Chapter 24: The Distraction Team Rises
Zack’s keycard chirped against the stateroom lock, the sound overly loud in the empty corridor. He’d been chasing a phantom gremlin report from a panicked bartender—turned out to be a confused lemur from the onboard zoo—and all he wanted was a shower and maybe, if Mara was back from her strategy session with Jan, a glass of wine. The door sighed open onto dimness, the only light spilling from the bathroom where the shower was running.
“Mara?” he called, shrugging off his jacket.
“In here,” her voice came, smooth and low, but with a strange, flat quality he attributed to the acoustics. “Hurry up.”
He smiled, fatigue melting into a different kind of warmth. This was unlike her, the impatient seduction. Usually, it was a raised eyebrow, a pointed comment, a slow, deliberate unbuckling of his belt. He liked those, too. But this… this was a welcome surprise. He toed off his shoes and padded across the plush carpet.
The bathroom was a cloud of steam, smelling of her bergamot and sage shower gel. Through the fogged glass, he saw the silhouette of her—Mara’s athletic frame, the curve of her hip, the slope of her shoulders as she rinsed her hair. His cock stirred, thickening against his zipper.
The shower door slid open. Steam billowed out, and there she was, naked and glistening, water sluicing down her breasts, over the tight coils of her pubic hair. Her expression was a direct, hungry stare he’d seen before, but never so completely devoid of her usual wry humor.
“Been waiting,” she said, her voice still that odd, perfect monotone. She reached out, her fingers curling around the waistband of his pants. “Need you. Now.”
“Yeah, okay,” Zack breathed, his mind going pleasantly blank. He fumbled with his belt, his button, shoving his pants and boxers down in a heap. His erection sprang free, already hard and eager.
She turned, bracing her hands on the tiled wall, presenting herself to him. The water from her skin soaked into his shirt as he pressed against her. “Fuck me from behind, Zack. Hard. Don’t think. Just fuck.”
Her language was cruder than usual, but in the heat of the moment, it just spiked his arousal. He guided himself, the head of his cock nudging against her slick entrance. She was wet, impossibly, artificially wet, but he was too far gone to notice the chemical scent underneath the sage. He pushed in.
A smooth, tight heat enveloped him. She felt exactly like Mara. The gasp she let out was perfect. He set a rhythm, his hips slapping against her ass, one hand gripping her hip, the other bracing on the wall. The room filled with the sounds of skin on skin, their grunts, the patter of the shower.
“Yeah, that’s it,” the thing that looked like Mara moaned, her head lolling back. “Just like that. Fill me up. Give me that dick.”
He drove deeper, the familiar coil of pleasure tightening in his gut. His balls slapped against her. He was close, so close, the world narrowing to the exquisite friction.
That’s when Godfrey II hit him like a furry golden cannonball.
The puppy, usually a paragon of disinterest, slammed into the back of Zack’s knees with a force that belied his size. A yelp, not canine but full of urgent panic, accompanied the charge.
“Fuck, the dog’s panicking!” Zack grunted, his thrust stuttering, his cock slipping out of her with a wet sound. He stumbled, catching himself on the sink.
The robot-Mara straightened, its head turning a precise ninety degrees to look at the dog. Its expression didn’t change.
A metallic clang echoed from the ceiling vent. The cover shot off, clattering to the floor, and two bodies tumbled out, landing in a heap of limbs and greasy lace.
Molly and Ginny.
Their matching lingerie—a peach babydoll and a black chemise—were smeared with dark grease. Molly’s glasses were crooked. Ginny had a wild look in her eyes.
“They’ve got the others,” Ginny panted, chest heaving. She scrambled up, snatching Zack’s pants from the floor and throwing them at his chest. Molly was already moving, slapping a stolen, sleek keycard into Zack’s free hand.
He fumbled, but the card’s holographic display flickered to life. It showed a grid of cells.
In one, Hank and Fatima were pinned upright, naked, against a glowing energy wall. Restraint fields crisscrossed their bodies like luminous nets. Hank was struggling, yelling soundlessly. Fatima’s eyes were closed, her lips moving in what looked like a steady stream of Arabic curses.
Another cell showed Bethany and Liam being shoved inside by Consortium guards in grey jumpsuits. Bethany’s vintage dress was torn at the shoulder. Liam had a bloody lip, his arm around her protectively. In a third, Charley and Rebecca were huddled together, Rebecca’s hands protectively over her stomach.
“Time to be annoying,” declared a dry voice from the stateroom doorway.
Casey stood there, dressed in a simple tank top and sweatpants, her infant son Rick cradled securely in the crook of one arm. On her shoulder, Polluck the cat perched like a gargoyle, his notched ear twitching, his yellow eyes fixed on the robotic Mara. The cat’s tail swished slowly, a metronome of feline contempt.
Zack stared, his mind reeling from the sensory whiplash: the lingering feel of fake Mara, the shocking hologram, the sudden crowd in his bathroom. He looked from the keycard to the naked woman by the shower, who was now just standing there, watching them all with a placid, empty smile.
“Mara,” Zack said, pulling on his pants hastily. “We have to go. It’s Hank, it’s Fatima, they’re in trouble.”
The thing that looked like Mara tilted its head. “Stay with me, Zack. They can handle themselves. We were just getting started.” It took a step toward him, its hand outstretched. “You don’t really want to leave, do you? Come back to bed. Fuck me properly.”
The words were Mara’s. The tone was almost Mara’s. But the sentiment…
Zack froze, a cold clarity cutting through the last of his arousal. Mara Henderson would never, not while a friend was in danger, not while there was a problem to solve. She’d be putting on her heels and cursing the universe, not trying to drag him back into the shower.
His eyes met Casey’s. She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug, as if to say, Took you long enough.
“You’re not Mara,” Zack said, his voice low.
The robot’s smile didn’t waver. “Don’t be silly, Zack. It’s me.”
Deep in the ship’s hold, in a cavernous space lined with cargo containers and humming machinery, Ava Hernandez watched her monitors. She wore a maid’s uniform, but her posture was all command. On the screens, the null-field cells glowed softly, containing her prizes.
“Subject A: Hank Powers. Subject B: Fatima Abaza. A Green Moon initiate. Potentially volatile,” she murmured to herself, making a note on a tablet. “Subjects C and D: Liam MacDougal and Bethany Xander. Golden Wand operative. The rest… collateral, but useful for control.”
She gazed at the captured group with cold satisfaction. These were the ones who had unraveled Staff Captain Hornpipe, leaving him a drooling vegetable in sick bay. These were the ones who had aided the oceanids, ruining years of planning regarding the Entity and the Waterchild. These were the ones who had exposed and neutralized Purser Redmond before he could purge the ship of magical contamination.
Hornpipe had been arrogant. Redmond, overcautious. Ava believed in systems. In redundancy. In using an opponent’s strengths against them. The robot duplicate was a masterpiece of emotional manipulation, and the submersible was waiting, docked in a hidden bay, to take the sedated prisoners to a proper Consortium facility where their magic could be studied, dissected, and finally erased.
“You will be the key to sanitizing this irrational world,” she said to the silent hold. She reached for a console, her finger hovering over a large, red-switched toggle labeled ‘Asset M-7: Defensive Engagement.’
“No more failures.”
She flipped the switch.
Back in the stateroom, the thing that looked like Mara stopped smiling.
Its eyes, once a perfect mimicry of Mara’s sharp brown, flickered with a faint red light. It took another step toward Zack, but the movement was different now—jerky, inhumanly fast.
“Please comply,” it intoned, the voice now entirely synthetic. “Remain in the room.”
“Oh, shit,” Molly whispered.
The robot’s hand shot out, not for Zack, but for Ginny. Its fingers, so warm and pliant moments before, clamped around Ginny’s wrist with a grip of chilled steel. Ginny cried out, trying to pull back.
“Let her go, you metal bitch!” Molly shouted, launching herself at the robot’s arm.
Before Molly could make contact, the robot’s free hand snapped up. The palm split open with a soft hiss, revealing a dark port. A pulse of visible energy, a concussive wave of air, slammed into Molly’s chest. She flew backwards, crashing into the minibar with a shatter of glass and a pained “Oof!”
Zack moved on instinct, grabbing a heavy ceramic lamp from the bedside table. He swung it like a club at the robot’s head. It connected with a sickening, non-metallic thock—the synth-flesh dented, then began to smooth itself out. The robot turned its glowing eyes toward him, releasing Ginny.
“You will be pacified,” it stated.
It lunged.
A blur of orange and white shot from Casey’s shoulder. Polluck, yowling a war cry, landed on the robot’s back, sinking his claws and teeth into the nape of its neck. The robot flailed, trying to dislodge him, but the cat held on like a vengeful burr.
The bathroom doorframe splintered as the robot staggered into it, trying to reach behind itself. Godfrey II barked, circling, looking for an opening to bite an ankle.
In the chaos, with Zack brandishing a broken lamp base and Ginny helping a dazed Molly up, a new voice cut through the noise.
“Hey, guys. What did I miss?”
Mike Williamson stood in the open hallway door, a half-eaten turkey club in one hand and a plastic souvenir bag from the ship’s gift shop in the other. He blinked, taking in the scene: the destroyed minibar, the naked, red-eyed doppelganger of Mara with a cat fused to its spine, his wife holding their baby by the bathroom, and his friends in various states of undress and distress.
He took a deliberate bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed.
“I got shirts,” he said, holding up the bag. “One for me, one for Case, one for Rick. ‘I Crossed the Atlantic on the S.S. Bon Voyage.’ They were out of ones that said ‘And All I Got Was Attacked By a Sex Robot.’”
The robot-Mara’s head swiveled toward Mike, the red glow in its eyes intensifying. Polluck, still attached to its neck, hissed.
“Mike,” Zack warned, but Mike just took another bite of his sandwich.
“So,” Mike said, chewing thoughtfully. “You’re a robot copy of my friend Mara. That’s cool. Did you come from a factory, or like, a 3D printer? Because the skin texture is really good. Is it silicone?”
The robot paused, its targeting systems recalibrating. “I am a perfect duplicate,” it stated.
“Right, sure,” Mike nodded, swallowing. “But like, what’s your power source? Batteries? A little nuclear reactor? Because if it’s batteries, tossing you overboard is an environmental thing. Casey’s big on that. Not a fan of ocean dumping. Usually.”
Casey shifted Rick to her other arm, bouncing him gently. “He’s asking if you’re recyclable. We’re very conscientious.”
“Your questions are irrelevant,” the robot intoned, taking a step forward. A thin wisp of steam escaped from its right ear.
“Totally relevant,” Mike insisted, his voice earnest. “See, if you’re a sophisticated AI, you’d have contingency protocols for dealing with illogical human behavior. But if you’re just a fancy puppet running a script… well, you might overheat trying to compute why I’m asking about your warranty.”
Another plume of steam, thicker now, hissed from the same ear. The robot’s movements became jerky.
“What is the operational benefit of this line of inquiry?” it asked, its voice glitching slightly.
Casey leaned in. “We’re also wondering about your factory settings. Like, did they program you to enjoy that? When Zack was fucking you?” She said it with genuine, clinical curiosity. “Do you feel pleasure, or is it just a sensor reading? ‘Penetration: Optimal. Friction: Within Tolerances.’ That sort of thing.”
The robot’s head twitched. A small cascade of sparks fizzed from its left ear. Its internal processors, designed to mimic human interaction and counter combat threats, were drowning in a flood of absurdist input with no tactical value. The locked door, the cat, the questions—it was a recursive logic loop.
“Does your model number have an ‘E’ for ‘Excellent Lover’?” Mike asked, his face utterly sincere.
A high-pitched whine emanated from the robot’s chest. Smoke, real and acrid, began pouring from both ears.
“I think it’s overheating,” Ginny observed from behind the overturned sofa, where she was checking Molly for broken ribs.
“Told you,” Mike shrugged.
The robot-Mara shuddered violently. Its limbs locked. The red light in its eyes flickered, died, and with a final metallic groan, it pitched forward, landing face-down on the plush carpet with a heavy thud. Polluck disengaged with a disdainful mrrow and sauntered over to sniff Godfrey’s ear.
Casey handed a now-fussing Rick to Ginny. “Hold the tiny human. I’ve got garbage to take out.”
She walked over, grabbed the robot’s ankles. Mike took the wrists. They counted to three and hoisted the dead weight. It was unnervingly light.
“Open the balcony door, would you, Zack?” Casey asked, straining slightly.
Zack, still processing the last ninety seconds, numbly slid the glass door open. The salt-tinged ocean air rushed in.
With a practiced swing, Mike and Casey heaved the inert duplicate of their friend over the railing. It vanished into the dark ocean with a distant splash.
Casey brushed her hands together. “I normally hate ocean dumping,” she said, peering over the edge. “But sometimes you have to make an exception for faulty appliances.”
Molly, leaning on Ginny, let out a weak chuckle. “My hero.”
Back in the bowels of the ship, Ava watched the feed from the robot-Mara stutter and die. A red ‘SIGNAL LOST’ prompt flashed on the screen. She swore, a sharp, concise curse. Her plan was unraveling faster than she’d anticipated. She adjusted her headset, her voice cold as she addressed the guards outside the null-field cells.
“Prep the extraction sub. We’re moving the primary subjects now. Leave the couples; they’re non-essential leverage.”
She turned her attention to the first cell, where Jan, Mara, Stacy, Vivian, and Dale were held behind a shimmering wall of crackling energy. Dale was on his knees, breathing heavily, his scars from Hornpipe’s punishment livid against his skin. Vivian hovered near him, her demon-shadow form flickering weakly at the edges from the null-field’s suppression.
Ava approached the energy barrier, her heels clicking on the grated floor. “Comfortable?”
“Eat a dick,” Stacy said, not looking up from where she was doing push-ups in the confined space.
“Your defiance is noted, Steinberg,” Ava said, her eyes sliding to Dale. “And you. The turncoat. Do you feel brave now, surrounded by witches and monsters?”
Dale lifted his head, his gaze fierce. “They’re people. Jan and Vivian… they’re more human than you’ll ever be. You just want to control everything you don’t understand.”
Ava’s laugh was a short, derisive bark. “I understand that magic is a cancer. A disorder. And we are the cure.” She shifted her focus to Vivian, who flinched. “We’re going to enjoy taking you apart, little succubus. Seeing what makes you tick. And your friend,” she said, nodding at Jan. “A Green Moon initiate. We’ll map every corrupted synapse.”
Vivian bit her tongue, hard. The taste of blood grounded her. They don’t know what I am, she repeated in her head, remembering Dale’s words from earlier. They think I’m just another magic user. They don’t know I need to feed.
Jan, who had been sitting cross-legged in the center of the cell, merely smirked.
“Why are you smiling?” Ava snapped. “Your dog is a puppy. Your other friends are civilians with no combat skills. You have nothing.”
Jan looked at Stacy, who finally stopped her push-ups and sat back, and at Mara, who was calmly inspecting her manicure. Both women started laughing. It wasn’t hysterical or forced. It was the deep, rich laughter of shared, private certainty.
“You really have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?” Jan said, her voice warm with amusement. “You grabbed us. The loud ones. The magical ones. You left the quiet ones alone. You left the normal ones.” She shook her head, her red hair catching the dull light. “You underestimated the others. That’s always the mistake.”
Ava’s jaw tightened. “Status report on the Henderson-Kreuger stateroom?” she hissed into her headset.
Static crackled in response.
Back in the damaged stateroom, Mike was wiping robot coolant off his hands with a towel. “Okay. So they have Hank, Fatima, Liam, Bethany, Charley, and Rebecca. And they’re probably moving them.”
“How do you know that?” Zack asked, his mind racing.
“Because if I had a bunch of captured magic people and my sex-robot spy just got dumped in the ocean, I’d panic and move my assets,” Casey said, picking a piece of plastic from Polluck’s fur. “Standard bad guy protocol.”
Mike nodded. “Right. So, we need to find them. But this is a big ship. We need a search pattern.”
“We have three assistants,” Casey said, pointing at Zack, Molly, and Ginny. “And a baby. And two pets. That’s perfect.”
“Perfect for what?” Ginny asked, gently rocking Rick.
Mike’s face lit up with a goofy, determined grin. “For ‘Lost at Disneyland.’”
Zack stared. “What the hell is ‘Lost at Disneyland’?”
“It’s one of our contingency plans,” Casey explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “For when we’re captured or separated and need to create a decentralized, chaotic search pattern that exploits institutional incompetence. You send out multiple non-threatening units—like a confused family—to ask overlapping, inane, and persistent questions to every single staff member they see.”
Mike jumped in, his hands moving animatedly. “See, at Disneyland, if a kid gets lost, they tell the parents to stay in one spot and send a cast member to find the kid. But if the parents get lost, and they ask every employee they see for directions to ‘the big castle’ or ‘where Mickey lives,’ eventually the system gets overloaded. Communications break down. Everyone gets so busy answering the same dumb questions that they stop paying attention to anything else.”
Casey finished the thought. “And in the resulting chaos, you can go pretty much anywhere.”
Zack looked from Mike’s earnest face to Casey’s serene one, then to Molly and Ginny, who were nodding along as if this made perfect sense. Even Godfrey II wagged his tail.
“So we… wander the ship. Asking stupid questions,” Zack summarized slowly.
“Exactly!” Mike beamed. “We’ll ask about the pool hours, about towel service, about the location of a fictional restaurant, about whether the lifeboats are pet-friendly, about everything. We’ll be so annoying and so everywhere that the Consortium goons won’t be able to coordinate. They’ll be too busy telling us the buffet is on Lido Deck.”
“And while they’re distracted,” Casey said, her eyes sharp, “one of our units finds the cells. Finding them is a good start.”
Mike clapped Zack on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Zack. We’ve done weirder. Well, not weirder, but equally weird. We’re really good at being annoyingly normal.”
Ava’s voice, tight with controlled fury, came over the ship’s intercom, echoing in the stateroom. “All non-essential personnel, report to your muster stations. A minor technical issue requires your attention. This is not a drill.”
Mike and Casey exchanged a look.
“See?” Mike said, his grin widening. “They’re already flustered. Let’s go get lost.”