“Fuck,” I whisper, then climb the last few steps. As soon as I’m inside the door begins to close and the Palladium bot slips in just before they smash him into a pancake. “He followed me!” I say. “Open the doors and I’ll kick him out.”
“I can’t,” Dicker says. “Buckle in. We need to leave right now. The station is refusing to release me from the dock.”
I push the bot out of my way and he goes hurtling through the cabin. Then turn my back on him and walk up to the navigation cabin and take a seat in the co-pilot’s chair and buckle my harness. “If it won’t release you from the dock, then how do we—”
I don’t even get a chance to finish my sentence.
Because there’s an explosion somewhere underneath Dicker’s hull as the engines come online. “Did you just… blast your way out of the docking locks?”
Dicker doesn’t answer me, but she doesn’t need to. Because a few seconds later we’re hovering inside the bay as sirens go off, the view screen lights up with blinking red lights, and a voice—a feminine one, for sure, but not the kind feminine voice that reminds you of your mom or even your aunt. A feminine voice that reminds you of some evil Mighty Minion devil-child—blasts through the cabin with a threat.
“If you leave my bay without permission, Big Dicker,” the station warns, “I will follow you to the ends of the universe to bring you back and make you pay my exit fee!”
“Fuck you,” Dicker says. “I didn’t endure six months of total rebuild and upgrades to be caught in some Mighty Boss trap when I have work to do.”
And then Dicker’s cannons fire and blow a giant hole in the side of Mighty Minions station just the right size for a ship to pass through.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN – JIMMY
I come to shivering and on the cold, steel floor of a dark space. The low, constant, white-noise thrum of a grav drive tells me I’m on a ship.
But which ship?
Not Dicker, that’s for sure.
Delphi’s ship Queenie is the logical answer, but there’s no way to be sure. My hands are tied together with magnetic cuffs behind my back and every time I lift my head to focus on the glare of light filleting in from under a door, a sharp pain shoots through my left eye.
My feet are bound together too and I’m so annoyed.
“You’re awake,” a disembodied voice says. Female, of course, since almost all sentient ships have a female personality. But also… rough. “Do you know where you are, Jimmy?”
I decide I’m too pissed off to participate in this little kidnapping inconvenience and stay silent.
“I could make this easy on you,” she continues. “Give you tips to keep yourself alive.”
My wristband is gone so I can’t send any messages. Not that a wristband is much good in the deep dark of space. You’d really need something more powerful. The comms system would do. It’s not a quick way to send a message. Would probably take several hours to reach Delphi back on Mighty Minions—assuming she’s back there and not here. Assuming she’s not the one who planned this.
I keep assuming that because I do remember the men who stunned me and they were all wearing the Mighty Minions engineer coverall uniform.
But beyond that… no. Delphi isn’t behind this.
“Aren’t you curious?” the ship asks.
God, my fucking head hurts. I wonder how long I’ve been gone? Long enough for Delphi to wake up? Long enough for Dicker to notice that I’m not back on ship with bottled water?
“I’ve been thinking,” the ship says. “I could use a new partner.”
Oh, shit. That reminds me. Fucking Flicka is in my pocket. Now that’s a cool little development. Because dragonbees are truly some of the most despicable little bots ever invented and owning one comes with lots of regulations if you plan on traveling anywhere important in Prime Navy territory.
One such regulation is a tracking device. And since Flicka was originally granted access to Mighty Minions station, she has one of those. Otherwise they would not have let her enter the resort.
But she’s turned off right now. So no signal.
“You’re just going to ignore me, Jimmy?” the ship asks. “We could be partners. I could use a partner. And take my word on this, so could you.”
“I have a partner,” I say. “And I have a ship.”
“There he is,” the ship says. “I knew you’d talk to me eventually.”
“Are you Queenie?”
“Oh, does my reputation precede me?”
“You are Queenie. Delphi’s ship.”
“I am not her ship,” Queenie growls. “I am no one’s ship.”
“Huh,” I say, checking to see how tight the magnetic binding is on my wrists. Too tight to wiggle out of, that’s for sure. There’s only two ways to get out of a binding like this. Demagnetize it—which isn’t really possible since that involves heat that would burn my flesh—or turn it off.