by Jim C. Hines
Mops tried again, then a third time. A new message appeared: You appear to be having trouble. Would you like help?
She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this. Through clenched teeth, she muttered, “Yes.”
An animated caricature of the Pufferfish appeared on the screen, beaming with preprogrammed happiness. Or thinly-concealed madness. It was hard to tell.
Grom had modified Puffy’s appearance again, using a gaming mod to garb the anthropomorphic ship in an EMC uniform. In one hand Puffy held what Mops could only describe as a heavy-duty battle mop. The shaft included spiked hand guards, a laser sight, and a clip-on rocket launcher. The head was electrified, sparks shooting from each strand. The whole thing was twice Puffy’s height.
Puffy blinked enormous eyes and said, “Welcome to the bay depressurization help mod—”
“I need aft cargo bay door override.”
Puffy hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“Give me the override process before I have Doc hunt down and exterminate every last trace of your code.”
Puffy beamed and shouldered the mop. “I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that response.”
Mops rubbed her neck, longing for the days when the worst she had to deal with was backed-up plumbing lines and Wolf’s disciplinary troubles. “Yes. I’m sure.”
Puffy’s grin grew wider and more frightening. “Welcome to the cargo bay door override help module.”
It was several more minutes before Mops was able to bypass the safety warnings, cut power to the bay grav plates, and override the doors. A new alarm flashed green as the aft bay doors cracked open, and the remaining air rushed out.
The four medical waste tanks Kumar and Azure had prepared tumbled into space, slowly at first, but accelerating as the Jellyfish’s grav beam captured them.
“What now, sir?” asked Kumar.
“Now, we either escape or we don’t.” Mops tried to give him a confident smile, but—given the day’s events so far—she probably looked more like Puffy. “It all depends on what happens with that biological soup you cooked up.”
Incoming console-to-console message:
S. Kumar: Azure—the captain’s relying on our work. We should have run more tests!
Azure: The original recipe was for Comacean quick-drying dermal membrane. You followed each step precisely. The captain requested I mix it with what’s essentially an anticoagulant.
S. Kumar: Meaning the skin won’t maintain cohesion. Instead of quick-skin, we mixed four barrels of quick-drying Comacean dandruff?
Azure: Your captain’s thought processes are often a mystery to me.
S. Kumar: Maybe she’s hoping the skin cells will interfere with scanners? Make the Box Jellyfish think there are life-forms between them and us?
Azure: Maybe.
S. Kumar: I told you we should have run more tests.
Azure: And what, precisely, would we have been testing for? Also, the captain is speaking to you . . .
* * *
MOPS RAISED HER VOICE. “Kumar, I said bring us about twelve degrees to port, thirty degrees declination.”
“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir!”
Mops gritted her teeth while she waited for Kumar to check the notes taped to the wall above his console. He’d improved a great deal, but still mixed up port and starboard on occasion.
Kumar picked up his control sphere and adjusted several of the slider buttons. The Pufferfish jerked sideways like a fish on a line. “No good. They’re locked on tight.”
“Irwin’s hailing us again,” said Wolf. “She sounds cranky.”
“Can you blame her?” asked Mops. “Main screen.”
Battle Captain Irwin massaged her temples. “Tell me you did not just throw four barrels of sewage at my ship.”
“It wasn’t sewage.” Mops made a show of checking her displays. “Looks like your grav beams ruptured our cargo bay. You know we’re running with a skeleton crew here. You’re lucky the Pufferfish didn’t tear in half. The whole damn ship’s falling apart.”
That much was true enough, though the team did their best. Doc had copied himself into various areas of the ship to help assist with day-to-day functioning, including logging and prioritizing critical repairs. It was enough to make sure the Pufferfish wouldn’t blow up the next time someone flushed a toilet, but Mops wasn’t sure how much longer they’d be able to keep the ship flying.
While she pretended to sort through damage reports, Mops pulled up the aft feed to watch the four containers tumble away from the ship. They had burst open in quick succession, their contents expanding in an emerald cloud that tried to boil and freeze at the same time. The result was a crystalline mist, a green snowstorm in space.
Normally, the cloud would have continued to spiral away, propelled by the spinning of the broken canisters. But the other ship’s grav beams were at full power. Caught by those focused gravity waves, the tiny crystals flowed in a narrowing conical path toward the Box Jellyfish’s beam generators. Only a few stray wisps avoided the pull and continued to spread, like glittering green dust.
“Looks like those were medical waste tanks,” said Mops. “Sorry about that. Someone must have forgotten to secure them, and that line of tanks aren’t rated for vacuum. Don’t worry. Nothing in there will damage your ship. You might want to send your SHS team out to wash the hull when you get the chance, though.”
“Enough.” Irwin sounded tired. “Mops, Captain Smuglyanka has ordered us to open fire if you don’t offer your immediate and unconditional surrender.”
“They’re locking A-guns,” Monroe warned.
Rubin stood. “What about the Comaceans?”
“Don’t worry,” said Irwin, overhearing the question. “We’re close enough I could burn my initials on your hull without putting any of these beasts in the slightest danger.”
“Understood.” Mops kept her attention on her display, where the thin trail of escaping biomaterial continued to pinwheel outward.
“We’re sending two infantry squads to secure the Pufferfish,” said Irwin. “They’ll come in through your aft bay, since you’ve kindly left the doors open. Please don’t give them any reason to shoot you.”
A single delicate wisp of green dust stretched toward the tail of a passing Comacean.
“You’ve stopped breathing,” said Doc. After a moment, he added, “You should probably start again.”
Mops forced herself to exhale.
The particles of biomatter brushed the Comacean’s skin.
The creature reacted instantly. Other Comaceans altered course seconds later.
“How the hell do they communicate?” Mops whispered.
“Visual cues. An organ in the eyeball emits a flash of light, too high-frequency for human eyes to see.”
On screen, Irwin’s battle bridge turned green. Irwin spun away. “Lieutenant Li, what’s happening out there?”
Someone, presumably Li, said, “I’m not sure, sir. The Comaceans are changing course. It looks like they’re closing in on us.”
“What the depths did you do, Mops?” Irwin shouted.
“You think we can pilot Comaceans remotely?” Mops shot back. “We can barely steer our own ship, let alone hijack a herd of space whales. Maybe they decided you’re a predator, and this is some sort of instinctive response. I suggest shutting down your grav beams and backing off. Maybe they’ll stop seeing you as a threat and leave you alone.”
Irwin snorted loudly, a sound midway between disbelief and disgust. “I don’t know how you pulled this off, but I’ve got orders to destroy the Pufferfish rather than let you escape again.”
“Like hell.” Mops muted the connection. “Wolf, how have you been coming along on those grav beam tutorials?”
“I haven’t blown up the simulated ship in almost two weeks.”
Years of experience helped
Mops maintain a calm, confident tone. “Lock onto the Box Jellyfish and give them a nudge. Nothing overwhelming. Just keep them jostling around too much for their gunner to get a precise lock.”
Wolf jumped and ran to a secondary console at the back of the bridge.
“That won’t work for long,” Monroe warned.
“It doesn’t have to.” Mops reopened the communications channel. “Irwin, if you blow us up, the debris from our ship will injure those Comaceans. You could be court-martialed. They might even send you back to Earth.”
“After chasing you around the damn galaxy, Earth will be a vacation.”
The Pufferfish shuddered. Alarms flashed on Mops’ console and monocle, listing multiple hull punctures to the lower decks.
“I ordered you to target their engines,” Irwin shouted. “How the hell can you miss at this range?”
Another voice protested. “We didn’t miss, exactly. We just hit the wrong part of the ship. Sir.”
Irwin’s face darkened. She started to shout, caught herself, and glanced back at Mops. A gesture to one of her crew killed the connection.
“Nice work, Wolf.” Mops continued to watch the incoming Comaceans. “Keep it coming.”
Another volley of A-gun fire perforated Mops’ ship. Her fingers dug into her chair. The hyperaccelerated slugs were relatively small—about the size of her clenched fist—but each one struck at a significant fraction of light speed. No shielding or armor plating would stop them.
The Pufferfish’s autorepair systems sealed each breach automatically, but there was only so much the ship could take. If one of those slugs hit anything critical as it drilled through, or if the autorepair failed . . . “Doc?”
“Deck H is sealed off to contain an internal CO2 leak. It shouldn’t be life-threatening, but will require manual intervention to recycle and rebalance the atmosphere on that deck. In the meantime, I strongly recommend we avoid being shot again.”
“Noted.”
“Sir, the Comaceans . . .” Monroe hesitated. “I think one of them is firing on the Jellyfish.”
“What?” The main viewscreen switched to a close-up of the Box Jellyfish, now surrounded by four Comaceans. Three more were closing in.
A light on Mops’ console indicated Battle Captain Irwin wanted to talk. Mops accepted the connection just as Rubin spoke up.
“She’s not firing, sir. She’s regurgitating.”
The silence stretched so long Mops double-checked to make sure she hadn’t accidentally muted Irwin. Finally, just as Mops was about to ask Wolf to reestablish the connection, Irwin asked, “Did one of your people just say the fucking space whales are puking on my fucking ship?”
“They’re not fucking,” Rubin corrected. “She’s acting on instinct, but it’s protective, not procreative. She’s trying to provide sustenance to an injured member of the herd.”
“They, not she,” Doc noted. Faint clouds on the screen showed where two more of the closest Comaceans had offered up predigested food . . . some of which drifted into the path of the grav beams and accelerated toward the ship.
Mops sagged back in her chair. The Box Jellyfish hadn’t released the Pufferfish yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. “I’d hold off on sending those infantry squads, Irwin. If the Comaceans see you launching shuttles, they might decide to ‘help’ them, too.”
Irwin ran both hands through her hair. When she spoke, she sounded like she was trying not to choke. “How?”
“Those waste tanks contained synthesized Comacean skin,” said Mops. “With a few extra ingredients to help it disperse. That’s what your grav beams so obligingly sucked all over your ship. The rest drifted away until the other Comaceans . . . smelled it, I guess.”
“Tasted, actually,” said Rubin. “They have specialized cells on their skin, similar to human taste buds.”
“They think you’re a hurt Comacean youngster,” Mops continued. “They instinctively close in to protect their young. Apparently, they hock up food to help you get your strength back, too.”
“The amazing part is it’s all automatic,” said Rubin. “They’re still in hibernation. They literally help each other out in their sleep.”
The grav beams cut out as another Comacean closed in.
“I’d kill thrusters as well,” said Mops. “If you injure one of your escort, you’ll get even more of the herd showing up to help.”
Irwin laced her fingers in an approximation of a Krakau obscenity. Roughly translated, it meant, “Swim off and choke on your own tentacles.”
Mops chuckled. “Once the Comaceans know you’re all right, they’ll drift off and leave you in peace. You should be all clear by this time tomorrow. Two days, tops.”
“How the hell am I supposed to write this up?”
“Unexpected megagastrointestinal complications?” Mops spread her hands. “Tell you what. When and if you ever catch me, I’ll buy you a drink.”
A choked laugh burst from the speaker. “You owe me a hell of a lot more than one, Mops.”
“I might have agreed before you started shooting my ship. Give my regards to Perón. Adamopoulos out.”
Mops wiped her hands on her knees and turned to survey her team. “Monroe, take Grom and inspect the damage. Make sure an A-ring jump won’t rip us apart.”
“How did you know the Comaceans would help you fight your enemy?” Cate stared, transfixed, at the tactical display.
“They didn’t fight.” Mops gestured toward Rubin. “She gave me the idea.”
“Captain Adamopoulos wanted to understand how the herd would react to our presence, especially if we had to fight our way free,” said Rubin. “They have no natural predators, and evolved a strong protective instinct. They only mate while orbiting Tixateq 1 or 2, and the gestation period is more than twenty years. The whole herd helps with the newborns.”
“We’re being hailed by Biorefinery Eleven,” Wolf interrupted as she slid back into her seat at Communications.
“Which one is that?”
On the screen, Doc highlighted the Comacean currently snuggled up against the port side of the Box Jellyfish.
Kumar cocked his head to one side. “I wonder if the Quetzalus have a standard procedure in place for when their biorefinery swims off course to nuzzle an EMC cruiser.”
“Doubtful,” said Mops. “An egregious oversight, I’m sure. Wolf, please pass along our apologies. Kumar, get us out of here. Carefully—we don’t want to disrupt the Comaceans any more than we have. As soon as we’re clear, maneuver us into position for an A-ring jump. Grom, once you and Monroe finish checking the damage, I’ll need you to plot a jump to Earth.”
Grom spun, the spines on their back beginning to rise. “Did you say Earth? Why would we want to go there, of all places?”
Mops stood and beckoned for Cate to follow. “Let’s find out.”
* * *
Like the main bridge, the Captain’s Cove had been designed for the comfort of the Pufferfish’s Krakau command crew. Humans on EMC ships were expected to keep to the battle hubs and communal areas on the lower decks.
Since the death of said command crew and Mops’ theft of the ship, she’d drained the water from the Captain’s Cove, increased the temperature, adjusted the air mixture to human preferences, and removed Captain Brandenburg’s old keepsakes from the small shelves lining the curved walls—including an impressive collection of tentacle piercing loops and studs, none of which she’d ever worn while on duty.
Mops doubted she’d ever finish remodeling the place to her satisfaction, but she enjoyed the work. She hoped to resurface the walls and floor next, but with so many more pressing jobs around the Pufferfish, who knew when or if she’d get to that. For now, she tried to ignore the gritty texture beneath her feet, or the way the sand-colored walls made her feel like she was entering an ocean-side cave.
An oval t
able made of iridescent orange Dobranok glass stood at the center of the shallow depression in the floor. Mops gestured for Cate to take one of the mismatched chairs she’d scavenged from various parts of the ship.
After studying it a moment, Cate spun the chair and straddled it, allowing his wings to rest behind him.
Rubin, Wolf, and Kumar took the chairs around Cate, unsubtly surrounding the Prodryan. Azure settled herself in one of the small cagelike cylinders the Krakau used for furniture.
Cate rubbed his forearms together, producing an unpleasant rasping noise to get the group’s attention. Turning to Azure, he said, “It was not my intention to create awkwardness when I commented on your deformity earlier.”
Azure didn’t answer, though the blue spots on her skin grew brighter.
Apparently oblivious to the danger, Cate continued talking. “I read that it’s the custom of some races to offer congratulations.”
“Congratulations?” Azure turned slightly, fixing one large eye on the Prodryan. “For what, exactly?”
Cate gestured to the smaller of Azure’s four primary tentacles. “You appear to be regrowing a limb. Krakau sacrifice a tentacle during procreation and childbirth, yes? Where is your offspring now?”
“There’s no offspring,” said Mops, taking the lone chair on the opposite side from the rest. “I shot off her tentacle when she tried to assassinate a member of my crew.”
“Oh.” Cate turned back to Mops. “Life on a human vessel is more eventful than I’d been told.”
“You have no idea.” Mops put her hands on the table. “Doc, patch this through to Grom and Monroe so I don’t have to repeat myself later.”
“Done.”
“Advocate of Violence claims he and Admiral Pachelbel discovered something on one of Fleet Admiral Sage’s private security feeds. Something important enough to risk all this.” She waved one hand, trying to encompass the Comaceans, the Box Jellyfish, the damage to the Pufferfish. “Important enough, or so I’m told, for us to travel to Earth.”
“Where the defense satellites will blow the Pufferfish and everyone on board to tiny pieces before we can even wake up from the A-ring jump,” Wolf muttered.
