Starship Ass Complete Omnibus

by Ethan Freckleton

  Hawke ignored him, fully concentrating his wobbly focus on the conversation currently happening in his ear.

  “Dog?” the Grand COG repeated stupidly. Then, angrily, “Dog!? Who cares about a stupid dog! Why are you wasting my time with such blather?”

  Anasua cleared her throat. “Sir, it could lead us to more—”

  “Silence!” the Grand COG roared, loudly enough to make even Hawke jump. “Enough of this talk! It is time to celebrate our victory! The annihilation of Haven and the death of Tone E Robbins!”

  “Mister?”

  Hawke blinked and looked up to the bartender, who was looking at him expectantly. “Ya want another one?”

  Hawke shook his head. “No. No thank you. Close my tab, please. I got places to be.” He maneuvered off his stool with difficulty. The pub around him was rocking quite precariously now, and he held on to the edge of the bar to keep from pitching sideways.

  The bartender fixed him with a skeptical look. “If you say so, mister.” The man handed over the pay console and Hawke ran his cred chip. Thankfully, it went through.

  He’d been responsible enough with his money … what did he ever have time to spend it on, after all? It would last a while, at least. What he was really sour about, though, was losing that Federation pension.

  Hawke scowled, ignoring the bartender’s look and the continued chatter in his ear, and turned himself toward the pub’s door, taking an experimental step. If he just went slow and held on to the bar most of the way, he could make it.

  He might have been booted from the Federation Navy, but Anasua wasn’t the only one with tricks up her sleeve. It still burned that she hadn’t told him about the tracker she’d put on Djerke … but then, he supposed he hadn’t told her outright about the tracker he’d put on Zuckberg, either. Still. He’d been Rear Admiral at the time. Such a thing was his prerogative.

  For her to keep him in the dark about her own tracker, only to present the information when she did … she had obviously wanted him out of the Federation.

  Or dead.

  Hawke’s wavering steps faltered at this realization, genuine hurt weighing him down. He paused a moment to regather his wits.

  Commodore Corvus. He had always liked her. Maybe not as much as Bambi, but she was still a very capable sailor. And he thought he’d been doing so well in bonding with her over tea…

  Hawke shook his head, then regretted doing so as the pub slid sideways. He squeezed his eyes shut, gripping the back of the nearest chair.

  Well. He may have loathed relying on technology, but he was learning. If Zuckberg’s signal was still active, he could track it. He knew the codes to follow it. And if he tracked down his errant secret weapon, who knew what else—or who else—that signal might lead him to. Last he’d heard, the dog had been with Bambi. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone.

  Well, I wouldn’t kill them, of course. Maybe I can catch two birds with one stone. No, that doesn’t work. Catch two birds with one cage? Oh, whatever. The point is … I could get my secret weapon and Bambi back! And who knows what else?

  He smirked. See, you can teach an old dog new tricks. He let loose a laugh at the thought, earning a few looks from nearby patrons. He started moving again, making his way steadily—sort of—toward the door.

  Then tripped over the threshold and fell flat on his face in the entryway.

  A few young men were loitering there, in their Federation Navy blues, and they snickered at his fall.

  “Hey,” one of them said, slapping the shoulder of his buddy, “look at that Blowhard. Can’t hold his liquor. What’s the matter, sir, spent too many years at the top sipping at your tea?”

  They laughed.

  Hawke drew in a deep, slow breath and gathered himself, then pushed to his hands and knees. So. Obviously word of his retirement had travelled throughout the station already, or these men would have never dared to disrespect him in such a fashion.

  “Ah yeah, Eilhard the Blowhard,” another jeered. “Now we see you for who you really are. Pathetic, man. Just pathetic.”

  “Always knew you were full of hot air,” another said.

  “Guess that balloon had to pop sometime,” a third added.

  They all laughed again.

  Hawke used the wall to leverage himself back up to his feet. He swayed for a second, then managed to get his balance and tugged at the hem of his shirt to straighten it. He nodded to the sailors and forced a plastic smile onto his face. “Gentlemen,” he said. And he walked away.

  He was no match for the lot of them physically, anyway, especially drunk.

  And he had no other power here, not after having his commission stripped.

  So he simply walked away, their receding laughter and continued jeers burning in his ears as he did so.

  I’ll show them, he promised himself. He was going to track down Zuckberg and Bambi and whoever and whatever else was with them, and then they’d see. They’d all see. After I get back in the good graces of the Grand COG, I’ll show them all. And we’ll see who’s laughing then…

  12

  Harry

  Harry had wanted to go up to the bridge with Captain Cass and Redbeard and the others, but he remembered how irritated the captain had always been when he’d shown up there as a pirate intern, and now that they had a new pirate intern, he thought it best to keep Zuckberg off the bridge.

  For now.

  At least until he made full-fledged pirate like Harry.

  Besides, even Harry was beginning to find the dog’s incessant sniffing and … peeing … annoying. He couldn’t imagine what Redbeard or the captain would think if the same thing was happening on the bridge.

  Especially not with this urgent escape going on.

  Harry braced himself on his prosthetic legs as the SS Bray shuddered and groaned again, Buddy’s stomach protesting all the abrupt direction changes.

  Hang in there, Buddy. We’ll be out of this mess soon.

  He hoped.

  “Hey,” he shouted, as Zuckberg sniffed and circled around a deactivated holding pen pylon. “Not there, not there! I just got done with that spot.”

  Zuckberg lifted an ear, but otherwise ignored Harry’s directive. Moments later, a leg lifted.

  “Do you mind?” Harry mumbled. Gosh, however did the captain manage to be calm and composed whilst still getting people to follow her instructions? The mean face didn’t hurt, he supposed. Harry tried one out, but Zuckberg wasn’t paying attention.

  Oh well. Still better than being on the bridge at the moment. Being up there with that big, open view of space when there was a chance you might get blown to pieces? Nothing short of scary.

  Neither Harry nor poor Buddy needed any extra excitement added to what they were already experiencing down here in the cargo hold. At least down here, he had a task he could focus on, even if it wasn’t getting any closer to completion.

  Bracing himself again, he tried to concentrate on pulling his poop-scooping cart in a straight line. He’d been very pleased to discover his brand-new robot legs worked just like Buddy’s real legs. It had been easy enough to learn how to use them, even if it was a little strange that he could no longer feel his front hooves on the floor.

  He’d decided the best way to occupy this time—and distract himself from a potentially imminent death—was to start Zuckberg’s pirate intern training. He’d gotten straight to work showing the dog how to operate the cleaning cart and how to turn the restraining fences on and off. It would be really nice to hoof over the never-ending job to someone else finally, that was for sure.

  If only Zuckberg were paying attention.

  “Hey!” Harry tried again for the shaggy black dog’s attention. “Leave the cows alone! Can’t you tell they don’t like … that?” That being having their bottoms detailed by that endlessly probing nose.

  Zuckberg paused, his tongue hanging out, leaving the distinct impression of a grin, then answered in his droll, baritone voice, “You never know what secrets
one might hold, Harry. For instance, did you know that this one’s pregnant?”

  Harry stared. “Pregnant? What, like with babies…? But how?”

  “Give me a harem and I’ll show you.” Zuckberg resumed sniffing around the hold.

  “Umm, but…” Harry understood how that worked, of course. But the males and females were being kept in separate pens. As he glanced around the hold, he noticed a large bull lingering near another deactivated pylon. Someone had forgotten to turn it back on. Which was odd, because he could’ve sworn he’d taken care of it. “Oh.”

  Bieber, the short, squat, other non-crew who had come with them, was wandering around the edge of the hold, peering and poking at various electronics and mechanisms, muttering to himself. Perhaps he’d turned it off? But that didn’t explain the pregnant heifer, unless she’d just gotten pregnant? Hmm.

  Harry barely paid Bieber any further attention. His whole concentration was needed to keep his balance, pull the cart, and keep Buddy from trying to roll around on the floor to alleviate his stomach discomfort.

  Harry sighed as Zuckberg trotted off again to sniff at the base of a cargo crate. “Hey, would you stop doing that! This is important stuff here!”

  Zuckberg didn’t lift his nose from the floor, making a full circle around the crate, his tail wagging lazily behind him. “Important?” He scoffed. “What’s important about picking up poop? There’ll just be more of it in a few minutes.”

  Harry stopped pulling the cart and sighed again. He looked around the hold. Unfortunately, that was truer than he’d like to admit. Especially with all these evasive maneuvers … the animals seemed to be quite literally losing their shit. His ears drooped. “Well,” he started, “if the hold isn’t kept clean, the whole ship will start smelling. Do you want to sleep in a ship that smells like … this?”

  Zuckberg lifted his head, his tail suspended in mid-sweep. He cocked his head, though Harry couldn’t tell at all what he might be thinking, since his entire face was covered in thick, black, dreadlocked hair. “Hrmm. You have a point.” Then, the tail resumed its arc, and his purple tongue lolled out. “You need yourselves a McGee!”

  It was Harry’s turn to tilt his head. “A what?”

  “A McGee!” Zuckberg said enthusiastically. He trotted over to the chickens’ pen, to the chagrin of several indignant, clucking hens, who fluttered to the opposite side of the enclosure at his approach. “Y’know, my handler on the Federation flagship,” he explained. He sniffed around the humming fence that kept the chickens contained. “McGee. He was a good guy, really. He always cleaned up after me at the park. That’s what you need. A McGee to watch your ass, have your back when you need an assist. And also clean up your shit. Then you don’t have to do it. And more importantly, I don’t have to do it.”

  “Oh.” Harry considered this idea. He supposed it wasn’t a terrible one.

  Zuckberg suddenly lifted his head. “Oh man. I hope McGee made it off the Brickhouse before it exploded.” He rounded to face Harry. “Hey, do you think your captain could see if McGee made it out alive? I’d really appreciate it.”

  Harry blinked. “Oh. Uh, sure. I can ask her.” His legs splayed as the Bray sheered right, the floor vibrating beneath him. “After, you know, we get someplace safe.”

  “Right, right.” Zuckberg didn’t seem to notice the abrupt movements of the ship. “Hey, and maybe if he did make it out, we can go grab him.”

  Harry perked his ears up. “Grab him?”

  “Yeah. We’ll go get him. Hire him on as shit-cleaner. He’s top notch at it. I can highly recommend him for the job!”

  “Sure, maybe.” Harry hoped grabbing McGee might be easier and less stressful than grabbing Zuckberg had been. But he kind of liked the idea. Especially if it meant he wouldn’t have to do this anymore. And especially since Zuckberg didn’t really seem interested in the least in learning about his pirate intern duties. “But for now, you should really learn how to do this.”

  Zuckberg’s purple tongue pulled inside his mouth. “Why?”

  “Because, it’s an important part of being a pirate intern!”

  “Being a pirate intern sucks, then,” Zuckberg stated with an air of authority, then lifted his leg to pee on the nearest fence generator.

  “Hey,” Harry shouted. “Come on! Would you please stop peeing on everything? And being a pirate intern does not suck.”

  “No?” Zuckberg sniffed at the puddle he’d just made, then gave a satisfactory nod and moved on to the next fence post.

  That section of fence flickered briefly.

  “Seriously, Zuckberg,” Harry tried again. “Stop peeing on everything! You’re going to break the fence generators, and then these animals are going to be all over the place.”

  Zuckberg drew up short at the next post. He sniffed it, then whined, “But … but how is anyone going to know I was here? Besides, being confined to one space is lame.”

  A mild, normally pleasant voice interrupted the conversation, sounding more than a little down. “You’ve got that right.”

  “Node!” Harry started enthusiastically, before remembering that he was still upset with the AI for taking over Spiner’s body—without the android’s permission. He tried again, going for a more neutral affectation. “Err … Node.”

  A flat, inexpressive red eye appeared on the nearest wall.

  Zuckberg ran over, jumped up, and immediately started sniffing. “Huh,” he said. “You smell like ship.”

  “Your new companion’s a bright one,” Node commented dryly.

  “Thanks!” Zuckberg replied, then jumped down and resumed his examination of the cargo crates.

  “What’s your problem?” Harry asked, trying for a stern face.

  The red eye rolled in place. “Oh, nothing … unusual. I’m confined to this ship again, while you’ll all go off on your adventures. Can you imagine what it’s like to be stuck like this?”

  Something about the phrasing caught Harry off-guard, and he suddenly remembered that he was, in fact, stuck inside Buddy. Not that he really ever thought about leaving the donkey for another host—unless he was fantasizing about the captain—but now he supposed he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. And, for some reason, that now felt like it meant more to him. Maybe it was just Node’s words rubbing off on him, or maybe he’d been keeping himself distracted to avoid thinking about his post-recovery predicament?

  “I can,” Harry whispered.

  “You can what?” Node quizzed.

  Harry paused, then replied, completing the thought. “Imagine. I can imagine what it’s like to be stuck inside one place … Node, I’ve changed.”

  Node squinted, remaining quiet for several seconds that stretched on like an eternity. “Changed how? Like a Campbellian hero’s journey?”

  “What?” Harry replied, at a loss.

  “Never mind. Let me take a closer look.” A diffuse yellow beam appeared out of the ceiling, pointed directly at Harry’s front, metallic hooves. The beam started there, then worked its way across his body. “Hmm. Oh. Ohh … interesting.”

  The beam shut off.

  “You have changed, Harry,” Node stated, his voice almost sympathetic. Then his voice hardened. “But, you can still move around. You can still leave this ship that is my body … my prison … and go exploring, at least.”

  Distracted by the conversation, Harry barely registered that the ship had jumped. His stomach hardly turned at all. Whatever was happening, the ship had ceased with the jerky movements.

  He’d also failed to notice Bieber’s approach, until the engineer was standing directly in front of the wall, pinching the side of his oval glasses as he peered up at Node’s red eyeball. Which was quite a feat, considering the squat fellow appeared to have no neck.

  Bieber said, “Node, isn’t it? Couldn’t help but overhear your, ah, predicament.”

  Node’s digital eyeball widened and stared down at the little engineer, until the furry fellow started to fidget. “And I,” N
ode began, “Couldn’t help but notice you poking around in all my compartments. Think that’s pleasant, do you?”

  Bieber stuttered, “Umm, well, yes. You can think of me like a doctor. I was verifying that all your, ah, bits, are in order.”

  “And are you satisfied, then? That my bits are in order?” Node’s voice had taken on an edge Harry had never heard before. Maybe he didn’t like doctors? Which was a strange thought to Harry, because his doctors had been alright—excepting Dr. Bonecrusher’s occasional fits of rage.

  Bieber pulled himself straight. Well, as straight as a rotund half-beaver might. “I’m getting there. It’s my job, after all. If you’re nice to me, I might just be able to help.”

  “Help?” The red eye blinked.

  “Well yes, with your predicament, of course.”

  Harry thought back to Spiner on their previous mission, having been at a complete loss of control over his body and actions. If Node were to apologize, that would be one thing. But he had yet to express remorse for his actions.

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good—” Harry started.

  The intercom kicked in, blaring overly loud. “Harry?” The captain.

  “Captain?”

  “Harry, get up here.” Her voice sounded clipped, impatient. The intercom switched off. She wasn’t waiting for a reply.

  This conversation would have to wait. Harry felt a strong compulsion to get right on whatever the captain wanted. He couldn’t help but marvel at how effective her voice was at getting others to act.

  “Huh, wonder what she wants?” Zuckberg was paying attention also, for once. Her voice must’ve had an effect on him, too.

  Harry would have to file that away for later use with the new intern.

  Bieber turned away from the wall. “Whatever it is, sounds important.”

  “Yeah, you’re right.” Harry felt an involuntary swelling of the chest. Important. Being a real pirate was going to be a big deal. Self-pity about his inability to change hosts would have to wait. “They want me for something important. I’m important now. Me.”