(31.2)
Maura and Zora hauled Csilla’s belly into the ready room. She followed in after, looking unimpressed. They maneuvered her behind the captain’s desk and began the process of pushing the sloshing, uncooperative balloon beneath it.
“Ow,” she whined. “Oh. You know—oof—you know this will never work.”
Zora grinned. “Wanna bet?”
Enough belly had been shoved under the desk that Csilla could lower herself into the chair. “I’m not sure I would survive another one of your bets.”
The mercenaries fell back from the desk and helped each other up—a not inconsiderable task. They padded around the room, catching their breath and viewing Csilla from several angles. “We’ll need a rug or something,” said Maura. “I can see a roll trying to peek under that panel. And close the shutters. The reflection in the window is…a lot.”
Zora squared her hands in front of her face. “Here we are. If the chair’s right here, you’d never know there was anything below your chest but more skinny princess.”
It was more or less true, as long as Csilla didn’t turn too far to one side, or lean backward, or slide her chair in any direction at all. The deep, resounding sounds of bubbling and gurgling still came through, though. She hiccupped and everything on the desk leapt an inch to the left.
“This isn’t going to work,” she assured them. But she sighed, shimmered, and transformed into Estelle.
They gaped a moment in unrecognition at the slim version of their captain—slim, at least, from the chest up. Lucine helped the princess into Estelle’s jacket; it was enormous on her shoulders, but could only button so far down. Shimmying into the sleeves set the belly rippling again and Csilla bit her lip.
“He’s coming,” said Caelius. “Starling and a couple of the less fat cadets are bringing him up. Remember, your highness: short and professional. Stick to the story. Be careful.”
“Go away.” She practiced a couple of the captain’s facial expressions and tried again. “Sorry. Uh…dismissed, lieutenant.” He blinked and retreated, waving everyone else out with him. Maura and Zora backed into the closet and discovered, much too late, that their hips took up too much space for the doors to fully close.
A literal marble statue strode into the room. The Cepheid visitor had been sculpted into a perfectly exaggerated replica of a lean and muscular humanoid. He wore only a loincloth, so most of these muscles were in full view. He flashed Captain Gorlois a charming marble smile and flexed his biceps for good measure.
“Rock-hard,” choked Csilla, tearing her eyes from his abs. She cleared her throat, pretended to type something, and looked up again. “Welcome, your chiseled-ness. You’ll forgive me if I don’t get up. I’m reviewing our crew’s latest fitness tests. The average has fallen below two-hundred pull-ups per session and I am beginning to lose patience. Please, sit.”
He took the chair, thankfully one step before he could have seen past the desk. “I saw very little of your crew as I came up from the shuttle bay. Is something amiss?”
She continued typing at random. “When we heard you were coming, we took the opportunity to park the ship over a small planetoid. I have sent the majority of the crew to its surface for additional punitive fitness training. They will return only when I am satisfied with their progress.”
“Captain Gorlois, it seems you’re a woman after my own heart. I cannot tell you how often I see command of a starship causing great warriors to go soft. I’m encouraged to see that this fate has not befallen you.”
“Never, sir.” She spoke up, just in case Estelle was conscious and listening. “Never would you find Estelle Gorlois on her couch in an overindulged haze when duty calls.”
“I knew I would like you, captain. Your smuggler friend spoke very highly of you…said he’d seen you carrying cargo aboard over your shoulder in the middle of an ion-storm while under fire…and that you were still moving faster than any of your crew.”
“Oh, yes, ha ha. I don’t like to boast, but, that does absolutely sound like the sort of thing I did and absolutely still would do. Holy nebulas, do I like running around and jumping and carrying things and…well, I’m not happy unless I’m heavy-laden with cargo.”
“I’m pleased to discuss terms with a fit soul.”
“Well, our request is as—hmmp—as we communicated. We are hoping to reach the New Kansas spacegate and would like to cross the border without alerting the entire Confederation battlefleet.” She suppressed a shiver.
He produced a datapad. “I am pleased to present our offer. We cannot pass any goods to you in person, as this would be a public violation of our treaty with the oligarchs. But, if we come to an arrangement, we may leave a package on a planet at the edges of our territory. This package could hold falsified identification codes, forged manifests, registries, files, and masked IFF signatures…everything a ship might need to pass unnoticed in Confederation space.”
“We would be very grateful and of course very discreet. Our people are indistinguishable from other humans and humanoids in the quadrant.” This had been one lie too far and she had to recompose herself. “In exchange, we can offer some of our captured cargo-pods. Foodstuffs from all over the Confederation.”
“No, no,” he cried, appalled. “We Cepheids adhere to a prescribed and prefabricated pill-based protein and mineral diet. We would have no use for contraband like that. But perhaps a selection of the ship’s many erotic statues? They would suit us…very well.”
“We accept,” blurted Csilla. She leaned forward to shake his hand. The desk shifted dangerously and a glugging noise echoed out.
He had turned to gaze at a nearby piece of art, fortunately, and missed the peek of belly. But when he did turn back, he didn’t accept the handshake. “Captain, I would be enormously grateful for a tour of your ship. I have heard of the oligarchs’ pleasure-barges, but have never beheld one in person.”
She paled. “And I would be enormous…ly happy for you to see it. Starling, get in—Starling, come in, please. My android will show you around.”
“Don’t be absurd. No modesty is needed on my account. You take great pride in your vessel. I must have the tour from you. As captain, it is your happy prerogative to ‘show it off,’ as it were. Let us marvel at your prize! And when I have seen my fill of wonders, we will sign our agreement.”
“Perfect,” she managed, through gritted teeth. “Starling will take you to the bridge. I…I will join you momentarily, once I have finished my report.”
“I admire your dedication, captain.”
“Very clean,” he mused, gazing about the empty bridge. “I can sense the unwavering diligence and fastidiousness of your officers.”
Csilla peeked her head out from behind the ready room door. She could lean fairly far over, counterbalanced by the weight of her belly. “Oh, yes. We have very strict regulations against eating, loitering, or fraternizing on the bridge.”
“Of course. Then let us also fraternize elsewhere, so as not to disturb them. Is your weapons array controlled from the usual center on Deck 17? Yes? Well, this looks to me like a manual access tube. I’ll race you!”
He vanished into the tube. The sensor technician and comms officer exhaled and unbuttoned their uniforms, stomachs swelling back to their proper girth.
Csilla turned to Maura and Zora, hiding behind the wall. “You heard him, gals. Get carrying.”
“Such power,” gasped the Cepheid.
The turbolift had been faster than his climb, but Csilla had barely made it in time. Fortunately the effort of staggering around behind her belly and the mercenaries even for so short a walk had her breathing hard and beading with sweat, which leant some credence to her story about ‘alternate access-tubes.’ “We sourced many of the weapons ourselves, hoping to keep the ship as, um, light as possible.”
She stood behind a rack of ion torpedoes. As he paced and inspected the bay, she sauntered up and down it with him, sliding a large torpedo-casing up and down the rack as she went.
“It’s no wonder the oligarchs have made you such a priority,” he continued. “The price on your head is now the highest for a bounty in Confederation history. I congratulate you. Come, show me your engineering department.”
He bounded out into the corridor. Maura and Zora wobbled out from behind a desk, panting, and hefted Csilla’s belly out from the torpedo-casing.
The Cepheid glanced around, growing visibly concerned. But, looking up, he caught sight of Csilla leaning over the edge of an aquatic containment tank.
“There you are!” she sang, out of breath. “Welcome to our science and engineering bays. In the tank here is a specimen we have been researching.”
“It is enormous. It almost appears to be composed entirely of…blubber. I wonder if it can swim at all. What in the galaxy is this?”
“Oh, its size is merely for buoyancy. Our scientists believe it may have implications for…hydrodynamic…gravitic…ergonomic…borborygmus.”
Fortunately, he seemed to have stopped listening. He tapped the glass and grinned. “I hope you will have a larger tank for it when you reach home. It clearly requires more exercise. The engine core is through here?”
She watched him go. “Thanks, Straya. I owe you one.”
Straya uncurled and drifted up. “Whatsat? I was napping. Can you have the service arms bring down a snack?”
Maura and Zora heaved Csilla’s belly out of the tank and poured it down from the ladder, stumbling under its mass. While they raced to towel her off, Csilla found she could step close enough to the containment casks that stored her jelly. Giving into the stress of the situation and desperate for some comfort, she grabbed a thermos, filled it to the brim with jelly, and gulped it down.
The sensation of more swelling in her stomach almost overcame her. Maura and Zora fell back in horror as it grew another inch or two rounder before their eyes. They watched her refill the thermos and grabbed it out of her hands before she could make their job any harder.