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  Or, he had enjoyed it. Then he had discovered English, and learned a new meaning for the word “frustration.” The language had clearly been created by a sadist. Gar had never heard any language in which it was so easy to communicate poorly.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. He tried to look casual as he went to his seat and sat down, but his legs gave out about halfway down and he ended up on the floor. He leaned against the chair and resigned himself to his fate.

  Barnabas gave him A Look.

  “This is my life now,” Gar lamented with as much dignity as he could muster. “I hope you’re happy.”

  Barnabas’ lips twitched but he made no comment, for which Gar was grateful. “We’re in a cloud of debris that shouldn’t be here,” he explained. “Our proximity alerts are going haywire.”

  Gar frowned. They had a fairly accurate set of maps that showed known asteroid belts and other hazards. An asteroid belt might be easy to navigate at normal speeds, but at high speed, a flight could come to a very quick and unpleasant end. This, though…

  The ship swerved so quickly that the gravity took time to recalibrate, and Barnabas looked up with a frown.

  “Shinigami?”

  “Working on it.” Shinigami sounded annoyed. “Let me tell you, if you were human you wouldn’t be able to deal with this. Even I’m hardly holding on.”

  “What kind of debris is it?” Gar asked.

  “I don’t know. Ship parts, it looks like. Some rocks.” Barnabas frowned. “But that doesn’t make any sense. I’ll be back. I’m going to look out the windows.”

  Gar leaned his head back against the chair and waited as Barnabas’ footsteps receded. The ship kept swerving and rolling, and he decided he was never going to be able to stand up again. That was all right. He’d had a good life. Maybe Barnabas would put an inscription on the chair in remembrance of him.

  A few moments later, however, Barnabas’ voice echoed through the ship in annoyance: “Son of a bitch.”

  Gar straightened up slightly. “Problem?”

  “Not the one you’d think,” Barnabas snapped, annoyed. “The debris field we’re in? It doesn’t exist. It’s some artificial electronic noise made to make us think we’re in danger, and…I don’t even know.”

  “My guess,” Shinigami voiced, “ is that I’m supposed to take this very tempting and relatively debris-free path that’s coming up.”

  Barnabas appeared back on the bridge. “I wonder where it leads.”

  “A trap!” Gar exclaimed. Did these people know nothing about how the universe worked? “It leads to a trap. We need to run away.”

  “Oh, Gar.” Barnabas gave him a toothy smile. “Have you learned nothing about me by now?”

  Gar groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

  Zinqued watched breathlessly as the Shinigami wove its way through the artificial debris field. The pilot was truly extraordinary. Perhaps he could convince Paun to offer them a job. Zinqued’s captain was a singularly joyless Hieto male, but he was a fair captain who neither blamed his crew for random chance nor stinted them on their shares.

  He might see the value of a pilot that good. Then again, he might point out that taking on human crew members would be risky. Humans had a reputation, and a lot of aliens didn’t like them.

  Somewhat justifiably.

  Zinqued looked back at the screens. Would the Shinigami take the bait? They’d moved closer to the “open path” he’d created in the artificial debris.

  This had been one of his masterstrokes. Everyone knew all the old tricks—distress calls or blatant threats—when it came to stealing ships. They also knew those ploys were likely to backfire. Zinqued’s first captain, a grizzled old Brakalon, had given Zinqued a priceless piece of advice.

  “The trick is to get them to walk into the trap, thinking it’s their idea,” she had told Zinqued.

  He’d never forgotten that, so he’d developed a new method—a series of signal-emitters that convinced the ship’s sensors they’d flown into a debris field. It would be sudden, allowing them no time to think or react. The “debris” would get heavier and more difficult to fly through until, when all hope seemed lost, a relatively open corridor would appear in the field.

  It was the sort of thing that might happen in a debris field, and ships fell for it every time. They’d alter their course and go straight for what they thought was relative safety…

  Only to run right into the electronic net that overrode their systems.

  Some people just vented ships at this point, but Paun had never been one of those. He would offer the captured crews the chance to ask for ransom from their family members, and even offer them a ride to a nearby station if they didn’t make a fuss. He did put them in the brig, of course, but he’d always made a point of being fair.

  He’d taken a lot of ships that way. People who might have stood and fought because they were sure they’d be killed would be so grateful they would give up the ship without complaint.

  Zinqued’s crew might not be the best-known ship thieves in the universe, but they generally made a tidy profit without much unnecessary risk. He liked that. They had a suite of tricks that allowed them to take bigger cargo haulers or small ships like this one. They could strike when the moment was right, and each collected a nice portion of the proceeds from each sale.

  Now he watched as the Shinigami turned toward the nets. Zinqued was already planning the story in his head. He hadn’t told his fellow thieves too much about his new trick, so he’d have to come up with some clever story as to how they’d captured the ship.

  He sat back in his chair and started daydreaming.

  There wasn’t much to do at this point, anyway. The ship was as good as caught.

  “There’s something ahead,” Shinigami reported.

  Gar, who was in the process of hauling himself inelegantly into his seat, looked at the screens, overbalanced, and wound up back on the floor with a yelp.

  “Would you like me to give you a hand?” Barnabas inquired. He leaned over the side of his chair, and could just see Gar’s feet sticking out.

  “No, that’s fine.” Gar gave a pathetic-sounding cough. “I like it here.”

  “I think you’re really coming along very well,” Barnabas complimented him. “Tomorrow’s training session will—”

  Gar whimpered. “No. I can’t. I can’t go through this again.”

  “Now, now. I’m sure if you—”

  “I hate to interrupt,” Shinigami began, a hint of danger in her tone, “but someone is trying to steal the ship, and I am trying to keep it un-stolen. Could we focus on that for a few minutes?”

  “Ah, yes.” Barnabas nodded at the screens. “I’m very sorry, Shinigami. Proceed.”

  Shinigami projected a set of infrared readouts. A strange device—slightly curved along one side—was emitting a signal. Barnabas frowned.

  The sensors picked up more devices that formed a loose half-circle. Any ship that flew along this route, or even detoured slightly from the most common path, would find itself within range of the signal.

  “Clever,” Barnabas murmured. “If they’d made it a closed loop, you could fly around the whole thing—and most ships who even spotted it would try to fly under…and get caught in the second set of beams. What do they do?”

  “They lock the ship in place,” Shinigami reported. “Or, you know…that’s what they do when they’re functioning properly.”

  A spread of missiles streaked away, leaving the hull shuddering, and a few seconds later, each device disappeared in a flare of heat.

  “I don’t think they’re working properly right now, though,” Shinigami murmured innocently. “Not sure why.”

  “The universe may never know,” Barnabas replied seriously. “Ah, well. A clever set of tricks, anyway. Is anyone uncloaking or moving to attack?”

  “Nope. I doubt they would after that show.”

  “Mmm, good point. Well, onward to Shu Base, then. The sooner we get those s
chematics, the sooner we can take down Crallus.” Barnabas peered around the edge of the chair. “Also, it looks like Gar could use a drink.”

  There was a muffled noise of agreement, and Shinigami laughed as she guided the ship in a smooth arc and headed toward Shu Base.

  In the cockpit of the Zumbir, Paun’s crew sat wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

  “A whole missile spread!” Paun exclaimed finally. “I think it’s safe to say we shouldn’t go after that ship again.”

  Zinqued swung around. “Are you crazy? Do you know how much that ship is worth?”

  “I’ve made my living by not going after ships like that, kid.” Paun wasn’t moved. “This is over.”

  But as he walked away, he missed the looks the crew sent one another. That ship was a freaking goldmine, and everyone knew it. Zinqued had the feeling that Paun was going to find himself overridden sooner rather than later.

  They were going to get that ship.

  3

  The various sectors of occupied space had a few notable nuclei with a random assortment of star systems in between. It was difficult to identify any sort of center to things. After all, it seemed new races were coming out of the woodwork, and explorers from various species were finding new planets that were habitable, useful for resources, or both.

  That said, if one were to identify the “fringes” of settled space, both High Tortuga and Shu Base would certainly qualify as being on them.

  Shinigami used this as an opportunity to complain loudly about never being taken anyplace nice.

  You’re an AI, Barnabas retorted. He paced around a small shop on Shu Base while the owner sifted through various files. The shop was small and dusty—everything at Shu Base was dusty—with a selection of wares that ranged from schematics to, inexplicably, a caged animal that looked like a winged alligator.

  Barnabas was giving that one a wide berth.

  He placed his hand on the counter, then lifted it immediately, trying to conceal his look of distaste.

  Oh God, it’s sticky.

  This is exactly the sort of thing I mean when I say you never take me anyplace nice.

  You’re on the ship. There would be no appreciable difference to you if we went somewhere nice.

  I could at least look through your eyes. You know, catch glimpses of a universe forever beyond my grasp.

  If this is a campaign to convince me to give you a body, you can forget it.

  Damn.

  Barnabas peered into the back of the shop. I’m beginning to wonder if he’s planning on assassinating me.

  One sec, hacking his systems. You know, we could just have done it this way.

  That would be stealing. We have ample money, so there’s no reason not to buy his goods.

  You’d save so much time, though. No, he really is searching through the files. He’s got the main schematics up—downloading those now—and he’s searching through what appears to be various upgrades and weapons systems. I’m guessing he knows about some later modifications.

  Well, that’s heartening. I do prefer it when people don’t try to kill me. How’s Gar, by the way?

  Practicing kung fu.

  Barnabas pressed his lips together in a vain attempt to stifle his laugh. While aboard the Shinigami, Tabitha had watched a large number of kung fu movies, which she had left in the video banks in the room Gar now occupied.

  While most humans would see the movies and laugh at the corny dialogue and special-effect-laden fight scenes, Gar seemed genuinely inspired by the stories. Several times at meals, he’d waxed poetic about the stories of “honor and glory” he’d watched.

  Barnabas and Shinigami had privately concluded that the Luvendi didn’t have anything resembling movies. It was the only explanation.

  The only problem, as far as Barnabas could tell, was that Gar really wanted to imitate the moves he saw. He did not seem to understand that the stories weren’t real and the moves were useless in an actual fight.

  They’d cross that bridge when they got to it, Barnabas decided.

  The proprietor tottered back out with an oversized data chip.

  “What did you say you were again?” it asked curiously. Barnabas honestly couldn’t tell if it was male or female, and it seemed to be having the same trouble with him.

  “A human,” he repeated. “I am a male human.”

  “Human. Hmph.” The proprietor seemed terminally unimpressed. Perhaps, in the grand tradition of merchants everywhere, it had decided that cash was the only equalizer it cared about. “Here you go, then.”

  “Thank you,” Barnabas replied gravely. He slipped the data chip into his pocket and left before he could accidentally touch anything else.

  Has anyone taken notice of the ship? he asked as he walked back.

  If you mean with ill intention, then no, not that I can tell. The deck crew thought it was pretty interesting. It’s probably the nicest ship they’ve seen in their lives, if I do say so myself.

  At least you’re not conceited. That’s the important thing. Barnabas made his way up the gangway, nodding to the deck crew—Shinigami was right, they were staring—and entered the ship. I think I need a shower before doing anything else. All of me feels sticky now.

  I mean…yeah, probably.

  Half an hour later, in fresh clothes and with his hair still damp, Barnabas rapped on Gar’s door. He heard a few kung-fu yells, then the sound of Gar running across the room to turn the movie off. The Luvendi appeared at the door, hastily stuffing a makeshift headband into his pocket.

  Barnabas did not mention the headband. “We should discuss the syndicate plans if you have some time.”

  “Sure, yeah. Of course. What else would I… I mean, yeah. I’m free.” Gar had enough sense to stop babbling, at least.

  “So how is training?” Barnabas asked him as they walked. He couldn’t resist having at least a little fun, after all.

  “Oh, it’s, ah…it’s good. Yeah. It’s going well.”

  “Better than a few days ago, then.”

  “Yeah.” Gar’s eyes lit up. “I realized what my problem was. I wasn’t fighting for something, so I didn’t have the mental fortitude to get through the pain. I needed to remember that I fight because I need to stand strong against evil. I need to be a force for honor and loyalty in the universe.”

  Is he for real? Shinigami asked in Barnabas’ head.

  I believe so. I’m trying to find it inspiring. After all, any of Bethany Anne’s people would say the same if you asked how they persist through pain in her service. It’s because they need to be strong to fight for good.

  I guess. It’s just so…so earnest. I want to slap him.

  You don’t have hands, thank goodness. Barnabas held open the door for Gar to precede him into the war room. There are no print-outs?

  Nope. You have to get digital, Grandpa.

  I object to every aspect of what you just said.

  We ran out of paper.

  That, I can work with. I’ll get us more.

  You’re a very odd man.

  Noted.

  Barnabas brought up the schematics of the main base. “All right, this is the base that Yennai built for Crallus’ predecessor when the syndicate joined up.”

  Gar stared at it with wide-eyes. “How the hell are we planning to get in there?”

  “The normal way. We’ll land, get off the ship—”

  “And kill everyone.” Shinigami continued. “Install a giant throne, and rule the world.” Her avatar flickered into being, this time with a glimmering golden crown on her head.

  “You and Gar are both really devoted to headwear,” Barnabas observed.

  “Says the ginger,” Shinigami shot back.

  Barnabas’ hand came up to touch his hair self-consciously. Back on Earth, he had changed his appearance fairly frequently to avoid any inconvenient legends springing up.

  It was a practice he’d started again. The year before he’d changed his hair to a nondescript light brown. When they left Hi
gh Tortuga, he’d begun making it slightly redder.

  Perhaps he had overshot.

  He noticed Gar staring at the definition of “ginger” in the dictionary. The Luvendi’s face was a picture of consternation.

  “It’s a term for redheads,” Barnabas explained. Gars’ confusion only deepened, so he explained. “I have red hair now.”

  Gar’s frown deepened even further. “No, you don’t. Maybe some orange—”

  “We’re getting off-topic.” Barnabas cleared his throat and tapped the schematics. “All right pay attention, all. Here are the landing bays. You’ll notice that they are relatively far from the main base, connected by a series of trams controlled by the base, and easy to vent.”

  “So we dock somewhere else,” Shinigami suggested at once.

  “Well, yes. But where? It’s hard to dock on the side of a base the way you would on a ship.”

  “Not necessarily.” Shinigami began scrolling through the images. After a moment, she remembered to involve her avatar, who reached out to swipe at the images as if manually selecting and enlarging them.

  She was getting eerily good at pretending to be human.

  “Here,” she said finally. She tapped one little hatch on the side.

  “Is that the…garbage dump?” Barnabas asked. “Garbage chute?”

  “It’s always the garbage chute,” Shinigami replied cryptically. “Always. It’ll smell like ass, but it’ll get you where you need to go.”

  “You know, I’m not even going to respond to that. How do we keep them from noticing us? Or shooting the ship as we set down?”

  “Well, the space net incident gave me an idea. If we fly close enough, I can release some pucks with a signal transmitter attached. They’ll hover near the base and convince the people watching the screens that there’s a ship coming in to land at the bays. All the guns will swivel that way, and we will land elsewhere.”

  “You’ve only explained how to tell them there’s something else there, not how to keep them from knowing we’re there.”