“Alpha! Mondo’s ship! Displace! Displace!”
A moment later, from the bridge speakers, Mondo’s voice broke in with a wail. “No! Noooo!”
“Now,” Hadrian snarled, leaning forward, “throw everything they sent us back at them! And then add every knickknack you can isolate from our crew’s quarters, and displace!”
From the combat cupola, Galk cursed and shouted, “What happened to my fuzzy dice!”
“All in a good cause, Galk,” said Hadrian. “Helm, bring us eighteen degrees to starboard. Flank turrets, target Delta. Glass marbles—the ones with the swirls inside—a full salvo!”
A slew of chipped china plates pounded against the Willful Child’s port shields, flinging people about again. Sin-Dour’s voice was ragged as she said, “Captain! Four ancient dot-matrix printers coming on astern, impact, three seconds!”
“Brace yourselves!”
The strikes were like a succession of kicks to the backside. The bow dipped as the stern lifted. Gripping the arms of his command chair, Hadrian saw Jimmy Eden—with fresh bandages wrapped round his head—fly into the main viewer, where he was momentarily splayed against a gewgaw-filled starry backdrop, before he slid down to land on his head.
“Jimmy!” screamed Joss. “You were like—like—”
“Maintain station, Helm! Fire all rear thrusters, tumble us over one-eighty and lock on the enemy’s plane. Bow beam weapons, prepare to target Delta’s engine pods! Galk, focus all the beams to a single point of contact with the enemy shield. Sustain for one point five seconds and then follow through with a kinetic strike from a railgun!”
“Confirmed, sir. But my dice—”
“They’re rolling through the cosmos, Galk! Besides, it’s all a crapshoot, isn’t it?”
“Valid observation, sir. Thank you. Target acquired. Firing now.”
Four beams lanced out, converging to a single point on Delta’s port shield. The inert missile that followed was a mere flicker of black. Delta’s flank crumpled like cardboard, with white plumes shooting out from hull breaches. Plastic garden fauna spilled out like an exploding garage sale.
On the bridge of the Willful Child, everyone cheered.
Except for Hadrian. “Helm! Barrel-roll this baby, left, left! Starboard thrusters on full to correct. Reverse engines full! Sin-Dour, reinforce forward shields! Prepare for impact!”
On the main viewer, spinning toward them in the thousands, was a salvo of CDs, flashing with reflected starlight. Bow turrets fired frantically, shattering hundreds of the shiny discs.
The forward shield blossomed bright as a raging sun, and then died like a match in a gutter.
“Screen down, Captain!” Sin-Dour reported. “Enemy vessel Gamma is coming around!”
“Dorsal rear thrusters on full! Ventral bow thrusters on full! Buck! Engage antimatter engines in pulse mode!”
“Gamma is firing! Captain! Garden gnomes! Three thousand four hundred—”
“Fire a pulse, Buck! We’ve got to outrun those gnomes!”
“I’m doing all I can, Captain! Rear thruster nozzles not responding—sir, they might be jammed with knickknacks!”
“Then head to the Humphreys tube, Buck, and clear ’em out!”
“On it, Captain!”
“Helm! Antimatter engines, now!”
The vessel jolted, and then shot upward.
“Gnomes still closing, sir!”
“Rear turrets, Galk! Fire fire fire!”
“In the seat and on manual, sir! Die gnomes! Die! Hahahahaha!”
“Stern view!”
The main viewer’s image shifted, and now they could see the gnomes racing to catch them. Some were waving their mechanical arms.
“Damn,” hissed Hadrian. “Those waving ones are virtually indestructible.”
“Great Darwin, sir,” said Sin-Dour, “what mad species invented those?”
“Terrans, 2IC. That’s right, us. One of the darkest periods of human history.”
Many gnomes were exploding as Galk went wild with the stern-mounted turrets, but there were too many gnomes, closing in too quickly.
Then the stern thrusters fired, spewing out gouts of green fire and flaming knickknacks. The Willful Child surged forward, and for a moment, it seemed that the gnomes were all waving good-bye, but then they drew closer once again, waving hello.
“Helm! Barrel-roll, right right!”
Galk shrieked. “That one’s coming right at me! I can’t—I can’t—aagh! No, hah! Got it! Got it!”
“Sir! The gnomes are guided! We can’t shake them!”
“Goof grief! Guided gnomes. That’s diabolical. Tammy!”
“Captain?”
“Establish a displacement field in our wake.”
“You mean, out in space?”
“You heard me! And set the Insisteon to the following coordinates … 24.7, 19.89.”
“Okay.… Now what?”
“Displace!”
Behind the Willful Child, almost all of the gnomes vanished.
They reappeared, still flying at high velocity, beside the flank of the Falangee vessel designated Epsilon. The impact was most spectacular. Epsilon broke into three pieces, amid freezing clouds of gas and hundreds of thousands of alien bobblehead dolls.
“Sir! The remaining three active ships are forming up.”
Hadrian grunted. “Preparing for another assault. Shields status?”
“Bow shield down, sir. Stern shield at eighteen percent. Starboard at seventy and port at forty-one. Dorsal at sixty-three and ventral at eleven. We’re in bad shape, sir. Once those knickknacks start impacting our hull, we’re looking at catastrophic containment failures. And,” she added, “loss of life.”
“Tammy? About those survival instincts of yours…”
“Hmm, understood, Captain. Alas, I seem preternaturally calm. Death, I have realized, might well come as something of a relief, a liberation of sorts, even—”
“Tammy!”
“I’m sorry, but I found some Varekan e-pamphlets. You know, there really is something to be said for just tossing it all in, what the fuck and whatever, you know what I mean? After all, in the long run—”
“You idiot, there is no long run, unless we’re around to run in it!”
“But even then, Hadrian, what’s the point? Why not just, well, stand still?”
At that, all thrusters and ship engines died. The Willful Child drifted.
“Get us back online!”
“I’m sorry, Hadrian,” said Tammy. “It’s time for the chicken to cross the road.”
TWENTY-FOUR
From a bridge stuffed to the gills with gewgaws, Captain Mondo smiled. “You see?” the Falangee purred. “All it took was one porcelain piggy in the wrong place, and voilà! All power systems down. Helpless. Vulnerable. You fought a good fight, Captain Sawback. Inspired, even. And our losses are substantial. But ultimate victory is mine.” The Falangee gestured. “In moments, this is how your bridge will look. You will have less than five seconds to enjoy your largesse, however, as we will then blast you into space dust in an act of mindless revenge.”
An officer buried in the wrack shouted at Mondo, “Mondo! Unknown vessel dropping out of T space relative at thirty-two degrees Epsilon Delta! Sir! It’s firing!”
Mondo’s mouth opened in surprise, and an instant later the screen went dark. Shock waves rumbled through the Willful Child.
Sin-Dour said, “Sir! Two of the Falangee vessels have been destroyed. The third is pulling away. Shall we fire on it?”
“No,” said Hadrian.
“Oh, never mind, sir, the unknown vessel just vaporized it.”
“Main viewer, please—let’s see our savior.”
External cameras shifted, focused.
“Sir,” gasped Sin-Dour, “that is a modified Benefactor vessel, earliest rendition, Contact Era. But I don’t recognize those podlike additions—”
“Nacelles,” corrected Hadrian.
“Sir?”
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“Take it from me, those are nacelles, Sin-Dour. Polaski, open hailing frequencies.”
The bridge that appeared on the main viewer was like a museum display, apart from the command chair being a ratty, worn, leather recliner. The man sprawled amid its stained cushions was enormous, with rolls of fat dropping down to bury his upper thighs. He sat holding a beer can in one hand, and what looked like a remote control in the other. Squinting, he said, “Why, Haddie, fancy us meeting like this again? Anyway, you know how I hate junk.”
“Hello, Gramps. You look awful.”
“Bad combination,” the man said. “Unnatural longevity and an endless supply of beer.” He scratched at his stubble and grinned sheepishly. “You know how it is. Now, aren’t you going to introduce me to your officers?”
Hadrian grunted. “I think they can guess, but sure. Everyone, this is my grandfather, the infamous Harry Mitts, Thief of the Future, still the most wanted man in the galaxy.”
“Thief? Really, that moniker hardly holds anymore, does it?” Harry toasted with the beer can. “Nice to meet you all. Especially the chicken. How are things going, Tammy?”
“You were late, sir! I was running out of excuses here!”
Hadrian pounded the arm of his command chair. “I should have guessed!”
“Now now,” said Harry, “Tammy’s some serious programming, you know. Stolen from a Temporal Corrections team, in fact. Anyway, we had to get you here, you see. Now, I know, I wasn’t too happy about you slipping back into the Affiliation.” Harry leaned forward, slightly, well, as much as he could manage. “I kept tabs, of course, as best I could. You got yourself a ship quicker than I figured you would, but then, the timing couldn’t have been better. I know, you’re kowtowing to the meatheads now, so all choice needed to be taken away from you—plausible deniability or whatever. That’s why I set Tammy up.”
“What’s all this about, Gramps?”
“It’s your parents. Got themselves into a mess. Taken prisoner, in fact, on a planet not too far from here. Now, do I look like a man up to ground missions?”
“So where’s Spark, then? He usually handles that stuff.”
Harry’s face fell slightly, “Lost the dog, Haddie. Wormhole.” He wiped at a cheek. “Been almost two years now.”
Hadrian crossed his arms. “So, you want me to rescue my seriously estranged parents—who didn’t even bother having me until they were, what, a hundred years old? Is that it, Gramps?”
“They’re facing execution. Could be any day now. Or, just as bad, kept as slaves for the rest of their unnaturally long lives.”
“Sector Unknown?”
“Of course!” Harry straightened. “I kept to my rule—we stayed out of Affiliation space! Got us retreating more and more every year, the bastards. What did I tell you about the meatheads? Rapacious expansion bolstered by unearned technical superiority and forever bowing to the gods of gluttony—whatever happened to the purity and wonder of true exploration? Oh, right, it never existed!”
“Gramps, you’re right, we did more exploring in my first eight years of life than the Affiliation has managed since its founding. And you can keep running if you like—it’s a big galaxy out there, after all. As for me, sorry, but I’m not built to run away and you know it. The Affiliation needs new thinking, and I’m the one to bring it, even if I have to shove it down their throats.”
“You can’t win, Haddie. They eat idealists for breakfast.”
“Old arguments, Gramps.”
The bloated face twisted in frustration. “Look! You got your education from pop television shows of the sixties. That ain’t the real world, Haddie!”
“It will be, once I get my way.”
Sin-Dour cleared her throat. “Captain? Engines are back up and a course has been laid in. We are approaching an unmapped star system.”
Sighing, Hadrian said, “All right, Gramps. Tell me about this evil planet and the evil aliens who took my parents prisoner.”
“You’ll spring ’em, then?”
“I guess I will. For the record, ‘unidentified Terran citizens imprisoned by aliens.’ That should wash.”
“That’s what you think!” snarled Lorrin Tighe. “I’m spilling everything! You’re the spawn of the three most notorious traitors humanity has ever known!”
“Oh,” said Hadrian, “how rude of me. Gramps, this is Adjutant Tighe, our Affiliation liaison.”
“One comes in every box, eh?”
“Box, ship, yeah.”
“Neural-wipe her before you return to Affiliation space.”
Hadrian shook his head. “No. That would be what the meatheads would do. Anyway, how many others would I have to wipe clean, just to keep the secret safe? Sorry, I earned this captaincy and never once cheated to get it.” He stood. “We’re out beyond the Known Rim. Basic tenet of the Affiliation’s stated aims. We’re about to make contact with a belligerent alien species and maybe slap some reason into them. All within accepted parameters. And once this is done, we’re heading back into Affiliation territory, and with luck, we can calm down the Misanthari—”
“Oh,” said Harry, “that’s my reward. I can get ’em to stand down quick enough. Save my boy and his missus, and it’ll all be smooth as cream by the time you get back.” He popped open another beer. “Me and the Misanthari go back a ways, heh, and there’s some secrets they’d rather no one knew about.” He drank down half the can, belched, and grinned at Hadrian.
“Tell me about the aliens, Gramps.”
“Right. Well, it’s a bit problematic. They’re a race of females, who have never experienced the company of males, since some ancient genetic fuss made males redundant, well, more redundant than usual. Anyway, the point is, you can’t go down there guns blazing. This will need subterfuge, Haddie. A one- or two-person mission, max. Oh, with Tammy tagging along, of course. And here’s the kicker. You need to be physically modified, Haddie. You need to be a woman. With, uhm, lots of hair, piled up like, and plenty of makeup. I’ll send across the standard uniform for their law-enforcement officers.” Harry paused and eyed Sin-Dour. “I’d say your first commander would be the perfect companion.”
“Give us a rundown of the rest while we’re being prepped,” Hadrian said, turning to leave the bridge. “2IC, you’re with me. Tammy?”
“Coming!”
Taking note of Sin-Dour’s dubious expression, Hadrian smiled. “You, me, and the chicken—what could go wrong?”
They entered the elevator and Hadrian said, “Sickbay level.”
Tammy cleared his chicken throat and spoke, “Captain? Something is brewing back on your bridge. Do you want a look in?”
“Chatter’s to be expected—”
“Actually, the subject is whether or not to mutiny.”
“Ah.”
Sin-Dour said, “Captain, I think we should be made aware of it.”
“Why, Commander, I’m shocked that you would condone what can only be seen as a serious invasion of privacy.”
“Sir, that’s your bridge. Privacy is a privilege, not a right, with officers on station.” She hesitated, and then said, “Tammy, give us the feed.”
The elevator halted and a holoscreen flickered into life before them. The adjutant was speaking. “… full neurological remapping, and a deep wipe of all treasonous memory blocks. He’ll be a proper captain then! Someone you would all be proud to serve under!”
Facing her in their seats, Polaski and Joss Sticks stared at the adjutant, openmouthed, while Buck DeFrank had arrived, to take the command chair in Hadrian’s absence, and for some reason Galk too was present, leaning against a wall. Chief Engineer Buck was the first to reply. “He cured me of my claustrophobia.”
“What? No he didn’t! You’re so overmedicated you shouldn’t even be here! Furthermore, in the captain’s absence, I am invoking my right to assume command of this vessel!”
Joss Sticks raised a hand. “Like, can she do that? I mean, like, this is a Terran Space Fleet ship,
while she’s a civilian liaison officer. So, like, I’m … what? I mean, it’s like, really? Her? And you’re all, like, yeah, her? Drinking? Well, yeah! I guess! Kinda obvious. I mean, she’s … like, this, you know? Like, ‘oh listen to me!’ but like, why? Drunk! Really?”
“Well said, Lieutenant Sticks,” chimed in Polaski.
The adjutant turned on him. “You? You haven’t got a say here, since you’re related to him! That tells us, you’ve been keeping it a secret, too!”
Polaski frowned. “No, first time I knew any of this. They told me he was a distant cousin. That’s all. Besides, it was one summer. He was … ten? I was eight. He got in early to Mars Military Academy—from then on, it was just stories. Top of the class at everything!”
“Cheating! Lying!”
“No proof of any cheating,” said Buck DeFrank.
The iris hissed open and Lieutenant Sweep Brogan strode in, trailed by three marines. She looked around, plucked out her cigar, and then said, “Like they say, stick your head in a sewer pipe, and it smells. So what’s that curling my nose hairs right now? Is that maybe a whiff of … oh, I don’t know, insurrection?”
Adjutant Tighe straightened, wobbled a moment, and then straightened again. “I want the captain arrested as soon as he returns. He’s the grandson of Harry Mitts!”
Paper crackled as Galk began unwrapping a piece of chaw. After shoving the black chunk into his mouth, he chewed for a moment and then said, “His gramps could be Mao and Stalin’s long-lost love child, it don’t matter. Crimes don’t come in the blood.”
“He got into the Academy under a false identity!”
“I doubt it,” Galk replied. “There’s a government service for that kind of thing. It’s probably legit and, more to the point, none of your business, Adjutant.”
“Anyway, Mao and Stalin were both men, so how could they have had a love child?”
“Not that Mao. Lilly Mao, she lived down the street, ran the diner on the corner of Fifth and Fitch.” Galk spat out a brown stream. “Scary woman, that one. Down from a long line of roadkill truckers, which made the Sunday Special a little suspect to my mind. Anyway—”
“What are you going on about? I told you all—I’m taking over command!”