Okay, once again don't forget this is PG-13 ... forgive me my trespasses. Nothing much, anyway. See Part I for copyrights and junk.

Chapter Nine Part Two: Bad Behaviour

A group of pirates, most of them human, accompanied him across the ship as he headed towards his cabin. They were stomping along, cheering, yelling, making fun of the occasional rather bewildered robot they passed, and generally congratulating themselves. Piranha was quiet, letting them celebrate, neither encouraging nor discouraging them. As they approached the old section, however, he found Bubo in the crowd and took hold of his sleeve.

"You've been very helpful today," he said.

"I think it'll pay off," grinned Bubo.

"Let's hope so. Bubo, somehow I don't completely trust our good friend Hacker."

"Why, Piranha, I'm shocked. I heard him swear loyalty to you with my own ears." Bubo was grinning even more.

"Yeah... I heard him too. And anything that comes out of his mouth, I assume the opposite. Bubo, I want him and his little pals kept out of the old section."

"You want me to arrange a patrol?"

"That's an excellent idea. Can you do that?"

"Look, you're our First Mate. We'll be damned if we let Hacker get his hands on you."

Piranha looked up at him a touch skeptically. "What is it you want from me, anyway?"

Bubo didn't answer for a few steps. Then he said, "I think I heard you tell the truth once or twice."

Piranha walked rapidly along beside him. "Really? That matters to you?"

"Are you kidding? It matters like life and death. Do you know how many of us get killed in battle because we were lied to about what we were getting into? Or they just didn't bother to tell us? I've known guys, if they'd just been prepared... Besides. I have the feeling somehow you're not really interested in booty. Maybe you'll be more fair in getting it shared out."

Piranha looked at him wryly. "People change, you know. You show a guy a big pile of plunder, maybe he gets more greedy."

Bubo chuckled. "Well, if that happens to you, that won't make much of a change in my life after all."

"Come on Bubo, out with it, the real story."

"Ah, it's really simple, Piranha. I just want to be on the winning side for once. Being a human on this ship is a losing game, let me tell you. I think with you around our chances will be better."

"I can't promise anything, Bubo. I don't know what's going to happen."

"I still think our chances are better. They couldn't be much worse. Besides... maybe you need a human lieutenant."

Piranha smiled. "Maybe I do," he said. He halted.

They were just at the intersection where the dented, scratched old metal bulkheads of that little-used level of the ship gave way to the even more decrepit wooden walls and floors of the old section – or rather the oldest section, as some of the upper parts of the metal ship were in much better condition and clearly much newer.

Bubo said, "I have friends in different gangs. They have friends. You could have a lot of guys behind you."

Piranha looked at Bubo sharply. "You know," he said, "it would be really easy to take you as a guy with some sort of hidden purpose. You've been pushing me in the direction you want me to go ever since I first set eyes on you. Don't you think that's a bit suspicious?"

Bubo shrugged. "You're First Mate now. I'm nobody, a stray human. If I turn out to be a cheat, you'll just have me killed. Nobody who matters will notice. On the other hand, if I turn out to be pushing you the right way, you can make me your first or second lieutenant one of these days."

Piranha smiled a little. "You're ambitious."

"Yeah, maybe. Now that I see a chance that a human might be able to count for something. And maybe stay alive a bit longer."

"And get a bigger share of the take?"

"Well, I'm not a fool, Piranha."

Piranha smiled more. "So what you're saying, then, is that you're swearing loyalty to me like Hacker?"

"Not like Hacker!"

"Good!" Piranha, grinning wryly, held out his hand. Bubo looked at it dubiously. "We shake hands," Piranha explained. "We agree to the deal." He took hold of Bubo's slab of a hand and shook it. "Like that. Okay. Now we're partners."

A slow grin crept across Bubo's rough, scarred features. "Partners? You mean, like not master and slave?"

"You gave me the benefit of the doubt, I'll return the favour."

Bubo glanced at his hand, then at Piranha again. "Okay. Well, looks like I've got some work to do, Piranha. Nobody's going to bug you tonight. You! You swabs over there, the party's over, g'wan, get gone! Simfax, Elliol, Fred, c'mere, I wanna word with you guys!"

Entering the old section, alone at last after going around a few bends in the corridors, he paused. There was no one in sight.

He took a deep breath. He shook his head a little, as if to settle out the many and far-reaching events of the past few hours. So much had changed since he had left this place.

He stood still for a few moments, looking around him. Then, abruptly, he made a huge leap, grabbing his hat and tossing it forward, diving to the floor for a somersault and surging up like a dolphin breaching the surface, so that his head met up perfectly with the hat as it came down. He laughed. Just for the heck of it, he did it again – though the hat didn't cooperate quite as neatly that time. He tried it again, and it landed on his head just right. He whipped it into the air and caught it again, and smacked it back down on his head.

The hallway around him – the high, battered old walls, the scuffed planking of the floor, the ancient cockeyed, yellowish electric lanterns along the walls, bringing out the warm amber tones of the wood – right now, none of it looked hostile. He pressed himself against the wall for a moment. His large eyes, bright with the reflections of the lanterns, took a slow look up and down the corridor.

Then, with another irrepressible little jump, he set off down the hall. If he could just remember which cabin he'd left Elly in.

Elly woke instantly as the door opened. She sat up on the bed. There was that unmistakable silhouette framed for a moment in the light from the hallway.

Then the door closed again. In the darkness, the black-clothed figure was an indistinct smudge.

"Elly?" His voice, soft, light, playful.

"Yes, Piranha."

"I'm turning on the light." Hastily, she covered her eyes.

She could hear him moving around. She took her hands away from her eyes, blinking. He was standing in the center of the open floor space, stretching. Then he looked at her with those large, black, faintly ironic laughing eyes. He looked different – bigger, brighter, more forceful than she'd ever seen him. But, though there was still that playful note in his voice, he spoke quietly.

"It's late, isn't it? You can go back to sleep."

"No," she said, unwrapping herself from the blanket, shivering. "You must be hungry."

As she got up, he moved over to the table, dropped into a chair. He yanked off his hat, tossing it onto the table, and combed his fingers through his hair. "Ach... I need a shower."

He did look pretty scuffed up. He leaned back in the chair, stretching again. His gaze lit on the blast gun, abandoned on the table. He grinned.

"You didn't need to use that, I take it."

Over at the little galley, Elly murmured, "No."

"Well, that's a plus." He hopped up, grabbing the gun, quickly went to plug its recharger into the wall, and returned to his seat.

Elly set a cup and a plate of bread and cheese in front of him. Those large, intensely bright eyes glanced up at her. "Thanks," he said. He took a drink and then tore into the food. "I'm starving," he added, redundantly. "Are you hungry? Eat with me, Elly."

"I'm not hungry." She sat down at the table, however; perching nervously on the other chair.

Hungry though he was, after the first piece of bread his stomach rebelled. His body was too exhausted, and he was too wrought up, to eat much. He put the second, half-eaten piece of bread down. He gave Elly an odd challenging look.

"Well," he said, "Don't you know what you're supposed to say now? Aren't you going to ask me what happened?" His eyes – black, fiercely bright with that tense hyper-alertness she'd seen so often recently, but even more so – his eyes moved over her, as though looking not only at her but into and right through her. She winced. Then, looking at him, her own eyes widened.

"Nothing to say, Elly?"

"Piranha," she gasped. "Is that – isn't that the badge of –"

He pulled the silver oval off his shirt and looked at it, shaking his head. "Troublesome thing to get," he said. "Likely a troublesome thing to have, as well."

"...Blargh's badge?"

He gave her a direct, amused, ironic look.

She was examining him closely now. "Piranha. You fought Blargh? You killed Blargh? You took his badge?"

"In fact, it's been a very busy night–"

She pointed to the slash across his heavy black coat. "He cut you?"

"Oh – that's right, I forgot, yes."

An instant's hesitation, then she was out of her chair, yanking the coat off him, fingering the tear across his shirt. He pushed her lightly away, grinning wryly, before she could yank the vest and shirt off as well.

"I don't see any blood –"

"No," he said mildly, "I don't bleed. Anyhow, I'm okay, Elly, no serious damage, sit down."

She looked at him skeptically; then examined the coat again. "I have to fix this."

She was about to dart over to her sewing box. He gripped her arm.

"Wait, wait, hold on! Elly, don't keep running off like that."

As his hand touched her, she gasped, and froze. She hunched a little, turning away from those black eyes, and closed her own, lowering her head as if in resignation. The jacket dropped from her hand. He gazed at her averted face, perplexed.

"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"

She didn't reply, she didn't stir. Only her body hunched a little more, miserably.

He got up, taking hold of her other arm, turning her to face him. She submitted without resistance; but she lowered her head, hiding her face. Her eyes were shut tight. Her body, as he moved it, felt like wood, inert and lifeless.

Then, abruptly understanding, he gasped, and let her go. For a moment, shock showed on his face; then a touch of anger.

"Elly," he said, very low, all lightness gone from his voice, "Elly, did you think I was going to – to do something to you? Like those – those other pirates and those...?"

She didn't look at him. One hand holding onto the other wrist, she stood hunched and tense; but there was no trace of rebellion or resistance in her posture, only resignation.

"For god's sake, Elly, what did I do?"

"You... you won a victory... it's... it's your right.. It's... the usual..."

He slammed a hand on the table. "What! Damn it! Oh, my god, Elly, how could you think a thing like that!"

She crouched a little more, and he backed away a few steps. Then stood, breathing hard, clenching and unclenching his fists.

"You..." she whispered, "I'm sorry if – but you seemed so – you wanted something."

He stared at her for another moment and then flung himself back into his chair.

"Yes, that's right, I did want something," he snarled. "I wanted someone to talk to! I wanted – oh, my god, Elly!" He jumped to his feet again and began to stride back and forth, glaring at her. "This place is driving me mad! So much has happened, so much is going to happen, there's so much to figure out, and – my god, I never know what I'm going to trigger when I do anything around here! Look, I didn't want to be First Mate, I don't want the problems and ambitions and schemes of every damn person on this ship dumped into my hands! And I don't want to be fussed over like a baby for every little scratch! I don't want to be cringed away from like a murderer every time I take a breath or twitch! And for the love of god, more than anything, I don't want–" He halted abruptly. When he spoke again, his voice was so tremulous that despite her timidity she couldn't help glancing at him.

Those dark blue eyes were flooded with grief. "Elly. Don't ever imagine I could want that from you. It's not that I don't – but I'm – I –" He sighed. "Don't take this as an insult, but it's just out of the question."

He gave his head a little shake, as if to dislodge the misery from his eyes. He smiled at her faintly. "I didn't mean to give you the wrong idea. Forgive my clumsiness?"

Uncertain, rather bewildered, she only looked at him.

He tried smiling again, slightly more successfully. He walked over to her chair and patted the seat. "Come on now. Sit down. Sit down, Elly. Let's just start this whole meeting over. We'll take it from the top."

And as she sidled timidly over to the chair, he actually went back to stand in front of the door. As she sat down, he stood there looking at her, a tiny smile in his eyes. Then utterly solemn.

"All right," he said. "I come in. I stand here holding a noble but anguished pose." Putting the back of his hand to his forehead, bending back dramatically. "You look at me and cry, 'Piranha! You've conquered the horrible, giant metal brutes! My hero! But – what's this? Oh my god, no, you're wounded! Quick, get over here so I can sew you up!' Tragically, I stumble towards you, gasping my last–" He bent forward, staggered a little, stretching out his hands, then collapsed to the floor twitching, took in a harsh, groaning breath that cut off in the middle – and his eyes fell closed, his mouth half-open. He was so suddenly, so utterly motionless that for a shocked instant she really thought he was dead. And after she had rejected that thought, and then – he was so motionless – in the space of half a second flip-flopped on the idea half a dozen times, as she sat there frozen with doubt, he startled her with a sudden comical gasp and lunged halfway up. Then froze in a melodramatic pose; and died again. Then revived with another dramatic jolt. Then again, with a magnificent wheeze, expired; so that she had to forcibly suppress her smile under her hands, her honey-gold gaze peeking through her fingers.

His eyes slitted open a fraction, as though he were still dead but cheating.

"Come on," he hissed. "You're cruel to me. Laugh."

Shyly, she chuckled. And with a sigh he relaxed, smiling. Although those dark eyes still looked faintly haunted by the inexplicable jolt of pain that had shot through them.

Sitting down at the table again, he offered her the remaining piece of bread and cheese. She took it, and nibbled at it slowly as, speaking animatedly, gesturing with his hands, he told her the events of the evening.

"There's so much I don't understand," he said. "But – somehow, I've gotten a lot of them on my side. At least for the moment. Can you believe that? I know Hacker's going to try something sooner or later, but – they're off my back, Elly, I really think I could go out there now and I wouldn't get ambushed once! At least now that the rumours are dying down. They absolutely hate Hacker, and I don't think Blargh was too popular either. Still, I wasn't sure, after that fight, whether they were going to cheer me or attack me en masse!"

She was gazing at him, shaking her head slowly. "So you really are First Mate. You've taken Blargh's place. And Hacker has sworn loyalty to you... he never did that to Blargh!"

"I don't think it means much."

"Oh, but it does. All his men will have to be loyal to you, too. And Blargh's. And you'll get shares of all their booty. Next to Anaconda, you're the strongest man on this ship now!"

He sat sideways in his chair, looking down at the floor, shaking his head. He was quiet for a while. At last he said, "This has all been too easy. I don't trust it." His eyes sank closed.

"Anaconda didn't take the insignia away. So you are First Mate. Unless somebody challenges you!"

Giving a little start, as though shaken out of a trance, he glanced at her with a wry smile. "I suppose that could come any time now, eh?"

"I don't know... Blargh was first mate since before I came to the ship."

He looked thoughtful. Then, involuntarily, his eyes closed again, he swayed forward, barely catching himself. Elly jumped to her feet.

"Whew," he said. Clutching the table and back of the chair, he looked at her a little shakily.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm tired," he said. "That's all. It sort of caught up with me."

"Did you sleep last night at all?"

He smiled vaguely. "I haven't slept for days, aside from a moment's nap here and there, and I've hardly eaten today. Heh, and I've been busy. No wonder I've been a little hysterical the last while..."

She put her hands to her face. "I didn't even think of that! You have to get some sleep while you can! Tomorrow's going to be a long, hard day."

He went suddenly still. "The invasion."

"Yes. Piranha... go lie down."

A chill had come over the room. It wasn't just the nighttime lowering of the temperature. Elly didn't move, but kept her eyes on him. For a long time he stayed still, slumped a little in the chair.

At last, with a visible effort, he pushed himself to his feet. "All right," he murmured. "I'll lie down." Slowly, he walked over to the bed and toppled onto it, face down.

Elly came over and bent down beside him to get her sewing kit out from under the bed.

One of his eyes half-opened to peer at her. "Elly," he mumbled. He smiled slightly; there was something so awkward and forced about that smile that she paused. He lifted his head a little and smiled again. She couldn't have said why, but something about that pale, unconvincing smile made her eyes prick with tears.

"Hey," he murmured, "You don't really have to sew me up, you know!"

She smiled, welcoming the feeble joke. "Is it all right if I sew up your jacket?"

"Oh... right."

She didn't want to meet those eyes, that for an instant seemed to reach for her, to cling to her like a lost child.

He turned his head away. It fell to the bed, and he was asleep.

She picked up the blanket and laid it over him. She stood looking at him. Then sat down at the table with the jacket and went to work.

She was finishing off the last few stitches on his jacket, listening as she worked to his quiet breathing. The tears that came into her eyes made it hard to see, she brushed them away impatiently.

It was always like this. That cold, powerful repulsion forcing her away was never there when he slept. She couldn't sense any difference between him and Rayman when he slept. But when he woke, it would slam down again like a cage dropping over him, a trap...

It only made things worse to see it lifted again tonight. More tears welled up in her eyes. She put down the needle. To see Rayman looking through those black eyes, a wavering, distorted reflection, like a spirit trapped in a bottle. It only made things worse to know that something of him was trying to live, submerged in there, that he would surface a little only to be thrust back under, killed once again by Anaconda's man. Why was it always the wrong people who died?

She finished her work, tied off and cut the thread. Moving very quietly – he was, exhausted or not, such a light sleeper – she hung up the jacket. Her eyes avoided the blanketed bump on the bed. She went to her chair, bent over the table, laid her head on her arm. Eyes half closed, she sighed.

She'd have to get up soon, anyway. It would be best not to go back to sleep.

The voice crashed into the half-lit silent room like a squad of storm troopers.

"Piranha! Where the hell are you?"

Piranha started so violently out of sleep that he flipped off the edge of the bed onto the floor. He froze there for a moment, gasping with shock, then thrashed in the blanket tangled around him.

Elly, dozing at the table, had snapped bolt upright at the voice. She jumped up to help Piranha, but he had already extricated himself.

He staggered up, looking around as though he expected to see Anaconda towering in the middle of the room. Then sat down on the bed – his body was shaking slightly, not so much with surprise as with exhaustion. He hadn't slept for much more than an hour.

The voice, slightly tinny and distorted, but obviously the voice of Anaconda, squawked again. "Piranha! First Mate! Report to the bridge! You have ten minutes!" The transmission ended with a loud click.

She looked at him. His eyes were closed. Slowly, he got to his feet and made his way over to the galley sink. He splashed some water on his face and stood leaning against the sink for a moment. Then he turned towards her. Those cold eyes, like bits of black stone.

"So he can trace our location after all?" he said. That low, hard voice, worse than the eyes.

"I-I don't know, but – that was probably heard all over the ship. They send messages that way sometimes." She pointed up to a grille on the ceiling.

He looked at it. "A – voice box? Like the robots have? I thought it was for air. All right."

Then, as if closing a book, he turned his attention away from her.

Involuntarily, Elly edged away a little. The aura of silence growing around him was physically unsettling to be around. He fetched the blast pistol from where it was recharging in the wall, inspected it, brought it to the table where his weapons vest was hanging and slipped it into place. He stood contemplating the ensemble for a moment; then left the room to go to their previous cabin, returning with a short sword which he laid on the table.

While he was gone she found him a clean shirt to replace the torn one he still wore. She laid the shirt and his jacket on the table near him. He gave the clothes an abstracted glance.

"Piranha, will you eat something? You won't get another chance until the end of the day."

He shook his head. Silently, he began a close inspection of his weapons vest.

She ventured, timidly, "Even if you're not hungry – it's such hard work, fighting the natives, burning the villages, you should–"

He closed his eyes. And as she looked at him, he almost disappeared. As if caught in an avalanche of black ice, he vanished into coldness. What was left was a mask grim and featureless as a little glacial rock. His eyes opened, they set themselves on her, and involuntarily she took a step back. Those grey metallic ovals, so much like the glowing blanks of the robots. But with a ferocity far more terrifying to her.

He didn't say anything. He returned to his task. Silently, she backed away.

With intent concentration, he went over every inch of his weapons vest, checking for any small tears or other damage, looking rapidly but carefully at each item, making sure that the daggers that acted as a palisade over his chest were properly arranged.

Then he pulled his shirt off, slipped on the new one, and began putting on the vest.

While making a last quick check of the tightness of its straps, about to pick up his jacket, he paused. Elly had gone over to the clothes hooks by the door and was taking down her ragged brown cloak.

He looked at her sharply. For the first time in what seemed hours he spoke. "Elly!" he barked.

She stopped with the cloak halfway around her shoulders.

He came towards her. "What are you doing?"

She finished wrapping the cloak around herself, huddling into it as if for protection. "I – I should go now too."

"What? Elly, you're not going down to the planet to fight, are you?"

"N-no, of course not."

He went to take hold of her arm but stopped mid-gesture. "Where are you going?"

"The-the slave quarters, of course."

"What? What for?"

She shook her head in dismay. "Oh, of course you don't know. It's the invasion, Piranha. I have to help out."

His voice dropped almost an octave, came out slow, with the faintest hint of threat in it. "Help out? Doing what?"

She took a step backwards, bumping into the door. "I–I have to go, Piranha. I–"

"I just want to know what you're supposed to do."

"Well – whatever they need – helping to process the new slaves, you know–"

"Process?"

She was shaking her head helplessly, raising her hands. "The usual thing – settling them in, you know – taking away the things they shouldn't have, finding them a place to sleep, getting their names recorded, feeding them, branding them, finding them work, all that. Usually it's for two or three days. Since you're First Mate now, maybe they'll let me go earlier."

Those opaque, utterly expressionless eyes made her want to disappear, or die. "You're not going. You stay here."

She moaned quietly. "Piranha. Please. I have to go."

"Didn't you tell me that bastard gave you to me? Whose orders do you follow? I say you stay here."

She shook her head. "I can't. At the start of an invasion, the whole ship has to help. Even the personal slaves. If I don't go... I might get killed, if anyone found out. I know I'd be taken away from you at the least, and end up on some awful work detail, like tending the–the torture boxes."

His eyes flickered. He lowered his head, turned away, walked back to the table to pick up his coat. Elly was still standing by the door, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. After he picked the coat up, he looked towards her again.

"What, are you still here? Go on then."

She gasped with relief and slipped out the door.

Slowly, he let out a long, harsh breath.

He remembered the jacket in his hands and put it on. He put on his gloves, his boots, his hat. He hefted the sword, settled it at his side; considered taking it off; ended by leaving it on. At last he was ready. He was a solid, heavily armoured, heavily armed war machine. There was nothing else left to do.

Except to open that door. He walked up to it, put a hand against it.

Some tiny part of him was chattering nervously that the Boss's acidic voice might come crackling out of that speaker again.

He snarled silently. The Boss's voice. As if the Boss mattered. The Boss.

Eyes narrowed, mouth set, he slammed open the door and strode through it.

[End of chapter 9]