arms and legs, longer-than-normal fingers and toes made to order for gripping the rungs of a ladder. “Yep. That’ll work.”
“Unless you’d rather fly,” Nexbit cautioned. “Might be quieter.”
“Okay. You’re right. Quieter is better. Do the kradjet.” Moe was amazed their whispered conversation hadn’t been overheard. Perhaps Pelarus had only gotten the bird-like wings instead of the package deal of enhancements Val had received. Then again, he was clearly older than Val.
Must be an earlier model…
Again, Moe waited while Nexbit assumed his kradjet form, then climbed aboard. “You are cleared for takeoff.”
Nexbit flapped his wings so gently, Moe was barely aware of rising. Even with their silent ascent, he hoped Pelarus was busy at one of the control stations and at least had his back to them. He’d already fired up the engines. The next step would be to lay in a course. After that, he would have to move to the pilot’s seat for the takeoff.
As Moe drew level with the floor of the bridge, he spotted Pelarus at the navigation station, his fingertips flying over the console as though he knew precisely what he was doing.
The moment his feet reached deck level, Moe dismounted and aimed his pistol at the middle of Pelarus’s back. “So, you can fly a starship. We wondered.”
Pelarus turned around so fast, he lost several feathers. “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Lucky me, I’m not. But there are a lot of people outside wishing you were. Dead, I mean.”
“And they will remain outside,” Pelarus said with a careless wave of his hand. “Anyone in the blast zone will be incinerated very shortly.”
“You are such an asshole,” Moe observed. “But then, that’s to be expected from a greedy, narcissistic tyrant.”
“My, such colorful language,” Pelarus drawled.
“If you think that’s colorful, you should hear my mother.” Moe motioned with the barrel of his pistol. “How about you step away from the console?”
Pelarus shrugged. “I’m finished, anyway. Time to play pilot.”
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He nodded at Nexbit, who by this time had resumed his normal shape. “Check him for weapons.”
“Will do.” Nexbit edged toward Pelarus as though the Vessonian were a ticking time bomb.
“And don’t even think about trying anything funny,” Moe warned. “My patience is already worn pretty thin.”
Nexbit obvious reluctance as he patted the winged man’s pockets was nothing compared to the disdain Pelarus displayed. “Must you touch me with such disgusting fingers?”
“I can do claws if you like,” Nexbit replied. “Or would you prefer talons?”
“Shut up,” Pelarus snarled.
Nexbit stepped back. “Okay, boss. He’s clean.”
“Of course, I am.” Pelarus gave his clothing a haughty brush. “If only I could remove the stench of your presence as easily.”
Nexbit chuckled. “You’ll get used to it.”
Moe took a moment to consider his captive. Something about him just didn’t add up. “You know, you don’t look old enough to have done this much damage to a planet in your own lifetime. What are you, the third or fourth generation of tyrants?”
He smiled. “I’ve been cloned twice,” he said as he spread his wings. “The second time I had these added. Lovely, don’t you think?” Without waiting for a reply, he continued, “I was planning to get another replacement ready soon, but Klara seemed like the perfect mother for my offspring—although I suppose I could have simply used her as a surrogate mother for another clone. That is, after I’d expunged her womb of your foul spawn.” His smile vanished. “If I haven’t done it already.”
“You’re treading on thin ice,” Moe growled.
“Perhaps.” Pelarus inclined his head to one side. “I’m wondering what it will take to make you snap.”
“And do something stupid, like take my eyes off you? Not a chance. You really are finished here.” He nodded at Nexbit again. “Shut down the engines and open the hatch.”
Moe had the pleasure of seeing the color drain from Pelarus’s face. “Throwing me to the jackals?”
“Something like that,” Moe replied. “It seems appropriate somehow.”
“You could try,” Pelarus said with a lip-curling smile, seeming to regain a measure of his composure. “Once I’m outside, I’ll simply fly away again.”
“Nope. I’m gonna clip those wings. Or at least tie them together. A bunch of the locals are headed this way, brandishing a wide variety of improvised weapons. Surely someone has a pair of bolt cutters or a saw of some kind. Removing those wings probably won’t kill you, although it might hurt like hell.”
If Pelarus had been pale before, he was positively ashen now. “That’s–that’s—”
“Inhumane?” Moe suggested. “Possibly. But then, from what I’ve seen,