The hangar was spotless, the fuel was loaded, and James was lying in the fetal position in the furthest corner from where the rest of the crew was standing, as they waited for their full hour to finish. There was no percentage in finishing before it was up and as they’d already been waiting for forty-five minutes the remaining twelve were going to be a cakewalk. Normally this might have irritated James, but in this particular instance it gave him a chance to nap and relish his limited time on solid ground. It was still freezing, and would probably remain so for quite some time despite the generators having been turned off, but his body had grown accustomed to the temperature and besides: at this point he really didn’t have the energy to move all the way outside just for the purpose of having a warm nap. Clearly his new life was going to require some personal evaluation and improvement, because the rest of the crew were standing and laughing and joking after what James considered to be an appallingly long day of nonsense. Gareth whistled and James rolled over, flat on his back, and prepared for the lengthy procedure of lifting himself up off the cold floor. He needn’t have bothered, because at that moment three people with guns burst into the hangar and ordered them all to lie down. James crossed his legs at the ankles and folded his hands across his chest. If a day were going to be long, it might as well end like this.
Gareth saw the guns and wasn’t impressed. They’d still fire, and they’d still hurt, but as a veteran of several previous pirate raids he knew amateurs when he saw them. Maybe they’d prefer to be called up-and-comers but the fact of the matter was they were ill-equipped and obviously lacking from a style standpoint. He lowered his massive frame onto the ground and, as the crew boss had turned into a quivering mass of tears at the exact wrong moment, he spoke:
“Hi!”
“Shut it!”
“Now, see, that kinda thing tells me yer new right away.” The man who’d shouted lowered his gun for a fraction of a second, clearly scratching his head internally, before raising it even higher and replying:
“Huh?”
“Well there ain’t no call for rudeness, see? We’re all professional types here. Business is business but it goes lots smoother when we’re all sorta civil.”
“What are you talking about? We’re robbing you!”
“Sure yeh are, and I respec’ it, certainly. Won’t see me jumpin’ up and tryin’ to be a hero or nothin’.”
Other men on the floor nodded. The pirate was clearly even more confused at this point, so Gareth looked over at the man with the scar whom James had been quite content to nail in the back of the head with a ball of frozen death.
“Grant, maybe yeh could explain?”
Grant closed his eyes and took a breath. He nodded. The pirate, clearly wondering who Grant was, stepped closer to the supine men before seeing Grant start to speak from between scarred lips.
“Hello, friend.”
“Uh…h…hello?” At this point, the other pirates had drawn closer and were no longer really paying much attention at all to anyone besides Gareth, Grant, and the original pirate.
“How are you today?”
“I’m…fine…I guess?”
“That’s good.” Grant took a breath, and Gareth looked from pirate to pirate. He figured they’d get it. Grant was a talker, after all. Smart fella too. He’d been a bank officer back on his homeworld before a rather unhealthy infatuation with shoes had come to light after an exposé in the local paper. He loved shoes. He had seventy-six pair at the height of his collecting days, and to be honest it had all been a bit much for many of his clientele to discover he had more shoes than them. So they blackballed him, and the bank brought in a homeless man to take over his accounts. Grant had sworn off the shoes, and found himself boarding the Albright in an attempt to rebuild his life. It hadn’t gone well, but he never seemed to think about shoes anymore- he claimed all he needed was his company-issued pair of New Shoes for the rest of his days. Gareth once caught him running his fingers wistfully over the laces though, so he wasn’t exactly sure.
“Good? But…I’m robbing you!”
“In a manner of speaking you are, Mr….”
“Call me Raider!”
“No, I don’t think I will.” A stern look.
“It’s Dave… .” The other pirates gasped. One of them moved to whisper in his ear but he sulkily shoved them away.
“Right. Mr. Dave. Now, in a manner of speaking, you are robbing us. But truthfully, you are robbing Gasocorp. None of us has any rightful claim to any of the fuel which you and your comrades seem intent on taking. But if you were to take my pocket watch, for instance-”
“Give me your watch!”
“I most certainly will not. I must beg you not to ask such a silly thing again. Now-”
“Why not?!”
“I am trying to explain. May I continue, Mr. Dave?”
“Fine.”
“Thank you. Now-” Grant paused, waiting for Dave to interrupt. He didn’t, so Grant continued, “In the first place, were I a pirate, I would want it to be known that I were a professional pirate. A calm and reasonable business man. Any other attitude might incite reactive behavior. Do you agree?”
“What?”
Gareth broke in: “He means if ya piss people off, kid, it makes ’em wanna fight back.”
“Thank you, Gareth. I appreciate your input but you did ask me to handle this, did you not?” Gareth nodded. Grant nodded in return and continued.
“My friend here is correct, despite his lack of decorum. So, first: in order to ensure tranquility in the ‘victims’ you are ‘robbing,’ you must first ensure their safety provided they cooperate. It’s a courtesy, but it is a professional courtesy. Second, we have no claim on those goods. None. Did you think I, Grant Doubletree, owned a single corner of any of those blocks of fuel out there?”
“Well, no, I-”
“Of course you didn’t. You are a smart lad. So if I don’t own any of those things, why would I be upset that you are taking them? I was only going to give them to someone else, and as you’ve a gun you’ve given me a plausible reason to accept this eventuality and report it to my superiors as such. Are you with me so far?”
“I s’pose. I shouldn’t hurt you because that might make you angry, and you’re not mad already because that stuff’s not yours?”
“Correct. And now, third and most important, what are you going to do with that fuel?”
“Why should I-”
“Please simply answer the question, Mr. Dave.”
“Probably sell it, I guess.”
“And what does this make you?”
“A…seller?”
“A salesman. A type of businessman. Which makes this a transaction, one which we are very well acquainted with. Now, as my dear man Gareth has already pointed out, it is clear to us that you are not very well acquainted with this type of transaction. But you’ve now been educated, and I’ve explained the proper behavior to you, as well as why we expect it if we are to assume our roles in today’s interaction. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you two?”
The other pirates looked at each other and nodded. They lowered their guns, and the crew all stood up. Gareth unfolded himself from the floor where he’d been contorting to watch the exchange. He saw Grant extend his hand to Dave, and they shook. Then Grant snapped Dave’s wrist in one fluid motion, raising his hands over his head when he was done.
“What the….ahhhhhhhhhh!” Dave screamed, and the other two pirates instantly raised their weapons again as Grant sat calmly on the floor.
“What was that for!?!?!” Dave shrieked at Grant, doubled over in pain.
“Impertinence, young man. Someone has to teach you not to try to steal pocket watches.” Grant closed his eyes as the three pirates stared at him. Then the door burst open.
“What the hell is going on here?”
“The scarred one broke my wrist!”
