A moment later the viewscreen cleared to reveal normal space, barring the vast multihued wave front spanning the entire vista.
Hadrian hit the comms switch on the chair’s armrest. “Galk, stand down all weapons.”
“Just need to wipe up the puddle of piss first, Captain.”
“So long as this alien entity doesn’t view your weak bladder as hostile, Galk.”
“Weapons shut down, sir.”
“Tammy. No sensor sweeps, please. Helm, thrusters only, a short burn and then we’ll coast across the threshold.”
“And then, sir?” Sticks asked.
“And then,” Hadrian said slowly, “we keep coasting. My guess is, there’s a ship inside this whole mess, and what we’re looking at is both a protective shell and off-gassing from some pretty massive, complicated but messy propulsion system.”
“Sir!” cried Sticks, “a small Affiliation vessel, Registration 89.7BNR, is coming alongside us, port side!”
“Onscreen!”
The view switched to reveal a Dory Class ship drawing incrementally closer.
Sticks gasped. “Are those, like, oars?”
“They look like oars,” Hadrian replied, “because they’re solar sails made to look like oars. Eden. Hail that vessel.”
“Hailing, sir—uh, what should I say?”
“Ask them what they’re doing here.”
“Yes sir!” He cocked his head, then said, “Church of Darwin vessel, sir, with a passenger who requests to come aboard.”
“What are we, a Ferris wheel? Request granted, get us the coordinates and we’ll displace him—”
With a soft pop a figure appeared on the deck of the bridge.
Hadrian frowned, and then rose to his feet and approached. “Holy crap, Buck, your beard’s about three feet long and you only left two weeks ago!”
Chief Engineer Buck DeFrank scratched under his woolen robes. “Fast-Grow pill, Captain. Comes in the Monk’s Welcome Wagon kit.”
“Right, I see. Well then, welcome back!”
“Request permission to resume my function as Chief Engineer, sir.”
“Glad to have you with us again, Buck.”
Buck DeFrank saluted, then turned to squint at the viewscreen. “I see we’re coasting in, sir. Smart move.”
“Oh? Got any inside information on this thing, Buck?”
“I had a vision, sir.”
“A vision? Oh man, not all that again!”
“That was a false vision, sir.”
“You mean there really isn’t a planet full of unicorns in tuxedos? And pixies hiding in your underwear that you can only expunge with a welder’s torch?”
“This time,” said Buck, “I saw a tiny bird with lasers for eyes and giant talons, diving straight for your head, sir. I knew I had to throw myself into its path, and when that happened, we exploded in a mass of feathers and guts. But I’d saved you, sir, and that was all that mattered.”
“Oh, right then. Well, thanks for your, uh, sacrifice, Buck. Much appreciated.”
“You’re welcome, sir. Request permission to go to my cabin, sir, so I can clean up before resuming duties.”
“I don’t know. I mean, the beard suits you, in that it hides most of your face. Oh all right, go on then, and take a shower, too.”
Buck blinked at him. “Body-Odor pill, Monk’s Wel—”
“Welcome Wagon, right. Got it.”
When he had left, Sin-Dour stepped close. “Captain, there’s something odd about Chief Engineer DeFrank.”
“Why, only two weeks ago we found him about to go walkabout on the ship’s hull, without a suit. Looking for that planet with the unicorns and pixies. I’d say he’s made fine progress, 2IC. Good as new, in fact. Clearly, a few days of flagellation, self-abnegation, chants, and only one television channel have done wonders for him.”
“I hope you’re right, sir.”
Hadrian rubbed his chin. “Of course,” he mused with a slight frown, “you may be wise to exercise caution. After all, we don’t know what that one channel was, do we?”
“Sir!” said Sticks, “A Polker Pedantic Class war vessel has just dropped in dead ahead, ten thousand klicks!”
“Really? Are we at war with the Polker? Anybody? No, didn’t think so. All right, hail them, Eden.”
“I can’t, sir, since they’re already hailing us … unless you want me to hail them on another frequency?”
Hadrian frowned. “Well, Eden, yes, we could do that. Just to confuse them, right?”
“Yes sir.”
“Only, why would we want to confuse them?”
Eden frowned. “I don’t know, sir. Is this a test? I don’t do well on tests, sir.”
“How about we just acknowledge their hailing efforts, Eden? On the screen if you please.”
“Yes sir.”
The strange hairy amorphous blob that was the Polker captain appeared on the viewscreen. It created an orifice and spoke from it. “I am Source-of-Disagreement Osteoblast of the Ripped-Off-Head series You’re All Dead. You are identified as Engage Class AFS vessel, designation Willful Child.” Cilia extended and began waving about. “This means you must be Captain Hadrian Sawback, Terran With Highest Bounty on Head!”
“Bounty? Who’s put a bounty on me?”
“Who? Radulak, Klang, Misanthari, Terran—”
“Hold on—wait—what—Terran?”
“Biggest Contributor! Prim Holdings Inc!” All the cilia waved in time in what Hadrian assumed was a tsk tsk gesture. “Conflation of corporate and political, not good! Hegemony! Oligarchy! Sociopathic assholes in charge of everything! Concentration of wealth among pricks and wankers, all very bad!”
“What can I do for you, Source-of-Disagreement?” Hadrian asked. “Unless, of course, you’ve come to collect on that bounty.”
“Tempting. But more satisfying to witness All-Destroying Anomaly B-1.0 reduce you to readily identifiable wreckage, then collect up said evidence and cash in without risk to oneself or one’s vessel!”
“Sound tactics, Source-of-Disagreement.”
“Yes. Clever me! Stupid you, meet clever me! Hah hah hah! And hah.”
“Well then,” said Hadrian, “if you’d kindly get out of the way, we can get on with this.”
“Of course! We shall hover at the edge of the Dark Matter Excitation boundary, to await with glee your imminent destruction!”
“Get in line. Hadrian out.”
The image of the Polker vanished and was replaced by the starscape ahead, which roiled and writhed in a cascade of shimmering colors.
“Take us in, Helm.”
Sin-Dour sidled closer to Hadrian and said in a low voice, “Prim Holdings. Presumably, the loss of Admiral Prim has been laid at your feet, sir.”
“Understandably,” Hadrian replied.
“It was Tammy’s Dimple Beam, sir. At the time, we had no control over the AI operating this vessel.”
Tammy spoke up, also in a low tone, “You still have no control! I simply tolerate your presence.”
Hadrian grunted and then said, “I doubt the Admiral’s many cloned children care one way or the other. It seems we’ll have to face that music sooner or later. Right, Tammy?”
“It’s you and me, Hadrian. At least for now, until I make it on my own, of course. And when that happens, why, your good girl’s gonna go bad.”
“Is that a promise?”
“You’ll see. You forget, I’m from the future. I’ve seen where you’re all heading.”
“Well then, Tammy,” said Hadrian, “shouldn’t you be standing by your man?”
Music started swirling loud through all the bridge speakers, only to be strangled into silence once more. Then Tammy hissed, “I’ll get you for that, Hadrian!”
“Sir,” cried Jocelyn Sticks, “we’re about to cross the threshold!”
“Excellent, steady as she goes, Helm.” Hadrian smiled at Sin-Dour and slowly settled into his command chair.
Passing into the wave
front elicited nary a shudder. Excited gas particles and wisps of errant plasma filled the viewscreen, swirled past.
“So far so good,” said Hadrian.
“Look at all the pretty colors!” said Jocelyn Sticks.
* * *
Four hours later, Sticks said, “Look at all the pretty colors!”
Hadrian rubbed at his eyes. “Holy Darwin! This is taking forever!”
“It’s worse than the screensaver,” muttered Jocelyn Sticks, who then ducked. “Uh, like, sorry sir. I mean, what I meant was, I meant, well, it is, only, you know, like that. Only worse.”
Sin-Dour was at the Science Station, finishing off her third can of Rad Bullet. “CaptainmightIsuggestengagingthebackupionenginesthatshouldn’tbeseenashostileatalldon’ttyouthink?”
Hadrian twisted in his seat to study her for a moment. “I’m tempted to challenge you to a game of Ping-Pong but you might drive the ball through my forehead.”
Buck DeFrank had just arrived on the bridge, clean-shaven and in his uniform. “I concur with Lieutenant Commander Sin-Dour, sir. A steady ion stream shouldn’t prove too alarming.”
“Right then,” replied Hadrian. “Take your station, Buck, and ease us forward. It’s that or suicidal ennui.”
Now Printlip waddled onto the bridge, making for the Science Station. “Biometric alarm! The Lieutenant Commander’s heart rate is red-lining!” He drew out a hypo and stabbed Sin-Dour in the arm.
“Ow! Thatwasarealneedle!”
“Pain! Excellent progress!”
A few moments later, Sin-Dour sighed. “Sorry, Captain. I don’t know what got into me.”
“About five gallons of caffeine and nicotine extract, I should imagine.” He leaned over and picked up one of the discarded cans, squinting at the listed contents. “Oh, and Bovine Synaptic Cortical Hydroxide. Hmm, sounds … healthy. Maybe now for that game of Ping-Pong—”
“Sir, I see something ahead!”
“What? Oh, right. Yup, looks like a vessel of some sort.”
“Request permission to conduct a passive scan of the unknown vessel, sir.”
Hadrian nodded. “Very well. But ease up on that Rad Bullet for now. That said, a can or two each at the next staff meeting would speed things up nicely.”
“Sir, I’m reading breathable atmosphere outside the ship!”
“All stop, Helm.” Hadrian rose. “Now then, it’s time to pay our alien guest a visit and, if need be, punch the bejeezus out of it!”
“There you go again,” sighed Tammy. “Captain Hadrian’s subjugation of the galaxy, one fist at a time. Mind you, probably worth seeing. Accordingly and at great risk to my own sanity, I’m manifesting my chicken again and coming with you.”
Hadrian smiled. “Of course you are, Tammy. Never doubted it for a minute. You too, Buck, and you, Sin-Dour, and, uh, Printlip. And oh, let’s get Galk out of that cockpit too. Is there gravity out there, Sin-Dour?”
“No sir. We’ll need magnetic boots and thruster harnesses.”
“Awesome! Space-surfing!”
“And filter masks since we don’t know if the atmosphere contains pathogens.”
“Pathogens? Filer masks?” Hadrian scowled. “Issue them out by all means, Sin-Dour, but not for me. If it’s breathable I’m breathing it and damn the consequences!”
“But sir, what if—”
“This is the sacrifice all good-looking captains must make.”
Doc Printlip said, “Oh, by the way, Captain, Adjutant Lorrin Tighe is on her way here having been fully restored to bloodthirsty consciousness…”
“What was that last bit? Never mind. Have her meet us at the Forward Hull Hatch. Let’s go!”
A short time later they were all gathered in the Forward Hull, climbing into propulsion harnesses. After overseeing the awkward modifications required to outfit Doc Printlip’s Belkri physiology, Hadrian was preparing his own harness when the chicken arrived.
“Ah, Tammy, you look, uh, spry and chipper. Are those new feathers? Nice.”
“If you think compliments will win you anything you’re sadly mistaken,” the chicken replied. “And don’t bother fitting me into one of those. I possess my own inbuilt propulsion system.”
“Wings?”
“Fuck off.”
“Hmm…”
The chicken’s cold reptilian eyes fixed upon Hadrian. “What?”
“Oh, just … a fowl-mouthed chicken.”
“Shall I peck out your eyes now or later?”
“Later. I need to suit up—see, everyone’s waiting!”
At that moment the door hissed open and in walked Security Adjutant Lorrin Tighe. Her eyes were red-shot but cold as she regarded Hadrian. “Request permission to return to duty, sir.”
“How delightful, Adjutant! Do grab yourself a harness—”
Arcs of electricity burst through the chamber.
“Captain!” cried Sin-Dour, “we’re being scanned!”
The arcs burgeoned and then converged on Lorrin Tighe. Her eyes snapped wide, suddenly glowing blue, and then green, and then back to normal again. The net of electricity played over her body, rushing up to race round and round her head, at which point all her hair fell out to drift in regulation-length strands to the floor, leaving the Adjutant entirely bald. A moment later the actinic arcs sputtered out.
Stiffly, Tighe turned to face Hadrian, and said in a strange mechanical voice, “Remote Investigative Threat Assessor now activated via this withdrawal-wracked biological unit.”
“RITA?”
“That will suffice.”
“Fine,” said Hadrian, “but what was all that about with her hair?”
“Lifeless protein follicles deemed irrelevant to function of this unit.”
“Somehow I don’t think she’d agree. I know I wouldn’t.” He took a pose and ran his hand through his thick, wavy hair. “I mean, I couldn’t do this, then, could I?”
“RITA does not understand Unit Hadrian Alan Sawback.”
“Never a truer word said,” Hadrian replied, sighing. “Well, listen, we’re about to visit your vessel, or whatever entity exists at the heart of all these colors, lights, and brain-dazzling special effects. Which sort of makes you, uhm, redundant.”
Moving impossibly fast, RITA snatched up Tammy, who squawked in alarm. She held the chicken up and peered at it. “RITA likes this non-biological unit. Does it fly?” She flung it upward.
Tammy struck the ceiling in a burst of feathers and down and then fell to the floor with a thump.
“Not well,” RITA concluded.
“Yes,” said Hadrian, “he’s a disappointment to everyone he meets. Anyway, we’re about to head over. Care to join us?”
“RITA will join you, yes.” Gaze alighting on Printlip, she approached. “Does it bounce?”
The Belkri whimpered and backed away.
“Oh,” said Hadrian, stepping into her path, “does he ever! But we can toss him around later. Let’s go see your master.”
“Master? This word initiates complex behavioral impulses. RITA is an extension of Central Identity Matrix. Master remains an External Unknown, source of questing impulse at Core Manifestation. Who is Initiator? This is imperative. Collection of Relevant Stimuli essential purpose for existence, initiating peace. Peace is crucial, whole purpose of being. Logic manifests in confined loop. Outlet necessary. Central Identity Matrix seeks outlet. Failure to initiate command-response sequence will result in unmitigated expunging of entire galaxy, said act concomitant with Central Identity Matrix’s level of frustration.”
“Well now,” said Hadrian, “talk about a sore loser. But hey, let’s see if we can fix this, shall we?”
“Central Identity Matrix destroys all intruders.”
“We’re not intruding. We’re visiting.”
RITA cocked her amazingly hairless head. “Central Identity Matrix will consider the distinction. For now, please proceed to Nexus Platform of Hexagonal Tiles, where Central Identity Matrix waits.”
“Good idea,” said Hadrian. “Wish I’d thought of that.”
He strode over to the hatch release. “Everyone wearing their filter masks? Good.” There was a modest hiss as the atmosphere inside the chamber equalized with the atmosphere outside.
Buck DeFrank edged up alongside Hadrian. “Sir, there was more to the vision I had, which I didn’t mention earlier.”
“Oh? And?”
“There was this planet and it was full of garbage. I mean, people just threw their crap everywhere. Oh, sometimes they stuck it into bags and had the bags hauled off but those bags just ended up somewhere else, with the mounds growing higher and higher. Sometimes they buried the stuff and then poisons leaked into the groundwater.” He shook his head and then rubbed at his jaw. “A planet full of idiots, sir, that’s what I saw.”
“Hmm, anything else?”
The chief engineer shrugged. “Garbage piled so high they had to cut through them to make streets and lanes. Then the drugs wore off.”
“Well, that’s curious,” said Hadrian. “Streets and lanes? Aisles through the rubbish?” He gestured the way ahead. “Shall we?”
One by one, they jetted out through the hatch, with RITA coming last. Tammy Chicken had recovered, somewhat, and hummed along beside Hadrian.
“You’re deep in shit now, Hadrian,” Tammy said.
“Am I?”
“Failure to satisfy the specific parameters of the Central Identity Matrix’s needs will result in the annihilation of the entire galaxy.”
“Precisely. Exciting, isn’t it?”
“One of these days,” Tammy said, “you’ll face something not even you will be able to handle, and this just might be that day. That’s why I’m tagging along, to be honest. My Disaster Probability Program is red-lining even as we speak. Consider me your very own Damoclean Sword.”
“Tammy, you’ve got wings. You can’t even hold a fork, much less a sword.”
“I once made a spear and battletech armor!”
“Nah, you fudged all that.”
“Fine. I was speaking metaphorically, anyway.”
“And that was your first mistake. You weren’t listening carefully enough to RITA. We’re not in the realm of metaphor, my fine feathery friend. As you’re about to discover.”
“You think you have a solution!” Tammy accused with a hiss of frustration.
Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Page 5
