SPACE PIRATE FERRETS! (Part 1) by Angrywino
 
>"Route plotted."
>"Final warning, please ensure that the cabin and its contents are secure."
>"Crew, please take your safety positions."
>"Supercharging complete, drives nominal. Final countdown for hyperspace entry. Ten... nine... eight..."
>You grit your teeth and cinch your safety harness just that little bit tighter.
>This is by no means your first hyperspace jump, but the feminine voice of the ship's computer calmly reciting the pre-jump checklist always gives you a sense of anxiety.
>Not that there was much to worry about.
>The courier vessel's hull was an innocuous shape, directly copied from the hulls of literally millions of such courier vessels that plied the trade routes.
>But it was much more cramped within, to accommodate the extra engine power and armor that belied its true purpose.
>This is a hell of a valuable cargo you're carrying, the kind that shadowy agents of alien governments would kill for.
>But once you're clear of the planetary systems and in hyperspace, its not as though they'd be able to catch you.
>"Three... two... one... initiating."
>Yeah, whoever programmed that computer couldn't pick a more interesting word than that, could they.
>Out of habit you reflexively close your eyes as a powerful thrum builds throughout the hull, and the courier vessel's drives propel you beyond light, beyond reason, into hyperspace.
>"Hyperspace insertion achieved. Calculated transit time is one hour and thirty-seven minutes."
>Once that transition between realities is achieved, the environment becomes much more tolerable.
>You unclip yourself from the pilot's couch, the navigational computer will handle the hyperspace transit without any further intervention from you.
>And an hour and a half is plenty of time to take a dump and have some lunch.
 
>======<
 
>The courier ship's small but serviceable galley actually has some fairly nice food, a perk of the armored courier business.
>Given the cargoes you transport, they naturally expect a great deal more from you than to simply be an interstellar truck driver.
>The company exclusively recruits combat veterans, and trains them to be very protective of said cargoes.
>A soft chime signals that the convection oven has completed warming your food, and you reach over from the small table to retrieve it.
>Roast turkey breast, gravy, seasoned bread stuffing, buttery mashed potatoes, string beans, and peas.
>Happy Thanksgiving, in hyperspace.
>Well, it's not as if you had a family to spend it with, so you were happy to take this pop-up run.
>The bonus they promised you for successful delivery was a nice little incentive as well.
>This may not be the easiest of jobs, but they sure do take good care of their couriers.
>And in hyperspace, there's very little to worry about.
>Or so you think until about midway through your meal, when the air around you suddenly takes on a sticky yellowish cast and you find yourself unable to move.
/What the... inertial dampeners? In hyperspace?/
>You're nowhere near your exit point yet, so this is concerning to say the least.
>As is a split second later, when the lighting goes out and the hull makes a massive groaning sound.
>Even with the dampeners on you can still feel the terrific forces vying for control of you, and if not for the dampeners you would probably be a gooey red mess on the bulkhead by now.
>Then suddenly the rough shaking is over and your hearing comes back, as evidenced by the cacophony of alarms.
>The lighting is still out, but the red emergency lighting kicks in.
>You rush to the pilothouse, where the flickering displays indicate that the ship has dropped out of hyperspace, and the main drives are offline.
>"Critical systems on Auxiliary Power."
>That'll be the computer with more bad news.
>From the chronometer, only 42 minutes had elapsed since you entered hyperspace, so you're approximately less than halfway there.
>You silence the alarms and drop into the pilot's chair, then set about trying to reset tripped breakers.
"Computer, report position."
>"Working. Unable to resolve position, local stellar bodies not recognized. Long-range sensors are off-line. Navigation computer off-line."
"Shit. Computer, what happened?"
>"Working. Flight log: Unknown energy field detected, activated inertial dampeners, energy field caused warp instability, emergency normal-space re-entry successful. Main drives are off-line."
"Computer, time to restore?"
>"Working. Unable to determine, multiple sensors off-line."
/Energy field caused warp instability? Shit! A warp-breaker!/
>Warp-breakers were a weapon of war, that could yank a vessel traveling in hyperspace back into normal space.
>They required a good deal of technical sophistication to use effectively.
>They were also outlawed.
>Some natural phenomenon couldn't be ruled out yet though...
>"Caution. Proximity alert."
"Computer, identify."
>"Working. Artifact. Power source detected."
/Another ship. So this is a hijacking./
"Computer, power weapons."
>"Unable to comply. Main drives are off-line."
"Shit!"
>The ship had pretty powerful defensive weapons, but they relied on the main drives to power them.
>"Proximity alert, contact imminent."
>In the silence that follows you hear the unmistakeable sounds of docking clamps resonate through the hull.
/Whoever they are they intend to board./
"Computer, distress signal."
>A protective cover flips open and you smack the large red button it reveals.
>The emergency beacon has its own power supply, but obviously you have no idea how close help might be.
"Computer, lockdown. Repel boarders."
>A larger panel at the back of the pilot house slides open, and you reach in and grab a plasma rifle, the biometric lock automatically releasing the weapon into your grasp.
>You have a choice now.
>You can lock yourself in the armored pilothouse and hope you can hold out until help reaches you.
>Or you can try to fight off the boarding party from the cargo hold, which also has the only way on or off the ship.
>That assuming they can make it past the ship's physical defenses of course.
>But you have no idea what's working and what's not right now, so you opt to defend the hold, with falling back to the pilothouse as Plan B.
>As you set up in the hold's covered position, you cast a glance at the large black casket clamped to the deck, wondering again just what the cargo is that would warrant such a bold attack.
>"Outer airlock breach."
/Dammit./
"Computer, silence. Command lockout, 724651."
>"Command authenticated."
>That's it, you're now on your own until you unlock the computer with your ident code, or until help comes.
>A glaringly bright light momentarily seizes your attention, as whoever is in the airlock begins cutting their way into the ship.
>You reach for the control pad and extinguish the lighting in the hold, then train your rifle on the airlock.
>The cargo hold is eerily illuminated by the flashing alarm indicators and the sparks from the cutting beam.
>You close your eyes in an attempt to save your night vision from the cutter's flare, until the beam audibly stops.
>You open your eyes in time to see the inner airlock hatch fall onto the deck, revealing six bipedal figures, each a little more than a meter high.
>They don't seem to be wearing armor, but that's all you have time to see before they scatter out of the airlock and melt into the darkness just as you fire.
>As you search for a target, a chorus of high squeaky voices shouts, "MUSTELA PUTORIUS FURO!!!"
>It seems to come from everywhere, and is followed by laughter, still denying you a clear target.
>"Guess what, sweetie..."
>You fire again, the plasma bolt throwing sparks as it impacts the armored bulkhead.
>"We can see better in the dark than you can!"
>You squeeze off one last shot before something heavy and painfully hard connects solidly with your head, sending you sprawling to the deck.
>"I GOT HIM!!"
>Your consciousness begins to fade.
>"No, I got him."
>The last thing you hear before everything goes black is, "Dammit Jenna, I saw him first!"
 
>======<
 
>The first thing filtering into your slowly re-emerging consciousness is a throbbing headache.
>Hardly surprising.
>You're actually more surprised to find yourself regaining consciousness at all.
>You open your eyes, but the bright light immediately makes you regret it.
>You caught an impression of a sort of blue blur surrounded by a gray blur.
>Then you discover you can't move.
>The reason for your enforced immobility seems to be that you are bound to a chair.
>Correction.
>Bound naked to a chair.
>That's not a good sign.
>The events leading up to your sudden loss of consciousness come flooding back into your memory and jolt you further towards consciousness.
>You feebly test your bonds, and discover that whoever tied you up did a pretty good job of it.
>Wincing from the pain, you force your eyes to open once more, and try to make sense of the information they report to you.
>Big gray blur, with a blue and black blur in the middle of it.
>"Wow, you're actually waking up?"
>The voice sounds high-pitched and feminine, but also sounds like it's coming from the other end of a drainpipe.
>The blue and black blur shifts slightly, and is now a blue, black, and cream-colored blur.
>"Hey, give Doc a call, we've got a survivor!"
>You blink a couple times, trying to clear your vision.
>The blue blur gradually resolves into a bipedal form with stubby legs, covered in blue fur, with a cream-colored front, wearing a black tube top and shorts, and a leather tool belt carrying an absurd amount of tools.
>The creature's eyes have a black band around them, giving it a masked appearance, and vaguely triggering a distant memory.
>It also seems to be smiling, so maybe it's not all bad news.
>Correction. It's smiling at you from the other side of some very stout-looking metal bars.
>A loudspeaker overhead comes alive with a feminine voice, "Doc, you're needed in the brig."
>"So what have you got to say for yourself?"
"Wwwhhuurrr..."
>You swallow, but that doesn't seem to do much for your dry throat.
"W-wher'm I?"
>The furry blue creature's face clouds a bit.
>"I was hoping for something more imaginative than that. You're on our ship, in the brig."
"Who are you?"
>The smile returns. "I'm Zoe- wait a minute, you're our prisoner. You're supposed to tell me who you are."
"No, I mean, who are you people?"
>"Nope, you first. Name."
>You hesitate, but you clearly aren't giving up much by telling them your name.
"Anonymous."
>"Hah, a made-up name if I ever heard one," a new voice growls.
>The voice's owner comes into view, a cigar clamped in her teeth and slightly taller than Zoe, covered with white fur and a holstered sidearm.
>And nothing else.
>You immediately deduce that the newcomer is female because she has a hell of a rack on her.
"Yeah, my mom and dad made it up."
>"Watch your mouth or watch yourself bleed, Pinky."
>Another newcomer, gray-furred but for a shock of red hair atop her head comes into view.
>Also clearly female, she wears only a white coat, open at the front, with a few medical instruments stuffed into her pockets.
>"This the patient?"
>They're all female, you note.
>And here you are, tied naked to a chair.
>This is officially the most awkward workday you have ever had.
>"He just woke up, and Jenna did ring his bell pretty hard."
>Zoe manipulates a control you can't see and some of the bars slide into the deck.
>The gray one with the white coat looks expectantly at the others.
>"Well? You don't expect me to examine him like this, do you?"
/Examine?/
>The tall white one pulls out a wicked-looking curved knife and advances on you with it.
>Your burst of fear turns out to be unfounded when she uses it to cut the ropes.
>Whitey then retreat a bit, draws her sidearm and levels it at your head.
>"Behave or be toast, Pinky. Savvy?"
>You don't need to be told twice.
>"Hi Anonymous, I'm Doc. You've met Zoe, and Miss Personality here is Romy. Can you stand?"
>Romy flicks the muzzle of her sidearm upwards a couple of times, gesturing for you to stand.
>You attempt to do so, but the room immediately begins to spin.
>Zoe and Doc both grab you, stopping you from falling onto your face.
>"Move it Zoe, you're fouling my line of fire!"
>"Geez, Romy, lighten up, can't you?"
>"It's my considered medical opinion that you can put your gun away Romy. He ain't about to start a fight in his current condition."
>Romy growls, but holsters her weapon.
>She keeps her eyes firmly fixed on you though.
>"You still with us Anonymous?"
>You straighten up as best you can.
"Yeah".
>"Okay then. Ain't you a tall drink of water? I caution you that I ain't never seen whatever you are before, so I'm just gonna hope that your guts are laid out in more or less the same place as ours are."
>You jump slightly as a cold circle of metal presses to your chest.
>"Yep, there's the heart. So far so good then."
>Doc listens to your lungs as well, pronouncing them clear.
>The loudspeaker overhead blares again.
>"Chief Engineer, you're needed in Engine Room Two."
>"Oops," Zoe says apologetically, "that's me. Can you get along without me Doc?"
>"Go on, scoot. I've got this."
>"Okay." Zoe releases her hold on you and scampers out of the cell and down the passageway.
>"Well, Sunshine, now that we're alone together..."
>You yelp as you feel a slim paw grasp your junk.
"Uh, Doc, do you really have to--"
>"Trust me, I'm a doctor," She purrs at you. "Turn your head and cough."
>Blushing furiously, you comply.
>"Normal, healthy reaction. And on a personal note, nice package."
>Doc turns you loose and pats your butt.
>"He'll live, but he probably won't enjoy it much for a while."
>Doc exits the cell and Romy presses that unseen control again, causing the bars to slide closed.
"Can I have some water?"
>Doc and Romy exchange a look.
>"Couldn't hurt."
>Romy retrieves a bottle from somewhere and shoves it between the bars as Doc leaves.
>Doc calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
>"When it reaches the other end, just push open that panel in the wall there for sanitary relief."
"Thanks."
>It can't possibly hurt to be polite in your current situation.
"And, uh, could I have my clothes back please?"
>Romy stops and turns to face you, her gaze sweeping coldly up and down your form.
>It makes you self conscious enough to put a hand over your privates.
>Romy returns her gaze to your face and smirks at you.
>"No."
>And without further comment she is gone as well.
>Leaving you alone and naked on a strange ship.
>Well, they didn't kill you.
>That's something.
>You guess.
>You pull the bottle from between the bars and open it, taking a small sip as you sink back down onto the chair.
"Fine."
>Being a prisoner is just about the most boring thing ever.
>Having nothing to do except listen to your head complain, you explore your cell.
>It takes all of two minutes.
>As Doc had promised, pressing on a squarish panel in the corner causes it to revolve, revealing a small, plain steel basin.
>Too small for you to take a dump in, but large enough for you to relieve the mounting pressure on your bladder.
>You revolve the panel again to put it away, and you can hear something rinse it out.
>There is a much larger panel on the other side of the cell, and a bit of fiddling later, you get it to fold down out of the wall and slot neatly into the top of the chair.
>Doing so reveals a small bunk with a thin padding.
>No sheets, of course, so you're still left with nothing to cover your nakedness.
>But, screw it.
>Your head is still pissed off at whoever knocked you out, and complaining about it.
>So you decide the best course of action is to lie down and have a nap.
>Of course the bunk is too small for you.
>But hopefully your headache will have subsided somewhat by the time you wake up.
>Your body agrees in principle, and sleep comes quickly.
 
>======<
 
>You awaken, you have no idea how much later, to the sound of giggling.
>Your headache is not as bad, so you look up to see what the source of it is.
>You appear to have an audience.
>Some half-dozen or so furry faces are staring at you through the bars and giggling.
>You also appear to have morning wood.
/Really?/
>With a grunt, you turn and face the wall.
"G'wan, beat it."
>This prompts a chorus of disappointed groans and catcalls.
>"Nice butt!"
>Sleeping is apparently no longer an option.
>You sit up, deciding to see if any of them will tell you more about your current situation than your last visitors did.
"Who are you people anyhow?"
>"Oh, a curious one!"
>"Let's introduce ourselves to him! We're the crew of the Serpent's Adventure!"
>This gets a chorus of cheers from the assembled faces.
>"Our battle cry is 'Mustela Putorius Furo'!"
>"MUSTELA PUTORIUS FURO!!!" the assembled crowd choruses in response.
>"Says it all, really, doesn't it?" the self-appointed spokeswoman caps off, looking rather pleased with herself.
"It says 'ferret'."
>Instantly all the smiles melt away, leaving an awkward silence for a moment.
>"Wow. Rude."
"What? That's what you are, aren't you? Ferrets? That's what you look like to me, anyhow."
>"What's a ferret?" a lone voice asks.
>"We call ourselves the Tika," the spokeswoman tells you with evident pride.
>"I told you he was an espo," another voice says.
>This causes you to bristle, since "espo" is slang for "Security Police", the law-enforcement branch of the Corporate Sector Authority, and it's one of the kinder things they're called.
"Fuck you in the neck, I ain't no brown-shirt bully-boy."
>"You talk like one. They call us ferrets too. It's insulting."
>You hadn't realized you were being offensive, but you're not in any mood to debate the point or apologize.
"Duly noted."
>"Don't you all have duties to attend to?" A loud voice proclaims, causing the assembled gawkers to jump.
>"Yes ma'am!"
>Your audience clears out with inhuman speed, revealing Romy with a fresh cigar in her teeth and carrying a small bundle.
>Romy shoves the bundle through the bars at you.
>"Make yourself decent, Pinky. You're going to meet The Captain."
>With a sigh, you hop down from the bunk and fold it back into the wall to give yourself some room.
>The bundle proves to be your uniform, though someone has gone over it and removed everything metallic, to include the belt buckle.
"How about some privacy?"
>Romy draws her sidearm and points it at you.
>"How about hurry the fuck up?"
 
>======<
 
>Moments later, having dressed yourself at gunpoint, Romy lets you out of the cell and marches you down a series of passages.
>You pass through an airlock and arrive at a cavernous space.
>You deduce that this is the hanger bay, since your courier vessel is sitting in the middle of it.
>You inspect what you can see quickly, noting that it doesn't appear to be seriously damaged.
>"Inside," Romy tells you.
>They've lowered the cargo ramp, so you shrug and walk up, avoiding the hole they made when they cut their way into your ship.
>One of the Tika, (must remember not to call them ferrets) wearing a long blue coat with gold trim, turns towards you at your approach.
>"So you're Anonymous. I'm Captain Will."
>You notice right away that she isn't wearing anything under the coat.
>Are all these crazy pirates female?
"Short for Wilma?"
>"I hate that name."
"Duly noted."
>You notice Zoe, the blue-furred Chief Engineer from earlier, examining the casket secured to the deck of your hold.
"I wouldn't mess with that if I were you."
>"Please, I know what I'm doing." Zoe grunts, not bothering to look at you.
"Okay, don't say I didn't warn you."
>You turn to leave, only to be immediately stopped by Romy and her pistol.
>"Warn us about what?" The Captain asks.
>You hesitate, but Zoe's continued tinkering with the casket prompts you to act.
"That's a MK4 Secure Transport Container. It's equipped with a demolition charge that will kill everyone here if you don't unlock it properly."
>To your relief, Zoe immediately ceases her tinkering.
>"Why would you tell us something like that?" Romy growls suspiciously.
"Duh, I'm standing right here. I'd be killed too."
>"Fair point," The Captain concedes. "How about you save us some bother and open it for us then?"
"I can't."
>The Captain sighs tiredly.
>"I admire your dedication to duty, human. But I don't really have a lot of patience for it."
>In one smooth motion, the Captain draws a small pistol from somewhere you can't see and fires into the deck directly between your feet.
>You jump as sparks from the bolt's impact lightly scorch your feet, since Romy hadn't brought you your boots.
"WHOA-WHOA-WHOA! CALM DOWN!"
>"Open it!"
"I literally can't! I don't have the key or the passcode, only the receiving entity has those!"
>After a pause, the Captain gives a derisive snort.
>"Typical humans. They don't even trust their own kind. So where was this going?"
>The Captain and Romy are both pointing guns at you now, so you really only have one card left to play.
"The navigational destination was Mytus VI, but that's as much as I know. Details are on the manifest in the computer, but it went into lockdown when you guys attacked my ship."
>You have the code to unlock the computer, of course, but they don't need to know that.
>All the same, the Captain seems to sense that you're withholding something.
>"We could torture him," Romy suggests, with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm.
>The Captain scowls briefly at her, before returning her attention to you.
>"You know, you really don't owe your employer anything."
"You're pointing guns at me. They sign my paycheck. Do the math."
>A dangerous moment passes.
>"You're right," the Captain says suddenly, putting away her pistol. "But you're missing the big picture. Come with me."
>The Captain turns and strides down the ramp, and Romy prompts you to follow by jabbing the muzzle of her pistol into your ribs.
>You proceed through the airlock into the ship, up a ladder and down another passage.
>May as well make conversation.
"So what kind of name is 'Serpent's Adventure' anyhow?"
>"We had a contest."
"And that name won?"
>"It was the runner-up, but I refuse to name my ship 'Angry Bitch In Heat'."
>You proceed through a few more twists and turns until you arrive at a door which the Captain pushes open.
>You find yourself in a largish cabin, with a bed, and a desk holding a computer terminal, which the Captain sits down in front of.
>"Time to seek guidance from the client."
"So you're not pirates, you're mercenaries."
>The Captain ignores you as she opens an application for a hyperspace comm-link.
>Real-time conversations aren't really possible over the hideous distances between stars, but with specialized equipment, you can send short text messages via hyperspace data burst.
>It has the added advantage of being a very secure line, since it's damn near impossible to intercept hyperspace data bursts.
>"When I say you don't owe your employer anything, I'm not just trying to motivate you to cooperate. Watch and learn."
>The Captain taps on the keyboard, and you watch the text scroll across the screen.
>WE HAVE THE PACKAGE AND ARE READY TO DELIVER.
>There is a lag as the data burst is sent.
"So who's your client?"
>Romy pokes you with her gun, but surprisingly the Captain answers your question.
>"We don't know, but the comm-link relay is the Jaophus system, if that means anything to you."
>It does.
>Jaophus IV is where you live and work, and where this disastrous courier run was dispatched from.
>Jaophus IV is also the only world in the system with a hyperspace comm relay.
>You feel no need to tell her that though.
>The terminal emits a short beep, and a response appears on the screen.
>EXCELLENT. AND THE PILOT?
>The Captain's fingers dance over her keyboard again.
>KILLED IN THE EXCHANGE OF FIRE, AS YOU REQUESTED.
>Your eyebrows rise in surprise.
"I don't feel very dead."
>"I can fix that," Romy growls in your ear.
>"Waste not, want not," the Captain admonishes you both.
>Beep.
>GOOD. A PITY TO LOSE HIM BUT I ALWAYS SAY GOOD BUSINESS IS WHERE YOU FIND IT.
>An icy feeling descends in the pit of your stomach.
>The Captain taps at her keyboard.
>USUAL DELIVERY?
/That bastard. That son-of-a-bitching BASTARD!/
>Beep.
>OF COURSE. BONUS AS AGREED.
>The Captain closes the comm-link application and turns to look at you.
>"Something wrong, Anonymous?"
>She's right.
>You don't owe that fat, chain-smoking faggot a goddam thing.
"The guy you're talking to sounds a hell of a lot like my boss."
>You grit your teeth.
"I can confirm that he does, in fact, always say that."
>That line about good business is common enough, but the way that lard-bottomed asshole used it bordered on obsession.
>"Why don't you go back to your cell and think it over. Better think fast though, time is of the essence."
 
>======<
 
>As Romy conducts you back to the detention area (at gunpoint, naturally, this is Romy we're talking about), your mind races.
>On the face of it, it seems as though your boss sold you out to these pirates.
>You can't entirely discount the possibility that the hyperspace conversation was arranged for your benefit.
>But it certainly seems like something that soulless, bloodsucking fuck would do.
>That bastard would fuck a snake if there was any profit to be had from it, and if he could get it to hold still long enough.
>And there was the use of that signature phrase about good business, too.
>Your thoughts are interrupted by a slim paw squeezing your ass.
>You yelp at the unexpected contact, and turn to see Doc leering lasciviously at you over her shoulder as she walks down the passage in the other direction.
>That red hair atop the lab coat is unmistakeable.
>"Feeling better Anonymous? Drop in sometime for a more thorough examination."
>You don't feel that much better, in light of recent revelations.
>A prod in your ribs from a gun muzzle refocuses your attention on the task at hand.
>"Keep moving. Plenty of time for that later."
>You really want to ask Romy what she means by that, but you wisely keep your questions to yourself.
>Romy has no chill, after all.
>Your mind gets back to speed almost immediately.
>So your boss probably sold you out.
>What are you going to do about it?
>And just what the hell is your cargo anyhow?
>The shipping manifest was pretty vague, but they don't just ship anything in a MK4.
>The more you think about your circumstances, the fishier they begin to smell.
>And it's not as if you really trusted Transfer Service, or the Corporate Sector Authority, or particularly that land-whale of a boss.
>The question is, can you trust these ferrets?
>Tika.
>Musn't insult the gun-toting pirates, after all.
>"Home sweet home," Romy says, operating the control to open your cell.
"Be it ever so humble."
>Romy pushes you in and shuts the bars.
>"Get used to it, Pinky. You're going to be our guest for a while."
"Only because someone got very lucky with a warp breaker. You never would have caught me otherwise."
>Romy had been about to leave, but she stiffened at your first comment and returned to the bars of your cell.
>You are only slightly relieved to note that she had holstered her sidearm.
>"Say that again to my face, Pinky."
"People don't just pull armored hyperspace couriers over and hijack them. So someone got really lucky w-URK!"
>Romy's paw shoots between the bars and grabs you by the throat, then yanks you towards her.
>Your headache gets worse as your head connects solidly with the bars.
>"Good gunners don't need luck, savvy?" Romy hisses in your face, "Good gunners got skills, and I'm the best there is!"
>With that assertion she shoves you roughly away from the bars and stalks away, muttering darkly to herself.
>You groan and pick yourself up.
>It had cost you some intensification of your headache, but you consider it a fair trade for what Romy just pridefully told you.
>There was no way they could have intercepted you with a warp breaker without knowing your track in advance.
>So someone told them you would be coming.
>Someone with complete knowledge of your route.
/If I ever meet that fat bastard again, I'm going to boil him down for soap. Slowly./
>Your vengeful thoughts are interrupted by a bubbling rumble from your midsection.
>Yeah. You haven't eaten anything since your ship was hijacked.
>So now your head and your stomach were complaining.
"I wonder if they have room service."
>You chuckle drily at your humorous observation, probably the only comfort you can expect from it.
>"Ahem," a small, polite voice drifts in from the bars.
>So your audience is returning already.
>Good thing you have your clothes on this time.
>You're still facing the wall, rubbing the fresh bruise on your noggin, and you're not feeling very polite at the moment.
"Whaddaya want..."
>"I, uh, I just thought you might be hungry," the voice says timidly.
>Suddenly you're feeling more polite.
>You turn and see a slightly smaller, brown-furred Tika, wearing a plain gray apron and holding a container of some kind.
"I am, actually."
>The newcomer smiles nervously and turns the container on its side, and slides it neatly between the bars.
>You notice that there isn't much behind the apron. Is this a male Tika?
>You decide to see what a smile gets you as you take the proffered container.
"Thanks. What's on the menu?"
>The newcomer's smile broadens slightly in response to yours.
>"Well, not much I'm afraid. I added some broth for flavor though, otherwise it's like eating wet cardboard."
>You sit and open the container, revealing a warm pile of mush topped with a plastic utensil of some kind.
>You give it a sniff.
"Smells pretty good, actually."
>You're not lying.
>"I'm Andy, by the way," the newcomer announces, his voice getting slightly steadier, "I'm the ship's cook."
"Anonymous."
>You spoon some of the mush and chew it thoughtfully.
>Yeah, kinda like wet cardboard alright, but it does have a tolerably pleasant flavor to it, which you guess comes from the broth.
>"Um, I don't mean to seem rude, but what are you?"
>You swallow and scoop up another bite.
"Human. Haven't you met us before?"
>"No, I haven't. This is my first trip away from home, actually."
"Really?"
>He nods.
"So what made you decide to be a pirate?"
>Andy actually blushes at this question, and fidgets nervously before answering.
>"I'm not a pirate, I'm a cook. There aren't many good jobs for males on Tikala though."
>He fidgets some more before continuing.
>"Any job in space has to be more interesting than being stuck planetside all the time though, right? I mean, isn't that why you became an espo?"
>This again. You manage to keep your cool though, since Andy fed you.
"I'm not Security Police. I work for a private company."
>You chuckle ruefully at your words.
"Worked, actually. In light of recent events, I guess I've been fired. And even if I wasn't, I quit."
>You scoop up the last of the food that Andy brought you, then put the utensil backside the container before closing it and passing it back through the bars.
"Thanks for the food, and I mean that sincerely."
>Andy brightens at your praise.
>"You're welcome!" He moves to take the container, but you hold on to it.
"Hey Andy, could you do me another favor?"
>Andy searches your face uncertainly.
>"Maybe..."
"Could you give a message to the Captain for me?"
>Andy arches an eyebrow in surprise and his pupils dilate slightly.
>"Maybe...."
"Tell the Captain I'm ready to make a deal."
>You release the container, and Andy's smile seems to grow a bit.
>"I'll do my best."
"Thanks."
>Andy grins at you one last time before taking his container and scampering up the passageway.
/I have no idea what your plan is, you fat fuck./
/But whatever it is, I'm going to do whatever I can to fuck it up, starting now./