The march through the Coriander class carrier was brief and uneventful, a handful of Vozgaretts meandering through bland corridors towards whatever duties that awaited them with all the enthusiasm of a man working a nine to five half an hour from quitting time. The entire time their tripedal escort rambled about the benefits of their future mandatory re-employment, trying to emphasize that it was an opportunity for a new and fulfilling life while also coming across as actively apologetic. Both parts of the spiel felt genuine enough, but the latter had actual remorse in it. Mach couldn't help to wonder how voluntary the Vozzie's own work as a slaver actually was. Finally they reached the door of their temporary prison, which slid open with a pleasant woosh sound. A long fingered hand gestured them inside with a gentle encouragement more fitting a bellhop than a jailer, and both Mach and Dryn entered without a fuss. Blue eyes took in the confines appraisingly.

  The cell Mach and Dryn were confined within was, despite expectations, actually very nice. It was spacious, with a central sitting and dining area and two separate sleep alcoves outfitted with spotless and strangely gummy-soft beds with synthfabric sheets and blankets. There was even deep shag carpet wall to wall, spotlessly clean and unworn, though it was an odd shade of teal. There was a good chance it started out as junior officer quarters when the carrier was new, though now all the terminals and access ports had been torn out and blank sheets of plasteel riveted to the walls where they had been. The only piece of easily accessible tech was a simple screen near the door and a primitive button that, when pressed, called up a crewmember who politely informed Mach that dinner would be served in two hours, but that snacks were available at all times. Whether that was a polite deception or a genuine service the slavers offered to their captives Mach didn't know, but it was definitely something he could exploit. For the moment he just stood beside Dryn, who was poking one of the beds curiously, and considered their options. The simplest would just be to beeline for the Winnerbagel, break as much as they could on the way, and escape, and that did hold some appeal... but there were surely other victims, others torn from their lives and consigned to enslavement. To leave them behind to their fate... That didn't sit right with him.

  "We have an issue." Mach stated flatly but quietly to the engineer, who just cocked his horned head at the pilot curiously before responding.

  "Do we, or do you? It's not as elegant as keeping our Winnerbagel perfectly tuned, but septic systems are much more complex and exacting than one might expect. I am almost excited to give it a try, as every experience expands my knowledgebase and available skillsets." Mach could almost feel the side-eyed fixed on him. "Unlike your future as a bedwarmer for some queen or another. I will pray that the most comely one decides to claim you for her own, so that your future may have some form of respite. Actually, do you prefer the females of your xenotype with the large bags of chest fats, or the small bags?"

  That complete non sequitur caught Mach off-guard, and an actual answer snuck out. "I... I'm an ass man?" He shook his head. "I mean, we have a problem in that these pirates have a problem, because Cory's going to clear all the procedures and paperwork soon and then all hell is going to break loose."

  "I fail to see the problem."

  "Yeah, they're slavers, but they seem somewhat kind and decent... Y'know, for slavers. Low bar, but still. I don't want their blood on my hands, or Cory's paws." Mach scratched the back of his neck for a second. "So to hell with the protocols; Let's break out. Free what other prisoners there are, make our way back to the Winnerbagel, and escape."

  "I suppose that is a viable option. The septic systems are ever more enticing, however... All those pipes and filtration systems, the matter reclaimers, the fluid sanitizers, I yearn to learn their secrets." The chipper, upbeat turn to Dryn's voice only made it more dubious as to whether the big alien was messing with Mach or not. He sighed tiredly in response.

  "I'm sure the waste processing guys on Station Fifteen would happily show you how it all works, Dryn. And that job doesn't come with an unremovable collar."

  At this proclamation Dryn mimicked Mach's sigh, throwing in an ample amount of grudging acceptance. A leisurely amble took the Xarlozch over to one of the riveted on plates in the bedroom's walls, and a handible stretched towards it. He paused, then twisted his head to gaze meaningfully at Mach through his helmet.

  "Look away."

  "...Why? Is there going to be arc flash or something?"

  "I do not wish you to see my shame as I put the abilities of this accursed prison-suit to use."

  A quick shuffle pointed Mach out towards the living room area of the quarters, though he caught the slender tools embedded in the gloves deploying from the corner of his eye. The sound of sizzling sparks reached his ears, followed by the soft thump of the plate dropping to the carpet. A few bars of a ditty were hummed while Dryn studied the inner workings which once connected to a terminal, then a contented whistle as the sound of parting connectors clicked and clattered. Within a minute Dryn buzzed in satisfaction.

  "I am into their systems, and assuming control of security. I have patched you into the ship communication network, masked and ciphered to prevent detection."

  Mach nodded in appreciation to the Xarlozch, then pinged Cory. The whippet ponged back, signalling his receiving. A direct chat opened between the two, surface thoughts transcribed into silent speech.

  "Change of plans, Cory; We're breaking out. "

  "I do not advise that course of action, as your security officer." A series of three soft beeps, a deliberately triggered signal of Cory's contemplation, sounded before the whippet continued. "However, I have cross referenced this particular crew across thirty separate piracy incident reports featuring active resistance from the victims; In every single report those deemed too unruly were stunned, loaded into a life support pod, and jettisoned in occupied neutral systems for rescue with no reported casualties. I conclude that there is little risk of serious injury."

  "So..." Mach prompted, earning a ding of amusement from the security dog.

  "Let the chase begin!"

  At that moment Dryn patched in, his mental voice flat and almost mechanical in comparison to his vocal lilt. "I have assumed control of all their systems; The Vozgarett's security measures are laughable. Internal scan reads a skeleton crew of only fifty three, which matches their roster. In regards to the... 'passenger manifest', there are three hundred and seventy listed, arranged by estimated value rather than in any more functional sorting system. Much to my annoyance, though less so than finding myself on the very bottom. And finding yourself, dear biped, second from the top. There is, apparently, no accounting for taste."

  A mental quick comparison between the Winnerbagel and the sleek pleasure yacht, which were the only fully assembled ships in the hanger bay, followed by a total capacity estimation, pulled a sigh from Mach. "We can't fit more than a hundred people total into the operational ships." This time it was Mach who enacted the pause ellipses, considering their options. "Slight change of plans; We're taking this entire ship. I trust you can manage the systems in place of their engineering section?"

  "I am deeply insulted you even felt the need to ask, your disbelief in my abilities a dire blow against my sense of self."

  "I always believe in you, Dryn. Except when it comes to reading labels. Cory, you intercept any reinforcements headed towards the cell blocks with my present location as the focus, I'll be freeing prisoners as I go, so keep the ones who aren't up for combat safe. As for rules of engagement... shake 'em but don't break 'em."

  "Sir! Nonlethal protocols activated."

  "Lot of ground to cover in these old Corianders, got it covered? Dryn, patch him into the automap so he can do the figures. Also patch me in."

  A ding came as the engineer did just that, and the ellipses Cory threw up ended halfway through the second beep. "I am speed!" was all the whippet answered, which was all Mach needed to hear.

  "Last order of business; Any automated defenses we need to worry about?"

  "Negative." Dryn ground out flatly, his disdain obvious even through the mental link. "The mutiny suppression system has been gutted in its entirety. I would have already captured the entire ship otherwise. How, exactly, these pirates manage to keep their captives under control becomes ever more a mystery to me."

  "Bluster and bullshit, friend. Oldest trick in the book." The hiss of the sleeping compartment door closing behind Mach, followed by the clicking of its locks, was the only audible sound as the tall human padded across the deep carpet to the screen and its accompanying call button. "Let the revolution commence." He growled both out loud and through the mental link, then firmly pressed the button. In less than a second the screen lit up to show a... friendly, presumably, Vozgarett, which Mach fixed with his most winning smile.

  "Hi! You mentioned earlier that snacks were available at any time, and I must confess to being more than a little peckish. You got us right before our own meal time, which I was quite looking forward to."

  "Oh! My sincere apologies! Let me just..." The pirate seemed to consult something offscreen, his singular eye flicking to Mach and the something repeatedly. "You are a human adult male, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "I'm afraid our selection of human snacks is a little sparse at the moment, which I personally swear we will rectify at our next port call, but we do have a case of chronosealed peanut butter celery sticks."

  Peanut butter celery sticks? Mercy continued to be the correct option, presuming they answered the next question correctly. "Creamy or crunchy?"

  The Vozgarett seemed a little confused for a moment as it consulted the list, then chirped a sound of satisfied confirmation. "They are listed as creamy spec; I trust that is satisfactory?"

  "Very."

  "Wonderful! I'll bring a packet up personally, expect me within five minutes."

  "Thank you very much." Mach intoned, earning a genuine "You're welcome!" before the screen switched off. True to the pirate's promise the door buzzed then slid open, allowing the hunchbacked alien to shuffle in with a foam box that he proffered to Mach. One hand took it then reached slightly past the pirate, setting it carefully on the little shelf below the screen and its button. Before the pirate could react Mach swept his outstretched arm up and into the armpit-esque joint below its shoulder, and at the same time spun forwards. The pirate squeaked as the hip throw slammed it into the teal carpet, then squeaked a little louder as Mach's knee planted on its abdomen. A quick glance landed on a pistol at its waist, and a quicker jerk had it in the human's hand. It was bulbous and unwieldy, the grip usable but not ergonomic and the trigger slightly farther away than comfortable, but Mach could make it work. He jammed the muzzle beneath the Vozgarett's... chin, for lack of a better word, then paused before pulling the trigger.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  "This has a stun setting, right?"

  "Yes!" Desperation and shock was thick in the pirate's voice, and a bit of betrayal that actually made the human feel a little guilty.

  "How do I activate it?"

  "The knob on the left side, right above the grip! Bottom is safe, middle is stun, top is kill! Stun gives two soft beeps, kill one screech!"

  It only took a single nudge of his thumb to cause the blaster to emit a double boop, to which Mach looked to the pirate he had in his sway. "That correct?"

  "Yes!"

  Static crackled through the carpet as the blaster went off with a deep thrum, a spasm ripping through the pirate as his twin pupils contracted to pinpoints. Then he went limp, those pupils fully dilating open, and he went still. Aside from the constant buzz of the spiracles on his chest exhaling, and the steady whistle of inhalation along his neck. Mach nodded, satisfied, then rose back to standing.

  "Good, I like you. Stay safe buddy, you'll make it through."

  The packet popped open with a hiss of escaping gas, as well as an odd twist of reality that signalled its chronoseal breaking. Inside were a carefully arranged line of equal length celery, the groove filled with perfectly applied creamy peanut butter. Mach took one, the vegetable fridge-cool to the touch, and bit into it. The peanut butter was at room temperature and felt pleasantly warm in comparison to the crisp, chilled greenery.

  "Man, why do you guys have to be slavers?" He asked the unconscious Vozgarett on the floor, more rhetorically than anything else. If the pirate had actually answered Mach would have been rather surprised, then he'd shoot him again. "I'd pay for this quality of service otherwise."

  A few more bites finished off the celery stick, and a quick draw on a straw that deployed from the collar of his vac-suit cleared the remainder with distilled water. Mach sighed as he consulted the automap; the nearest of three pings, at thirty feet, began to move towards the still open door. One deep step sent him into a lunging roll out of the door, the pistol tight against his chest as he rolled over his shoulder, and even as Mach pushed to his feet he drew a bead on his first target; Another pirate, one recoiling clumsily away from the human in surprise at the sudden movement.

  Electricity crackled as the azure bolt tore through the space between too fast to be seen, only brief plasma toruses popping into and out of existence around the path. Three knees locked as the bolt slammed center mass, but Mach didn't even see the pirate slam back first into the decking; He spun and pressed flat against the far wall, his arm pressed tight across his chest and his aim dropping on the second closest pirate, one sixty feet distant. Oddly, instead of blasting at Mach with its pulse rifle it was fumbling at its pistol as the shoulder-slung gun kept getting in the way. That didn't stop his second shot from slamming home dead center. A forwards step took Mach off the wall as his offhand came up to brace the pistol; Ninety feet with an alien firearm with an unfamiliar design was a long shot even for him, so this time Mach clicked the trigger as fast as he could as the remaining pirate let loose several bolts in his general direction. Most of the incoming fire went wild, splashes of crawling lightning shorting out lights as they slammed into the walls, floor, and ceiling, but one lucky bolt whipped past Mach's head so close he felt his hair lift up and crackle with static. It slammed into the wall right where he had been pressed a split second before.

  Mach's aim was more true, a bolt catching the pirate in the second thigh, abdomen, and one straight to the face. The exchanged energy knocked the triped off all three of its feet and into a spasming heap, and a burst of worry carried the young man down the corridor. By the time he reached the downed pirate it was still, but clearly still breathing in its weird buzzing way. That was lucky, there was always the chance of biosomatic-energy overload burning out neurons and the stun becoming all too permanent.

  "Corridor clear. Dryn, ETA on incoming hostiles?" His query over the neuralink chat was met with the ellipses, followed by a dry answer.

  "I am disrupting their shipwide communications, but they seem to have a short range personal comms network out of my control. Runners are already moving towards security stations, likely alerted by your firefight. I estimate five minutes before the first squad reaches you." A pause came, then a followup query. "I was unaware of your skill in combat. Have you served in the armed forces?"

  Mach laughed out loud at that while he unhooked the hasps of the pulse rifle slung around the extra-stunned pirate's torso.

  "Fifteen straight years of competitive holoshooters, with the feedback maxed out. Feeling like you got stung by six angry bees at once was great incentive to get good at gunfights, and I got very good. Even won a few tournaments."

  "Humans are a strange bunch."

  "But fun!" Cory chipped in brightly. "Ready to deploy, Captain."

  "Make it so, Mister Cory!"

  The pulse rifle pulled free, but it felt wrong somehow. Too light, too hollow... Mach thumbed the battery release, the heavy block falling free from the underside, and as it clattered to the decking it bounced and bonged loudly. It was just an empty plassteel shell, utterly devoid of the critical guts that made the pulse rifle a formidable weapon.

  "Bluster and bullshit!" The human exclaimed, then tossed the prop aside. The pistol on the pirate's belt was just as real as the one in his hand, so that was claimed and mag-clipped at his waist alongside a stun baton. The other two pirates were stripped as quickly of their real weaponry, a small arsenal clattering on his suit as Mach moved. Time to see who among the captives was up for helping.

  ---

  In the clean white confines of the Winnerbagel's cargo bay the Vozgarett sergeant glared at the stubborn isolation cylinder that rejected every open command with an angry buzz. He knew the codes the prime specimen had given worked, as he had tested them on every single other isolation cylinder while trying to get this one open. Those opened easily and silently, as well as all the doors, and even the strange waste receptacle that made a most displeasing sucking sploosh noise and splashed water about as it activated. Access was also granted into the engineering bay, though a quick glance at all the frighteningly advanced technology within had sent the sergeant scuttling back to his specified task. He wasn't even sure if there was a pay grade high enough for dealing with that barely contained apocalypse, and even if there was it was surely enginebug work. Maybe they'd keep the low value employee for their own, having a truly capable engineer on hand was surely worth more than the meager commission fee for finding it a new lifecalling.

  The cylinder buzzed angrily again as it refused to open. The sergeant scanned over it, looking for some hidden catch or latch... There was a small black square on it that was lacking on the others. It jiggled slightly as he sent the open command yet again, a silver hoop that extended from its top interfaced with a pair of tightly pressed together little metal tabs that protruded from the surface of the cylinder. The black square body seemed to be made of some valueless material, not even plassteel, and the alien runes engraved on it almost seemed to mock him with their meaninglessness. His gripper dropped to his Convincer, the idea of just blasting the thing off rising to the top of his mind. Sure, what was inside was certainly some kind of Weapon of Mass Persuasion fit to intimidate entire worlds into signing up for reemployment, but perhaps it could survive a brush with a little bit of high energy plasma?

  Suddenly the brightly lit cargo bay went dark, his pupils opening to let in what meager light made it in through the open cargo ramp. He could make out shapes again in a mere moment, though the alien ship refused to accept his commands to restore the lights. It was clearly still online, all its systems responding to his pings, it just refused to illuminate. A quick, nervous sweep through the dark didn't see anything out of place, those two red points of light exactly where they were before... Wait, two red points of light?

  Something massive moved in the darkness, and the sergeant didn't even try to suppress the scream as massive jaws closed about his waist and lifted him clean off his feet. His body was whipped back and forth repeatedly, his brain shaken into a blur of confusion, and he barely noticed when his back slammed into the wall he was thrown against. In his last moments he saw a building blue light from two cannons above his head height standing, one aimed directly at him, and beneath it the hulking form of some kind of plassteel monster. The monster glared at him with snarling jaws and burning red eyes, then everything went dark as the charged cannon fired.

  Cory yipped excitedly as his prey shuddered then went still, vitals reading steady in suspended animation. He could have just opened up with the cannon and spared it his ire, but this particular pirate had taken obvious enjoyment in menacing the whippet's captain and friend so punishment was deserved. The whippet took a moment to stretch, the Warwolf power armor mimicking his every movement exactly, then checked his automap; Five remaining targets in the immediate vicinity, three groups of five moving towards his patrol zone. Cory would have to move fast, but...

  "I am speed." A statement of absolute fact, millenia of advancement into a fully sapient being nowhere near enough to override the truth of his nature. Whippets were created to be fast, and Cory had no intention of letting his pedigree down. Sparks flew as he launched into a full sprint, the mag paws of his suit overcoming their substantial grip under the raw ferocity of his acceleration and slipping on the decking. In an instant he was at full gallop, his front paws fully off the ground before his back could touch down. Winnerbagel yielded to docking bay in the blink of an eye as both of his shoulder cannons swivelled towards separate targets. Both flared with blue energy and fired at the exact moment of intersection, lances slamming into the target's center mass, and a lean aimed his armor towards his third target. This one he scooped up with his jaws as he twisted and turned, crossing the bay at lightning speed, then a flick of his neck flung his current quarry into the fourth. Both tumbling to the decking in a heap, screeching and buzzing, so Cory gave them both cannons at once.

  Only one remained at the farthest reaches of the bay, and he had the audacity to yank an emergency lever that slammed shut the access point in every bulkhead leading out. The pirate managed to maintain his grip on the lever as the azure bolt slammed him into the wall beside it then sliding to the floor. Cory slowed ever so slightly to consider his options; He could nudge the lever back up with his nose then wait for the heavy doors to laboriously, glacially open, or...

  The blue light flared white as Cory shifted them into battle spec, then he unleashed their full fury on a single point on the bulkhead separating him from the straightest path towards the rest of his quarry. Atomic-flash white beams speared out from his shoulders and across the bay, and the metal structure resisted their assault with all the fortitude of toilet paper; Heavy steel explosively flash boiled as those brutal beams slammed into and through them, blowing a shuttlecraft sized hole clean through the bulkhead and six more beyond. Fortunately, for the pirates, Cory had double checked their transponders, the ship schematics, and the firing line to ensure that it didn't hit anything alive. Or important. The whippet was sure of the former, at the least. As for the latter... Well, Dryn could fix it! Probably.

  A few bounds took the Cory through four of the seven molten steel dripping holes through the ship, his feet sparking and skittering as he banked hard to forward. Countless doors and intersections flashed past as he roared down utilitarian corridors, the Warwolf pushing his speed far beyond the considerable clip he was capable of unrestricted. An unapproved modification, a little ducted turbine fan in the front of his helmet, blew hard past his face to simulate the wind he would feel running free, the only thing lacking in an otherwise delightful duty. Cory, he was proud to admit, absolutely loved his job. His cannons flared blue again, ready to continue neutralizing his prey.

  The group of five barely had time to raise their bulbous pistols and fire, the compressed pellets of high energy plasma splashing against the thick armor of his Warwolf to only minor effect, before he was among them. His jaws snapped and jerked, tearing rifles from grasping hands and shoulder-slamming bodies into bulkheads with bone-jarring force, all the while his cannons twisting independently to fire on them only once they were stationary. It was, after all, much more fun that way. For Cory, specifically, and maybe not so much for them... but they were pirates, and slaver pirates none the less. Their opinion on the subject was irrelevant.

  The last one tried to run, throwing his weapon aside and trundling away screaming at an almost impressive rate. Distance built between the two, Cory holding fast... And then he launched. Fighting prey was fun, but chasing prey? Chasing was the best! God, Cory loved his job. His jaws closed over the Vozgarett's thick shoulder, and a few shakes let the pirate know who was boss before being slammed to the deck and summarily stunned. It would be hours before he woke again, and probably decades before he even began to forget the experience. The whippet plotted the straightest route to his next set of targets, his cannons flaring white once again. The bulkheads, too, would suffer.