How to Save the Universe with a Drunk Space Ninja

by Jay Key

  “This is urgent,” screamed Duke. “That force isn’t here to invade. It was here to provide safe passage for Mazilda and LePaco. They have your parents, Ish. I know it.”

  Yeop stood up and grabbed the bounty hunter’s shoulders. His face was wet with tears.

  “The master is dead.”

  Chapter 15

  The Traveler

  THE DEUS EX MACHINA SPED away from the New Tokyo Demilitarized Zone and headed towards the southern part of the planet. Luckily, Duke and Ishiro’shea’s intuitions proved correct and the Four I’s blockade was solely focused around the visible airspace above Ireland. This also meant that Duke’s intuition regarding the Four I’s primary mission of extraction was likely correct as well. LePaco and Mazilda probably had Ishiro’s parents. Even more problematic was the fact that they likely had the Amplification Key.

  As the Deus exited the Earth’s atmosphere, a new problem presented itself—where were they going to find a warp station that wasn’t heavily guarded by LePaco’s forces? The Deus’ scanners whizzed and buzzed but there wasn’t a beep to signify an identified portal. Nothing.

  Then… something. Not a big something, but a something nonetheless.

  “Over there. It’s faint but it’s the best we got, little buddy,” Duke proclaimed.

  Ishiro’shea tapped on the control panel and the scanning focused on the planetoid.

  Delorme. Rogue Brown Dwarf. Uninhabited. Discovered by Earth scientists during the planetary year of 2012.

  “Hey, I know that rock” Duke replied, a bit surprised at his own knowledge. “That’s ‘The Traveler.’ It doesn’t orbit any star, it just floats around. It’s an ugly booger. I wonder why it’s registering up on our portal scan. It’s uninhabited.”

  Ishiro’shea typed even faster, presumably diving deep into the bowels of the Deus’ databank.

  The screen overlay transitioned from the basic details to a two-dimensional, animated timeline, starting with the rogue planet’s discovery, then entering a long period of absolute nothing, then a little-known fact that intrigued Duke.

  Attempted Jungafallowian Colonization.

  Duke read the lengthy entry.

  “It seems that the Jungafallowians wanted to always be on the move, and what better way than with a traveling planet? How far did they get on colonizing it?”

  The screen changed again, citing that the Jungafallowian efforts were abandoned fairly early on when they discovered they had been unsuccessful at altering the atmospheric composition.

  “But,” Duke began, “if they made a couple of trips to try it, then they had to set up a means to travel efficiently. Like a private warp station.”

  Ishiro’shea nodded. He twirled his finger around in a flurry of zigs and zags.

  “That’s right,” Duke acknowledged, “it’s ‘The Traveler.’ So, the portal must be attached to the planet somehow. We gotta try it. It might be our only way to Kelt, even though the detour is through Jungafallow.”

  The ninja plotted the course and the ship sped away from that crazy blue planet known as Earth.

  Delorme was ugly. It was rocky, harsh, barren, but mostly ugly.

  This would’ve been perfect for the Jungafallowians, thought Duke.

  “What’s the composition? Looks pretty rough.”

  The computer screen spat out pertinent data: High metal content. Methane atmosphere. Unsuitable for the biologies of 99.63% of known living species.

  “High metallicity. Maybe the warp portal is anchored to the actual planet; it’d be pretty old school, but then again, the colonization was a long time ago,” Duke surmised. “Let’s increase the scan to the planet’s atmosphere.”

  The Deus’ scan intensified yet again. The pulsing beep picked up speed; it then morphed into a constant hum and, finally, into a wailing siren.

  “We got it,” Duke shouted gleefully. “That has to be it.”

  Upon further inspection, it was indeed an archaic private portal, built as a bridge to and from a distinct location. Unlike the common warp stations that could be altered to take travelers to multiple destinations, this door and its twin were connected by a single, unyielding tube of space-time.

  “Looks like we’re going to Jungafallow. Let’s just hope it’s not Jungafallow III.”

  It was Jungafallow III.

  Thankfully, though, the warp portal was stationed in a vast expanse of nothing. In fact, it had probably been abandoned many cycles ago by the ruling Jungafallowian party of the time and then forgotten. But it still worked and that was the important thing. Another important thing was that the Four I’s had not approached the Jungafallowian System, so all that Duke and Ishiro’shea had to do was find a more modern warp station and head to Kelt. That was the easy part of this whole imbroglio.

  The Deus Ex Machina cruised along the outskirts of the system and headed for the space outside of Jungafallow IV. The overly conservative residents of Jungafallow IV would have no beef with an alien ship using their portal because it meant that the aliens in question were leaving. The Jungafallowians on IV were much more intelligent, orderly, and civilized than their crude and overly enthusiastic relatives on Jungafallow III, but that didn’t mean that they welcomed visitors.

  In between the two primary planets in the system, III and IV, there was a sliver of space occupied with a gnarly asteroid belt. It wasn’t the most treacherous gathering of space rocks, but it wasn’t a picnic to navigate either. Despite the dangers and obstacles presented by the floating chain of unpredictable cosmic debris, the Trampling Death Robots would routinely hold concerts in the belt, much to the delight of their hardcore followers. One of their better-received albums, Trampling Death Robots LIVE: But Not If These Damn Asteroids Don’t Cooperate, was recorded on this very same asteroid.

  Duke looked at his partner. “It’s going to be the fastest way back to Kelt. I’ve driven through worse. I got this,” he said confidently.

  Duke was correct in this matter: it was the fastest way to the warp station.

  With the Nova Texan at the wheel, the Deus twisted and dodged, rolled and swayed, as it navigated through the asteroid belt. What should have been a hectic, white knuckle, peek-through-mostly-closed-eyelids moment was rather anticlimactic. It was almost calming.

  Duke’s focus relaxed once the densely packed portion of the belt was behind them.

  “Should be smooth sailing the rest of the way.” He removed his hat, sat at the control panel, and let out a sigh of relief.

  His attention returned to Ishiro’shea. “I know things have happened kinda fast, but I want you to know that I’m sorry about Master Fukudome.”

  Ishiro’shea bowed quickly.

  “No, Ish, enough with the stoicism and formalities. I know he raised you. It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to grieve some,” Duke continued. “I know I’m pissed. I still can’t believe Mazilda would do something like that.”

  Ishiro’shea lowered his eyes.

  “You’re right, I can’t keep thinking she’s the same person that we knew back then. I just can’t believe it. I promise you, little buddy, we’ll get her. We’ll get LePaco. We’ll find your parents. Nothing can stop us.”

  As the Deus exited the last cluster of rogue asteroids, Duke’s mouth opened with no intention of shutting anytime soon. Staring back at them was a ship of behemoth proportions. In big block letters, it read: TRAMPLING DEATH ROBOTS FAN CLUB & ATTACK SQUAD: JUNGAFALLOW III CHAPTER.

  “Not again.”

  Chapter 16

  Kiss My Ass-teroid

  “DO WE HAVE TO PATCH ‘em in? I mean we should, right? I’m not really in the mood for Jungafallowians,” Duke whined, “but it’s not like anyone is ever in the mood for Jungafallowians. I don’t even think Jungafallowians are ever in the mood for Jungafallowians.”

  As his thought trailed off, his sidekick did the only reasonable thing: he patched them in.

  On the Deus’ primary screen appeared four faces, four necks, and, of course, two Jungafallowian
s. These faces, however, Duke and Ishiro’shea immediately recognized. Flakka-Grog and Orbo-Terg.

  “Oh hey there, guys,” Duke began. “Long time no see. I have to say, I didn’t expect to see you again. Ever.”

  “Because you ran away?” the Flakka head asked.

  “And you did everything in your power to hide from our vengeance?” added Grog.

  “Big wusses!” shouted both of Orbo-Terg’s heads in unison.

  “No, because I thought you were dead,” Duke replied matter-of-factly.

  “Well we ain’t,” blurted the colossal Orbo-Terg.

  “You both look pretty close to it.”

  Duke shook his arm to simulate injury, then grabbed his chest, grimacing in faux pain. Both Jungafallowians looked down at the bandages that covered much of their upper torso. Orbo-Terg’s right arm was in a sling; Flakka-Grog’s left arm was cocooned snugly in a hard cast.

  “These bruises? It takes more than a few scratches from a Gartoshian sneak attack to stop us from completing our mission,” Flakka-Grog said confidently.

  “Dare I ask what your mission is?” Duke said reluctantly.

  “To avenge the Trampling Death Robots and Sprinkles!”

  Orbo-Terg wailed in agreement.

  “How is ol’ Sprinkles doing these days? Any more katana blades through the eye?”

  Flakka-Grog’s faces grew red with rage. “Funny, LaGrange. No, your attempts to kill the greatest musician to ever live—”

  “Are we classifying a robot as ‘alive’ these days? Where exactly do you stand on cyber-sentience? For? Against? Undecided?”

  “Stop trying to change the subject, bounty hunter,” hissed Flakka.

  Duke raised his hands in submission. “Continue, please.”

  “Your attempts were pointless. Despite the hullabaloo that you caused, the Robots only missed one show. In fact, that’s where we’re headed now.”

  “Another one of their asteroid belt shows?” asked the Nova Texan. “Aren’t those old news nowadays? I mean, get a new trick, Sprinkles.”

  Clearly, the Jungafallowians did not appreciate Duke’s snark. Their eyes grew fiery and their jaws clenched.

  “This isn’t any concert. This is the 17th Annual Trampling Death Robots ‘Kiss My Ass-teroid’ Music Festival, honoring the seventeen years since the release of their epic album, Trampling Death Robots LIVE: But Not If These Damn Asteroids Don’t Cooperate.”

  “Any good?”

  “Only the best ever!” shouted Orbo-Terg from behind his more intelligent friend.

  “Yes, the best ever,” echoed Flakka. “And now our festival-going experience is going to be kicked up a notch, because we get to kill you and avenge the Robots without so much as a detour.”

  “That would be pretty efficient,” joked Duke. “Tell me something, guys—since you’re about to kill me anyways, I don’t see why it would hurt to provide a little clarity for an old friend.”

  “What?” sighed Grog.

  “How’d you get the Prince’s ship?”

  The Jungafallowian rambled on regarding something about trivia and losing money and revenge, but Duke was too preoccupied with a discovery that Ishiro’shea had made on the scanner.

  “Good eye, Ish,” he muttered. “They’re coming here?”

  The ninja nodded.

  “Just one?”

  Ishiro’shea nodded again.

  “That’s not like the Four I’s. Maybe they’ve decided to organize Jungafallow III. If they’re trying to ‘improve’ Earth, why not Jungafallow III?”

  Duke returned his attention to the Jungafallowians; Flakka-Grog was still in the midst of his passionate diatribe and, presumably, his explanation about how he had come to captain the ship of the deceased Prince Korzo-Tapor.

  “Sorry to cut you off, big guy,” Duke interjected, “but it appears that we have company. Both of us. Four I’s.”

  “Moron, we actually have four eyes, so it’s not an insult,” Flakka remarked.

  “Intergalactic Infrastructure Improvement, Incorporated,” Duke said, enunciating each word deliberately. “Four I’s.”

  “We know about the Four I’s. They’ve been taking over weak-willed planets. But Jungafallow III isn’t a pushover. I’ve heard rumors that we’re negotiating an alliance with them, anyways. Supposedly, they signed some deal on Junga-Mini One last week after they took it over. So, I’d wager they’re here for you two. You aren’t exactly known to have a ton of allies.”

  “That does make sense. Maybe you should ask, since you’re so buddy-buddy with ‘em?”

  “What?” Flakka said, surprised.

  “They’re right behind you. Ask ‘em.”

  Immediately, the Jungafallowians cut their transmission to the Deus.

  The ship that was approaching the Trampling Death Robots Fan Club vessel was definitely a Four I’s build. It was larger than their typical scout fighter but nowhere near the size of a cruiser or an Armada Titan. It was clear from its external design that it was built for speed. Its unconcealed weaponry made it equally clear that it was built for war.

  “We really don’t have time for this, Ish,” Duke groaned. “You think we can outrun ‘em?”

  The ninja shook his head.

  “Yeah, maybe the Jungas, but not this ship. Maybe they’ll blow up each other? Wishful thinking, I know.”

  Suddenly, a light show of lasers and explosions cavalcaded across the back half of the Jungafallowian ship. The Four I’s unleashed another devastating assault.

  I’m guessing Flakka-Grog and Orbo-Terg didn’t win these guys over with their magnetic charm and unparalleled wit, surmised Duke.

  The Fan Club ship tried to counter, but it was fruitless. Their heavy artillery options were eradicated by the opening barrage from the Four I’s. It was clear that the Jungafallowians had one remaining course of action—retreat—and they were trying to do so with all due haste. Their spacecraft dipped and veered to the right; the Four I’s vessel did not pursue, but neither did it lessen the assault. Its fire was concentrated on the rear thrusters of the Jungafallowian ship. Before they could have sung the opening lines to I Want to Smash You, My Binary Baby, the ship was limping into the asteroid field without the proper propulsion to navigate it safely. Before the Jungafallowians could have sung the second line of the song, the ship was bouncing from asteroid to asteroid like a ping-pong ball hopped up on a sugar high. Before they could have reached the chorus, the spaceship of the Jungafallow III Chapter of the Trampling Death Robots Fan Club was nowhere to be seen.

  The Four I’s fighter halted its attack. It repositioned to block the Deus’ escape route.

  The control panel blinked furiously.

  Why are they hailing us? wondered Duke.

  “Patch them in,” he said. “But first, get our shields up and every bit of weaponry that we have on this damn ship aimed at that son of a bitch.”

  Ishiro’shea extended a thumbs-up and began frantically entering weapon sequences.

  “Also, Ish,” Duke continued, “be on the lookout for a giant red button. We might need it.”

  The ninja patched in the transmission.

  Staring back at them from the primary screen were, once again, two familiar beings. However, these two beings had only two heads between them. It was Sol and his receptionist and better half, Wanda. Okay, maybe only slightly better.

  “Duke, baby! How are you?” shouted the overweight Tardasian bondsman. “I recognized the Deus on the scanner so I wanted to drop by and say hello. What are the odds? Then I saw that you were in some trouble with those damn Jungafallowians. I’m glad I could be of service.”

  “You have such a big heart. Were you doing us a favor last time when you set us up? We flew right into a damn Four I’s trap. Or when you sold out to those bastards? That base they built on Tardasio 7 almost killed us too. In fact, it might have killed...” Duke trailed off. He didn’t want to finish his sentence. Sol didn’t need to know about his family issues. And Duke didn’t wan
t to think about his biological father’s death at the hands of the Four I’s.

  “What?” replied Sol, dumbstruck.

  “They might have killed some friends of mine.”

  “Look, look, look,” Sol stammered, “I made some mistakes. I got into some bad dealings. But it’s over now, I promise.”

  “Sol, you’re in one of their damn ships!”

  “This thing? I forgot it’s one of theirs, to be honest. It was part of my deal with you-know-who. I get him easy access to T7, he gives me a really fast ship.”

  “LePaco?”

  “Like I said, I made some bad deals. But I’m done with that. I mean, c’mon, why would I have saved your sorry behinds if I was trying to weasel my way into a secret life of lavish safety? Makes no sense, LaGrange.”

  “Yeah, it does,” Duke replied swiftly.

  “What are you talkin’ about?”

  “You got rid of those clowns, not because you noticed that we were here, but because you didn’t want them to get better seats at the Trampling Death Robots concert.”

  “What? That’s preposterous. That’s way outta left field, even for you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah, crazy town. You might need to get yourself checked out, Duke.”

  “Sol, I can see Wanda from here. I can see the writing on her shirt: ‘I’d Dismember Koalas for Sprinkles.’”

  “That’s a different Sprinkles, Duke,” Sol shot back. “Total coincidence.”

  “She has a souvenir foam hammer in her hand. You know, like Sprinkles.”

  The bondsman chewed his bottom lip. It was clear he was trying to think of a cover.

  “Her hat literally says, ‘My Boyfriend is Such a Big TDR Fan that He Would Blow Up a Ship Just to Get Better Seats.’”

  “Fine, LaGrange. You got me. I just really hate those guys. They’re loud and obnoxious.”

  “Then why are you going to their concert?”