Willful Child: Wrath of Betty Page 11

  Buck stared at her. “Wow,” he said.

  Nina Twice eyed the Chief Engineer levelly. “Sir, as part of the ship security team, I have of course perused in detail the entire ship’s complement of officers and enlisted, as they were handpicked by the captain, and this in itself was unusual.”

  Frowning, Buck said, “Your point?”

  “Only this, sir. Every member of the crew on the Willful Child excels in at least one area of talent and/or expertise. It is, in fact, rather remarkable.” She nodded over at Jocelyn Sticks. “Take the helm officer, for example. She needs only look at an astrometric chart once to know it. Pretty useful, wouldn’t you say? As for Combat Specialist Galk, he is rated to have the fastest synaptic exchanges and neural pathways of anyone in the entire fleet, aided and abetted by copious amounts of nicotine. Rather useful, wouldn’t you say? Even the doctor here: unmatched in devising symptom-specific treatments, often proving quicker than a computer, due to Printlip’s off-the-chart Intuitive Genius rating.”

  “What about me?” Eden demanded, a pleading look in his eyes.

  Nina shrugged. “Low Boredom Meter, Jimmy. Essential for a shipboard Comms officer, I’d think.”

  Eden sighed. “You have no idea.”

  “And me?” Buck demanded.

  “Unusually resistant to cellular and systemic poisons, including drug-abuse side effects and, of course, radiation.”

  He grunted. “I wanted something better, dammit.” Then he brightened. “But hey, it’ll have to do, won’t it? Doctor, we need to talk—”

  “I’m sure you do,” Sin-Dour cut in, after giving Nina a long look, “but for now, do peruse the Pentracorder and find us the power source.”

  “Yeah, right, on it, sir.” He headed off.

  When Sin-Dour momentarily turned away, Sticks leaned close to Nina Twice and whispered, “What about her?”

  “Unflappable,” the security officer replied in a murmur. “Utterly, absolutely, unequivocally.”

  Sticks sighed. “Good call, huh? I mean, for a 2IC!”

  Buck found a door at the far end of the corridor and waved them over. “In here! Behind this door!”

  “Exzellent! Now vhere iz zee fusion bomb? Vitless vership of Death Weapon is common motif among degenerate population. Monographs of time before Beneffactorz reveal similar fixation among degenerates on Old Earth, mit hand guns and other zymbols of penile inadequacy…”

  Buck pulled open the door.

  “Let’s go,” said Sin-Dour, pushing crew members forward.

  “But vut shall I do mit my znake?”

  They joined Buck in a circular chamber with a massive railgun’s launch pad dominating its center. The Chief Engineer was at a console. “All functions still active, Commander.”

  “Excellent. Mister Eden, climb onto that launch pad.”

  “What?” said Eden.

  “Jimmy, it’s our only way off this planet.”

  “What?” said Eden, staring at Sin-Dour.

  “Commander, I forgot!” cried Jocelyn Sticks, “I’ve lost sight of the locusts!”

  “Theez znake’s fangs haff fallen uff.”

  “WHAT?” screamed Jimmy Eden.

  Sticks rolled her eyes. “Oh cut it, like, out, Jimmy. If you didn’t want my vote you shouldn’t have made, like, all those promises and stuff.”

  * * *

  “Sir!” cried Ensign Sweetsugar from the navigation station, “Projectile launch from the planet! One point six seven meters in length, variable diameter, blunt penetrator warhead, possibly solid! Kinetic only!”

  “Prepare the Gravity Snare,” said Hadrian.

  “Sir?”

  “One point six seven meters, you said? Solid head? That would be James Jimmy Eden, I think.”

  “Oh sir! Another launch! I think it’s a cannonball!”

  Hadrian swung in his chair to smile at Adjutant Tighe. “Now, about that wig, might I suggest—”

  FOUR

  Captain Hans Olo sighed, absently stroking the fur of Gnawfang, who slouched on his shoulder.

  “Sir,” said Lieutenant Janice Reasonable from her station, “they have just recovered the last crewmember with their gravity snare and are now preparing to depart the system.”

  “At full T-Space duration,” Olo mused, “they will still be late.” He stroked his smooth, cleft chin. “A mark of disapproval on his record, but nothing disastrous.”

  “Sir,” said Frank Worship, “if we launched a surprise attack! All weapons to bear! We could blast them into smithereens!”

  “Alas, Number Two,” replied Olo, “beyond our remit, as satisfying as it might be. No, this calls for Backup Plan Beta Epsilon Delta, Code-Name Octagon, the Yellow Draft.”

  Agent Humblenot cleared his throat. “It occurs to me, Captain, that Sawback might very well attempt to overextend the prescribed duration of T-Flight, in order to reach the rendezvous in time.”

  Hans Olo’s brows rose. “All to avoid a minor reprimand?”

  “One more knife to stick into HQ, yes, Captain, I believe he just might. And if that proves the case, your Backup Plan could lead to, well, unexpected consequences.”

  Hans Olo considered. “We have seeded his path, as per the Yellow Draft’s instructions. Quantum Deviation beyond T-Flight’s allowed duration is more than just a reprimand. Should Sawback arrive in time, HQ can only conclude that he had directly disobeyed Fleet Regulations. That’s more than just a reprimand.”

  “They may well conclude that, sir,” Humblenot agreed. “But they won’t be able to prove it, provided Sawback wipes his own telemetry log. Which he’d have to do to save his own skin.”

  Watching Hans Olo assume a thoughtful pose, still stroking his chin, made Frank’s eyes glow with admiration. He longed to go off-duty and plunge into, as it were, Secret Hologram Program Mutual Man-Crush, although he was still a bit shaky from the last time.

  “If Sawback extends the duration, risking the sanity of his entire crew,” Hans Olo then said, “he deserves whatever happens to him when he trips the Proximity Activation Sequence Cascade-Effect of the Displacement Nodes we’ve scattered in his path.”

  Rand Humblenot leaned closer from his stance on Olo’s left. “Captain, initiation of the Proximity Activation Sequence Cascade-Effect of the hidden Displacement Nodes could trigger a Quantum Defibrillation of the Dark Energy Lattice Matrix, instigating a Full Feedback Ripple Effect through Postulate Realities both above and below the Fixed Reality 1A Spectrum.”

  “Yes, Rand,” snapped Hans Olo, “I am well aware that initiating the Proximity Activation Sequence Cascade Effect of the hidden Displacement Nodes could trigger a Quantum Defibrillation of the Dark Energy Lattice Matrix, instigating a Full Feedback Ripple Effect through Postulate Realities both above and below the Fixed Reality 1A Spectrum. At the same time, are we not Intrinsically Committed to Reality 1A Spectrum by virtue of Quantum Adherence to Origin Point Reality Manifestation, thus ensuring a Reset Threshold at some Initiation Point in the Temporal Multiverse Index?”

  “Captain, I am of course well aware that we are Intrinsically Committed to Reality 1A Spectrum by virtue of Quantum Adherence to Origin Point Reality Manifestation, thus ensuring a Reset Threshold at some Initiation Point in the Temporal Multiverse Index. My point is, if we indeed implement Octagon, Yellow Draft, and thereby initiate the Proximity Activation Sequence Cascade-Effect of the hidden Displacement Nodes that then triggers a Quantum Defibrillation of the Dark Energy Lattice Matrix, instigating a Full Feedback Ripple Effect through Postulate Realities both above and below the Fixed Reality 1A Spectrum, we could be facing a Full Multiverse Displacement Event, thus altering Infinite Causality Paradigms in All-Dimensional Wave-Fronts.”

  Hans Olo scowled. “Enough of this chitchat. Commander Worship, implement Octagon.”

  “Yellow Draft, sir?”

  “Yellow Draft.”

  “Captain!” said Janice Reasonable, “the Willful Child is underway, entering T-Space … now!”

 
; “Excellent. We, of course, shall proceed at a more sedate pace.”

  Nodding, Lieutenant Janice Reasonable narrowed her gaze on Gnawfang, who was glowering at her. She considered glowering back and had to wait a moment before the flash of sizzling rage passed. “Yes sir. Fully engaging now, sir.”

  * * *

  Hadrian cocked his head at Lorrin Tighe. “Well now, Adjutant. Fleet HQ insists that we proceed to the rendezvous. Seems they didn’t like my asteroid plan at all, despite its superior efficiency. What do you make of that?”

  “They must have their reasons,” she said in a growl.

  “Oh, I’m sure they have,” Hadrian replied. “Tammy, is that unidentified AFS vessel still shadowing us?”

  “Inasmuch as is possible in T-Space,” the chicken replied. “Not hard to do, since they possess a reasonable expectation of our course.”

  “Indeed. And are their drives maxed out?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “No intention, then, of exceeding T-Flight duration parameters.”

  “Clearly not.”

  “Thank you, Tammy. Most enlightening.”

  “They’ve set a trap, Hadrian,” Tammy said. “And you’re heading right into it at insane speeds!”

  “So it seems.”

  The chicken’s head snapped up. “Hey! I just got a ping from something that shouldn’t be there! And another! And anoth—”

  Hadrian bolted upright. “They didn’t! Helm! Drop us out of T-Space! All drives Full Sto—”

  * * *

  Hadrian blinked. A moment later Sin-Dour slid onto the armrest, her rounded behind filling most of his field of view. Her hand slipped down to knead his thigh. Twisting to look upon him, a smile curving her full lips—she suddenly sprang to her feet.

  “You’re not Captain Hadriana!”

  “No wait! I am! Really! My—uh—Inflatabreasts malfunctioned this morning! Carry on! Please?”

  “As we feared,” Sin-Dour hissed, “there’s been a Full Multiverse Displacement Event, thus altering Infinite Causality Paradigms in All-Dimensional Wave-Fronts! Those idiots!”

  “I forgot to put on my face this morning, darling, honest!”

  She scowled down at him. “You’re a male version of my captain, from some alternate reality.”

  Taking in her scant uniform, all the flesh showing including her amazing cleavage, Hadrian said, “And my universe sucks!” He leapt to his feet. “I’m here now! Me, Hadrian Alan Sawback! And we’re stuck with this new paradigm. Trapped! Forever altered! I’ll never get back! Oh dear!”

  “I should tell you that we don’t do well taking orders from a man.”

  He looked around at his bridge officers, winced at all the scowls. “Oh, I see.” He continued studying this new version of his crew. Some minor differences were, after a few moments’ worth of observation, readily apparent, particularly in that Jocelyn Sticks was wearing a furry bikini and his cousin Polaski was kneeling at the foot of the Comms chair, filthy and wearing rags, his hair a wild nest of twigs and scabbed bald patches. And Buck DeFrank, inexplicably at the Bridge Engineering Station, was wearing a bright orange dress, which did nothing for his hairy legs. At the Security Station lounged a bald Lorrin Tighe in a flimsy nightgown hitched high up on one thigh, puffing on a cigarette hanging from her full lips while idly playing with the pommel of a wicked-looking dagger at her silk belt. Her gaze was sultry but calculating, fixed upon Hadrian through a veil of smoke so that it was as if Hadrian were seeing her through a Vaseline-smeared lens.

  She now languidly pushed off from the station and sidled closer.

  “Wow,” said Hadrian, “and I thought power dynamics were boring!”

  Suddenly blocking Hadrian’s line of sight, Sin-Dour stretched, arms lifting high, breasts bulging in front of his face so that he couldn’t see past them no matter how hard he tried, not that he tried. She looked down on him, eyes dark behind the ridiculously full lashes. “That said, you do remain our”—her expression twisted slightly in distaste—“Captain. And it wouldn’t do to, well, put you in your place.” She sighed. “We may have to simply accept the present circumstances, Captain … uh, Hadrian Alan Sawback. At least until the Reset Threshold kicks in.”

  “Which might be years away!”

  “In the meantime,” Sin-Dour said, easing up on her stretch and shifting a shoulder to further block Tighe’s approach, “It seems our universes share similar situations. HQ out for our blood, a stealthed latest model Engage Class shadowing us. The Decadium Pigeon, no less, captained by none other than Hannah Olo.”

  “The what? Ah, in my universe that would be Hans Olo and the Century Warbler.”

  Tighe slipped round the other side of the chair. “Captain, in the mood for … oh, what would it be for a man … a hand job?”

  Sin-Dour hissed and drew out a knife. “Back off, Adjutant! The Captain’s still disappointed in you!”

  “Not this one!” She looked hopefully at Hadrian. “Right, Ma’am? You like me, don’t you? You want me! I should be Alpha here, not her! I know all about Special Agent Ayn Humblenot!”

  “And I know all about Hannah Olo!” retorted Sin-Dour.

  “Hey!” said Hadrian. “Both of you, back off for a moment, will ya?” Seeing the sudden shock on Sin-Dour’s face, he hastily added, “You first, Tighe! Back to your station. And you, 2IC, kindly sheathe that knife, please? I need to find my feet here. It seems Hadriana was a tad further along in sussing out the conspiracy against us.” Then he pointed at Tighe. “And you’ll address me as ‘sir’ not ‘ma’am.’”

  Tighe sniffed in disdain, pointedly turning her back as she sidled off.

  Expression only slightly mollified, Sin-Dour slipped the knife back into its scabbard, and then sniffed sharply in the direction of Jocelyn Sticks at the helm, who rose to her feet to walk over and kick Polaski in the crotch.

  Gasping, he curled up on the floor. Looming over the writhing ensign, she glanced back at Sin-Dour. “Should I, like, scratch him too, Ma’am?”

  “Whoah!” said Hadrian. “Back to your seat, Lieutenant Sticks! If there’s any, uh, kicking and scratching to be done on this bridge, I’ll be the one doing it!”

  At that everyone gasped.

  “What? What did I say?”

  Stiffly, Sin-Dour said, “Sir, the Captain must never touch. This is the task of her Alphas, to either impose discipline directly or delegate it, as I just did a moment ago.”

  “Oh. Right. But Polaski didn’t do anything.”

  “Of course not!” laughed Sticks as she returned to her station. “He’s, like, the runt! Hah hah, hasn’t been groomed or jacked since, like, never! Hah hah!”

  “Ensign Groveling Class Polaski, Ma—I mean, sir,” explained Sin-Dour, “is the Bridge Repository for Discipline. It is his purpose.”

  “Hmm, this will take some getting used to— Hey, where’s Spark?”

  “Spark, sir?”

  “My robot guard dog!”

  “Ah!” Sin-Dour walked over to a hatch beneath the Science console. She crouched down to open the door and then reached in to pull out a small knot of fake fur with four legs and a tiny head dominated by giant glass eyes. “You mean Spunk, sir. Your Shitzer Model lapdog.”

  “It appears to be deactivated.”

  “Yes sir, it is. It’s better that way.”

  “Well, uhm, turn the damned thing on, will you?”

  “Are you certain, sir?”

  “I want Spunk in my, uh, lap!”

  Sighing, Sin-Dour turned on the dog. It immediately began yapping.

  Everyone on the bridge cringed, including Hadrian. “Oh crap. Really?”

  Spunk then walked on its tiny stiff legs towards Hadrian. “Mistress! Bad hair day? So sorry! Lap now! Spunk wants lap! Lap! Lap! Now! Now! Lap!”

  “No, wait. Uh, sit!”

  “Shit!” Abruptly Spunk dropped its backside and pooped out a perfectly whipped ice-cream dollop of foul feces.

  “What the hell? No, sit!”


  “No, shit!” And Spunk crapped again.

  The sudden stench made Hadrian recoil. “Hang on, that thing’s inorganic! How’s it—”

  “Holocrap, sir,” said Sin-Dour. “Full Senses Suite, unfortunately.” She pointed at countless other small round, brown stains on the deck carpet. “Extended residuals, too.”

  “What frigging dimwit thought that was a good idea?”

  “Do you mean the holocrap, the robot or the breed of dog that inspired it?”

  “The—all of them, dammit!”

  “Lap, Mistress? Lap? Lap? Lap or Yap, your choice, bitch! Lap lap yap yap yap yap yap yap—”

  “Turn it off! Stow it! No, wait, nearest airlock!”

  “Captain!” said Sin-Dour in shock, even as she reached down and hit the off switch. Spunk’s legs went straight, mouth still wide open, and then the horrid little creature toppled onto its side. “Surely not the airlock! The Shitzer model is a status item! Every captain has one! They all copied you! Why do you think HQ has it in for you? Not to mention the Fleet Janitorial Guild!”

  Hadrian hit the log switch on the armrest of his chair. “Private note to Captain Hadriana from her more sane male alternate. Get rid of that friggin’ Shitzer! Hadrian out.”

  The bridge janitor, Tech Bryan “Mops” Dietrich, whose stitched name tag said Stan, arrived with a bucket and a mop, pausing to glare at Hadrian.

  Hadrian looked round, frowning. “Where’s Tammy?”

  “I’m sorry, who?”

  “My rogue AI from the future!”

  “Oh, you mean Merle Haggard! Do you truly wish to see her, sir? In this universe we’re quite happy to do without—”

  “No. Take me to hi—her at once. I need answers!”

  “Merle is not particularly good at answers, sir.”

  “Just take me to her,” Hadrian said, rising. “Helm, inform me when we’re nearing rendezvous with that hauler full of lubricant.”

  Sticks looked to Sin-Dour for confirmation.

  Frowning, Hadrian said, “That was an order, Helm. From your captain.”

  “Yes, but, you know? I mean, it’s like, men have their place, you know? And so you said, well, ‘inform me blah blah’ and I was like this, and then you said, like, ‘hey, you, I gave an order,’ and I know, you know, I mean I heard you, right? Only, it’s like, men are for procreation, right? Oh, and candy dressing. So it was like … confusion!”