Bott pushed the light blue card into the slot next to the fountain of lager, bracing for disintegration. “You’ve been a great crew,” he said, his eyes on the card. One last push, and it was in as far as it would go.
And nothing happened.
“Mebbe it’s nothin’ but a foods computer, Cap’m,” said Bassada. “Order up some pretzels.”
“Try it the other way ‘round,” said Louba. “Can’t float outa here hangin’ onta pretzels.”
Chlorda reached for his hand. He shook this off and considered the rush of lager. This was a dark place to die, and drowning in beer would not have been his chosen way to go. But what he’d said was true: he saw no point in living just as the Emperor’s plaything.
Bassada twirledher breathing mask on two fingers. “Well, what’s next?”
“Allus thought swimmin’ through beer’d be sumpn I could do, if I got a chancet,” Louba noted.
Bott reached down for hs communications card. “Ship.”
“Don’t blame me, lummox.”
He took a long breath. “Ship, I believe I’d prefer yellow lights.”
Chlorda splashed a step back to stare “What….”
The room seemed to change shape as the lurid lighting was replaced with beams of bright yellow. Bott had to turn his face away from the bright reflections on the rising liquid.
“Well, boost ma bustier!” Louba shouted. “Atta cap’n!”
Chlorda laughed out loud, and slapped her hands through the lager. “Now that our captain is emperor on this ship, we’ll have to kiss his feet!”
“Can’t see his feet,” Bassada replied. “Lemme kiss sumpn I can reach!”
Bott ignored all of this, beyond ducking Louba’s hug. “All right, ship. Shut off the fountains, please.”
“No need to pretend you have manners, lummox. You’re Imperial now.” The great arching spouts of red lager slowed, and stopped.
Bassada grabbed up a glass floating by, scooped up a goodly quantity ofg lager in it, and lifted it high. “Here’s ta da Cap’m! Bottsy fer Empra!”
The other Klamathans looked for glasses. Louba, seeing none, settled for a hatbox. Bott did not join the toast, less because he was its subject than because all he wanted at his mouth right now was the communications card. “Now, please open the quickest route to the Dragonshelf, without setting off alarms or letting in the troops. Make sure there are plenty of card slots along the way, in case I need to change an order. And bring…the librarian to her ship as well.”
“You don’t want much for your nickel, lummox.” The closet that had been broken open let its shelves descend into a long staircase. Bits of it seemed to be missing, but the rest looked functional.
“Just open something in the ceiling when we reach it,” Bott said, as the end of the staircase splashed down. “And listen, if the Emperor ordered any more copies of the…of Nubry, get rid of them.”
“You tell ‘em, Cap’n!” Louba applauded with well=-lagered hands. “Order us up a pizza while yer on a roll!”
“Anything else, lummox?”
Bott watched part of the ceiling slide back, ready to dodge if the Drover overdid it and dropped the phony Dragonshelf on top of them. “Any suggestions?”
“What would you say to shutting dow the power to this section?”
“Will that help?”
“Oh, I think so.”
Bott tried to think of some reason to object. “Go ahead, then. But we’ll need lights to get up that staircase.”
“There are lights in the breathing masks. Of course, a lummox would probably throw his away.”
Bott leaned down to hunt for his discarded mask just as the lights went out. He froze into position, but all he found approaching him was a gradually growing light from Bassada’s mask. Chlorda’s face appeared next.
”These ain’t made fer normal-size thumbs,” Louba complained, sliding her hands to find the light switch on the mask.
“They were,” said Chlorda. “That’s the problem.”
The gold stood on tiptoe to light her companion’s mask. “All right,” said Bott, “Let’s get up there before His Imperial Worship thinks of a way around this. I’d better go first.”
He reached to remove the light blue card from its slot. Chlorda pushed a floating crystal cowbell out of the way and sloshed to his side. “Captain, wait.”
Bott looked up, his hand still on the card. “Why?”
“Captain, what if it’s another trap?”
A green hand slapped against a green forehead. “Not again!” cried Louba. “Up to her knees booze an’ she wants a cleaner glass!”
Chlorda’s underteeth were against her upper lip. “What if the ship is pretending to help us, only to lead us into a trap?”
Louba scooped up two handfuls of lager and sloshed them over the gold. “Ya gots nerves like unto a white-tumped balloon poodle!”
“Sticky-tongue’s gotta point.” Bassada splashed over to the trio. “Even a brain ’at teensy kin have an idea in it. Empra’s not gonna leave us have a real way ta give orders. Mebbe we oughta take the downstairs.”
Bott considered the debris-filled lager lagoon. “I say we go up. Even if it is a trap, we’re no worse off then we were before. And I’m going first. Keep your lights on me.”
The leading edge of some stairs crumbled a bit underfoot, but it was no more than an inch of each. In fact, Bott could have climbed even faster, in spite of the wavering light from the bobbing heads behind him. But the noise was beginning to worry hm.
He lifted the communications card again. “Ship,” he whispered.
“I know, lummox but I can’t do much about it. When the power shut off, they were released from their barracks. You were supposed to run into them the next time you entered this room.”
“Were all these people and things aboard when I took command?” he demanded.
“Stole the ship,” the Drover corrected. “Not many. Most of them are from the Imperial Menagerie and regular troops His Imperial Worship has trained for action if there’s a chance for a game like this.”
“Are these regular soldiers?”
“I think so. It’s dark.”
“What’s on, Cap’m?” called Bassada, from below.
He waved to the crew to come closer. “Keep as close together as you can.”
From somewhere above, a voice called “There’s a light!”
“Keep yer eyes on!” a voice of command replied. “There’s a lotsa nasty surprises in here.”
Bott studied the Klamathans, estimating how long this shelf would hold the weight of everyone. “When I give the signal, follow as fast as you can and go for cover under the ship. Until then, point all your lights at me.”
“Can do,”: said Bassada. “Whatcha gonna pull on ‘em?”
“Sssshh.” Squaring his shoulders, he marched up the last of the stairs, his face still, serene.
As that face came over the last of the staircase, he could just see the forms of soldiers coming up the staircase which had descended on the opposite side of the wall. This meant his crew would have no trouble getting down to the floor. It also meant these troops would have no trouble climbing to meet them.
“What is it?” came a voice from the rising company.
“Shoot it afore we finds out.”
Bott raised his arms slowly, his face still impassive, showing he was unimpressed by the suggestion. He wished he had a mask with a light on it, so as to see their weapons, at least. That might give him an idea of which way to jump if this didn’t work out the way he had it planned.
“Think mebbe we has to pray to it? Is that what it wants?”
“Le’s kill sumpn as a sacrifice. Like maybe…it.”
“Let all await the blessings of Violata!” he intoned, dropping his voice an octave for greater effect. He wished he had inherited his father’s voice as well as this jacket.
“Yeah? What blessing’s ‘at?”
Bott let one arm drop, pointing toward his feet. Hoping their eyes were following that hand, he let the other dip into his grenade satchel. “That which awaits below. That which awaits below for all who have served well!”
There was a shuffling of feet. Just his luck if he’d found troops from a planet that believed in an evil underworld. “What’s waitin’ down ‘ere, oh mighty Violata?” asked a voice, not quite in belief but not completely in mockery either.
Bott folded his arms, a grenade in one hand. He raised his chin, fully aware how exposed his throat was as a result. But maybe that would impress them. He let them wait in silence for a count of three, and then flung his arms wide.
“Free beer!” he shouted.
A roar rolled from the now advancing troops. “Now!” he shouted to the Klamathans, diving for shelter under the ship he’d landed on the top of this cube.
In moments, bodies were pressed against his. “Wotta performance, Cap’m!” shouted Bassada, a hand on each of his thighs, “Wotta performance!”
“That cleared the path, Captain,” Chlorda agreed, “You were an inspiration.”
Only Louba was discontent. “Looked like nice, clean folks, Cap’m,” she sighed. “Don’t spose us has time ta join ‘eir party.”
Blogsy Babbles 