The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure

by Michael Ronson

  “Some do”, I said with a baffled shrug. We shared a chuckle over the thought.

  “But then every time, your suspicion would return to me and you’d demand that I confess. Or you’d mimic a confession in my voice and insist it came from me. It was an honour to play this game of mental stratagem with a man such as you, Captain. I think Count Beltock would like to thank you too”, he said, pointing to a nearby corner where the Count was standing, holding hands with another dashing young fellow who looked like he was of the rebel caste.

  Carstairs leaned in. “The monarchy has its traditions and… prejudices, unfortunately. After you confronted him about his preferences, our young Count did some serious thinking and now he is happier than he has ever been-with a rebel, of all people. And now that the arranged marriage has been rendered... unfeasible, he is happily ensconced with his beau. Their relationship is another bridge built today. So once again, I must congratulate you. You have a keen eye and a finely tuned gaydar, Captain.”

  I nodded my thanks, hiding my puzzlement. His words were kind, but I knew for a fact that my gaydar was still safely locked within my ship, nestled as it always was on the sensor array.

  I changed the subject. “I hope that it’s not the only bridge we build today”, I said, nodding over to the middle of the room where some people had upended two of the benches to set up negotiating tables for the ad hoc committee that would determine the future of Aplubia. The room was now largely clear, leaving the people with little to do but settle how exactly they were going to fill the power vacuum in the wake of the passing of two queens and the inconvenient presence of an uprising. On one side of the hall, the rebel militia huddled, speckled with servants and sympathizers from the ranks of the palace and its guard. On the other side, the monarchy’s echelons stood arrayed in the squashed regalia of last night’s formal wear, surrounded by guards and loyal servants, exchanging whispers.

  “I don’t know, Captain”, Carstairs replied, “but we shall not be the same. You can see that the revolution unmasked the allegiances of so many people, from the cook to the Count to this humble butler. One cannot simply walk back from that. It is a crucial time, and there are those in line for power, of course, that want to keep it.” He waved a hand over to some of the royals.

  People made their way to the tables-the rebels with Carstairs and Felipe leading the cause, the royalty with some people who I remembered interrogating and partially strangling. As the speechifying began, I let myself out of the door and into the warm morning breeze of Aplubia. I bored of these speeches easily and my usual reaction to politics was punching someone dramatically, so I thought it best to remove myself. In the warm dapple of two suns, I found Funkworthy languishing on a cobbled street, disinterestedly picking at a plate of food.

  “You’ve got too much gravy on that! Want a bit of loaf to soak it up?” Space asked, stretching and smiling wearily as he left the hall. I smiled back up at him.

  “I think I’m fine, sir. I’ve had my fill of breaded goods.” I pointed vaguely over to the hall. “How go the negotiations?”

  “Slow and ponderous like all of these council-type things”, he said and hunkered down beside me. He picked up an intact bottle of wine and, uncorking it with his teeth, took a long swig before passing it to me. “Aplubia maintains”, he toasted.

  “Let’s hope, sir. Let’s hope.” I drank a long, cold swallow and passed the bottle back. “We have given them the finest chance we could.”

  “I don’t know, Funkworthy. I really don’t”, he said, surveying the thoroughly trashed street.

  “Hang that talk, Space! I thought you’d stowed all that crisis of confidence bull”, I warned.

  He smiled tightly back at me. “Oh, don’t fuss, Ebenezer, I’m back from the black. But a fellow has to learn from his adventures. It’s just that I’ve come to wonder whether this space adventuring malarkey is really any of my business. We whizz around, touch down on some crazy orb and then shake it to its very foundation through a series of heart-pounding adventures and deadly double crosses.”

  “That we do”, I agreed.

  “But this time I got in the middle of this stew and for the first time I thought that maybe I-and this might sound silly, but bear with me-maybe I didn’t actually understand it all immediately. Maybe I didn’t know best.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I went at this blasted adventure like I usually do-I attacked some parts of it and identified other parts that I wanted to have sex with-and then I went about it. See where that got us. But maybe if I’d hung back a touch and thought things through-done some research, considered all the angles-then we’d have gone about this a different, maybe even a better way.”

  He sighed and scuffed his feet on the pavement. I wondered if perhaps he had gotten maudlin from the drink, but remembered that when intoxicated, Space usually just started conga lines. No, this was a lingering crisis of his psyche, and it was down to me to pull the fellow out of his nosedive.

  “Maybe you’re right”, I offered.

  “I should be more responsible”, he said through a pout.

  I let the statement hang in the air and made a thoughtful face, watching the clouds pass overhead. I turned to him, as if a happy thought had just occurred to me.

  “So you’re saying that in the future there’ll be less charging into dangerous situations with no heed for the personal safety of either myself or the people you’re shooting at?”

  “That’s what I’m saying”, he agreed glumly, rolling a pebble with his foot.

  I nodded to myself and let a beat go by. “No more erecting statues of yourself in undeveloped caveman worlds so that its people will evolve to worship your graven image as some kind of god?”

  “Well… yes. Yes, I suppose that’s what it means. I’ve turned a corner.”

  “And you’ll be fine with observing the rituals and practices of any peoples we encounter so that in the future there will be no cultural miscommunication that leads to you inadvertently becoming king or marrying an entire harem?”

  Beads of sweat were forming on his brow. He swallowed hard. “… I suppose. Well, I mean….”

  “And the bureaucrats and leaders and politicians that stand in your way? I guess you’ll have to hear them out in the future, instead of interrupting ceremonies when they’re getting boring and nobody’s looking at you. Now that you’ve turned a corner and all.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  I looked at him narrowly.

  “Well. That’s good. I’m glad you’ve matured. We should look in on the happenings of our Aplubian friends about now, shouldn’t we? I mean, instead of sitting out here, drinking and talking about past adventures.”

  “That sounds… diplomatic and responsible”, he said after taking a long glug of wine.

  “Good.” We stood and walked over to the banquet hall doors and leaned inside the doorjamb, peering at the proceedings. The two sides of the debate were making heated points, but, I thought admiringly, were not giving in to the impulse to shout over each other or bring up old grievances. As we watched, I noted that the rebels were being given equal time and were being spoken to respectfully by their former masters. Both sides were putting forward their case for how to build a better system for governing Aplubia after the schism to their system. As a person interested in political philosophy, the ideological back and forth of a people unused to the subject of equality was fascinating. I looked over at Space, who was caught in a paradoxical paroxysm of intense boredom and intense rage.

  “I know it’s hard, but we must let them learn for themselves how to proceed.”

  He let out a strangled murmur.

  “It might seem simple to go in there and take over the meeting and tell everyone how to do it, but that’s the old Space, isn’t it, sir?”

  His face was deepening to an alarming red.

  “It’s not about us, or what we did. We need no credit or attention. We just have to let them gr
ow on their own, and we should just slip out to our next quiet adventure. An adventure of peace and betterment. Isn’t that right, sir? COAR values and all that”, I coaxed.

  He was staring at the speaker, who was talking about the prospective economic landscape of Aplubia under a two-tier electoral system.

  “Isn’t that right, sir?” I asked.

  He didn’t look at me.

  “Isn’t that right… sir?”

  The speaker raised his finger and cut in. His voice sounded out in the hall, high and reedy.

  “I respect your point, sir. But you must understand that the changes that you so quickly propose would, in fact, take a long time to legislate and then be brought to the house committee on-whah! My face!”

  Pow!

  I got sick of that yaffling old snob talking everyone to death, so I stuck my fist in his yapper and he quieted up pretty damned fast. He hit the ground and a second later his toupee covered his snoozing face-a move that may have seemed like luck but which was actually the result of my practice fighting bewigged fellows. The war on Toupee 7 had been a terrible one, but I had honed many skills through it. The bald bore now at my feet had been talking everyone to death, talking a glorious revolution into some godforsaken ‘legislation’, and I wasn’t going to stand there in the new cape I’d made from a curtain and stand for it.

  All the eyes in the room goggled round to where I stood. I restated my case.

  “Pow!” I said and took a pose.

  “Captain! We respect what you have done today but this meeting is very complex-” I turned round to look at the speaker. It was a young woman with fire in her eyes and rising colour in her cheek. I walked over to her, swept her backwards in my arms and frenched her like I was trying to clear a blockage in her throat. When I stood her back up, she dreamily muttered ‘gosh’ and sat back down in her chair, fanning herself. I turned to the court with a swish.

  “Complex, baby? No, this is simple as pi. And pi is simple if you just round it down to three like I do, and that rarely if ever seriously impinges my navigation. No, what we have here is two sides. And we’re going to make them one. No more slave labour, no more whips, no more monarchy or titular heads of state. And absolutely no more assassinations! I’ve had a look at your system the past few days-it’s rubbish!”

  I kicked a goblet out of the way. It looked like, at some point while I was talking, I had made my way up on top of a table. It was usually how these things went, as it was an attention-grabbing spot. The Aplubians all looked at me incredulously. Maybe they wanted to continue their little summit and create more problems that myself and (to a lesser extent) Funkworthy would have to make right with fighting and puns and adventuring, but I was sick and tired of these fartless bastards needing their hands held. I pointed out a finger that swept over the crowd.

  “Now you crazy goddamned aliens might never have heard of democracy, but lucky for you, Captain Space Hardcore is here to learn you and learn you well. Funkworthy! Get over here and give them a quick rundown on the history, pitfalls and solutions of democratic systems throughout time and space. Remember in 2087 when that fellow discovered the formula of how to have a perfect democratic system? Throw that in too. Yes, I know it’s very simple and would take me just a few words to explain now, but you do it. I’m away to find some more of this plonk to toast this new egalitarian society. And if I come back and both sides of this are not signing something or stamping something....” I shook my fist at them and glowered.

  I leapt down from the table to make room for Funkworthy, who was also gaping at me, presumably thinking about how to carry out the little task I had given him. But at that moment I had a thirst for more wine and for freedom. I knew that these Aplubians would furnish me and themselves with both within the hour, or so help me I’d blow some more of them up.

  I saw a nebbish little man leaning in the doorjamb, looking like he’d just arrived. He raised his hand and spoke as I passed by. “Can I point out the irony… of having a democratic system… forced on us through one man and his threats of violence?”

  I wheeled around.

  Frankly, the chap had had my gorge on the rise since he uttered the word ‘irony’. It had always seemed like a coward’s form of humour: sly, hard to follow and lacking in the requisite humorous noises of proper satire.

  “And who the hell are you?” I demanded.

  “I think I should have a vote here!” the man protested.

  “Answer me!”

  The little man looked around the room at everyone and they looked back at him, puzzled. “I’m Chester Lakeland!” he replied.

  It took me a second to track the name down. “The sales consultant?” I asked incredulously.

  “Yes.”

  “The middle class?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose.”

  “And just what the hell have you been doing?”

  “W-what do you mean?”

  “Goddammit, I mean what have you been doing while the Aplubian empire has gone to hell in a hand basket? Royal plots, uprisings, balloon fights-you’re an entire socioeconomic class here and I haven’t seen you say a damn thing about this whole mess. What’s the middle class even for around these parts?!”

  “Well, ah, I don’t think it’s really up to me to-” he bleated.

  “It’s up to all of you! That’s democracy-that’s what we’re here to teach you about. I’ve had it with all of this bleating from the bourgeois middle classes! It’s time to whip this place into shape and that means all of you pulling together as one. That means all of the royalty, the middle class and the underclass. We have to break it all down and make it anew!”

  “Well, I hardly think you can just come in here and cure all of our society’s ills just like that!” the middle class protested. I approached him.

  “Know what I think would cure all of society’s ills?”

  “Pow?” he asked meekly.

  I nodded at him, glad he understood.

  * * *

  Epilogue

  In which things come to an end

  We walked to the ship. It still sat on the crude landing pad, waiting for us to return home to her, gleaming in the moonlight; and unless my senses were deceiving me, it was swaying slightly in the breeze. I had led negotiations and been in charge of several celebratory toasts, and such diplomatic strains were trying to the senses.

  “Well, I think that went well!” I said, tripping slightly over an errant paving slab. I admonished it with a wag of the finger.

  “Indeed. A democratic state established in an afternoon. Not too shabby”, replied Funkworthy admiringly. “A union of the rebel forces and the old guard of the royals that seemed to actually hit it off rather well. Well, not at first, I admit, but as soon as you started cracking open those barrels of wine, things started to get a lot more jovial.”

  “It ish ‘ssential to cut through the red tape and get to the heart of the matter”, I said, raising a finger to the heavens as I imparted this truth.

  “I’m afraid many of the Aplubian line could not keep up with the… negotiations.”

  “Lightweights!” I remonstrated, patting myself down for my keys. “’S like they’ve never been to a revolution before!”

  “I’d venture they haven’t”, he replied before reaching over and drawing my hand over to the pad on the ship and pressing my finger onto it. The system jumped to life and the door whooshed open.

  “Well thass all very well and good and clever, but where are my keys?” I asked, patting down my pockets still.

  “You never had keys, sir”, Ebenezer replied. I laughed at his funny joke; for if I had no keys, what was I searching my pockets for?

  “Still, they stand a chance of making it. Thanks to Captain Space Hardcore and his trusty sidekick Ebenezer Funkworthy”, I let these last words roll out of my lungs at full pelt, and heard their echoes bounce back off the Aplubian mountains.

  “Indeed”, my first mate said before
pausing as something seemed to catch his eye. “Hang about-who’s that?”

  I followed his extended finger and saw a figure racing after us down the long rampart.

  “Do you fancy he’s bringing more wine? Did I leave behind any wine?” I asked.

  “I’d be surprised”, Funkworthy muttered.

  As he approached, it became clear it was the rebel (or should I say elected minister) Felipe, rushing toward us. He caught up to us, panting and bloody due to the many falls that his aforementioned lightweight status had caused him to have. After a second, he pulled himself up and gave us a messy salute. I showed him how it was done, but somehow ended up poking myself in the eye. Ebenezer must have bumped into me, I concluded.

  “At ease!” I barked.

  “Captain! I noticed that the conga you instigated-“

  “And invented!” I reminded him sharply.

  “And invented-served to cover your exit.”

  “Quite. I’m not one for long goodbyes, and besides, I’m feeling a little out of sorts tonight. Everything’s a little… spinny. Something I ate probably. So I feel I might retire to the stars and leave your fledgling democracy in your own hands, as is the proper thing to do and such and so forth hence. Ergo.”

  Felipe nodded his one-eyed head. “Well, you may do as you please, naturally, Captain, and I know that our little planet of Aplubia has little to offer a man of means, but we agreed that we must furnish you with some token of thanks for the great thing you have done.”

  “’S it a kebab? I could murder a kebab!” I asked urgently.

  “No. I’m afraid it is not a kebab. You see, we do get some small trade through our ports, so the higher ups do actually possess some of what could modestly be considered up-to-date technology. We noticed that you had to destroy your pistol in the confrontation with the Queen, so....” He took his hand out from behind his back and produced a shiny L-36 M-cyclonic Blastmaster, complete with a new holster. “I thought this might be an appropriate leaving present.”