The Confrontation

For Mr. Stamper, being��marched down a corridor by uniformed guards who intended him harm was just another minor setback in his career. He’d come to expect it. Indeed, he was mentally critiquing the guards’ performance. They weren’t checking side corridors they passed, for instance. Very bad form. Mr. Stamper might’ve had allies waiting to spring a trap. The guards clearly were not expecting a rescue attempt. Mr. Stamper had been in charge of prisoners once, and he knew that you��always��expected a rescue attempt.

His companion, squidling waitress Sarah May Raxenpaxerflirk, was somewhat less resigned to her situation. She gurgled in a state approaching panic as the guards marched her and Mr. Stamper along. She was going to be in so much trouble. They’d fire her from the Lady Amber for sure. And then, without a good reference, without funds to pay application fees, she’d��never��get into medical school. Then it occurred to Sarah May that if the guards shot her, as seemed very likely, she wouldn’t need to worry about medical school applications anyway. That wasn’t exactly comforting.

The guards halted at an open metal door. A tall uniformed rat-minion appeared. “Ah, yes,” he said stuffily. “Prisoners to see the Baron. Broke into the Shadow Vault, did you? The Baron is not pleased. Not at all.”

“Who is��he, then?” Mr. Stamper asked.

The rat spluttered indignantly. “You don’t know? How could you not know? He’s famous across nine systems! The idea!�� Somehow he gathered himself together, and gestured them forward into the office. The prisoners saw a glimpse of a large desk which dominated the room, and a small felinoid alien��which sat at the desk. The rat bowed deeply. “May I present the most terrible Baron Frederick von Fluffingfluff, Admiral of the Charlotte’s Moon, Ravager of the Fourth Nebula, Defender of the Nightmare Comet Incursion.��

“Ooh, kitty!” Sarah May said, before she could stop herself.

“Ooh, kitty?” repeated the��Baron��in a mortally offended squeak. “I am Baron von Fluffingfluff. I carry the sword of my fathers. I can have you and your thieving companion thrown into the thermal reactor of this ship and��vaporized!��I am��not��a��kitty!”��

Mr. Stamper tried to salvage the situation. “Milord, we apologize for the offense. We never meant to cause trouble. We were simply trying to get back to the gaming tables, and became lost.”

“Lost, you say? A likely story,” rumbled the Baron. At least he tried to rumble; his voice just couldn’t hit that low register. Sarah May made a hysterical giggle.

The Baron rose up in wrath. ��That is it. I will not be insulted by prisoner scum. Guards! Take them to the reactor, and let them��burn!”��

As the guards whisked him and the terrifying Sarah May out of the room, Mr. Stamper wished devoutly that the galaxy had a few more species like her and less like Earth pets. No one ever giggled at a squid.