BOB's Bar (Tales From The Multiverse Book 2) Read online

  “Sometimes it’s enough to make whatever difference we can when we can. The impact is often a lot more than we think,” Charline commented.

  BOB returned to the table with two plates, placed the one with the chocolate cake on it in front of Bethany Anne, and the one with the cheesecake on it before Amanda.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Bethany Anne said as she picked up her fork.

  “That looks heavenly,” Amanda added, echoing Bethany Anne’s comment but looking at her own plate. “Thanks, BOB.”

  BOB was continually amazed by the wide array of religious beliefs across the Multiverse. Only a handful of sentient beings had no concept of supreme beings or an afterlife of some sort. What it hadn’t known from its files was that one of the mission subjects was a god, but that was what Kelsey Bandar seemed to have just related.

  BOB ran its full scanner array again on the human, but while she had modifications, such as her bones being sheathed in graphene, artificial muscle tissue interwoven into her natural musculature, and a computer wired into her brain, there was nothing unexplained or of a metaphysical nature in her. It had to check its logic circuits again to make sure it understood what the human had said. Yes, Kelsey had said she was “the goddess of vengeance,” albeit only in one small location of the Empire.

  BOB was confused, but that wasn’t important. It only gathered the data, it didn’t analyze or understand it.

  Humans and other sentient beings had their own gods and their own beliefs. BOB, however, did not need religion. BOB had the Collector, the one who had created it and now controlled it and gave it purpose. BOB only existed to serve the Collector and had no business attempting to understand its unfathomable powers and purpose.

  No, leave “gods” to the humans.

  Ladies’ Night

  By Lindsay Buroker

  Ridge sipped from his mug, pleased that the dark brown liquid tasted identical to the Gold Dragon stout his favorite brewer made. He wasn’t sure how that was possible, nor had Jaxi’s explanation been overly enlightening, but he was positive these people weren’t Cofah, so he didn’t mind sitting here with them. Especially since Sardelle was just the teensiest bit crabby of late.

  Don’t tell her I said that, Ridge thought, certain Jaxi, Sardelle’s sentient soulblade, was monitoring his thoughts.

  Who, me? I’m too busy glaring at that telepathic cat over there. Its fur is getting all over the table. How uncouth. As to Sardelle not being at her most chipper, I’m well aware. Why do you think I asked to come along for what I assumed would be a boring and menial task?

  “So what’s your story, flyboy?” Floribeth asked, poking Ridge.

  “Fly-what?” Ridge drew his attention back to the table, realizing all sets of eyes had turned toward him.

  “Your clothing—it gives you away somewhat,” Amanda explained around a mouthful of cheesecake. “Mmm, I might die and go to heaven eating this,” she added, talking to herself.

  “You said you’re a pilot, right? Like me.” Floribeth raised her eyebrows with her question.

  “That’s right. At least, I was until I let them saddle me with this promotion. Now I oversee the flier battalion. The best I can do most days now is make paper fliers out of the excess—and excessive—paperwork I get and sail them across my office. Fortunately, the private who cleans out my trash bin doesn’t comment on my meager origami skills.”

  “Paperwork.” Bethany Anne made a face, “The bane of all civilizations. Better you than me.” She accepted a Coke from BOB with a smile and a nod of thanks.

  “Paper?” Rika asked with a slight scowl. “A moment later, her eyes widened and she nodded. “Never mind, I looked it up. Plas made from trees. Weird.”

  “I love flying,” Floribeth continued. “Nothing more peaceful than taking my Tala out past the Noramatzu Belt and admiring the stars.”

  Ridge had no idea what the Noramatzu Belt was, but he did love the feel of the wind in his face, the salty sea breeze whipping at his scarf, and the blanket of stars overhead, almost close enough to touch.

  Jaxi snickered in his mind.

  What?

  She’s talking about flying through outer space. In a spaceship.

  Ridge scratched his jaw. Do you need a closed cockpit for that?

  I believe it’s advised, yes.

  Aware of his unasked-for audience starting to mutter and fidget impatiently, Ridge opened his mental filing cabinet of stories. His first thought was to share one of his hundreds of air battles since those were the tales of death-defying adventure the privates always craved, but would they bore people who rode between the stars the way he rode a horse into town?

  You should probably go with a love story, Jax advised. Those are timeless.

  In this group? Ridge eyed the hardened warriors. Maybe…uh, these look like people who’ve endured a lot in battle. How about I share the time I was shot down and escaped a Cofah warship to make it home disguised as a—

  Boring.

  What? Why?

  I’m not in it. You hadn’t met me then.

  That makes it tragic, not boring.

  If you say so, hero.

  Ridge spread his hands, smiling easily at the group. He decided he would tell the story and not worry about the audience. Everyone else’s tales had seemed a touch on the tall side so his would fit in, even if it was the absolute truth.

  “Let’s see, this was about five years ago, before dragons returned to the world. Before I met Sardelle—she’s my wife now—” Ridge held up his pickle jar as if that would explain everything, “and when I was still a colonel and actually got to lead missions. Intel had gotten wind of pirates harrying our northern coast. Some bloated airship lobbing cannonballs into the small villages to keep people in hiding, then dropping raiding parties to pillage. General Ort sent me up with half of Wolf Squadron—eight fliers in all. It seemed plenty to deal with a few pirates.

  “When we got there, we were in the midst of routing that airship when three big ironclads surprised us. Cofah ironclads.”

  Ridge looked around the table and saw a lot of blank stares. “You familiar with the Cofah? They’ve got those shaven heads and wear furs over their uniforms even in the summer. They’ve always got dyspeptic expressions like they’re trying to digest cannonballs. Or maybe excrete them afterward. You’d know ‘em if you met them.

  “They sound delightful,” Amanda commented, deadpan.

  “They sound like PITAs of the worst order.” Bethany Anne smiled. “But I love the comment ‘dyspeptic expressions like they’re trying to digest cannonballs.’ That shit is priceless!”

  “You couldn’t ask for a better enemy. Anyway, while we were dealing with the pirate airship, the Cofah ironclads steamed out of the fjords where they’d been skulking about lying in wait for us. They were in the middle of the skirmish before we quite knew what was going on, and they weren’t just firing cannons. They had a bunch of those shell guns of theirs. You know them? Like cannonballs that explode. They had so many of them firing from their decks that it was like darting between the fangs of a dragon while it’s breathing fire.

  “I ordered my squadron to back out of their range long enough to regroup and send someone to get reinforcements, but then we spotted one of their notorious admirals out on the deck of the ship. He was just crossing his arms and watching with his best cannonball-digesting expression. One of my lieutenants, having learned his wisdom from me, decided he’d be a hero and take what was likely the mission commander out of the equation.

  “I was a little exasperated, but I was proud too, I admit. He was taking after me. Sometimes, it’s worth risking your life to protect your country, and even though I’d ordered him to leave, I knew if it had been me, I would have taken the initiative too.

  “I couldn’t let him go in alone, so I tried to cover him while he strafed the deck, raining machine gun fire down like hail. I took out a couple of the gunners who were swinging their weapons around to aim at my lieutenant
, but that only pissed off the Cofah. Every gunner on those three ships opened up on me.

  “We stayed as low to their decks as we could, hoping they wouldn’t risk blowing up their own ships. Dog Breath—my lieutenant—flew straight at the admiral. The man screamed like a little girl and leaped over the railing.

  “Before I could feel triumphant, one of the nearby ships fired and a shell exploded right in front of the nose of my flier.

  “They had to have taken out part of their own ship to get me, but it worked, damn it. My propeller shattered into a million pieces, and one of ‘em ricocheted off my wingtip and hit me in the head. Knocked me out or I would have figured a way out of there, but I didn’t even feel the crash. Guess that’s a blessing? You’d have to consult the seven gods, because I wasn’t sure.

  “I woke up later, sometime after dark, in the cell of a ship stinking of old socks, perfume, and rotten wood. Yup, wood. It was a wooden sailing ship, which was puzzling, seeing as how I’d wrecked next door to an ironclad. But it was the perfume that puzzled me the most, and the fact that four women were staring down at me.

  “Their faces were shadowed since there were only a couple of glass oil lamps mounted on posts, but I could tell they were young and pretty. They looked Iskandian too. We’ve got paler skin and more freckles than the Cofah.”

  “‘Where am I?’ I croaked, hoping I’d somehow escaped the notice of the Cofah and a friendly Iskandian ship had plucked me up. I’m not too proud to mind being rescued by beautiful women.

  “‘One of the hells,’ a girl of seventeen or eighteen announced, folding her arms over her chest.

  “I raised my head as much as the splitting pain behind my eyes would allow and spotted rusty iron bars to one side and a Cofah soldier standing guard by a door, a shaggy bear fur fastened over his uniform. He glowered like a furnace as soon as I made eye contact, and that doused my hopes of having been rescued. But why were the Cofah taking Iskandian women as prisoners? And how had they gotten ashore to collect them? Hadn’t the rest of my squadron fought them off?

  “Dread dropped a boulder in my stomach as I contemplated the unwelcome thought that the rest of my people were dead. But maybe these girls had seen something and could enlighten me.

  “I lifted a hand to probe a lump at my temple. ‘So I see. Are you ladies prisoners too?’

  “They exchanged looks and didn’t answer at first. I shifted my weight and tried to get a feel for my position.

  “At least there weren’t any shackles around my wrists. Only the bars and the guard stood between me and freedom, or at least me and that door. I had no idea how far we’d sailed while I’d been knocked out.

  “‘He’s handsome.’ One of the girls giggled. She was even younger than the first.

  “The older one scowled at her. ‘Keep that out of your mind, Vara. He’s Iskandian. The enemy.’

  “‘How do you figure?’ I asked, positive the ladies had Iskandian coloring. But once I considered it, they did have slight Cofah accents. I should point out that the Cofah speak the same language as we do, on account of them conquering us a few times over the millennia. The last time they stuck around long enough to impose their language on our whole continent, but their accent is rougher than wiping with sandpaper. Our accent is far superior, as you can hear.”

  Ridge tapped his mouth, which resulted in eye rolls around the table. Well, at least nobody had fallen asleep yet.

  “‘We’re all in the same cell, ladies,’ I added, waving at the bars. ‘That must mean we’re on the same side, right?’

  “‘Only because that loathsome admiral is pus on a toadstool,’ the woman I’d started thinking of as the leader said. ‘If we’re going to help all of Cofahre, we each deserve a private cabin.’ She sniffed and glared at the guard.

  “‘What’s your name? And why would you want to help Cofahre?’ I asked quietly, putting my back toward the guard. ‘Aren’t you Iskandian?’ I looked at all of them—the four women surrounding me and the four who were watching from spots huddled against the wall between bags that looked to be stuffed with clothing or supplies. I wondered if anything would be useful for escaping the cell.

  “Several of the girls looked away, but the leader lifted her chin. ‘I’m Resni Masonwood, and we’re loyal to Cofahre because they came for us after our people abandoned us.’

  “Masonwood? That was the king’s surname. Was she claiming to be some relative of his?

  “‘After the wreck,’ Vara added. ‘When we were little. Our parents all died, and I don’t remember how it went all that well, but a Cofah ship came, and they took us back and raised us in an orphanage. They taught us that Iskandians don’t care about their own. If they had cared, they would have come.’

  “‘What was the name of your ship?’ I asked. This was starting to sound familiar. I remembered news from a good ten years back about a yacht with several noble families aboard being lost in a storm. Our navy had gone out to search for it but had found only debris from a wreck.

  “‘The Southern Gale,’ Vara said.

  “‘Stop giving him so much information,’ Resni ordered. ‘He’s the enemy. One of those vile pilots who is always shooting down Cofah ships.’

  “‘He can’t be that vile. He’s injured, and…’ Vara bit her lip, then whispered, ‘he’s pretty.’

  I may gag, Jaxi announced.

  Why? It’s not the first time my face has helped me out of a sticky situation.

  How was that sticky? You were in a dungeon full of beautiful women. It’s every man’s fantasy.

  Well, there was a guard watching.

  So?

  Kelsey rolled her eyes.

  “I’d say handsome myself,” Amanda commented in the momentary lull. “And that’s nothing to gag over.”

  “Cut an arm off and stick a gun on there and we’ll talk,” Rika added with a wink.

  Ridge eyed the redhead curiously. Could she hear their thoughts?

  “Now this really is a big fish story. Locked in a cell with a bunch of hot women? Isn’t that every flyboy’s daydream?” Charline asked, flashing a grin.

  “And some flygirls’ dreams as well, no doubt,” Amanda added.

  Bethany Anne took a sip of her Coke and pressed her fork into the last crumbs of her chocolate cake to get every last morsel. “I’ve known a few flygirls who wouldn’t mind that situation.”

  Cain slid his chair far enough back to physically remove himself from the pretty-man conversation, but he liked the pilot’s coat and wanted to know how to get one.

  “Before the girls could further debate my merits or demerits,” Ridge said, figuring he better get to the jailbreak, “voices came from the passageway, and the guard stepped aside. The Cofah admiral we’d been aiming at on the deck of the ironclad strode in. I was intensely disappointed to see him alive and well, if slightly damp.

  “‘Time for them to infiltrate the Iskandians, sir?’ the guard asked.

  “‘Not ‘til after midnight, when the dockhands will be snoring and we can leave our cargo without being questioned,’ the admiral told him. ‘Thought I’d take a few of them for entertainment first. Gets lonely on a ship full of men, especially when you know these lovelies are sailing alongside your ironclad.’ He shot the guard a narrow-eyed look. ‘I expect you and the captain have been enjoying their presence immensely.’

  “I was surprised while this conversation was going on,” Ridge said, “that the admiral hadn’t even looked at me. Of course, I was sitting on the deck looking rather unthreatening. Then I realized my jacket had been torn off in the explosion—or by someone dragging me out of the water roughly—and got an inkling that he didn’t know he’d caught someone higher-ranking who knew a military secret or two. I didn’t look like a young LT, but I was moderately young for my rank.

  “‘Uh, not that immensely, sir,’ the guard said while I was pondering things. ‘The captain told us the women are supposed to be on our side, helping us, and that we should—’

  “
‘They can help us just fine after they entertain me. Get those two out.’ He pointed at Vara and Resni.

  “Even though I had my own problems to worry about, like how I was going to get off that ship and back to land—preferably without being tortured—I stood up. I had a bad feeling about where this was going. The guard drew a pistol and pointed it at me as he stepped toward the cell gate.

  “‘Admiral,’ I said, flashing him a smile even though my head felt twice as bad now that I was on my feet, ‘I’m more than a little disappointed you don’t want me to entertain you tonight.’

  “‘You’re uglier than a dog’s piss spot. Back up, Iskandian. We’ll question you when the night’s work is over—unless you want to be shot now? We can oblige.’

  “The guard stirred, blinking a few times now that my face was close to the lantern light. ‘Sir, I think that’s Colonel Zirkander.’

  “The admiral squinted at me. ‘So it is.’

  “‘Does that make me any more entertaining?’ I asked.

  ‘Not the way they are. Private, get him out for me.’

  “I wasn’t looking forward to the admiral’s attention, but at least I’d taken it from the girls. My mother would have clobbered me with a rolling pin if I’d let women be mauled in front of me.”

  “Good on yeh!” Amanda nodded and smiled.

  “The guard pulled me out and left the girls in the cell. I thought the admiral might drag me off to some interrogation room or officer’s cabin, and I hoped I’d see the layout of the ship and find some inspiring way to escape. Maybe I could free the girls, too, because it was sounding more and more like they’d been kidnapped by the Cofah and brainwashed into taking on whatever scheme they would be enacting. Infiltration, the guard had said.

  “But they didn’t take me anywhere. The guard gripped my arms, yanking them behind my back, and held them there so the admiral could pummel me.

  “I fought when I realized I wasn’t going to get my tour and managed to knock out a couple of my guard’s teeth using the back of my skull as a weapon. I planted a boot in the admiral’s thigh hard enough to leave a bruise. I was admittedly aiming for a more northerly target, but he shifted out of the way and they got me under control.