Starship Ass Complete Omnibus

by Ethan Freckleton

  The Feds chuckled. Some of Sonia’s tribe joined in.

  An electronic screech pierced the air, making them all wince and drawing irritated glances toward a podium at the front of the ballroom. A familiar-looking human male in a white uniform, decorated with several medals and colorful patches, stood there holding a small object to his mouth.

  Who’s that? Oh, yeah, I remember. It’s the man who was broadcasting system-wide messages for Captain Cass, back when the Feds were chasing us across the galaxy! That must be the Rear Admiral.

  “Ahem. Check … check, one, two … is this thing on?”

  “Yes!” shouted an inebriated sailor from the rear of the room.

  The Rear Admiral squinted out into the crowd. “Right.” He drew himself up tall, and an easy, well-worn smile fell into place. “Honored guests and esteemed crew of the FFS Brickhouse and FFS Murphy’s Law … I welcome you to this most historic, ground-breaking event. Most of you will know this, but for those who don’t know me, I am Rear Admiral Hawke. This dinner was my idea.”

  “Moron,” Spiner muttered, just loud enough for Harry to hear.

  “Spiner, that’s not very nice,” Harry hissed. When had he ever heard his android companion say anything mean about another being? Never. Node’s influence must be rubbing off on him.

  A sailor reached out and tapped Harry on the flank. “Shhh.”

  It was the sailor from earlier, who he’d asked about the chair. “Hey, did you find me a better chair?”

  “Shhh … yes. Look down.”

  Harry followed the man’s gaze down. There was a wooden platform pulled up alongside the table between two seats, wide enough for Harry to lay on. “Oo—”

  The sailor leaned in. “You’re welcome. Now shut up.”

  Wow, that was nice, Harry thought. “Nice” was a good word to describe most of the Feds he’d encountered … mean-faced lady was one of the few exceptions. Maybe they’d be nice enough to let the pirates leave, after the dinner.

  The Hawke guy at the front of the room continued to drone on. He kept his eyes downcast toward the podium, as if he were reading from something. “We’ve all had our misunderstandings. But now, we can turn the page forward to a more open, honest dialog. Like what friends do. That’s what we are, right?” He swept a questioning gaze around the room, finally settling on a cluster of officers. “Right?”

  This time they took the hint and began to clap. A smattering of claps raised up around the room. None of the honored guests joined in. Harry might have, but he didn’t have hands. And his hooves, even in their special boots, were way too sore to be knocking together.

  “Thank you,” Hawke said. “A galaxy without secrets is a galaxy at peace.” People at Sonia’s table muttered under their breaths. Hawke fixed them with a smile and winked. “Peace … is why I’ve brought you here. To enjoy a nice, peaceable dinner together. From enemies to allies. Unless, of course, you’re still harboring secrets?” He lifted his brows and paused. “No? We’ll find out soon enough. You see…”

  “What is this idiot on about?” Redbeard grumbled, loud enough for the front of the room to hear.

  “There will be no more secrets, my friends,” Hawke continued. “The Age of Truth is upon us.” He held up a hand and closed it into a fist. In response, the doors at the rear of the ballroom started to slide open, then faltered. Hawke frowned. “I said, the Age of Truth is upon us.” He gazed at the doors expectantly, his frown deepening as the door stood still.

  Finally he barked, “Someone fix that, would you?”

  Redbeard and Sonia exchanged glances and started to laugh out loud. The rest of the two tables joined in, even Harry, even though he didn’t understand exactly what was so funny.

  The sailors flanking the stuck door put their rifles down and started trying to pry the doors apart.

  “Pardon the technical difficulties,” Hawke mumbled into his microphone. “Even the best of the best have their, uh, imperfect moments…” He pulled his hand away from his mouth and frowned down at the podium. His words were barely audible at the table, but Harry thought he could hear the man beseeching the “computer” to comply with his wishes.

  Kitt reached out and tapped Redbeard’s arm, then Spiner’s, and jerked her head toward the opposite side of the room. “Look,” she whispered, pointing toward the far corner. “It’s the captain!”

  Everyone turned their heads to look. Redbeard raised a hand up and waved in her direction. She didn’t appear to notice. In fact, she seemed to be staring into the bottom of an empty glass.

  Redbeard, for the first time since their capture, actually looked happy, forgetting about the Jerk guy for the time being. He lowered his voice and eyed each of his pirate companions in turn. “Blimey, me thinks we’ve still got a chance to finish tha mission.”

  Harry’s ears shot up. “Really?”

  “Shh,” the sailor said again.

  Harry grimaced, his ears drooping again. He’d forgotten that guy was back there. Hopefully the Fed hadn’t overheard anything.

  Rear Admiral Hawke had his hand up to his mouth again, his voice echoing out over the ballroom once more. “Let’s try this again, shall we? Rejoice, for the Age of Truth is upon us.” This time the door slid open, prompting a relieved sigh from the rear admiral. “May I introduce to you … our secret weapon.”

  In answer, some sort of jingling sound rang out from the hall beyond.

  All eyes were glued to the door as in walked a gangly, balding man in a plain uniform, who appeared to be holding a leash. Sonia squinted and peered over the heads of her tribesmen, trying to get a better look. “Blimey, is tha a bloody dog?”

  Hawke appeared triumphant behind his podium. “This is no mere dog, as you shall soon see. But first, please enjoy your dinner, compliments of the Federation’s finest chefs!” He snapped his fingers and a fleet of waiters wheeled carts of food away from the wall behind him, moving quickly throughout the room.

  A general din of awkward and confused chatter started up as Hawke left the podium.

  Harry, who wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, craned his head to get a better look at the back of the room as Spiner and the others reluctantly shuffled around to find their assigned seats at their assigned table. He knew who he’d see: Zuckberg. The dog didn’t look pleased. In fact, he seemed to be adorned with some sort of vest, along with a collar lined with brass bells that jingled every time he moved.

  The bells tinkled as the dog paced back and forth in front of the man. He looked up at his leash-holder, his eyes pleading, and Harry could hear him even from nearly the other side of the ballroom. “McGee, give me a little slack, would you? Gods, I have to pee!”

  The human paled, but complied wordlessly. The dog ran up to one of the sailors guarding the door, sniffed at his boots, and then sidled up alongside him and lifted a leg.

  “Ack,” the sailor cried out, jumping back.

  “Ahhh,” Zuckberg sighed, his tongue dangling out of his mouth. “That’s much better.”

  #

  A special food cart had been set aside just for Zuckberg. A waiter set down two bowls on the carpeted floor, filling one with water and the other with some sort of round pellets. It seemed everyone would have a chance to eat dinner before … well, whatever it was Hawke had planned for his guests.

  In short order, the tables were all filled to the brim with plates of food and flutes of champagne. Most of the attendees, even those at the tables nearest to the pirates, who were mostly Sonia’s tribe, dug into their dinners with some enthusiasm.

  Harry, on the other hoof, sat on his wooden platform and stared at the food on his plate, hesitant to eat any of it. Unlike the special food served to Zuckberg, it seemed the Feds hadn’t counted on having a donkey for dinner. And Harry remembered all too well how poor Buddy had felt after they’d gobbled up all that peet-za at Dillbilly’s gas station. His stomach turned now just thinking about it. Too bad, too, because all this food smelled soooo good.

  He eyed
the large bowl of salad set in the middle of the circular table and his ears lifted. Well, that didn’t look so bad. It was green, at least.

  He nudged Redbeard’s shoulder with his muzzle.

  “Eh?” the big pirate mumbled. He was still glaring fiercely across their table toward Jerk, even as he eagerly stuffed his mouth with food.

  “Hey, can you, uh, can you pass me that bowl of salad? I don’t think any of the rest of this food would be very good for Buddy.”

  “Wha? Oh. Sure, ‘Arry. No one else is eatin’ it!”

  And it seemed they weren’t.

  Redbeard traded out Harry’s plate of not-suitable-for-donkeys food for the bowl of salad, and then, to Harry’s surprise, simply put Harry’s former plate on top of his own. “Ya don’ mind if I do, do ya?”

  Harry blinked. “Uh, no. Go ahead.”

  “Great! Thanks, ‘Arry!” Redbeard went right back to shoveling food in his mouth and glaring at Jerk.

  Harry sniffed at the salad, then took a bite. It was pleasantly fresh and crispy. Buddy was quite happy with this dinner arrangement, so Harry let him munch while he took advantage of the donkey’s wide field of vision.

  Hawke walked from table to table along with a gaggle of other officers, to include Captain Cass. They interacted with the other guests, sharing a laugh here, a thoughtful nod there. Or at least, Rear Admiral Hawke did. He seemed an affable human, really—aside from the dangling threat of a weapon that could uncover everyone’s secrets, if indeed anyone had anything to hide.

  Harry couldn’t help but wonder what the rear admiral hoped to find.

  Poor Captain Cass, though; Harry had never seen her looking so unhappy. Maybe she hadn’t realized the rest of her crew was here, too, yet. Or maybe she just hadn’t had the idea Redbeard had thought of for how to complete the mission now that they were all back together again.

  Come to think of it … Redbeard hadn’t shared that plan with any of the rest of them, either. Harry pulled Buddy’s head out of the salad bowl and nudged Redbeard with his muzzle again.

  “Eh? Wha’s it now, ‘Arry?”

  Harry tried to whisper beneath the general buzz of conversation and clink of silverware that surrounded them. After all, their armed Federation escort still stood at half-attention nearby. “Didn’t you say you thought we might still be able to complete the mission?”

  The big pirate’s dark eyes shifted side to side, then he gave a nod. “Aye. There’s a chance, I’d say.”

  “Okay, so, what’s the plan then?”

  “Mmm,” Redbeard mumbled over a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “Tha Cap’n has a plan, I’d wager. We’ll wait fer her signal. After we finish eatin’, a’ course.”

  “Oh!” Harry turned to look toward Captain Cass, still trailing Rear Admiral Hawke and drinking the bubbly golden liquid that had tickled his nose when he’d sniffed it. Did she have a plan? She didn’t look as calm and confident as she usually did for having a plan. “So, what’s the signal, then?” he whispered.

  Redbeard shrugged. “Dunno. But we’ll know when it comes, ‘Arry, trust me.”

  “Okay.” Harry reluctantly turned back to his salad. He wasn’t so sure about that, but then, Redbeard had been a pirate a lot longer than Harry had. Surely he’d clue Harry in when the “signal” came. Still, Harry kept one eye on the captain, watching eagerly for any unusual body language.

  “This ain’t half bad, actually,” Redbeard said, taking an enormous bite off a roasted turkey leg. “Could only be better if I didn’ have ta look at that traitor’s face while eatin’ it.”

  Kitt’s golden eyes lifted from her plate to follow Redbeard’s glare toward the Jerk fellow. She wielded her silverware and napkin with great care as she smiled a cruel smile. “Maybe he’ll choke on a chicken bone.”

  Redbeard grunted. “If only we were ta be so lucky!”

  Kitt cut another tiny bite from her chicken breast and chewed carefully, then nodded. “It’s good. They’re quite fastidious, aren’t they?”

  “Fastidi-what?” asked Harry.

  Spiner leaned over, ignoring his food. “Fastidious, adjective, meaning to be attentive to matters of cleanliness.”

  “Oh. Between you and Node, I’ve sure been learning a lot of new words to try.”

  The android straightened and turned his head away from Harry, a small frown worrying his lips.

  Kitt peered inquisitively across the table at them.

  Redbeard ignored them all, chewing the turkey bone clean as his face darkened. “Would ye look at tha’? Bastard’s got his paws all o’er me sister.”

  Harry looked.

  The man everyone kept calling Jerk sat shoulder to shoulder with Redbeard’s sister, and his hands were indeed all over her. His mouth was close to her ear, whispering something to her, though his eyes were locked on Redbeard as a slow, sly smile curved his lips.

  Harry wasn’t sure why Redbeard was so angry about whatever Jerk was doing. Sonia looked really happy. In fact, Sonia looked to be about the happiest person in the room right now.

  A sharp crack startled Harry and his gaze snapped back to the ginger giant of a pirate sitting next to him.

  Redbeard had broken the bare turkey bone in two, each hand now clenching one half of it. The ends were sharp and splintered, and Red lifted one of them to point at Jerk, his eyes narrowed into slits. “I oughta run this through yer black, traitorous heart,” he growled.

  Harry gulped. Redbeard looked really serious…

  And then, without warning, the big pirate threw the bone at the man in the leather jacket. But he slightly miscalculated the distance, and it landed with a plunk in Sonia’s water.

  “Oy, who did tha’?” she glared around at those seated at her own table, then fished the dripping bone out of her glass.

  “The ass did it,” Djerke supplied, tilting his head in Harry’s direction.

  Harry straightened at being falsely accused, his mouth dropping open to protest.

  But Sonia fixed him with a heart-skipping fierce mean-face and he lost all his words. “Red’s arse, was it?” she scowled. “Well, I’ll show ya!” She twisted in her chair, reared her arm back, and heaved the bone back at Harry with all her might.

  “Eep!” Harry wisely ducked under the table as the bone whizzed by his ear and landed with a thud somewhere behind him.

  “Hey,” shouted a sailor. “Who threw that at me?” He looked accusingly at his table companions, who mostly shrugged in response, except for one who was decidedly smirking.

  “Look who’s got a boner,” he snickered.

  The sailor gave him a baleful look. “Language, Private.” He lobbed the bone at his verbal assailant, who ducked out of the way with ease. Unfortunately for both of them, it plunked the mean commodore in the side of the head as she strode toward the podium, bringing her to an abrupt halt.

  The offending sailors sucked in audible breaths of horror.

  “Uh oh,” said Harry to no one in particular. “She looks pissed. That can’t be—”

  He paused to blink some gravy—wait, what?—out of his eye. As he turned to figure out where it had come from, his jaw dropped. His tablemates appeared to be trading bits of food back and forth through the air with the neighboring tables. And the pieces flung between Redbeard and Djerke were hurled with special force and ferocity.

  The pirates’ armed escort was desperately trying to stop them from throwing the food, but their warnings and threats seemed to fall on deaf ears. Eventually, the food was aimed at them, too, and they were forced to take evasive action to avoid being splattered themselves.

  A flank steak slathered in mashed potatoes whizzed past Harry’s face, striking Spiner on the shoulder. The android glanced down at it, then brushed it off onto the floor without comment.

  “Food fight!” someone yelled, sounding entirely too gleeful.

  “Food fight,” echoed more voices around the room.

  Sonia and her tribe jumped up from their chairs, roaring in unison, “Food fi
ght!”

  25

  Cass watched with utter astonishment as, across the ballroom, a gravy-splattered Anasua bull-rushed one of her own sailors, tackling him to the ground. They disappeared in the midst of a growing fracas. A food fight? On board the Federation flagship? She’d seen—and done—a lot of crazy things in her Federation career, but not once had things ever devolved into something so … messy.

  Her lips parted into a feral grin as Hawke sprinted from her side up to the podium and attempted to restore order. “Stop this, now!” he screamed into the microphone. “sailors! Officers!”

  No one paid him any heed. The armed sailors had traded in rifles for fistfuls of food. She hadn’t seen this many smiles in the ranks of the Federation in, well, forever. There was no way this could end well.

  It was, however, the perfect opportunity.

  She checked the entrances. The guards there were still holding their positions, faces grim as they attempted to stare straight ahead and not be distracted by the chaos erupting in the ballroom.

  That wouldn’t do.

  She ducked a flying biscuit, then snatched a plate of food from the nearest table. Crouching to make a lower profile, she gathered up her skirt with her free hand and crept around another table, her eyes still on the south entrance.

  A hand landed on her shoulder and she gasped in surprise, then almost pitched over as it used her for leverage. A sailor had pushed up to his feet, gravy trailing down the back of his neck.

  She gave his back a nasty glare, but saw her chance. Rising to stand again, she picked out a chicken breast from her plate, aimed it over the sailor’s shoulder, and launched it at one of the guards manning the exit.

  Success!

  The chicken landed square across the bridge of the man’s nose. He exchanged peeved glances with his companion. Then, in unison, they nodded and threw down their rifles. The guard bent to pick the offending chicken breast off the ground, then charged forward, abandoning his post.