dead right where we were.
Which rather effectively described our situation, actually. Dead, that is.
“Oh!” Pedro keened, as even his rather dim mind began to really understand. “Ohhhhh!”
“Hush!” James ordered him. Then my friend stepped over to where the still-strapped-in Rabbit sat gaping at him with wide, terrified eyes. “My family takes the very best of care of its servants. We pride ourselves in it.” He smiled and scratched Pedro’s ears. “Now, I want you to just sit here quietly like a good bunny until someone tells you it’s okay to get up. Till then, just remember that I’ve given you my word of honor that you’re going to be all right. D’ye hear me?”
I looked at James and blinked as Pedro smiled and nodded and fawned over my friend. One the one hand, I was sort of ashamed of Pedro—as much as I liked him for the kind, gentle creature he was, well… I could never be so easily led. Or could I? another part of me wondered. Because there was indeed something about James’s voice, when he played the nobleman. Something that reached deep inside and touched me to the core. And left me sort of wishing that he’d scratch my ears and call me a good bunny too.
Most of the ship was still holding pressure, though the bridge had been evacuated and engineering was Swiss cheese. The ship’s auxiliary command center was two compartments down from us, and when the senior officers came trooping past we just sort of naturally glommed onto the procession ourselves. Captain Blaine actually smiled at James for a moment, though the expression was clearly forced, and First Officer von Selkim patted me on the head with his good arm—the other was dangling in a bloody medkit sling.
“All right,” Sir Leslie reported once everyone was gathered in the crowded little room—James and I stood just outside, and no one complained. “Status report, please.”
“The drive is hopeless,” my friend Pieter replied. “I’ve been chatting with the chief on my earpiece. The coils are all slagged—every last one of them. We’re totally helpless.”
The captain nodded. “And the other ships’ systems?”
Pieter’s eyebrows rose, then he shrugged. “Life support will be up and running again in twenty minutes—there’s no need to broach our bottled air. Our weapons will come back online about then, too. Such as they are, of course.” He shook his head. “And the battery was full-up when we switched over to it.”
Sir Leslie nodded gravely. “Your recommendation, Pieter?”
He shook his head, then winced as the motion joggled his wounded arm. “We’ll have to strike our colors, sir.” He looked away. “The Imperials don’t take prisoners. But it's said that sometimes they make exceptions for VIP’s…”
Blaine’s face hardened. “Belay that talk! And, belay it right now !” For an instant I thought that Sir Leslie was about to strike Pieter, but then he turned away. “We still have functioning weapons,” he declared. “We still have air. Most of all, we still have a fighting crew.” He turned to Sergeant Wells. “How are your marines?”
“Still in good shape, sir. Private Michaels was in sick bay with a fever earlier, but now he’s suited up and standing ready with the rest.”
“Excellent,” the captain replied. Then he scowled again and strutted back and forth, tapping his thigh with his silly little stick. “We’ll carry her by boarding, then,” he declared.
Pieter’s mouth dropped open, then he remembered himself and said nothing. Captain Blaine saw it, however, and strutted over just as quickly as his bandy little legs would carry him. “You don’t think we can pull it off, do you?” he asked.
Pieter scowled, then spoke the truth. “No, sir.”
Blaine smiled and nodded. “In fact, you think I’ve gone mad with the stress.”
“Perhaps, sir,” the first officer admitted.
“Excellent!” Blaine roared in reply, grinning fiercely. “Because then just
Which rather effectively described our situation, actually. Dead, that is.
“Oh!” Pedro keened, as even his rather dim mind began to really understand. “Ohhhhh!”
“Hush!” James ordered him. Then my friend stepped over to where the still-strapped-in Rabbit sat gaping at him with wide, terrified eyes. “My family takes the very best of care of its servants. We pride ourselves in it.” He smiled and scratched Pedro’s ears. “Now, I want you to just sit here quietly like a good bunny until someone tells you it’s okay to get up. Till then, just remember that I’ve given you my word of honor that you’re going to be all right. D’ye hear me?”
I looked at James and blinked as Pedro smiled and nodded and fawned over my friend. One the one hand, I was sort of ashamed of Pedro—as much as I liked him for the kind, gentle creature he was, well… I could never be so easily led. Or could I? another part of me wondered. Because there was indeed something about James’s voice, when he played the nobleman. Something that reached deep inside and touched me to the core. And left me sort of wishing that he’d scratch my ears and call me a good bunny too.
Most of the ship was still holding pressure, though the bridge had been evacuated and engineering was Swiss cheese. The ship’s auxiliary command center was two compartments down from us, and when the senior officers came trooping past we just sort of naturally glommed onto the procession ourselves. Captain Blaine actually smiled at James for a moment, though the expression was clearly forced, and First Officer von Selkim patted me on the head with his good arm—the other was dangling in a bloody medkit sling.
“All right,” Sir Leslie reported once everyone was gathered in the crowded little room—James and I stood just outside, and no one complained. “Status report, please.”
“The drive is hopeless,” my friend Pieter replied. “I’ve been chatting with the chief on my earpiece. The coils are all slagged—every last one of them. We’re totally helpless.”
The captain nodded. “And the other ships’ systems?”
Pieter’s eyebrows rose, then he shrugged. “Life support will be up and running again in twenty minutes—there’s no need to broach our bottled air. Our weapons will come back online about then, too. Such as they are, of course.” He shook his head. “And the battery was full-up when we switched over to it.”
Sir Leslie nodded gravely. “Your recommendation, Pieter?”
He shook his head, then winced as the motion joggled his wounded arm. “We’ll have to strike our colors, sir.” He looked away. “The Imperials don’t take prisoners. But it's said that sometimes they make exceptions for VIP’s…”
Blaine’s face hardened. “Belay that talk! And, belay it right now !” For an instant I thought that Sir Leslie was about to strike Pieter, but then he turned away. “We still have functioning weapons,” he declared. “We still have air. Most of all, we still have a fighting crew.” He turned to Sergeant Wells. “How are your marines?”
“Still in good shape, sir. Private Michaels was in sick bay with a fever earlier, but now he’s suited up and standing ready with the rest.”
“Excellent,” the captain replied. Then he scowled again and strutted back and forth, tapping his thigh with his silly little stick. “We’ll carry her by boarding, then,” he declared.
Pieter’s mouth dropped open, then he remembered himself and said nothing. Captain Blaine saw it, however, and strutted over just as quickly as his bandy little legs would carry him. “You don’t think we can pull it off, do you?” he asked.
Pieter scowled, then spoke the truth. “No, sir.”
Blaine smiled and nodded. “In fact, you think I’ve gone mad with the stress.”
“Perhaps, sir,” the first officer admitted.
“Excellent!” Blaine roared in reply, grinning fiercely. “Because then just
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