The radioman backs down and sends no message to the other dropship. Learning their lesson, the others on the bridge stop trying to engage me in any kind of conversation and keep a single-minded, almost impressive, focus on their screens. The next twenty minutes pass with an agonizing slowness that has my insides vibrating in anticipation, but they do pass.
“So. What are the votes from my bridge-crew?” I finally ask as a clock on the computer nearest me clicks over. I rise from the chair as I speak, calmly inverting myself so I’m standing on the ‘ceiling’ of the bridge and safely out of what will be the line-of-fire.
They surprise me.
“No raid.”
“Against.”
“Me too.”
The crew is either professional or, more likely,
scared enough to answer without looking at me. As they pipe up, their answers differ only in the phrasing they use.
“Nay for me as well.” Brevers answers at the end. He’s the only one brave enough to pivot in-place to actually look at me as he answers. “Even if he tried something, we’re still coming out ahead without—“
Turning towards me wins him the grand prize of being first to notice my freshly-drawn laser-pistol and those weapons held by the dozen now-former slaves who’d entered the bridge at
exactly the right time. Apparently, Gerard’s military career made him a bit better about things like punctuality and following a plan than the scumbags I’m used to relying upon.
His gasp draws the attention of the others on the bridge. Just like when my sword penetrated Gronley or my nails dug into Arthur, in that instant
all the bullshit and lies that have brought me here is worth it! Their
faces. Oh, their
magnificent faces! They know
, instantly, who is really in charge and that they can’t do anything about it! They know that I’m the one who determines if they live or die—and they’re confused which one I will bless them with!
They shouldn’t be. I’m Lady Death!
My trigger finger tenses. Fun, fun, fun!
“We’ll put them with the MechWarriors in the slave-hold.” One of the former-slaves who’d entered says with finality, pointing two of the men with him forward to start awkwardly putting cuffs on the bridge personnel.
One of the former-slaves blocks my shot! I can still shoot through him of course. That would be all kinds of entertaining, but also make things more complicated and difficult for me. So I can’t.
It would be wrong.
Evil.
…
It wouldn’t be profitable. Brevers and the others have comparatively miniscule bounties compared to the real killers in the crew. But money is money and turning them over live brings more than dead. I was going to need to draw as much blood from this stone as I can now that I’ve been forced into the do-gooder course of action because my damned second-in-command couldn’t keep it in his pants!
“Sounds good. Though we might have to keep some up here to navigate the ship.” I say, more to fill space and distract from my disappointment as I withdraw my finger from the trigger.
“Actually, there’s a half-dozen back in the hallway who should be capable. Lot of people with at least some experience crewing dropships in the hold.”
…Huh. That actually worked out good. I could even take some credit for it! Hurray for my own foresight in having Sarah bring along competent belongings!—
Slaves.
People! Competent people!
I move myself on from the surprised gawking and temptation-to-shoot the bridge crew gives me by floating to the station that controls the dropships internal systems. Navigating the menus is a bit of a hassle, but it doesn’t take long to find the commands that lock all the doors in and out of Hold C where my men have assembled. Navigating around them again and overriding a half-dozen safeties takes a little more time, but in less than a minute I’ve got the command pulled up to run a containment-test on the Hold and its immediate surroundings.
I want to give them a speech. Even go down personally and take their vote before
telling them what was coming as a final courtesy before their deaths. I can even hear the argument in the back of my mind that doing such would guarantee their guilt and be the
right thing to do. The condemned man had a right to face his death with either a cigarette or a blindfold, didn’t he? It would be a courtesy I’d not given to other, more innocent, people who I’d killed.
But I can recognize the
excuse for what it is. I already know they’re guilty and I’m not really concerned with whether they know what’s coming or not regardless of it. I just want to drag this out. Give myself the chance to stand above them as Lady Death and
see them. So that it
feels better, more
personal, when l press a button and make them all slowly suffocate to death.
If I give myself any more time to be tempted by the idea, I’m going to give into it.
I slap my entire palm down against the control-panel in front of me hard enough it doesn’t actually recognize what I was trying to do. Growling, I repeat the motion, focusing it on the ‘Initiate’ button that sits on one side. This time I manage to initiate the test. I have to manipulate the controls a third time to cancel the final safety-countdown that tries to delay the implementation of my genius plan.
“Systems test initiated. Deck seven cargo hold venting air. Deck seven cargo hold venting air.” The shrill, computerized voice of ‘bitching Betty’ says.
I had to trust that Gerard or other slaves had nicked the emergency-masks from their containers in the hold. They should have had enough time while I was traveling to the bridge before the crew assembled for my ‘vote’. Even if they didn’t, there were only a dozen masks available. Not nearly enough for the almost-fifty crewmembers who should be in the hold.
I almost wish the slaves missed a few. Watching the security-camera recordings of so many of my pirates fighting over so few masks as the oxygen slowly bled from the hold and they lost consciousness would be…Wrong. It would be wrong. And weird. It should be enough I’m getting to
kill them. I shouldn’t let myself indulge in it too much. If everything goes right it’s the last time I’ll ever get to—have to!—do it.
“All entrances to deck seven cargo hold maintaining seal. An emergency override request has been entered from Door 732B.”
I dismiss the request. The computer, uncaring and no fun because of it, accepts the command without response or comment. A person at least would have looked at me as if I was a monster for ignoring the plea for safety. But they are pirates, and this is the only way to be sure I control the ship post-Arthur without inviting running battles through the hallways.
“Talk about a bargain. This one easy trick cut the cost of their death-sentences by almost a hundred percent!” I joke, twisting my head back and forth to catch the eyes of the former-slaves who have dropped into new spots on the bridge and begun familiarizing themselves with the controls.
They grace me with a laugh, but I’m pretty sure it’s strained rather than authentic. I suppose it makes some sense that slavery would warp someone’s sense of humor so much they couldn’t tell when Death was legitimately
hilarious.
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A/N: I feel like there's a snarky pop-culture comparison to Darth Vader in Cloud City and 'I have altered the deal, pray I do not alter it any further' to be made here, but this is the only way I can figure to make it.
This does allow me to point to this chapter's bad pun/wordplay/reference in the title however for its relevance and because it makes me kind've snort in amusement (as most of the titles do, honestly...I have a very easy sense of humor, forgive me):
The Bible said:
And your covenant with death shall be disannulled, and your agreement with hell shall not stand; when the overflowing scourge shall pass through, then ye shall be trodden down by it. -Isaiah 28:18
On other matters--updates may slow a bit as I go through the last bits of some heavy learnin' and whatnots and have to prioritize that over terrible puns and bad wordplay with occaisonal stompy-robot digressions. But they might not as well. Have to see where my (bad) time management skills take me!