Cap'n Pete

“Look what I found!” the lieutenant announced, dragging the waif onto the bridge, her cornstraw hair flying.

Zeera spun around, the communicator still flashing its coded messages. Her eyes widened. “A stowaway!”

“Probably an Imperial runaway.”

“What do we do?”

“Law says we arrest her until the nearest Imp base.” Zeera said, frowning.

“The Imps space thieves,” Job leered.

The girl snarled. “I’m no thief!”

“She’s harmless. Why don’t we just let her ride along?”

“You sharin’ your calories?”

“What do you think?”

Cap’n Pete lurched to his feet, his wooden peg thumping. “YARR, I SAY SHE WALKS THE PLANK!”