I can feel pressure... it's all around my head and nearly choking me at the throat. There are several sharp pains there, in my throat, that seem vaguely familiar. My eyes won't work... in fact, neither does the rest of my body.

Through the haze my brain is aware of a rhythm, almost tidal in nature, surging and easing. It isn't a sound as such, I can't hear anything any more than I can see it. Still, like an internal touch, the waves go on.

…..

I'm not sure how long I've been like this, but I just realized that I'm recovering from MUD. I still can't see, but I can hear some and sense my face and scalp... and the pressures and pains now make sense; I am on a vessel which is large enough to have a "MUD bay" but either too small for the full kit or too cheap to spring for it. While I still can't feel my extremities, I know my body must be strapped down onto a common bed, a contraption holding my head and neck still. It also holds tubes inserted into arteries and veins in my neck, while the machine it is connected to draws my blood and runs it through a scrubber that functions kinda like a super kidney.

These are the consequences of my choosing to introduce some survivability to my circumstances... lots of pilots these days don't even do Antifreeze, much less MUD. The contraption that immobilizes me from the neck up is very uncomfortable, but I know that I was likely dead out there without the MUD chemicals this thing now tries to remove from my flesh.

…..

"Can you hear me now?" a loud and rather scratchy woman's voice asks. Were I to guess, she is all but shouting in my ear.

"Yes, I can hear you."

"Good, 'bout damn time. Open your eyes," she orders. The amount of attitude in that tone of voice almost makes me resist, but my curiosity gets the better of me and I discover that I can indeed see again.

On the other hand, maybe I was better off with eyes closed; standing over me is a large and ill featured woman who seems to wear a mishmash of gear that makes no sense, at least not without an explanation.

She is dressed in a black teeshirt under badly dirty coveralls; they might once have been blue, but now I'm not really sure. Perched atop her head is an old cap, maybe blue originally, with some kind of emblem with a circle and odd devices on four opposite sides. From beneath the hat, her hair tumbles about her like an overfull garbage container, I suspect it has never met a brush it couldn't defeat. She seems to have a scowl attached to her expression with mardon glue, and when she opens her mouth, her breath seems to carry odors not far removed from those at that old RRS septic sludge pond. As for aromas, the rest of her smells like she may not have had an introduction to a shower in the last standard... or maybe it's a dozen or more of them.

"I'm Claire," she announces. "Dirt-side they call me Fat Claire, but here they call me 'Skipper'. That's what I expect if you aren't saying 'Yes, Ma'am' or 'No, Ma'am'. Got it?"

I'm about to answer when she just starts back up, "This here is the Minnow. The SS Minnow, to be effn' exact."

I dig back through my memory; I'm sure I've heard that somewhere. The "SS" part especially seems to ring a bell... I can almost see a huge bearded face telling me that it means "Steam Ship" but that the Minnow is a diesel so it should have been the MV Minnow or something similar.

Big Jake! He was the enforcer in my cell block, must be forty-five years ago. He was talking about some 2d vid he loved to watch... it made him laugh so much even after our grueling days in the RRS assembly lines. Hmmm... what was the name of that stupid vid?

Well, I'm sure it will come to me, for now, I would guess we are not in a boat.

Fat Claire resumes her monologue, "This here is MY ship, and without it, you would still be a floatin' out in the black. Got me?"

"Thanks for..."

"You keep a civil tongue in your head!" She yells, getting her face far closer to mine than I consider sanitary. The more she talks at this range, the more nauseated I become; I'm having to exhibit unexpected self-control to prevent me from vomiting all over her.

"I don't want your thanks, I want the MONEY, honey."

"Well, I'm not exactly..."

"If you ain't effn' rollin in it, honey, you ain't in the effn' game," now her face is close enough that I have the unsettling realization that not only does she have a mustache, but that a goodly amount of that hair actually originates in her nose. She is undaunted, "Got that?" she breathes, odors of decay permeating the air. "The boys that want you, THEY are effn' rollin' in it, honey."

I'm still restrained, there is no escape... but I am somewhat curious, "You mean Hornek Tish?"

"YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS 'SKIPPER' OR 'MAAM' OR I WILL HAVE YOU FLOGGED! IS THAT CLEAR?"

I am sure I will lose my hearing from this much audio abuse; likewise, I'm sure my sense of smell will likely lose several degrees of sensitivity. However, I don't say this, what I do say is, "Yes, Ma'am. Do you mean Hornek Tish, Ma'am?"

"That's better. And it turns out he ain't the only one, there is someone else with deep pockets just wanting to shovel me a pile of credits for you alive."

I groan, realizing that there might be things worse than freezing to death in the void.

A rather tall man in an ancient jumpsuit approaches Clair deferentially, "Excuse me, Skipper, but Mary Ann needs permission to speak to Dave."

"Yeah, okay, Professor. See to this clod, the autodoc seems to be havin' trouble with his leg just when everyone suddenly wants him on ONE piece."

"Yes, Skipper. Thank you," he fawns as she turns and heads out of sight. He bends to look at something I can't see; moments later I can feel a new pain in my left leg.

I express myself very clearly, "OWWW! Stop that!"

"I am sorry, but our autodoc is a combination of parts from a 2843 Auran Autodoc Model 450C, a Micro..."

"Am I supposed to be keeping track?" I ask in blunt interruption.

"Well, no, but I thought you might be interested in all the components since their incompatibilities and how I overrode them contributes to its current difficulties."

"Which are?"

"It is trying to create a serviceable replacement."

"For what, exactly?"

"Ah, you can't tell, can you?"

"No," I answer, trying to keep most of my exasperation out of my voice. "Would you care to tell me?"

"Ah, yes. You see, you have lost your left leg below the knee. Space debris moving at extreme velocity obliterated it, probably remains from the annihilation of your former craft, an M50 if I'm not mistaken. I would guess from the ragged nature of the wound when we found you that the offending material was both heavy and possessing a very sharp edge."

There is a sense of shock as his words sink in. "Yeah, I had an M50," is all I can manage.

"As I was saying, our autodoc is having a problem synthesizing the hypoallergenic carbon fiber needed to replicate your missing leg and foot bones. It will take some tweaking, do you mind if I continue?"

I sigh, "No, guess not. Go for it."

"Thank you. The Skipper will be glad when you are mended."

"Yeah, so I can be handed off to the highest bidder."

"Ah, you are to be sold as a slave? Perhaps the Skipper could be persuaded to keep you for herself. She is a passable owner. Do you have any serviceable skills?"

It takes me a few moments to segregate what he has just said into its proper meanings. "Does that mean she owns you also?"

"Yes, sir! And let me tell you, it could be a lot worse."

"Do I want to ask why?"

"Oh, I don't mind. My former owner was a cruel brute. The Skipper rescued me."

"She bought you?"

A loud and obnoxious voice breaks in, "No, he came with the ship." Fat Clair has returned. "This here was Boogeyman's ship; woaho took me on just after I got out of Quarterdeck, musta thought I was property even though I wasn't." She pauses and I see both pain and hatred race across her face before she resumes, "I killed that puchast the second time he tried to rape me; rammed a fastener-driver up under his chin and out the top of his skull."

Somehow, I'm not completely surprised at this description of events.

Claire continues, musing, "Still have his skull somewhere."

The Professor obsequiously addresses her, "Skipper, glad you're back! I was just telling this person how good a owner you are and..."

"Shut it!" she orders and he immediately does so. She looks my way and says, "Well, Dave thinks we should just off ya and sell the corpse like we were supposed to in the beginning. You wanna be dead already?"

"No... Ma'am." I add the latter word rather hastily.

"I see you're catchin' on." She looks over at the Professor and says, "He reminds me a little of Thurston Howell III; after all, he is gonna make us rich!"

"That's great!" he beams, then asks, "How is that, Skipper?

"There are now three parties bidding for him. I've already heard a million credits if he is alive and mostly in one piece."

"You are the best bargainer, Skipper."

She looks at me, "Whatcha got that makes ya worth so much?" She chuckles, "Sure ain't your looks."

"I just know how to piss folks off, I guess."

WHHHAMMMM!

My head rings and it doesn't seem my eyes are working very well. It feels like a smallish asteroid just hit me on the side of my head.

"WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT HOW YOU ADDRESS ME?"

My headache blossoms as the noise seems to vibrate through my still ringing skull.

"Ma'am."

My eyes are starting to work again, only to recognize that she is glaring at me with her face again barely thirty centimeters from mine.

"YOU GONNA OBEY ME OR NOT?" she veritably screams, spittle striking my cheeks and forehead.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good! See that you REMEMBER that, Thurston."

"Ma'am, my name is Shawn R..."

WHHHAMMMM!

Things are swirling... now darkening some... and I seem to smell blood...

…..

I wake to a headache massive enough to scuttle a Bengal. I hesitate to open my eyes, but do anyway. There stand both the Professor and a wan youngish woman who seems nevertheless intense.

"Let me guess," I venture, "Mary Anne?"

She simply nods and makes some odd gestures with her hands. Next to her, the Professor also nods and says, "She says, 'You observe correctly.'"

"She can't speak?"

"Not without Skipper's permission." My expression must reflect my confusion, so he continues, "Skipper caught her trying to call for help not long after we rescued her. I offered to make a shock collar that would train her to keep her from speaking unless Skipper activates a remote release button."

My opinion of the Professor sinks markedly from its already rather pathetic state, and my expression must reflect that. Mary Anne does more motions and the Professor chimes in, "Oh, and Mary Anne says that you shouldn't think I'm evil... wait, was he really thinking that?" Again she gestures and he resumes, "You shouldn't think I was being bad to suggest this, Skipper was originally going to cut out her tongue."

That does offer me a bit of different perspective, "Well, I'm sorry that you can't speak now, Mary Anne. So, can I ask what you..."

A loud klaxon veritably rumbles its warning throughout the ship and both of them sprint suddenly away, leaving me to assess my situation alone. I would guess from the sensations in my extremities that the MUD cleansing is almost done, but I'm obviously not only secured at the head and neck, but there is some form of restraint holding my torso and limbs down also. My right hand feels very odd, and my left leg seems likewise to be there but not... can't really explain the sensation.

The alarm dies out and I start to wonder what it might have been about. My hearing does, however, seem to be working fine and I soon recognize the distant sounds of some ballistic weapons, maybe a point defense, firing up. The Reclaimer is a solid ship; in addition to being rather durable, vibrations and sound travel through the tough old frame, turning any open area into an audio echo chamber. Now I hear the gears from a missile battery as it tries to track a...

THUDDD!

Um, I wonder if our shields are doing okay, that sounded like a missile impact... one a wee bit too close to my location by the sound of it.

The chatter of chain guns and occasional sound of a missile pod reloading are pretty steady, not at all a reassuring sound since it must reflect a prolonged attack.

Suddenly, I feel rather than hear a rather large blast wash, the shock wave almost visible in the walls around me and everything not attached rattles as if a tectonic quake were happening. I also seem to have a sense of disorientation... though nothing would explain that... well, maybe if the entire ship pitched or rolled the momentum change might explain it.

Mass drivers continue their ballistic assault on whomever. There is another Thuddd, though much more distant from the sound of it.

As quickly as it started, the guns seem to fall silent.

In fact, the whole ship seems to have stilled, I can hear the fans in the ventelation shaft and the hum of the grav gens somewhere below my feet... er... well, since I'm not standing, I guess that would be 'below my bed'.

The entrance slides open and an unexpectedly ashen Fat Claire walks in.

"Ma'am," I say, hoping to avoid any more immediate pain, at least until I can defend myself.

"Just who in the hells are you? Really?"

"Shawn Ryan, Ma'am."

"I effn' know that. I want to know why these folks are so hot to get you?"

"Well, Ma'am, if I were to guess, I would say I unintentionally screwed up some Senator's plan to start a war with the Xi'An."

She sags into a handy chair, her weight seems want to crush the poor furnishing even though it appears to be made of durable metallic piping.

"Gods, I knew it was too good to be true."

"May I ask what, Ma'am?"

"Seven of 'em, all at once. Even a damn Super Hornet in there. That one left but his parting shot wuz to say he'd be back."

"That all, Ma'am? Felt like you got a big one in there somewhere."

Now the rest of the color drains from her features. She shakes her head and with unexpected weariness says, "No, that was my partner Dave. They took out his Python gunship... he had an old corvette powersource in there. Nearly blinded me when it went. If he'd been in front of us, we might not be here."

The door opens and the Professor steps quickly in, looking with some concern at Claire. "Skipper, Mary Anne is moving us as ordered to a point an astronomical unit above Pelles' north pole. We are approaching .1c, should be at cruise in three minutes. I am concerned about a high speed coronal hole currently streaming..."

"Shut it! Get the shields up to enough power to hold, we might be there a couple of days. Are you sure we can relay securely from there?"

"Relatively sure, Skipper."

She sighs in a disappointed manner, "Well, do what you can. We have to live long enough to arrange to trade this monster for Imps and then fade away safely."

…..

"Okay, Thurston, try that." The Professor has adopted Clair's misnomer, but for now I'm less interested in arguing the point than I am in whether the fabrication attached to my left leg just below the knee will be serviceable or not. It is marginally connected to my nerves, at least the control nerves, but it seems that most of the sensation network is either not connected right or there isn't that much in the gizmo to get sensory information from.

Well, here goes... I lean forward and am distantly aware that the "foot" is flexing as my weight shifts onto that leg. I do at least make sure that I've got my left hand firmly grasping the railing that runs alongside the medbay.

"Good," the Professor says encouragingly, "now put all your weight on it... can you feel anything?"

"Kinda dull, like the worst case of my leg being asleep."

"Well, I don't have the..."

"I know," I interrupt, "But you have done a remarkable job piecing this thing together, just like that autodoc."

He looks at me strangely, as if aware of something unexpected. "What did you just say?"

"I said I think you've done a remarkable job piecing this medbay together, just like you did with that autodoc. Why, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is... well... wrong. I just feel different... like I got an extra ration of meat without needing to double work to make up for it."

"Now I don't understand," I admit.

Still looking puzzled, he replies, "Neither do I."

With all my weight now on the prosthetic leg, I gingerly let go of the railing and balance myself.

"Yes, that works," he says with one eyebrow raised as if I'm only part way there. Of course, he would be right, the real test comes when I try to take a step with my right leg. I'm sure I should fall down with so little sensation, but my left holds and half the step is complete.

"Yes, good. Now the left."

I lean away from the bionics and swing the leg forward. The foot seems to plant fine and I'm sure enough to start to shift my weight...

It seems like slow motion... down I go, narrowly missing part of the autodoc's turret with my head.

"I think I see where I need to adjust," the Professor offers helpfully.

…..

I'm approaching the Minnow's bridge, Mary Anne under my right arm and the Professor on my left, both helping me negotiate walking the passageways, stepping through the hatches without hanging my feet up on the coaming, and generally orienting me to the cramped quarters of the Reclaimer's insides.

This is the second time we have done this routine, this morning... well, I think of it as morning since I woke up just before, we did the same circuit.

A somewhat familiar klaxon sounds and Clair's voice comes from the bridge, "All hands on deck! Trouble!"

The two immediately abandon me, but I manage to stay upright and hobble onto the bridge itself.

Mary Anne takes what must be the pilot's seat, hands flying over the console and a couple of auxiliary glas as they present themselves. I'm not sure where the Professor has gone, but I do hear the sound of the Minnow's point defenses powering up. Fat Clair settles herself in what must be a firing chair, a small helmet having appeared almost from nowhere with what is likely a targeting screen across the glas face.

"Close and blast protect all exposed portals," she commands and Mary Anne does as ordered. The expanse of view we have is obscured by the large metallic shield that descends with the sound of many gears and the clank of bolts sliding home and locking it into place.

"Professor," Clair yells, "What have you got?"

A speaker near Mary Anne carries his answer, "Skipper, we have four craft that I'm sure of, computer says they are Loaqlaa'..."

"What the hells are they?"

"Banshees?" he asks, trying to find common terms

Clair's expression sours, I suspect she knows what I know... Banshee are well armed deadly craft. "Just our luck. Anything else?"

"Not sure, I keep getting radiation from a point almost directly in front of us, but about thirty klicks out; sensors don't seem to find anything there, but I bet there is something."

"Are the four Banshees together?"

"No, Skipper, they are arrayed in a pyramid, three below and one above."

"Are any of them in range?" she starts to ask, but a large speaker just above Clair's head is suddenly blaring what sounds like human speech with a very heavy Xi'An accent.

"I am Mish Eebek," the mature female voice announces, "Commander of the Xi'An Imperial Frigate Dagg Nogg. We require immediate release of our contractor, Shawn Ryan. Lower your shields and power down your weapons or we will forcibly deconstruct your ship and rescue him ourselves. You have one standard minute to comply."

"You slinks can kiss my ass!" Clair shouts, and I wonder if she had an open channel. She looks around the room and spots me standing there by the door. "Thurston! Get your scrawny old butt over to the conn and tell them to back off!"

Mary Anne points to a slide out chair and after a quick limp I manage to somehow pull the seat out and fall onto it. In front of me are a lot of controls and a microphone. I look at it all and haven't found how to key up when Clair hollers, "Mary Anne, tell him what to use."

For the first time, I hear Mary Anne's voice; her words flowing in a pleasing, almost lilting manner as she says, "Shawn, see that blue button to the right of the grav controls? That is how you key up to speak into that microphone."

"Thanks," I say, trying to smile her way.

"Don't mention..."

"That's quite enough! Shut up, girl."

I would so like to swat Claire, but now is not the time. I reach across the small panel that includes two covered switches... the emergency grav shutdown... and as my finger rests on the key a desperate plan forms.

"Xi'An craft, this is Shawn Ryan. Do you read me, over?" I say, hoping that Claire won't know how inappropriate my greeting is. Actually, I don't remember the officer's name, but I hope she is aware that things are not as they should be.

"Shawn Ryan, I am Commander Mish Eebek. I have an Imperial Directive that we recover your person and transfer you to the Xi'An Embassy in Terra."

I look over and catch Mary Anne's eye, letting my fingers hover for just a moment above the grav system kill switches. For barely a second, her eyes grow big; she glances quickly at Claire and then back at me. She gives a slight nod and just the hint of a smile escapes the corner of her mouth.

Now I key again and reply, "Mish Eebek, I greet you. Please relay this message to Diplomat Athas Mgren: I formally appoint Jurdi Abboud of Terra my sole heir, please..."

Claire screams angrily, "You jackass! Stop that!"

Without looking, I hear Fat Claire unbuckling from her seat. I finish to the Xi'An, "Please forward all I am due to her on my death."

My finger leaves the blue mic key button and slaps the covers away from the red emergency grav kill switches. I flip both of them and push the seat hard backwards; I'm quickly launching into space.

Apparently alarmed, the Professor yells from wherever, "We just lost gravity!"

Claire has discovered the fact for herself as she is now propelled by momentum towards where I had just been sitting.

For a moment, I fear she will reset the gravity, but Mary Anne has decided to throw in her lot with my action; she twists her controller and the right side of the ship dips quickly down. Without gravity or any restraint, Claire slams unceremoniously into the wide viewport, her momentum converted into a bounce that has her suddenly following me as I reach the back of the bridge.

"Skipper! We have lost gravity!" the Professor calls again.

Her face twisted in hatred, the rapidly approaching Claire looks nothing short of murderous. "I'll kill you, Thurston!" she screams, "but first I'll rip your balls off with my bare hands!"

I pull my way down the passageway away from the conn, my malevolent pursuit close enough that I can hear her raspy breath behind me when she isn't spewing invectives.

Ahead is the cargo bay hatch, left partly opened from someone's sloppiness.

I push through the door, but have the sense to grab one of the side rails and pull myself along the wall.

BAMM! Claire slams into the same door, barely two meters behind me. I grab a safety line and push off hard into the room like a swimmer leaving poolside. Looking back, I taunt her, "How ya gonna get me now, witch?"

Claire pushes off from the combing, in her rage launching herself directly at where she expects my momentum to carry me... but she hasn't bothered to grab a tether.

I press the emergency retract on the safety line and the freewheeling winch on the wall suddenly brakes and starts winding the line in. For a second or more, I'm struggling to keep the tether clip from being ripped from my hands, but it finally arrests my movement and begins to pull me back. Claire, and what must be in excess of 150 kilos of personal mass, has no such restraint and continues to fly towards the back wall of the hold.

I reach the hatch just as she violently impacts the far wall. Cursing horribly, she manages to turn around and shoves off for the return trip. I slip through the hatch, closing and dogging it down... effectively locking her in the cargo hold.

"What is going on in here?" the Professor calls from the bridge end of the passageway.

Suddenly, gravity returns and I fall in a heap onto the deck plates.

"Where is the Skipper?!" his alarm is evident as he begins running my way.

"Safe in the cargo hold."

I rise to my feet just before he reaches me.

"Get out of my way!" he shouts, trying to sound commanding. He reaches out to push me aside, but doesn't really know much about how to actually bully someone.

I however, know how to land a good punch and the professor's unguarded stomach takes as good a shot as I've given anyone in a decade or more. I feel pain, it is the same hand that got hurt after I ejected, but the blow crumples the man.

Claire has reached the sealed hatch and is screaming for my blood. If she ever has a chance to do half of what she is promising, there won't be much of me left to save.

The Professor looks up at me and whispers, "Why?"

"I want to be free. She's safe in there for now."

He shakes his head, "She can cut through that door with no trouble, there are torches in the maint locker." He looks stricken, "If you don't let me help her, she'll think we are in on it... she'll kill us all now."

I look around, what can I do to keep her from... murder... my eyes light on the old lever set into the wall nearby. The cargo dump lever. The old "what is in my hold ain't worth my life, I'll give the pirates what they want" lever. It would be murder, perhaps... or maybe self defense.

The Professor shakily rises and lurches towards the sealed hatch.

I reach over to the lever and command, "Stop!"

He does, turning to see me as I pull down the shaft. The ship shudders violently and Clair's screams of rage change for a few seconds into one of abject terror before she is suddenly silent.

"You killed her..." the Professor's voice fades and I realize that Mary Anne is standing there behind me. I turn to her and see a first dazzling smile.

From the conn a loud Xi'An voice calls, "Reclaimer, explain yourself!"

"The Xi'An!" I exclaim and we are suddenly sprinting... okay, I'm not sprinting, rather hobble hopping... back to the bridge. It's obvious that we have been taking fire, though so far our shields have absorbed the energy. I do see two sectors with no more than 20% left, at least it seems no mass weapons have been used. "Mary Anne, take weapons offline!"

She glances my way, puzzled, but does what I've said. I reach the mic I'd used earlier and key up, "Commander... um... please forgive me but I have forgotten your name, Shē'sueren! We've had an unexpected change of command, please give us a minute to gather ourselves and assess the situation. We will power down shields as soon as we see your craft return to the pyramid formation."

"Shawn Ryan, Shē'sueren. I am Commander Mish Eebek. I grant you three standard stamin, but if you move or power your weapons back up, we will attack again."

"Understood and thank you, Commander Mish Eebek."

"What are we going to do?" the Professor asks plaintively.

"First, get her neck thing off," I answer, pointing at Mary Anne. "I need to hear from her, too."

At first, his expression is rebellious. Then, almost as if a light has gone on, his countenance changes and he says, "Yes, Skipper."

"I need the sensors on the main display, please."

Mary Anne's hands fly over her console and the sensor results quickly appear. The Banshees have indeed moved back into a pyramid and I order, "Shields down, please."

I'm beginning to orient to the way things are laid out; a lot of it is normally at the pilot's position, but right now, well I seem to feel like I need to take control, at least until...

"Thank God!" Mary Anne exclaims and suddenly is right up in front of me. She plants an impassioned French kiss on me that would light a puddle of water on fire. "And thank you, my hero," she breathes as she pulls away.

"What now, Skipper?" the Professor patiently asks.

"First, let's get this settled: do you both want me in charge?"

"I have no say," he pronounces as if it were obvious.

Mary Anne has no such qualms, "Yes! You rescued us."

"Well, you rescued me, too. Besides, Professor, you have as much say as anyone else."

"Slave, remember?"

"To whom?"

"Well, you defeated the last Skipper, so you are my master now.

"I don't think so. You're freed."

"That isn't how it works."

"If I am your master, then I have the right to set you free, don't I?"

"Well, I guess technically..."

"I don't own slaves, it's a matter of principal; so if I own you now, I'm setting you free. There, it's done. Now, I want your opinion."

Mary Anne grins at the Professor, "See, I told you he was special."

He nods. Looking back at me, he says, "Then I still think you are the Skipper."

"Okay. Let me see what the Xi'An will let..."

Over the open comms, a new voice declares, "Xi'An vessels, this is the UEE Naval Vessel Pride of New Austin. You are to withdraw from engaging the UEE tagged vessel SS Minnow."

"Pride of New Austin, this is the Commander of the Xi'An Imperial Frigate Dagg Nogg. We are on Imperial business in unclaimed space and are not currently attacking the Minnow."

"Dagg Nogg, you will withdraw. This vessel is under the protection of the UEE Navy."

I decide this is a good point to key up, "Um, Pride of New Austin, we are working this out just fine. Thanks for the offer of protection, but I work for the Xi'An and we are making acceptable arrangements."

The line is unexpectedly dead and when I glance over at Mary Anne, I get an odd sensation that she is afraid.

Finally, a different voice enters the conversation, "Say again, SS Minnow?"

"We are just fine, thank you for the offer of assistance."

"To whom am I speaking?"

"Shawn Ryan, Captain of the Minnow... at least until I can change the name or sell this thing."

Silence returns and I notice that Mary Anne has raised the shields.

"What?" I ask her and she pales before she answers, "One of the bidders for you was someone from the Navy."

"Oh. Well, that explains a lot."

She nods and I ask the Professor, "Would you mind manning the point defenses in case we need it?"

"Right away, Skipp... oh, um, yeah, I will. Thanks for asking." He has that strange look on his face... the same one he had earlier.

"SS Minnow, I see that your craft is registered to Claire Smith. Is the owner there?"

I think about the legal reasons for taking the ship, and for just a moment none come to mind.

Then I hear Mary Anne quietly say, "Slaves."

My turn, "Under UEE law, relief of slaves from illegal imprisonment constitutes grounds to seize a vessel. The former owner had been keeping two slaves under brutal conditions. Said owner also attempted to sell me into slavery and I objected. In single combat, I prevailed. The spoils are mine, I have freed the slaves and claim all rights to the remaining property including this vessel. So you are speaking to the owner, I just haven't gotten it to a proper UEE port to transfer the registration."

No response from the line, but I spin the sensors up to full and there off our port flank sits an Idris and several Hornets. They are holding a position about twenty klicks out. I also see that the Banshees have repositioned closer to the Dagg Nogg, making a loose claw pointing back towards the Pride of New Austin.

The silence breaks, but again, we have a new voice, "Well, now ain't this a happy party. I'd say we all bid on the bastard and ol' Fatso is again holding out for a higher bid. Am I right?"

Our ventral scanners are picking up movement right at the edge of our range. Ventral is likely the Reclaimer's softest side, so I ask Mary Anne, "Would you turn us over so whomever this is is coming from our top side?"

She smiles and I feel the massive thrusters execute a fairly swift inversion. She also says, "I think that was the Super Hornet pilot we had the shootout with last time."

I have an insight about the Navy and play my hunch, "Pride of New Austin, is Captain Priest available to speak?"

"Very good, Mr. Ryan," comes the quick answer.

I look at the sensors and see that whoever is approaching, they must have fifteen ships, though none is as big as either frigate. I continue to the Captain, "Well, I would say you can let the newcomers take advantage of the standoff and shoot us up pretty bad, or you can make a truce with Commander Eebek and we can take these pirates on as a combined force."

"I still like the way you think, Ryan. Just wish you were doing it in a Navy uniform. Truce, Dagg Nogg?"

Though her accent is thick with what I'm sure is excitement, she tries to calmly answer, "Truce is agreed, Pride of New Austin."

"What the hells is going on here?" newcomer asks.

Emboldened by the allies I seem to have, it is my turn, "You were about to turn tail and run, weren't you?"

"Who the hells am I talking to? Where is Fat Claire?"

"She went EVA without a space suit. I'm Shawn Ryan, I believe you were looking for me."

"You can die, you traitorous whoaho!"

His ships all accelerate to attack speeds.

"Shields dorsal!"

"Got it!" Mary Anne crisply responds.

Missiles are in the air... well. They are in space, but I mean the same thing. The Professor says as much, "Missiles inbound!"

"Chaff and flares!"

"Chaff and flares away!"

I notice that the Hornets and Banshees are no longer static, diving into the fray with what can only be abandon.

Mary Anne is also paying attention and we are taking as much evasive action as this lumbering tub can. Above me, I hear the swisshhh of missile exhaust on our hull as our own batteries open up with a vengeance.

"Use Claire's helmet to take control of the mass drivers," Mary Ann suggests and I see the logic of her idea. I scoot over to the recliner and grab the helmet, though I stay in my seat. It takes seconds to adjust the size down to where it fits me comfortably, next the stupid thing takes precious seconds more adjusting to my eyes. Then it all becomes clear and I'm tracking bogeys. Only I'm not shooting anything. "Why am I not shooting anything?" I ask.

"Her joystick is attached to the lounger. You'll need to sit there until the Professor rigs up a new one."

I reluctantly sink into the vile and stinky seat; my hand takes a minute to adjust to where the joystick is, then my index finger presses a trigger. I suddenly feel the power as twin chainguns spew slugs at an approaching Cutlass; its shields light up and I imagine I can see sparks flying from its armor as it tries to reach us. The Banshees working as a team, the four of them concentrating on targets, eating ships as if they were paper. The Hornets are paired up, doing almost as much damage from their own formations. Missiles seem to be flying everywhere and in the middle of it all, I'm spraying mass like guided shrapnel at targets in red.

One target moves in front of us and I hear a second pair or our Gatling guns open up... the target shatters quickly while its lasers pew pew off our shields. Missiles from our silos are again streaking towards targets and the flashes from explosions are all around.

Then it is over. Fifteen kills in an eternal two minutes... think what we could accomplish if our races could get along all the time.

"This is Pride of New Austin. Well, Shawn, Minnow isn't appropriate. Should we retag you, 'Shark'?"

"We're fine here. Thank you New Austin and Dagg Nogg. I don't think we would be here if you hadn't both happened along."

"Shawn Ryan," Commander Eebek says, "Are you ready to transfer to our craft now?"

"Thank you for your courtesy, Mish Eebek. However, I respectfully request permission to remain with the Minnow. Would you please escort my craft to Terra? With Captain Priest's permission, of course?"