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Star Hookers Space Pirates

Page 29

by David A Sizemore


  Peter did so and more turrets, bristling with assorted weapons, dropped from the ceiling all up and down the hallway. He beckoned Peter back inside.

  “I just wanted to show you that, so you don't get any ideas. Even though I have most everybody on this station in my pocket, the insurance dweebs will jack my rates up something awful, if I litter it up with bodies and let someone shoot my hall full of holes. Bastards are untouchable and bribe-proof AIs planet-side. Oh, and as everyone on this station is in my pocket as you humans say, I can muster a small army of actual beings in a thrice. Please don't get any cute notions that you are going to rescue your girlies, anytime soon.”

  Peter appeared impassive on the outside but was inwardly seething. As usual, the Boss was one step ahead. Shit! Shit! Shit!

  “Wouldn’t think of it Boss," he deadpanned calmly.

  “Oh, goody then." Boss slapped his pseudopods together happily, or so he pretended, “I'm so glad we understand each other! Go ahead and spend some time with your snookums. I so love a happy reunion.”

  Boss pushed a button and a solid clunk came from the grey non- nondescript metal door to the right of Steve’s desk, which opened into the room that held Monica and Oscar prisoner,

  Peter walked in and was hit by a soft woman missile, almost knocking the breath from him, and engulfing him in kisses.“Whoa, and hello to you too, Monica!” he exclaimed. Pushing her back he took in the red eyes, disheveled hair, unwashed clothes and breath reeking of alcohol. Peter decided he better be diplomatic and not mention her smell, or the alcohol on her breath. He probably would be in the same state if he was locked up with nothing to do and an uncertain future.

  She buried her face in Peter’s clothes, crying, "Oh, Peter I'm slow lorry… we ha no idea when you would be bat, an’ there are no clocks here, an’ they took our wrist coms, an’ it seems like forever since you been gone, an’ we didn't know if you would be hurt, or even come back…” Monica said sobbing, “oh, I’m being such a girl...”

  “Not return? For Tarcacks sake! What kind of guy do you think I am? It was just a pickup and delivery. Oh! Hi, Oscar,” he said, giving an awkward wave around Monica.

  Oscar poked her head around the door saying, “Saaay, asshol! Got any sobriety patches in this dump?" She then noticed Marcus standing there awkwardly and added, "Saaay, lover, how’s it hanging?"

  Turning to Steve and the Boss, she added, “Got ‘nother room? Don’ tink lover boy iss inere--terested in group sex!"

  Steve looked embarrassed but pulled a couple of sobriety patches out of his desk, and tossed them over to Oscar, who caught them neatly despite being half into another bottle of tequila. Boss had been exceedingly generous supplying them with alcohol-- figuring keeping them drunk made them less troublesome.

  ‘Right next to your current room,” Boss said. He pushed a button, and a door sprung open next to the room they were in, “nothing is too good for my quests.”

  “Sorry, we have ha-- had nothing to do bu’ drink. Would ha’ fooled around but for yer feelings…” Monica slurred.

  “Thanks, for sparing my feelings,” Peter said wryly slapping a sobriety patch on Monica, hustling her inside and immediately into the shower.

  He sat on the side of the bed idly looking around at the inside of what could only be an office with an unplugged computer and desk shoved against the wall. There was a vintage reproduction poster on the wall of a cat hanging gamely hanging on to a branch with the motto ‘Hang in there.’ The room sported brown utilitarian carpet, bad paintings, and not so much as a changing holovid view-port. Dirty glasses and discarded food containers were scattered everywhere. The whole place reeked of despair. No wonder they were staying constantly drunk. The Boss or Steve had probably forgot all about sending a maid in, a way to wash their clothes or they just didn't care.

  Peter walked over to the door and rattled the doorknob-- locked, of course. He walked back over to the desk and found an intercom.

  “Hello?” Peter spoke forcefully.

  “Yes?” Steve’s familiar voice said.

  “Hey you, doofus! Thought about getting someone in here to clean occasionally, hmm? There’s not so much as a wastebasket in here or a change of sheets. Clean clothes? They clean the cages in a zoo, don't they, asshole?”

  “Uh, OK.” Steve said timidly.

  “What’s wrong with you? You want them to suffer? Why not go the whole route? Throw them in a dungeon, give them a bucket to relieve themselves in, and throw in a few rats or other alien scavenger beasts!” Peter said angrily.

  “Sorry, Boss didn't order it, and I'm not allowed in there. I didn't know. Where, outside of a fetishist’s apartment, am I going to find a dungeon on a space station? We aren’t exactly set up as a prison. Hell, I’ve never held anyone prisoner, cut me some slack!”

  “Fine! Didn’t Boss say to make them comfortable? That should include slopping out the office occasionally, dimwit-- and by the way, Steve, how can you go along with this; keeping someone prisoner to ensure my co-operation? I thought if we were not friends, we were at least friendly.”

  “Peter, we go way back, and you always gave me something thoughtful and nice at our somewhat small Christmas parties, but remember, I have two kids and a wife to support. Even in these progressive times, most administrative assistants are female, young, and attractive-- with huge tits. I need this job.”

  “Oh, cut the bullshit Steve! Over half of the businesses on this ship are run by aliens hiring aliens who simply don't care about appearances, or human tittys-- especially humans; case in point-- this job.”

  “Alright, ya got me...the Boss pays me a ridiculous amount of money for my discretion, and my ability to look the other way. Besides, mister high-and-mighty, you knew this was a criminal enterprise when you took the job. Plus, the way I hear it, the Baloovians produce no art, no science, have no culture, and are just insignificant, pathetic, little mineral creatures. Who fucking cares? Sorry, Peter, it’s just business; nothing personal.”

  Peter sighed “I'm not going to argue with you over morals, but a cleaning staff, please? And screw you, Steve! Don't expect anything nice at Christmas this year!"

  Peter went back to the room and sat on the edge of the bed, idly picked up the entertainment remote, and clicked on something to watch while he waited for Monica. It was tuned on a channel showing a documentary on asteroid miners using micro black holes to tow asteroids. The narrator was talking about the extreme danger and the delicate balance to be struck on a towing distance between the black hole and the target. If a miner’s magnetic containment field failed, he would be sucked into his own black hole. Peter knew asteroid mining was dangerous, but lucrative. He was only halfheartedly watching it, when it gave him an idea. What a eureka moment! The answer to the Baloovian problem had been under his nose all this time!

  Excited, he texted Shirley on his wrist com. ["Yo! Shirley, I think I've got a solution to our Baloovian problem!]

  [ Yeah?] Shirley sent in text.

  [ Yeah] Peter typed into his com. [The Boss has surveillance cameras, so I'm typing this. We take the Baloovian planet to somewhere people can't find it, along with the Artifact. We can solve two problems at once]

  There was a pause, and then Shirley printed out to Peter, [That’s brilliant! Don't know why I didn't think of it before. We are too literal. The human mind is still superior when it comes to thinking out of the box. Bravo, Peter! Congratulations.]

  He typed again, [Thanks! Get working on finding a planetary system that’s suitable for slotting into a Goldilocks zone without making the system wobble or self-destruct. Make it really, really far from civilized space.]

  [All over it, Einstein. Enjoy your fornication session. Hah, hah!]

  [Send a message to those assholes, Yen and Yuen, on the Artifact, to vacate, if they don’t want to go on a ride to parts unknown. Make up some reason. They don't need to know our business.]

  “Roger! Shirley out,” she said aloud.

  Monica walked out
of the bathroom gloriously naked and toweling her hair, "Who were you talking and texting too?

  Boss’s voice came over the intercom, “Whatever you are planning with your AI, Peter, it won't work.”

  “Hey! A little privacy, snot-ball!” Peter walked around the room throwing articles of clothing and trash over the visible lens of the security cameras. “I'm not planning anything, just checking my e-mail. Lights out!” The room went black.

  Peter noticed that Monica had put on fresh makeup before the room went dark, not that she needed it with her looks. Without any scent, other than the faint floral scent of shampoo and soap, she smelled mostly like clean girl; utterly delicious. He pulled her into his arms, and they were soon lost in that dance as old as humankind.

  Later that day, Steve sent in a cleaning crew. Peter and Monica sat awkwardly in office chairs waiting for them to finish. Of course, going anywhere was out of the question. Peter filled Monica in on their trip to Baloovia and other events as they sat. He skipped his brainstorm on the Baloovian solution. It wouldn't do Monica any good to know, and what she didn't know, she couldn't tell. Steve poked his head in after the cleaners had gone. “Better?” he inquired.

  “Yes, thanks. Now leave us alone, you bald-headed shit!” Peter said nastily.

  “Whatever, jerk!” Steve shrugged with a wry look on his face.

  Steve made sure they were fed with a variety of delicious takeout treats from local restaurants. It wasn't romantic eating off recylafoam with plastic cutlery by any means, but they laughed and made the best of it. Strangely enough because they had nothing much else to do, they talked. Although mankind had overcome the dangers of instantaneous communication and taken on societal restrictions of when private communication was allowed, people still tended to rely on social media too much. Most people felt nervous talking face to face, but Monica and Peter talked. A first for both. The more they talked the more they understood about each other. The more they understood about each other—the more they admired each other.

  Both of them avoided any awkward talk about the future as it couldn't have been more uncertain, even under normal circumstances. They also didn't talk about the other elephant in the room, their growing feelings for each other. They simply drank each other in and gorged on lovemaking until it was time for Peter to leave.

  As he stood at the door holding Monica and kissing her goodbye, she said, “I'll miss you terribly, but I'm almost glad you are leaving again. I'm deliciously sore and delightedly exhausted by you. I haven’t had this much sex in such a short period since the Marine fleet stopped in at Changs on shore leave.”

  “Now there’s a romantic thought to leave me with, Monica,” Peter said scowling.

  Monica punched him lightly in the side. “Oh you-- take that as a compliment, lover. There’s only one of you. If I cannot mention or joke about my former job, we might as well say goodbye now. But I’ll try to pretend for you that I’m not a sex friend from now on.”

  “OK, and I’ll pretend that you haven’t been with a lot of men—uh-- and women, as lucky for you, I like my women just a bit on the slutty side-- or at least I do now!"

  “Oh, you! Get out of here!” she said, kissing him.

  Peter whispered in her ear, “Be ready, Mons! We are going to try to end this soon, one way or the other. Be ready for anything!”

  She kissed him back, and patted his butt, “See ya soon.”

  Marcus was waiting for him with a happy grin on his face. Obviously, Oscar had given him much the same treatment.

  “Ready to go?”

  “Raring! Some people would pay good money for such a sex marathon like we just had. Whooee! I'm whupped, but full of endorphins, and ready to wrestle a grizzly bear. I've only seen their picture in a book once, though,” Marcus said happily.

  “Right, let’s go.”

  They wanted to walk back to the ship instead of taking Boss’s cart that had brought them to the office earlier, but boss wouldn’t have it. Peter wanted to study the route in detail, but he had to satisfy himself with taking down landmarks and possible attack points in his head from the back of a whizzing Station transport.

  John had re-supplied them with food and was waiting for them.

  “Shirley, take us out a few kilometers, and plot a course for Baloovia, but hold off―”

  “Captain, we need to stop at these co-ordinates first,” John said placing his wrist Datacom next to Peters and pushing the button that transmitted the info to his com. Peter raised an eyebrow at John.

  “I took the liberty of ordering food stuffs for an army of fifty for a week-- and delivered to us our usual order, just in case. I had the other pallet shot to these set of co-ordinates in space with a beacon. Boss being so nosy and his spies everywhere, I thought he might notice large quantities of food being delivered to us here and be curious why.”

  Peter smiled. Though not being very demonstrative most of the time, he reached out and clasped John to him and pounded him on the back.

  “Pure genius, John! Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?” He released him beaming. “I am under no illusion that the good guys always win,” he said looking around at what was left of his crew, “heck, I don't even know if we are the good guys anymore, but at least-- maybe soon, we can redeem ourselves by shutting down this Quaxxin scourge while saving an alien race from exploitation and needless death and be Farzookian heroes. We have a super AI on board, weapons and a great crew!” He released John feeling embarrassed at his cornball speech. “The rest of you, let’s sit down and toss some ideas around. We have to figure out where to get a small army quickly and secretly. Take off Shirley.”

  The most obvious ideas were quickly rejected. They could not advertise on any Nine Worlds public forums. It would be sure to get a back to Boss, if they tried. John simply didn't know enough street urchins on the planet or in his kitchen staff from which to recruit additional help, neither was he willing to send them into what was certain death for some if not all of them.

  “We could recruit on a colony world,” Marcus said, “Boss can't have spies everywhere, can he?" he speculated.

  “Good idea, but there is a time factor, Marcus. Most colony worlds are days out by hyperspace. By the time we travel there, especially Ferntucky, set up shop, interview, and travel back, we would be days late getting back and making our appointed delivery. Milyorks is a criminal planet, but boss is sure to have his spy's there.”

  “This being has no ideas. Only know Vookins, and they no friends of Jikelenga, me being in trouble all time and considered crazy,” Jikelenga added mournfully.

  “What about the cannibals you say you fight one time, Peter? They sound most warlike, most vicious and savage,” Bob-Six interjected. They all stared at him in amazement. He rarely spoke or offered any opinions on anything.

  "You mean the Lavana? They are savages barely out of the stone age! They wouldn't know a blaster or a laser, from their butts,” John interrupted, “that’s a stupid idea―”

  “Wait, maybe that’s not such a stupid idea! Peter said his face brightening-- I told you I visited them once to raid a tomb. They are as real as a heart attack and just as deadly. They are one of the few proscribed worlds because they are a super smart, warlike, and vicious. Eating their enemies is ingrained in their culture. It’s been theorized that if they were not so concerned with eating each other, fucking and fighting, they would have their own star drive by now. They are mammals, and look like big, blue Terran monkeys. They would actually be kind of cute, if you stripped off all the feathers and junk they wear and ignore their propensity for wanting to eat your liver," Peter informed them. “I was kind of thinking of contacting Karl, since he basically lives on a planet full of criminals, but I could not guarantee that they would keep their mouths shut. Secrecy is our biggest advantage.

  “What we offer Lavana to make them come fight with us?” Jikelenga asked.

  “Hmmm, Karl and I didn't bring translators with us that one time we were there. I h
ad a smattering of pidgin Lavana from some anthropological books I picked up, but we just planned to sneak in and never contact them at all; just steal some trinkets. They work wonderfully with gold and silver. Being off limits to outsiders, makes their trinkets VERY valuable.

  “It would be risky. More than one anthropologist has been killed and eaten by saying the wrong thing, or being in the wrong place, like somewhere the Lavana’s could see them!” Peter said. “Oh, wait a minute! That gives me an idea.”

  Peter wandered off speaking softly into his com. All they could hear were snatches of the conversation. “Hi! Bar-B-Que Bob’s? Yeah…delivery…I'll pay-- rocket will—space—yeah, I'll take some of that too-- “Peter looked at the coordinates John had transmitted to him on his Datacom, and in turn gave them to the person he was talking to. “Thanks. Okay. Right." Peter finished and turned back to them. “I'm thinking that what we offer the Lavana cannibals is the armor and weapons we provide them to fight for us. Mind sharing that equipment you bought, John?”

  "Whoa! Isn't that dangerous? Didn't the American Indians suffer from being given weapons by whites?" John asked. “And what was up with that call?”

  "Dangerous to whom?” Peter said. “The native Americans used the weapons given to them mostly for hunting. No, it was whiskey, smallpox, being overrun by settlers, being stuck on reservations and the US army that did the natives in. The Lavana may be proscribed, but they are protected from all that exploitation. Mainly the prohibition is to protect other worlds. I'm getting a little gift for the Lavana before we leave the system; a peace offering," Peter said with a grin.

  "Still seems dangerous to give them weapons," Marcus said cautiously. "What if they use them against the sociologists, scientists or us?"

  "Honestly, they do well against the scientists and each other with their clubs, spears and bows and arrows.” Peter went on, “They don't have anything against the scientists, particularly. They mostly war on each other for territory and dinner. When a scientist gets eaten, usually it’s out of convenience or by accident; being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Their cannibalism is a result of well, they LIKE meat, and meat has been getting scarce, last hundred years. Meat is considered a treat and a religious sacrament. They think they take on the power of their enemies or creatures by eating them. They have just barely started learning about agriculture, animal husbandry, and population control. Frankly, the sociologists are debating whether to introduce birth control to them and modern agricultural methods."

 

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