by Greco, J. I.
“I’ve heard enough from you.” Klakraw turned his head-tank towards the science system console. “Barranco! What’s taking so long?”
“Apologies, my warlord,” Dr. Barranco said, not pausing as he entered commands at a keyboard, “but there is some set-up work to do, first. I must upload the database to the Battlerock’s computer, locate the section of ship override codes–”
“Did I ask for details?” Klakraw asked. “Just get on with it.”
Cortez’s fingertip hovered over the subdermal plate, ready to tap out the intricate rhythmic pattern that would start a three-second countdown. She glanced up at Loy. The Junior Officer bit her lower lip and nodded.
Cortez began tapping in the first of the three sets of beats needed to start the countdown.
“In the meantime,” Klakraw said, “let’s have an appetizer. Show me the brig!”
In the middle of the second set of activation beats, Cortez’s finger paused as the forward holoscreen flickered. A high-angle security camera view of a grimy, dirt and blood-streaked brig cell slowly began to resolve out of static. Inside the cell, a bald human and a Drantini were wrapped up together in chairs by memory rubber sheets.
Hackenthrush noticed the camera coming on in the corner of the cell’s ceiling and looked up. “Hey there! You could have least let us out of these chairs before putting us in here, you bastards!”
“Yeah – I’ve got to pee!” Rikki shouted.
Cortez let her hand drop away from her thigh.
“Guards,” Klakraw said, “kill the–”
“Excuse me, my warlord, sir,” Dr. Barranco interrupted. “The database has been transferred to our system and the override codes collated. We are prepared to transmit them now, if you wanted to call in the fleet.”
“I do, I do!” Klakraw’s voice bubbled giddily out of his voice modulator. “We’ll kill the cops in the brig later. Show me space!” he barked.
The holoscreen flickered to display an empty star field. Klakraw raised Cortez’s arm and with a flourish, brought his yellow-nailed gorilla index fingertip down on the “Y”.
TRANSMITTING.
All eyes on the bridge turned to the forward holoscreen. After a moment, ships began blossoming out from nothingness across the star field of empty space, bathed in dissipating translucent fields of green.
There were hundreds of them, Galactic Authority Police ships of all sizes, from small picket patrol ships to lumbering ship-of-the-line dreadnaughts. Fully a third of the GAP’s combined operational fleet, their lights flashing, popped into space around the Battlerock.
Klakraw tossed Cortez’s arm back to her. “All right, listen up – if you’ve got personal holo-recorders, you’re going to want to turn them on, people. History’s about to happen. – Transmit the override codes, Dr. Barranco!”
“What are you waiting for?” Loy gave Cortez a pained look. “Do it.”
“What,” Cortez said, snapping her robomechanical arm back into place on her elbow stump, “and miss the show?”
“You lying b–”
“Sending now,” Dr. Barranco said.
“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Klakraw said, clapping his hands. “Somebody make popcorn. This just cries out for popcorn!”
On the holoscreen, missile ports opening and cannons charging, the police fleet slowly constricted around the Battlerock.
“Excuse me, Dr. Barranco,” Klakraw asked, “but pray tell why are they still coming towards us?”
“I’m sure it’s just a delay in the overrides being recognized, my warlord.” His brow feathers fanned out with concern, Dr. Barranco’s long fingers worked furiously over the science station’s keyboard. “I’ll transmit again just to make sure–”
“Incoming!” yelled the crewman manning the defense console a moment before the automated alert systems kicked in, bathing the bridge in red light and the wail of the emergency klaxon.
All around the police fleet, missiles were being launched. Not at the other police ships, but straight in at the Battlerock.
“Pardon the rudeness, dear Dr. Barranco, but I have to ask…” Klakraw’s electronic voice was calm, his fingertips tapping against the armrests of his throne. “Why aren’t they destroying themselves?”
Dr. Barranco banged on his console. “The codes... they’re not responding to the codes!”
The first of the missiles struck, taking with it the Battlerock’s superluminal field distributor as it exploded. A dozen other missiles struck soon after, taking out weapons turrets, fuel pods, and other vital exterior hard points across the surface of the asteroid.
The Battlerock’s bridge shook, sparks erupting from consoles, panels falling from the ceiling. Igon-2 darted for the arched bridge exit. Seeing this and sensing the inevitable, the bridge crew quickly abandoned their stations, running for the archway – and the life boats in the corridor beyond.
“Come back you disloyal bastards!” Klakraw yelled after them. He turned to his Xenobat honor guard as another round of missiles hit the Battlerock, shaking support girders loose from the bridge’s ceiling. “Bring them back! Make them fight!”
But the Xenobats were already slinking off for the life boats themselves.
“Typical…” Klakraw swiveled his throne around to glare at Cortez. “They’re not the real codes, are they?”
Cortez smiled. “They are not.”
Klakraw swiveled back around, his red eyes glaring at the holoscreen as the fleet of police ships swooped around his Battlerock, rapidly and efficiently crippling it under a steady barrage of beam fire.
Loy stared dumbfounded at Cortez. “What did you know I didn’t?”
“If Holmes and YoYo are aboard, means they came on 8724. Which means Klakraw tested the overrides on 8724.”
“Of course…” Loy said, a smile coming to her lips. “8724’s an old Corbel class rocketship.”
“And they don’t use modern override codes,” Cortez said, the deck rumbling beneath them as another volley struck the Battlerock. “Real or fake – they use the old ID authentication and justification system. All I had to do was show her my badge and explain why commandeering her was needed.”
“So why did the code work then?” Loy asked.
“It didn’t,” Cortez said. “She must have faked it. She knew my mission and probably didn’t want to blow my cover. Smart ship.” Her wrist beeped. “Hold up, that’s probably the fleet commander calling, demanding a surrender.”
Loy smiled at Cortez. “Oh! Can I?”
Cortez rolled her eyes. “Go ahead.”
Loy stepped up to the base of Klakraw’s throne, squared her shoulders, and smiled up at Klakraw. “You’re under arrest.”
FOURTEEN
“You sure?” Cortez asked, leaned up against 8724’s airlock. Both inner and outer hatches were open, the smells and sounds of the Battlerock’s hangar deck wafting through. “You did some nice work back there. I could arrange to have you transferred to a newer ship, one where your talents won’t be wasted.”
“I appreciate the offer, Special Agent Cortez, but my place is here,” 8724 said. “I’m a simple patrol rocketship at core, and I’m happy with that. Besides, someone’s got to look after them.”
“Got an awful high opinion of yourself, don’t you, ship?” Hackenthrush asked, brushing donut crumbs from his uniform lapel as he walked up the corridor towards Cortez.
“Your toupee’s on upside down,” 8724 noted.
“Yeah, right.” Hackenthrush reached up to pat the unruly rug. “Oh…” His face flushed with embarrassment and he quickly took it off, stuffing it away in a back pocket.
“I believe my point is made,” 8724 said.
Cortez chuckled. “All right, suit yourself.” She glanced at the clock in her palm holoflat display. “What’s taking so long?”
Hackenthrush leered at Cortez. “You know, there’s no real reason to rush off with the rest of the GAP fleet. The Halgorians fixed 8724’s rockets, so we can shuttle you to wherever yo
u’re going.”
Cortez shook her head politely. “Someone’s got to pilot the Battlerock back to GAP HQ.”
“But I still owe you that meal.”
“I’m on a no-food diet.”
“Got ya.”
“Oh, good, I’m not too late,” Rikki said, trundling up the corridor in his sleeveless DUPES uniform. He grinned at Cortez. “You’re still here.”
Cortez pushed off the airlock sill. “I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you in that uniform anymore.”
“It’s this, the tux, or my underwear, and I spent enough time stripped down to those lately,” Rikki said. “Anyway, I’m signing up for the DUPES, so I figure it’s okay.”
Hackenthrush’s left eyebrow went up. “You’re what now?”
“Well, thinking about it, anyway,” Rikki said. “It’ll probably take a few months to really come to a firm decision, but I’m leaning that way. More or less. You know, if bead-necklace sales don’t pick up. Or I can’t get a reduction on my rent.”
“Of course,” Cortez said.
“So, what’s up next for you?” Rikki asked her.
“Klakraw’s in custody, but his criminal network is still out there. It won’t take long for them to regroup. Lot of mopping-up to do.”
“Back undercover?” Hackenthrush asked.
“Nah, time for a little more aggressive, headline-grabbing police work. I’ve convinced GAP HQ to repair and retrofit the Battlerock once the trial’s done and let us take it hunting.” Cortez looked past Hackenthrush’s shoulder. “–Finally. You ready to go, partner?”
“I guess I am,” Loy said as she stepped between Hackenthrush and Rikki, duffel bag slung under her shoulder.
Cortez took the duffel from Loy and whistled out the airlock.
Igon came skittering in over the airlock hatch sill on all sixes. Dag had welded the utility robot’s oblong head onto the top of his cylinder where the original bulb head had been. Sparks shot out from his neck as the head swiveled up at Cortez. “You called, dearest?”
“Knock off the dearest stuff, robot,” Cortez said. “Or I’ll rethink getting you probation.”
“Knocking it off, dearest.”
“Here,” Cortez said, dropping Loy’s duffel onto him, “take this and… stow it.”
“Stowing it,” Igon said, struggling to remain standing under the duffel’s weight. Balancing it precariously on his back, he carried it out the airlock.
“Come on,” Cortez said to Loy, stepping into the airlock, “we leave Vei and them unattended too long on the Battlerock no telling what’ll go missing.”
“Be right there.” Loy watched Cortez leave then turned back to look at Rikki and Hackenthrush. “Well, I guess this is it, then.” She glanced up at the ceiling. “8724, it’s been an honor.”
“Likewise, Junior Officer – my apologies – Special Agent Loy.”
“It’s only Acting Special Agent yet, 8724,” Loy said. “Still got to earn it.”
“I have no doubt you will, and in record time.”
Loy blushed, “Thanks.” She drew in a deep breath and smiled at Rikki. “You stay out of trouble, civvy.”
“Not a chance, rookie,” he said with a sniffle, wiping a tear away from the corner of his eye with the back of his paw.
“Ahem,” Hackenthrush said.
Loy extended a hand. “Lieutenant Detective, it’s been… educational.”
Hackenthrush threw his arms wide and gestured at her for a hug. “What, no goodbye kiss?”
Loy snorted, half-exasperated, half-bemused, and gently kissed him on the cheek before bounding out the airlock.
The hum of a tractor beam engaging filled the air.
“Mind your footing,” 8724 said, the deck under them shaking, “And we’re on our way home.”
“Good, good. About time.” Hackenthrush stared at the airlock hatch while it locked, chewing his lower lip. “You know–”
“I know, I’m gonna miss her, too,” Rikki said.
“Um, yeah, sure. But I was gonna say I think I know what’s wrong with the plate game.”
Rikki’s ears pricked up. “Do tell.”
“Instead of throwing the plates, what we should be doing is holding them.” Hackenthrush pantomimed holding a dish in front of his chest. “Nice and steady.”
“They’d definitely be easier to hit if they weren’t moving targets.”
“Exactly. What do you say?”
“I’ll get the rifle.”
“And I’ll get the blindfolds.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
For starts, I need to thank the Wife, Amy, for the always trying task of putting up with me.
And thanks to the indomitable filmmaker and prop-master Rob Lanning of Merninja Productions, who built this completely awesome Ro-Man suit and inspired the physical description of the Warlord Klakraw. If you’re at all a lover of retro movies and pulp sci-fi, do yourself a favor and check out Merninja.com.
And lastly, many thanks to Scotch. This novel would not have been possible without you.
ABOUT J.I.GRECO
J.I.Greco writes hunkered deep underground in a psychic-proof bunker while his wife, son, and indentured cats blithely frolic on the surface above in the future post-apocalyptic wasteland that is southwestern Ohio.
Visit his website at EvilUniverse.com.
FREE EBOOK
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BY J.I.GRECO
Rocketship Patrol
The Zombie Makers
Reprobates of the Wasteland
#1: Take the All-Mart!
#2: We’re Going to War!
Spill
Greed Sloth Arrogance and Shame
COPYRIGHT
Rocketship Patrol is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Evil Universe Book
Published by Evil Universe Media, Cincinnati USA
Copyright © 2012 J.I.Greco. All rights reserved.
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