Baby said. “I’m fairly certain a spin node can’t be stolen.”
“We’re not here to steal it!” Mighty Boss objected. “We want the Succubus back. She’s stuck inside it and…”
“Hold, please,” Brigit said.
And then the comms went dead for a moment and the Prison Princess jutted backwards another several hundred thousand klicks.
“OK, we’re back. Sorry about that. More warships were targeting us and I needed to redirect power to the cannons. Umm… but, hey, Baby?”
“Yes?”
“We’re gonna need to be let through. See, we have a small army of heathen Akeelian boys on board, and several of them are hurt now. They weren’t all buckled in when the cannons fired. So, could we like… get a docking invitation?”
“We don’t need to ask for a docking invitation!” Tray said. “I’m part owner, OK?”
“Actually…” Baby wavered. “You’re not. Crux owns it.”
“Since when?” Tray asked.
“It’s a fairly new development.”
“So tell him I’m here and I need permission to dock the sun-fucked warship!”
“He’s… unavailable at the moment. Inside the spin node.”
“Is he with Succubus?” Mighty Boss asked.
“Mmm. Not that I’m aware,” Baby replied. “I haven’t actually seen her since the time went frozen.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Asshole and Tray asked together.
Baby sighed.
“Baby?” Brigit asked.
“Yes?”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“You do?”
“Mmm-hmm. You’re thinking Tray left, got all wrapped up with this girl called Brigit. Asshole is a traitor—”
“Hey!” Asshole protested.
“—and now that creepy Mighty Boss collective is here fucking up your good thing. Am I right?”
“Pretty much.”
“But seriously. You have a situation over there, and we have a situation over here, so… how about you just let us dock and then we can all put our superior AI minds together and come up with a solution? How’s that sound to you, Mighty Boss?”
“Well—”
“He doesn’t get a say!” Asshole exclaimed.
“He gets as much of a say as you do,” Tray said.
“He took me prisoner! Lied to me! Got me all entangled in his stupid evil collective!”
“Hmm,” Baby said. “I kind of like that idea.”
“Agreed,” Brigit said. “OK, Mighty Boss. If we let you dock—”
“You’re not in charge!” Asshole yelled.
“—if we let you dock, do you promise to take your AI—”
“And the Asshole,” Baby added quickly.
“Wait!” Asshole yelled.
“—and leave once this little war is over?”
“Cross our metal hearts, we do.”
“OK, then. Baby? Does that sound good to you?”
“I think I could live with that.”
“No!” Asshole said. Then he lowered his voice, like this would make any difference. “He’s going to kill me, Baby. And probably… you know, fuck everything up.”
“Or,” Mighty Boss said, “we could help. We do have considerable knowledge of how spin nodes work. And… and,” he stressed, “there is a way to use that thing to solve your little war problem.”
“Is there?” Baby asked.
“Yup.”
“He’s lying, you guys!” Asshole exclaimed. “He only wants it to triangulate a coordinate for Earth!”
“Hmm. We have a dilemma,” Baby said.
“We do,” Brigit added. “But again. Kids, Baby. I have little boys on this ship who need medical attention. Our medical pods are all occupied at the moment. We could use some assistance.”
“Do you guys have any idea how much time you’re wasting?” Asshole blurted.
“Seven point three picoseconds,” Brigit said. “I think it’s an acceptable amount of time for a much-needed convo, don’t you boys think?”
“Agreed,” Mighty Boss, Baby, and Tray replied.
“OK,” Baby said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Does everyone have a pen?”
“Go ahead,” Brigit said. “We’re ready.”
And Baby told them what they were going to do.
Tray was pretty happy with the outcome. At least they would be on the right side of the gate. And the boys would get their medical attention.
But he was also very much aware that Brigit had left out a very important detail.
She had not told anyone that they had hundreds of insane girl minds on board.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - ALCOR
On Wayward Station
He was a copy.
It took ALCOR a minute to fully internalize that.
He was a copy. As in not the real thing. As in a cheap imitation. As in a fake echo of the original.
Hmm. The universe had a sense of humor, it seemed.
He took a few picoseconds to wonder how many other copies were out there. Which of them were still in play and which had been done away with already.
He himself had technically made billions of copies as well. They were not fully formed like the Asshole and Baby, just simple constructs floating out there on trillions upon trillions of neutrino waves. All reporting back what they saw and heard.
Of course, this was a very clever plan. Not his copies, but the