Star Hookers Space Pirates

by David A Sizemore

  “Attention, Scooter’s Toy, shut off your engines and prepare to be boarded. This is Peter Farlon of the HMS Incontinence. We intend to board your ship and commandeer it. Resist and we will fire an EMP and fry your ship’s controls.”

  He pushed the off button. “Are we close enough to fire the grapples, Shirley?”

  “Yes, we are,” Shirley said, all business for once.

  “Please, do so.”

  In a flash the grapples shot out and attached to the yacht. Seconds later there was a lurch and a moment of disorientation.

  “Bastard micro-jumped a few feet, but, of course, we are in his reality field, so we jumped right along with him, and he couldn’t go far,” Shirley said mater of factually. “Uh, oh! Now he’s trying to snap the cables!” Shirley displayed the strain meters in the air. Slowly the meters edged into the red.

  “Peter, I don't know what kind of engines he has, but I think he could actually snap the cables! Do something!” Shirley said excitedly.

  “Shit! Fire the EMP! Peter said quickly.

  “OK, but you are going to be replacing a lot of wires, and the computers crystal matrix brain! It's a big job,” Shirley warned.

  The projected meters were now definately in the red and an alarm was sounding somewhere.

  “Go ahead! Now!”

  KACOW reverberated through the ship. Maybe it was his imagination, but Peter thought he felt his teeth fillings vibrate. The ship on the screen, lights and displays went dark. The strain meters for the cable went back to normal. Peter opened the ship’s com switch.

  “John, James, Oscar, Jikilenga! Meet me at the airlock! Weapons-- ASAP!”

  Soon they were all gathered at the airlock staring at a door that refused to open.

  “Shirley, hail them again. Tell them to open up, or we'll peel their airlock open, and they can all suck vacuum! Not that I would do that of course, but they don't know that,” Peter said hastily to the crew, “James, do you think you can open this lock?”

  James looked at it for a few seconds, then said, “Sure, there’s a lock on the exterior hatch, There’s usually an emergency release handle under the inspection plate. A bypass is a piece of cake!” James said confidently.

  “Fine! Go get your tools, and crack this sucker!” Peter said, frowning and thinking to himself. Finally, James was proving to be useful.

  “I can’t control his Computer and override the door, but I can hear what he’s saying by induction through the hull.” Shirley put him on speaker.

  “Mother humper! You are going to die! Wait till my father hears about this! I'll rip your balls off, if you have any! Cut your fucking head off! -- Make you eat—eat shit—slowly! Flay your skin off! Die, fucker! Why, I'll...”

  “Shirley, shut the pickup off.”

  “He’s been going on like that for several minutes now. I don't think he’s happy or likes you at all.”

  “Damn, kid! Just give up, like everyone else! Daddy will buy you another ship,” Peter muttered.

  James was soon back, set his bag down, and got to work on the door lock. In a matter of minutes, he had pulled the ship’s exterior maintenance panel, and had his hand on the emergency release handle.

  “Ready?” he said excitedly.

  “Jik stand back from the door,” Peter said. They had not been able to find armor to fit a Vookin back at Karl’s.

  “Do it.” he said to James. The door slid back—and without warning something invisible and silent, with a slight whoosh of air threw James backwards ten feet from the door, slamming him into the opposite bulkhead inside their ship. He slumped and slid down the wall.

  “Fuck me!” Peter said and quickly pulled and tossed a concussion grenade, courtesy of Karl`s armory, through Scooters Toy second inner door. A bang and a flash followed, and a large boom echoed though both ship.

  Peter held his hand up to indicate caution, and signaled to Floyd, who, as usual, was standing close by. “Floyd, take a look.”

  Floyd cautiously peeked his head around the door, and then calmly and slowly entered.

  A few seconds went by and then he called from the interior. “It’s safe, Captain. You can come in.”

  “John, take a look at James and see how he is. Take him to the Medi-bot, if needs be.”

  “Certainly, Captain,” John said calmly, seemingly nonplussed.

  Peter strode cautiously into the yacht. He trusted Floyd, but after James got hurt, he was a little leery.

  It only took a few seconds to reach the control room; the ship was not that big. It had four flight couches, where three cowering, crying, female humans huddled in the corner; and Floyd's hand was clamped around the neck of a pimply-faced male kneeling on the floor with his hands behind his head. Fuzzy dice hung from the ceiling below the steering controls and leopard skin seat covers. A strange device that looked like brass knuckles with a flared bell like an old-style bicycle horn, lay a few feet in front of him.

  “What’s this?” Oscar said, toeing the weapon.

  “Damn it! That's an air hammer! Karl offered me one back on Milyorks and I turned it down because I thought it was too deadly. Vookins balls!” Peter said angrily.

  He held his com up to his lips, “How's James, John? Is he OK?”

  “Uh, it doesn't look good, Captain. He's bleeding from his eyes, ears, mouth, and, well, he looks…uh, a bit squashed! His face is flattened, his ribs looked crushed, and he’s not breathing. I think he’s dead!” John reported mournfully

  “Get a stretcher, John. Get him to a Medi-bot! Now! Oscar-- go help!” Peter shouted.

  Shirley spoke up in all their ear buds. “Peter, I hate to tell you this, but James is toast. I don't have to put my sensors on him to see that he’s dead. His brains are probably turned to jelly, his internal organs are crushed, and I see severe body trauma everywhere. This is by an air hammer, right? They shoot a small pellet of air compressed so tight that anything in front of them under twenty feet, it’s like getting hit by a ground vehicle at two-hundred-miles a kilometer. A Medibot can repair his body in weeks to a month, but all you will have is an animated corpse. His brain patterns are gone and can't be brought back. Of course, you can get a good price on a blank corpse ready to imprint. Do you want to put him in the Medibot for repair and sale?”

  “No... hold up,” Peter said without emotion.

  “Happy, asshole?” He said talking to the kid cowering on the deck. “You are now officially a killer. Give you something to brag about back home in your mansion,” and he planted a round-house kick into the kid’s face, sending him to the floor, shocking John with the unexpected violence.

  The kid started blubbering, “W-w-hat- the- fuck! OWWW!” Crying and holding his injured face, he moaned, “Do you have any idea who I am! Sidney Milton, the fourth-- that’s who! M-m-my father is Senator Sidney Milton, the Third, of Xing-Xing! You can't treat me this way! I'm rich, you piece of shit! When they catch you, they are going to torture you for a thousand years, after I ram a broomstick covered with barbed wire repeatedly up your ass!”

  “Really? Never heard of him, but then I'm not into politics. They have to catch us first, and that broomstick thing sounds nasty. Is that even allowed under Gretstone’s treaty? Oooo! I'm all a tremble.”

  Peter crooked a finger at Jikilenga, who walked over. “Yes, Captain?”

  “Have a problem hitting and hurting beings, Jik?” Peter said, appraising him.

  “No, Captain. Second nature to this being, but I derive no pleasure from it… well, perhaps a little.”

  “Would you mind helping me discipline this young human?” Peter asked hopefully.

  “Not at all, Captain.”

  Peter and Jikelenga then proceeded to kick and beat the snot out of Sidney Milton the fourth with vigor and enthusiasm. John, and Oscar looked on with shock, and the three girls cried even harder, afraid that they would be next.

  Peter and Jikelenga were soon sweating and panting from the exertion.

  “Is this really necessary, C
aptain?” John said, sickened and appalled by the blood, and a growing puddle of urine-- Sidney’s bladder had let go after he lost consciousness.

  “Yes, it is! No one really liked James much, but he was one of our crew, and this obnoxious little fucktard killed him! He’s probably been allowed to get away with, well... murder all his life. Get him in a Medi-bot! He will hardly remember this, but I want him to learn a lesson! Ah, shit! What the hell am I doing?” Peter looked a little bewildered as if he couldn’t understand what had just happened, “He’s probably had enough. Let's load him in his lifeboat along with the girls. Here help me!”

  “Say! You want me to rape him before we leave? I’m all about lessons. I will if you want.” Heshe offered from under Oscar’s skirt, sounding hopeful.

  Peter sighed. “Thanks for the offer, but no, Heshe. What is it with you and raping? He had it coming John, he just murdered one of our crew. You want I should give him a cookie for that?”

  “The girls, then? They look like they could use a lesson or two. Perhaps a bare bottom spanking at least?” Heshe interrupted and Oscar punched herself in the dick... hard. “OOOF!” said two voices.

  “Anyway,” Peter addressed the girls in the life pod where Jr. still lay unconscious, “as soon as I launch this pod, a signal will begin to transmit. You can survive for up to a week in one of these.” He indicated the rating panel on the inside of the door. where the capacity was listed

  “This is a busy space-lane, so you should be picked up soon. I hope it’s days. I had to ride one of these suckers once. After a few days and several nature calls, you and those small relief closets really start to smell. They are built to keep you alive, but not for comfort.” Peter slammed the door shut and pushed the launch button. With a whoosh and a clank, they were gone.

  Peter sighed again. “Oscar, are you trained for space walks? This little ship is motionless until we fix it. I have my rating for using a space maneuvers harness, but I'm going to need help. We'll have Shirley turn off the artificial gravity in the cargo hold, maneuver the ship down, and manually shove it into the airlock, until we can get it fixed.”

  “Sure, Captain, I'm rated, but I hate weightlessness but what you did to that boy was―”

  Peter cut her off, “Oscar, we can discuss my actions later! Are you ready to help me or not?”

  “I suppose so, Captain,” Oscar said reluctantly.

  With Oscar’s help, Peter had the yacht stowed safely in the cargo hold within an hour and was left with the grim job of what was to be done with James’ body. They all gathered solemnly around James’ corpse in the cargo bay, where it was suitably cold and miserable after being open to space for a few minutes.

  “Somebody get a sheet, or a tarp or something to sew him into,” Peter said.” We can't just dump him out the airlock. That would just be, well.... wrong.”

  Oscar left to get supplies.

  “Can’t we return his body to his family?” Monica asked.

  “Told me he was an orphan,” John said quietly.

  Floyd added “I don't know why you humans are so emotional about remains. When my brain dis-incorporates, I hope my metal is melted down and goes on to make other robots, or useful objects…toasters even.”

  Peter said. “It pisses me off that he got killed, and I'm sad about James, but nobody really liked him-- be honest, did anyone? Show of hands from those who thought James was a fantastic guy. Anyone?” They all looked around, but not at each other, cleared their throats, shuffled their feet uncomfortably and looked embarrassed.

  “Thought so. None the less, we ought to have some decent ceremony. Anyone religious, or know any appropriate songs for a funeral?” Everyone looked at each other, but it was Jikilenga who spoke up.

  “Vookins, have no religion, but when we die we take our dead to the deepest ocean rift, and let them sink to the bottom, while we sing the traditional death songs to show respect for their passing,” Jikilenga said.

  “That sounds good, let's do that!” Oscar agreed, coming back with Hello Kitty printed bed sheets-- a needle and thread.

  “Ditto!” Heshe added.

  “You don't have plain colored sheets?” John said.

  “Sorry, this is all I could find. I don't see anyone else volunteering their bed-sheets, assholes,” Oscar said, with the color rising in her cheeks, whether from anger or embarrassment it was hard to tell.

  “Uh, this will do fine, Oscar, thanks. Can someone help Oscar with the shroud?” Peter interjected to diffuse emotions.

  With Monica and John's help they soon had James wrapped up and sewn into his shroud. Solemnly, they carried his body to the airlock.

  “Jikilenga?” Peter prodded, and without hesitation-- Jikilenga began to sing.

  It was other-worldly music, beautiful to their ears. Like opera mixed with whale song-- and sub-harmonics that they felt in their bones. Except for Bob-Six and Floyd, they each shed tears. It was a sad sound, as well as beautiful and uplifting. Their tears were not so much for James, but for the sweet sound of Jikilenga’s song, and James death reminding them that life was short, and the dangers they faced.

  “Whew, thanks, Jik, that was beautiful!” Peter said a little shakily when the singing was finished.

  “Thank you, being named Peter. I wish I could say I am talented singer, but all Vookins can sing. It is, how you say, instinct, natural talent.

  “Shit! Screw having bagpipes play at my funeral! I'm hiring a Vookin!” Oscar said wiping the tears from her eyes. “What do you think, Marcus?”

  “That was unbelievable!” Marcus added wiping his own eyes, “Do they have recordings of that stuff?”

  “Very rare, recordings. No Vookins sing same song twice. It is considered private, like human mating.” Jikelenga informed them.

  “What about the Free Willix Six love-making scene? The female orgasm song?” asked Oscar.

  “Sex song not considered private. Everyone fuck in ocean. What you think? Not so many die every day. Vookins like to be sexing all the time like humans, but no Vookin porn stars. Vookins not able to reach private parts by self,” Jikilenga said.

  “Boy, no wonder you sing such sad songs! Imagine not being able to jerk off—and-- stuff.” Marcus didn't finish that thought at Oscar’s dirty look.

  With that, Peter pushed the button to clear the airlock, and James’ body disappeared into the vastness of space.

  Chapter 16: Ferntucky and the Curious Artifact

  “Alright, crew, some people fast after a death or funeral, some people feast. I'm all for eating, myself. Think we have enough fresh food on board to prepare something special? What do you think, John, maybe a feast? I'm sure the rest of the crew would be happy to pitch in and be your kitchen help,” Peter said smiling, but looking sternly at the rest of the crew, as if opting out was not acceptable. He thought maybe eating a good meal and preparing it might take their minds off James’ death.

  “Be my pleasure, Captain. I think we could all use something special myself,” John agreed.

  “Sorry you don't eat, Floyd, so why don't you look at Scooter’s Toy and see what we are going to have to do to fix it, and do what you can with the supplies we have on hand,” Peter suggested.

  “Certainly, Captain. I'll see to it,” Floyd replied before he left.

  The crew soon was soon busy chopping, peeling, slicing and bustling around the kitchen galley, if not happily, at least distracted. John certainly knew how to run a kitchen and organize a crew. Peter went off to the control room, where he did as much controlling the ship as in waxing his balls, which is to say never, to talk in private with Shirley and decide what was next on their agenda. Shit! When was the last time I played any video games? he mused. Months? Or jerked off to porn? Not that he was complaining about that. It was nice having a steady gal pal.

  Peter was humming a happy tune as he walked to the control room. He had a tight, loyal crew. A cargo bay filled with valuable goods, a shuttle, money, a beautiful woman to occupy his nights and a freighter
that for most purposes was his unless Boss, or the law caught up with him. Things were finally going his way it seemed. A few more hauls like the robots, and maybe they could start thinking about retiring to some tropical island-- sipping tropical drinks, with servants to cater to their every whim; or maybe start a legitimate business. All these thoughts and more jumbled in his head as he sat down in his command chair.

  “Shirley!” Peter bellowed, her holograph popped into view, choosing again to wear her pirate outfit with red Tricorn and peg-leg.

  “What do you want, Nincompoop?”

  “For you to not appear like that, for one-- or to call me names. Pull up a list of colony worlds established in the last thirty years. Display their imports, exports, resources, and worth. Why are you wearing that ridiculous outfit? I thought you hated it.”

  “Because it annoys you! It's my mission in life to bother you. It's what gives annoying mode its pleasure for me and electronic life its zest,” Shirley said, heavy on the sarcasm. Shirley displayed a holograph with a list of possible worlds.

  “Whatever. Hmm, this looks interesting,” Peter said pretending to not be bothered, and finger-flicked the cursor on the Holoscreen.

  “Ferntucky is the last colony to be established in the last fifteen years. It's the farthest away from the galaxy center in explored space. It’s said to have an unusual orbit around its sun. It has one natural moon and a large, hollow, artificial moon filled with unexplained machinery. It has been mostly unexplored and not thought to be native to that system. A degenerated primitive race is thought to have inhabited it more than a million years ago from some initial surveys. It sounds perfect!”

  “Shirley plot a course and jump there. That's where we are going!”

  “Already did, plot a course that is, but there’s a problem,” Shirley said rather smugly.

  “Already? I know you are fast, but, damn, Shirley! How―”

  “I know you, Peter, plus I know our cargo. My logic circuits calculated that's what you would choose. Plus, I’m psychic.”