“I am. Jack Kernigan, space pirate. Or so I’m told.” I stuck the letter from MIT in my back pocket and gestured to the barn. “The Loranna are still in there, according to the Ship Intelligence. They have disruptors.”

“We are prepared. Please move yourself and any companions well out of range. We will attempt to capture them without damage to the structure, but cannot guarantee it.”

Oh great. It occurred to me that if things went any more pear-shaped, I was going to have to spill the whole thing to my father. On the other hand, that seemed inevitable anyway. He wouldn’t be satisfied with the short version. And that would be the end of the adventure. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t sounding so bad anymore. Almost getting nuked tended to put a different spin on things.

Patrick and I moved quickly to the other end of the property and turned to watch. The task-force members made a motion of pulling something down over their faces, although we couldn’t see anything, either before or after. I suspected there was cloaked equipment involved. Then they moved to the barn. One individual opened the people door and ducked back, while another tossed something inside. There was a bang.

In moments, people in business suits rushed out of the barn, gagging and coughing. A couple were waving weapons, but didn’t seem in good enough shape to really do anything. The task force scooped them up as they came out, slapped something on them, and threw them to the ground.

Once the Loranna were bundled away, San-Joh started in our direction. We got up and met him halfway. Or was it a her? It occurred to me that I couldn’t make assumptions about gender. Or even about the number of genders, come to think of it. But the cloaking image was male, so I’d go with that.

“You said there were six, correct?”

I nodded, then realized that might mean yes, no, or your mama to an alien. “That is correct.”

“Excellent. We have them all. I suggest you let the structure aerate for at least a quarter of a planetary rotation. Unless you enjoy regurgitating your last meal.”

“Uh, we’ll pass on that,” Patrick said. The wagon doors began opening on their own. Apparently, Sheldon was listening.

San-Joh turned back to his ship. Well, to the gangplank hanging in midair, anyway. “We must now join the main group, which is disassembling the Lorannic nest. I would offer you a ride, but we really don’t want you there. Sorry.”

I laughed as San-Joh marched off. “I kinda like the Gen.”

Patrick guffawed. “Yeah, so maybe don’t run them over in the future.”

“Asshole.”

“That’s a terrible thing to say to the guy who may or may not want to give you a ride to the industrial park.”

I grinned back at Patrick. “I stand by my statement. Let’s go.”