Spiner gave him a small smile. “Don’t worry. We’ve already accomplished our mission, remember?”
The mission certainly didn’t feel accomplished to Harry. Captain Cass was still in custody. Zuckberg was back in Federation hands. Redbeard and Kitt were … well, somewhere. And now he and Spiner were trapped. Despite Spiner’s reassurance, it didn’t feel like they’d achieved anything at all.
He’d seen his green-skinned friend do some amazing things in a fight. Sure, Harry might not be able to help, but if he stayed out of the way, surely his friend could do something...
Spiner stood slowly, his expression blank, then leisurely looked around him, taking in the troops in either direction. Harry braced himself for the shooting to begin, hunkering down close to the floor … and then his friend lifted his hands up above his head.
“We surrender,” Spiner called out.
Harry jerked his head up in surprise, his voice trembling with uncertainty and fatigue. “Wait, what … we do?”
22
Harry wasn’t sure things could get much worse … until they entered the brig again, Spiner carrying him, and he saw Redbeard and Kitt already locked up in a cell, too. Oh, no! His head drooped low over Spiner’s arms. This day just keeps getting worse and worse…
Redbeard was none too happy about seeing them brought in by an escort of armed Federation sailors, either. He surged from the cell’s bench and bounced beard-first into the shimmering forcefield standing between him and the hallway. “Wha’ tha blazes!? Ya two had one job … one bloody job! Stay on tha damn ship and don’t get caught!”
Harry gulped, trying and failing to come up with an appropriate excuse.
“Stand back, scum,” barked one of the guards, who then gestured to Spiner. “Get in.”
The android stepped into an adjacent cell as instructed by the Feds and set Harry down carefully on the bench that doubled as a bed. The forcefield shimmered to life behind them. Luckily for Harry, Spiner did the talking. “Yes, well. Something came up. And anyway, wasn’t not getting caught also your one job?”
Redbeard grumbled.
“Technically, we had two jobs,” Kitt observed. She leaned in the corner of their cell, studying her outstretched claws. “To get some Federation uniforms … and to not get caught.”
Spiner took a seat on the edge of the bench, perfectly calm. “It seems you failed.”
Redbeard grumbled some more.
“Not entirely,” Kitt said. “We did retrieve the uniforms.”
Redbeard chuckled, as if the thought of retrieving the uniforms was funny for some reason.
One of the attending Federation sailors cleared his throat, his face beet red.
“Would you all shut up?” snapped a familiar voice. Harry had almost forgotten about the mean-faced lady, who now stood outside the cells, tapping away at a small device that looked like a miniature tablet. He’d never seen her looking so happy.
“But you failed to reach the Bray with the uniforms,” Spiner said, ignoring the commodore.
“Yeah, well…” Redbeard mumbled, “I had ta … ah, make a pit stop.”
Harry cocked his head. “Make a what?”
“He had to pee,” Kitt stated flatly.
Spiner cocked his head. “You were apprehended because you had to urinate?”
“Ya don’t understand,” Redbeard protested. “It was so funny! I’d already nearly pissed me pants!”
Harry’s ears perked, his mood lightening despite their current predicament. As his Grandma Ambly had once said, There’s no point in sulking when things go bad, else you’re just making ‘em twice as bad. “What was so funny?”
“Seriously,” the commodore barked. “Shut up, would you? You have to be the worst bunch of pirates I’ve ever seen.”
Harry laid his ears back and leveled a glare at her. If only she were looking at him to notice. Instead, it was Redbeard who answered. “Aye, maybe,” the ginger giant relented, “but we already gave ye the slip once, didn’t we? And I’d wager we’ll do it again.”
The mean lady tucked the device back into her belt and crossed her arms, fixing Redbeard with a baleful look. “That’s big talk considering we’ve got you and the rest of your crew locked up. You aren’t going anywhere...” she took a step closer to Redbeard’s cell, leaning toward the rippling forcefield, her dark eyes narrowing, “for a very long time.”
She turned on her heel and began to stomp away.
“Wanna bet?”
She stopped, going rigid, then slowly turned back around. “Excuse me?”
The accompanying sailors looked nervously back and forth amongst themselves.
Harry could hear Redbeard shuffling around in his cell. “I said … wanna bet?”
The commodore looked like she might swallow her tongue. Her mouth worked, her eyes bulged, and blood pulsed in a vein along her temple.
Geez, Harry thought, is that vein going to pop? Calm down, Lady. What was that the Overlords always told us? When you’re mad, take a deep breath and count to ten….
“I am not going to make a bet with you, pirate scum,” she hissed.
“Are ya sure?” Redbeard prompted. “If yer so sure we ain’t goin’ anywhere, why don’t ya jus’ make a little bet, then? We’ll make it affordable for an officer’s salary … say … a thousand credits?”
The mean lady’s face darkened further, her lips a thin line as she spun and marched off, leaving her company of sailors trading glances before reluctantly trailing after her.
She had nearly reached the door to exit the brig when something at her belt beeped. She slowed and retrieved a small cylinder, holding it up to her mouth. “Commodore Corvus here.”
Harry strained his ears, but even Buddy’s excellent hearing couldn’t pick up what was being said on the other side of that little cylinder. Whatever it was, though, made her halt abruptly, causing the other sailors to tumble into each other as they narrowly avoided colliding with her back.
“Sir,” she said, her voice tight, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea. We already have all the—”
She stopped, her free hand curling into a fist. Her body trembled as she listened some more.
“Understood, sir,” she said, sounding like she was choking on every word. “Will do.” She punched at a button on the cylinder, then thrust it back into her belt. A string of swear words followed, several of which Harry had never heard before—not even from Redbeard.
Harry’s mouth fell open. He’d have to be sure to ask Spiner for some definitions. Maybe he could add them to his pirate vocabulary!
The Federation sailors shifted uncomfortably. A couple even lifted their hands up to cover their ears.
“Moronic effing blowhard!” the Federation lady snapped.
From the next cell over, Redbeard let out a low whistle. “Whew, boy. I thought you civilized Federation folk were above swearin’? Wha’, did tha laundry service mix the reds with tha whites and all yer unmentionables came out pink?” He chuckled at his own joke, and even Kitt gave a raspy laugh.
Harry didn’t get it. He’d have to ask about that one, too.
The commodore clasped her hands behind her back and drew in a deep, slow breath.
Oh, is she going to count to ten and calm down now?
She walked back to their cells and looked from one to the other. Then she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. “You are to join us ... for dinner.”
“Wha’!?” Redbeard squawked.
“All of you.”
“Er…” was all Spiner managed to say.
The commodore glared at the closest sailors. “Well, get them out of these cells. The sooner we get this ridiculous circus over with, the sooner we can get to their executions.”
The sailors mumbled choruses of “Yes, Commodore!” and sprang into action, prepping pairs of manacles and deactivating the cells’ forcefields, while others held weapons at the ready.
“And you,” the mean lady said, raking each of t
he pirates in turn with her smoldering glower, “don’t try any funny business. I don’t care what the Rear Admiral says … give me any reason whatsoever and I will kill you. Understand?”
Redbeard grunted as he stepped from his cell, not bothering to protest as sailors moved to grab his wrists. Harry’s view was obstructed as Spiner scooped him up. He could only imagine the smug expression on Redbeard’s face.
“Guess it’s a good thing ya didn’t take me bet.”
Kitt snickered.
#
They marched along the unending corridors of the FFS Brickhouse, escorted by several nervous-looking sailors and a still-very-angry commodore.
It would be easy to tick off the various ways their mission might yet fail, while it was otherwise impossible to figure out how they might yet succeed. Harry was, on the one hoof, very curious about why they had been invited to dinner aboard a Federation flagship, and cautiously hopeful that as long as his crew stayed out of the holding cells, maybe they’d have a chance to make an escape. But then, on the other hoof, he wondered how in the world they’d ever manage to escape when the Federation ship was so dang big … and all the hallways looked the same.
He was already completely lost.
But wait! He looked up into Spiner’s face, but the android stared straight ahead, walking along effortlessly with Harry in his arms. Spiner has a map of the ship in his head! How could I forget? He could lead us out, if we could just get away from these Feds….
He glanced to Redbeard and Kitt, and caught them looking at each other. Redbeard arched his bushy red eyebrows, and Kitt smiled that creepy smile where she showed her rows of sharp teeth.
Harry had seen them do such things before, usually before they started killing people. He lifted his ears, his hope returning full force. Oh boy. Oh boy, here it comes! The part where we get free! Or, uhh, dead…
But before anyone could act, the commodore stopped abruptly in front of a door, causing the whole party to draw up short. A couple of the more inattentive sailors grunted as they bumped into each other. She spun around, the floor squeaking beneath her polished heel.
Redbeard and Kitt let their eyes drop away from each other to study the surrounding walls with sudden interest.
Oh, Overlords! So close, Harry thought with an internal sigh.
“Here we are,” she said crisply. She palmed a scanner, but the door wouldn’t open. She frowned and squinted, as if willing it to start moving. Relenting, she tried palming it again. And again and again. Then, with an unexpected snarl of rage, her hand closed into a fist and slammed the unresponsive device.
Redbeard rolled his eyes at the nearest sailor with a smirk, which was promptly wiped away when the door slid open.
The commodore cleared her throat and straightened, gesturing for the group to step inside.
A sailor nudged Spiner in the back with the butt of his rifle. “Move along.”
As they passed through the doorway, the mean-faced commodore was glaring at the now slightly dented sensor. “Private,” she said to one of the sailors at the back of the group, “get engineering to take a look at this door. It seems to be malfunctioning.”
“Of course, Commodore,” the fresh-faced young man said, saluting. “At once.” He scurried away, looking almost giddy to be getting away from the group.
Harry turned his attention to the space they were entering … and blinked.
“Blimey,” Redbeard muttered.
Kitt growled.
Spiner regarded the room with impassive black eyes.
The colors and decor were … breathtaking. Harry’s mouth fell open as he took in the plush, heavily decorated room, which stood completely at odds with the rest of the ship. It had carpet, for one. Not to mention the painted walls … Imperial red, was the color, Harry believed, although he’d be hard-pressed to say how he knew that. Velvet couches and chairs flanked an oval coffee table that gleamed with polish, set with a tea service for four—although at present the table sat unoccupied.
“Um…” Harry said at last. He’d never seen a room like this. Not even in the palace of Irrakeen. His eyes drifted to the walls, which were covered with tasteful paintings. The thick and ornate frames were … less tasteful.
A door at the opposite side of the room slid open, and in walked a type of creature that appeared to be mostly arms.
Harry yelped, shrinking back into Spiner’s chest.
“Oh, my apologies,” the creature said. The voice was distinctly feminine, and the—she?—wore a Federation uniform. “I tend to have that effect on people. It’s my arms, isn’t it?”
She held up four of them, many more still dangling at her sides, all of them long and spindly with multiple joints that seemed able to bend in most directions. Each of them, Harry noted, terminated in slender, lengthy fingers. The effect was terrifying.
“But I assure you, I am entirely friendly!” she said, and smiled. The smile did little to help. Rows and rows of white, sharp teeth glinted in the well-lit room.
Harry decided to avert his gaze downward, where it might be less distressing to examine the strange newcomer. Her legs were as long and thin as her arms, which stood in awkward contrast to her short, round body. Harry couldn’t help but follow the torso back up to her nearly invisible neck. Oh my, and her eyes! She had nearly as many eyes as arms, the black orbs blinking simultaneously as she scurried closer to inspect the pirates, each of whom gaped at her. She would be great at multitasking, Harry decided.
“Oh yes, yes, I see,” she murmured. One of her hands reached out and gingerly plucked at the shoulder of Redbeard’s grimy shirt. “Well, this will be a challenge, yes. These must be the rest of our dinner guests, then?” Her multiple eyes shifted toward the commodore.
“Yes,” the mean lady answered shortly. “Deal with them, would you? I’ll leave the armed escort here. In case of … complications.” Her hard gaze landed on Redbeard, but the big pirate ignored her, his gaze transfixed on the creature in front of him who so strongly resembled a walking, talking spider.
“Oh fine, that’s fine,” the spider-thing said. “I don’t think we’ll have any trouble, though. I’ve never met a being I couldn’t dress.”
“Errr … dress?” Kitt said.
The commodore rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I have more important things to do. I’ll be back for them in an hour.”
“Of course, Commodore.”
With that, the mean lady stalked out the door—or tried to. Once again, her attempts to exit were stymied. Harry watched as she grew more and more frustrated. She stomped her foot on the carpet, balling her fists. “Computer,” she shouted.
The computer—no, Williamina, Harry reminded himself—did not reply, but the door finally slid open. The commodore stomped out, muttering under her breath.
The computer, Harry thought. Williamina! She said she was angry. Maybe that’s why the door isn’t working right … the ship’s AI is angry! He opened his mouth to ask Williamina if she was still mad, but then thought better of it. We don’t want the Feds to know we’ve liberated their computer! Spiner would probably rather keep that secret.
The spider-thing skittered forward and blinked her orb-like eyes at them. “My, my. But aren’t you all a mess? You surely can’t go to dinner looking like this. Please come with me.” She skittered backwards and turned, leading the way toward the door she’d come in. “This way! We’ll have you spiffed up in no time!”
Harry’s crew might not have followed along, were it not for the complement of sailors motioning them to do so with their rifles.
“I’d like to start with the homo lyncis sapius, if the rest of you don’t mind waiting,” the spider continued, moving into the next room.
This door was functioning just fine, Harry noted. He heard an intake of breath, and turned his head to take in Kitt’s ruffled demeanor.
Redbeard echoed their feline companion’s surprise. “You, ah … know her species?”
The spider creature looked over her shoulde
r and waved four of her arms. “Well, of course I know her species! Who could not know of the impressive, regal homo lyncis sapius?”
Kitt purred, a small little smile curving her lips. The non-threatening, nice kind of smile. The kind that didn’t show off her fangs.
“Most people just call her a cat,” Harry supplied helpfully.
“Pffft,” the spider woman scoffed. “What moron would call a homo lyncis sapien a cat!?”
“Indeed,” Kitt drawled.
Harry craned his neck around to nod toward their armed escort. He was joined by Spiner, Redbeard, and Kitt herself.
The Feds exchanged tight-lipped glances.
“Here we are,” said the spider lady, gesturing with all eight arms at the new room, which was just as lavishly decorated as the previous one. But this one included full-length mirrors and decorative privacy screens that featured complex landscapes. “Do make yourselves comfortable,” she said. “This won’t take long at all!”
23
Cass picked absently at the clinging, shimmering blue fabric that hugged her middle, scowling. The tailor had adjusted the skirt of the dress to flare out and hide the outline of her mechanic leggings, yes, but she still looked completely ridiculous. She sighed and stopped fiddling with it. It was pointless. Nothing she could do would make it any less ridiculous, nor any more comfortable.
Her time would be better spent trying to see this mission through. And how exactly might she do that from within the grand ballroom, deep inside a Federation flagship, dressed to the nines, with no weapons and no crew?
Well, she was still working that part out.
She snatched a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and studied the layout of the grand ballroom. Like an old-fashioned theatre attendant, she noted the four exits, one along each wall. Clearly marked, as per fire code regulations. Plenty of ways out. Unfortunately, there were two armed guards to a door. Not that they would pose too much of a problem, if she really wanted to get out.
Interesting. Hawke was expected to reveal his “secret weapon” here … so she supposed the guards were there to keep any outed Outliers from escaping. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. Outliers. Pah. There is no such thing. More than likely, this demonstration would be a colossal failure.
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