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Space Dogs (more fiction)

J

jrhume

Guest
Okay, you asked for it.   :)   The following is sort of a SciFi, police procedural, character assassinating spoof.  

SPACE DOGS
JR Hume

Call him Monk.   His real name is buried forever in an obscure northern settlement on Earth.   He is without ambition, in the usual sense.   At no time has he ever worked to be the best at anything, but instead practiced peculiar skills until they became natural, an integral part of his physical and mental makeup.   He has the uncanny ability to speak, move and act without attracting undue attention.   Women, in particular, seldom notice him.

Many aspire to be Master Assassins â “ to be known far and wide as perfect killers.   Some achieve that goal and become useless â “ or dead â “ uselessness taken to the ultimate degree.   Monk chooses his own targets and thus, his employers, always without personal contact.   He receives payment in advance, obviating subsequent dealings with clients.   In the vastness of human space there are always plenty of targets.   Monk suspects he will never run short of people who need killing â “ and clients willing to pay for a reliable killer.

He was born at the end of the Second Diaspora, when governments had begun to adjust to their new situation by forming the Federation.   Recordkeeping, along with many other human activities, had lapsed with the advent of teleportation technology.   What good are labels when the labeled can step through the nearest transfer booth and cross into the obscurity of the solar system and from there, the galaxy?   But the business of humanity requires order.   Federation troops and cops are establishing that order where they can, though the rule of law is still thin in the human cosmos.

Monk's only regular companions are his business manager, Mr. Korus â “ a man maimed in a transfer-box accident â “ and Redeye â “ wannabe assassin and sidekick of sorts.


The Assassin
Transit Point Bog-2

Gandalf IV, Monk's personal FTL cruiser, dropped into normal space at the edge of the Bog System.   Passive surveillance arrays at full alert, Gandalf coasted toward the yellow-white primary.   Monk sat alone on the bridge, watching the displays.   He was always to be found there at such times, clad in full space armor, even though ship comp was programmed to detect and react to any conceivable threat.

A slight squelching noise broke the silence.   Monk didn't stir.   Mr. Korus flopped across the deck, a misshapen, mucous-dripping lump.   A small cleaner-bot rolled along behind, sopping up the slime.   The air came alive with a vile stench.

â Å“Thought â “ you be â “ here,â ? gurgled Mr. Korus.   â Å“Waste â “ of time.â ?   He spoke in a series of bubbling gasps.

â Å“Probably.â ?   Monk stared into the void.   Korus had been his business manager for many years, but he still found it difficult to look at the thing created in the t-box accident.   There was nothing man-shaped in that pile of guts and odd appendages.   His natural good manners forced him to keep his visor open, despite the stench.   He wished Korus would allow the medics to edit his form back to something approaching humanity.   Even just getting rid of the smell would be a vast improvement.   It was an old argument.

â Å“Why buy â “ detection â “ gear and tactical comp, then â “ spend time â “ monitoring?â ?

â Å“I await the inconceivable,â ? murmured Monk.

Korus emitted a bubbling that might have been laughter.   â Å“A threat â “ beyond comp â “ be fatal.â ?

â Å“Not necessarily.   If comp failed to respond, I would panic and initiate random actions.   It's a tactic that has served humanity for millennia.â ?

â Å“Ranâ ”d m action?â ?   Korus gurgled his might-be laughter again.   â Å“Death â “ nine times of ten.â ?

â Å“In the face of certain death, a long chance is better than none.â ?

â Å“A maxim?   You â “ make it up?â ?

â Å“No.â ?   Monk laughed.   â Å“I imagine an early human blundering into the lair of a cave bear and finding the owner at home.   He screams, flings his spear and takes to his heels.   Sometimes, he would survive.â ?

â Å“You beâ ”lieve this scenâ ”ario?â ?

â Å“Something like it, at least.   Perhaps the scream made the bear pause or the spear pierced an eye socket and sank into the beast's brain.   Or, my ancestor was quick on his feet.â ?   Monk shrugged.   â Å“The survivors improved the genetic makeup of the race.â ?

â Å“Inâ ”teresting.â ?   Korus began to slither and slop his way aft.   â Å“Explore cave â “ keep tight grip â “ on spear.â ?   His gurgled laugh and the cleaner-bot's cluck-slurp faded down the passage.

Monk's ear piece clicked.   â Å“Cripes, boss, is da blob on da bridge?â ?   It was Redeye.   He normally kept to the engine room when Korus was aboard.   The merest sight or scent of their business manager would kill his appetite and keep him away from his porn collection for days.

â Å“He's back in his cabin,â ? said Monk.   â Å“You coming up?â ?

â Å“Maybe.   Anything to see?â ?

â Å“Nothing.   When comp completes a security sweep, we'll be moving in-system.â ?

â Å“I'll stay put, boss.   Gimme a blast if ya need me.â ?   Redeye loved everything about gangsters, as depicted in old 2D picture shows.   So far, it hadn't been a problem.

Impulse engines cut in, vibrating the ship.   Comp reported in its machine-harsh voice. â Å“Captain, security sweep complete.   Inbound to Calamity Port.   Time enroute: three hours, fifteen minutes.   Local arrival time: 1330 hours.â ?   No sultry female comp voice for Monk.   He thought a machine ought to sound like a machine.   Besides, a woman speaking soft words in his ear made him horny.  

â Å“Okay, Comp.   Use ship ID number seven.   Make normal reports.â ?

â Å“ID number seven, aye-aye.â ?   The flat panel sign above the aft passage changed from Gandalf to Bobtail Nag.   It was the only place on the ship where a name was displayed.   Monk never told anyone or anything what ID he intended to use until absolutely necessary.   Comp was probably trustworthy, but Monk figured it was foolish to assume a semi-sentient machine couldn't be bribed.      


The Ranger
Federation Ranger Central HQ
Asteroid â Å“Flatfootâ ?, orbiting Sol somewhere beyond Mars

Admin Bobbit shoved Ghost's door open.   â Å“Monk has disappeared from his usual haunts.â ?

The diminutive Ranger keyed a code word into his comp.   Admin's information was verified in seconds.   Ghost swore a vile oath in his native tongue, then repeated himself in plain FedSpeak.   Admin Bobbit grimaced â “ as if things hadn't gone well with his last bowel movement.

â Å“What does Intelligence have to say?â ? asked Ghost.   He already knew the answer.

â Å“Nothing.   Monk took his own ship.   You know we don't have tracking capability much beyond Jupiter.â ?   Admin unwrapped a grinklefruit lollipop and popped it in his mouth.   â Å“It's as if he vaporized into thin air.â ?

Ghost slumped in his chair.   â Å“There's no air out here,â ? he said to Admin's retreating back.   â Å“He vaporized when the ship entered hyper-space.â ?   If Bobbit heard, he gave no sign.

Mockingly dubbed 'Space Rangers' or 'Space Cowboys', Federation Rangers were the only police force authorized to operate in all areas of known space, except Earth.   That prohibition had it's origin in the earliest off-Earth police forces and was an ironbound fact in folk tales and legend, although known to be breached in practice.

Ghost became a Ranger at age 25, after a stint in the Federation Marines and upon the completion of three years at Ranger Academy.   He had just turned 30 when Monk first came into his life.   He was now 35 and had never managed to hang anything on the Assassin â “ not even a loitering-with-intent charge.

Rangers worked in a team consisting of two humans and two androids.   Only the human team members were authorized to use deadly force on other humans, although the situational programming of police droids was known to be fluid and adaptable.   Most people assumed the droids could respond to deadly force with deadly force.   Some few survivors had reason to know the fact of it.

Ranger Aguilus stepped into the office and shut the door.   â Å“Admin giving you odds on tonight's game?â ?

â Å“Monk's left Earth.   He's going to make another hit.â ?

â Å“Merde!â ?   Aguilus sagged into a chair.   â Å“Any ideas on where?â ?

â Å“Sure,â ? said Ghost, with a vague gesture.   â Å“Out there.   Somewhere in known space a murderous, thieving creep is going to get whacked.   Who and where?   I don't know.â ?

â Å“Tell me again why we care about catching Monk.â ?

Aguilus was a native of Appia, third planet in the Vestal System.   He was a year out of Ranger Academy, better known as 'Ranger Rat's School for Boys' among those who had become Rangers without benefit of academy.  

Ghost liked Aguilus, but couldn't help feeling somewhat jealous at the man's physical attributes.   Tall, broad and handsome, women lusted after Aguilus on sight.   Fortunately for lesser males, these same women soon tired of his gastric problem.   Delicate little squeakers bubbled out of him at irregular intervals and spread with tsunami swiftness, inflicting temporary blindness and olfactory shock.   Medics couldn't clear up his condition.   Any room he stayed in for more than a week had to be fumigated and painted.   He drew field assignments with astonishing regularity.   For now he was Ghost's partner.

Aguilus bubbled ominously.   â Å“Tell me again why we want to catch Monk.â ?

â Å“Killing people is against the law,â ? said Ghost, sliding his chair back in a casual manner.   â Å“Even if their demise is more like a public service.â ?   He made a futile gesture.   â Å“We have to prevent vigilante justice.   Mob rule.   All that crap.   It doesn't matter.   Go collect the droids.   Meet me at the ship.â ?

After his partner left, Ghost managed to hold out for another fifteen seconds, then bolted from the office.   â Å“Gah!â ? he gasped, from a position five meters into the main area.   He glanced around.   The only other person present was the statuesque blonde from Test Developments.   She was bashing at the heavy, blaster-resistant glass security door.   â Å“Let me out, you spawn of deformed snarks!â ?   Her snark-spawn alliteration was directed at a gaggle of people holding the door shut.   The blonde scowled at Ghost.   â Å“You could have at least shut your door!â ?

â Å“Sorry,â ? muttered Ghost as he crept back toward his office.   A steady rain of paint particles drifted down from the ceiling and swirled in slow, lazy circles above his desk.   He smiled at the Test Developments lady.   â Å“I think the worst is over.â ?

She sagged against the still-closed security door.   â Å“I'll have to recycle this whole damn outfit.â ?

Ghost lurked inside his office door for several minutes, watching the blonde.   She made no move to recycle her garments.     Whining with frustration he retrieved his regulation over-and-under blaster/grenade launcher and his non-regulation backup piece â “ a replica Colt M1911A pistol.  

The blaster went on his hip, the slug gun into a shoulder holster.   He tucked a sturdy knife into his right boot and slid two tubes of mini-grenades into the other boot.   A combination stylus and laser designator fit into a pocket on his left sleeve.   He was tempted by a pocket protector/mini-nuke, but elected to leave it behind.   The ability to utterly vaporize a medium-sized building just wasn't advantage enough to offset the geeky appearance of the pocket protector.  


Aguilus waited at the entrance hatch.   He was already wearing space armor, including helmet, although the faceplate was open.   Their agreement was that Aguilus never, ever removed his armor when aboard ship.   Suit filters recycled his air and water, preventing the contamination of everything and everyone.   A service bot changed the suit filters often.   Used filters went straight into the fusion chambers â “ regulations be damned!

Behind Aguilus stood the other members of Team Zed, a pair of ex-military androids.   Officially known as Z-Alpha and Z-Bravo, Ghost had named them Bossi and Slim, for reasons known only to himself.   Both were equipped with the lightweight armor.   Bossi's armor was dark blue with a set of red and yellow flames starting at his broad brow and snaking down his back.   Slim's rig was regulation non-reflective black with no adornment except on his right shoulder, where he had painted a yellow shield with black horse rampant, reflecting his service in a Federation armored unit prior to joining the Rangers.

Military androids, after completing thirty years compulsory service, could sign on as police droids.   They were known as 'proids' in polite company, 'futzing proids' in less elevated circles.   Proids were equipped with tri-barrel blasters, grenades, knuckles of steel and a rotten attitude.

Bossi snapped to attention and saluted.   â Å“It's the Captain!â ? he bleeped.   â Å“Atten'hut!â ?   Ghost winced at the volume.   Bossi's voice sounded like a starship warning klaxon.   Ranger techs had thus far failed to locate the difficulty.

Ghost waved off the salute.   â Å“Stow the military formality, Bossi.   And wind your voice volume down to minimum.â ?

â Å“Aye-aye, Captain,â ? squeaked Bossi.

Aguilus jerked a thumb at the other droid.   â Å“Slim says he has indications of fusion bottle over-pressure.   Wants to go on sick call.â ?

Slim wasn't really a malingerer.   He had the hots for one of the female-pattern nurse-droids down at the maintenance facility.   Ghost shook his head and waved his crew toward the entry hatch.   â Å“Forget it, Slim.   She'll still be there when we come back.   Let's get aboard.â ?

â Å“Dang it, Captain!â ? moaned Slim.   â Å“We have a date tonight!   I think she's about to agree to a servo-meld.â ?

â Å“She's leading you on,â ? said Aguilus.   â Å“Word is, she's been melding with a welder-droid over in the shipyard.   He's supposed to be a hot stick.â ?   The other three groaned.   Aguilus grinned.   â Å“Okay â “ I made up that last part.   But the lady really is playing Slim for a sucker.â ?

Slim's shoulders slumped.   The red glow in his vision receptors faded to pink.   He turned away and shuffled through the hatch.   Bossi followed.

â Å“Did you have to break it to him like that?â ? asked Ghost.   â Å“Now he's gonna spend the entire trip whining about being jilted.â ?

â Å“Jilted?   Merde!   An old word.â ?   Aguilus leaned against the hatch frame.   â Å“Fragged.   That's what droids call it.   Slim will be okay.   I'll run a psych program on him.   Our med-cube has one called, Freud for Gearheads.â ?   He burst out laughing.

Ghost chuckled and shoved his partner through the hatch.   â Å“Get inside, you idiot!â ?   He sniffed.   â Å“And check the neck seals on your suit.â ?



Federation

The gravity drive started the First Diaspora.   Both power unit and drive, it lifted humans out to the Moon, to Mars and to all the smaller moons and moonlets circling Sol.   First they mined and smelted.   Then they turned the vast caverns into living areas.   The Moon was honeycombed, Mars tunneled, asteroids hollowed out.   People took themselves and their intelligent machines to the farthest reaches of livable space.   Governments continued to function in the old ways.   Old Earth held sway until faster-than-light technology appeared.

FTL drives made their brief appearance, flourished and died.   In Monk's time FTL robotic cruisers continued to be launched into the unknown, designed to plant transfer stations wherever mankind desired.   Some planetary governments and the Federation retained FTL cruisers for military and police use, as did anyone, such as Monk, who wished to move about the galaxy without passing through the ubiquitous transfer portals.

Cheap power and transfer technology spelled the end of most governments below the planetary level.   Countries ceased to be anything more than convenient geographical labels.   It proved impossible to keep unhappy people away from transfer booths.   Their government might know of such departures but lacked any ability to reach out and pull them back.   Humanity had ultimate elbow room.   The population of Earth fell to less than a billion souls and stabilized.   In the warrens of countless moons and moonlets, in the tunnels of planets whose surfaces were uninhabitable and on those few worlds where humans might live above ground, people began to make homes and to create cultures.

There was conflict.   If for no other reason than to control aggression, or to focus it, new sorts of governments came into being.   A loose Federation had evolved by the time Monk made his first hit.   Police forces were once again tracking down criminals.   Human Space became dangerous for those who ignored agreed-upon standards of conduct.   Killing a person, outside of defined situations, was outlawed.   Because humans were spread thin, some police officers were authorized to operate in unusual ways.   Monk learned his trade and functioned in this stewpot.   He was often hunted and on several occasions, reported as killed.


(stand by for further installments -- barf bags at the ready!)
 
sounds very familliar i think ive met him before!
 
First Chance
Bog System, planet Hardtack, Calamity Port

Ranger Dorosh stepped behind a concrete pillar, dragging Scarlino along.   He directed his partner's gaze toward a sleek starship hovering across the parking ramp.   â Å“Check out that rig,â ? he hissed.   â Å“No, not the recycling scow â “ that iridescent green Volvo-Krupp.â ?

Scarlino whistled.   â Å“Nice ship.   Someone you know?â ?

â Å“I'm not sure.   Let's see what we can find out.â ?   Dorosh tapped the face of his combination wrist chrono, comm unit, nav system and holographic porn display.   A single click sounded in his ear.   â Å“Null, check the ID of the ship that just landed.â ?

Click.   â Å“Uh â “ who is this?â ?

â Å“It's Dorosh, floof-brain!   The message ID is right there in front of you â “ on the comm display!â ?

Click.   â Å“Ha-ha.   Of course it is.   Hi, boss.   Seen any good looking droids?â ?

â Å“Forget the droid-babes, Null!â ?   Dorosh swore as only a Marine can.   â Å“Check the ID of the private cruiser that just landed!â ?   He muted the comm channel and glanced at Scarlino.   â Å“I wonder if recycling military droids is such a good idea?â ?

â Å“I dunno, but I think Null's taken too many kinetic hits to the brain case.â ?

Null came back on the channel.   His voice was sulky.   â Å“Three ships have landed in the last half hour.   A liner from Hygiene, a tanker out of Bad Karma and a corporate cruiser from Bodkin.â ?

â Å“Check out that last one,â ? growled Dorosh.   â Å“Who's the registered owner?â ?

Scarlino touched his arm.   â Å“It just parked in a rental hangar.   One of the high security jobs.â ?

Null spoke.   â Å“Ship's name is given as Bobtail Nag.   Registered to a mining company located on Fractal Three.â ?

Dorosh snorted.   â Å“Fractal Three?   That's way out on the Arm.   Interesting.â ?

â Å“Anything else, boss?â ?  

â Å“Negative.â ?   Dorosh tapped the wrist unit again, breaking the connection.   He nudged Scarlino.   â Å“Let's get to where we can see who comes out of that hangar.â ?

â Å“Too late.â ?   Scarlino pointed across the field.   An ordinary cargo barge drifted out of the hangar, turned right and headed west, thrusters moaning.   The barge platform was empty.

â Å“Futz!â ? exclaimed Dorosh.   â Å“I can't see anyone in the cabin â “ can you?â ?

â Å“Too far.â ?   Scarlino eyed his partner.   â Å“You going to tell me what this is all about?â ?

â Å“Monk.â ?

â Å“The Assassin?   Are you sure?â ?

â Å“No.â ?   Dorosh hesitated.   â Å“He left Earth nearly a week ago.   In a ship like that one.â ?

â Å“So what?   Volvo-Krupp must have built thousands of them.â ?

â Å“Yeah.   It's probably not him.â ?

Scarlino stared after the now-distant barge.   â Å“On the other hand â “ our careers won't be worth a pile of karg turds if we miss him.   We better pass the word to Admin â “ and Ghost.â ?

Dorosh nodded.   â Å“I'll send a message to Central.   You tap into the local traffic net and see where that barge is going.â ?



Aimless Pursuit
Axtel System, Foghorn Station, orbiting Axtel Three, a gas giant

Ranger Patrol Ship (RPS) Kumbyah eased into docking bay 19.   â Å“Engines to standby,â ? ordered Ghost.   â Å“Engage docking access tube.â ?

â Å“Engines secured,â ? reported comp in a harsh, female voice.   â Å“Access tube engaged, locked and tested.   Wipe your feet before re-boarding.â ?   Ghost liked domineering ship computers.

Slim and Bossi unlocked their maneuvering restraints.   â Å“We gonna get liberty?â ? asked Slim.

Ghost sighed.   â Å“I suppose.   But you gotta stay outta those juice joints down on Level Zero.â ?

â Å“Aw, boss,â ? squeaked Bossi.   â Å“You wouldn't begrudge us a little bionic stim would you?â ?

â Å“It's the unprotected melding I mind.   Slim's operating system was corrupted after that last . . .â ?

Aguilus shouted from the main comm station.   â Å“Priority message, boss!   Code, Foot Fetish!â ?

â Å“Foot Fetish!â ?   Ghost's voice rose two octaves.   â Å“That's the highest level code there is â “ except for Lace Teddy!   And that one is reserved for supernova explosions, planetary collisions and the submission of forms not completed in triplicate.â ?   He consulted his secret decoder ring and punched in a set of numbers.

â Å“I'll bet we don't make it to Level Zero,â ? whispered Slim.   Bossi squeaked sad agreement.

Ghost glanced up at Aguilus.   â Å“It's Monk!   Team Foible may have spotted him on Hardtack!â ?

Aguilus' expression hardened.   â Å“Foible?   Isn't that Dorosh and Scarlino?   We better get there before those two pull one of their infamous 'Extreme Prejudice' operations.â ?

â Å“Wow!â ? exclaimed Slim.   â Å“I was in on one of those once.   Car chases, explosions, scantily clad females â “ real and droid â “ automatic weapons.   It was loud and nasty from start to finish!â ?

â Å“When was that?â ? asked Ghost.   â Å“Who were you after?â ?

â Å“Couple of years ago.â ?   Slim rubbed at the metal beside his right video receptor.   â Å“I never knew who we were after.   Turned out they'd left two days before the op started.â ?   He sighed.   â Å“Sure was fun though.â ?

Aguilus cackled.   â Å“Sounds like one of their disasters, all right.   Last year they assaulted a primary school, thinking it was a slig smuggler's den.â ?

Bossi made a sad, rusty sound.   â Å“Poor kiddies.â ?

Ghost laughed.   â Å“Poor kiddies, my butt!   Two teacher's aides and a handful of five-year old kids repulsed the attack and captured the team.â ?

â Å“Yeah,â ? said Aguilus.   â Å“It was embarrassing.   All the kids had was modeling clay and tinker-toys.â ?

â Å“Enough!â ? exclaimed Ghost.   â Å“Comp, advise Foghorn Control we need departure routing for Hardtack.   Get our fuel tanks topped off.   Give them our priority code.â ?

â Å“Tell them yourself,â ? replied comp.   â Å“Unless you can learn to say the magic word, bub.â ?

Ghost grinned.   He loved comp's shrewish mode.   â Å“Please, comp.   Pretty please.â ?

â Å“That's better.   I'll see what can be done to expedite our departure.â ?

Bossi slumped into a seat.   â Å“I was hoping for a souvenir,â ? he squeaked.
   
â Å“Sorry, lad,â ? said Ghost.   â Å“What sort of souvenir?â ?

â Å“A bad case of meld-mold!â ? snorted Aguilus.   â Å“From the harlot-droids on Level Zero.â ?

â Å“I know all about safe melding,â ? muttered Bossi.   He withdrew into a silent sulk.

â Å“Come on, boss,â ? pleaded Slim.   â Å“Can't we get off long enough for a little hair of the droid?   A shot of reverse-polarity juice?â ?

â Å“Departure in twenty minutes!â ? blared comp.   â Å“No time for immoral activities â “ electrical or mechanical.â ?


Target, Infanteer!
Hardtack, Secret Hideout #3

Infanteer swung the powered chair to face Aspirant Earl, his chief henchman.   â Å“Monk is after me?   Why?   Where did you hear this?â ?

â Å“Che picked up on it.   He was running the quarterly audit of merchants covered by our Gold Protection plan and found an odd payment.   It was sent via an off-world bank to an account the Feds have tentatively identified as belonging to Monk.â ?   Earl scratched at his butt for a moment, gathering his thoughts.   â Å“He found out about the connection between the account and the Assassin later, when he hacked into Ranger Central.   What first caught his attention was the amount of the payment.   FedCred 999,995.99

â Å“Hmm.â ?   Infanteer frowned.   â Å“Monk usually charges an even million.â ?

Earl nodded.   â Å“We might have missed a round figure like that.   He must have been running a special.   The sale price sticks out like a pregnant osco.â ?

â Å“So the Merchant Guild wants to get rid of me?â ? mused Infanteer.   â Å“Do we need to send O'Leary and Padraig in to break legs, shatter illusions, twist servos, disrupt circuits?â ?

â Å“Later.   First we need to deal with Monk.â ?

â Å“Is he on Hardtack?â ?

Earl's face took on a strained look, as if a bowel movement was imminent.   â Å“I don't know.â ?

â Å“Has he left Earth?â ?

â Å“I â “ uh, I don't know.â ?

â Å“What do you know?â ?   Infanteer's voice was barely audible.   â Å“Is the Master Assassin even now stalking this hideout, searching for me?â ?   He reached in a drawer and drew out a blaster.

Earl stood his ground.   He figured running would be futile.   â Å“No â “ that is â “ I don't think so.   Padraig and O'Leary are on patrol.â ?

â Å“Somehow that doesn't reassure me.   Those two floof-brains stop to pray every few minutes.â ?

â Å“Well â “ ha-ha, it's not just praying.   They face Bog and sacrifice a wooly scutworm at seven minutes past the hour â “ every hour.â ?

â Å“Wooly scutworms?   What do they do â “ burn them?â ?

â Å“No â “ ah, they eat them.â ?   Earl managed a weak smile.   â Å“Raw.â ?

Infanteer fondled his blaster.   â Å“Remind me why we hired them.â ?

â Å“They work cheap.â ?

â Å“Yes.   I remember.   Do you understand any of their fool religion?â ?

â Å“Some.â ?   Earl tried to laugh, but only squeaked.   â Å“Their names must be Irish and they worship Wirrak, the star around which their world revolves.â ?   He shrugged.   â Å“That's all I know.â ?

â Å“But this isn't their home system,â ? objected Infanteer.

â Å“I gather that Bog stands in for Wirrak.â ?

Infanteer sat silent.   The room felt hot and stuffy to Earl.   He began to fidget.   At last Infanteer spoke.   â Å“You and those two primitives are all that stand between me and Monk?â ?

â Å“That's â “ that's about the size of it, boss.   Except for Che.â ?   Both men roared with laughter.

At that moment Padraig and O'Leary walked in.   Padraig carried two blast rifles.   O'Leary popped a brown, fuzzy object into his mouth.

â Å“Hi, boss,â ? said Padraig.   O'Leary just nodded, being busy crunch-crunching a sacrifice.

Earl sighed with relief and eased toward the door.   â Å“You guys see anything suspicious?â ?

â Å“Muffrrlguglrr,â ? said O'Leary.

â Å“Nothing much,â ? said Padraig.   â Å“O'Leary found his missing muffrrlguglrr.   That's all.â ?


(to be continued -- provided the lynch mob doesn't get here first)
 
Well, I don't know how, but I'm hooked.

Waiting (im)patiently for the next installment!
 
Dorosh Gets an Idea
Calamity Port

â Å“Can't track 'em, boss,â ? said Scarlino.   â Å“The traffic system only extends out to fifty kilometers.   The barge was still going west when they lost it.â ?

The two Rangers were approaching their own patrol cruiser, RPS Leaping Karg.   A droid lay slumped at the base of the gangway.

â Å“Looks like Baker's been at the juice again!â ? snarled Dorosh.  

â Å“Can you blame him?   The droid-babes avoid him like meld mold.â ?

â Å“I need him fit for duty!   Null should have dumped him in the polarizer.â ?

They each took a leg, dragged Baker into the ship and kicked his besotted carcass into the polarizer.   Dorosh rotated the De-Randomize control to Maximum.   Orange sparks flew.   The droid emitted a deep groan, like demented whale song.   Dorosh nodded with satisfaction.   â Å“That'll teach him.â ?   He headed for the bridge.   Scarlino sighed and followed.   A mere over-voltage treatment was unlikely to teach Baker much of anything.

Dorosh slumped into the pilot's seat and stared at a map of Hardtack.   â Å“If I were Monk, where would I go?â ?

Scarlino drew a cup of kaff and sat down at the nav console.   â Å“Figure out who he's going to hit and we'll have the answer.â ?

â Å“Right.â ?   Dorosh frowned.   â Å“Where is that idiot Null?â ?

Ship comp beeped.   â Å“Proid Null went out for sugar.â ?

â Å“Sugar?â ?   Dorosh shot a questioning glance at Scarlino and received a mystified shrug in return.

â Å“Sugar,â ? repeated comp.   â Å“His exact words were, 'I'm going for something sweet.   Don't wait up.'   The meaning of 'Don't wait up' escapes me, but the reference to 'something sweet' must refer to some form of candy or sugar.â ?

Scarlino burst into laughter.   Dorosh swore a black oath.

â Å“What?â ? asked comp.

â Å“Never mind,â ? said Dorosh, calming himself.   â Å“Just remind me to clap that clown in irons.â ?

â Å“Aye-aye, sir.â ?   Comp had long since learned that terms such as clown, moron and idiot were synonyms for proid.

Dorosh rubbed his tired eyes and stared at the map display.   â Å“Hardtack is a damn small place.   Are there any big-time bad guys here?â ?

â Å“Nobody on the top 50 list,â ? said Scarlino.   â Å“Benny the Lifter runs a spaceship-jacking ring over in Grapple Bay.   Calliope's stim program and illicit drug operation is just outside Hardtack.   Both are strictly small fish.â ?

â Å“But it's a small pond,â ? said Dorosh.   â Å“That makes all the difference.   Anybody else?â ?

â Å“Only a low-budget protection racket run by a scrag named Infanteer.   The Hardtack cops haven't even bothered to scope out his operation.â ?

â Å“Maybe he's the target.   A competitor or a merchant combine could have picked up the tab.â ?

â Å“Could be.â ?   Scarlino shrugged.   â Å“He's pretty small floof.   Monk leans toward real nasties, not some wannabe thug.   He's whacked a dozen or more drug pushers in the last few years.   I think his target is Calliope.â ?

â Å“Yeah, you're right.â ?   Dorosh tapped the display.   â Å“He's going to take out Calliope.   Her place is down south.â ?   He called up another map.   â Å“It's a compound on top of a bluff.   House, warehouses, stunner fence, roving patrols, everything.â ?

â Å“Sounds like she has something to hide.â ?

Dorosh sat back.   He had a serious look on his face â “ like a man about to fart.   Scarlino stood up and eased toward the door.   Dorosh's emissions were nothing to laugh about.

â Å“How long before Ghost and his gang get here?â ? asked Dorosh.  

â Å“I â “ ah, not until late tomorrow.â ?   The question caught Scarlino off guard.   Dorosh's fart-face and think-face were identical.

â Å“Find Null,â ? said Dorosh.   â Å“I think we'll go down there.â ?   He tapped the display.   â Å“This shows a hill about a kilometer north of Calliope's compound.   Name of Peeko Preserve, whatever that is.   It's fifty meters taller than her place.   Should give us a good vantage point.   There's some sort of a park between the two hills â “ called Calamity Junction.â ?

Scarlino stopped at the door.   â Å“It's billed as an Space Opera theme park.   A droid in the spaceport lobby kept trying to sell me tickets.â ?   He frowned.   â Å“If it's lit up like most theme parks we might have a problem with night time surveillance.â ?

â Å“That's probably why Calliope located her compound there.   Won't bother Monk, though.â ?

â Å“Nope.   Monk will probably kill her in broad daylight.   You plan on preventing the hit?â ?

â Å“Nah.   I'm hoping we can catch him after he's whacked her.â ?   Dorosh grinned.   â Å“Just think of all the valuable police work that will be saved if he bumps her off.â ?   His face slid into that serious look again.   Scarlino sprinted toward the main hatch.   A thunderous blast lent speed to his feet.



Infanteer's Plan
Peeko Preserve

Aspirant Earl nosed the limo into a space under a clump of grinklefruit trees and eased it to the ground, crushing several pungent fakeberry bushes in the process.   He hated using the limo for field ops.   It would be weeks before the fakeberry stench faded and the karg hide top would soon be splattered with rotting grinklefruit.   No help for it, though.   Infanteer had insisted on taking the limo.   Only their six-wheeled gun buggy had more armor and it was limited to ground travel.   Besides, the limo had a nice automated bar and an excellent porn vid collection.

By the time Earl floundered out of the brush, Infanteer and the two droids were setting up shop at a picnic bench under a grove of flowering peeko trees.   The site gave them a good view of both Calamity Junction and Calliope's compound.   O'Leary placed a cooler on the table.   The cooler contained four tri-barrel blasters.   Padraig carried a smaller box laden with beer for the two men and refreshing Lectro-paks for the two droids.      

Earl dropped a heavy picnic basket loaded with grenades and general purpose missiles beside the table and sat down across from Infanteer.   â Å“I hope you know what your doing, boss.   We're right out in the open.   What if Ghost shows up here?   I'm sure the Feds wonder who Monk plans to kill.   Some bright spark at Ranger HQ might decide that Calliope is the most likely candidate for a funeral â “ even if Ghost doesn't figure it out on his own.â ?   It was a long speech for Earl.

Infanteer wrinkled his nose and sniffed.   â Å“Couldn't you have walked around a few of those fakeberry bushes?   You smell like rotting osco meat.â ?

â Å“You told me to hide the limo!   Can I help if it those Calamity Port floof-brains built a public park in the middle of the biggest fakeberry grove in the known universe?â ?

â Å“Most of the Council members owned parcels of property on this hill,â ? said Infanteer.   â Å“How else were they supposed to make a profit?â ?

Padraig nudged his fellow droid.   â Å“Hear that boyo?   We're in the middle of the largest fakeberry grove in the Universe.â ?

Both droids stood up and raised their arms toward the afternoon sun.   â Å“Praise Bog/Wirrack,â ? intoned O'Leary.   â Å“May his fakeberries live forever.â ?   They each flourished a wooly scutworm then ate the things with apparent gusto.

Aspirant Earl hurried over to an observation platform built at the cliff edge and gazed down into Calamity Junction.   He could bear the crunching noises as long as he avoided watching the process.   Infanteer followed, green-faced and swallowing hard.   â Å“Remind me to hire some new triggermen,â ? he muttered.

The crunching stopped, followed by simultaneous gulps.   Earl put both hands on his stomach and took a deep breath.   The fluttery feeling diminished.   He stared down at the theme park, desperate to think of something besides what it must be like to eat a wooly scutworm.   â Å“D-do you think Monk will use the p-park as cover when he s-strikes at Calliope?â ?

Infanteer stood rigid, breathing through his nose.   He made a jerky nod, but said nothing else for a full minute.   Then, sagging against the platform railing, he nodded again.   â Å“I think so.â ?

â Å“So what are we going to do?   Warn Calliope?â ?

â Å“No, never!â ?   Infanteer's maniacal laughter drove away the remnants of his nausea.   â Å“Warn Calliope?   Not in a million years!   I just want to make sure I'm not Monk's target.â ?   He grabbed Earl's arm.   â Å“Don't you see?   If he takes out Calliope, then he's not after me!   Meanwhile, if I am his target â “ I'm not home.â ?   He cackled again.   The grip on Earl's arm grew painful.

â Å“He'll never think to look for me here â “ having a picnic.â ?   His laughter rang under the peeko trees.   Visitors in the theme park heard it and shivered.   A fell beast exulting over the body of a torn and bloody foe would have sounded normal in comparison to that laugh.   He released Earl's arm as the last crazed echoes died away.

â Å“Damn!â ? whined Earl.   â Å“That's going to bruise.â ?


(stand by for further installments)
 
Monk Takes a Hand
Calamity Junction

Monk leaned on his broom and surveyed the shoals of visitors wandering the park.   Most were human, although he had seen a few droids and even a single Fudnik.   Park employees dressed as fictional characters out of ancient space operas strolled around, interacting with the customers.   He had seen no evidence of Rangers or their proids.   They usually stood out like karg turds in a kitchen.   The only local cop in view was sleeping in the shade of a grinklefruit tree.   As Monk watched, an overripe fruit splotched onto the cop's polished boot.   The officer twitched and mumbled, but did not awake.

He nudged a character suited up as a Cylon.   â Å“Keep your eyes open.   I'm going for the tunnel.â ?

â Å“Jeez, boss,â ? whined the Cylon.   â Å“This outfit is hot!â ?   It was Redeye, Monk's sidekick.

â Å“You'll survive,â ? said Monk.   â Å“Your job is security.   Don't forget it.â ?

â Å“Gotcha, boss.   I'll just ankle around and keep an eye out for any torpedoes.â ?

Monk stared at the Cylon.   â Å“Torpedoes?â ?

â Å“Ah â “ gunsels, shooters â “ I'll watch for any Rangers or proids, boss.â ?

â Å“You do that.â ?   Redeye's preoccupation with old-time gangsters might become a hazard.   Monk sighed, shouldered his broom and strolled away, pushing a trash cart.   He'd have to deal with the Redeye later.

He'd already walked the boundary between Calamity Junction and Calliope's hill, sweeping up trash and debris as he went.   The entrance to the utility tunnel running under her compound was right where he expected it to be.   His information indicated that the tunnel led straight back into the hill to a vertical shaft that opened into the compound itself.   It was time to find out if that information was accurate.

A two-meter chain link fence separated the park from Calliope's property.   Opposite the tunnel entrance was a passage gate wide enough for service vehicles.   The gate opened onto a down-sloping drive that curved off to the right, then swung back left, ending in a parking area in front of a blocky   concrete structure enclosing the tunnel proper.   On the park side, a ten-meter wide service road ran behind various exhibits and rides.   Only park employees and an occasional customer used the roadway.

No one else was in sight as Monk ambled up to the recycling bins located a few meters from the passage gate.   He dumped his trash can, paused a moment to make sure he was still alone, then triggered a hidden release and pulled a rucksack out of a compartment in the bottom of the can.   Closing the compartment, he shoved the can into a group of other such receptacles and walked to the gate.   He drew out a small, rectangular key and pressed it to the gate latch.   The latch clicked and Monk stepped through.   No alarms sounded and the sensor array built into his workman's coveralls detected no signals associated with security systems.   He shoved the gate closed and headed down toward the tunnel.

Across the fence, in the shadows of the Zero-G Barf-bag ride, a Cylon warrior watched until Monk strode out of sight, then turned and disappeared into the park.   It was time for Redeye to start phase two of the operation.



Theme Park Boogie
Calamity Junction

Dorosh eased his flyer down over the surface road, below the tops of the trees.   Null crouched behind him on the open flyer.   Scarlino and Baker followed a hundred meters in trail.   They were approaching Peeko Preserve from the north.   Dorosh hoped to slip into the area unobserved and take up an overwatch position above Calamity Junction.   He was certain Monk would make his attempt on Calliope from that direction.   Theme park noise and tumult would provide perfect cover for whatever Monk had in mind.

His earpiece emitted a soft beep.   â Å“You sure this is a good idea, boss?â ?   It was Null on the intercom.   â Å“What if Monk is already there?   What if he has a lookout in the Preserve?â ?

â Å“We're not even sure Monk is on the planet,â ? replied Dorosh.   â Å“In fact, I'm half convinced this whole op is a wild snark chase.â ?

â Å“I hope so.   I'd rather hunt karg with a fish spear than deal with Monk.â ?

â Å“Relax.â ?   Dorosh slowed the flyer.   â Å“We'll just cruise into the Preserve like a bunch of tourists.   Don't sweat it.â ?

â Å“Androids can't sweat,â ? muttered Null.   â Å“I'd feel better if we'd brought heavier weapons and full tactical suits instead of this flimsy body armor.â ?

Dorosh sighed.   â Å“Tourists don't wear full combat armor!   We have to blend in.â ?

â Å“Okay, but I feel naked without my blast rifle and grenade launcher.â ?

*****

O'Leary left the picnic table and walked over to the observation platform.   Earl was eyeballing the theme park.   â Å“See anything?â ? asked the droid.

â Å“Nothing.â ?   Earl stepped back from the railing and stretched.   â Å“I don't think Monk is going to hit Calliope â “ and I can't decide if that's bad or good.â ?

The big droid swept the park using various receptors.   â Å“Lots of activity down there.   How would we know if Monk was part of it?â ?

â Å“I don't know.   Look for something unusual.â ?

â Å“This Monk is supposed to be pretty smart.   How do we know he hasn't been tracking us?   What if he barges in here with guns blazing?â ?

â Å“That's a stretch, O'Leary.   Monk's good, but he's no magician.â ?
O'Leary glanced back to the table.   Infanteer was napping on one bench.   Padraig sat on the other bench, playing Futile Resistance on his wrist pad.   â Å“You think Monk is after the boss?â ?

â Å“The Merchant Guild paid big credits for something.   I don't think it was a birthday present.â ?

â Å“I wish we'd brought the gun buggy,â ? said O'Leary.   He grinned.   â Å“Is it really the boss's birthday?â ?

â Å“Yeah.â ?   Earl laughed.   â Å“Next week.â ?   His face grew serious.   â Å“Go break out tri-barrels for you and Padraig.   Keep an eye on the road.â ?   A sudden burst of noise blew up from below.   Earl spun around and peered down into the park.   â Å“Something's going on!   What do you see?â ?  

â Å“A strong IR image,â ? said O'Leary.   He pointed at a tall structure in the middle of the park.   â Å“It's coming from that building.   I think it's on fire.â ?

â Å“Crap!   That qualifies as unusual.â ?   Smoke poured upward.   Screaming hordes of people streamed toward the park exits.   Earl looked at O'Leary.   â Å“Looks like a damn good diversion!â ?   He headed for the picnic table, motioning the droid to follow.   â Å“Get the guns!â ?

â Å“I shoulda brought my blast rifle,â ? murmured O'Leary.   â Å“I feel naked without it.â ?

******

â Å“Hey, boss!â ? exclaimed Null.   â Å“There's some people over to the right.   By that table.â ?

â Å“I see 'em,â ? replied Dorosh.   â Å“Folks out for a picnic.â ?   He had the flyer at slow speed, about a meter off the ground.   They drew abreast of the group by the table.

Click.   The team radio circuit came alive.   â Å“Two humans and two droids!   Your three o'clock!â ?

â Å“I know . . .â ?   Dorosh's reply was cut off by Scarlino's emergency override.   â Å“Energy readings!   Weapons!   Crap!   Take cover!â ?

Dorosh hit the throttle and aimed for a cluster of rocks about fifty meters ahead.   Null let out a little girl screech.   The rocks loomed up.   Dorosh slammed the flyer to the ground and dove for cover.   A green bolt flashed by, followed by several more.   The flyer began to burn.   Dorosh wormed his way into the rocks and brush, clawing for his blaster.   Null, still screaming, crashed to the ground an arms-length to his right.

Click.   Scarlino's voice shook as he spoke.   â Å“I'm in a patch of peeko trees, boss.   You okay down there?â ?

â Å“We're in some rocks.â ?   Dorosh slid to the right and kicked Null a couple of times.   The screaming stopped.   â Å“Get your gun!   Return fire!â ?

â Å“It's just hand blasters,â ? said Scarlino.   â Å“Baker hasn't moved since we crashed into these trees.   He might have taken a hit.   Our flyer has had it.â ?

â Å“Ours too,â ? said Dorosh.   He tried to think.   Their attackers had gone to ground.   It was time to press forward or get the finagle out.

â Å“Who are these guys?â ? asked Scarlino.   â Å“They can't be with Monk.   He never has more than one or two helpers.â ?

A missile whooshed up from below and struck a rock a meter or two in front of Dorosh.   The blast made his ears ring.   He burrowed lower as rocks showered down.   Null was firing â “ mostly into the trees.   It's time to break contact, thought Dorosh.   But how?

*****

Monk was thirty meters up the vertical bore when Whiz made his report.   â Å“Our fires are going great.   Most of the people are outta the park and heading for transit cubes.â ?

â Å“Good,â ? replied Monk.   â Å“I'll be finished here in a few seconds.â ?

Getting into the tunnel was simple.   He had a key for the blockhouse door and the security systems were either inoperative or futzed in some manner.   The specialist he'd hired to do that particular job worked from afar and never revealed methods.   Monk had used her services before.

As he had expected, the vertical bore offered plenty of sites for placing the bomb.   He tucked it into a narrow ledge beside some sort of pump.   The bomb was nothing more than a fusion bottle rigged to fail.   Tamper-proof safety devices within the bottle would prevent the device from producing a true thermonuclear explosion.   At best, the blast would be equivalent to a pocket nuke, hardly enough to rattle the compound above.   That was no problem.   Monk didn't want to vaporize a kilometer or two of Hardtack.   Strapped to the fusion bottle were several bricks of pyrol, an explosive developed for asteroid mining.   Positioned in the vertical bore, the bomb was calculated to obliterate Calliope's compound without raising too much havoc on the surrounding area.   Redeye's fires sufficed to empty the theme park, so casualties should be confined to the compound above.

Monk fused the bomb for ten minutes, then began a quick descent to the tunnel.   With any luck Calliope and her nasty enterprise were soon to be historical footnotes.

The radio circuit activated.   â Å“There's a mob of palookas up on the bluff, shooting it out.â ?

Palookas?   What the hell was Redeye talking about?   Monk dropped into the tunnel and began walking toward the entrance.   â Å“Say again.   Who's shooting at who?â ?

â Å“I got no clue.   A rumble just broke out â “ up above â “ in the Preserve.â ?

â Å“Well . . .â ?   Monk was deeply suspicious of unplanned events surrounding a hit.   â Å“You finished out there?â ?

â Å“Fires, flash-bombs, screaming meemies.   All done.   There ain't a soul or droid left in the place.â ?

Monk stepped from the blockhouse and trotted up the roadway.   He could see green blaster bolts and an occasional flash of rocket exhaust up on the bluff.   No way to know who it was.   â Å“Bring the transporter,â ? he ordered.   â Å“Must be a private war.   We'll read about it in the dailies.â ?

â Å“On the way, boss.â ?

They left the burning theme park in an ordinary delivery transport.   Redeye did the driving.   Monk watched the pyrotechnics on the bluff and talked to Korus via sat-com.   Five minutes later the top of Calliope's hill rose up several hundred meters and crashed down in extreme disorder.   The rubble covered half of Calamity Junction and extinguished most of the fires.


Under the Peeko Trees
Peeko Preserve

O'Leary lay at the edge of the observation platform, toes up.   He'd taken a blaster bolt direct to the brain case.   Body armor kept the explosion from being fatal, but he was down for the count.   An occasional tremor shook his frame as stray electrical currents zapped his circuits.  

Padraig crouched behind a massive boulder a few meters from O'Leary.   His left arm dangled, useless.   A tri-barrel bolt had smashed the shoulder joint.   One vision receptor was out, the other damaged.   The vertical hold on his internal imagery was futzed and his IFF receiver had failed.   He hadn't fired for several minutes, being unable to distinguish friend from foe.   He groaned.   It had to be well past time to sacrifice another scutworm, but his little worm pouch no longer hung from his web belt.   Blown away, he supposed.   He longed for the sweet, crunchy taste of a wooly scutworm.   Missing the hourly religious ceremony was bad luck.   Real bad.

â Å“Shoot!â ? screamed Infanteer.   â Å“Keep shooting!   Keep their heads down!   Blow their heads off!â ?

â Å“Shut up!â ? yelled Earl, forgetful of his place in the mad confusion.   â Å“I'll go see what's wrong with the droids!   Cover me!â ?   Tri-barrel slung on his back, he crawled out to O'Leary.   Infanteer kept up a steady barrage of fire.

He thumped O'Leary on the leg.   â Å“You hit lad?â ?   It seemed a dumb question, but he couldn't think of anything smarter.

â Å“Uk - uk - ungk,â ? replied O'Leary.

â Å“Okay.   Well, hang in there.   This little dustup will be over soon.   One way or the other.â ?   He low-crawled to the other droid.

Padraig's left arm was damaged and he had a glitch in his voice box.   â Å“Blind,â ? he croaked.   â Å“Futzed.â ?

â Å“Crap,â ? moaned Earl.   â Å“I . . .â ?   A deep-throated roar cut him off.   All shooting ceased.   He rolled over and beheld horror.   â Å“Oh, futz!â ? he moaned, but no one heard him.  

Calliope's hill seemed a volcano.   A long white flash faded into red then subsided further into lingering oranges and yellows, flaring within a hurtling maelstrom of dirt and rock.   The blast went on until it seemed eternal.   Then it died away.   Bog, sinking down in the west, lit the hanging dust cloud and made it burn in pink and red.

*****

Dorosh was the first to recover.   Grabbing Null, he pulled the proid away from the vision of hell.   â Å“Let's go!   It's time to haul our tails outta here!â ?   Stumbling and dodging, Ranger and proid ran back across the road and into the grinklefruit trees.

â Å“Scarlino!â ? called Dorosh.   â Å“Get out!   Drag Baker if you have to!   We're working our way around to you through the trees.â ?

â Å“Gotcha!   Baker's up.   He's kinda wobbly â “ but that's nothing new.â ?

â Å“Roger that!â ?   Dorosh glanced over his shoulder.   There was no pursuit.   He had an awful feeling that their little firefight had served no purpose at all.   It had all the earmarks of an accident of fortune.   A misunderstanding.   He gulped at a sudden fear.   Had they just fought a skirmish with another Ranger team?   His meager career prospects flashed and faded.

Scarlino and Baker were waiting just inside the grinklefruit grove and well out of blaster shot of their opponents.   Baker stood swaying, a lopsided smile on his face.   He essayed a sloppy salute and nearly fell over.   Dorosh was too sick with worry to do more than growl at him.

â Å“Gah!â ? exclaimed Scarlino, backing away.   â Å“You two must have run through some fakeberry bushes!   You smell horrible.â ?

Dorosh stood, arm extended, leaning against a tree, gasping for breath.   The stench of long-dead oscos seeped into his consciousness.   His stomach heaved.   â Å“Let's go!â ? he rasped.   â Å“We'll wash it off later.   The stink won't be so bad it we keep moving.â ?

â Å“Okay,â ? said Scarlino.   He dragged Baker into the road and started walking.   â Å“But stay back.â ?

Dorosh and Null trailed after their team mates, glancing back every now and then.   Dorosh's heart was in his feet.   By now, he had convinced himself that they had tangled with another Ranger team or some other Federation cop squad.   The fakeberry smell would wash off, but the stench of his rotting Ranger career would last forever.


(to be continued -- I could only post 2,000 characters -- sheesh)
 
Two-fers
Hardtack, Hideout #3

Infanteer stalked into the house, leaving Earl to deal with the damaged droids.  Earl was uncertain of his future.  Infanteer had maintained a silent snit all the way back from the Preserve.

Padraig could move.  He helped Earl move O'Leary from the limo into the droid-doc.  Earl stood around for a few minutes, watching the doc work.  He wanted to get back in the limo and drive away.  The space port was only thirty minutes distant. 

His shoulders drooped.  With his luck, he'd get to the port and find no ships departing.  Infanteer would find him and finish him.  Might as well get it over with, he thought, heading for the house.

He found Infanteer sitting in his powered chair, facing massive blast-proof windows.  Bog had set, limning the western mountains in red. 

â Å“Boss?â ? squeaked Earl.  He cleared his throat and tried again.  â Å“Boss!â ?  Infanteer said nothing.

Squaring his shoulders, Earl strode over to the chair and shoved at the back, causing it to begin a slow spin away from the windows.  â Å“Dammit, Boss!  You can't hold me responsible for what I say in the middle â “ of a g-gunfight.â ?  His voice trailed off.

Infanteer coughed.  Blood spattered Earl's shirt.  He tried to speak, but no sound emerged.  Padraig walked into the room.  â Å“The doc will be awhile with O'Leary.  I figured I'd just . . .â ?

â Å“Monk,â ? croaked Infanteer.  Blood pulsed form the gaping wound in his chest.  He managed a weak smile.  â Å“That f-fat fool Che was r-right.â ?  His head fell forward.  The blood flow dwindled and ceased.

â Å“By Wirrak!â ? breathed Padraig.  His hand move in futile search for a wooly scutworm.  He never figured out the meaning behind Infanteer's last words, nor did he understand Earl's comment.

â Å“It really was a special price,â ? murmured Earl.  â Å“A two-for-one sale.â ?



Last Chance
Calamity Port

Ghost wandered the lounge area until he spotted Scarlino coming out of the Necessary Room.  â Å“Scarlino!  Where's Dorosh?â ?

Scarlino jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  â Å“In there.  Hugging the porcelain barf tube.â ?  He belched and grinned.  â Å“He'll be out in a minute.  We're celebrating.â ?

â Å“Celebrating?  Celebrating what?  Monk got away clean!â ?

â Å“Careers.â ?  Scarlino staggered away, heading for the bar.

â Å“What do you mean?  Whose careers?â ?

â Å“Mine,â ? Scarlino stopped and stood swaying.  â Å“Dorosh's.  We still have them.â ?  He belched again.  â Å“Whoever we shot it out with up on that hill â “ they weren't cops.  Or Rangers.â ?

Ghost stood, indecisive.  He wanted a drink, but Scarlino was already too drunk for small talk.  And no way was he going into where Dorosh was tossing his lunch.

Aguilus walked up.  â Å“Did you find Dorosh?â ?

â Å“Yeah.  I mean â “ I know where he is.â ?  He didn't elaborate.

The two men took a table in the corner and ordered drinks.  No sooner than they settled in than a striking woman walked by.  She stopped and stepped back to their table.  â Å“Rangers!â ?  The word dripped with venom.  â Å“Rangers!â ? she repeated.  â Å“Where were you when that animal destroyed my home?â ?  A cold rage suffused her face.  â Å“I missed death by five minutes!â ?

Neither man had the temerity to speak.  She tossed her head, turned on her heel and steamed out of the room.

Aguilus watched until she was out of sight.  He turned back to Ghost.  â Å“Someone you know?â ?

â Å“Not me.  I figured she was an old flame of yours.â ?

â Å“I wonder what animal destroyed her home?â ? mused Aguilus.

â Å“Beats me.â ?  Ghost frowned.  â Å“She must have confused us with some kind of forest ranger.  We don't have anything to do with animals.â ?

A short, ugly man got up from a nearby table and sauntered over.  Inclining his head in greeting, he took a drag off a dope-stick and grinned.  â Å“Ya never met that Calliope dame before?â ?

â Å“Calliope?â ? exclaimed Aguilus.  â Å“Calliope?â ?

â Å“The very one,â ? said the man.  â Å“Watch your step with that broad.  The tomato goes heeled.  Has a gat in her handbag and a shiv in her girdle.â ?  He laughed again.  â Å“Later, alligator.â ?  The runt touched his hat and walked out.

â Å“Did you understand any of that?â ? asked Ghost.

â Å“Merde!  No.  Do you suppose the woman was really Calliope?â ?

Ghost laughed.  â Å“Sure â “ and I'm Monk, Master Assassin.â ?

Across the room a well-dressed man glanced up at the burst of laughter emanating from the two Federation Rangers.  He expression was one of amused tolerance.  A few seconds later he rose and followed the ugly, strange-talking man out of the lounge.  Fifteen minutes after that, as Ghost and Aguilus nursed their second drink and dreamed of capturing the Master Assassin, the ship Bobtail Nag lifted, rotated on her thrusters and roared into the night sky.


End


(Okay -- that's it)  :blotto:
 
Thanks, to all those who read and responded.

The story can't be very good.  Even posts about squirrel names and smurfs drew more attention.  LOL!

But, for those who liked it -- a big thumbs up!
 
i think that a lot of people dont have the patience to read it all but it was great!
 
I thought it was excellent and better than some of the pulp I've been paying for lately. Kudos Old Guy!
 
Keep 'em coming Old Guy if you're up for it.  I read them all and they're great!
 
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