven.

  This mission had just turned personal. She stiffened in her chair. “You can’t trust this man. He’s unreliable. A traitor.”

  Hawke quirked an eyebrow, but instead of replying, he reached for the teapot and made a show of refilling his cup. “Would anyone else like more tea?”

  “No, thanks.” Cass waved him off.

  Anasua, who appeared to be biting her lip, ignored the query. A tiny droplet of blood pooled in the crease of her mouth. “Traitor?” she mumbled. Then, louder, “Rear Admiral, by your very precious Bambi’s own words, how can you trust a traitor? Or a deserter? How do you know she isn’t trying to protect an enemy of the Federation? The pirates, for instance...”

  Hawke set the teapot down, frowning. “That’s enough, both of you. This isn’t up for debate. In a couple of jumps, we will arrive at a settlement in the Hunting Dog constellation. My source assures me we will find Outliers there. You will both attend me, in your formal gala attire, and witness our newest weapon in action.”

  “Formal gala attire?” Cass and Anasua replied in tandem, matching expressions of horror on their faces.

  “Yes, we’re going to host a little party.”

  Cass suppressed a shudder. She’d never been a fan of getting done up. And now, given her mechanical leggings, she couldn’t even imagine how ridiculous she’d look in a dress. She was making a huge sacrifice here, one that might take her pride years to recover from—if she lived that long.

  This extraction target better be worth it.

  Her thoughts turned to Harry. Who in the Federation would ever suspect that the pirates of Haven were depending on a talking donkey to strike a blow against the Federation’s ambitions? The idea was so far-fetched it just might work.

  But if the donkey failed? Cass blinked her eyes shut and willed her mind to stillness. It was out of her hands now. All she could do was earn Hawke’s trust and stay alert for the right time to
act, if—no, when—her crew was able to make an escape with the extraction target.

  If she was going to be subjected to a Federation gala, there was no way she would let this mission fail. No matter how improbable the odds.

  12

  “Hey, uhh … what’s your name again?” the dog was saying. “Oh yeah! Harvey? No, err, Harry? That’s right. Harry! What do you think you’re doing?”

  Harry was busy pressing his long donkey torso into a little alcove in a long, winding corridor. Unfortunately, the corridor was anything but empty. If they were going to make a successful getaway, it would rely on their ability to stealthily avoid detection. After all, he was making off with what the pirates had termed the “extraction target”—which had turned out to be a dog. Not that Harry had really known what that was, either, up until he’d very recently met one.

  That dog was now standing in the middle of the hallway, black ears poking out from his shaggy, dreadlocked hair. Harry wasn’t sure, seeing as the dog’s eyes were obstructed by hair, but he suspected Zuckberg was attempting to fix him with a mean face. If that was true, this dog was going to fit in well with his pirate friends.

  “I’m hiding from the Feds!” Harry replied with a hiss, as if the answer weren’t obvious. “Come on in here before someone sees us!”

  Zuckberg’s tail fell, and he cast a look down the hall. “Dude, don’t bother. There’s no way someone’s going to fail to notice you there. Come on out, and let’s get on with it.”

  “But—”

  “I said, come. Come here, boy!”

  Harry felt strangely compelled by the commanding tone of voice. He wasn’t used to being bossed around by a four-legged critter, but given his host’s response, it seemed to come almost naturally. He stepped back out into the hallway, almost running into a pair of Feds.

  “Oh, sorry!” he found himself apologizing as they looked down with glares that turned into wide-eyed stares.

  “Hey,” came that commanding tone of voice again.

  The Feds diverted their gazes to Zuckberg, their mouths hanging open in confusion.

  “That’s right. You just go on about your business, and forget about us. Got it?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure…” one of them answered, looking bewildered.

  “Psst,” said the other one. “That’s Rear Admiral Blowhard’s new pet weapon. You don’t want to mess with it, or it’s likely to sniff out all your secrets.”

  “What? I thought that was a joke.”

  “Hey, fucker.” Zuckberg’s tail swooshed side-to-side in irritation. “Do I look like some kind of joke to you? I said, scram, before I get a good whiff of you!”

  The Feds exchanged horrified glances, then hustled down the hall away from the four-legged duo.

  “Jeez, don’t they know better than to mess with the almighty Zuck?”

  Harry was more than a little impressed. This dog was clearly onto something, if he had the power to boss Gods—err, humans—around like they were his underlings. Harry could stand to learn a thing or two from this dog. “Wow. They listened to you,” he breathed.

  “Yeah. ‘Course they did. Now, come on, Harry. I’m feeling a little hungry, and I could use a nap. Let’s get your friends out before I change my mind about this whole escaping my oppressors thing.”

  “Err, right.” Harry admired Zuckberg as they threaded their way down the corridor, causing more than one cluster of Federation officers to scatter in their wake. Strangely, many of the Feds made a point of pressing their backsides into the metal walls as the duo passed. Zuckberg looked like he was having a good time, and directed a steady stream of verbal abuse in the direction of any uniformed being that got too close.

  “Yeah, that’s right ... glad you know who’s boss around here … alright, move it, fat ass … hey, jeez, when’s the last time you showered, buddy? I could kill for a dog cookie. Hey buddy, you got a cookie? What, no? Tell you what, Harry, Feds these days … not what they used to be.”

  “Really? What did they used to be like?”

  “I dunno. Just something I used to hear my dear Mother Zucker say a lot.”

  “Oh, I see. How old are you, exactly?”

  “Three and a half. Almost four. I’ve been around the block a time or two, you might say.”

  Harry tried to do a little math, to figure out how old Zuckberg was in Galactic Standard years, but kept losing his concentration every time he saw another group of Feds approaching. Miraculously, no one tried to stop them.

  Could escaping the Feds really be this easy?

  #

  Maybe it wouldn’t be quite that easy…

  As they entered the FFS Brickhouse brig, two armed guards posted at opposite ends of a row of cells turned to see who had arrived … and then immediately shook their heads. The nearest one held out a hand to stop their advance, his other hand holding a rifle.

  “I’m sorry,” the young man said, “but you two can’t be in here.”

  Harry gulped at the sight of the gun, but Zuckberg didn’t seem concerned in the least. He trotted right up to the guard who was trying to stop them.

  “Oh yeah?” the dog asked, tilting his shaggy head to one side. “Who says?”

  The young man seemed taken aback by the question. He stammered. “Uh … uh, well, regulations state that only—”

  “Yeah well, I’m Rear Admiral Hawke’s secret weapon, so regulations don’t apply to me,” Zuckberg stated. He padded around the sailor and made straight for the cell that housed Harry’s friends.

  Harry hesitated, then followed his new friend as the sailor scrambled to catch up.

  “I … I’m not sure that’s how that works,” the kid said. “Please, I really need you to leave. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  Zuckberg sat down in front of the cell and turned his fur-covered face toward the guard. Behind the shimmering forcefield, Redbeard, Kitt and Spiner perked up from their bored stances, watching what was happening outside their cell with interest.

  Harry watched, too, wondering what Zuckberg’s plan was.

  “Okay, look,” said the dog, his purple tongue lolling out, “here’s how it’s gonna work. You and everyone else in this cell block are going to leave us here alone to interrogate these prisoners. Capiche?”

  The young sailor balked, mouth working. He glanced around at his fellow guards, who seemed just as unsure as to what they were supposed to do about this situation. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that,” the kid finally said. “I have strict orders to—hey!” Zuckberg had stood again and promptly moved behind the guard, shoving his nose straight up into the crack of the sailor’s pants. “Hey! Stop that!” The young man spun around, pressing his back up against the dividing wall between two cells.

  Inside the cell, Redbeard snorted.

  The guard’s face flushed as he spared a moment to glare at the pirate before turning his angry face toward the dog. “Now you listen here,” he said, and—though he was obviously trying to be authoritative—his voice cracked, “you might be the special weapon, but you are not authorized to be here. Leave now or I’ll be forced to take drastic action!”

  “Is that so?” Zuckberg said. His mouth opened again to show his purple tongue, and it looked to Harry like he was smiling. “Well that’s interesting. You mean drastic action … like in those holos you like to watch?”

  The young man’s face abruptly lost all its color, his eyes widening.

  “That’s right, bub,” Zuckberg said. “I got a good sniff of you. I have a feeling there’s quite a few of your likes—and dislikes—you’d prefer I not mention around present company.”

  The guard’s mouth fell open, but it seemed he had no words for such a horror.

  Harry found himself immensely curious what it might be that had the guard so upset. He paused to reflect on his own viewing habits … and failed to see why he wouldn’t want anyone to know about his favorite TV show. Sure, the content was ancient history at this point, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t cool. What’s the
worst thing this guard could be watching?

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” another guard spoke up, near enough to overhear them. He walked over to join them. He eyed the first guard suspiciously. “Private? You got something to share?”

  Zuckberg gave a loud sniff, then chuckled. “Oh, don’t be so quick to judge, Sergeant. I mean, yikes, I can smell you from here. I had no idea you were so into feet.”

  The second man’s expression morphed quickly into horror as well, and he looked sharply down to the dog.

  Wow, Harry thought. His power sure is useful. I wish I had a special power like that. Think of all the things I could do as a pirate with this kind of ability! Harry had an epiphany. What if he already had such a power, and didn’t even realize it?

  “Hey,” said the private, shooting Harry a look of alarm. “Stay away from me! Both of you.”

  Hmm. This whole sniffing bottoms thing would take some practice. Maybe his friends would provide him with an unmoving target, after this whole rescue was over with.

  “That’s what I thought,” Zuckberg was saying to the two men, both of whom he’d suitably cowed. “We’re the mother-zucking Dream Team here—we’ll be divining all your secrets in no time. Team Ass!”

  “We’re a team?” Harry asked, startled. “We’re a team!” Captain Cass had been right to trust in Harry. His very first big mission as a pirate intern, and he’d already secured the trust of one of the Federation’s most feared four-legged weapons.

  “Cute,” muttered the sergeant, in a tone that suggested it was anything but.

  Zuckberg growled. “Now, as I was saying: You’re going to release these prisoners into my custody, and place yourselves in that cell, instead.”

  The private frowned. “But that’s not what you said. You just said you wanted us to leave you alone—”

  “I changed my mind. So. Hop to it. Quick! Before I change my mind again. Or before I decide to list your real affiliations out over the ship’s intercom.” This time Zuckberg bared his sharp dog teeth when he spoke, and Harry’s ears went backward.