THE COUCH WHISKED THEM silently through bright glass hallways and mirrored doors. When they arrived at the entrance to the captain’s navigation suite, the floating piece of furniture slowed down. Soft music played through the cushions as the three Keepers were sprayed with a citrus “welcome mist.”
The captain’s lounge was a glass bubble, a giant blister that looked out at the dazzling pinpricks of distant suns. At the center of the room was a table of food and several more comfortable white couches, all floating. The only control panel in the room was attached to the wall near the doors. It glowed neon pink.
“Look at all that food!” Kolt said. “If you’d told me yesterday I’d be lunching in space with a giant bomb about to go off in half an hour I’d have thought you were mad, absolutely mad.”
“We should focus,” Gertie said, “so that doesn’t happen.”
The captain was a powerfully built woman with shoulder-length hair and a serious face.
She seemed more curious than happy to see them, and waved off the citrus “welcome mist” that sprayed as she entered the lounge herself. She sat opposite them on a separate floating couch and stared for a long time before finally forcing a smile.
“Why don’t you just talk . . .” she said with a vaguely German accent, “because I would not know where to begin.”
“Well, we’re from Earth,” Kolt said.
The captain gasped.
“Originally!” Kolt said. “I mean, sort of . . . as humans once were, cave men, I mean cave people, Captain.”
The captain then turned to Gertie. “How exactly did you make it to mid-space in the thing you were flying?”
Gertie thought it might not be a good idea to explain the time travel, frozen moonberries, Losers’ robot hands, or the bomb they had brought with them. So she just smiled and made up a white lie.
“We’re part of a space club . . .” she said.
“That’s right.” Kolt nodded. “Stellar enthusiasts.”
“We found the old rocket, and decided to try and fix it up and go into space.”
“I can’t believe it actually got you this far. There are no cells for liquid nitrogen or liquid oxygen. What fuel did you burn?”
“Hmmm, yes,” Kolt said. “The fuel situation was serious, a bit scary actually, ha ha.”
“Doctor Echlin told me over ear-com that you have cargo?”
“Mashed potato mush room,” said Robot Rabbit Boy.
“Vegetables?” said the captain.
“That’s right,” said Gertie, “for space-club members to eat on the journey into space.”
The captain leaned forward with a menacing grin. “You do know you were on an insane suicide mission?”
Kolt looked past her at the muffins on the food table. “Well, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
“A dollop of butter.”
“What would you have done if we weren’t here?” said the captain with genuine curiosity.
“Perished!” Kolt said, still looking at the muffin table. “Victims of our own cosmic hunger.”
Then the captain’s watch beeped. “Hold on, please . . .” she said, raising her wrist to whisper something.
Although she thought she was speaking a language her visitors wouldn’t understand, the power of Skuldarkian allowed the three Keepers to comprehend perfectly the captain’s next words.
“Doctor Echlin, these people are total lunatics—though probably harmless. The rabbit droid seems to be quite interesting, and reminds me of an antique Series 9 Forever Friend I had as a girl. Anyway, let’s feed them and transport them back to Earth-Mater or Alpha Moon, where they can be examined by psychologists. Why don’t you have Doctor Brady and Doctor Beaverbrook film-log their ship for suspicious items and beam the file to Space Guard Council? Just in case there’s some fallout with protocol, we’ll be spared a kick in the butt by the stiffs from FFC.”
The captain laughed at whatever her colleague’s response was, then lowered her sleeve. “Sorry about that,” she said. “Routine matters, I’m sure you understand.”
It was suddenly obvious to Kolt and Gertie they needed to speak privately, to decide what to do before the bomb was found. As a ploy to exchange a few words without being heard, Kolt asked the captain if he might visit the food table.
“By all means,” she said. “It’s all healthy, grown right here, and prepared by the famous chefs of I-8-PP.”
Gertie followed Kolt to the buffet and stared at the various things to eat.
Predictably, Kolt went for the enormous muffin. There was even a pot of blueberry jam for Robot Rabbit Boy.
“No matter how much danger we find ourselves in,” Kolt said in a hushed tone, “isn’t it funny how there’s always a meal? Remember China? And Venice? And . . .”
“Kolt, what are we going to do about the bomb!?”
Kolt cut his muffin in two pieces. “Oh yes, that.”
“Maybe we should tell her?” said Gertie.
“She’d freak out.”
“I know, but it’s better than getting blown up,” Gertie told him.
“I suppose so, and it’s not like she would kill us or anything. They don’t seem to be crazed Losers, just a bunch of scientists.”
“Then where are the Losers?”
Kolt shrugged. “They might have left ages ago, who knows.”
Gertie wondered how Birdy was getting on, returning the ant to the place where the robot hand had most likely been made.
“So it’s settled,” Gertie said. “We tell her before they find it in the rocket ship?”
Kolt nodded, his mouth already stuffed with space muffin.