Kingdom Come (Backyard Starship, #7)

by J.N. Chaney

It really isn’t hard to hide in space. Space is the very definition of big, and most of it consists of absolutely nothing, aside from wisps of gas and the odd mote of dust.

we were treated to another standoff between Perry and his combat AI, another bird-construct named Hosurc’a with a long, flowing, and admittedly magnificent tail. For reasons entirely unknown to us mere flesh-and-blood mortals, the two had an epic rivalry. They stopped, facing each other through the airlock. “Hello, Hosurc’a.” “Hello, Perry.” They stared at one another for a moment, then simultaneously turned and walked away. “What the hell is their deal?” Icky asked. I shrugged. “AI drama. It’s like ordinary drama but much, much faster.”

I enjoyed it a little more for that, knowing that, if I did nothing else in my Peacemaking career, I’d been partly responsible for some damned good salads on Helso.

Everyone turned to Icky. She frowned. “What? Oh, wait. I’m supposed to congratulate you, right?” Zeno sighed. “You have all the social graces of a point-defense battery, dear Icky. We’re going to have to work on that.”

“Can I negotiate?” Icky asked, hopeful. I folded my arms and gave her a stare. “I sense—and this is just a guess, mind you—that you’ll offer angry, untenable terms, throw a few insults in, and then hope that you get to crack a few skulls?” Icky looked abashed. “I mean, yeah. Still get the job done, though. Sorta.”

And considering how many different parties we’d pissed off enough that they wanted to kill us, I was happy to make that argument. Or, to put it another way, it was better to be judged by twelve than carried by six, as the old adage goes.

I’m all for good customer service, but I kinda think it should be measured in client satisfaction, not kilotons.”

Huh. I’m not used to an attempt on our lives just being a case of wrong place, wrong time. I really must be getting paranoid.” Zeno shrugged. “Hey, when you’re a nail, everything looks like a hammer.”

The Master smiled again. “Humility looks good on you, Tudor. You should wear it more often.”

“Why do I sense a but dangling off the end of that.” “Yeah, gotta hate those dangling buts,” Perry said, earning simultaneous eyerolls from Torina, Zeno, and me.

“And if that leaves us without enough fuel to twist away at the other end?” Torina asked. Perry cut me off. “Then we activate our contingency plan.” Torina gave him a lifted eyebrow. “Which is?” “Cursing, blaming Van. The usual.”

“I like it—nice and simple, the way all the best plans are.”

“Believe me, this is a lot less invasive, even less… violent, I guess, than it used to be.” She smiled. “That could apply to a lot of things, actually. Like diplomacy. War. Even the law.”

B gave a thin smile. “Sure. You’re about to learn the biggest, deepest secret of the Peacemaker Guild. And you’re going to do it while not wearing pants.” I laughed. “Icky is gonna be pissed.” B’s antennae twitched. “Why? Because of the secrets?” I waved at my legs. “No, the pants. Or rather, lack thereof. But you were saying?”

“We could ask them, but”—she nudged a body with her foot—“we’d need to find this one’s lower jaw before he’d even be able to talk. Well, that, and he’s, you know, really, really dead.”

“If someone offered you a bowl with a hundred candies in it and told you five of them were poisonous, would you eat one?” Zeno asked. “Depends. What sort of candy are we talking about? Because if they’re Falaxian spice drops, then yeah, I’d totally take one,” Icky replied. “I… don’t think you quite got my point, Icky.”

I heard someone muttering, like they were… reciting a prayer? It sounded like Zeno. “Zeno, you alright?” “What? Oh, yeah. I’m just reciting an old prayer to the P’nosk god of fortune.” “I… didn’t take you for a religious person.” “I become very religious when someone asks me to take candy out of the bowl that might be poisoned.”

It was heavy as a son of a bitch, hinting at depleted uranium or something similar. “That came through the hull, banged off the starboard main spar, then ricocheted around me a few times,” she said. “On an unrelated note, can we get repressurized soon? I’ve gotta change my undies.”

I glanced at Gerhardt, then back to Puris-Tar. “I… don’t really think I’m a hero⁠—” “We Grendu do not like false modesty, Peacemaker Tudor. In any case, that’s not your decision to make. We consider you a hero, so a hero you are.”