Max Rage: Intergalactic Badass!

by Jake Bible

  “What the shit was that?” Rage asked, wiping at his tongue.

  “Ginger ale,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Ginger ass is more like it,” Rage said. “Hold on.”

  He reached down and swiped some greasy dirt from the bottom of his boot and made an X on Zell or Nast’s forehead.

  “Which one are you?” Rage asked.

  “Detective Zell,” Detective Zell said, pissed.

  “Maybe tell your boss to stock a better brand,” Detective Nast said.

  “What?” Rage asked. “What are you mumbling about?”

  “The ginger ale,” Detective Nast said.

  “Would a better brand have alcohol in it?” Rage asked.

  “No,” Detective Zell said.

  “Then what’s the fucking point?” Rage twirled his hand in front of the detective’s faces. “Speaking of points…”

  “You didn’t do the job as asked, Rage,” Detective Nast said.

  “You still owe us, Rage,” Detective Zell added.

  “Owe you? Fuck off,” Rage said. “I don’t owe you a damn thing. If I owe anyone, it’s Labous.”

  “Labous has handed your case fully over to us,” Detective Nast said. “So you owe us now.”

  “Yeah,” Detective Zell said.

  “Earth Corp thinks you do, too,” Detective Nast said.

  “Kind of hard to ignore Earth Corp when they have an agenda,” Detective Nast said.

  “They like their agendas, Rage,” Detective Zell said.

  “Will you two stop with the back and forth and get to the fucking point?” Rage snapped.

  “We have a job for you,” Detective Nast said.

  “A job you can’t refuse,” Detective Zell said.

  Rage reached out and grabbed Zell by the back of the head then slammed his face into the table.

  “Oh damn!” Junior called from his booth.

  “Stay out of this, Junior!” Rage shouted then focused on Nast as Zell’s unconscious body slid under the table. “You want some too?”

  Nast held up his hands. “No, I’m good.”

  “Then grab your partner and leave,” Rage said. “I’m done with Earth Corp. You can tell them so, alright?”

  “No can do, Rage,” Detective Nast said. “The higher-ups got word that you may have killed your ex-wife. Her daddy ain’t too happy about that, and it looks like that protection that helped get you out of the noose then out of prison has all dried up.”

  “Bummer for me,” Rage said and moved to grab Nast.

  The detective scrambled out of the other side of the booth, away from Rage’s reach. He crouched and pulled his partner out from under the table then didn’t stop moving until he was more than halfway across the bar.

  “You’ll be hearing from us again, Rage,” Detective Nast said. “Earth Corp wasn’t happy with how things went down, but they were impressed that you survived. They want you to do a new job. A job at the edge of the universe. A job that might save us all, Rage. And Earth Corp won’t take no for an answer.”

  “How about no fucking way?” Rage said and threw the empty ginger ale glass at Nast. It bounced off the guy’s forehead and made him stumble back. “Get out, dipshit.”

  Nast only stood there swaying.

  “I think you broke him, Rage!” Junior yelled.

  “Shut up!” Rage yelled back.

  “I’ll help,” Grup said, appearing by Nast’s side.

  He led the detective out the front door then came back in and dragged Zell out.

  “Man, pigs are heavy,” Grup said when he came back inside. He pointed at the bar. “Free drink for the assist?”

  “Ask the lady,” Rage said.

  Grup turned to face Mascholine, who was glaring daggers at Rage.

  “Great. You’re going to leave me high and dry again,” she snapped. “Earth Corp comes calling and off Rage goes.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Rage said.

  “Oh, yes, he is!” Junior cried.

  Rage opened his mouth then closed it and shook his head.

  “You promise?” Mascholine asked.

  “Can’t make a promise, but I can say that this is exactly where I need to be,” Rage said. “Earth Corp can go fuck itself.”

  Mascholine relaxed. “Good. Because, well, I may actually have a job for you.”

  Rage frowned. “What was that?”

  “I may have a job for you,” Mascholine said. “Woman I know had her ship stolen just after you disappeared. I said I’d ask you to help find it.”

  “A stolen ship? Why would I help find a stolen ship?” Rage asked. “That’s a little below my skill set.”

  “So is being a bouncer at a bar,” Mascholine said.

  “True. Mean, but true.”

  “The job pays seven figures,” Mascholine said.

  “Ah ha!” Rage laughed. “There it is. How much is your cut?”

  “I say fifty-fifty,” Mascholine said. “After our expenses.”

  “After our expenses? Hold on,” Rage stood up and crossed to the bar. “Are you coming with?”

  “Can I get that free drink now?” Grup asked.

  “Shut up,” Rage said. Grup shut up. “Mascholine? Are you coming with me on this job?”

  “I thought it might be fun,” Mascholine said. “You know I can handle myself. And, to be honest, I’m tired of others handling you.”

  “Whoa,” Rage said and held up his hands as he backed away. “We don’t do exclusive, remember?”

  “Not exclusive,” Mascholine said. “I’m still your boss, you’re still my employee, is all.”

  “That’s some workplace sexual harassment right there,” Grup said. “You should sue, Rage.”

  Rage grabbed the alien and threw him out the door. The door wasn’t open.

  “You’ll need to fix that,” Mascholine said, not looking away from Rage.

  “Fine,” Rage replied.

  “I already told the lady you’d take the job,” Mascholine said.

  “Great,” Rage replied.

  “She’s very fluid with her sexual preferences,” Mascholine said with a smirk.

  “That so?” Rage replied, smirking as well. “How fluid?”

  “Juicy fluid,” Mascholine said.

  Rage hopped over the bar and the two began tearing each other’s clothes off as they fell to the floor.

  “GROSS!” Junior yelled from his booth.

  “I’m fine!” Grup called from the street.

  “Shut up!” Rage and Mascholine shouted from behind the bar.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of Agent Prime

  Author Bio:

  Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

  Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.

  Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

  1.

  “Rylia Five?”

  The words hung there, unanswered for several seconds before the man being addressed looked up from his holo vid and turned to regard the questioner.

  “Excuse me?” the man asked.

  Bright red eyes, beady and small. Bald head, wrinkled brow, teal-blue skin that sparkled in the dim light of the public transport car. Possibly human, but from a lineage that veered off from Earth-pure millen
nia earlier. Not that Earth was very pure anymore; a slagging orb of toxic waste and a billion poisons was all that planet held.

  “Are you speaking to me?” the man asked when the stranger only smiled at the first question.

  “Those boots,” the stranger continued. “That’s Hoocahna snake skin. Those snakes only live on Rylia Five. Just wondering if you were from Rylia Five. Not many people are.”

  The man with the boots looked the stranger up and down. Average height, average size, above average looks. Sandy blond hair with deep brown eyes and light tan skin. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Just another basic human being in a galaxy many thought had been overrun by the species.

  “I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of watching a holo. Do you mind?” the man with the boots responded. He looked up and down the transport car. They were the only ones riding that specific car. Every other seat was open and empty. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting somewhere else? Lots of room.”

  “Of course. Lots of room.” The stranger mimicked the man with the boots, looking up and down the transport car. “Except I like to have a chat with folks when I’m riding the transport. Makes the time fly by.”

  “So do holo vids,” the man with the boots said, waving his wrist at the stranger. “See? You can watch whatever you want. Quietly. Over there.”

  “Over there?” the stranger asked, pointing to one of the many empty seats. “Or how about over there?”

  “Wherever you want,” the man with the boots said. “As long as you stop bothering me.”

  “Bothering you? Apologies. Didn’t know I was bothering you.”

  “You do now. Maybe leave me alone, please?”

  “Since you said please.”

  The stranger stood up from his seat, studied the transport car for a minute then moved off to one of the empty seats. He wiped it off with his hand and sat down, his eyes locked onto the man with the boots.

  After a couple of minutes, the man with the boots glanced up from his holo vid and glared at the stranger.

  “Are you going to stare at me the entire ride?” the man with the boots spat. “Do I need to call security?”

  “Sorry.”

  The stranger grinned then turned to look out the window by his seat at the dark and roiling skies of Egthak, a planet made up of mostly beaches and scrublands, all boxed in by tumultuous oceans. A massive storm system was on the horizon, moving quickly toward the small slice of continent where the truly brave decided to set up civilization.

  “Primed,” the stranger said under his breath.

  “What was that?” the man with the boots snapped. “I told you to leave me alone. I’m calling security now.”

  “If that’s how you feel,” the stranger replied.

  “What? You have done nothing but harass me since you stepped into this car,” the man with the boots almost snarled. “All I have done is try to watch my holo until we arrive at the station. Just a little bit of relaxation before a very important meeting.”

  The man with the boots waved a hand over his clothes which were of a stylish cut, obviously business formal, but not expensive. If they’d been expensive, the man with the boots would have hired a private roller or hover car, not taken the public transport.

  “So stop talking to me,” the man with the boots demanded.

  “Interview?” the stranger asked.

  The man with the boots gawped. He blinked those bright red eyes over and over then shook his head.

  “You’re mental, you know that?” the man with the boots said. “Mental enough that I am calling security.”

  He waved his hand across his wrist, banishing the holo, and brought up a glaring red display interface. The holo interface flashed twice then went green.

  “There. Security is called,” the man with the boots said.

  “Good. That means we have three minutes to talk before they arrive,” the stranger said and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The stranger was dressed in casual attire—sturdy pants, a basic long-sleeved shirt, nice, comfortable shoes. He plucked at a bit of fuzz on his pants then focused his entire being onto the man with the boots. “Listen carefully.”

  “What? What are you on about?” the man with the boots exclaimed. “You had best get up and get—”

  “Shut up and listen, Mr. Gor’bun,” the stranger said.

  “How do you know—?”

  “Roshall Gor’bun,” the stranger said with a sigh. “Recently laid off by Tremmle Corp due to some irregularities in your filing of shift records. Why was that, Mr. Gor’bun?”

  “Why was what?” Mr. Gor’bun asked. “How do you know that?”

  “Hows are pointless topics,” the stranger said. “The topic at hand is whether you want to stay alive or not. When security gets here, you will tell them that I was behaving strangely—”

  “You have been!”

  “—and you will leave with one of them while the other questions me. Go willingly with the security officer, answer questions truthfully then wait with the person until the transport stops. Once we reach the station, wait until I exit this car then you exit. If I look directly at you, get back on the car. If I don’t look directly at you then wait for the transport to leave and walk over to me. I’ll get you away from the station and to safety.”

  “You’re mad,” Mr. Gor’bun said. “I’m not doing any of that.”

  “Less than a minute,” the stranger said. “I was told to say that Herra Mor’ta says hello, if you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.”

  Mr. Gor’bun’s teal skin managed to almost turn white at the mention of the name Herra Mor’ta.

  “That’s a name you know,” the stranger said. “A name you shouldn’t know unless you were doing much more than misfiling shift records. You accessed data in the Tremmle Corp mainframe that you were not supposed to access. We know all about that. What we don’t know is whether that little breach was an accident or deliberate.”

  Mr. Gor’bun began to open his mouth, but shut it with a snap when the stranger pointed a finger at him.

  “Not my place to ask or to hear,” the stranger said. “My place is to get you away from the station safely and into the hands of those that will make sure your knowledge doesn’t get you killed.”

  Mr. Gor’bun was silent for a couple seconds then said, “Killed…?”

  The stranger didn’t have time to answer as two security officers burst through the connecting airlock of the transport car. They glanced at Mr. Gor’bun, but dismissed him right away before stomping down the aisle towards the stranger.

  One of the security officers was a short, squat fellow with sheer white bristles sticking out of every millimeter of skin not covered by his uniform; a conglomeration of many different, and somehow compatible, galactic races. The stranger furrowed his brow as the officer locked onto him and approached, hand on a small pistol still holstered to his hip.

  The stranger barely gave the oncoming officer a glance. The second security officer was the one to pay attention to. A full-blooded Gwreq—stone-skinned, four-armed, humanoid, and over seven feet tall—the officer stopped in front of Mr. Gor’bun, blocking the stranger’s view of the teal-skinned man. If the Gwreq officer was bought then all it would take was one hard, quick backhand and Mr. Gor’bun’s neck would be turned to jelly.

  “You,” the bristle-haired officer said as he stopped just out of the stranger’s reach. “Up. Let’s go. No more bugging hard-working passengers.”

  “Does something about me say I’m not hard-working too?” the stranger asked. He looked around the officer at Mr. Gor’bun, but the man was completely blocked by the Gwreq standing guard.

  “Eyes on me, slagger,” the bristle-haired officer ordered. “That gentleman is not your concern. How about you get up now and come with me before I have to get drastic?”

  “Wouldn’t want you to get drastic,” the stranger said and slowly stood up. “Where are we going?”

  “Gonna take you
up front so I can do a full scan,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Match you against the database.”

  The stranger nodded. “Good idea. You’ll see I’m clean.”

  “That so? We’ll see,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Get walking, slagger. And eyes forward. No need to try to intimidate the gentleman as you go by.”

  The stranger did as he was told, barely able to squeeze past the bulk of the Gwreq officer as he walked down the aisle towards the airlock. The Gwreq reached out and grabbed his arm, stared him down, then sneered and let go, turning back to address Mr. Gor’bun. The stranger was pleased to hear a normal, boring round of stock questions come from the Gwreq’s mouth as he and the bristle-haired officer reached the airlock.

  2.

  “That’s odd…” the bristle-haired officer said as he stared at the holo display and the data readout that scrolled by, fading out as it reached the surface of the small desk in the transport’s security kiosk. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Sno. Denman Sno,” the stranger replied. “You have it right there. Next to my picture and my stats.”

  “Yes, well…” The bristle-haired guard stopped the data scroll and grabbed at the pic that was displayed prominently in the file. He stared at the pic then stared at the stranger then back at the pic. He humphed and continued the scroll before he became frustrated and banished the holo altogether. “Not even a smudge on your record.”

  “I play by the rules and keep my nose clean,” Sno said.

  “A little too clean,” the bristle-haired officer said. “Maybe get out more. Find a mate, go to a club, stop harassing transport passengers.”

  “Like I said, I was only having a chat with the man. Don’t know why he took offense,” Sno said.

  “My colleague will find out,” the bristle-haired officer said dismissively. “But other than being annoying, you’ve done nothing that I can hold you for.”

  “Good thing,” Sno said. “We’ve reached the station and I have a cab waiting.”