Free Range Protocol- Tales of the Tschaaa Infestation

by Marshall Miller

“Please, don’t hurt us.” Maxwell’s voice was almost a squeak.

  “You are the owner of this business?” Asked the warrior woman.

  “ I… I’m the President and CEO, yes.”

  “So you are the one who draws the pictures and decides the content of each issue of these…comics.”

  “Yes, Miss…” Maxwell said.

  “No Miss. I am Princess Akiko of the Free Japan Royal Family. And I am here to demand amends for the rude and crude depictions of my comrades and friends in these-scandal sheets I think is an American term for them.”

  Tad stopped shaking in the hallway and found his voice.

  “You are Princess Akiko, the female Samurai, and hero of Hell Day on Malmstrom Joint Allied Military Base?”

  “At your service,” the Princess answered. “But I would not call me a hero, just a soldier doing her duty.”

  “Shit, lady,” Maxwell blurted out. “You helped save all those infants, those patients in the Military Hospital from the Beasts and Eaters.” He pulled a graphic novel from his desk drawer.

  “We recorded it here, in this special Samurai issue of Squidkiller. We talk about you and Ichiro..”

  “That is General Yamamoto to you, Mister…”

  “Marks, Maxwell Marks. That guy in the hallway is Tad Nakajima. Hell, we are your biggest fans. Here!” Maxwell tried to hand the graphic novel to Princess Akiko. She strode forward and snatched it from his grasp with her left hand. The Princess stepped back out of retaliation range and glanced at the cover. A cloud passed over her face as she threw the publication back at him.

  “Trash like that is why I am here. I look nothing like that, that, large breasted loose woman you portray,"Akiko began to seeth.

  “Look it, Princess. I know our illustrations are a bit over the top, but, you know, this sells issues..”

  “And you disrespected Abigail, the Avenging Angel. You realize he was a virgin on her wedding day? And you draw her like some street whore, clothes being ripped off?” The Princess’ voice raised in anger as she stepped towards Maxwell. Just then, Miriam's voice echoed down the hallway.

  “The police are here!”

  Everything and every person froze in place.

  Maxwell drummed his fingers on his desk in frustration. Things had not gone the way he assumed they would. The Police told him and Tad that there were three problems with them arresting the Princess.

  First, she had Diplomatic Immunity, as an official representative of Free Japan.

  Second, Maxwell’s new security tried to lay hands on the Princess first, without any warning. Apparently, an average sized Japanese female was someone to shove around.

  Third, and final, she was a Hero, who everyone in Bismarck seemed to know. The Police told Maxwell and Tad that it would be better for them to ‘work it out,’ rather than demand an official response.

  Thus, Maxwell sat across from Princess Akiko as Tad tried to rustle up some refreshments. He finally came back with soft drinks, a bottle of scotch, Sake (from where?), rice cakes, cookies, and beef sticks. The Princess saw the bottle of scotch whiskey, raised an eyebrow.

  “You have ice?” She asked.

  “What? No Sake?” Maxwell replied. A demure smiled formed on the mouth of the young Japanese lady.

  “General Bender has helped me to develop a taste for this liquor, out of sight of my royal handlers.”

  Tad hustled and found some ice. Soon all three were sitting around the desk sipping the booze.

  Maxwell looked at his office door.

  “So who pays for that large hole?” he asked.

  Princess Akiko shrugged. “I guess I could. I let my impatience get the best of me,” she said as she sipped her drink. “My father said my name should be the Impetuous One, as I act like a, like a…”

  “Bull in a china shop,” interjected Tad.

  The Princess smiled and sipped her drink again. Maxwell looked at her and sipped his drink. Then, an idea hit him. Right between the eyes.

  “Princess, you don’t like how we portray your friends, your comrades,” said Maxwell.

  “That is an understatement. Your depictions offend my sensibilities,” Akiko replied.

  “Okay. Put your money where your mouth is. Do you want to be our official, and Royal, Advising Editor?”

  The Royal Princess frowned. “How do you mean? What would I do?”

  The President of Squidkiller Comics and Publications leaned over the desk. Now he was in his element. Wheeling and dealing.

  “Look it. You know all of the characters-the people who we depict in our publications. You know the actual, inside story. We want to publish a good story, a good product that will sell. You may not like the overboard illustrations. But you have to admit our illustrators are excellent.”

  “I will admit to that,” the Princess replied.

  “So, you tell us the true stories. The inside stories of what happened. You were there!”

  Maxwell took a slug of his drink. He was on a roll.

  “Then, you pass judgment on the drawings of the main characters. You tell us if Abigail’s tits, I mean breasts and rear are too big, You tell us how to depict how Abigail and the others look and really act both on and off the job. To include yourself.”

  “I will not violate any confidences,” Akiko interjected. “That is dishonorable.”

  “Of course not. Just enough information to jazz up the storyline, make it more personal. After all, everyone wants to feel connected to our Heroes.”

  The Princess paused, and Tad refreshed her drink. She flashed him a smile in appreciation that made the Vice President of the company blush a bit. Akiko turned towards Maxwell and leaned across the table. She had allowed her kataginu top of her kamishimo to loosen, so when she leaned forward. Maxwell got a flash of some lovely shaped breasts as she spoke.

  “And what do you two get from this-new arrangement. Other than my expert advice.”

  “Why, we also mention you in our credits and organization section.” Maxwell held his hands out as he spoke as if to frame word written in the air.

  “Special Technical Advisor Princess Akiko of the Free Japan Royal Family. She was there,"Maxwell added. “Then, maybe an official-looking Japanese seal, or coat of arms. You get the picture.”

  The Princess paused as if taking it all in. Then she leaned back into the padded chair as she spoke.

  “I think we may have a deal. But of course, this must be in writing and notarized.”

  “Miriam!” Maxwell yelled. “We need you!”

  Maxwell was in early the next morning, working on the changes Princess Akiro had outlined to the strips and storyboards. Actually, he was quite pleased with the suggestions. For the CEO of Squidkiller now realized they had been selling their talent short. He and Tad had been happy to push tits and ass to attract readers. Add to that the sensationalized killing styles of “Squidkiller Bender” and “Samurai Ichiro,” and they had the equivalent of the old ‘chopsaki’ films of the 1970s and 80s. Long on blood, action, some nudity, and short on storyline and plot. Not to mention characterization. As he worked on the boards, he saw the superior product come together. More angst in the faces of the characters, more storylines around who the real heroes were, not just two-dimensional cutouts chopping the limbs off of Tschaaa aliens. Besides, with the Great Compromise, stories of constant warfare would not reflect the new reality. Reality would sell in the next phase of recovery.

  As the morning wore on, the other employees came in with the new security guards. Now, off-duty Cops were in the building, as suggested by the responding officers (share the wealth Overtime, everyone’s back gets scratched.) Maxwell looked at his watch. Man, Tad was unusually late. As he was about to borrow a cell phone to call him, a bleary-eyed Tad walked in. He went straight to the coffee station and filled his mug with black coffee.

  “No cream and sugar this morning?” Maxwell asked him

  “Gotta wake up,” Tad mumbled, then sipped his coffee.’’

  “
Rough night?” Maxwell asked.

  “Never offer to take a Princess home,” Tad replied. “Nothing turns into a pumpkin at Midnight.” He frowned. “Like a damned energizer bunny.”

  Maxwell’s mouth dropped open a bit. Tad was not known for being a Lothario.

  “So, you two—” Maxwell began to answer. Tad cut him off.

  “A gentleman, nor a Samurai, ever tell. It is rude.”

  As Tad Nakajima tried to wake up, Princess Akiko was catching a ride in the back seat of a Free Japan F-15. Royalty had its perks. Pure oxygen in the cockpit helped to wipe away any morning fogginess from the night before. She smiled to herself. Once again, she could hear her Father scolding her about her impetuous behavior. Yet, she achieved her mission of protecting the honor of her friends and comrades. As General Bender would say, to hell with worrying. You may only live once. However, the Royal Princess had one concern: how to break it to the Royal Family that the Royal Princess may appear in the funny papers.

  PARDNERS

  CONCH REPUBLIC

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  Special Agent David Jackson moved his tall and lanky body towards the Open Fisherman boat that was now his to use. He carried two large equipment bags up the dock, demonstrating his coiled strength on a rather slender frame. David took after his late father, Andrew “Andy” Jackson. Former Texas Ranger and bodyguard/driver for Madam President, he had died defending her on Hell Day not long before the Great Compromise put an end to the Tschaaa-Human War. David often wished that the Squids had not come, or that the War had ended just a bit earlier. Then, his father would still be alive. At the same time, had the Tschaaa not attacked with rocks from space, David would still be rotting in prison for a murder he had committed. Sometimes bad things created some good after all, even if limited.

  David set down the two large bags on the dock and looked at the Open Fisherman. The boat had been found hidden in a private boathouse, up on blocks, and in near pristine condition. The owners were likely long since dead and possibly eaten by the Tschaaa Squids, and therefore the new Federal Government of the United States of North America had seized it for marine enforcement duties. The Special Agent grinned.

  “Honey, you are one hell of a boat,” he said to himself.

  It was a high-end Catamaran design, with four large outboard motors capable of producing some 1600 horsepower. It had an increased fuel capacity of some eight hundred gallons so it could cruise all the way to Jamaica and back. David knew it could go about sixty miles an hour easily while having outstanding stability and maneuverability.

  “You were either a rich man’s toy or a drug smuggler’s dream,” the Agent mused. “Maybe both.”

  David Jackson loaded his two large bags on the boat and began to store his gear. The Open Fisherman design gave a deep hull with lots of room for the crew and passengers to move around. The high gunnels helped keep people from falling overboard. In the front shell was a small storage area that could add to the larger compartments in the center control console. The Special Agent also found spots where he could tie down miscellaneous items. He noticed there was still one bracket for a fishing pole. With a smile, he dug out an average-sized deepwater rig and made it sure it was secure in the bracket. If nothing else, it worked as protective coloration, made the large boat look like it was used for fishing. It was unmarked other than the Vessel Registration Number on the front hull port side. David had brought a low drag light bar to mount on the top of the center console frame. He had a cover for it so the boat could pass again as some rich guys toy. The new job he had to accomplish was as much about observation as it was about enforcement.

  David shook his head and chuckled. If only his Dad could see him now. Former felon and murderer, now a Federal Agent working hand in hand with…a Squid. Some two months after the formal signing the Great Compromise, this was one of the first attempts at Tschaaa-Human cooperation. The Special Agent was to work with a selected Tschaaa male off the Florida Keys, now the Conch Republic, to put a stop to some illegal harvesting and smuggling operations. The Admiral, now Governor also, of the Conch Republic had suggested he could use help with some enforcement activities.

  “No Director Lloyd, no Lord Neptune to control this area. The comings and goings of the Squids and humans are causing conflict. I was an Intelligence Officer, not a cop before the Squids arrived,” stated the Admiral.

  David knew how important it was, this “grand experiment” in interspecies cooperation. Soon, Squids would be working with units like the Banshees. He would not let his Boss—Commissioner Miller—down. Nor would he sully the memory of his father. He felt his father’s Texas Ranger badge, that he wore on a chain around his neck. David had been made an Honorary Ranger by the surviving Texas Rangers and was allowed to keep his father’s badge.

  “Miss you, Dad,” he said. Then he heard a familiar sound.

  David clambered back up on the dock and looked at the advancing vehicle. It was a former harvester robot, the ball-shaped turret removed and replaced with a seat for a Tschaaa to ride in. The powerful electric motor emanated the signature whirring whine that had spread fear into humans not that long ago. Now instead of harvesting meat, it was used to transport the male Tschaaa who would be his partner. As the six-wheeled ATV shaped vehicle approached, David let out a light whistle. The Squid in the driver's seat was enormous, even for a bear-sized alien. Eight thick arms and the large body had trouble fitting on the former harvester. The male used his two Social Tentacles with the long-fingered five-digit hands to drive his mount. David had studied Tschaaa physiology enough to know that exobiologists believed the Squids fingers were much superior at manipulation than a human’s. That made sense as they had as much to do with Squid reproduction as did their version of a penis.

  The Squid slowed, then stopped the vehicle some ten yards away. David saw and felt the lunch plate sized eyes of the Tschaaa peruse him with an accuracy unattainable with normal human eyes. That fact seemed to explain why the Squids developed few electronic enhancement to their vision systems. A decent glass lens or two was all they needed to see for miles. Thus, the old Eye in the Sky. David saw the Squid had a translator box suspended on a strap hanging around the alien torso. The creature held up the translator device as he spoke.

  “You are…the human…David Jackson?”

  The Agent tried not to smile as a hint of a West Texas drawl flavored the words. David knew some human jokester had gotten ahold of the device before it was given to the Tschaaa male. There was no other reason for such an accent which David could imagine.

  “Yes. I am Special Agent David Jackson,” he replied. “And your name is…?” David had not been given a name as he could not pronounce the Tschaaa name and no human name had been selected by the Squid at the last notice.

  “Yes. My given name is Wild Bill,” the Squid replied, slight drawl and all. “The humans assigned to this…project said it is fitting. Is that true?”

  “Let me guess, Sir. Hickock is the last part.”

  “Yes,” the Tschaaa male replied. “That is the total name.”

  David tried not to laugh. He knew this was a joke played on the alien.

  “Is it not a good name?” the Squid now known as Wild Bill asked.

  “It is a very fine name. Wild Bill Hickok was a famous lawman and gunfighter in our Old West.”

  The Squid used his social tentacles to sign pleasure as he spoke, not having human facial muscles to display a smile or grin.

  “A gunfighter was one who used firearms against other humans, yes? Even as a lawman?”

  “Yessir. We humans are a complicated lot. One time on the side of the law, another time not. But the name you chose, Wild Bill, is an honorable name.”

  “Good,” Wild Bill answered. “I am glad. Now, I have some equipment to take to your ocean craft, I was told you would have one.”

  “This Open Fisherman here. Come on, I’ll help you stow your gear.”

  Some ten minutes later, David and Wild Bill—Bill f
or short—had all the equipment aboard. Bill parked the Squid ATV in the parking lot and disabled the starter. It would not be good if someone ran off with it. David watched the Squid use its ‘crab walk’ ability to approach their boat. The Agent knew that the Tschaaa could move for short distances with that form of locomotion. He also knew that the Tschaaa had adopted the word “Squid” as a perfectly honorable term, after encountering Earthly Giant Squids. At the thought of the Giant Deep Sea cephalopod and as the Squid set its bulk down by the Open Fisherman, David knew he had to ask one question.

  “Bill, you are big even for a male Squid, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I am,” Bill answered. He signed with his social tentacles something that David thought meant embarrassment. The Agent’s crash course on Tschaaa Non-Verbal Communication was not all-inclusive.

  “I am bigger than most, even those born in Our New Mother. I was born shipboard, several years before our arrival in your solar system.” Bill paused in his dissertation. A couple of his limbs darkened, which David had been told meant emotional upset, maybe even anger. The Agent started to wonder how to push the conversation onto another subject when Bill continued.

  “I was accused of being too large, overeating our rapidly depleted stores of meat. However, since I was offspring of the one you know as Lord Neptune, I was given special dispensations.”

  At the mention of Lord Neptune, the Lord who had ruled North America, David tensed. That Tschaaa Lord had set into motion the Infestation and established the Protocol of Selective Survival which had turned human against human Wild Bill must have received briefings on human body language as he noticed the tensing in the Agent.

  “I am sorry. I forgot what my Sire means to you. I will refrain…”

  “Nope,” interjected David. “If we are to work together, have each other’s backs, there cannot be any off-limit subjects. So, we must tell our stories if we are to make this assignment work.”

  Bill signed with his tentacles understanding and agreement as he replied.

  “Then you realize the importance of this…task we have been given.”