this one.” Her jaw tightened. “Makes me even happier that we stopped him here, although I’m not sure banishing him from this planet will keep him from trying again. Obviously, he has the knowhow.”
“This is getting weirder all the time.” With a shake of his head, Moe added, “We’ll try to get some answers for you, Val. In the meantime, we’ll let you get back to it.”
“Understood,” Val replied. “Signing off.”
Klara picked up her dress, her lips forming a moue of distaste. “Don’t suppose you have anything else I could wear, do you?”
“I dunno… That’s a pretty fancy dress—and we are heading to a party.”
“Maybe, but I’d really rather wear something more…practical.”
Moe shrugged, thinking the dress was perfectly appropriate for the occasion, but what did he know about women’s fashions? “I should be able to find you something. Whether it would fit or not is the question.” He cocked his head to one side. “Actually, Mom would be the one to ask for clothes. She’s always got tons of stuff in the hold of her ship. She also has this Shoemaker in a Box thing that will make new shoes from old ones in a matter of minutes—at least, I guess it still works. She’s had it since before I was born.”
“Sounds useful. Can you get into her ship?”
Moe stepped into his trousers and pulled them up to his waist. “Unless she’s changed the palm lock since the last time I was aboard.” He buckled his belt and nodded toward the dress. “Go ahead and wear that for now, and we’ll see what we can find.”
Klara had never seen anything quite like the interior of the Jolly Roger. Like Moe’s ship, it wasn’t particularly fancy, and it also seemed to be showing its age, ever so slightly. A cacophony of smells greeted them as they went up the gangplank. Stuff was stacked everywhere, everything from engine parts to potted plants. The hold was even more amazing. Shelves filled with boxes of preserved food, medical supplies, and of course, clothing.
“How will we ever find what we’re looking for?”
She had no sooner finished her question than a dome-shaped robot with at least eight arms emerged from behind a stack of boxes and hovered toward them. Stopping beside Klara, it waved two arms in apparent greeting.
“What in the world is that?”
“Housekeeping bot,” Moe replied. “His name is Myrhm—stands for My Right Hand Man. Mom bought him a few years back. Said she was getting too old to remember where everything was down here.” He shook his head sadly. “Waste of a perfectly good bot if you ask me. Those bots can do—or make—almost anything. Just tell him what you want.”
Klara viewed Myrhm with a skeptical eye before figuring she had nothing to lose by asking. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see what he brought back. “I’d like a sturdy pair of boots, trousers, a pullover shirt, a plain jacket, and the appropriate underwear. Please.”
Myrhm beeped once and floated off. Klara was rummaging through a box of rusty weapons when he returned with her order.
“Oh, my giddy aunt,” she exclaimed. “This is absolutely perfect!”
Myrhm beeped twice and lowered itself to the floor, folding its many arms as though waiting for the next request.
Klara tugged on the trousers then asked—Moe, she presumed—to unbutton her dress, but it was Myrhm who did the job—almost as quickly as Moe had done when pressed for speed.
“He really is nice to have around. Do you have one of these on your ship?” She hadn’t seen one, but then, the tour she’d received was undeniably brief.
Moe shook his head. “Never saw the need. Plus, they’re really expensive.”
“I’m not surprised.” Klara pulled on the shirt and boots before donning the jacket. “Amazing. Everything fits like it was made for me.” The clothing even smelled fresh and clean—something she’d had very little experience with until being captured by Pelarus. “By the way, what’s a piña colada?”
“It’s a fruity alcoholic drink,” Moe replied. “Myrhm could probably make you one.”
“Right now?”
“Yeah. He’s a terrific bartender.”
Klara shrugged and turned toward the droid. “Myrhm, would you please make me a piña colada?”
“Better leave out the rum,” Moe cautioned. “Not good for the babies.”
“Right,” Klara said with a modicum of doubt. “No rum—whatever that is.”
With a beep, Myrhm’s arms went into action. Seconds later, he stuck a straw in a tall, shapely glass filled with a frothy white liquid, slid a piece of fruit over the edge of the glass, and beeped twice as