of them were out of action.
Both the ship and its owner, a man of somewhat elastic morals, had been on Long Jump, minding their own business, catching a little R&R when the Sheen dropped in for a visit. Machines that preached on street comers . .. What was next? Talking dogs?
Willy wanted to leave, wanted to boost ass as fast as possible, but needed his cargo. A nice load of custom- designed bacteria, all destined for a dirtball called Clevis, where the colonists were hanging by their fingernails while they waited for microscopic reinforcements. The kind that eat rock, burp oxygen, and shit fertilizer.
They weren’t gonna get “em, though, not anytime soon, not since the machines slagged Fortuna, Willy hauled butt, and a Sheen fighter put the hurts to Molly.
But that was then, and this was now. The ship rolled, the smuggler fired a jet, and she stabilized. He was about to check his position, find out where the hell he was. when something hit the hull. The Molly shook, and some buzzers went off.
Willy tapped some buttons, discovered that the delta-shaped fighter was still on his ass, and wondered how.
None of the civilizations he was familiar with had the technology to lock on to another ship and follow it through hyperspace. But this sucker did ... and was determined to kill him. The Molly B shuddered as a missile exploded in the vicinity of her hull—and shuddered once again when Willy took evasive action. His eyes were bloodshot, veins traced his nose, and stubble covered his cheeks. The words went out over freq four. “You want some of me? You wanta dance? Well, come on you pile of metallic shit, let’s get it on!”
The Sheen fighter took note of the transmission, had no idea what it meant, and filed the message away. Such matters were handled by the Hoon—and the Hoon was a long way off. President Marcott Nankool nodded to Chief Warrant Officer Aba, the senate’s master at arms, climbed the short flight of stairs and made his way to the podium. Ironically enough it was Senator Omo who was tasked with the introduction by right of seniority. He rose from the specially constructed chair located to the right of the speaker’s position. His voice, translated by the computer woven into his iridescent robe, filled the chambers. The chatter died away. “Please allow me to welcome each and every one of you back to this, the sixty-ninth gathering of this august body, and the second half of this year’s session.
“Here to open the proceedings is the Right Honorable Marcott Nankool—the Confederacy’s President and Chief Executive Officer. President Nankool?”
There was sustained applause followed by the usual rustle of fabric, creak of chairs, and whir of servos. Nankool smiled. Most of the senators knew what the expression meant. The rest ignored it. “Thank you. It is a great pleasure to be here. You have an ambitious slate of legislation to consider—and I have no wish to delay your deliberations. With that reality in mind, I will keep my comments short and to the point.
“We have reason to believe that a force known as the ‘Sheen is headed our way. The purpose of this fleet is to destroy the Thraki plus any race that gets in the way or offers them support.”
Many of the senators had heard rumors and offered gestures of agreement while some looked confused. They turned to neighbors, and words were exchanged.
Nankool scanned his audience, prepared the next volley of words, and delivered them with care. “Even as we meet, efforts are under way to marshal what forces we have and prepare a defense. However, a series of budget cuts, combined with troubles on Earth, have left our forces at little more than half strength. That being the case, it is my hope, no, my prayer, that you will understand me when I say that desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Nankool looked out into the chamber, located the eyes he was looking for, and continued his speech.
“You may be interested to know that Governor ChienChu, acting at my request, accompanied Ambassador Hiween DomaSa to the planet Hudatha, where they met with senior officials.
“The result of those discussions, pending your approval, was the outline of what could become a mutual defense pact. An agreement that would allow the Hudathans some measure of additional freedom in exchange for their assistance against the Sheen.”
It was as far as Nankool got. Shouts were heard, and someone threw a glass. It shattered against the podium. Aba moved to protect the chief executive, and democracy turned to chaos. Every being present had lost someone to Hudathan aggression—and was opposed to any sort of rapprochement. ChienChu looked at DomaSa. The Hudathan shrugged.
There was nothing else he could do.
The Molly B shuddered, rolled, and corkscrewed away. The fighter followed. Willy had been in his share of scrapes during more than forty years of working, stealing, and smuggling, but couldn’t remember one worse than this He needed to beat the machine and do it soon. Coherent light blipped past the view screen and raced past the ship. The human scanned the instrument panel, was frightened by how many red and amber lights he saw, and took a firm grip on the control yoke. He pulled back. The Molly B
broke out of the corkscrew and started to climb. Not really, since “up” was relative, but that’s the way it felt. The smuggler’s mind started to race.
