Willful Child: Wrath of Betty

  Zap! “Ow!”

  Zap! “Ow!

  Zap! “Ow!”

  “Sorry! Outer hull, dammit! Oh, never mind, it’s just burned out. Shit!”

  An entirely new sound now filled the cabin, and an instant later something huge and sharp punched through and began working its way across the side of the craft.

  Buck stared in horror. “That’s a giant can opener!”

  Blinking, Mendel Engels sat up. “Ze lateral finking uv veez indigenooz inhabitantz iz most impressive. It iz likely shiny faux glazz beads vill prove inevectual trade itemz. Zuggest ve proceed to alcohol and dizeaze-ridden blankets at once.”

  “We’re not here to Standard-Doctrine colonize the planet on the bodies of the local inhabitants, Dr. Engels,” explained Sin-Dour. “Instead, we must devise a means to extricate ourselves from this ruined shuttle and take command of the ancient installation three hundred meters to the west of here. Based on those parameters, Dr. Engels, do you have any suggestions?”

  “I zee. Very well. Then, in my educated opeenion, may I zuggest MazterBlazterz.”

  “Yes!” hissed Jimmy Eden.

  “Very well,” said Sin-Dour, rubbing at her eyes. “Helmets on, first. Also, target the landscape, not the savages. A flurry of explosions and flying shards of rock should suffice in frightening them away.”

  In the meantime, the giant can opener had carved through nearly half the width of the shuttle, and metal was being pulled back to reveal a gap. A moment later two huge hairy hands pushed a reed basket into the cabin.

  “Ah!” said Dr. Engels, “they vish to trade!”

  The hands then upended the basket and scores of snakes poured into the cabin.

  “Evac!” shouted Sin-Dour. “Everyone out of the hatch, weapons armed!”

  “And,” added Dr. Engels, “Ve have nothing vith vhich to reciprocate for veez pretty znakes.”

  * * *

  “Spark,” said Hadrian, “prepare to depart the ship.”

  “Zoom zoom! Zap! Zap!”

  “No zap zap, Spark. You need to retrieve my crew members who are stranded on the planet below.”

  “Extending soft-gums now, Master.”

  “Excellent,” said Hadrian.

  Tammy laughed derisively and then said, “Your dog’s navigation system is rubbish, Hadrian.”

  “But its Retrieval Program is top-notch. Right, Spark?”

  “Electrostatic glue! Six beer cases at a time! Spark will remove all arms and legs to facilitate packing!”

  “Alas, Spark, they need those limbs. How about we rig a net of some kind?”

  “Net! Drag! Bury! No one will ever find it! No, Officer, we never saw those skinhead punks with the Nazi tattoos! But we’ll keep an eye out for them for sure!”

  “I might just lay an egg after all,” said Tammy. “I warned you about Spark, didn’t I?”

  Lorrin Tighe returned to the bridge, the steel still bared in her eyes. “I have activated my eye-cam, Captain, to record this disaster in the making. It will of course be admissible in your trial. Along with all the other evidence.”

  “Why, Ms. Tighe,” said Hadrian, swinging round in his chair to face her, “I believe you are displaying a disappointing lack of faith in your fellow officers haplessly trapped on the planet below. Spark!”

  “Master?”

  “Belay that last order. Sit right here, at my side, why don’t you. Let’s see if Sin-Dour can sort this out, shall we?”

  “And if she fails?” Tighe demanded. “You’ve got six hours to get them off that planet! Have you been monitoring the conditions down there? There’s a snowstorm coming down from the north, a firestorm coming up from the south, and what looks like a plague of locusts winging in from the east!”

  “Your point?” Hadrian asked.

  “And the Marine Hopper’s not equipped for instrument-free manual descent and ascent, meaning you don’t even have that option.”

  “I am aware of all this, Adjutant.”

  “And you don’t even know if any of them are still alive.”

  “There you are with that lack of faith again, Adjutant. I probably shouldn’t even point out that you still have no hair.”

  “Apparently,” Tighe snarled, “it’s permanent!”

  Hadrian brightened. “Well then, just think of all the wigs you can wear! A different look each and every day! And not just various styles and colors, either! We have Hanarkan Tentacle wigs, Polker cilia wigs, Belkri eye-stalk—oh, but the Doc might fall for you, then, and that could be awkward. Best avoid the eye-stalk wig, Adjutant.”

  Polaski spoke from Comms. “Captain, HQ wants to know why we’re just sitting here when we’ve got a Priority Mission to complete!”

  Hadrian frowned. “And how precisely do they know we’re just sitting here? Was that you as well, Adjutant?”

  “Actually,” she said with her thin brows lifting, “No.”

  “Then, perhaps we’re not as alone as we think we are?”

  Tighe was scowling now.

  “Meaning,” Hadrian continued, “our Priority mission is, um, shall we say, bogus? Since both vessels are in the same range to facilitate this delivery. More to the point: if there is an AFS vessel stealthed and shadowing us, well, one might conclude that the lives of my stranded crew members are of little concern to that vessel’s captain and, by extension, Fleet HQ. Mightn’t one, hmm?”

  While Tighe gaped, Hadrian turned to the chicken on his chair’s armrest. “Tammy, I think some very subtle scanning might be an appropriate course of action. Can you facilitate that in the absence of Commander Sin-Dour’s eminent talents?”

  Tammy’s tiny eyes suddenly looked brighter, even more insane than usual. “Thinking of taking them on, Hadrian? Out in the open at last? You at war with the Affiliation itself?”

  “Wrong kind of war,” Hadrian replied. He stood. “Violence only solves things when it’s a freaking-big many-fanged drooling alien with buggy eyes trying to rip your head off. No, Tammy, sedition is not in the cards here. Never was, never will be. It’s all about setting the right example, a reinvigoration of wonder, curiosity, a sense of adventure and, please, Tammy, cut back on the onscreen close-ups, will you?” He sat once more. “Subtle, I said. Use some of your from-the-future scanning capabilities, Tammy. Above all, don’t let that vessel know it’s been detected.” He then turned back to Tighe. “Assuming the Adjutant here is finally comprehending that something is not quite right regarding her distant superiors, and that she might conclude to suspend activities beyond this simple recording of events, at least until such time as we can all determine the moral compass of my presumed enemies within the Fleet? After all, it does appear that whoever they are, the extreme danger to my stranded landing party seems to have effected no change in their plans, whatever those plans are, and that, my friends, is not becoming of Affiliation Spacefleet personnel.” He raised one eyebrow in the manner he had practiced and, indeed, perfected after years and years of disciplined endeavor. “Acceptable, Ms. Tighe?”

  Her scowl deepened, making the frown lines ride all the way up past her forehead to wrinkle her pate. “For now,” she agreed in a grating tone. “But that still doesn’t answer what you’re planning to do to save those people.”

  Hadrian lifted a hand. “Polaski, inform HQ that we are preparing to snag us an asteroid, with the intent to use its raw materials to render all the high-quality graphene lubricant Women-Only will ever require, thus obviating any need to rendezvous with that merchant hauler, thus permitting us to set a course directly for the stricken Pleasure Planet.” Hadrian smiled at Tighe. “Now, let’s gauge their reply, shall we? I suspect it will prove most illuminating.”

  “And your stranded crew?” Tighe insisted.

  “Faith, my dear,” said Hadrian as he settled back in his chair.

  * * *

  “Holy fuckin’ Darwin on a stick!” gasped Jimmy Eden as he leaned his back against the installation wall, tracking targets with his near-depleted MasterBlaster.


  Sin-Dour settled down on one knee beside him. “Buck, see if you can spring that door. Doc, see what you can do about all those snakes hanging from Dr. Engels’s suit. Sticks! Keep an eye on that swarm of locusts and try and gauge the speed of their approach. Galk, check weapon charges and watch for any more Gigantopithecines.”

  “There’s a mass of them hiding behind that boulder, Commander,” said Galk, pausing to spit. When the juice splashed across the inside of his faceshield he said, “Now I can’t see anything, so I’ll just start shooting randomly. That oughta keep their giant hairy heads down.”

  “Nina,” resumed Sin-Dour, “maintain an oversight on Galk’s random shots.”

  “Yes sir. Also, sir, as you can see, I am maintaining my combat posture.”

  “Very good, Nina, carry on.”

  “Perhapz,” said Engels as Printlip tugged snakes loose and flung them away, “veez znakes are decorative? Or, more pozzibly, pozzess ritual significance? In zee meantime, identification now ninety-zeven percent poziteev confirmed as gigantopithecines, deeztantly related to australopithecine robuzti and bozei. Bezz known in modern times az Beegfoot, Yeti, Zasquatch. Perhaps one day, vee shall find on Terra more than just their footprintz, hey?”

  “One of my great-great-great-great aunts slept with one, once,” said Galk. “Nothing came of it, though, which is why we don’t talk about it much. She said it was the second hairiest—”

  “Got the door open!” cried Buck DeFrank.

  “Cease firing, Galk,” ordered Sin-Dour. “Everyone inside, quickly now.”

  Moments later they were huddled in a corridor and Buck was busy melting the door’s hinges shut with his Universal Multiphasic. Spear points clanged on the other side, followed by frantic workings of the latch, and finally a knock-knock.

  “Don’t answer that!” hissed Eden.

  “But it could be, like, important!” objected Sticks. “Like when I get messages, right? That little buzzing. Who knows who’s messaging me? It could be the most important thing in the world and so, like, can I wait? No way! We’re talking sweaty palms, right? As in, SWEAT! Yuck! So I better check, and that’s what I’m saying, we should check, just in case.”

  Buck stared at her for a long moment, and then set his back against the welded-shut door and held up his Universal Multiphasic. “Try it, Sticks, and you’re toast.”

  “Calm down everyone,” said Sin-Dour. “We seem to have some time here, in which we can assess our situation.”

  “Assess?” Eden demanded. “We’re trapped in a building and surrounded by giant hairy gargantucenes! Who’s idea was this? Run from the ship? Madness! Now we’ll never get off this planet. We’ll start starving in here, until we kill the weak scrawny ones and eat them, and how long will that last before there’s only me left? All alone? I can’t believe I ever wanted to be part of a Landing Party. I want my Comms Station!”

  “Are you done, Lieutenant?” Sin-Dour asked.

  Buck grunted and then said, “I always knew you for a cold one, Lieutenant Commander. All standoffish and haughty and perfectly formed, with me just a lowly engineer you never talk to even though we’re on the same ship and everything. Sticks was right. If the Captain was here, we’d be out of this by now.”

  “Perhaps,” Sin-Dour admitted. “But he isn’t, and here I am. More to the point, we are officers in Spacefleet. Mister Eden, you in fact trained specifically for planetside missions, did you not?”

  Eden licked his lips. “Well, sure. But I was green! And then I came in fourth and everything just fell apart.” He clawed at his face. “The pressure!”

  “You’re doing fine,” Sin-Dour replied. “Pressure comes with being on a spaceship, after all—”

  Buck snorted. “In a spaceship, too. Ha! Hahaha! Get it? Oh never mind, it was an engineering joke, I guess. Exclusive to us spanner-heads.” Then he pointed a stubby finger at Sin-Dour. “If you crack, Commander, hand things over to old Buck here, and everything will be just fine.”

  Sticks yelped a laugh, then said, “Sure, like, Mr. We’re All Going To Die here.”

  “I told you,” Buck retorted, “I don’t like cramped spaces, that’s all. And that includes shuttles.”

  “So what happens the first time you have to climb into the Murphies Tube to fix something so we don’t all explode?”

  Buck’s eyes narrowed on Sticks. “How do you know about the Murphies Tube?”

  “Oh, I know, like, lots. About all kind of things! It’s my photochromatic memory.”

  “Photographic, you mean?” Dr. Printlip queried. “Eidetic?”

  Sticks rolled her eyes. “No. Photochromatic. Not only do I remember everything first time I see it, I also paint those memories in bright colors, so they look, like, pretty.”

  “How unusual,” Printlip replied, eyes wavering about on their stalks. “Now, I would like to discuss with everyone the eminent wisdom of deferring to your doctor.”

  “Viz is clazzic collapze of arbitrary authority in face of dizazter,” interjected Engels, “and zo under ze circumztances I advize handing over of all authority to the only objective perzon prezent, namely, me.”

  “Mutiny!” whispered Eden, his eyes wide. “Engels! I got one charge left in this MasterBlaster. Blow her head to bits and we’re free!”

  But Engels raised a staying hand. “Violenze muzt be lazt recourze, Lieutenant, to be employed only when I am in danger of lozing an argument. You muzt all firzt acknowledge my zupremacy as Zuperior Leader of All, and ven ve shall proceed mit the Firing Zquads.”

  “Zuperior Leader?” Eden repeated, blinking. Then he scowled. “That would be me, not you.”

  “Don’t be zilly.”

  “I’m not being zilly! I don’t even know what zilly is! You want zilly? Here’s my fist—”

  Engels shrank back, cowering. “No pleez! Don’t hurt the Objective Byztander!”

  “Oh dear,” sighed Dr. Printlip. “If only doctors ran the galaxy, why, we could diagnose you all and medicate accordingly. Everything would be perfect!”

  “This is ridiculous,” cut in Nina Twice. “I’m the representative of the military component in this situation. Commander, at your command I will declare Martial Law. I’m sure we have the Combat Specialist to back us up.”

  “I can only shoot blindly.”

  “Well I’m on the pill so that shouldn’t be a problem,” Nina Twice replied.

  “Ze madness of ambition! Ze horror!”

  After a long moment of tense silence, Sin-Dour sighed and said, “Is everyone finished? Good. We’re all here because our Captain trusted us and had faith in our abilities—which one of you wants to be the first to let him down?”

  No one spoke, until Sticks said, “Do we vote now? I vote for Eden.”

  “Me?” Eden demanded. “You vote for what?”

  “Well, I mean, how do I know? I thought there was going to be a vote, so I, duh, VOTED. If you don’t vote you can’t complain, everyone knows that. And I want to complain, I mean, there’s plenty to complain about, isn’t there?” She threw up her hands. “Economics, politics, poor-quality lingerie! The list is almost endless!”

  “I do have a plan,” said Sin-Dour.

  “Oh listen to her!” Sticks went on. “A plan! She has a plan! Oh, like, wow, for real? A plan? A plan! I can’t believe I voted for Eden. Talk about a spoiled ballot, the whole system’s corrupt, oh, forget it, I’m never voting for anything ever again.”

  At that moment the steel door clanged and the steel point of the giant can opener punched through the metal panel. Buck leapt to his feet. “Holy Darwin, that nearly decapitated me!”

  “We should head deeper into the facility,” said Sin-Dour.

  “Really?” Eden shrieked. “I mean, are you sure, Commander?”

  “A little too much of the Sarcasm Manual, Mister Eden. But go ahead, take point.”

  They rushed along and came to a halt at a descending set of metal steps, except for Dr. Printlip, who tripped and fell past t
hem all, bouncing down the stairs, hands flailing.

  “Follow him down!” ordered Sin-Dour as the door at the far end of the corridor crashed down with a booming echo.

  “I still can’t see,” Galk announced in passing as he fell past Sin-Dour and then Eden. He tumbled and rolled into the darkness below, the grunts and clangs ending with a piercing scream from Printlip.

  Eden resuming the lead, the rest hurried down, finding both Galk and the Doc climbing to their feet in another corridor. “Buck,” commanded Sin-Dour, “we need to find the magrail control room.” She pulled out her Pentracorder. “Take this and follow these energy readings.”

  “Those energy readings indicate battery juice remaining, Commander. And my God they’re going down!”

  “Not those readings, Buck. These ones, on the main viewer.”

  “Oh. Got it. This isn’t like an engineer’s Pentracorder at all. All right then, everyone follow me.”

  “Commander,” Galk asked as he was being guided along by Nina Twice, “what are we going to do in that control room?”

  “That depends,” she replied.

  Something apelike roared from the landing above and behind them.

  “Depends?” Eden shrieked.

  Engels said, “Ve have invaded the gigantopithecines’ temple. If there was a cleef they would chase us right off it, forcing us to jump into zee sea, and then some stoopidly ignorant person might deecide to ignite a cold fusion bomb in a volcano, theenking ‘cold’ must mean ‘freezing’ becuz, vell, they know nuffink, and theez is zee problem wiff Modern Education.”

  The others had paused to stare at the anthropologist, who then plucked a last remaining snake free and examined it as it repeatedly snapped its venom-splashing fangs into his face shield. “Thiz creature lackz intelligence.”

  Another roar from above. Nina Twice sighed, releasing Galk’s arm. “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

  She headed up the stairs.

  A flurry of snarls and shrieks and screams followed by heavy thumps and then whimpers, and then boots on the stairs, coming down fast. Nina reappeared. “I bought us some time,” she said.

  “Well done,” Sin-Dour said.