Not much to say about this segment except that the next one will probably take a while. I guess that isn't saying anything about this segment after all. Oh well.

Notes just in case:

Hornpipe: A traditional lively solo dance popular with sailors, or the music that goes with it. (Think Popeye.)

Scrimshaw: Intricate decorative carving done by sailors (traditionally on items made of whalebone).

Seven feet tall is about 2.13 m.

Rayman/Piranha © UbiSoft Entertainment. Everybody else in this chapter belongs to me.

> > > > > >

Chapter 12: Quest, Part 4

Strolling cautiously through the corridors, his glance darting, fixing on things, darting away, eyeing the passing pirates as they uneasily eyed him, Piranha was feeling peculiar.

After all the months he'd spent on this ship, buried in his own anguish, suddenly the place had emerged from darkness, he could see it. It wasn't anything wonderful to look at, but it had an enormous fascination because it was real. Every shade of light and shadow, every texture and every shape, had abruptly become surrealistically sharp and clear. As though he'd always had one eye covered and had been seeing things in two dimensions – and now, opening his other eye, he saw in three. Something like that.

The men, the robots, a – he started back in surprise – a gigantic red-headed woman (dressed like a pirate in head-scarf, hoop earrings, loose shirt, ragged pants, bare feet) stalked by, throwing down at him a contemptuous glance ... He'd never seen any of it before. Though at the same time, he knew it all, every scratch on the walls, each bend of every corridor. Everything except that woman, anyway.

He'd spent so much of his time here drowning in horror, resentment, fury, despair, in hatred. Surrounded by a loathsome mass, the enemy, the pirates – they were the cause of his captivity, and were themselves the prison he was condemned to labour in for the rest of his life. They were a presence, a miasma, they pressed in on him, invaded him like radioactive particles, they made the air unbreathable and confused his sense of direction.

Now, passing him, some snarled under their breath, they averted their eyes, they edged away from him as though afraid of contamination. He had to smile. All this time that he'd been writhing under the unbearable weight of oppression of the enemy. The enemy. These ragtag men in absurd clothing and dented, rusty old robots – nervous of a little guy with big eyes under an enormous hat.

This sea of faces that at one time had cheered for him, had been eager to have him as a leader. Piranha's eyes widened. He'd forgotten about that. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Though he demanded their obedience, he didn't want their approval; he certainly didn't want their loyalty or friendship. They had scarred his planet, destroyed his life ... and now his days revolved around babysitting them, this asylum of depraved, witless children.

He sighed. An unfortunate thought. It wasn't in him to hate a child, no matter how depraved. He'd spent too much of – that dream, his other life ... protecting, playing with, even teaching children, giving them his knowledge of the woods, of fighting, of games, of music...

He sighed again. He turned around and headed for the bar; not the officers' bar, but one he'd never gone into – the big, noisy, run-down saloon where the regular crewmen went. Maybe the children could teach him something. It wouldn't be the first time.

> > > > >

Given that it was afternoon, the bar was nearly empty, only about fifteen men and a couple of robots scattered across its many metal benches.

Just inside the door he paused, looking around the room. The scruffy officer's bar was a model of elegance in comparison to this place, with its bare, heavily scratched and dented metal walls and solid metal furnishings. Like a madhouse, it was designed for ease of cleaning and prevention of damage, with comfort and aesthetics being pretty much left out of the picture. All the tables and benches were cast in heavy, shapeless chunks and welded to the floor, and though the dented brass cups the pirates took sluggish swallows from might have been solid enough to smash skulls, no amount of brawling was likely to result in any serious damage to them.

Judging by the metallic clunking and screeching sounds it made when it moved, even the grey cylindrical bartender robot was anchored down as firmly as the rest of the furniture, scraping around behind the bar on a track. It was one of those multilimbed, non-humanoid robots that left Piranha puzzled, unsure if they were independent, self-willed beings like the robot pirates, or just sophisticated machines. This one was using only a few of its extendible, snaky limbs to serve drinks, clean cups, put them away, wipe the bar; built like some multiple-armed god, it was well equipped to cope with any number of demanding drinkers.

At the entrance of the first mate into the crewmen's bar, the occupants turned towards him. Then looked quickly away, occupying themselves with their drinks. Officers rarely entered this bar, and when they did it wasn't for fun.

Hesitantly, Piranha moved forward. Had he really thought he would discover anything here? He gazed around, looking at the crew, the room; then, finding himself standing next to the main sit-down bar, he climbed up onto the flat-topped metal block that served as a stool. Next to him, as solid and rectangular as if part of the bar himself, sat a bulky bronze robot pirate – a medium-sized one, maybe seven feet tall.

Sitting on the stool, Piranha could only just see over the edge of the bar. The bartender rolled up and braked in front of him with a metallic squeal.

"Honoured, First Mate, that you come to my bar."

Piranha nodded.

Hesitantly, the robot added, "I, er, hope you aren't spoiling for a fight, First Mate, sir. It's not right for the likes of the crew to be tangling with officers, like equals. And denting up bars."

Piranha smiled slightly. "No. I didn't come here to fight."

The grey robot gave a soft hydraulic wheeze that sounded like relief. "Well then, sir, what will you have?"

"Whatever everybody else has."

The bartender selected a bottle, poured a generous sample into a cup, and set it in front of Piranha.

"Our best, sir. On the house."

Piranha nodded dismissively and the bartender slid away.

> > >

There had been many times in his life – that former life ... when he had done things impulsively, by instinct, having no idea why he did them. They usually turned out to be things he wouldn't have done if he'd thought it over, and they usually turned out to have been the best action possible at that moment.

But he no longer trusted his impulses. Still, here he was. Why fight it?

The pirate next to him sat placidly drinking. Piranha played absently with his own drink, swirling it around, watching the little waves settle out of it. At length he turned to the robot.

"What's your name, pirate?"

The robot answered laconically, not troubling to look at him. "Jaykatoo."

Piranha peered into his cup some more. He said, "Since you're here, I take it you're not an officer?"

There was a lengthy silence. At last the robot replied, grudgingly, "Naaah."

"Funny," said Piranha, mildly. "I don't see many robots who aren't."

"Ehh... Never saw no point in being an officer. Who needs that aggravation."

"So you managed to become a regular crewman instead? How'd you get away with that?"

The robot turned towards him for the first time, staring down at him with large circular eyes like thick, rippled glass. "Hah, when they started taking on humans, they tried to kick me upstairs. But why should I give up an easy life to start slave-driving stupid jelly bags? They can get themselves killed off without my help."

"Oh, that's right," said Piranha, blandly. "Once upon a time all of the pirates were robots."

"Ehhh," the robot grunted. He took up his drink again.

Piranha took a gingerly sip of his own. "But were all of the robots pirates?" he added, vaguely.

The robot clanked on the bar with his cup and held it out for more drink. The bartender screeched over, refilled it, and at Piranha's pointed stare quickly retreated again. After a swig, Jaykatoo glanced again at Piranha. "Were we always pirates? What a question! Of course all robots are pirates!"

Piranha was silent for a moment. Then said, "Why?"

The bronze robot's cup halted halfway to his face. "Huh?"

"Why are you pirates?"

The robot gestured with his cup. "What, are you nuts? We're bad guys! We're evil!"

Piranha smiled sardonically. "Oh yes. The evil thing."

The robot finished his swig, gave an electronic belch. "Yup."

Piranha added, "How do you know?"

"What?"

"How do you know you're evil? How can you tell?"

There was a pause. Then the robot said, "No disrespect, First Mate, but you're an idiot. How can we tell? It's orders!"

"Orders? From who?"

The robot gestured vaguely. "Long time ago."

"You mean that's all there is to it? Somebody tells you to be evil and you just are? You really believe you are?"

The robot glanced at him, dubiously. "What do you mean?"

"What if you didn't believe it? Would you still be evil?"

The robot swivelled to stare hard at him. "No disrespect, First Mate, but just what kind of crap are you trying to stir up here?"

Once again Piranha looked at him in silence. Then he said, "Do you like it?"

"Like what?"

"Being a bad guy."

The robot stared at him for a moment longer, then shrugged and turned back to his drink. "Like it? It's programming. It's what you do, you know, kill, destroy, steal, all that stuff, it's just what you do."

Piranha retreated to his own cup, looked into it. "What if you were reprogrammed to do something else?" he said.

"Can't be reprogrammed. Hard-wired. Built in."

Piranha was silent again. After a pause, however, the robot spoke up, irritably. "Anyway... what else is there?"

"Eh?"

"Besides, you know, evil."

"Besides evil?"

"Yeah! What the hell else is there?"

"Oh. Well... What the good guys do."

"What they do? What do they do?"

Piranha laughed suddenly. "Um ... You know, good question. What do they do? Not killing, not destroying, not stealing?"

The robot clanked derisively. "Yeah, yeah. What I want to know is, what do they do?"

"Oh... well ... other things. Like music, love, art. Or growing food. Or – business. Yeah, commerce, they do that."

The robot smacked his cup onto the table. "Bah! We do all that too. Music, huh! You should see Bent Bart do the hornpipe! And if you ever want a real experience, come around sometime when about a hundred of us robots are stomp-dancing on the deck all together. You'll never be the same. And art? I can carve you a mean knife handle – Look here, look at this. Is that good or what? That's why they call me Scrimshaw Jake!"

"Nice work, very nice."

"Food? Robots don't need food. Love – phoo, that's for humans. Ask them about it, they'll talk your ears off. But commerce – hah, there wouldn't be any commerce without us pirates. Who else spreads the goods around? And nobody's better at business than we are! You ever met a good guy who was richer than Anaconda?"

"No," Piranha acknowledged, "No, I've never met a good guy richer than Anaconda. Maybe a richer pirate somewhere along the line."

"What?" snorted the robot. "Huh, if there's one out there, he better watch it. We'll show him. – So you still ain't told me, what do the good guys do? Far as I can tell, they don't do anything."

Piranha was smiling uncomfortably. "It's – I guess it's hard to explain."

"Why? You're a good guy, ain't you? You know all about it!"

"Me? No, I never knew much to begin with, and now I know nothing at all."

"Huh," the robot said. "Must have been a fine mess they made of the reprogramming, if you lost all your memory."

Piranha smiled again, ruefully. "You're right," he said. "The reprogramming was a mess."

There was a long silence, as the robot remained motionless, and Piranha quietly gazed into his cup. Then, abruptly, the robot creaked, and said, "You killed Blargh. You got made first mate."

Piranha glanced at him warily.

"We never had a human first mate before. And sure as hell we never had a good guy as first mate before."

Piranha raised his eyebrows a little. "Yeah... So?"

The robot took a gulp of his drink and shrugged. "So now you're the one who has to give the Boss bad news. Well, better you than me, pal."

"Fact is," Piranha muttered, "I'm not quite sure how I ended up with this job."

The robot said, "Eh, no matter. Who cares? Just so it ain't me."

Piranha gave him a dry, amused glance. "Too smart to get yourself in a fix like that."

"You said it, First Mate. I've made it this far, and I plan to be around for a long time to come. Guys too close to power short out fast."

"You've made it this far? Been around a long time already, eh?"

Jaykatoo's flat round bottle-glass eyes aimed directly at him for a moment. "Long time? Long for you maybe. Humans, pah, they just flick on and off, there's nothing to them."

"Humans? True." There was another contemplative silence.

At last, his eyes still focused on the liquid in his cup, Piranha spoke up softly. "Jake, I can see you've got things figured out. Maybe you could clear something up for me."

Jaykatoo hunched his bulky body around a bit to face more towards Piranha. "Maybe I will," he said. "You're the first officer who ever had the sense to ask me anything."

Piranha paused, a slight grimace on his face. "What's evil, really? I mean – what makes you call me a good guy and yourself a bad guy?" He glanced at the robot then averted his eyes. "I've done plenty of things at least as bad as you have."

The robot made a series of intermittent whirring sounds that after a moment Piranha realized must be laughter. "Scrambled circuits! First Mate, you're too much. Can't you see you think like a good guy?"

"I do?"

The robot laughed again. "It ain't your fault, is it? Hard wired, I bet. You can't help it."

Piranha sat up straight, nettled. "You saying I'm not pirate enough for you?"

"Take it how you want."

"Most of the crew's scared to death of me! And you don't think I'm evil?"

The robot laughed again, meeting Piranha's fierce, faintly anxious glare. "Oh, you're all right, First Mate. For a human and a good guy, you're doing okay as a pirate. Hey, maybe we should get good guys for officers more often. It improves the pay."

Piranha eyed him for another moment, then subsided. Jaykatoo turned back to face the bar again.

After a moment, Piranha sighed. Restlessly he picked up his drink.

Jaykatoo happened to lift his at the same time. They glanced at each other.

Piranha gave a wry grin. He raised his cup towards the robot in a sort of toast. "Your health, Jake," he said.

The robot looked at him blankly. "My what?"

Piranha grinned more. "Never mind," he said. He sniffed at the cup, decided against actually drinking any, and put it down. Still with a small, slightly bent smile on his face.

> > > > > >

Piranha walked out into the dingy, scuffed metal corridors, looking up and down the halls in bemusement.

As his gaze lighted on the hard, battered pirate faces, both robot and human, it was odd not to feel the usual flush of hatred and despair. Even seeing a couple of laser-bearing metal behemoths of the kind that had caused so much havoc on his own planet didn't rouse much more than a faint seethe. The bottle-glass-eyed, faintly comical face of Scrimshaw Jake kept rising before him, somehow breaking the force of his hate.

Meditatively he walked forward, looking around at the walls, the decks, the doors, the lamps, the passing fellow inhabitants of this city-sized metal beehive. Now that he was beginning to look at it, to think about it, it seemed more and more unaccountable. Who would build such a place? Why? Where had it come from? Where had Anaconda come from? The catastrophe of robot pirates erupting onto his home planet hadn't left much leisure for questions, and since coming here he had fiercely rejected even wondering about them. They existed, they had absorbed him, that was enough.

> > >

Suddenly he halted. Absorbed him? No, something truly had changed. He could feel it strongly now. Nothing was going to make this place cheerful for him; but that deadly paralysis, that sense of entanglement, as of being bug caught in a web, held fast, slowly smothering, waiting to be sucked dry... His eyes widened, he took a small step forward.

And inhaled, sharply. He could move again.

> > > > > >

With a burst of energy, he surged forward. Automatically his eyes sought out shadows, gaps, places of concealment. Places where enemies might lurk, places he himself might dodge into – though as First Mate, of course, it was his role to stride down the center of the deck, meeting all eyes with arrogance. To be, among other things, an open target. Fortunately, an enormous, clumsy, vengeful white robot couldn't very successfully skulk in dark corners... though he surely had supporters who could.

Absently his hand reached for the hidden weapons he carried, touching the hilts of knives, the butt of the energy gun Anaconda had given him – eons ago. When had he last checked it for charge?

He halted once more, abruptly alert. He peered down at the gun, still concealed under his vest. Half-charged. Not recharged in weeks or months, it had been slowly losing power.

He had gotten careless. Careless, indeed... no longer caring. Perhaps, silently, he had decided to leave things more and more to chance... Or to Hacker.

Well, that was finished. That was very finished, right now. Unconsciously Piranha's body took on a springlike tension, a taut, wound grace that had been missing for a while; his gaze, so long dark and inward, swept in his surroundings with one bright, black glance.

> > >

In fact, he hadn't seen Hacker in some time. In particular, since the ship's slave and booty holds had been filled and no more forays were being made outside the ship, the Second Mate had become almost invisible. That wasn't surprising; the gigantic robot was on the outs with Anaconda, a highly dangerous situation for anyone. No doubt that was the only thing keeping him from showing more ambition in dealing with an upstart First Mate. Nevertheless, it would be like Hacker to have dozens of unobtrusive underlings acting as his numerous eyes, and, sooner or later, as his striking hand as well. Hacker wasn't terribly bright, but he knew the right moves for being a pirate.

That life-and-death game that obsessed everyone on the ship. Well, he himself had always loved games.

Slowly, Piranha drew out a dagger. He fingered its intricately embossed leather handle, ran a thumb down its elegantly curved, glinting blade. He grinned wryly. Someone had lavished such love on beautifying this thing meant to tear a living man's guts out.

He was in a benevolent mood. He should really go see how poor old Hacker was getting along.

Once more, he looked around. Then, with the suddenness of a pouncing kitten, a gleam of utter mischief splashed across his face. Shoving the dagger back into place, he took off like a bullet.

> > > > > >

A bullet, not a guided missile. He was having a little trouble taking things with proper seriousness. His hunt for Hacker led him into the ship's huge kitchens, through public bathrooms (the last place to expect to find a robot), clattering up and down stairs, then up a few more flights just because he liked the sound of his boots; into an elevator, where for no reason at all his dark eyes took hold of a stray slave and froze her to the wall with an impenetrable stare, until the moment when the lift stopped and the poor girl burst through the door and fled. He rode on up to the top level, where the engine room was, came out and sauntered around with an intent, observant air, and yet aimlessly – until the guards began shifting their feet and clutching their guns in uncertain dismay, wondering if this was some sort of inspection, or whether the First Mate intended to go in to look at the engines, or not, or what. Then without a word he slid back into the elevator. Upon exiting on another floor, he found his way into the network of secret "technological" passages he'd long ago charted out, trotted through some of those at random, shinned his way down several levels via the air ducts, and emerged at last, slapping off dust, on the sixth level, into the crew barracks.

These quarters were for humans only; there was never a robot to be seen here, aside from the occasional passing guard.

It was nearly curfew; the crew were supposed to be in their quarters by now. However, despite Piranha's sporadic efforts this rule was so loosely enforced that it looked as though half the pirates on the ship were still strewn about the halls – some drinking, some hunched in small groups playing one or another of their innumerable gambling games, some entertaining themselves with fights of varying sizes and levels of earnestness. At the sudden appearance of the First Mate, nearby pirates scattered, and as he walked at a deliberate pace through the corridor, a magical void was created continuously all around him, as though his presence magnetically repelled all life within a certain radius. Despite this, considerable noise, scuffling, arguments, and even the occasional clatter of dice could be heard nearby, without any visible source. Piranha showed no reaction, only sauntered along with an expression of detached, faintly ironic amusement.

"No, you underage idiot, your hand," came a voice through the hubbub.

Involuntarily, Piranha halted. He turned to look down a branch of the corridor he had just passed.

Some distance down that hall, a gigantic young pirate was hunching down to look at someone hidden behind some crates – someone whose penetrating, scratchy voice had instantly yanked Piranha's attention.

"Wha chu wan for?" the young pirate was saying. He was massive, thickset, blond, and he spoke Galactic with an accent so terrible that it was clear he must be a brand-new recruit from the planet they were just about to depart.

Piranha, flattening himself against the wall, slid quietly down the corridor towards him, dodged behind then hopped up onto and over a series of kegs and boxes. Silently he maneuvered himself into position to see the pirate and his interlocutor. Well, well... if it wasn't Old Fungus.

The slave stamped his foot irritably. "What for? So I can tell the rest of your fortune, you lackwit lout. Show me your palm!"

The pirate was a greenhorn, all right: young, barely an adult. No metal trim on his clothes; he hadn't yet learned the proper style for his new home. There was a fresh healing scar across his arm. He waved a meaty pink palm in front of the soothsayer.

"Fortune! Always lucky, me."

"No doubt," the old man muttered. "You're a pirate and not a corpse, ain't you? Too dumb to be anything but lucky."

"Not dumb, old magic man. Look!" The young giant pulled his hand back to fish a gold coin out of a bag on his belt. "See? Gold!"

The old slave admired it, with considerable sarcasm. "My mistake. Very intelligent."

Triumphantly the pirate stashed his coin away. "Pirates like gold. You want pay, you tell fortune."

"You want fortune, you pay."

"How much?"

"Not much, boy. I tell fortune, you kill me."

The pirate drew back; his complacent smile wavered a little and began to melt, as if in the rain. He eyed the impatient old man dubiously.

"Not too complicated for you, is it, swiftie?" the old man snapped.

The pirate considered. Then a crafty look spread across his face.

"You try! Too smart for you. I kill, then you paid already, won't tell fortune. No way, old cheater."

The slave simply looked at him. Then, rolling his eyes, he turned and walked away.

Piranha slipped down from his hiding place and softly followed, slinking in behind the barrels and crates, staying out of sight.

The old man headed steadily down the hall, ignoring the occasional jibe or shove aimed at him by the occasional pirate. Piranha followed, keeping him in sight at a distance. It wasn't difficult, as his own presence cleared a path as suddenly as before. The old man, noticing the disturbance behind him as the pirates scuttled away, once or twice turned to look back with puzzlement on the empty corridor; but Piranha had already dodged behind a crate.

As the old man reached the elevator, though, Piranha surged forward, plunging down the hall at a dead run; then, realizing the elevator door would open at any moment, soared into one of his huge leaps, grabbed one of the ship's handy hanging lamps, swung in a great arc, then flung himself into the air as if to catch a trapeze. He hit the ground, somersaulted a few times, and sprang to his feet right beside the startled soothsayer. As if knowing its cue, the door promptly opened; and Piranha, grinning, ushered himself and the old man in, while rapidly ushering the few pirates and slaves already in the elevator, out. The door closed.

The old man, in shock, pressed up against the elevator wall and stared at Piranha. Piranha smiled; a toothy, gleaming, unnerving smile that would have fit well on his namesake species. While the old man watched, his grey eyes wide, Piranha reached over, opened the control panel of the elevator, and switched it off. The cubicle halted, midway between floors. Piranha closed the panel and stood in front of it.

The two of them looked at each other for a time in silence. Then Piranha said casually, "So... how's business?"

The old man eyed him distrustfully, but didn't reply. Piranha smiled a little more; even more alarmingly.

"I've been looking for Hacker – you prognosticated anything for him lately?"

The pirate soothsayer remained silent. Piranha cocked his head ironically. "I'm happy to run across you though... Been thinking about you."

The slave didn't seem pleased. He was closely watching every shift of expression on Piranha's face as though to read the future there.

Piranha said, softly, "This must be the longest conversation we've had yet without you insulting me! Are you all right?"

The old man's brows creased, he straightened a little, glared. But he still didn't speak. Piranha leaned back a little in a faintly exasperated gesture. "What, used up your entire stock of words? I can't believe it."

The soothsayer couldn't stand any more. "So now you come to bully an old man?"

"What? Oh, no, not at all," Piranha crooned. He was reaching for the arsenal in his vest, as the old man's eyes followed every move. "No. Only it just struck me... I haven't paid you."

Involuntarily the slave fell back against the wall. "See, I don't want to be ungrateful," Piranha went on. "You took a lot of trouble with me, you deserve it. Knife okay?" He was drawing out his most elaborate dagger.

The old man was silent, breathing fast. His eyes darted about, to one side, the other, to the dagger, to Piranha's face. Piranha held still, looking at him. Then, with abrupt force, he thrust a big hand against the old man's jaw and neck, pinning him to the wall, and slammed his body against the man's trunk, flattening that to the wall as well. His eyes stared like two black holes into the old man's grey ones.

The soothsayer began to writhe madly, fighting with all his strength. Piranha pressed the head upward a little, raising the jaw, baring the neck. The old man gasped, his struggles redoubling, trying to kick at the empty air where Piranha's legs weren't.

Piranha looked at him coolly, with an air of slight puzzlement. "What's this? Don't you want to get paid?"

Small, unintelligible noises escaped from the old man's mouth. His eyes were fixed now on the dagger that was slowly approaching his neck. He was flailing harder than ever, clawing at the rocklike hand restraining his head. Slowly Piranha brought the knife closer, a faint cold smile on his face.

"Dear me, no words? No prediction? No insults? No thanks?"

Abruptly the old man quit fighting and sagged, almost collapsing the two of them onto the floor. Piranha hauled him up, propped him back against the wall.

"You seem upset," he said. "Is something wrong?"

The old man's eyes were flicking from the knife to Piranha's face, to all corners of the elevator, back to Piranha's face, he was panting.

"Be honest," Piranha said, softly, still keeping a hard grip on the man's neck. "You don't really know a thing, do you? You just like to twist people a little. Don't you?"

The old man didn't respond; his faded, watery eyes fell shut.

Piranha stepped back and let him go. The old man straightened up, rubbing his neck, staring at Piranha with deep suspicion. When Piranha made a slight move with his knife hand, the old man lurched back, crashing into the wall.

But Piranha, smiling cheerfully, was merely putting the dagger away. "Guess that settles it," he said. "You're satisfied without full payment. I just wanted to be sure."

The old man took an infuriated breath. "You bastard!"

Piranha shrugged.

The old man roared, his voice cracking, "You lying, cheating hypocrite! Don't even have the guts to do it, do you! Can't look me in the eyes and use that knife! You slinking coward!"

Piranha raised his eyebrows, giving the old man a direct, alert look. His hand moved towards his vest; the slave scrambled hastily sideways.

But Piranha reached out quickly and grabbed the man's robe, yanked him closer. At the same time, he reached over with his other hand and turned the elevator back on, pressing the button for the slave quarters level; the car began to move downward. He gazed into the soothsayer's face, intently but with remarkable calm.

"Look, old man. I understand you more than you think. I know you do want peace. And you know I can't give you any. It's not what you find at the blade of a knife. Peace isn't death; and that's all a poor pirate has to offer.

"You're no mystery, you old fraud. You're just like me. In fact, I'm probably more of an illusion than you are. You can't scare me any more, so go find a better target." He put a hand over the hilt of the dagger under his coat and gently smiled. "Unless you truly want to put my hypocrisy to the test."

He let go of the man's grey rags, keeping his calm gaze on his face. The slave withdrew a little, rearranging his robes, not taking his eyes off Piranha for an instant.

They were still staring at each other when the elevator door opened. Without a word, the old slave lunged past Piranha, out the door, and skittered away.

Piranha pressed the elevator button. The car headed up.

> > > > >

Back in the corridors of the working level of the ship, he was meditatively hopping from the top of one high heap of crates to the next, pausing after each leap to look down at the traffic below. Nobody noticed him – the hubbub of voices, clanking metal, and clumsy footfalls was more than enough to conceal what quiet noises he might make.

Still no sign of Hacker. For the moment, though, Piranha was content to watch with interest the passing pirates. Once again he was startled at the difference in his own perception of them – as though up to now he had been seeing them through a screen that blurred them to monochrome shadows. Now they emerged in all their variety and colour. There were gruesomely scarred, debilitated, ragged old campaigners literally on their last leg, arm, eye; fresh young meat decked out in bright colours and shiny metal trim, strutting in their prime; there were robots, no two alike, clothed and unclothed, huge and small, blockish and wispy, shiny and scuffed, in all possible shades of metal from yellow-white and silvery through greys, coppers, bronzes, to steely blue; their motions and postures entirely as varied and individual as the humans'. Piranha surveyed them all, motionless as a bird of prey awaiting the right victim.

And then, unexpectedly, it arrived. Piranha sat up straight; a chill ran through him. For a moment he hesitated. He hadn't been thinking of this one. It was the sole prey on board he wasn't sure he could handle.

But yes, it was the one he'd been waiting for. He plunged.

> > >

The tall, slender robot jolted to a halt as a small figure in a large, ornate hat and oversized black cloak dropped from the ceiling right in front of him.

Piranha bowed, sweeping the hat off his head, then straightened, his faintly mischievous gaze taking hold of the two translucent, glowing, sky-blue oval patches that served as the silver robot's eyes.

"Tulik," he said. "My trusty lieutenant. Just the robot I want to see."

"First Mate," replied Tulik, making the brief cross-chest salute used by the pirates in their rare formal moments. "I'm afraid this glimpse will have to suffice. I'm wanted on the bridge at this moment for takeoff."

"Takeoff?" said Piranha. "We're departing the planet now? Just like that?"

"The Boss is in a hurry," Tulik said.

Piranha tilted his head a little, looking at him. "Rendezvous with the 'black hole'," he said. "Right? What is that, anyway?"

"I can't talk about it right now." Tulik tried to step around him, Piranha moved smoothly to block him.

"It can't be much of a secret, if the whole ship is going there."

"Not a secret. But I'm wanted on the—"

"And I'm not," Piranha added, coolly. "Shouldn't a first mate be involved in wrapping things up for departure?"

Tulik said nothing. He merely turned his smooth, nearly featureless mask of a face towards Piranha and remained unnervingly still, as only a mechanical being could.

"Wouldn't this be a good time to show me a few of the ropes? I need to know how to pilot the ship. Here I'm supposed to be First Mate, and it's all I can do to get a two-second glimpse of the controls."

Tulik remained motionless. Piranha looked steadily back at him. At last Tulik said, with obvious reluctance, "If – the Boss hasn't seen fit to let you be taught, I—"

"Why d'you think he'd refuse to teach me?"

Tulik looked away. "Sir... I couldn't say."

Piranha moved a bit closer, his intense black eyes forcibly drawing Tulik's gaze back to him.

"Tulik, my lieutenant," said Piranha, after a moment, "there seems to be a great deal you can't say."

Tulik didn't answer. Piranha went on, quietly. "Yet I have so many questions. Questions I can't ask anyone but you."

The robot jerked back a fraction, as if in alarm. Piranha said, "Such as... Tulik, how long have you known Anaconda?"

Tulik's metal body froze, utterly inanimate. Piranha went on calmly, "What do you know about him? What about the pirates, the ship? Where did the ship come from? And the robots, what's their story?"

After a long pause, the silver robot said, "These are abnormal questions, First Mate."

"I know. But you have the answers, don't you."

Tulik took another step back. "We don't talk about the past. And there are things humans have no right to ask robots."

"So it seems. But I'm asking anyway."

The silver robot looked off into another part of the room, as though longing to escape. "You're First Mate. No human has ever been my senior officer before. I'm not sure if I can refuse."

"Let's just say," said Piranha, "that you can't."

Tulik gazed at him again in silence.

"That was a joke, Tulik. I'm not ordering you, it's a request. Tulik, please, will you talk with me?"

The silver face with its unblinking eyes continued to gaze at him motionlessly for quite a while. Piranha looked at him just as steadily, still with his slight smile. At last Tulik said, "Why are you asking me these things?"

Piranha said, "Because... you know, Tulik, aside from anything else ... I would like very much to talk with you."

Tulik said, "You're talking with me right now. What you mean is ... one of those human conversations."

Piranha smiled more. "Okay, yes. A human conversation." Tulik didn't stir, staring at him with his head slightly tilted, unmoving, as if immobilized by doubt.

"— Aren't you curious?" Piranha said.

Tulik's stance changed slightly. Decision.

"All right," he said. "About two hours from now, in the officers' mess hall. I'll come there after the launch." He took a step, then looked again at Piranha. "We'll talk."

Piranha could have sworn there was the faintest hint of nervousness in that measured, metallic voice.

(End of chapter 12)