Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1)

by J. F. Monahan

  “What circumstances?” asked Charlie.

  An’ishia stared at Charlie for a moment, a thousand thoughts reeling through her mind. She took a deep breath. This was something she had told very few people and believed that if she never mentioned it, perhaps it wouldn’t be true.

  “I’m pregnant,” she said boldly. Relief seemed to lift from her, if only for the briefest of moments.

  There was no real response that Charlie could give to that. “Oh,” he said meekly. “Congratulations?”

  “Not really,” An’ishia continued, going back into her rant. “Needless to say that my parents, who had been trying to shield me from any such incidents, were not too pleased. They shunned me. They haven’t spoken to me since. Actually my father did say just the one thing, ‘Who is the father? I’m going to have him executed!’ Which was nice of him.”

  “Who is the father?” asked Charlie, a similar feeling to her father brewing inside him.

  An’ishia bit her bottom lip and rotated her left foot slowly, coyly looking down at the ground. “I’m not entirely sure,” she said quietly.

  Charlie rolled his eyes. That made sense. Why did every girl he ever like turn out to be a complete and utter slapper? He remembered a girl he had a major crush on at school. Jennifer Lovesit. And she really did. Just not with him. By the time they left school she already had three children. The last he heard she had enough children to start her own football team.

  “So why did you get Greebol to kidnap you?” he asked, feeling like an agony aunt in a newspaper.

  “To gain my parent's love,” she answered. Now Charlie really did feel like an agony aunt. “I figured if they thought I had been captured,” she continued, “then they would worry for me. They would pay the ransom money for me. They would love me!”

  “An interesting idea. In theory,” put in Charlie. “So what happened?”

  “I don’t know,” she growled. “That’s why I need to speak to that bounty hunter. I was supposed to wake from the stasis canister into the welcoming arms of my parents but instead I find myself on this lump of a planet.”

  “I wish I could help you, I really do but as I said, Greebol is in jail. He is in the company of the Baggus Sentry now. I’m sure you could visit him…”

  “That is not good enough!” An’ishia screamed, slamming her fists down on the table. “He’ll be in prison for life. Probably be sent to Reformatory … that is of course if he isn’t sentenced to death. I need him to do his job! I need him to do what I’ve paid him good money for!”

  “Then I cannot help you,” admitted Charlie.

  An’ishia paced the room a number of times deep in thought. Then an idea struck her like a lightning bolt.

  “A prison break!” she shouted with glee, clapping her hands in excitement!

  Charlie shook his head. “Oh no, no, no! That would not be a good idea!”

  “You’re right,” she said with a crazed look in her eyes, “it would be a great idea! And you’re going to help!”

  “Me?” the Human gasped. “What the hell do you think I could do?”

  “Lots! You are the world famous pink skinned terrorist! Surely you can break someone out of jail!” There was a slight admiration in her voice that Charlie couldn’t help but warm to. He had never been admired by anyone before. No one cared what he did. True, he was not a terrorist by a long shot and would never endorse such an act, but still, a hot, albeit pregnant, lady had the slightest flicker of admiration towards him. He would have admitted to being a monkey in a rabbit suit for that.

  “Will you help me?” An’ishia asked.

  Charlie gulped. He wanted to say no. He wanted this lovely, sexy princess to say that she didn’t really want him (not for a jail break anyway).

  “What will happen if I say no?” he asked nervously.

  “I’ll do what I did to that son of a bitch who offered me money for a ‘quicky’ in Haddock Street... I’ll cut your balls off!”

  Charlie gulped.

  “I guess I’ll help you then,” he squeaked in a high pitched wincing tone. “But how will we free him?”

  Princess An’ishia grinned. “Don’t worry… I have a plan!”

  Chapter 34

  Umfian warriors were a very predictable race. The old saying of finding a needle in a haystack did not apply in any sense when looking for an Umfian. More like looking for a haystack in a needle. In a city like Baggus there were only a few places an Umfian could hide (not that an Umfian would ever hide). Everyone knew where to find them. Even Princess An’ishia knew where to find them and she didn’t know the streets of Baggus or had had any dealings with Umfians before.

  The three places you would find an Umfian would be:

  a) A bar

  b) A fighting arena

  c) A gymnasium

  Some would say that a fourth place to look for an Umfian would be jail, but it is every Umfian Warrior’s duty to evade prison. They would rather die than be stuck behind bars. Some would even use the bars to kill themselves. You would be surprised how hard it actually is to batter yourself to death by repeatedly smashing your head into a metal bar. Especially when your head is as big and thick as an Umfian’s.

  Currently the fighting arenas in Baggus were closed and the bars were absolutely no place for a pregnant woman to be. Therefore the only gymnasium in the city seemed to be the obvious place to look.

  Pozer’s Place sat on the corner of Soggy Biscuit Road and Wet Porridge Avenue. A large glass front gave all onlookers viewing access to the vain fitness fanatics inside, running, jumping, cycling, lifting, stepping, stretching and a whole other number of body twisting activities, most that ended up putting you in uncomfortable and unflattering positions. Anyone watching could instantly see the fat (even though none of the clients at the gym were fat, the larger folk of the city were far too intimidated by these ultra slim, ultra fit extremists) sweating away from their hot bodies as they competed against one another to see who could last the longest, often until the other passed out or even passed away.

  Vegora Vrall was currently pumping iron with two of the largest, heaviest looking dumbbells that Charlie Pinwright had ever seen. Usually the sight of so much exercise brought Charlie out in a rash. He was actually already starting to feel itchy.

  “No!” Vrall boomed, his Umfian voice forcing the walls to shudder.

  “We can’t do this without you,” An’ishia pleaded.

  “I Said No,” he growled again.

  He dropped the dumbbells almost squashing Charlie’s head, before storming from the weights room to another area of the gym.

  “What now?” asked Charlie.

  “We follow him,” answered An’ishia. “We are not leaving this sweat fest without him!”

  Chapter 35

  The search for the pink skinned terrorist was of great interest throughout the city. The Baggus Sentry had plastered posters up on nearly every building with Charlie’s pasty face staring out of it. The words WANTED and DEAD OR ALIVE surrounded his gormless mug shot.

  Now hundreds of peaceful, tranquil Baggus civilians had grabbed their pitchforks and flaming sticks, ready for one of the biggest manhunts that the city had ever seen (the actual biggest being a hunt for the rumoured gold in the Nether Regions, south east of the city. Of course, as with most gold rumours, there was nothing there).

  Everyone knew where to look for a terrorist. They would be in:

  a) Some sort of religious building

  b) Some sort of building containing weapons and/or explosives

  c) A Terrorists’ Anonymous group

  No one would ever suspect that a terrorist could be hanging out in a gym with a sexy May’orn Princess and an Umfian Warrior.

  Chapter 36

  Charlie was hot. Charlie was sweating. Charlie had a stitch in his side like someone had impaled him with a sharp bollard.

  The treadmill, created with Umfian keep-fitters in mind, spanned the whole floor of the running room. Therefore a person couldn’t
enter the room without running. Charlie had tried to remain outside where the floor was unremarkably still, but An’ishia had dragged him in, explaining how she thought he could do with losing a few pounds.

  Shocking and a little insulting to hear, but true.

  “I Will Not Help You!” barked Vegora Vrall as his giant legs moved at a steady pace, his skin not even breaking a sweat.

  “It will be to your advantage,” the princess exclaimed. “If you don’t help us then you’ll never know where Greebol is.”

  Upon hearing the name of the scoundrel who captured him, Vrall hit the treadmill controls, forcing the floor to move ever faster, which forced Charlie to wish he was dead.

  The only thing actually keeping Charlie going (other than the fact that the woman he was now beginning to obsess over thought he needed to lose weight) was the fact that he was running behind An’ishia and from his position he had the perfect view of her tight, perfect, round-

  “I Will Find Him Myself!” Vrall shouted, growing impatient of the May’orns refusal to give up.

  “I don’t think you will,” she continued, not swayed by the large, bulky, orange warrior’s angry tone. “You need our help as much as we need yours!”

  “NO!” Vrall hit the cool-down button on the treadmill, forcing the full floor to suddenly stop. Whilst the rest of the exercisers stopped along with it, poor old Charlie Pinwright lost his footing and continued moving at a tremendous speed and crashed face first into An’ishia’s perfect behind.

  He sat for a moment, nose crushed between those sweet cheeks, in a painful, embarrassing, yet enjoyable bliss.

  “Do remove your nose Charlie,” An’ishia whispered. “It is most uncomfortable.”

  Charlie stood up, rubbing his nose and doing his sheep impression. He looked around and saw no sign of the Umfian.

  Charlie sighed. “We follow him again?” he asked already knowing the answer.

  Without a word An’ishia pushed past him towards the changing rooms.

  Chapter 37

  The jail was dark, damp and wet. A variety of neon coloured fungus grew upon the walls, actually providing most of the light. Probably, if eaten, one would become so high that they wouldn’t care if they were faced with the electric chair the next day. Which was probably the reason the fungus was allowed to grow on the walls in the first place.

  Greebol sat on the hard bench with his legs, arms and other arms crossed. A drip from the ceiling splashed on the top of his bald head.

  Obviously this was the first time he had sat inside these cells. In fact they seemed like a second home to him. The majority of profanities scrawled on the walls were written in his hand.

  He remembered the first time he had been thrown in jail. He was six. He had stolen a number of jelly sweets shaped like humorous body parts from a stall in the market place. If he was correct it was this very cell that he had stayed in for three nights, cold and shivering, until someone came to release him. It turned out that the Sentry Superintendent at the time, a particularly nasty Jaal, suffered from bouts of amnesia and had completely forgotten that the young Greebol was still inside the cell.

  The Gumthar moved to the far wall and crouched down on his hands and knees. He fingered one of the bricks gingerly. It moved slightly. It couldn’t be… could it?

  Slowly he pulled out the brick, the gap just the right size for a six year old’s hand. Greebol poked around with one of his fingers and found it! A small, green jelly sweet, shaped slightly like a big toe (at least he thought it was a big toe) although now a little rough and furry around the edges.

  He remembered this one! He had hidden it down the front of his pants and stored it in the wall in case he was forgotten about for another day.

  He popped it in his mouth and began munching happily.

  Bonus!

  At this moment in time, Greebol had no worries. It did not bother him that he was sitting in jail. It didn’t even bother him that he would probably be given the death sentence. Something would work itself out. It always did.

  Besides he had his chewy green jelly toe and free hallucinogenic substances growing on the walls. He was happy.

  Chapter 38

  “If you want me to say please then I’ll say please,” said An’ishia as a trickle of sweat dripped down her full, pert lips. She had to break him. If Vegora Vrall had been anything other than an Umfian she would have used what her mother had given her to persuade him to help. Unfortunately Umfian males only found Umfian females attractive. And possibly hippos.

  “It Is I That Shall Say Please,” Vrall growled. “Please Leave Me Alone!” He threw another cup of water onto the hot coal. Steam rose. The temperature in the small room doubled.

  Charlie Pinwright was not a fan of the heat. He lived in England on Earth so was only used to colder climates. Rain aplenty. In the rare instance that England should ever get a half decent summer, Charlie would remain indoors, for if he spent just a couple of minutes in the sun he began to burn. Lobster red was his summer colour of choice.

  Therefore the current situation Charlie found himself in was one of the more difficult he had faced lately.

  The sauna was hot. Hotter than any Charlie had ever been in back home, not that he had been in many. In fact the only time he could properly remember was when he was a child and a group of bigger children (the same age as him, some younger. Charlie was a small child) had locked him inside one and turned up the heat. Charlie had lost about four stone. It was at this point that he not only developed a fear of heat but also confined spaces. And children.

  Sweat dripped. Breathing was heavy. Skin was itchy. Charlie was very, very uncomfortable. This was partly due to the fact that he still wore his shirt and trousers. In the changing rooms he had been presented, by a large, muscular Gumthar, with a pair of short shorts. Very short shorts. The type that if you made any sort of movement in them, things could pop out that you didn’t want to pop out.

  He took them, as he didn’t want to offend the muscular brute, and headed into the sauna, popping the shorts into a bin as he passed. Now he regretted his decision. He opened the top few buttons of his shirt and gasped. Still he dare not remove it as he would be terribly embarrassed to show off his little portly belly in front of the girl of his dreams.

  An’ishia was wearing a tiny bikini that might as well have been two pieces of dental floss. It was the only thing keeping Charlie from throwing himself onto those hot coals just to get it over with. She looked amazing. Charlie stared as beads of sweat ran down her smooth, green skin, over her voluptuous breasts, down her soft thighs…

  Charlie had to stop himself before he became over excited and made more of a fool of himself than he already had. He chose to look at the Umfian.

  Vegora Vrall wore a towel and a small one at that. His body, bulky and strong, was so large it looked deformed to Charlie. The orange skin didn’t help. In this dim light it gave the appearance of bile. Plus he was heavily scarred. Vegora Vrall must have been in many battles. Charlie imagined Vrall slaying enemy after enemy. He pictured their blood splashing like the beads of his sweat dripping on the floor. He imagined intestines spilling. The hot stench of blood filled his nostrils. His world blurred as he thought of An’ishia and Vrall. Images of battle, blood and sex filled his mind. It was all he could see. The hot room span.

  Charlie passed out.

  Chapter 39

  Trouble was brewing like a hot cup of tea. Rumour of an approaching assault was being stirred. Two spoons of danger. A splash of full fat threat.

  There was of course no proof of said trouble, assault, danger or threat but the people of Baggus seemed to sense it before it arrived. Shops closed early. Parents hurried children inside. Windows and doors were locked. An old drunk swapped vodka for pure bleach. The streets were deserted.

  Through these silent streets only a number of figures still moved.

  Trouble – Giblet stomped, focused and determined.

  Assault – the priests of Beff marched, ready fo
r revenge.

  Danger – the Elves stalked silently, their presence almost unnoticed.

  Threat – X7421a moved quickly and without emotion.

  And somewhere, on top of a large building amongst the three-eyed pigeons, the dragon slept soundly, puffs of smoke drifting from its nostrils as it snored.

  Chapter 40

  Princess An’ishia Xaxer’pax, Vegora Vrall and a somewhat bewildered Charlie Pinwright stood facing Baggus jail. How Charlie had got there he could not remember. It was like waking up after a heavy night drinking and not quite knowing how you got into your bed.

  “How did I get here?” Charlie asked An’ishia in a hushed voice.

  “Vegora Vrall carried you,” she replied.

  Charlie looked up at the large pig-like brute. Vrall winked at him. Charlie shuddered.

  “He’s helping us now?” he asked the Princess quietly.

  “Indeed. I wore him down. I can be very persistent. You would be surprised at how annoying someone saying ‘please, please, please, please, please, please, please’ over and over again can be.”

  They watched as the front door to the jail opened and two Sentry Jail Guards exited, climbed into their hover vehicles and smoothly zoomed away.

  “Besides,” An’ishia continued, “I agreed to hand Greebol over to Vrall when I’m finished with him.”

  Charlie gave the Princess a distraught look. “What will Vrall do with him?”

  “I’ll Rip Off His Head,” the Umfian growled, apparently with more acute hearing than anyone would have guessed.

  The three suns were beginning to set in the sky. The two larger suns bullying out the smaller to duck behind the horizon first. The smaller sun bobbed up and down, desperately trying to find a way to squeeze past the others until eventually giving up and going around them instead.