Star Hookers Space Pirates

by David A Sizemore

  “Hey, what do you know, it’s Peter Farlon! You old son-of-a-Flox-eater! Why haven't you come to visit me sooner? Damn! What's it been, five years?” Karl said jovially.

  “More like seven. Sorry Karl, you are pretty far off the map and I had obligations. No vacations in the smuggling business, you know,” Peter said.

  “Well, let’s quit jawing, bub. Get your ass down-planet, and we'll catch up and party. Oh, I'm sending a shuttle-- unless you have one. No? We don't have a space station. This place is the ass-end of the universe, just the way I like it. Not much traffic; you can't sneak in or out without everyone knowing. I know all my neighbors, the po- po are not welcome. Nobody here but us chickens, realists, and businessmen. I hate Holo-screens! We have a lot of catching up to do. See ya dirt side. Out!” Karl said enthusiastically. Not that Karl had given Peter a chance to say anything.

  In a few hours, their shuttle arrived, flown by an AI pilot. “Welcome aboard, beings,” it said cheerfully as they filed on board. “Strap in, observe the no smoking sign, put your trays in an upright and locked position, no nose picking, or chewing gum or data-com use. I hate boogers and gum under my seats, and stray q-beam transmissions give me headaches.”

  Peter and his crew looked around confused, and uttered various versions of―huh?

  “Relax, beings, I am programmed for humor. I'm just messing with you, except for the stay-strapped-in request--and really, I do hate boogers and gum under my seats. My drones have to clean this place-- so don’t be slobs, most of Karls friends are P-I-G—pigs… When you see the light, do as you like. Would you like some soothing music or a holovid on the way down perhaps? Drinks, intoxicants?” the shuttle politely asked.

  “Do you have Free Willix 6 in your files?” Jikelenga asked.

  “No, no, no! Not even! If you do, I'll kick you so hard in your fucking fish sensing balls, I-I’ll I...” James said through jaws tight with anger.

  “No worries, beings! Cool your jets, sir! I can show entertainment individually on separate eye phones and headphones, or―” the shuttle was cut off by the women.

  “Cocktails?” Monica and Oscar said hopefully.

  “Take it easy, you two. I may need you alert later,” said Peter sternly.

  “Aye, aye, Captain Blackleg,” they chorused giving Peter a mock salute. “We never did celebrate Monica’s brush-with-death and recovery. Permission to celebrate, and otherwise make merry? Oh, and pilot, we will take two Margaritas, please, and a cannabis stick,” Oscar finished for them.

  “Certainly ladies, just a moment while a whip that up for you.” The auto-pilot said cheerfully.

  Peter sighed, “Alright, all of you, technically you are all off duty, but don't get sloppy. At ease, stand down, and make merry. We should be safe under Karl’s protection.”

  The hour and a half ride passed comfortably and quickly. Karl had a ground-vehicle waiting at the spaceport that whisked them to his residence within minutes, where he was waiting for them at the door. A large lighted sign above the store said, ‘Crazy Karl's Weapons Boutique and Armory.’

  “BIG DICK!” Karl`s voice boomed. He threw his arm around Peter and clapped him repeatedly with the other. “God, I've missed you! Do you know this guy has balls the size of a small planet?” He said looking around at the rest of them, “He once faced off a hundred cannibals with a fire extinguisher and a line of bullshit-- a mile wide, when negotiations went south once. Saved our lives! He's a hell of a lot of fun to party with too!”

  “Peter? We’re talking about the same Peter?” Oscar said incredulous, “He's always telling us to take it easy!”

  “Yes’s, he’s always pooping in our party! Hic!” Heshe slurred.

  “Hey, Heshe, quit soaking up all the alcohol and drugs in my veins, dammit!” Oscar said irritated.

  “What...?” Karl said looking around and not seeing anyone speaking, “Anyway, what brings you this way? Vacation? Business?”

  “Karl, I’m here on business, I need weapons and armor.” Peter said earnestly.

  “Oh, right then-- well-- you certainly came to the right place. That was you; the cruise liner? I saw the pictures going around. I thought that was you in that ridiculous eye-patch and stuff. Where did you get that body armor? In a costume shop?”

  “Well we―um…” Peter tried to add.

  “Ach—Never mind, we'll get you hooked up with some good stuff. When and why in the hell did you become a pirate? Smuggling wasn't a big enough thrill for ya--asshole?”

  “Remember Boss? I…”

  “You still working for that ball of snot? Well, come on! Come on! Don't stand there blocking the door! Come in!” He said and hustled them all inside his shop which looked like an arsenal had exploded inside. Some suits of armor lined the wall-- not modern armor, but actual medieval suits. Unrecognizable weapons perched in brackets on the walls.

  “Wow! Is that actual ancient Earth armor?” John remarked.

  “Naw, reproductions. Unless old Earth armor is stored in climate-controlled vaults, they would all be piles of rust by now.

  “MARICKA! THALIANIA! Drinks and food for our friends!”

  Two beautiful, human females, slightly oriental in appearance, peeked around a doorway, counted heads, tittered, bowed, and disappeared. One had blue-colored skin and fur. The other lady looked normal at least by standard Asian human appearance.

  “Are these your wares on the display? Jikelenga asked politely.

  Laughing, Karl said, “Of course not! This is mostly just for atmosphere and the tourists, although there are a few genuine antiques for collectors of old weapons scattered here and there. Kinda my cover, being an antiquities dealer, but hell, everyone planet-side knows I sell mainly modern ordnance. The rest of the universe goes by word-of-mouth. I dress this way because it’s theatrical, and it amuses me to dress like an Earth Egyptian, minus the turban. Hell, none of it is very authentic, now you mention it.” He swept a hand around to encompass the brightly colored, tie-died type shirt and pants with blobs and swirls of color on the silk like garments he was wearing.

  There was a flat black Greek type Fishermans cap on top of his big, burly head, and he sported a great, black beard. A ridiculously large revolver and scimitar in a scabbard sat opposite each other on a belt slung over his rotund, generous girth.

  “Like I said, before any interplanetary military gets here, I can see them from a million miles away. I have ages to hide all the real goodies. Not that I leave the illegal weapons just laying around; you can't really fit a spaceship missile launcher in street shop, can you? I have a hidden warehouse, an inter-web site, and full color brochures but you have to know someone to find me and I don’t sell to strangers, you have to be vetted by someone I’ve sold to before. They can suspect all they want, but they will never catch me. Come on back here.”

  He swept a beaded curtain back to reveal a back room furnished with a low table, cushions and pillows, and in the center of the table, what appeared to be hookah, but more complicated. More ancient weapons were on the walls where colorful tapestries also hung.

  “Sit down, make yourselves comfortable,” Karl said indicating the cushions. He picked up a small remote control off of the table while they made themselves comfortable.

  “The first thing you probably need is personal protection, no?” Karl pushed a button and a holographic display appeared over the table. “I recommend full body armor when going into a situation where you risk getting your ass shot off; like hijacking a cruise-liner,” he looked pointedly at Peter and tsk-tsked.

  “Also, face masks to hide your identity and shield your pretty faces from harm,” he continued looking at Oscar and Monica and smiling lecherously.

  “A Medi-bot or surgeon can repair any damage cosmetically, can't they?” Monica added.

  “Well, sure, but it hurts like fuck, doesn't it? Besides, you can’t replace brain tissue if something punches through your face and turns your brain to guacamole. Well, you can...but it wouldn't be YOU anymore, th
ey replace your brain might as well sell your meat to the highest bidder and leave the money to your relatives. You can’t replace memories unless you can afford a half-a-billion-credit brain scanner, want to undergo a two-hour brain recording every week, and have the room to carry one of those monsters around? Go for the head protection, dear... cheaper—less painful. Plus, I have ‘em in every model from scary robot, military models-- to Japanese 'Hello kitty' anime crap.”

  “OOO!” Oscar and Monica said looking at each other.

  “Yeah, well, I recommend you don't go for the sequined pop-star models and other cutesy stuff. Nobody will take you seriously—eh?” Karl admonished. “You are more than welcome to come back later for a private fitting, you two, when no one’s around, I have an arrangement with my wives,” Karl said winking at Oscar and Monica.

  At that moment, the sisters entered carrying trays with refreshments, “Yeah, we have an arrangement, all right! You do that stuff away from home, or we cut off tiny pecker, and get to fornicate biggest, smelliest, hairy sailor, or space trucker while you eating micro meals for week, big talka!” His wives said simultaneously with a strange, unidentifiable accent as they came in carrying drinks on a tray.

  They smiled evilly and pointedly at the ladies as they sat drinks and snacks down in front of them. “We not even say what we do to girl you dally with-- too horrible for company ears but involve hills of poisonous Koonee bugs and red hot pokas!”

  Monica and Oscar looked blankly at each other not sure if Karl's wives were screwing with them or not.

  “Shit! Might be worth it for you two—hruump—moving on,” Karl continued, losing his lecherous smile. “For everyday shopping, when not in a battle, I recommend these!” He flipped to the next picture of what looked like a suit that covered only the torso, a loose mesh cap, and a round, bracelet object.

  “The Minikin is flexible body armor. It’s very lightweight, impenetrable to knives, even vibro knifes, unless you hold still, and who would? It will protect you from most projectiles and shrapnel-producing weapons, such as fragmentation grenades. They will not withstand a direct blast from a torpedo launcher, but in hand to hand who’s going to be using a torpedo launcher? A bunker-busting bomb will not hurt the suit, but you will be turned to soup, so avoid those, as well as most massive explosions. Very unhealthy. They provide some protection against lasers but keep moving. A beam playing anywhere longer than a second or two is going to penetrate. The mesh cap you see is a mini repulsion field. It will protect against blows to the skull, a glancing blow from slugs or shrapnel. Sonic weapons, nope, but this little gadget fixes that,” He concluded pointing to the bracelet floating and revolving in midair. “A Doxn-57 P-shield. Push the little stud―oh! Hey, Maricka, show them yours!” Karl ordered.

  Marika turned around and pointedly held up her wrist with a small disk attached, pushed the stud on the side, and the disk instantly expanded to two meters, shielding most of her body from view.

  “Pretty Farzookian-- huh? Lightweight, small, cheap. I recommend them,” Karl smiled as he went on.

  “Moving on to weapons, unless you want to talk exo-suits; they are expensive but make you as strong as a robot. They start at $500,000 credits; cheap at half the price. Anybody? No?” Looking around he saw by everybody’s face that they were not interested.

  “So, moving on...” he clicked the controller and to their amazement, a life-sized, naked holograph of Karl himself entwined with what appeared to be the twins engrossed in sexual congress materialized revolving in midair. “What the...?” He continued to click the remote desperately, getting several shorter sex holographs before weapons appeared again.

  “WHO'S BEEN FUCKING WITH MY VIDEO CLIPS!” he roared, glaring at the twins who sat blank faced until the lips started twitching on the one with the blue fur. The other girl was pinching her frantically until they broke out in guffaws.

  “Ouuuu...ki- ki- ki...You should have seen face! Too funny! Got you, big galloot-san! Ah-- ko! Wives be laughing for days now!”

  “OOOOHH! If I wasn't busy right now, I would give you both bare bottom spankings in front of the guests! Alright! You comedian sluts go get more snacks for our guests!”

  With exaggerated bows they backed from the room.

  “By the way, they speak perfect galactic English with no accent. They saw a few old Earth movies about ancient Japanese women, and they like to play act like they are subservient wives of old or something. That's why I love em, they make me laugh. They are always pulling practical jokes, but that was a trifle embarrassing. So… as I was saying before we were rudely interrupted--ah, yes, weapons,” Karl said scowling in the direction of his wives giggling exit, “do you want killing or incapacitating weapons--?

  The discussion about weapons went on for hours about gadgets, guns, grenades, and explosives. Then Karl and Peter haggled over prices which took additional time. Except for John, who seemed exceptionally interested and awake, the rest of them were bored. Unnoticed by Peter and Karl, the two women fell asleep on the comfortable cushions. James, Jikelenga and the rest of them amused themselves looking at all the weapons and gadgets scattered about in every corner.

  Karl knew someone who could break the Heart of the Sun stone down to sell, as Peter had hoped, but he was pissed to find that the stone was only worth a little over a million and not all that rare. The owner had lied about everything from the beginning.

  When they had completed their business all the ordnance cost a fortune, but Peter was surprised to be actually getting a couple hundred thousand back on the sale of the Heart of the Sun without having to dig into his pockets. He knew Karl wouldn't cheat him, as he was probably already as rich as a medieval lord as well as a long- time friend. Much to his surprise, John requested that, if Peter wouldn't mind, could he make a purchase with his own funds. Peter listened with amazement as John requested enough stuff to equip a small army of fifty. Karl raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

  “Gee-- going to war with someone I don’t know about?” Peter asked sarcastically.

  “I swear, Peter, when the time is right, I will tell you what my plans are,” John sighed.

  “OK, but pack that shit up tight! I'm not having you take up half my hold with two tons of equipment or I'm charging you freight!” Peter joked.

  “Definitely! Besides, is having extra armament a bad thing?” John offered.

  “Never know when you are going to have to put down an alien uprising with more than a fire extinguisher!” Karl said. Peter and Karl laughed heartily at that. “But seriously what are you arming up for? He held up a hand, “no don’t tell me, a gentlemen arms dealer never kiss’s and tells—don’t care!

  “Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm starved! How about I take you all out to dinner to seal the deal at my favorite restaurant and watering hole? I have rooms for you all, by the way. So, let your hair down, and let’s tear it up!” announced Karl.

  “Sounds good to me,” Peter added. “Let's see if we can wake up these sleepy heads.”

  ~

  The next morning Peter dragged himself to the kitchen groaning. He had a goose-egg on his head, his knuckles were skinned, and he felt bruised all over. He only vaguely remembered the night before. Tarcacks, did they get in some sort of bar fight? Monica had her arm in a sling.

  “OMG! Your arm! What the hell happened last night? Monica...?”

  “Ooooh , I don't remember. Everything's a blur after I drank the fifth shot of that local firewater; what was it called? Slivogrun? Oh, my head... uggh! I'm never drinking again!” Monica moaned and clutched her head.

  The twins were making some sort of hot beverage that smelled heavenly. “Hangover and pain pills on counter. After wake up, have Medi-bot ready for minor injuries. Try to get some of you in medical booth last night, but you all… too drunk. Barely get some you in bed. Why you let stupid-san make you drink so much?”

  Karl came stumbling into the kitchen sporting a black eye and crusty, dried blood around his nose and
into his beard. “Who are you calling stupid-san, ungrateful she-bitches?” Trying to grab a kiss from both women, they pulled away.

  “Not until you wash and brush teeth. You stink, and all bloody, husband of ours! You stupid- san! If only steaming stalk as big as mouth, we all be happier. You get more heavenly- jade- gate too!”

  “What are you talking about-- big mouth?” Karl wondered, grabbing pain and hangover pills, and a cup of Kaff.

  “You not remember saying to all bar and restaurant—loudly-- Princess Halidoben of all planet is big whore with Punany that stink from all her sex with men, and it big enough to throw hotdog down hallway, I not remmeba what stupid- san say exactly before all hell break loose and then offer to fight anyone that said different?”

  “I did?” Karl said, sipping and trying not to smile. “Yeah, that sounds like something I might say-- besides it’s true!”

  “Oh, yeah, I'm starting to remember now. Shit, Karl, you trying to get us all killed?” Peter said, grimacing.

  “Well, she is a whore. Already has three husbands, and her barracks of 'personal' honor guards is only a thinly-disguised harem for her. Everybody knows that. Emperor knows I’m a liberal and a live-and-let-live guy when it comes to sex but being a greedy pig about it is—just—just-- grrrr! Especially since I pay a big chunk of the royal family’s taxes. The next table over was going on about what a friggin saint she was, and I snapped. She’s a figurehead, at most, and a bloody, useless waste of taxes. Why this planetary den of thieves needs a pseudo-royalty, is beyond me!” Karl grumbled.

  “Who says there is anything wrong with liking lots of sex?” Monica said, glaring at Karl. ‘Just because she likes a lot of sex--- I don’t know what you—why I…”

  Karl just splayed his hands and shrugged helplessly. Monica shut her mouth.

  “Shows how the old saying, ‘never talk about sex, religion or politics,’ still holds true,” Peter added.

  Oscar came stumbling in to the kitchen, an arm draped over an attractive man in a tattered uniform.