Willful Child (29 page)

“You have been scanned. You will contribute to the Collected, and that which we do not collect will be reduced to unknown animal by-products.” One of the many arms pointed. “I will have your left eyelid join the Collected, Captain Hadrian. Remove it for displacement.”

“Hmm,” said Hadrian, who then turned at a sound behind him.

The iris had opened to the engineering team arriving on the bridge, and leading them was none other than Buck himself. The chief was carrying a hammer. “Fan out,” he ordered his team. “Find that damned beep.”

At that instant, Buck saw the chicken. He shrieked, raising his hammer, and leapt toward it. Tammy squawked and dodged at the last moment. The hammer smashed down onto the floor. Shrieking some more, Buck chased after it. Officers threw themselves from the path of both the chicken and Buck.

On the main screen, the Plog captain said, “Analysis. Hunting species, ritualized. Unpleasant vocalizations. But comforting suppressed beeping sounds. Illuminating.”

Tammy found the exit and rushed through, racing up the corridor. Bellowing, Buck followed. On the bridge, officers were regaining their feet, amid settling feathers. The beeping sound seemed to increase in volume. At comms, Jimmy Eden clutched his ears, agony on his once-handsome features. “Gaahh! That beeping!” Blood dribbling between his fingers, he fell from his chair, curling up into a fetal position on the floor.

Joss Sticks rushed over. “Jimmy! Oh! Jimmy! You’re … like … and I’m … like … rushing over, like, and it was ‘oh!’ Jimmy!”

Sighing, Hadrian activated his comms link. “Sickbay? Doc, displace Jimmy Eden for treatment. Oh, and keep this line open.” Then, turning back to the Plog captain, he cleared his throat and said, “Sorry about that. Where were we? Oh, right, my right eyelid—”

“No. Left eyelid. I have no interest in your right eyelid. It is ugly.”

“Well, you know,” said Hadrian, “we can clone this here left eyelid, and give it to you, thus eliminating any risk of bloodshed and whatnot.”

“Clone?”

“Yes, as in reactivated stem cells, genetic instruction modification. In fact, since my ship’s surgeon has my cultures in the lab, as required for all personnel serving aboard this vessel, that left eyelid can be spurt-grown. I could have it ready for you in, oh, about six minutes.”

“Really? Mass slaughter and species annihilation unnecessary?”

“Entirely unnecessary,” Hadrian said, sitting down again.

“Oh.” The Plog captain seemed to cogitate for a moment, and then it said, “All right. I guess we’ll return to our home planet, which is in Galaxy Xenophile on the other side of the universe.”

“What do you mean, the ‘other’ side of the universe?”

“I don’t know, but I liked the sound of it. Very well, the next galaxy over, then.”

“Sounds good,” said Hadrian. “And the next time you’ve a hankering for some body part over here, well, pick up the phone and place an order. We’ll send it to you by delivery shuttle, and if it takes longer than, say, twelve months, it’s on us at no charge to you.”

“An acceptable treaty. Very generous.”

“Of course there are caveats, so be sure to read the fine print. But I can see your civilization settling down and becoming a kind of passive repository for body parts throughout all the known galaxies. Once you set up a proper mail delivery system, why, you could exponentially expand your Collected, without ever leaving the sofa in your living room.”

“A remarkable suggestion, Captain. You are suggesting, as I understand it, a contracted existence, whereby inactivity is encouraged, via a pan-universal shopping network.”

“Exactly. Buy at the click of a button. I can envisage individual Plog big as planets. Just bear in mind the no-return policy.”

“Such an existence,” the Plog captain mused, “invites drooling apathy, the proliferation of reactionary, stupid opinions and beliefs, a denigration of educational standards, a facile adoration for fads and glam, and an appalling ability to weather the most inane salesmanship imaginable. It is hard to envision a civilization such as the one you describe, Captain.”

“Hardly. I invite you to peruse Terran history files.”

“And yet,” said the Plog, “here you are, exploring the depths of space.”

“True. We got an EMP kick in the ass that temporarily wiped most of that out. You know, thinking on it, Captain, I would suggest you implant a civilization-wide black bomb, which is triggered when you’ve gone just too far in your neurotic, dumb-as-a-plank navel-gazing. Trust me, the wake-up call is well worth it.”

“Fascinating, Captain Hadrian Sawback. Thank you for this most illuminating conversation. You will note that I am deactivating my vessel’s Universal Destroy-All-Matter weapon. Residual bleed effects are contracting, thus ensuring that you will not dissolve due to proximity, as occurred with your civilization’s previous vessel.”

“What? Are you saying that you didn’t even fire that weapon, and the
Piece of Cake
blew up anyway? Due to some kind of residual energy effect that comes with powering up your gun?”

“Correct.”

“Listen, I’m confused here. If you like collecting things, why do you have a weapon that annihilates everything?”

“You pose a good question, Captain Hadrian Sawback. Scholars of the Universities of the Collected will consider it, I’m sure, once this conversation is disseminated via the Plog News-Feed. I anticipate decades of debate, in the manner that I anticipate prolonged periods of ennui and indeed, suicidal thoughts. All in keeping, I see now, with the birth of the universal shopping network.”

“Hah! You got that right, Captain. Universities are the same everywhere.”

“There is much that we share, Hadrian Sawback, and much more that we will soon share, once I get that left eyelid.”

“Oh, right. Doc, that package ready yet?”

“Confirmed, Captain. Although, in lacking the eyeball, I’m afraid it looks, well, flaccid.”

The Plog captain said, “That is only temporary, as I have an eye awaiting it, here,” and the alien torturously turned about, “looking inward to my anus. As you can observe, Captain, you will offer me a perfect fit.”

“How charming,” said Hadrian. “Doc, displace it over, will you?”

The Plog captain said, “I can confirm the item’s arrival. We shall now depart, returning to our galaxy, a journey of no more than a billion years. Good-bye.”

Hadrian waved. “Bye now.”

As the feed cut out, returning to the main viewer an external shot of the now retreating Plog fleet, Hadrian leaned back and said, “Stand down battle stations. And here I was, all geared up for some mayhem. Oh well. Tighe? Did you send security to intercept Buck?”

“No.”

“Well, please do so. Oh, Polaski, fire off a T packet to fleet. Message: Galactic annihilation averted. Everyone can relax again. Personal note to Admiral Tang: ‘Next?’ And sign it all, ‘Best Regards, Hadrian Sawback.’”

One of Buck’s engineers strode up to the captain, “Sir. We can find no source for that beep.”

“You’re kidding? You’re not kidding. Fine then, off you go. Seems we’ll just have to live with it. Tammy? Is your chicken still alive?”

“Barely. I’m on my way back to the bridge. I told you about Buck, didn’t I?”

“Whatever. Listen, I don’t think the Plog made you.”

“Of course they didn’t!”

“So, what now?”

“What do you think? Out into Sector Unknown!”

“All right. Okay, Sector Unknown. Why, who knows what we’ll find out there? Well, we will, once we find it. Helm, accelerate to point four, steady as she goes.”

“Captain,” said Sin-Dour, “we’re crossing the Known Rim … oh, no, it’s still ahead. We’re crossing it now—no, I’m sorry, it’s still ahead—”

“Thank you, 2IC, you can give it a rest now, okay?”

TWENTY-THREE

An extraordinary eight seconds later, Joss Sticks squeaked, and then said, “Five unknown warships have just dropped from T space, Captain! On our port side, distance … twenty K large. Weapons powering up with shields on full!”

“Now we’re talking!” Hadrian said, thumping the arm of the command chair. “Battle stations! Red alert! Bring us around to face them, Helm. Sin-Dour! Identified the enemy yet?”

“Yes, sir. Falangee pirates!”

“Falangee! Outstanding! No quarter given. Seal up all external ports, hatches, tube chutes, drain holes—the works! Close us up tight!”

The chicken arrived, clucking. “What, another one?”

Polaski spoke from comms. “Captain, a Captain Mondo is hailing us from the lead Falangee ship.”

“On main viewer, Polaski.”

The Falangee had once been a subject species during an early belligerent phase of expansion by the Ecktapalow, but had since won their emancipation and were quickly becoming a galactic pain in the ass. The Falangee were more or less humanoid, short, big-boned everywhere but the head, which was tiny, the brow sloped back like a door wedge. Captain Mondo’s broad mouth was split wide in a toothy grin. “I am Mondo! Captain of the FLP
Burdensome,
and loot-master of this attack fleet.”

Hadrian stood. “I am Captain Hadrian Sawback of the AFS
Willful Child.
”

“Ah! The infamous Captain Hadrian Sawback!”

“Well, since you have heard of me, Mondo—”

“What? No. I have never heard of you. I sought only the illusion of prestige to ensure the glory of my besting you in space combat, and now you’ve ruined it. No matter. You are outgunned. Open all ports. We have five ships’ worth of junk to give to you.”

“We’re not taking any of your junk, Mondo.”

“Of course you are. You’d be amazed by how much we can jam into the numerous rooms, closets, and cubbyholes in your ship! Some of the stuff might even be valuable! We will burden you with material possessions and so free ourselves of the same! It shall be utterly liberating! For us, that is. Yield, Captain Sawback, or there will be battle in which you will surely be destroyed!”

Sin-Dour said, “Captain! Our antidisplacement shield has been subverted! Chintzy furniture and knickknacks are appearing in the corridors all over the ship!”

“Haha!” crowed Mondo. “Subterfuge! Success! Take that, take this, have that one, too!”

“Tammy!”

“On it,” the chicken snapped, head bobbing. “Done! Multivariant phase-shifted program engaging. All further efforts at displacing anything on our ship will fail.”

On the main viewer, Mondo raised a knobby fist. “Foiled! Now we attack! We will breach your shields! We will pry open doors and hatches and other means of ingress! We will give you more and more stuff! I have macramé!” The captain turned to one of its officers. “Mindo! Open fire!”

“Yes, Mondo. All weapon platforms released to control of Shoot-Master Mumbo! Mumbo is firing … now!”

“Incoming knickknacks!” shouted Sin-Dour.

“Countermeasures!”

“There’s too many, sir!”

“Prepare for impact!”

The ship shuddered as the first salvo of gewgaws hammered the repulsor screens. On the main viewer, shards of china and cheap glass glittered, while blobs of melted plastic spun about. One enormous impact thundered through the
Willful Child
, flinging everyone to one side, and then the other, and then back again. “What was
that
?”

“Last year’s fruitcake, sir,” Sin-Dour gasped.

“They’re getting nasty! Galk! Target vessel designated Beta. Return fire, all beams, but maintain intercepts with the turrets. Let ’em have it!”

Beams lanced out, lashing glowing gouges in the enemy ship’s shields. The craft rolled onto its side, and from countless expulsion tubes released a new salvo of knickknacks, followed by a barrage of curbside sofas.

“Tammy! Why aren’t you displacing the ship?”

“Well, some of those things are kind of cute. I especially like the holocards with the dogs playing poker—”

“Tammy! Our shields can’t take much more of this!”

Buck’s voice came from engineering.
“Captain! Our shields can’t take much more of this!”

“Thanks for that, Buck.”

“Alas,” said Tammy, “the five ships have bracketed us on all sides, and their near proximity risks a mass-cascade effect should I attempt a ship displacement, which could prove disastrous. In any case, I’m afraid my survival instincts aren’t quite kicking in just yet.”

“We’re getting pounded to smithereens, Tammy!”

“I could manifest a few more bookcases—”

“No!”

Two sofas survived the counterfire, although one was burning brightly from a glancing beam. The first to strike heeled the
Willful Child
with a savage wrench. People flew, crashed into walls, rolled across the floor. The second sofa struck amidships, buckling the shield. The starship lurched as if it had been kicked between the legs.

“Full ahead!” cried Hadrian. “Collision course! We’re busting out!”

On the main viewer, Mondo’s ship loomed. It lit up all its thrusters, dropping to one side in an effort to evade the
Willful Child
. “Tammy! Electronic countermeasures! Overwhelm their antidisplacement fields! Isolate all the cat and kitten memorabilia on this vessel, including e-pics and holo-meow-dolls!”

“Done! Target?”

“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.