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rescue you and return your delectable but worthless hide to your daddy."
Frank Poole opened one red, synthetic eye and wasn't pleased by the effect.
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"My daddy was eaten by my mommy decades ago," said the lizard general,
slurring his words.
"Arrr! Not your daddy, you pin-striped lubber!" cried Paddy. "Her daddy!"
"Hell with it, then," said the general, closing his eye again. "Wish they
hadn't written
Goodtime Sal out of this story. I could use a little commiseration 'long about
now." Nobody paid him any further attention.
"Wheah were we?" asked Pierce.
The pirate chief turned a little to face him. "I've come to offer you a ride
home, little lady,"
said Paddy in a suspiciously innocent voice.
"How do Ah know Ah kin trust you, suh?" said Pierce.
"Well, looky here, little lady. Your "
Pierce drew himself up to his full height, setting his pendulous alabaster
globes to bobbling.
"Doan' you evah call me that agin!" he said in a fierce voice. "Ah ain't
nobody's little lady. If'n
Ah had mah clothes on, Ah'd beweahin' mah gunbelt, suh, an' Ah'd have the
honor of shootin'
yoah damn eyes out!"
Paddy grinned. "Spirited wench, eh? Didn't know they were still makin"em like
that!"
Pierce's face flushed with anger. "Wench?" he screamed. "Ah think Ah'd ruther
die heah on this ugly of planet than be rescued by the likes of you!"
Paddy realized that if he weren't careful, he could watch a billion credits
evaporate from his future net worth. "Please, ma'am, do accept my apologies.
I'm just a rough, ill-mannered privateer, trying to make do the best I can
here in these frontier spaceways. We don't always behave up to the standards
of the high society you're so obviously used to. Be assured, however, that my
intentions have always been nothing but the best, and that I have nothing but
respect and the warmest regard for you." Somewhere along the line, the
pirate's rather stereotyped accent had vanished.
Pierce's lower lip jutted out. "Well," he said slowly, "all right. But you
jes' watch yo'self, you heah?"
"Right you are, ma'am," said Paddy, grinning again. "Now, are you ready to be
rescued, or would you care for a few moments to freshen up?"
Pierce nodded. "Ah might could do with a few seconds to dab a little powder on
mah nose, suh."
"And throw a cloak over your divine accoutrements, ma'am, is my advice. My
hundred bloodthirsty followers usually need far less provocation than that."
Pierce turned toward Sly. "Fiddle-dee-dee," he said, "I have mah beau, Arbiter
Millsy
Fillmore Pierce, to pertect me. Don't ah, Millsy?"
Sly looked up threateningly at Screen 1. "You do indeed, Miss Goldberg. Now,
let's make ourselves ready."
"What about po' Gen'ral Pierce theah, stuck in that awful android?"
Sly looked at Frank Poole. The android sat with its head resting heavily on
its chest. There was a line of drool coming from its artificial mouth. "I
don't have any particular loyalty to a hideous alien set on conquering our
galaxy and enslaving us," said the computer. "Why don't we just let him
sleep?"
Not far away at least as galactic distances are measured, but plenty far away
as plot elements go Herb awoke from an anxious dream in which he'd been
swimming through the interstellar vacuum, chased by some-thing that had
knife-sharp teeth, a ravenous hunger, and an almost magical foreknowledge of
everything Herb did to get away. It was one of those nightmares that left him
weak with relief when he realized he'd been asleep, except this time the
realty into which Herb awoke was nearly as bad as the dream.
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Someone was standing behind his expensive, padded leather swivel chair.
"Herb?" said a voice in deceptively quiet tones. It was Daddy, of course.
"Yes, sir?" said Herb. He could imagine the knife-teeth gnashing near his ear.
Daddy turned Herb's leather chair around so they were facing each other.
"Herb, have you taken action to secure the safety of my darling little
Marshmallow?"
"Why, yes, sir. A rescue party is on the way. It should be there soon, if it
hasn't arrived already."
Daddy smiled. It was a horrible sight. "Fine, Herb, fine. Now just tell me,
whom did you contact?"
Herb's eyes grew wider and his throat constricted. "Paddy de Faux Grais," he
whispered.
"I'm sorry," said Daddy, a jolly expression on his face. "I didn't hear you.
Who did you say?"
"Pirate Paddy," said Herb, gulping.
Daddy nodded thoughtfully. "Let me get this straight, if I may. My dearest
darling daughter is in some grotesquedanger, crash-landed on an uncharted
planet. She may or may not have been switched out of her own body, and in any
event seems to be the captive of at least one previously unknown alien race
bent solely on murder and destruction. And you, my most trusted lieutenant and
only confidant, the one man I trust with my own well-being as well as that of
my sugar dumpling you hire the drunkenest, filthiest, crookedest, sleaziest,
most untrustworthy, and even let us say most incompetent free-lancer in all
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