“I have Delphinian yogurt.”
“Okay, add an ounce of any fruit-flavored yogurt. Shake it for thirty seconds, put in a couple of ice cubes, and serve it.”
“Working…”
“Excuse me,” said Sokolov, “but we couldn't help overhearing. I've never come across a Blue Comet before.”
“It was created on the Inner Frontier,” answered Val.
“It sounds awful,” said Briggs. “Like you're mixing too many things together.”
“Computer,” said Val, “make three Blue Comets.”
“Working…”
“The only way to make up your mind is to try one,” she said.
“That seems fair,” agreed Briggs. “And when we're done, I'll have the galley make up some Denebian Slime Devils.”
“I've had them,” said Val without much enthusiasm.
“But not with Gray Vodka from Hesporite III.”
“No,” she admitted. “I've never had real Gray Vodka, just the stuff they make on Keepsake. Sounds interesting.”
“Not as interesting as an Eridani Elephant,” said Sokolov.
“An Eridani Elephant?” she repeated.
He began describing it as their Blue Comets arrived. “Ah, hell,” he said. “It'll be easier to show you.”
She took a swallow of her drink. “It's all right,” she said, “but it really needs a raw egg.”
“Does it have to be the egg of an avian?” asked Sokolov.
“I don't know,” she admitted. “I never thought about it. Why?”
“Because we're as likely to touch down on a world where they sell reptile eggs, or something-else eggs, as avian eggs.”
“Drink up, first,” she said. “You may decide it's not worth the effort.”
The two men downed their drinks.
“That's powerful stuff, ma'am,” said Sokolov.
“But good,” added Briggs.
“Still, it seems to be missing a little something,” said Sokolov. “I think we'll definitely remember to pick up some eggs next chance we get.”
The Denebian Slime Devils appeared a minute later, and the Eridani Elephants showed up just about the time they'd finished the Slime Devils.
“I'm sure glad you came aboard, ma'am,” said Sokolov. “I can see where my free time is going to be a lot more interesting.”
“And educational,” slurred Briggs.
Twenty minutes later the two men declared eternal friendship with their new Third Officer. And five minutes after that, she stood up and left them snoring peacefully at their table.
“Calioparie,” said Braxite.
“Toprench,” said Domak.
“I'm telling you, calioparie is the most difficult and complicated game in the galaxy,” said Braxite.
“Nonsense,” replied Domak. “It's Toprench.”
“You're both wrong,” said Idena Mueller. “It's chess—the only game where the loser has no excuses.”
“You've been in the Republic too long,” said Val, who'd been listening from across the room.
“Oh?” said Idena. “And what does the pirate queen think it is?”
“You say that like an insult,” replied Val. “I consider it a compliment. You ought to try being a pirate queen sometime. It's harder than it looks. And so is bilsang.”
“What's bilsang?”
“A game that makes chess and Toprench look like kid's games,” answered Val. “I've seen the ownership of whole planets change hands over a game of bilsang.”
“What makes it so hard?” asked Braxite.
“Its simplicity,” answered Val.
“That doesn't make any sense.”
“That's because you don't know anything about it,” said Val.
“Too bad you can't show us,” said Domak sarcastically. “Now we'll never know if you were right.”
“What makes you think I can't show you?”
“We don't have any bilsang games aboard the Teddy R,” said Idena.
“It doesn't need a board, or cards, or a computer,” answered Val. “Anyone can play it.” She paused. “But not anyone can win it.”
“How long does it take to play a game?” asked Domak.
“Anywhere from five minutes to three months.”
“And you don't need anything special?”
“Just a brain,” said Val. “You want me to teach you the basics?”
“How long will this take?” asked Idena. “I'm on duty in another half hour.”
“Five minutes for the rules, a lifetime for the subtleties.”
“What the hell, why not?” said Idena. “What do we need?”
“A flat surface, and twenty pieces. Coins will do. Or medals. Or anything that you can fit twenty of on a tabletop.”
“All right,” said Idena, reaching into her pocket. “I've got about ten coins.”
“I'll contribute the rest,” said Val. “Who knows? Maybe one of you will become good enough to challenge me.”
The coins were placed on the table.
“What do we do now?” asked Domak.
Val explained the rules, and a few of the subtleties. Then Idena had to leave, but Braxite and Domak decided to play a game. They were still playing it, oblivious of all else, when Idena returned five hours later.
Within a week the whole ship was enmeshed in a bilsang tournament.
In two weeks she'd won over every member of the crew except Forrice and Rachel. When Rachel was finally convinced that the Valkyrie had no romantic interest in Cole, nor he in her, she relented and accepted her as a member of the crew.
Forrice was a harder case, but his opposition to her shattered one day when he and Val found themselves in the tiny officers' lounge during white shift. Nobody knows quite how it started, but when Cole entered the lounge he found them telling each other dirty Molarian jokes and laughing their heads off.
Everyone sympathized with her quest for her ship and her revenge against the Hammerhead Shark, but the general consensus was that it would be a shame if the Teddy R actually managed to find the Pegasus.
It was two Standard weeks to the day after the Valkyrie had joined the crew that the first word of the Pegasus reached the Teddy R.
It was during white shift, and Christine Mboya immediately summoned Cole and Val to the bridge, where Briggs and Jack-in-the-Box were manning the computer consoles.
“Sir,” she said when Cole was standing before her, “I've just intercepted a call for help from Cyrano.”
“What and where is Cyrano?” he asked. “And why did you summon Val?”
“Cyrano's a planet about ninety light-years from here, and the distress call mentioned the Pegasus.”
“That bastard is endangering my ship!” Val bellowed furiously.
“What are you talking about?” asked Cole.
“Cyrano is Donovan Muscatel's headquarters,” said Val. “He and the Shark are rivals, so the Shark decided to approach him in a ship he didn't recognize and then opened fire.”
“So you figure it's over already?”
“I'm not saying Donovan is dead,” answered Val. “I'm just saying that the Pegasus has blown his base to hell by now.”
“Then why isn't he dead?”
“He's got four ships. They're never all in port at the same time, so there's a chance that he wasn't on Cyrano during the attack. But I guarantee by the time we get there all we're going to find is a hole in the ground.”
“Pilot, take us there anyway, top speed,” ordered Cole. Christine looked at him questioningly. “We've got to start somewhere,” he explained. “If there are any survivors, they might be able to tell us where Muscatel's other ships are.” He turned to Val. “The Shark would go after the other ships once he took care of the base, wouldn't he?”
“Once he starts, he can't allow any survivors or he'll be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life.” Suddenly she slammed a fist against a bulkhead. “Damn his eyes!”
“What is it?”
“Donovan's got friends, and now they're
all going to be after my ship!”
“Isn't that what we're doing?” asked Christine, looking confused.
“Yes,” replied Cole. “But our purpose is to capture it and turn it over to Val after we appropriate some of its treasure for our trouble. You have to figure any friends of Muscatel are going to be out to destroy it and everyone who's in it.”
“God have mercy on anyone who destroys the Pegasus,” growled Val angrily, “because they're sure as hell not going to get any from me!”
“Save the threats for later,” said Cole. “We've got other things to consider first. For example, if we approach the Pegasus, will the Shark talk first or shoot first?”
“Shoot.”
“Even though he doesn't know you're aboard?”
“The Shark doesn't talk,” said Val. “Ever. If you're approaching him, he'll assume you have a reason, and whatever the reason is, it's not going to be good news for the Pegasus. He'll shoot.”
“The Pegasus is your ship,” said Cole. “I want you to go down to Security and tell Sharon Blacksmith everything you know about it—its size, its weaponry, its defenses, its top speed, its weaknesses.”
“I already did.”
“Do it again.”
“It's a waste of time.”
“Perhaps, but there may be some little thing you missed the first time around. Sharon's monitoring this, so she'll be expecting you.”
“No,” said Val. “I told her everything I know about it.”
“I'm getting tired of people questioning my judgment,” said Cole. “I gave you an order. Disobey it and our pursuit of the Pegasus stops right now and I put you off on the first oxygen world we come to, inhabited or not.”
She stared at him expressionlessly for a long moment. “This is your ship, so I'll do what you want,” she said at last. “But don't you ever speak to me in that tone of voice on my ship.”
She turned and walked to the airlift.
“You know,” said Briggs, who was manning the sensors, “for just a minute there I thought she was going to take a swing at you.”
“She could probably mop up the floor with me,” acknowledged Cole. “But she wants her ship more than she wants anything else, so she'll do whatever's necessary to get it back. And if Sharon can get something useful out of her, maybe we can settle for disabling the Pegasus rather than destroying it.”
Christine had been studying the various screens as they spoke. “She was right, sir,” she announced. “The Pegasus has left the Cyrano system.”
“Any idea where it's heading?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. Cyrano's not a planet with sophisticated technology, sir. Tracking a ship that's moving at light speeds through a Grade Three wormhole is beyond their ability.”
“All right,” said Cole. “I suppose we'll need a landing party to interview any survivors or eyewitnesses.”
“I'd like to volunteer, sir,” said Briggs.
“Fine. Report to the Kermit when we hit the outer reaches of the system.”
“I'd like to volunteer too,” offered Jack-in-the-Box.
“I appreciate it,” answered Cole, “but we'll only need a landing party of three.”
“You only have one so far, sir,” said Jack-in-the-Box.
“Val's got to be in the party,” replied Cole. “She'll know what questions to ask.”
“That's still only two, sir.”
“I'm the third.”
“I thought the Captain wasn't supposed to leave the ship in dangerous territory,” noted Jack-in-the-Box.
“He's not,” said Cole. “And if you can find anyone else she'll obey when things start getting hairy, I'll be happy to stay on board.”
Jack-in-the-Box had no answer to that, and he fell silent.
“Pilot, what's our ETA?” asked Cole.
“If the Boratina Wormhole hasn't moved, we'll enter the Cyrano system in eighty-seven Standard minutes,” answered Wxakgini.
“And if it has?”
“Then we won't enter the Cyrano system in eighty-seven Standard minutes.”
“Thanks for that enlightening answer,” said Cole dryly. “Christine, select a replacement for Mr. Briggs. Briggs, go down to the armory and draw a burner, a screecher, and a suit of body armor.”
“I hate that stuff,” complained Briggs.
“Yeah, well I hate losing officers,” responded Cole. “The whole suit doesn't weigh five pounds. I want you wearing it before we get into the shuttle.”
“It makes me sweat.”
“Just keep telling yourself: corpses don't sweat.”
“Yes, sir,” said Briggs dejectedly. Then: “Is the Valkyrie going to wear body armor?”
“The Valkyrie can take care of herself better than anyone I've ever met,” said Cole. “She can wear what she wants.” Briggs opened his mouth to protest, and Cole held up a hand. “And before you complain, the day you can beat her in a fair fight, or even an unfair one, you can wear what you want. In the meantime, get into the body armor and stop bitching about it.”
“Yes, sir,” said Briggs.
“Well?” demanded Cole when Briggs remained where he was.
“I was waiting for my replacement.”
“Okay, you get to keep out of the armor for another five minutes,” said Cole. “But when he shows up, you go to the armory.”
“Yes, sir.”
When they were ten minutes from the Cyrano system, Cole contacted Val and told her to join him and Briggs at the shuttle as soon as they braked to sublight speeds. No one could tell whether the ship was going faster or slower than light without reference to a computer that was monitoring the speed, but everyone could always tell when the ship crossed the light barrier in either direction. There was an instant of disorientation that couldn't be ignored or mistaken for anything else.
They left in the Kermit a few minutes later, and soon entered Cyrano's atmosphere—and within seconds they were confronted by half a dozen two-man fighter ships.
“What should I do, sir?” asked Briggs, who was at the controls.
“They're just making sure we're not here to blow up something else,” said Cole. “You've got your false ID and the false registry for the Teddy R and the shuttle. Just answer all their questions. We're here to do business with Muscatel. If they tell you that his base has been demolished, just say that he was holding some goods for us and we want to land and see what became of them.”
“They had to know he was a pirate,” said Briggs.
“This planet was his headquarters for years,” said Val. “That means he paid a lot of people off—and that means they'll be looking for someone to replace that money. For all they know, it could be us.”
Then the radio came to life, and Briggs spent the next few minutes answering precisely those questions Cole had predicted they would ask. Finally the Kermit was cleared to land, and it touched down at a small commercial spaceport about six miles from the remains of Muscatel's warehouse.
“God!” muttered Briggs as they emerged from the shuttle. “I can smell the fumes from here. What the hell did the Pegasus do—spray the place with toxic chemicals?”
“Not directly,” answered Val. “But Donovan kept a lot of stuff in that warehouse. Doubtless some of it reacted badly to my ship's pulse canons.”
They rented an aircar at the small spaceport, and took it to the hole in the ground that used to be Donovan Muscatel's headquarters.
“I told you there wouldn't be anything left of it,” said Val, looking at the smoldering remains of the building in the bottom of the newly made basin.
“Would his ships be at the spaceport?” asked Cole. “The ones that aren't off being pirates, I mean.”
She shook her head. “He'd never have trusted the port authorities to keep them safe. If they weren't in orbit—”
“They weren't.”
“—then they'd have been moored to the buildings here.”
“That's too bad.”
“Why do you care?”
/> “Because if we could have found an intact ship, we'd probably have been able to find the communication codes to the other ships and would have been able to find out where they were, and if Muscatel was alive or dead.”
“We don't care about him,” said Val. “We're after the Hammerhead Shark and my ship.”
“So, in all likelihood, are they,” said Cole, “and they may have some knowledge concerning where he is.”
“If we spread enough money around, we'll find him,” Val assured him.
“You're missing the point,” said Cole.
“What point?” she demanded.
“Oh, we'll find the Pegasus sooner or later, I have no doubt of it,” said Cole. He stared at her. “But what if Muscatel's ships find it first?”
“You've got it backwards,” said Val. “I told you: The Shark will be after them.”
“The Teddy R is a Republic warship,” said Cole. “Lord knows it's not the newest or the best, but it was created to fight in wars. If the Pegasus isn't a warship, and if it is you've never mentioned the fact, then whatever you think about the Shark, he's not likely to engage two or three ships at once. Even if he's the most vindictive bastard in the galaxy, he's more likely to choose his spots and pick them off one by one.”
“You don't know the first thing about him,” protested Val.
“I don't know the second thing about him,” answered Cole. “The first thing is that he's survived in this business long enough to get a reputation. That implies that he's not suicidal.” He paused. “Look, either way we're more likely to find him if we know where Muscatel's ships are. Whether they're chasing him or being stalked by him, sooner or later if we keep an eye on them we're going to find the Pegasus.”
“Okay, it makes sense,” she admitted grudgingly. “Let's get their registration numbers from the port. No sense asking for flight plans; whether they're the pursuers or the pursued, they're not going to stick to any plans.”
“The spaceport isn't going to turn the names over to you just because you ask,” said Cole.
“I'm not going to ask,” she said, placing her gloved hands on the handles of her weapons. “I'm going to demand.”
“There are easier ways.”
“Oh? Like what?”
“Like I took your advice and removed the stones from the tiara. A couple, placed in the proper hands, will get us what we want just as easily, and we won't be reported to the closest hundred bounty hunters.”
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