Harry, Cass, Redbeard and Kitt pressed themselves up against a wall as an elderly man meandered by, grinning ear to ear. He wore only a towel around his waist, seemingly not concerned in the least about showing off his less-than-battle-ready physique. Clearly he had been out of active duty for quite some time. The man paused as he came upon Cass and crew, and Harry tensed, squinting at the man and preparing to think about firing his laser guns if he had to.
But the man only peered up at Cass, then swung around to peer at Redbeard and Kitt. Then he looked down at Harry. And blinked.
“Ha!” he blurted. “Joe, would ya look at that! You ever seen anything like that before?”
Harry looked around, trying to figure out who Joe was. But he didn’t see anyone else in the hallway.
“Me neither!” the old man said. “Ha!” He slapped at his knee, laughing. “Hoo boy, what will they come up with next?” He shook his head. “Kids these days, eh?” He wobbled on past them, still chuckling.
“Uh, what the hell was that?” Cass asked.
“Blimey,” Redbeard muttered. He kept swiping at his face, but his efforts to clear the sweat were utterly in vain. “Maybe this heat has gotten to ‘em. It’s gettin’ to me, tha’s fer sure.”
Harry had an inspired idea. “Maybe he was talking to his host?” He looked around for support, but his companions regarded him with blank looks. “Like, you know, me … when I talk to my host, Buddy…”
Kitt growled, ignoring the suggestion. “This whole place gives me the creeps. Let’s just find the Grand COG and then blow it all up, yeah?”
Cass shrugged. “Sounds alright by me.”
Redbeard nodded his approval, and they continued on. They reached the resort’s central atrium without trouble, passing several more scantily clad elders who spared them not a second glance. They found a cluster of uniformed sailors in the atrium and ducked down behind a white couch, readying their weapons, but the sailors hadn’t even seen them.
The Feds stood in a loose circle near a glass-and-gold coffee table beset with an enormous vase of exotic flowers. They were chatting and laughing amongst themselves, holding glasses of liquid similar to what the sailors on the Bray had been drinking.
“Hey,” Harry whispered. “They’re having drinks, too. Is this how the Federation celebrates? By drinking stuff? I thought parties were supposed to have cake?”
He’d been looking forward to trying cake. Sure, Dr. Brenneke had told him to stick to a strict diet … but surely one piece of cake wouldn’t hurt?
“Aye, they arrrrr indeed,” Redbeard said. “Maybe thar all blind drunk! We could take this whole resort without a shot fired in thar current state! They wouldn’t know wha’ hit ‘em! Pah!”
“Maybe,” Cass murmured. She peeked above the top of the couch to survey the rest of the atrium. “But I’ve never seen anyone act quite like this when drunk. Not even Federation riff-raff.”
“Maybe they’ve all got rabies,” Kitt stated flatly.
Another Fed wandered by, having a very animated conversation … with himself.
Cass frowned. “Does rabies make you hallucinate?”
A jolt of realization passed across Redbeard’s face. “Tha’s it!” he said, then lowered his voice at the captain’s sharp look. “Tha drink! It makes ‘em hallucinate! We got somethin’ like that back on me home planet! Use it fer arrrr festivals and such. It’s a great time, lemme tell ya!”
Captain Cass gave him a dubious look.
“What does hallucinate mean?” Harry asked. “Is that like … urinate?” He peered out from his hiding place, checking for puddles in the vicinity of the Feds in question. There were puddles, but not from pee. They were sweating profusely, leaving pools of sweat in their wakes. “Or, perspire-ate?”
“It means you see stuff that isn’t really there,” Kitt explained. She checked her pistol. “Which means these Feds should be easy pickings.”
“That’s probably why they walked right past us,” Cass mused. “They didn’t realize we were real.”
“Ha!” Redbeard blurted, then hunkered further down behind the couch and clapped a hand over his mouth.
“We still need to be careful,” Cass said. “We don’t know that everyone’s drinking the Kool-Aid. There could still be someone coherent around here.”
Redbeard nodded stoically. “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
Harry was still intrigued by the idea of seeing something that wasn’t real. How did you see something if it didn’t actually exist? “Can I try the drink?” he asked, sidling toward the corner of the couch to look out around it. “I want to know what it’s like to hallucinate!”
Cass grabbed a strap of his harness and stopped him from approaching the circle of Feds. “Wait, Harry! Don’t go out there. And no, no trying the drink, okay? We need to have our wits about us to pull off this mission. Got it?”
Harry understood, but was still disappointed. He sighed. “Got it.”
“Don’ worry, ‘Arry,” Redbeard whispered, patting Harry’s flank. “I’ll let ya try some of our stuff when we be takin’ me sister back home.” His face darkened. “An’ after I be murderin’ that traitor, Djerke.”
Harry’s ears lifted. “Really?”
“Aye, I will indeed.”
“Gee, thanks, Redbeard!”
Captain Cass was glaring at her second-in-command.
He caught her angry stare and shrugged. “Wha!?”
Cass pursed her lips, then let out a soft exhale. “Let’s keep going, shall we?”
“Wait,” Redbeard replied, receiving a quizzical look from the captain as he reached down into a pouch clipped to his belt.
Harry’s eyes widened as he recognized the flimsy nose-mounted binoculars in the burly pirate’s grasp. The Zoomels!
The big pirate reached up and secured them to the bridge of his nose, two circular lenses obscuring his eyes. “Been waitin’ fer tha right time ta try these out!”
“Dare I ask?” said the captain.
“They’re Zoomels,” whispered Harry, recalling the sales pitch from the ads they’d seen at Dillbilly’s, which was where Redbeard had picked up a pair—thanks to him. “You can zoom in on stuff, and they’re perfect for the adventuring outdoorsman—guaranteed to be fireproof or blastp—”
“Harry,” Cass interrupted. “That’s great. Red, can you use them to get a better look around?”
Redbeard nodded enthusiastically. “Hah, these arrr great.” He crawled on his hands and knees around the edge of the couch, his grin widening as he peered into the dark corners of the perimeter. His gaze turned to a high-traffic area on the far end of the atrium. “Hmm, Cap’n, ever heard of ‘Imaginary Friends?’”
Kitt snickered softly.
Harry had had more than a few of those, himself, growing up. Maybe the Feds were lonely? Whatever Redbeard was seeing, it must be important.
Cass tugged on Redbeard’s elbow, pulling him back behind the couch. “What’d you see?”
“Thar be some sorta bar. Must be tha source of all tha drinks.”
“Imaginary Friends?” Cass asked, nodding to herself. “Of course, that must be the lounge. I’d heard rumors of it, but always assumed it was just a joke to make fun of the Beloved Leader behind his back … I guess it’s real.”
Redbeard cackled, “Effin’ losers.”
“Shh,” Cass said. “Did you see anything else?”
“Jus’ a reception desk an’ a bored lookin’ lass.”
The captain nodded, tapping a finger against the thigh of her metallic leggings. “We need more information.” She paused, looking at each pirate in turn. Her gaze settled upon Harry.
He felt a thrill of excitement. He was about to get asked to do something important, he could just tell. “I’m ready, Captain!” he enthused, thinking he’d be getting a chance to test his lasers soon.
“Good,” she replied, “because I have an important job for you.”
#
Node trailed along behind his assault te
am, but despite his best efforts to keep up, was quickly falling behind down the long service corridor. Bieber kept glancing back, but it was clear that he’d soon be left behind, too.
“Go on without me,” Node said, not wanting to give anyone an excuse to blame him for this mission failing.
“If you’re slow, then it’s my fault,” Bieber said, worry creasing his brow. “I have a responsibility to make sure your body is mission-ready.”
Node considered launching into a tirade. After all, the little hunk of organic flesh was correct. This agonizingly inept vessel was a result of his failings as an engineer. Still, Node supposed he should exude some sense of gratitude … humanoids were a fickle lot, and if he complained, it was entirely probable that he’d never be the beneficiary of further improvements.
Before he could do such a thing, however, he picked up a distant noise. “Someone’s coming,” he said, thankful that at least his auditory instrumentation was working. “Run ahead and I’ll catch up.”
“But—”
“I’ll be fine. Go.”
Bieber sighed and nodded slowly. “Okay, but try to be careful.”
“Of course. No one’s going to give me a second look,” Node said, and as he did so, he knew the statement was statistically likely to be true.
The engineer must’ve agreed, because he scooted off down the corridor without further argument.
Node suppressed the urge to emit a dramatic sigh and powered down his treads. If he stood inanimate, it was likely that whoever was coming would simply ignore him and move on.
#
“Room number?” asked the woman behind the reception desk, hardly sparing Harry a second glance.
“Umm.”
The woman’s eyebrows twitched as her fingers hovered above a small console. “Or a last name?”
Humans and their last names. Unfortunate that Harry hadn’t thought to come up with one before now. That was an oversight he’d have to rectify after this mission. Meanwhile, he had a very important task to do.
“Harold,” he replied. “But you can call me Harry.”
The receptionist sighed and stared at her console, as if expecting an additional piece of information. “Are you staying with a registered guest? If so, they need to declare all additional visitor information before you freely roam the grounds. Security, you understand?”
“Oh, uh,” Harry fumbled for the right answer, but she seemed to have moved on. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was bored with her job. But how could anyone be bored with an important task? He’d have to ask someone later. “I understand. Say, could I ask a question?”
“Sure,” she replied, her voice flat.
Here goes nothing, thought Harry. “Where can I find the Grand COG? I’d like to request an audience with our…” what was the term? Oh yes. “…with our Beloved Leader.”
The receptionist shrugged. “It’s your lucky day, no appointment needed. He’s in there.”
Harry followed her gaze toward the lounge with the neon-lit sign. Imaginary Friends. Well that was easy. “Great, thanks!”
He stepped back from the reception desk and started to trot back across the atrium toward the couch where the rest of his team was still hiding, but then he froze. How had he not noticed earlier? Through a set of double-doors not far from the lounge’s entrance was an outside courtyard. And in the center of the courtyard was a golden structure, just like the one in the videos he’d watched back on Cern.
The Candidate Registration Kiosk! And standing on the opposite side of the structure from him? The mean-faced Federation lady, the one who’d almost killed his captain.
And she appeared to be staring straight at him.
Meanwhile, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tone E and his assault team creeping around the bend, massing at the entrance to the lounge.
If Harry stood completely still, maybe the mean lady wouldn’t notice him. And more importantly, maybe she wouldn’t see Tone E’s team, either…
#
Statistics had the unfortunate failing of only presenting probabilities. Which meant that there was always room for the improbable. And against all probability, the small group of hotel staff immediately noticed Node’s unmoving form in the hall.
A squat female humanoid paused and knelt in front of him, while a small cluster of others waited next to a manual push-cart loaded with bedding and cleaning supplies. A name-patch adorned the breast of her plain-grey uniform: Chief Custodial Engineer Lolo.
“Huh,” she said, “who left this out here? The maintenance bots aren’t supposed to be in the guest corridors.”
“Wasn’t me,” another replied, while the others ignored the question altogether.
“Oh well.” She stood and brushed dust off her knees. “We’ll have to move it. Hope it’s not too heavy.”
The other who had replied pointed to an alcove a few meters down the corridor. “There’s a service closet just down there. Why don’t we stow it there for now? Maybe we can just scoot it? Doesn’t look too heavy.”
After much grunting and groaning, the custodial team succeeded in navigating Node’s inanimate robot body into a service closet that looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades. He resisted the urge to call out for them to wait before they slid the door shut. A moment later, he heard the sound of automated restraining bolts sliding into place.
“This isn’t good,” Node muttered to himself. “No one is ever going to find me in here!” Well, what tools did he have available to help extricate himself, then? To start with, he should probably activate his perimeter lighting system… A second later, a series of blue track lights activated around the lower circumference of his body, just above the treads.
“Good enough. Now, let’s see here…”
The room was in clear disuse. Piles of abandoned spare parts littered the room, along with a couple of mechanical ladders and pulley systems. Off in the corner, there was even a pair of deactivated, possibly broken service bots. And to the right of those? Some sort of service panel. If there was a way out, that would be it. Much to his luck, the panel was low enough to the ground for his arms to reach.
“Gotcha,” Node said. He reactivated his treads and scooted over to investigate, mindful to avoid getting stuck on any of the loose debris.
35
Several People
Tone E Robbins didn’t believe in poetic justice, as such, but he was willing just this once to suspend disbelief for the sake of achieving a satisfyingly epic act of revenge. The golden bozo currently parading as the Golden COG just hadn’t been able to let the pirates be. Maybe he thought that Tone E would come back one day, gunning for his position, but that was an idiotic thought at best. Who would possibly want to be in charge of the Federation?
Once upon a time, he’d done more than consider it. He’d damn well done it. And, word to the wise, the job wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. The subordinates were miserable, close-minded, misogynistic pigs, whose sole intention appeared to be feeling good about their lot in life as they pushed to expand the bounds of humanity.
“You have to change a culture from within, Antonio,” an early mentor had once taught him. Well, that was a bunch of garbage. Leaders came and went all the time. Entrenched career bureaucrats understood this fact, and were more than happy to make a living stonewalling progress.
Well, thought Tone E, as his fingers danced over the activation sequence for the massive gun he’d acquired from Dillbilly, to hell with stonewalling, and to hell with the Grand COG!
Poetic justice awaited.
He glanced up to see if he could spot his parrot, Mr. Burton—who was playing look-out in case any coherent-acting sailors tried to flank his group—but it was getting well and truly dark out, the dome above filtering out almost all sunlight now to help simulate the effects of late-evening.
Djerke belly-crawled back from the sliding door on the patio of the courtyard. Sonia breathed a sigh of relief at her Love Muffin’s return and shifted her we
ight atop the two golden-armored guards she’d taken down and knocked out cold.
Not that they’d let Djerke out of their sight, of course, but Tone E had let him do a quick recon of the entrance to the lounge just inside. He’d told the man it was a chance toward redeeming himself. In reality … it was mostly because Djerke was by far the most expendable member of the team.
But Tone E wasn’t going to tell the guy that.
“He’s in there,” Djerke reported dutifully, “along with a bunch of the top brass. They’re carrying on with, well…” He paused and lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t know who, to be honest.”
Tone E gave him a silent thumb’s up. So far, so good. He couldn’t wait to see what this gun could do. The promised effects of the chemical compound within the weapon’s chambers (aptly called Florida-Man) were so improbable, he’d had to test it on Dillbilly as a condition of completing the sale. Watching the green proprietor swing his shotgun on the empty space at the center of the store had been … interesting, to say the least. What had he been shooting at? Tone E had wanted to know, but had never really found out.
“Can’t believe it’s called Imaginary Friends,” snorted Dr. Bonecrusher, kneeling at Tone E’s elbow. “What’s our luck?”
Tone E released the safety on the black-market gun. “I don’t believe in luck, but I’m open to happy coincidences.”
Bonecrusher rolled his eyes and flexed his massive biceps. “Let’s bust some heads—err, Feds.”
“Not until I say so,” Tone E growled.
“Of course, just say the word,” replied Bonecrusher, who then flashed a grin at Sonia.
“Oy, ye flirtin’ at me, big man?” she asked, wagging a finger in response, then looking down at the still-prone Djerke. “Loove moofin’, ye gonna defend me honor or aren’t ye?”
Even as she protested, her bulk was more than enough to keep the two guards in golden armor pinned beneath her. They’d been manning the entrance, and made the mistake of leaving their posts to check on all the noise Djerke had made as he’d less-than-stealthily crawled around. Sonia had made quick work of them, before either Tone E or Bonecrusher even had a chance to react. Impressive. Though he shouldn’t be surprised—she was Redbeard’s twin sister, after all, and every bit as fierce in a tumble.
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