No matter what Bott pushed or pulled or thumped, the ship was going down, down. He had defeated his old ship, filled with librarians, and that was all the amusement the Emperor intended for this particular prop.
“Everthin’s dead, Cap’n,” Louba told him. This was unnecessary: the smiling flowers on the console were wilting as he watched.
The BBB-44 bounced to a wobbly seat atop a white cube. “Okay,” said Bott, rising from the seat and hitching up his pants a bit, “Let’s go see what else we can do for fun.”
Bassada was closest to the door. She jerked her hand back as this shut with a bang. “Don’t s’pose ‘ere’s much point in knockin’.”
“Not a bit,” Chlorda agreed, falling with her blue counterpart. Louba tried to hang onto her sonsole as the floor slid the rest of the way back. A creak and a crack sent her after the rest of the company.
“Waddya know?” cried Bassada, splashing as she sat up. “Private swimmin’ pool! ‘at empra’s gittin’ cushy in his ol’ age!”
Bott stood up. The pink water sloshed around his shins. Pink mist swirled up from the surface but was refused as the ceiling slid shut. He saw no walls, but assumed he was inside the cube the BBB-44 had set down on.
“Where to next, Cap’n?” Louba inquired.
He hadn’t noticed any doors on the outside of the cube as they descended, but four prisoners starving to death in a pool of pink wouldn’t draw many bets. He reached into the grenade satchel for Nubry’s book, and checked a random page. “Straight ahead until we find something.”
Chlorda was nearest to the direction he pointed. She put out a hand. “Very well. I’ve found a wall.”
The others stepped to her side to verify that it was, in fact, a wall. Bott wondered if the water was warming up, or if that was just embarrassment.
“Well, grab me by the ear an’ use me fer a plunger!” Squatting, Louba jabbed a finger at a thin dark line. “It ain’t jes’ a wall, Cap’m!”
“She’s starvin’ agin,” sighed Bassada, dealing the seat of the broad overalls a swat. “Nuthin’ vut a stummick on big round legs.”
“Hey, it was a thirsty fight!” Louba drew her hands across the food computer slot. “Blues don’t drink nuthin’ but ol’ bathwater, but I could use a shloorp.”
Bott drew out his card. “This will probably get us anything in inventory. What’ll it be? Cup of tea?”
“Spose we gotsta laugh when Cap’n Bottsy makes a joke,” said Louba, arching one hand at him, little finger down. “Ha ha ha. Computer, gimme some Qonors Red Limpid Lager.”
“Ballul.” Bassada wrapped both arms around her own stomach. “Stuff tastes like grass outa yer county dump.”
“At’s whatcha drink, ha?” Louba patted the card in the slot. “Gimme a glass.”
“Yer a waste o’ space, greengridle.” Bassads spotted the door opening. Four glasses with green and gold rims and absolutely nothing inside were revealed.
Louba snatched one up and glared down into it. “If you can find the wide end, Luv, that’s the one you want,” said Chlorda, reaching past her for another empty tumbler.
“All I learned about follerin’ you around is little bitty ends. Right now I’m lookin’ fer ‘at booze.” Louva leaned down to peer inside the little foods delivery chamber.
She plopped backward into the pink pool as a red fountain of the requested beverage came shooting from the little cube. Bott’s shoulders rose as little doors around the room popped open and further fountains of lager shot into the room.
“Good job.” Bassada patted the green head. “Got yerself more booze’n yez kin swaller, even wit’ yer big mout’.”
Louba rolled mournful eyes up to her commander. “Want me ta try, Cap’n?”
“Say no, Cap’m.” Bassada shook her hand at the green Klamathan. “She’d git it all drunk up an’ ‘en flood all over us.”
Bott was not paying much attention, frowning at the red fountains filling the chamber. “There’s another way out. The Emperor hasn’t won nearly enough money yet.”
The mist was thickening around them. “Anything could be swimming in here,” Chlorda noted, lifting first one foot and then the other.
“Don’ get bit by a watersnake, yellacheeks,” said Bassada, kicking at the rising red lager.
“Better that they should watch for you,” the gold replied, with a little curtsy. “If you sat on them, they’d be flatworms.”
The level of the beer continued to rise. “Do hates ta see good booze gittin’ watered down,” said Louba, opening her mouth and leaning into the fountain.
Bott watched her fill her mouth, marveling at her capacity. At the same time, he was considering those ast three grenades in his satchel. There was plenty of maze yet. If he just waited, he was sure to find the method the imperial game scientists had built into this latest peril.
But all that back and forth dogfighting with the other ship had inclined him to action and, anyhow, patience wasn’t one of his best skills. Picking the middle specimen from the tumble of ancient grenades, he flipped away the key and flung it at the highest point he could see on the wall. The four prisoners crouched in the beer, Bassada stealing a few sips as her eyes followed the grenade.
Entirely without fuss, the grenade flattened itself against the far wall, stuck out little gray legs, and started to climb.
“Paint half muh teeth black an’ call me a piana! Bugs got inta ‘at one, Cap’n!”
The prisoners rose to follow the grenade’s progress. It was leaving little black footprints as it scuttled toward the ceiling. “Get back down!” Bott whispered. He wasn’t sure in this atmosphere, but smoke seemed to rise from each little footprint.
With a spark and a flash, the grenade vanished. The footprints smoked for another second, and then flashed like their begetter.
“Whoopsadaisy!” cried Bassada, ducking away from not only fragments of wall which had been neatly curt away but also a cascade of multi-colored boxes. Bott nodded. It would have been too simple to blast a hole into the big room. They had instead opened up some kind of storage closet.
“Mus’be sumpm here we kin use.” Louba popped lids around her, revealing a high black hat with an orange plume, a stuffed firgan, and a broken ficdual. “Huh. Like ‘at time I walked inta a blue shower room: seein’ lotsa trash.”
Chlotda stepped toward a particularly nice gold and purple case and stumbled, landing facefirst in the pink pool. She came up shaking lager from her hair, and pointing at a shadow in the beer. “A door down there, Cap’n…er, Captain. Maybe we’re expected to try an underwater maze. Or underbeer.”
“Ha!” Bassada checked the particularly large box between her knees. “Divin’ stuff!”
She pulled out an oval helmet attached to a gold tank. She pulled out three more helmets of assorted colors and sizes, and handed these to her companions. Bott studied his, his face coming together in a scowl.
“A pirate,” Captain Bish told him once, “Owns the ground he walks on.” Bott checked the oxygen tank, and then tossed the whole thing over one shoulder.
The Klamathans stared. “Not yer size, Cap’m?” Louba inquired.
“He’s going to keep doing this.” His eyes followed a brown flowerpot floating past. “Finding ways to nearly kill us and then slipping us a way out so he can nearly kill us in the next room. The grenade didn’t spoil his game; he’d have shown us another way to get to these masks. Maybe it’s better to drown than keep giving him things to laugh at.”
“Cap’n Honey,” said Bassada, coming over to catch up his discarded helmet and deal him an encouraging swat on the back. “I betcha he has a really good laugh fer ‘em as drowns wit’ defiance.”
“The longer we last, the bigger parade he’ll throw when we die.” Bott kicked at the flowerpot and missed. “Seen the processions? The high blue banners with his picture on them? Didn’t he congratulate himself when he captured you? He sure did when he burned the High Priest of Hutch, and every time this big new slave ship of his made port. He and his big blue ship and his pigs and his bann….”
He shoved a hand in his pocket. The Imperial processions marched through his brain, bands in blue uniforms fanfaring cages filled with shivering prisoners, and the bodyguard decked out with bright blue accoutrements and….
“Ship,” he said, raising his communications card to his lips.
“Sorry, lummox. I don’t believe there’ll be time enough to teach you to swim.”
“Ship, didn’t you tell me I had one of three Imperial override cards?”
“He listens! The lummox listens! I am quietly agog.”
The Klamathans had moved in, all obviously wondering what he was up to. He hoped they wouldn’t figure it out before he did. “Ship, would it do any good if I shoved that override card inro a foods computer slot?”
“If that’s the most entertaining place you can think of to shove it.”
“It’ll be a gold and ivory card,” said Chlorda, stepping forward. “Those are his family colors.”
“But his favorite seems to be light blue.” Bott slid that card from his deck. “At least I should get a pretty good dinner before I drown.”
“WE drown,” said Bassada, dropping her helmet into the lager.
“Cap’m.” A green hand rested gently on his wrist. “Is ‘at a food slot? Computer didn’t make any wisecracks. It wasn’t but a trap, ta water us and see if we grew. Why’nt we jus’ swim fer it?”
Bott looked from her to the light blue card, nodded, and raised the communications card again. “Ship, he must know I have this. He could have reprogrammed you to recognize it, and just electrocute me if I use it.”
“He could have, yes.”
“Ship. Did he?”
“Try it. You won’t take long to find out.”
Blogsy Babbles 