Sitting in the cargo hold of the modified Vulvo family yacht, Bennie growls, “I will, never, trust, another A-Team plan.” He pulls some white sticky goo off his head. It looks challenging.
“Dude, you all knew about those scary-ass spider-bears. Why weren’t you prepared to get slimed?” Wil’s voice goes up a pitch. “More importantly, why didn’t anyone tell me that there were spider-bears in the GC?”
“Technically, their home world is just beyond the GC border,” Maxim offers, “They’re not members.”
Bennie grimaces as he tugs on a piece of webbing that doesn’t want to let go of his forehead. “Just wait until you see their home world.”
Wil shudders, mumbling, “Spider-bears.”
Maxim looks over at the smoking wreckage of the Xelurian freighter, “Should have known they wouldn’t bring her with them. They likely planned to kill whoever came to pay the ransom.”
They return to Brai as quickly as the yacht can get them there and immediately board the Ghost.
“I can’t do it.” Wil is shaking his head.
“Stop being such a baby,” Zephyr chides.
On the main display, the Xelurian home world is growing larger as the Ghost approaches. Most industrialized worlds in Wil’s experience look similar to Earth: greens and blues, white clouds. Xelur, on the other hand, is a muddy brown. Ominous gray clouds cover entire continents.
Pointing at the screen, Wil whispers, “Giant. Spider. Bears.”
“We don’t get paid unless we finish the job,” Maxim points out.
“Which,” Bennie says, “in case you’ve forgotten, is rescuing my sister!”
Wil waves his hand dismissively. “You have others.”
“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal for you,” Zephyr presses.
“I don’t understand how you all,” Wil points at Bennie, “especially you, aren’t as freaked out as I am. Spider-bears, people!” He shudders again.
“Uh, I’m not leaving the Ghost, so there’s that,” Bennie says. At a look from Maxim, he adds, “What? You guys are going to need overwatch. Xelurians aren’t that sophisticated, but they’re not cave dwellers, either.”
“Think of the money,” Zephyr says to Wil.
“Thinking of the money is the only thing keeping me from being a trembling mass under my bed.”
“At least there’s room under there now,” Bennie offers.
“What does that mean?” Maxim asks.
“Nothing, never mind. Bennie is just being Bennie, you know—he’s always saying weird shit all the time,” Wil says, speaking faster than usual.
Bennie starts to reply and closes his mouth when Wil spins to face him. The small Brailack coughs, then just says, “Stealth system is holding. I’m tapping into their planetary network, to see if I can find the neighborhood the last kidnapper told us to look for.”
Wil focuses on his own controls. “I’ll bring us in, find me a place to set down.” He looks at Maxim, then Zephyr. “You two should go suit up.”
They leave the bridge just as Gabe enters. “Would you like me to come along, Captain?” the droid asks.
Wil thinks for a beat. “You know, I think so, yeah. That new body of yours is better suited to this kind of thing than your old one. That sounded weird.” He pauses, then turns to his metallic friend, “Was that intentional? Getting a body that was more suited for combat and operations off the ship?”
Gabe nods, once. “After a fashion, yes. I had already come to terms with the limitations of my previous body, but in looking through the database aboard the Siege Perilous, I discovered this body design. It better fit my desires, one of which was being more useful on off-ship missions.” The bot spreads his arms. “And here we are, as you say.”
Wil smiles. “Well, good choice. I’d say go suit up, but—well, you know, no clothes. Go ahead and join Max and Zee in the armory. I’ll be there once we set down.”
“Very well.” The tall ex-engineering bot turns and leaves the bridge.
“Hard to believe sometimes that’s the same Gabe we rescued from a storage crate,” Bennie says, watching the bridge hatch close.
“Tellin’ me,” Wil agrees.
“Yup, I knew it. I will, never, sleep again,” Wil says, as he inches down the Ghost’s cargo ramp. The ship is parked in the burnt-out remains of a massive warehouse. His combat armor is highlighting all sorts of things, tagging them, marking them as targets, and Wil isn’t sure what else. “This is new.”
“Greetings, I am your combat armor’s intelligent agent,” a voice says inside his helmet, causing him to jump.
“Damnit, should have waited to install Bennie’s gift. Okay, er. Hello, intelligent agent.”
Maxim looks at Wil. “Really? Now?”
Wil shrugs, then continues to talk to his armor. “What do I call you?”
“What do you want to call—” the agent starts.
“Jarvis!” Wil replies, excitedly.
Zephyr has already gone ahead of them down the ramp, into the massive, deserted space. “I’m surprised there wasn’t better traffic control. This world is industrialized and spacefaring.” She brushes aside a mass of web that’s dangling from a pillar near the ship.
Wil walks slowly over to the outer wall and peaks through a gap in the wall material. “Are we sure they didn’t just steal the freighters from someone else? This place is gross and does not look industrialized.”
“According to Galactic Commonwealth records, the Xelur—” Jarvis starts.
“Nope, nope, nope! Jarvis, new directive, only speak when spoken to,” Wil says, looking back to Maxim and Zephyr, mouthing the word ‘sorry’.
“Very good, sir,” the intelligent agent says, sounding slightly offended.
“The Xelurians have had spaceflight almost as long as the Brailack and have a thriving economy—their penchant for eating Brailack notwithstanding,” Gabe offers. “They likely have no space traffic control system due to their aggressive dislike of authority. I suspect a compromise is that the larger cities have localized air traffic control systems, while the planet as a whole does not.”
Wil grunts. “Great, space libertarians.”
“What’s that?” Maxim asks, walking around a large pile of webbing.
“Nothing.” Wil uses his wristcomm to browse through the settings for Jarvis.
As the cargo ramp begins to lift, Bennie says over the comms, “Good luck out there. Don’t get eaten.”
“I hate him,” Wil mumbles as they walk towards the far end of the structure, where a door is half open. “Let’s get this over with.”