Willful Child (32 page)

“You expect me to buy all this, Sin-Dour?”

They returned to the main room in sickbay. The chicken had been nesting in one corner, on a bed of cotton balls, and now jumped up. “Well, what a pair of lookers!”

Hadrian scowled at the bird. “Why am I only now detecting Gramps’s programming in you, Tammy?”

“All constraints removed, gorgeous. You should be thankful. My original imprint was from the Temporal Corrections Office, circa 3230. The future, Hadrian, is
dull
. And I, for one, am hopeful that you will do all you can to change that.”

“If I succeed, Tammy, you might cease to exist.”

“Rubbish! Time consists of infinite permutations. My future is not your future and never will be. Besides, it’s also my past, and so is completely unchanging. What you must do, Hadrian, is effect not a modest change in this universe, but a substantial one. There are physical forces asserting constant pressure, and they will resist minor changes, seeking to return things to the central current. So, you must grab the future by the throat—”

“Funny, I was just thinking that.”

“Were you? Good—oh, ha ha.”

“Let’s go,” said Hadrian. “To the Insisteon room!”

As they set off, Hadrian activated her subcomms. “Buck, where are you?”

“Excuse me, who is this?”

“It’s Captain Hadrian Sawback, you idiot.”

“I know the captain’s voice and you’re—oh, right, I forgot. Sorry, sir.”

“Maintain orbit and do a periodic deep-space scan. I don’t want anyone jumping the ship and catching you unawares.”

“Of course, sir. Beginning scans now. Uh, good luck on the planet below.”

“Right. Carry on. Oh, and give the adjutant a hug from me, will you?” Hearing the beginning of a scream—before the link cut off—made him smile.

“Sir,” said Sin-Dour, “that is indeed a lovely smile you have.”

“Sin-Dour, are you flirting with me?”

“Captain! If you’re suggesting—”

“Hey, I’m an adventurous sort! Ready for anything and all that.”

“This is one episode,” said the chicken, “that I don’t want to miss.”

Arriving at the Insisteon room, they found an ensign at the controls. Hadrian strode up to the young man. “Well now, and who are you, I wonder?”

“Uh, Lillywhite, sir, Angel Lillywhite.”

“Now that’s a lovely name, and I see you keep fit, don’t you? Very impressive, Angel.” She reached out and brushed his cheek. “Such young skin! Positively glowing! Are you like that all over, I wonder?”

Sin-Dour took Hadrian’s arm. “Sir, we have a mission—”

“You are so right, 2IC, since such innocent flowers don’t stand a chance in this hard, cruel world. But a little coaching here and there—”

“Ensign,” said Sin-Dour as she pulled Hadrian to the pads, “prepare the Insisteon. Tammy, provide the coordinates, will you?”

“But,” said Hadrian, eyes fluttering as she gazed at Angel, “this young man could do with both our attentions, don’t you think? After hours, of course, in an off-duty, let-our-hair-down kind of atmosphere, on the Ping-Pong table. See how he’s already glowing! Why, we could—”

The Insisteon room vanished, and Hadrian, Sin-Dour, and the chicken found themselves standing in a rock-walled corridor. Sin-Dour pulled out her Pentracorder. “We seem to be in a subterranean complex of tunnels and chambers, Captain.”

Hadrian stepped close to the nearest wall and knocked on the rock. There was a thin, hollow sound. “Hmm, you’re right, 2IC. Life signs?”

“Here and there, sir, with a concentration up this corridor, about two hundred meters.”

“Human signs?”

“Well, sir, that’s the difficulty, since all the life-forms I am detecting appear to be human. I think, sir, we’re looking at another case of mysterious seeding, from who knows how long ago.”

“Those damned kidnapping aliens just couldn’t leave us alone, could they? Fine, then. Throw us up a schematic, Sin-Dour. We’re looking for stairs going down.”

“Down, sir?”

“Dungeons, 2IC.”

“Ah.” Sin-Dour activated a holographic schematic. She pointed. “There, Captain, a mechanized descending ramp of some sort. Fifty meters down this corridor.”

“Take point, Tammy,” Hadrian said. “Sin? How’s my hair?”

“Fine, sir.”

“I mean, women worry about such things, don’t they?”

“Not as often as you think, sir.”

“So I should just shut up about it, huh?”

“Advisable, sir.”

“Let’s go, then.”

With the chicken five paces ahead, they set off down the corridor.

Coming round a bend they all ran into two Fellucians—also dressed in the standard short-skirt, tight-shirt, high-heeled military garb. Both were staring down at the chicken, which was flapping about and running in circles.

Hadrian cleared her throat. “Escorting this prisoner,” she explained, gesturing at the chicken.

The woman on the left frowned and then eyed both Hadrian and Sin-Dour. “You’re not from this district’s detachment,” she said.

“Explains why we’re kind of lost,” Hadrian said, smiling. “But this … alien, is in league with the strange woman and her man-thing, and is to be chained in the adjoining cell, by command of Zaphead Moon-Anemone Divinity.”

“Far out,” said the other woman, while the first one grunted and said, “The escalator’s just ahead, so you’re not as lost as you think.” She then saluted and said, “Peace, sisters.”

They edged past.

Tammy scrambled ahead again and Hadrian and Sin-Dour followed.

“Sir, they seem to be speaking an antiquated form of Terranglais, which sounded very strange to my ears. And yet you—”

“West Coast American, circa 1967,” said Hadrian. “I grew up on that stuff, so relax, 2IC, this is familiar ground for me. But you have to wonder, why kidnap women from that era? Sure, it might be an age of free love, but it was also the age of women’s lib. Some historians saw that combination as a contradiction in terms, but then, those historians were all men. Any woman worth her tits would—”

Four more Fellucians appeared up ahead. Each one was wielding an axelike weapon consisting of a long handle and a rectangular or square blade. And then a shout from behind halted the Terrans. “Stop right there! Intruders! Impostors! Squares!”

“The jig is up,” said Hadrian. “Follow me!” And she rushed the four armed Fellucians. They raised their axes. Hadrian’s shoes flew off with her first strides, and as the nearest axe began its vicious descent, she threw herself sideways through the air, colliding with the Fellucian’s midriff. With a loud
oomph!
the woman folded over. Hadrian’s momentum pushed her victim into the women crowding behind her. Axes clattered amid a chorus of squeaks.

Sin-Dour then arrived, deftly employing advanced martial arts to disarm and then incapacitate the remaining three Fellucians.

Picking herself up from the floor, Hadrian said, “Very impressive, 2IC! I’ve never seen that fighting style before—what do you call it?”

“It’s a strictly female form, sir,” she said, as they hurried on—with another mob now pursuing them. “It actually originated as a technique for fending off the groping hands of boyfriends, husbands, and indeed men in general. It’s called ‘No-Touchy-Titty.’ But I just realized, I should not be telling you this, since you’re only a temporary woman.”

“Too late!” laughed Hadrian. “Now, I need to devise a means to counter it, something like ‘Guy-Grope-Fu.’ There—Tammy’s found the escalator!”

The chicken leapt onto the descending stairs and then squawked. “Unnatural descent! Strange machine! Specifically designed to amputate chicken toes!”

“Not to mention trap high heels,” said Sin-Dour as they reached it.

“I’m impressed that you managed to keep those on, 2IC. But no, we can’t just stand here—move, Tammy! Pretend they’re normal stairs—except when you get to the bottom, where you need to jump clear!” They hurried down. Behind them their pursuers reached the top of the escalator, where they crowded on in a flurry of nylon-sheathed limbs. “I wonder what gave us away?” Hadrian mused.

“Hard to say, Captain. Wrong blush? Wrong mascara?”

“We blew the California-speak, is my guess. Not nasal enough. We should’ve brought Lieutenant Sticks with us.”

They reached the lower level, only to find another set of escalators. “And maybe my hair! I knew it was all wrong! Oh Darwin, I should just cut it all off! Keep going, Tammy! Down to the basement! Lingerie and Notions! Then look for a dungeon door!”

“Fellucians ahead!” shrieked Tammy.

“Oh, rats,” said Hadrian, seeing the armed squad awaiting them. “They called ahead. Suggestions, 2IC?”

“None, sir, except surrender.”

“Sound plan, Sin-Dour. With luck, we’ll get shackled up next to my parents; and then, together, we can all plan our escape. Tammy?”

“Captain?”

“No heroics just yet, all right?”

“I was about to displace a modified Plasma Gravimetric-Pulse-Inversion Entrail-Extractinator, Mark VII, into my feathery hands.”

“Belay that. Arms up, everyone. Wings for you, Tammy.” Hadrian raised her voice. “We surrender!”

“Sorry, sir,” said Sin-Dour, “you could have remained a man for this.”

The escalator slowly brought them down to the waiting guards—who looked to be dressed like cheerleaders, although energy crackled from their pom-poms. “Nonsense, 2IC,” said Hadrian. “See that glass partition behind the Fellucians—check out our reflections, will you? I mean, my arms up like this, well, pretty impressive, wouldn’t you say? I mean, the both of us.”

“Sir, women generally don’t refer to their own breasts as ‘us.’”

“Hey, I wasn’t. I was looking at yours, too. Now try imagining sweet Angel Lillywhite’s head jammed between—”

“Put a sock in it!” cried a stentorian voice, and the guards moved to either side to reveal a mostly naked woman wearing skimpy leathers, including knee-high strapped moccasins. She held in one hand a spear. “Gag the prisoners if they say another word! Bring them forward! Beware the small dinosaur!”

With much jostling and shoving, Hadrian, Sin-Dour, and the chicken were prodded forward to stand before the barbaric-looking woman.

“I am Zaphead Moon-Anemone Divinity, Queen of the Fellucians. You are now my slaves—no, not you, small dinosaur—you will be plucked and boiled and then eaten. But you women—you shall serve my every need, satisfy my every desire, for the rest of your days.”

Hadrian raised her hand.

Zaphead nodded regally. “I give you leave to speak.”

“Oh no,” murmured the chicken.

“O Queen, I must ask, how were we exposed as impostors?”

Zaphead gestured and the two women they’d first met stepped forward. One held up a small device. “This is a Menstracorder. You were both out of Holy Cycle, which is impossible.”

“Oh, crap,” said Hadrian. She then shrugged. “Done in by biology. Again. Well, Highness, about your offer. Personally, I don’t see anything wrong with it. Especially that bit about serving your every need. Although, I have to say, it’s just my natural curiosity. I probably don’t go that way at all. Still, what’s wrong with a little experimentation—who knows, I might like it—”

“Enough! Take the small dinosaur to the Royal Kitchen! These two—to the Pits! We must await the correction of the Holy Cycle. Oh, and get the barefooted one some proper footwear, and someone do something about her hair.”

The next few moments were spent with all the guards trying to chase down and trap the chicken. Eventually, one woman flung herself down on Tammy, who managed a muffled squawk before being, apparently, crushed flat. The chicken was picked up by a guard, who marched off with Tammy hanging limp and bedraggled from one hand.

“You know,” Hadrian said to Sin-Dour, as they were prodded off toward the dungeon door, “things could be a lot worse.”

“Sir, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life serving some barbarian queen.”

“That was no barbarian,” said Hadrian. “That was an extra from the original
One Million Years B.C.
Now granted, Raquel Welch in the flesh would have been even—”

“No more talking, freak!” snarled one of the guards.

“Hey sister,” said Hadrian, “be cool, will you?”

“Squares don’t tell me to be cool. Just shut up, you’re like creeping me out.”

They entered a long, dusty corridor, passed through a large chamber dominated by an ancient computer with blinking lights, and then down another passage, this one ending in a rough-hewn circular chamber ringed with shackles—and there, slumped in chains, were Hadrian’s parents.

“Hi folks,” said Hadrian. “Fancy meeting you two here.”

Mother gasped. “Hadriana! But that’s impossible! We left you on Mitts’ World!”

Hadrian stopped. “I’m sorry, who? Hadriana? Who in Darwin’s name is Hadriana?”

“Stop!” barked Hadrian’s father, eyes narrowing. “That’s not your daughter, Milly.”

“Daughter?” demanded Hadrian. “What daughter? I have a sister? Why didn’t you tell me? A sister? And you named her Hadriana? Are you both insane?”

“Oh,” cried Mother, “I’m so confused!”

TWENTY-SiX

They all hung in chains. Sin-Dour was speaking with Hadrian’s parents, while Hadrian sat with his head in his hands.

“… so the biological modification seemed the best course, given the situation as described by Harry Mitts. In any case, we’re here to get you two off this planet.”

“And you’re doing a bang-up job,” said Boy Mitts. “Hadrian! Snap out of it! She’s ten years younger than you, and was a lot easier to handle—as if that needs saying! So now you know. You have a sister. A sweet, charming thing, too. The jewel of our eye and all that. Meanwhile, you went back to Meathead Central, that damned Affiliation—not exactly what we had in mind when we sent you back to Earth. And you got yourself a ship. Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”

“Mr. Mitts,” said Sin-Dour, “your son has proved an exceptional captain. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to survive all that we’ve gone through since leaving the Ring. And if that’s not enough, we’ve yet to lose a single crew member. You raised a remarkable son here.”

“They didn’t raise me at all!” Hadrian said, lifting her head to glare across at her parents. “When it wasn’t Gramps, it was Spark. When it wasn’t either of them, well, it ended up being Mother’s relatives back on Earth! You two? Why, off exploring the galaxy! Raised me, 2IC? Hah! Not them!”