Back about three minutes prior to the moment Mr. Hargraves-Jones rushed into his wife's beauty salon, the Tikses of New Toronto were eating dinner with the Captain at the head table of the Gerrald's dining room.
"Awful, simply awful," Mr. Tiks was saying. "To think, dying right there in the middle of the send-off. It has almost spoiled my dinner to see all that choking and dying right in front of me."
"My love, please, not while we eat?" replied Mrs. Tiks, with a nervous glance at the Captain. It wasn't often one was invited to sup at the Captain's table, and she wasn't about to let Harri spoil it.
She had put on her best frilly white silk dress for the occasion, the one that she fancied made her look rather like Phylicia Rashad. It made her look more like a clean but shaggy white sheepdog. They were eating borscht, and she was being extra careful not to slop. "Well, my dear Captain, back to you and your clever and entertaining story about that big rodent."
"Right. Now, where was I?" said the Captain, searching his dinner plate for clues. "Oh yes, I was telling you with words about the time I was carrying my big gun through the - what did you call it? Suds? Dudes? Buds?"
"Woods, your gracious, munificent Lordship," said Mrs. Tiks.
"Really, Genna, your constant boot-kissing is disgusting," said Mr. Tiks suddenly. "You're just a younger version of your mother, by God."
"Keep Mother out of this," said Mrs. Tiks. "And don't blaspheme."
And the Tikses began screaming at each other across the wide table, insults flying like birdies in Japanese badminton. The Tikses were former professionals at "Getting On Each Other's Nerves", a popular husband and wife game from the late twentieth century, and had never gotten out of the habit of training at every opportunity.
As the argument continued, the Captain's eyes began bulging in the singularly unpleasant way that Centaurans are capable of, looking back and forth between the battling Tikses with a bewildered expression on his face. Then, re-affirming all the notions about Centaurans not knowing when to laugh, he burst into hysterical giggles.
It was at that very instant the red alert sounded. Everything and everyone in the dining room was suddenly bathed in cheap red light, one of those horrible space cliches left over from Star Trek, which was still in syndication.
The Captain wiped his eyes. "Sorry you two, hate to leave, but it looks - sounds - feels - well, I've got to go. Boys!" and the six porters left their portering posts and rushed to the litter.
Or tried. For at that very instant, a brutally efficient knock-out gas shot through the ship's ventilation system and almost everyone aboard ship dropped instantly unconscious.
The last thought in the dining room belonged to Mrs. Tiks, whose strong perfume had managed to counteract the alien gas for a few extra seconds. Mrs. Tiks thought, as she slumped into her beet borscht, This is the last time I wear white on a cruise.
It was a long time before she thought anything else.
VIII
Back in the Hargraves-Jones suite, Minnie swallowed an expletive as a second stylus broke in her fingers. These little modern pencils weren't meant to take the kind of pressure Minnie was exerting on them in her excitement.
Annette Hargraves-Jones sat in one of the large salon chairs. A transmitter set covered her large head, and Minnie could hear her muffled shouts even through the privacy protector.
Finally, the fat woman tugged off the transmitter and spoke directly to Minnie. Bobby was sitting silently in the corner by the door composing questions.
"Damnation, excuse my language, dear," said Annette. "My entire corps is out of commission. Damnable space gas. It's the pirates for sure. Lucky I sealed our room in time or we'd be out too."
Minnie looked around the room at the closed vents. "How much oxygen do we have in here?"
Annette pursed her lips. "By my estimation, we could survive another nine hours without opening the vents again. But I think it is unlikely that they'll use more gas. And since the first batch will have dissipated by now, they'll be hunting the corridors with crack laser patrols looking for anyone who's still conscious."
"What do we do?" asked Minnie, swallowing the lump in her throat. For the first time, it occurred to her that she might actually have to get involved. What if there was danger? She might get killed. It was a terribly compromising situation to be in. "Couldn't we just stay here and wait to be rescued?"
"By whom?" Annette sneered. "The International Earth Patrol? My six-year old nephew would be a better choice. This is space pirates we're talking about, Miss Minnie, desperate men with prices on their heads so ridiculously large that no one could ever pay up if one was caught."
Minnie turned, and caught a glimpse of her blue-haired head in one of the mirrors. It was really hard to avoid. The only question now was whether to claim her violent birthright, or cower in this room, hoping she wouldn't be killed. She took a deep breath.
"So," she said, "It's us or them, and I think I have a lot of better things to do than be killed by pirates in outer space with no chance of a decent funeral."
"That's the spirit!" crowed Annette, and leapt, fairly agily for a fat woman, to her feet. "Storm the ship! No prisoners! Do you need a weapon, Minnie dear?"
Minnie took another deep breath. In a moment she would be hyperventilating. The tension building in her stomach was painful. Can you, she wondered to herself in genuine concern, really die of fear?
Annette picked up another large laser disruptor from the curling iron rack and held it out to Minnie.
"I don't know how to use this," said Minnie., holding the gun gingerly with two fingers.
"A miracle of modern technology," said Annette, removing the barricades from the door with a single powerful shove. "Just aim and shoot. Come on, Bobby, time to go."
"Thanks," said Minnie, less than enthusiastically. And on Annette's count of three, they rushed into the hall.
The pudgy guard lay prone by the door, head pillowed on her violin case. Minnie stuck her pistol into the waistband of her shorts and knelt to check for a pulse.
"Don't worry," said Annette. "Space gas just knocks you out for an hour or so. Less, in Gertrude's case, because of her weight." Annette motioned to Bobby, and the three moved silently down the hall.
Annette seemed to know where she was going, so Minnie let her lead. They passed like ghosts through the purple halls. In the eerie glow of the red alert lights, Minnie's hair glowed mauve.
They passed an open stateroom door, and Minnie came to a full stop.
"Hmm?" Annette whispered.
"I left my cabin open," whispered Minnie in return. "Give me a second to lock up."
Annette shook her head as Minnie darted inside. "Space pirates," she said to Bobby, "And she's worried about common theft."
Minnie returned with a small box under her arm.
"What's that?" asked Bobby quietly.
Minnie blushed, visibly even under the red light. "My new dicta-typer. It's the only thing of value I've ever owned, and I'm not leaving it for the pirates to steal."
Annette chuckled. "And just where do you think we're going, Miss Minnie?"
"We're escaping, aren't we?" said Minnie, an unpleasant warning tickle creeping up her spine. "To the escape pods, off into space? Away from the pirates?"
Annette laughed again, this time almost a giggle. "Of course not, silly girl," she said. "I can't desert all the fat ladies on board, not to mention all the civilians. We're going to pull a rescue mission that'll make your head spin."
Minnie nodded in wide-eyed shock.
IX
The Captain woke from his drug-sleep in a slightly more-than- usual state of confusion. He distinctly remembered the red alert, and the first hiss of the space gas, and especially the fact that he had missed his dinner.
None of this explained the fact that he was sitting in his litter in the middle of the Gerrald's larger gymnasium, tied to his chair with monofilament cable.
The porters were still at their posts around him, and were also just waking up. The rest of the crew of the Gerrald were scattered around the gymnasium, tied to various pieces of sports equipment.
Suddenly, there was a blast of trumpets over the gymnasium public address system, and a dozen figures appeared in the doorways around the room.
"Avast, scurvy Gerraldians," boomed a voice. "We are the Space Pirates, and you are all dead meat. Any questions before you die?"
The first officer, tied horizontally to an exercise horse, shouted, "What have you done with the passengers?"
"Any other question," boomed the voice. "Nah, just kidding. They're all alive. We've just - sorted them a bit."
"Sorted them?" said the first officer.
"Yeah, we got bored waiting for you all to wake up. Fat ones, skinny ones, short and tall - We didn't have one room big enough for them all. Hey, I'm a poet!"
"They're all alive?"
"I said so, didn't I? That's enough questions. Now, we're going to take all your stuff, and kill you in some painful way." There was a horrible laugh, then a giggle. "Sorry, just kidding. We really would like to kill you, but we're reasonable folk. I'll make a deal - you give us something valuable, and we'll leave you alive."
The first officer hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice quavered with emotion. The lives of the crew and passengers of the Gerrald were in his hands. "We'll open the safes. Jewels, money, negotiable bonds, all yours."
