"Anything?" asked Sergeant Strong. Teams Badger and Fennec had converged on the Mended Percussion Device tavern; most of them had shown up less than a minute after Strong and Jenkins had arrived on the scene. They had immediately set up a perimeter around the tavern and the surrounding blocks, and begun questioning everybody.
"No," replied Fib. "Just about everybody we spoke to remembers seeing the fight at the bar—I guess seeing somebody diced like that does tend to stick in your memory—but nobody seems sure where they went after that. We got a description of them, but..."
"But?"
"Well, the old guy is no problem. Medium height and build, scraggly beard, wearing a brown hooded robe. Armed with a light rapier." Fib hesitated. "Only a few remember seeing the kid who was with him, because the guy with the weapon was the centre of attention. But I'm getting a description of a blond youth, perhaps late teens or early twenties, medium height, slender build, light hair." Fib frowned. "Wearing pink pyjamas and fluffy animal slippers."
Strong sighed. "Stop fucking around, Fib, this is a serious matter."
"Honest, Sarge. Some of the witnesses weren't sure of his hair colour, or his age, but they all agreed on the pink pyjamas. Tell him, Mikki."
"That's what they're saying, Sarge," said Mikki. "Pink pyjamas. Fluffy animal slippers."
"And what exactly do we mean by 'fluffy animal slippers'?" asked Strong cautiously. He still wasn't entirely convinced that Fib hadn't roped Mikki into some elaborate joke.
"Exactly that, Sarge," said Fib. "Joke slippers shaped like a, well, like a fluffy bunny or something."
"So help me, Fib, if this is a joke..."
One of Fib's nicknames, used primarily by those other members of Raptor Command who had come through the Academy with him—and generally only when alcohol was present in large quantities—was 'Fluffy Bunny'. He had acquired the nickname thanks to a graduation gift from his well-meaning, but slightly naive, mother: a pair of fluffy bunny slippers. Defying anybody to object, Fib had worn the slippers to the graduation party. Inevitably, a drunken cadet not belonging to Fib's close circle of friends had chosen to heckle him about his choice of footwear. One thing had led to another, and when the cadet had said something unflattering about Fib's mother, Fib had promptly earned another of his nicknames, 'Fuckin' Brutal'.
Fib held up his hand. "On my mother's life, Sarge," he swore. "I'm not saying they were actually fluffy bunny slippers, but that's the sort of thing we're talking about. None of the witnesses could identify the type of fluffy animal, but he shouldn't be too hard to spot. Needless to say, nobody recalls seeing them leave—or if they do, they ain't saying."
"Sarge?" came Jenkin's voice over the comm, scratchy but strong.
"What have you got, Jenkins?"
"The barkeep here remembers them coming in from the street. He says they had two 'bots with them, although his description of them is rather vague. Apparently he's a bit of a mechaphobe, hence the 'No Bots' rule. From what little I could get from him, though, it sounds like the ones we're looking for."
"Good work, Jenkins." He paused. "Uh, Jenkins, you didn't get a description of our perps, did you?"
"Yes, sir, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. I suspect he has been sampling the wares."
"Fluffy animal slippers?" asked Strong.
"Um, yes sir. Exactly right. And a pink nightie or something similar."
"Okay, thank you, Jenkins. Carry on."
Strong turned back to Fib. "If this is a joke and you've somehow convinced Jenkins to play along," he said, "I shall salute your ingenuity. And then I shall kick your testicles into the region of your kidneys."
"No joke, Sarge," said Fib.
"Okay."
Strong switched to the master command channel. "All units, all units," he said. "Priority one description of our suspects. Two male humans. One aged fifty-five to sixty, medium build, thinning grey hair and beard, wearing brown hooded robe. One aged around twenty, slender build, light or possibly blond hair, wearing..." He hesitated for just a moment. "Wearing pink pyjamas and fluffy animal slippers." Ignoring the sudden murmur of stifled laughter on the channel, he continued. "May be travelling with two 'bots.
"Both should be considered armed and extremely dangerous. If you spot them, follow discreetly and call for backup. Do not confront. Repeat, do not confront. We've lost enough people to these psychos already today."
Strong toggled the comm to the Team Badger channel. "Okay guys, about time we allowed the tavern customers to start leaving. Check their ID, give them a quick pat down, but don't confiscate weapons unless you actually find that light rapier. We don't want to start a riot in here unless we have to. Unless you find someone on the Most Wanted list, we're not interested."
"Actually, Sarge," said Jenkins, "I can't be sure, but I think one of our victims here was on the Most Wanted list."
"Oh great," sighed Strong. "Just great."
"Sarge?"
"The paperwork on this is gonna be a bitch!"
Lurk and Bent, and the two 'bots, were already waiting in the shadows across from the entrance to Landing Bay 49 when Mal and Shaggus arrived.
"Where have you guys been?" hissed Lurk. "You're late. I feel very exposed standing out here."
"I'm not surprised," Mal retorted, "with clothes like that. We got held up at the tavern. Seems some damn fool sliced and diced one of the customers, and the Imperials wanted to question everybody. We only just now got out!"
"See, Lurk," said Bent. "What did I tell you? That tavern was a dangerous place."
Lurk rolled his eyes.
"Can we go now?" he said.
"Sure," said Mal. He groped around in his pockets for the access card to the Landing Bay. Finding it, he swiped it across the security pad and the door hissed open. "Okay, let's..." He paused. "Wait, get back. Face the wall, now."
"What?" said Lurk.
"Just do it," said Mal. "We've got company coming. Imperial scanner 'bot."
"He's right," said Bent. "Listen, you can hear it." The old man ducked back deeper into the shadows and pulled Lurk back with him. The warbling hum grew louder as the scanner 'bot, little more than an automated roving camera, flew into view around the corner. The 'bot turned to look at Mal and Shaggus as it passed, slowing slightly. Mal ignored it as he fiddled with the security plate; Shaggus bared one upper canine in a snarl, and the camera zipped backwards in alarm. It paused for a moment, scanning the huge woolly humanoid, then turned to continue on its way.
There was a flash of blue light, and Bent's light rapier sliced the 'bot in two. Blackened fragments of metal and glass rained onto the dusty street.
"What the hell is your problem?" demanded Lurk. "Must you keep doing that? Low profile, you said. Discreet, you said. And here you are, chopping up anything that moves."
"Sorry," said Bent. "It just seemed like the thing to do."
"The kid's right, you crazy old fool," said Mal. "That will bring the Imperials right down our throats. Shaggus, get the Sparrow warmed up. Quick!"
The Woonky roared his agreement and ran through the door into the landing bay beyond. Lurk and Bent followed the woolly creature. The two 'bots followed the two humans. Mal came through last, and closed and locked the door behind him. "That won't hold them for long," he said.
He stopped. Bent and Lurk were staring, open-mouthed, at the Serendipity Sparrow.
"What a piece of junk," said Lurk.
The Serendipity Sparrow resembled a bastardised mechanical hybrid of bird and insect. Balanced precariously on its four small landing struts, it looked ready to topple forward at any moment. The bulbous engines at its tail end, and the mass of the two huge VTOL jets amidships barely seemed enough to counterbalance the "neck" of the ship that raised the cockpit to a height of perhaps thirty feet above the ground.
"She's an old Firebug class freighter," said Mal. "I've made several modifications to her myself. She may not look like much, but she's got it where it counts. Now we're a little pressed for time, so if you'd kindly get on board..."
"Going somewhere, Single?" said a voice behind them.
Mal sighed. Greeno. "You two get on board," he said. "This won't take but a moment." Lurk and Bent hurried for the ramp, followed closely by the two 'bots.
He turned, a smile on his face. "Greeno, old buddy, how are you? I was just on my way to see your boss."
Greeno was, as fortune would have it, green. His large black eyes glinted in the afternoon suns-light as he emerged from the shadows in the corner of the landing bay. From the top of his pebbled green head, flared nostrils on stalks sniffed the air. A stubby, lethal-looking laser pistol in his fist was aimed unwaveringly at Mal's head.
"Looks to me," said Greeno, "as though you were just skipping town. Not to mention the planet. But it's too late for talk now. Flabby has placed a huge bounty on your head. Every tracker in the galaxy will be looking for you. It's a pity for them that I got here first."
"Look, I've got the money."
"If you give it to me," said Greeno greenily, "I might forget I saw you."
"I don't have it with me," said Mal. "Look Greeno, I've got these passengers, paying customers, and once I take them where they're going I'll have enough to pay Flabby off, and give you a bit on the side."
"Sorry, Single. Flabby the Butt has a reputation to consider. She can't let every smuggler who works for her get away with dumping her cargo into space at the first sign of trouble."
"Be reasonable, Greeno," said Mal. "Even I get boarded sometimes. Do you think I had a choice?" He thrust his hands idly into his pockets.
"Try telling that to Flabby," said Greeno. "Perhaps she'll only take your ship."
"Over my dead body," said Mal.
Greeno snorted in amusement. "Yes, Single, that's the idea. I've been looking forward to this for a long time."
"Yes," said Mal. There was a flash of light, and as Greeno slumped to the floor, dead, Mal pulled the small laser pistol from his coat pocket and hastily patted out the small flame which was smouldering around the charred hole in his coat. "I bet you have."
Let me repeat that, for those of you who missed it: Mal shot first. It's just the kind of guy he was. It should be obvious to everyone, though, that he acted in self defence. He was a rogue and a scoundrel, not a murderer.
Suddenly an armoured fist pounded on the door to the landing bay, and an electronically amplified voice shouted "Open up." Obviously the owner of the voice did not intend to wait patiently for them to comply, because sparks started to fly as a laser cutter began to chew its way through the door. Mal turned and ran for the Sparrow. At the top of the ramp he hit the button which closed the ramp, then thumbed the smaller one beside it.
"Shaggus," he yelled into the intercom, "get us out of here. We're about to have company."
The Sparrow's VTOL jets roared into life. The rickety old freighter shuddered uncertainly for a moment, then lurched skywards. The jets rotated, and the ship soared away from Moss Iceberg just as the first Troopers burst into the landing bay below them. A couple of them fired up at the fleeing vessel in frustration.
Mal ran through the cargo bay and up the steps. As he passed through the galley he saw that his passengers had found somewhere to sit. He ran on into the small flight deck and settled into the pilot's seat beside Shaggus. The Woonky snarled something. We've got more company.
"Yeah, I see 'em," said Mal. "Our passengers must be hotter than I thought."
"See what?" said Lurk from behind him.
"Two Imperial Planetary Dominators, coming in fast." Mal pointed out the front view screen, where two distant dots of light were growing slowly larger. "Go buckle in; things are gonna get a little bumpy."
"Can't you outrun them?" squealed Lurk. "I thought you said this thing was fast."
"I never said she was fast," said Mal. "I said 'she's got it where it counts'. But she's fast enough for you and your old man. Once we make the jump to hyperlight speed we'll be home free. Until then, we can outmanoeuvre them. So go sit down, and buckle up! And make sure those 'bots are secure."
As Lurk returned to his seat, Shaggus grunted again. "Oh good," said Mal. "Fighters."
He began to throw the Sparrow through a series of wild evasive zigs and zags, taking her steadily closer to one of the approaching Dominators. Weapons fire began to flash around them. They streaked past the hull of one of the huge battle cruisers, and Mal jerked the rudder sharply over, throwing the Sparrow into a vertical spiral. One of the pursuing fighters overshot, and exploded against the hull of the Dominator. The remainder spiralled upwards after their prey.
A light flashed on the console. The hyperlight calculations were completed. "Let's book, baby," whispered Mal as he tapped the button beside the flashing light. The stars in the view screen turned into streaks of light as the Serendipity Sparrow accelerated past the light barrier and into hyperspace, leaving their Imperial pursuers—and the planet Ratatouille—far, far behind.