Piranha Chapter 8: Hazing, Part 1, a rayman fanfic

Too tired to say much about this, I think it speaks for itself. Warning... PG alert, some violence and some mildly bad language in this chapter. Well, these guys are pirates, after all.

Chapter Seven: Hazing, Part 1

The large war room was packed with pirates - the high-level robot officers, some three dozen of them, along with another ten or fifteen of the more senior humans. It was very late now, and they weren't in the best of tempers after a long day's arguing and no breaks. But Anaconda had been in one of his occasional hyperactive moods, overflowing with ideas, striding around the room gesticulating, sweeping his dark red cloak around himself dramatically. So, hours later, here they still were, slumped at the conference table or huddling in dispirited clumps around the room, staring gloomily at maps, listening to the endless rehash of strategies, plans which by now had changed so many times that no one was sure what was supposed to happen any more. All they wanted at this point was to get out of that place, and preferably take the shortest, fastest route to the officer's bar.

So when the door slammed open without warning and a small black figure strode a step or two into the room, every head turned towards it eagerly. With anticipation of at least a messenger slave bringing some kind of diversion, or with equally hopeful anticipation of something stupid to get irritable about. But now that the diversion had finally arrived, they found themselves completely at a loss for a reaction.

After a moment of shocked unrecognition, they saw who he was. They gaped at him incredulously. After having watched him being half-dragged to the cabin a few days ago, defeated, degraded, barely able to stand, close to death from torture, it was unbelievable to see him emerge now, solidly on his feet. And with a startling new appearance that, though it didn't at all disguise him, certainly did make a very clear statement that something had emphatically changed. In that outrageous getup, he should have looked ridiculous; but, when his eyes fastened on you, the dramatic outfit was suddenly not absurd but intimidating. He stood framed in the war room door for a moment, staring fiercely around the room. Runt though he was, with those clothes he looked bigger than before, and as he entered, he stood and moved bigger - and with a presumptuous arrogance, with a commanding stride, with a cold, steady glare on his face that was an instant challenge to the whole room, to every officer and group leader.

If he had not appeared to them for the first time in the presence of the Boss, they would all have forgotten their mutual enmities and ganged up instantly to destroy him. As it was, for the moment they could only seethe.

He spotted Anaconda across the room, and swept a low, formal, indeed theatrical bow, accentuating it with his big feathered hat.

The Boss, standing with his back to the door at a table spread with maps, had half turned to watch the newcomer's entrance. A thin smile cracked across his black metallic face. His small, self-lit yellow eyes glowed brighter. He laughed. "If it isn't the little Rayman back from the dead!"

He turned to three or four robot officers who stood near him, glaring with no air of welcome whatsoever at the interloper. Anaconda said, grinning, "You see? Don't I know him? Didn't I tell you the incorruptible little chump would turn up on his own? Come on, cough up!" Holding his hand out. Reluctantly, still casting sullen glares towards the door, they dug into their wallets.

Having concluded that transaction, Anaconda turned again with even greater pleasure towards his new subordinate. "Little Rayman! Exploding all rumours, vindicating my confidence, you have appeared!-And how you've risen to the occasion!" His eyes relished first the flamboyant costume, and then glinted around the room at the badly-disguised consternation among the ragtag pirates.

"Yah--In pretty leather and feather, anyway," growled one, a human, in an undertone.

The being they all knew as Rayman halted in the motion of resettling his hat; turned very slowly to face him, only a few feet away.

The pirate could not repress the faintest shadow of a cringe. (The tales of those lacerating balls of energy that had smashed so many robot pirates back on Rayman's planet had left vivid memories.) Then he straightened, raising himself to his full height and considerable bulk - nearly twice the little alien's size, and heaven knows how many times his weight, and glared down at him.

The small black-clad figure stood motionless for a moment, studying the pirate distastefully, as though contemplating how best to squash a particularly repulsive bug. Then, contemptuously, he turned and headed for the Boss.

He strode past the glowering pirate as though there was nothing there. The pirate - perhaps embarrassed by his own wince - grinned, and raised a massive fist bigger than the interloper's head.

But in the instant that the pirate was swinging back his arm, the small figure whirled, and with a long knife snatched apparently out of the air thrust forcibly into the man's abdomen just below the rib cage, then yanked hard sideways. The huge pirate wheezed, then collapsed backwards onto the floor, never having managed to bring the fist forward.

Impassively, the newcomer wrenched the blade out, wiped it off on the fallen pirate's shirt, wiped his gloved hands as well, and settled the dagger back into its place under his coat. Then he glanced coolly around the room.

The onlookers, utterly floored - shocked not only by the sight of Rayman (was that really Rayman?)with a knife, but even more by the ruthless speed and efficiency of his attack - didn't stir. He turned again without a second look and moved calmly towards the Boss.

Several men dragged the collapsed pirate out the door. Other than that, the whole room's attention burned onto the black-clad figure as he halted, a few feet away from the Boss - coming barely up to his chest in height, but standing firmly before him. The broad, feathered hat hid his face from most, but the straightness and casual self-assurance of his posture fixed their attention irresistibly. Even robot officers rarely had the nerve to look Anaconda so directly in the eye.

"I heard you asked for me," he said. "Piranha, at your service." He didn't bow again, but gave a nod of his head that was almost as impertinent as the look in his fiercely steady black eyes.

Anaconda looked back at him with a small, wry smile of private amusement. The only robot in the room without a scuff or dent on him, he wore no clothes but a heavy deep red cloak that was pushed back from his shoulders, leaving most of his body visible. That handsome body was of a flat, light-absorbing black, without shininess, almost disappearing into itself. Compared to the other massive, bulky robots, he was more slenderly built, more human-appearing in size and shape; only a little taller, a little more massive than a tall man. But those human-looking arms and hands were solid metal, easily able to tear apart a mere creature of flesh and bone.

"So," he said dryly, "It's 'Piranha' now? Fair enough; what pirate doesn't take a new name when he first becomes... a pirate? Anyway, original costume, decent entrance, competent performance. What have you got planned for an encore?"

Piranha shook his head. "No plans. Awaiting orders."

Anaconda grinned slyly at him. "No plans? You? That I doubt. However, that's unimportant. Little fireball, in five days we will be arriving in a system where my scouts tell me there is a fat planet, lush and green and very rich in precious minerals and stones, which the innocent inhabitants don't know any better than to display everywhere as ornamental trinkets. And, even better, the inhabitants themselves are said to be exceptionally attractive. So we'll probably be there for a while, hunting and gathering.

"Now, though you've promised to run things around here, being that you're just a new recruit - and a rural hayseed at that - it wouldn't do to place you above my first and second mates right away. As it is, I expect they won't be too pleased that you're planning to usurp their positions and probably kill them in the process.

"Oh, by the way, you should meet them. This is Blargh, First Officer and War Commander of the good ship Insurrection, and that's my Second Officer and Strategy Director, Hacker. I know they're fully as delighted to make your acquaintance as you are to make theirs.

"Now, I think when we land I'll send you down there as Blargh's assistant, under his orders, so you can learn the ropes from that old hangman. At least until you can get rid of that disgraceful provincial accent. How does that sound to you?"

Piranha glanced at the two huge robot henchmen, whose glowers were progressively deepening as they took in Anaconda's words. Smiling bitterly, he replied, "I see you want me to learn very fast."

"That's right. Learn fast, Piranha. You want that name, live up to it."

* * *

In the presence of the Boss, the pirates' impulses toward self-expression were restrained. But once out in the corridors, Piranha was fair game; and he knew it. It was obvious that not only had the story of the stabbed pirate quickly spread through the ship, but the officers in the war room had also gotten busy, sending quiet orders out to subordinates. Late though it was, empty as the corridors were, it was something of a job to get back to the cabin.

In the dimly lit hallways he managed to duck out of the reach of a few not too well-aimed shots, whose source he never even saw. Once he found himself startlingly face-to-face - or rather, face-to-chest - with an equally startled human pirate who, with Piranha's unyielding eyes on him and those gleaming teeth showing, seemed to think better of going for his sword and slowly backed away. But shortly after that, he was forced to fight two human pirates who both sprang on him together. And then lurched from a near-disaster with the energy cannon of another robot, to an alarming confrontation with a humanoid creature so massive and broad it only had to spread its hands out a little to completely block the corridor. He managed to fend that one off just long enough to duck into the maze of junk and crates heaped at the side of the hall, squeeze himself rapidly through the crannies in it, and scuttle away somewhat crumpled into the darkness, leaving the giant snarling and throwing rubbish around the corridor as it dug after him. And ultimately he had to mislead and lose a number of both human and robot pursuers in the complicated twisting halls of the old section, before he was finally able to return to his cabin unseen.

More than four hours after he had left, he stumbled back in through the door, disshevelled and spattered with blood - so that Elly gave a faint shriek at the sight of him. But the blood wasn't his own. He quietly closed and locked the door behind him, made his way to a chair by the table and collapsed into it. He leaned back and shut his eyes.

"Have you found any guns, Elly?" he said, in an oddly matter-of-fact voice. "I need them."

She was approaching him hesitantly, not sure if he was wounded.

"I have one," she said. "I was able to get into a weapon storage room. It's the kind you wanted, the kind that doesn't need powder. But it only holds one shot." She handed it to him.

He opened his eyes, without much apparent interest, and examined the large old pistol, casually cocking and uncocking it, then unloading and re-loading it as though he had been doing it all his life. He ensured that it was not set to fire, and tucked it into his arsenal. She gave him several small packets of bullets, which he also tucked away.

"Good," he said, closing his eyes again. "I need better weapons, but I'll probably only be able to get them from enemies - I mean, from my comradesin arms. In the meantime, Elly, if you're willing to have me survive the next few days, find as many more as you can, as soon as you can. But don't go out again tonight. There seem to be a lot of curfew violations for some reason. Is there any food left?"

And abruptly, still leaning back in the hard chair, he was asleep.

Elly set some food and drink on the table beside him. She sat down in the other chair and looked at him uneasily.

Then carefully she slid the jacket off of him - he started violently, but dropped back to sleep in the same instant - and set about cleaning it up. She needed to do something, anything rather than look at how roughed-up he was; rather than wait to hear hard fists against the door.

But despite her agitated nerves, the hall outside remained quiet. And the incomprehensible figure slouched in the chair didn't stir.

At last, long after she had cleaned his clothes, put the rest of the food away, washed herself (something Rayman had seemed to prefer to have her do now and then, it was starting to become a habit), and sat sewing in the semi-darkness until her eyes simply wouldn't stand it any more, she made her way over to the bed. Piranha might be angry later that she let him sleep in the chair; but she was even more afraid of wakening him.

The most she dared do was slip a pillow behind his head. She managed to get away with that.

* * *

If it had been difficult getting back to the cabin late at night, getting back to Anaconda's war room in the morning, with the halls packed with hundreds of both human and robot pirates, not to mention human slaves of all kinds, should have been next to impossible. But Piranha, or Rayman, had not spent the last couple of days exploring the interior of the ship for nothing. He got most of the way there through the air ducts, exited into a bathroom, and had to run the gauntlet of attackers only for a few corridors before he was able to escape into the dubious safety of Anaconda's presence.

He was greeted by a constellation of considerably darker scowls than he had seen the day before. Anaconda, surrounded again by most of his officers, was pacing the room agitatedly. Something seemed to have happened to his previous aplomb. As Piranha entered, slipping his knife and pistol back into their places, resettling his hat, the Boss whirled on him.

"You're late," he barked. "You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago."

"I know," Piranha said. "I was delayed - five people trying to kill me."

"Bah, excuses," snorted Anaconda. "Get over to the table. All right, where were we?"

"Geography," timidly ventured an enormous, heavily dented robot, a couple of heads taller than the Boss, "Choosing the-"

"Oh, yes, yes," snapped Anaconda. "I know. All of you get down to business! And you-" he swivelled towards Piranha again, who was approaching the large map-covered table at the far end of the room, where the officers were all gathered, "Take off that hat!"

Smiling coldly, Piranha removed the hat and went to hang it on a rack near the door (which held mostly large weapons). The pirates couldn't help throwing surreptitious, curious glances in his direction. It was a mystery that he had made it here at all.

That was Rayman's head all right, as many of them had seen it in the past - the springy blond hair, the large, dark, penetrating eyes. None of them had ever seen an expression quite like that on Rayman's face, though: a look that could freeze the life out of a small animal, and put a serious crimp in the blood flow of a big one. Silently he approached the table once again.

Anaconda planted himself suddenly in front of his new subordinate. He was holding a sort of stick or switch in his hand, a thin, white, slightly flexible whiplike affair about two-thirds the length of his long arm. He snapped it forward, aiming the pointed metal tip at Piranha's chest, halting him. Piranha looked up into the Boss's black titanium face impassively.

"Not that way. I have a job for you," said the Boss.

Piranha stood attentively.

"Stay there," said Anaconda. He turned back to the table, snatched up a small square of thin paper-like material, grabbed one of the map markers and scribbled something on it. He folded it up small and returned to Piranha.

"Here. You take this to Blargh. Don't read it."

"Where is he?" Piranha said, taking the paper and sliding it into a pocket.

"Somewhere about the engine room. Or maybe the slave quarters. Or possibly in the officer's bar, that clanking sot. You'll have to find him."

Piranha nodded and turned to go. Just as he was lifting his hat off the rack, Anaconda barked again.

"Wait a minute."

Piranha stopped in mid-motion, turned a little to look at him.

"Before you do that. Come back over here."

Piranha replaced his hat on the stand and returned to his previous position in front of Anaconda.

Anaconda smiled down at him. A very wide, very thin, startlingly chilling smile on that metal face which didn't look capable of so much expression. His small, oval yellow eyes pulsated a little, glowing strongly even in the brightly lit room.

Anaconda reached over with his stick, like a man examining a dangerous, possibly diseased animal, or some sort of questionable merchandise in a flea market. He lifted up one side of Piranha's loose black jacket, then the other side.

"Take off that coat," Anaconda said.

Piranha silently complied. He laid the jacket on the floor nearby and stood there in his ruffled, armless shirt and black vest, his inscrutable gaze not leaving Anaconda's face.

Anaconda eyed him with an expression as noncommittal as his own. Then he reached forward with the stick, raised up one of Piranha's black-gloved hands, extending it away from his body.

Piranha made no resistance. His expressionless gaze didn't flicker.

With a fastidious expression, Anaconda lifted the other hand. He contemplated the small figure for a moment. Then, deliberately, he passed his stick through the space between the hands and the body, where there weren't any arms; under the head, where there was no sign of a neck; then between the top of the boots and the body, where there weren't any legs. Piranha showed no reaction.

"So this is the mysterious spirit of air, that gave us all that trouble," the Boss said musingly. "Belongs more in a magic act, wouldn't you say? It'd be nothing to saw this one in half." He stood there for a moment, the stick quivering just slightly in his grip. Piranha held motionless as he'd been positioned, his unreadable gaze still fixed on Anaconda's face.

"All right, then, get on with it." Anaconda abruptly turned away and walked back towards the table.

Piranha picked up his coat and put it back on. He headed back towards his hat.

Just as he was lifting it off the stand, though, Anaconda's voice came again. "Hold on."

In the same motion, without a break, Piranha replaced the hat and returned to the middle of the room, looking at the Boss as impassively as before.

Anaconda was smiling again. "I almost forgot. Just one other little thing I wanted to see."

Piranha waited.

"For those of us who haven't had the privilege of beholding you in action." He grabbed the arm of a scruffy human officer standing nearby, and dragged the startled man forward, placing him in front of Piranha about twenty feet away. "Go ahead. Hit him."

Piranha's brow wrinkled. "What?"

The man was staring at the small dark figure, glancing around the room at the other pirates desperately, sweat breaking out on his face.

Piranha took an uncertain step forward. Anaconda said, silkily, "Strike him from where you are. I want to see those famous magic powers close up."

"Ah." Piranha turned an intense gaze on the hapless pirate. The man couldn't more than glance at him. He'd been present the day before when the other pirate was stabbed. Now he was starting to quiver a little. The surrounding pirates, both human and robot, stirred uneasily, menacingly, muttering, growling, their eyes fixed on Piranha with hostility.

It occurred so quickly, then, that at first no one quite knew what had happened. Piranha stood motionless; then abruptly his hand, his whole body, made a violent twist, something flashed. Almost the only sign that he had moved was that he was suddenly in a different position, slightly crouched with one hand outstretched. The man across from him gave a belated yelp; he felt himself all over, confusedly, ending with his head. His three-cornered hat was gone.

"Oops," said Piranha placidly, straightening up. "Missed."

"There it is," shouted another pirate. The hat, impaled on a long knife, was still quivering against the far wall.

Anaconda was looking in consternation at the black-clad figure. "I said-"

"Toss it back to me, would you?" said Piranha.

A nearby robot grabbed the knife out of the wall, yanked the hat off, and with all the power of his metal arm shot it back towards Piranha like an arrow, aiming forcefully at his chest. Piranha snatched the knife out of the air and smoothly planted it back in its sheath, with such apparent effortlessness that again it took a couple of moments before anyone grasped that the blade hadn't gone right through him.

"Thanks," he said. Rapidly he turned, grabbed his hat and shoved it onto his head, and made for the door all in the same motion.

At the door he paused an instant, glancing back at Anaconda.

"I'll have to practice more with that knife, won't I? A magic act, not a bad idea."

Quickly, before the Boss could answer, Piranha slipped out. Anaconda stood eyeing the door thoughtfully, his yellow eyes narrowed.

* * *

For Piranha, being thrust into the corridors to make a run through the ship didn't feel much different from being flung into a gladiatorial arena. The hallways, much more brightly lit now during daylight hours, were packed with both human and robot pirates, as well as male and female human slaves hurrying frantically about. Well, he had needed to get back into the game; he set off without hesitation.

With his size, his distinctive clothes, and his unique physique, he was an instantly recognizable figure even to those who'd only heard about him. He was interested to notice that a fair number of both the human and robot pirates, rather than attacking, tended to withdraw to the far side of the hall the moment they laid eyes on him. Indeed, quite a few of them would simply vanish, practically melting into the walls. When he tried the experiment of raising up one of his weaponless hands, just slightly raising it, several nearby robot pirates instantly flung themselves into a neighbouring passageway in such a wild scrambling heap that he could hear them caroming loudly off of each other, clanging and cursing, for several minutes after he passed by. A little smile quirked at his mouth.

Nevertheless, the attacks that had begun the night before were not letting up. It was a lucky thing that Rayman, during the invasion of his planet, had fought with so many of the robots that Piranha knew where at least some of their weak points were - even if, back then, it had never been necessary to get in so close. Fighting these brutes, with their long reach and nearly invulnerable limbs, was tough enough even with that knowledge.

He edged down the corridors - not very familiar yet with most of them, not very certain where he was going, reduced practically to feeling his way step by step - all his senses fiercely alert for any sound or motion, his weapons ready; travelling at an angle to make sure nothing could sneak up behind him. If there seemed any chance he might be ganged up on, he would duck into a side corridor or behind one of the many stacks of crates and debris too close to the wall for the huge pirates to squeeze behind. He might pull himself up on top the crates, crouching there silently until the potential danger passed by, or continue his journey leaping catlike from stack to stack, or even jumping up high to seize the lamps hanging from the ceiling and swing himself rapidly down the corridor through the air.

But when he couldn't avoid a fight, he attacked with silent ferocity, and went mercilessly straight for the fastest, most complete possible finish to the combat. Fighting a robot, he would aim a dagger-thrust hard into a joint or crevice he knew could cause a loss of power to part of the body, or jam crucial gears, or short out the whole machine, or - more unexpectedly - cause the explosive jetting out of half the oil reserve right into his face, momentarily blinding him, making him lose his footing, and leaving him open to another attack (which he almost miraculously managed to roll away from, before whipping around and launching himself back at the second attacker). As for humans, though they were almost as big as the robots, they were easier to deal with.

And between fights, trying to locate Blargh, he had to ask for information - which generally resulted in another fight.

It was hours after he'd left the war room that a somewhat dishevelled, battered, but remarkably self-possessed Piranha finally made it to the central plumbing section in the depths of the ship, where he had tracked down the First Mate. He entered the noisy room, spotted the hulking, corroded, brass-coloured robot, clad in the remains of a once-green shirt, standing a head taller than the rest. He strode forward.

"Good god," said a human. Blargh turned to see a small black form bearing down on him. He swivelled around completely to face him, straightening so as to glare from his full height.

Piranha came directly up to him, his head barely at the height of Blargh's waist. He stopped a couple of feet away and reached with one hand into his coat.

Blargh lunged for him. And glanced around, confused - Piranha was several feet further away, looking annoyed.

"Stop that," snapped Piranha. "I have something for you from the Boss."

He reached again into his coat and pulled the scrap of paper out of a little pocket.

Suspiciously, Blargh accepted it and slowly opened it up, turning it back and forth and upside down several times until he decided how best to read it.

His dim little eyes travelled carefully over the scrawl. Then started to glow a bright red - not a good sign. His glare moved from the paper to fasten itself onto the messenger.

Who glared back, disdainfully.

"So that's it," rumbled Blargh.

Piranha said nothing.

"Get out of here," growled Blargh.

Piranha looked at him appraisingly for a couple more seconds. Then turned and walked casually away.

He must have had eyes in the back of his head, however, because when the huge metal pipe-cap landed a moment later right where he was, he wasn't there anymore.

He sprang again to his feet, having rolled out of the way, paused and turned once more to eye Blargh directly. The 50-pound hat-shaped piece of metal was still spinning and wobbling noisily on the floor where it had failed to hit him.

"Hand slipped," Blargh muttered.

Piranha's fierce dark eyes abruptly, unnervingly, switched to a metallic silver and black. He stood straight, utterly motionless, fixating Blargh with a penetrating stare.

Some of the human pirates watching couldn't repress a slight shudder. Seeing the little creep at that moment, it was impossible to keep in mind how small he was. No matter how many times you looked at him.

* * *

It was Anaconda's pleasant game over the next couple of days to keep Piranha on the run as much as possible, launching him through the huge ship on one errand or another, usually ordering him to find Blargh or Hacker to ask or tell them some idiotic or antagonizing or embarrassing message. Piranha continued to take it all completely straight, performed every task given him without comment or protest or so much as a wry look.

But he was showing some slight signs of strain. When he could, two or three times a day, he made his way back to the cabin to breathe for a few moments, wash himself down, and get some food and water. Although Rayman, since being on the ship, had eaten mostly with reluctance, Piranha seemed to have an appetite as voracious as his name. Whenever in the cabin he would also take the opportunity to sleep, in short naps of ten or fifteen minutes, then be up again, cold, feverish, grim. If any unexpected noise occurred, he was liable to lurch impossibly across the room, landing with a weapon in each hand. He had no conversation whatsoever - spoke to Elly only to give orders or receive information, and otherwise seemed unaware of her existence. She watched him for signs that he needed something, and stayed out of his way.

He continued to work on his weapons collection. He found that few of the pirates carried guns on the ship. Those he did capture weren't of much use, lacking much extra ammunition. On the other hand, he soon had more daggers and swords than he could possibly use. Just on principle, he took possession of them anyway whenever he had the chance. Then, in his cabin, he would practice with the more promising ones, whisking them in and out of his vest, duelling with invisible opponents to get their heft, then picking out the ones most useful to him and stashing the rest around the cabin.

Elly watched him silently from a corner of the room, afraid to attract the glare of those cold, fierce eyes, but also rather fascinated. His relentless energy was uncanny, even the tireless robots didn't have anything like it. Outbreaks of violence among the pirates were nothing new to her, but she had never seen anyone so heavily and continually attacked; nor so bluntly capable of dealing with such an onslaught.

* * *

By the third day, the attacks were losing some of their momentum. A degree of perplexity was growing throughout the ship.

How could the little twerp still be alive? Not to mention swaggering down the hallways as though they belonged to him. Leaving a trail of carnage behind that could have been impressive, even grudgingly admirable, if he hadn't been - well, whatever he was. No pirate, that was for sure.

Those robots who'd returned in one piece from the invasion of Rayman's planet all insisted that back then, during that war, no one had had any respect for the little freak, dangerous as he was. Why should they? He had none for himself. Fighting had seemed to be a game to him, with that built-in supply of fireballs that he could throw off effortlessly as insults. He had been known to grin, even to laugh, to clown around, to play pranks during a firefight. How could you take him seriously as an enemy when even he obviously saw himself as an amateur, a kid, a featherweight little joker who jumped off cliffs without harm, flew with his hair, and shot unfair bolts of devastating energy that only proved he was a cheater? And then there had been times (stories recounted by veterans with eye-rolling scorn), when he couldhave killed someone easily enough and just hadn't bothered. He had even been known to let an enemy get away just so he could laugh at his fleeing back. And not once had he ever taken the trouble to pick up a piece of booty, not even a diamond ring, not even if it rolled right up to his feet... as had notoriously happened after his offhand destruction of the elegant Zobu. He'd just glanced at it, kicked it into a nearby river, and trotted off in search of some stupid friend of his. He was an amateur.

No, that mockery of a fighter was no pirate, it was an insult even to have to raise him to the level of an enemy. It was outrageous that anything so absurd as that purple puffball could have given them as much trouble as he did. A quarter of their losses had been taken just in the final battle to capture the infuriating little rat.

But something had changed since he had arrived on the ship. That dark presence confronting them wasn't the same kind of opponent. He was still small, still erratic and unpredictable, but there wasn't anything lightweight about him now. The power and remorseless savagery of his attacks had to trigger a certain amount of, well, respect. He didn't stay at a distance like a cheat anymore - you could get right in there and hit. At least, you could have if he hadn't been moving fast as lightning and striking twice as hard. Fighting them on their own terms, using their own weapons, he seemed impossible as ever to make a dent on - but now, that fact was less of an insult than an increasingly frustrating but intriguing challenge. At the very least, he had become something comprehensible.

There did remain the lurking fear that, pressed hard enough, he might still let loose one of those cheat shots he surely still kept up his (so to speak) sleeve. There was much impassioned argument about that. What was going on anyway? Had he lost his powers, being taken off his own planet? Was that why he now used knives and guns? Some said so; but most shook their heads, pointing out that there was no way a small soft half-missing thing like that could possibly move among them with the arrogance, the casual disdainfulness that he did, if he hadn't had his secret weapon in reserve. What was there to him, after all? If anyone had just managed to lay a hand on him, get in one good solid swat, he could have been flicked away like a speck of dust. If anyone had actually managed.

[End of Chapter 7, Part 1]