Quest for the McGuffin: A Herc Braveman Adventure (The Herc Braveman Adventures Book 3)

by Herschel K. Stroganoff

  Herc got down from the class-5 space skimmer and looked up at the massive Space Palace. It was really big and made out of the same space concrete and metaphorical desperation that was everywhere else. Lighting up a Quantum Cigarette, Herc swaggered over to the front door and rang the door bell.

  “Ding-dong,” the doorbell cried. It's tone was sad, wistful, almost haunting as it chimed out its siren's call that seemed to echo through time, pulsing with low, dreamlike undulations, like a brick doesn't.

  A beautiful exotic beauty poked her head around the door. She wore a revealing dress made out of revlon and leatherette. "Herc Braveman?" she asked. "The Herc Braveman?" The exotic beauty clearly recognised Herc's visage, probably from holo-posters or electric newspapers.

  "That is right, deary. And may I say what a pleasure it is meet an exotic beauty such as yourself. Is your mummy or daddy here?"

  "I am the Native Princess," the Native Princess snapped. "This is my Space Palace. I will never sleep with you."

  Herc chuckled. "May I come in Miss Princess? We are looking for a P. L. O. T. device." He reached down and kissed the Native Princess’s smooth hand and smiled when she flushed.

  Lolita looked up at the Space Palace then spoke with her voice. "Where are we?"

  The Native Princess scowled with her face. "B, obviously."

  "So we've got from A to B. All we need to do is find the P. L. O. T. device so we can continue our quest for the McGuffin," said M-ArtIn. "I really hope Chekhov was telling the truth about her space gun."

  The Native Princess gave a guilty look. It was the expression of a person who knew more than she was letting on. "What do you need a P. L. O. T. device for?"

  "To move things along," said Herc. "It's a stumbling block on our quest to find the McGuffin."

  The Native Princess nodded. "As you know, Bob, P. L. O. T. devices are powered by unobtainium. Unfortunately, we are in the midst of an unobtainum shortage. Although we've got a lot of it, we're just the slightest amount short to operate a P. L. O. T. device."

  "Such irony," said M-ArtIn.

  "It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife," said the Native Princess.

  "Precisely," said Herc, pointedly raising a pointed finger.

  "That's not irony," said Lolita.

  "Follow me," the Native Princess said. The Native Princess signalled for Herc, Lolita and M-ArtIn to follow her into the Space Palace. "Do you like my Space Palace?" she purred, turning to Herc.

  Herc shrugged. "I've seen worse," he said with a diplomatic tone. This was of course a lie. Herc had never seen a Space Palace as crappy as this one. The decorating was really bad and there was a weird smell like foreign cooking.

  The Native Princess opened a door and went into a normal room. In the middle of the room was a P. L. O. T. device. "This is the P. L. O. T. device," she said, gesturing towards the P. L. O. T. device in the centre of the room.

  "I didn't expect it to look like this," said M-ArtIn.

  "Yes, it's a very unusual model."

  "Does it work?" asked Lolita in a questioning tone.

  The Native Princess shook her head. "We need two hundred space pounds of unobrainium to power up the P. L. O. T. device. We are a fiftieth of a space ounce short."

  "That seems so little," said Herc.

  "But so much at the same time," the Native Princess mused, philosophically.

  "Can't you send a slave to get some more?" Herc asked.

  "There is no more. This is it.” She gestured to the glowing pile of unobtainium in the corner.

  Herc slammed his fist against the desk. Papers flew everywhere. It made a right mess. "We need to get this thing working. And get some slaves in here to clean these papers. It looks like a tramp's nest in here."

  "My hands are tied, Captain Braveman," the Native Princess said. "I'm sorry."

  Herc lit up a Quantum Cigarette and looked at the P. L. O. T. device with his handsome eyes. "Think, Herc. Think," he said, talking to himself.

  "Wait," said Lolita. "Don't Quantum Cigarettes have an unobtainium core? We might be able to get enough unobtainum if we separate it from the cigarettes."

  Herc held his cigarette before him. "Think, Herc. Think," he said, tapping his head with his non-cigarette-wielding hand. A smile crept over his face like a space mouse creeping for a piece of delicious space cheese, maybe a nice Martian Blue, a few crackers, bukkake mushrooms on the side — lovely stuff. "Cigarettes," he whispered. "Cigarettes." He looked around with bright eyes as the moment of genius struck like a bolt of space lightning arcing like electricity from the centre of a gravitronic nebula field at supersonic speeds. "As much as it pains me to waste a Quantum Cigarette, we could use a few of their unobtainium cores to make up the shortfall of unabtainium."

  "That could work," said the Native Princess. "I only smoke after I've had sexual relations." She pushed her heaving bosom against Herc's chest. "Any takers?" she purred zestfully.

  "You were amazing" the Native Princess purred, lighting up a Quantum Light Cigarette — the only choice for discerning ladies across the Intragalactic Empire.

  Herc gave a shrug. "I've had worse," he said in his most diplomatic voice. But he hadn't had worse — she was the dribbling crap. It was all her, her, her - “Do this. Do that. Rub here. Touch my whatsit.”

  The Native Princess kissed Herc on the chest. He jiggled his pectoral boobies like Lex Lugar cutting a promo against the Giant in WCW circa 1996. Mean Gene's there with his moustache and microphone asking questions and making faces while Lex tenses the left one, then the right, then the left, baby oil glistening against the studio lights. "Will I see you again?" she asked in a whisperful voice, rubbing her hand through his thick, manly chest hair.

  "When the moons of Orion cross paths, that is when we shall see each other again," Herc said.

  "I thought Orion was a constellation?" the Native Princess asked with a confused lady voice.

  "Yes," said Herc, patting the Native Princess on the head. "Orion."

  The bedroom door swung open with a whoosh and a clatter and a crash. It also made a creaking sound, a bit like the door to a haunted house or the wolf-man's castle, only not as haunting or creaky — it had clearly been recently oiled, perhaps by Lex Luger after he rubbed it into his rippling muscles.

  M-ArtIn marched into the room with his robotic legs, his feet sounding like Robocops when they hit the ground. “Thunk, thunk, thunk,” his feet said.

  "Hey Buddy, having fun?" his mouth said.

  "What is it, M-ArtIn? Can't you see I'm busy?"

  "Wipe yourself up, Lolita's extracted the unobtainium. We're ready to use the plot device."

  "The P. L. O. T. device, you mean."

  "Whatever."

  Herc straddled the P. L. O. T. device with his legs akimbo, like Cher in that video where she’s on the cannon. You know the one. She’s got gaffer tape on her part. There are loads sailors on a boat. I think it’s about time travel. It’s not very good. Just watch it on mute and whack on a bit Phil Collins instead, maybe a bit Peter Gabriel if you’re feeling a bit artsy-fartsy.

  M-ArtIn pressed a few buttons on the P. L. O. T. device, until a whirring noise started. Instantly, a few seconds later, the on-board vidscreen catapulted to life, like the bloated corpse of a rotting cow being flung inside the walls of medieval castle. “The plot device is operational, Captain,” said M-ArtIn, robotically.

  Herc squinted with his eyes as he examined the screen. He shook his head, his beautiful thick hair going this way and that, even though he was wearing a space hat.

  “This doesn’t make any sense.” Lolita looked over the vidscreen, her pert little bottom sticking out as she bent over, revealing her tight white knickers again. “It’s saying the McGuffin is in A,” she said, silkily.

  Herc looked around until his eyes fell on his robot slave, M-ArtIn. “M-ArtIn, my robot slave, is there some kind of mistake?”

  “The P. L. O. T. device looks find and dandy to me,” M-ArtIn said.
>
  “You mean fine and dandy?” asked Herc.

  “Yes, there must have been a typo in my space circuits,” M-ArtIn said, making a completely unreadable gesture with his robotic hands.

  “Do these typos occur often?”

  “Who could say?” M-ArtIn aksed.

  “Welll make sure they don’t. That’s what editors are four, damn it.”

  “Don’t you mean for?” asked M-ArtIn.

  “It’s a homonym, you shouldn’t be able to tell,” said Lolita.

  “I’m a robot,” explained M-ArtIn.

  "Less of that homonym talk. I don't care if you are my niece, I'll have you shipped off to the Gay-Finder General in flash."

  Lolita waved her hands around like a panicky woman. “We’re getting side-tracked,” she said. “The McGuffin is back in A.”

  Herc turned to her, smiling a warm smile. “What is it, deary? The men are talking.”

  “The McGuffin—.”

  “Yes,” Herc said, patting Lolita on the head. “We need to get the McGuffin. That’s why we’re going to head to A now. Do you have any space knitting to keep your little mind occupied? I’m afraid M-ArtIn won’t be able to show you any nice pictures of kittens on the vidscreen — we need that to complete our mission.”

  Lolita sighed, probably because she was really looking forward to watching cat videos, but more likely because she was on her period and women get a bit tetchy when they’re on their period. She didn't look puffy, though, so who knows?

  “Hold on,” said M-ArtIn, checking the fusion rheostats on the P. L. O. T. device. “If my robotic calculations are correct, not only is the McGuffin in A, it is also in Ambassador Chekhov’s Space Palace.”

  "Derm derm dermmm," said Herc. He rolled his fingers inside his hands, transforming the from a standard hand into a weapon of mass destruction (i.e. a fist). “To the class-5 space skimmer,” he said, turning his fist into a point and gesturing towards the Class-5 space skimmer with his pointing finger. “I’m about to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and this time it’s personal.”

  The Class-5 space skimmer whooshed across the Wolverhampton's endless concrete. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached A in no time. M-ArtIn brought the skimmer to a skimming halt.

  "Where is the P.L.O.T. device pointing?" Herc asked with a confused look on his face.

  "According to this readout," said Lolita. "The McGuffin is in Ambassador Chekhov's office."

  Herc shook his head violently. "I don't like this," he said. "I need to speak to the ambassador." He banged his fist against a desk that had been dumped along with a couple of shopping trolleys next to a canal.

  Herc, M-artIn and Lolita marched over to the entrance of Ambassador Chekhov’s Space Palace. Herc knocked on the door with his knuckles. "Knock, Knock, knock," the door said, responding to the strikes from Herc’s WMD (his fist, see above).

  The door swung open ominously and Ambassador Chekhov looked Herc up and down with her sneaky eyes. "Did you get the device?" she asked in a shifty voice.

  "Yes. But it's saying the McGuffin is here."

  Ambassador Checkov narrowed her eyes and made her pupils go from left to right as if she was hiding something. "You'd better come in.”

  The trio of space adventurers entered the Space Palace and followed Ambassador Chekhov along the nondescript corridor back into her office.

  There's a weird beeping and the P.L.O.T. device was flashing like a pervert in a park toilet. "The plot device is saying the McGuffin is in this very room."

  Herc took the device from M-ArtIn’s robotic hands and squinted. "Damn that damnable Native Princess. She has misled us all." Herc banged his fist on the desk and made a face.

  Ambassador Chekhov nodded her head approvingly. "Yes, yes. That's exactly what happened. Can I take that device?"

  “Of course,” said Herc, handing her the device.

  “Does it still have the unobtainium?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Excellent.” The Ambassador cackled wildly and rubbed her hands excitedly.

  "What are you going to do about the Native Princess?” asked Herc. “And what are we going to do about the McGuffin?"

  Ambassador Chekhov shrugged. "This can only be seen as an act of war."

  “War?” said Lolita. “But what if we can locate the McGuffin.”

  “The quest for the McGuffin is over,” snapped Ambassador Chekhov. “We cannot tolerate aggression against the Intragalactic Empire. I’m going to call her now to declare war.” Chekhov reached over to her space telephone, picked it up, placed the receiver so it lined up with her ear and mouth, and spoke. “Operator. Operator. This is Ambassador Chekhov of the Intragalactic Empire. Yes, that Ambassador Chekhov. Yes. Yes. Okay. Right. That wasn’t my fault. Right. I appreciate that... If you would just let me explain. No. It wasn’t like that. Well I disagree. Well I think you’re stupid. I know you are. You are. No, you are. You are, more like.”

  Herc snatched the space telephone from the ambassador’s hands, pulling the receiver away from her ear and mouth and lining it up with his own ear and mouth orifi. “Operator. This is Space Captain Herc Braveman of the Intragalactic Empire.” There was a long silence. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. Yes. Yes. Right. Well, it was either me or them, and I’ll be damned if I stand by a let a foreigner take advantage like that. Either George W. Bush or Donald Trump. I agree, few greater men have existed. You flatterer. Wouldn't you like to know. What are you wearing. Really? Really? What colour? Really? What time do you knock off?”

  The ambassador flashed Herc a cold glare and tapped him on the side of his leg like a four-year-old in a supermarket asking his mum for his inhaler while she’s chatting on her mobile about last night’s Corrie.

  Herc nodded. “Operator. Be a dear and patch me through to the Native Princess. Yes. Yes. She's in another castle. Of course. Make it so. This time, it’s personal.”

  Herc handed the telephone back to Ambassador Chekhov and smiled. “She seemed nice,” he said.

  “Native Princess,” the ambassador spat. “How nice it is of you to answer your space telephone. Your P. L. O. T. device is a worthless piece of space junk and now the McGuffin is probably in the hands of space communists.” There was a long pause. “Well, I think you’re stupid. No, you are. You are, more like. You are. Oh, really? Really? Well, maybe you should look in the mirror once in a while."

  Herc smiled and took the space telephone out of the ambassador’s hand and lined the earpiece over his ear and the mouth piece over his mouth. “Native Princess? Yes, this is he. I was amazing, wasn’t I? Yes. Yes. Yes. That’s understandable given your age. Of course. Just so you know, Ambassador Chekhov has declared war on you and your people. Yes. Yes. Of course. I’d love to, I really would, but you’re now a sworn enemy of the Intragalactic Empire, so things might get a bit awkward. Yes. Yes. Thank you. Goodbye, Native Princess. I was talking about the moons, not the constellation. You are. No, you are. You are, more like.” Herc slammed the space telephone back onto its receiver. “It’s war,” he said, grimly. “The Intragalactic Empire calls.”

  "You were amazing," purred Ambassador Chekhov zestfully as she pulled the bed sheets over her silky skin, like a brick doesn't.

  "You weren't too shabby yourself," said Herc. "Certainly a lot better than that damn Native Princess."

  Herc sat up and lit a Quantum Cigarette and took a silky drag. "Ahh," he said, satisfied.

  The door swung open and M-ArtIn traipsed into Ambassador Chekhov’s private chamber with robotic urgency. "Buddy, we need to go. The Native Princess is here and she's bought some friends.”

  "Don't you mean brought?" asked the ambassador, frowning like a mental.

  M-ArtIn shook his metallic head. "Not this again,” he spat, robotically. “She’s got a mercenary army of hired guns. She’s paid for them — the sentence stands."

  Herc blew a couple a smoke rings into the air and smiled at his robot slave. "Thank you, M-ArtIn, tha
t will be all."

  Herc finished his Quantum Cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray next to the bed. He climbed out of the bed and pulled on his spandex captain’s uniform, wiping his knob on the drapes before pulling up the zip. "The intergalactic Empire calls,” he said.

  Herc felt Chekhov's hand touching his side. "Will I see you again?"

  "When the galaxies collide and nebulae form. When the skies shimmer with the beauty of space, I'll think of you, my dear."

  "So... is that a yes?"

  "Ambassador, we’ve got a war to fight. If there's one thing I hate more than space communists, it's natives... and women putting pressure on me." He punched his fist into his other hand.

  "Well, when the fighting is over, perhaps we could come back here for a debriefing, if you catch my meaning?” she purred.

  "It's time to kick ass and chew bubblegum, and this time it's personal."

  Herc stormed out of the Space Palace as the space tanks rumbled to a halt outside. The Native Princess stood on the top of her tank in all her native finery, a space megaphone drawn up to her mouth. "Ambassador Chekhov, the war is over, we have you surrounded. Give up now, or we will be forced to destroy you." She straddled the tank’s cannon-like appendage, just like the lovely Cher in the aforementioned music video (the one on the boat, where she's got tape covering her woowoo).

  Herc shook his head and strode over to her tank. "Native Princess, what are you doing?"

  "There's nothing you can say that will help now,” she spat. “Ambassador Chekhov has declared war on us, and it is my role to protect my people."

  Herc waved his arms and shook his head. "My dear, my dear. Think about what you are doing. You're not just going to war against Ambassador Chekhov, you are declaring war against the Intragalactic Empire in all its might and glory." He paused and looked at her with the look of a thousand puppies. "And me."

  The Native Princess’s eyes widened like a complete and utter mental case. She pulled back the edge of her mouth into a sadistic smile and cackled like an evil foreigner. "I repeat, Captain Braveman. There is nothing you can say and nothing you can do to alleviate this war."