Dale Mettam

by The Pub at the Center of the Universe (retail) (epub)

  Kirk gave a satisfied smile. “Casio, switch off the bubble.”

  As he looked down the promenade, there was a slight shimmering effect and then the true sights, the shapes, the geometry and architecture. The sounds ranging from barely audible high-pitched whines to low rumbling tones that he felt in his bones rather than heard. Finally the smells, like a thousand exotic meals being cooked in a garden filled with every conceivable flower, as well as an equal amount of curious scents, some pleasant, some that made him gag, which he’d never encountered before and could compare to nothing from his life on Earth. They hit him, all at once, like a sensory freight train.

  Kirk woke to the potent smell of Southern Fried Chicken. When he opened his eyes, he was convinced he had just experienced some kind of delusional episode likely to require a rapid visit to a doctor and numerous CAT scans.

  He remembered being whisked off Earth and taken to a mysterious space station on a moon orbiting Saturn, but as he looked around, he realized he must have fainted while sitting in his local Southern Fried Chicken franchise.

  He gave a long, relaxed sigh then reached out and took a coated piece of chicken. He savored the delicious aroma and bit in. Seconds later, he spat out the appallingly bad chicken and the smile on his face grew further. Only on Earth could you make something that tasted that bad, and sell it for profit.

  He sank back into the plastic formed seat, closed his eyes and relaxed.

  “Hey! You took a bite of my lunch!”

  Kirk opened his eyes and a slow, all-encompassing dread weighed down on him. It hadn’t been a dream. Lu slid in the booth opposite him and pulled the tray towards herself. She picked up the piece he had taken a bite out of and waved it at him.

  “You want this?”

  Kirk shook his head, no.

  “I can’t say I blame you. I’ve traveled from one side of this universe to the other, and it’s another one of those constants, like baseball.”

  “What is?”

  “Kenturkee Fried Chicken.”

  “You’re telling me that every civilization develops Southern Fried Chicken?”

  “No,” said Lu through a mouthful of lunch.

  “Kenturkee Fried Chicken comes from the planet Kenturk. They have franchises all across the universe. The constant is that no matter where you go, it always tastes terrible. The smell is amazing, and there must be something in the secret blend of twelve herbs and spices that affects the memory, because you never seem to remember just how bad it is before you order again.”

  She took a long gulp of what Kirk assumed was a soda. “Still, when you consider what a chicken is on Kenturk; a whole different thing to what you call a chicken on your planet. Fourteen legs, six pairs of wings and a mean disposition. You really never wondered where all those legs and wings came from?”

  “And everyone who works there is an alien? From Kenturk?” asked Kirk, amazed.

  “Oh no,” said Lu, who had now given up on the chicken and was working on what appeared to be French Fries. “They usually hire locals. Just one in each franchise is an alien.”

  Realization flashed across Kirk’s face. “I always thought that the person behind the counter with the earphones and the little radio was just taking orders for the drive-through. “

  Lu patted Sarge, clipped to her belt. “F.R.B.,” she said.

  She finished her lunch and slid the tray to the side. “You want anything?”

  “No thanks.” Kirk winced. “I’m still feeling queasy from before.”

  Lu smiled. “I told you it was a bad idea. Probably for the best though, as Hyper Luminal Jumps can make you a little sick your first time anyway. So get it all out in one go.”

  Kirk looked worried.

  “It’ll be a piece of cake. Don’t worry,” she said, trying to reassure him. “Listen, I have to go to the little alien’s room and powder my nose. Why don’t you wait for me outside?”

  She slid out of the booth and walked towards the back of the dining area. Kirk looked around, curiously surprised that the same sticky substance he’d seen in all fast food restaurants back on Earth was also present on the floor here, then slid out of the booth and headed for the door.

  Chapter Six

  The Lord High Grand Provost sat on an ornate throne in his audience chamber. Before him, the Lord High Prime Minister was presenting his report.

  “One of my spies has reported that they have dispatched an agent to initiate a rescue of the Y’lem, my Lord,” explained the Prime Minister.

  “And this is a problem, how?”

  “We are not sure. My spies have not been able to deduce the course of the agent’s mission, only that the agent has traveled to a very dangerous world known to us as Pangaea.”

  “Your assessment of their plan?”

  “Given the hostile nature of the world, we can only assume that the agent has gone to contract the services of a mighty warrior to aid the agent in the rescue of the Y’lem.”

  The Provost settled back in his chair and considered this new information.

  “Dispatch your best assassins. The best location to ambush them will be upon their return to Sevres Prime. Station your men there and kill them as they arrive.”

  “As you command, my Lord.”

  Kirk leaned back against the wall outside the Kenturkee Fried Chicken restaurant. He was lost in his own thoughts when Plaach and Toast approached him.

  Toast, the taller of the two by at least a foot, appeared to Kirk fairly true to his actual form. Covered in orange fur and wearing an ill-fitting outfit giving the impression he’d recently escaped from an Arabian nights’ tale, having stolen Al Baba’s wardrobe along the way. He had small beady black eyes and a distinctly pig-like snout. He gave his partner a quick glance then walked straight into Kirk, knocking him sideways.

  “Watch yourself there, buddy!” shouted Plaach.

  Plaach had the fashion sense of a tire company logo Kirk remembered from Earth. His clothing looked like a series of large ribbed bubbling rings that encircled his entire body. Jutting out of the thick collar was a squat half-dome of a head with large watery blue eyes, set in a leathery pale pink skin dotted with what seemed to be large yellow freckles. There was no apparent nose, and a long thin, lipless slit of a mouth.

  Toast turned and glared at Kirk.

  “I don’t like you,” spat Toast.

  “He doesn’t like you,” said Plaach.

  “Er, I have an F.R.B., I understood what he said. You didn’t need to translate,” said Kirk in as helpful a tone as he could manage.

  “I don’t like you either,” said Plaach.

  “I’m sorry about that,” said Kirk.

  “My name’s Toast. I have the death sentence on eight planets,” Toast said.

  “His name’s Toast.” Plaach pointed a thumb at his partner. “He has the death sentence on eight

  planets.”

  “Yeah, I got that, y’ know? When he said it.”

  “I’m Plaach, by the way. I’ve been written up for loitering with intent on three planets myself,” said Plaach with pride.

  “I’ll be careful then. Wouldn’t want to get on either of your bad sides.

  “You’ll be dead!” shouted Toast.

  “You’ll be dead!” said Plaach.

  “OK, look guys. I’ve seen this one. You two are the resident tough guys, and you see me, the obvious fish-out-of-water and decide to have a little fun, but what you guys never seem to pick up on is the old guy, standing right behind me with the laser sword, about to hack off one of your limbs.”

  Plaach and Toast looked curiously over Kirk’s shoulder.

  “No old man,” said Toast.

  “No old...” Plaach began.

  “OK,” said Kirk. “Technically not an old man, bu
t a short woman, with a bad attitude. I know if I were you guys, I certainly wouldn’t want to mess with her.”

  The thugs looked again.

  “No woman.” Toast grinned.

  “No woman,” said Plaach.

  Kirk took a nervous look over his shoulder.

  “No woman?” he gulped.

  As he turned to face Plaach and Toast again, he was met with the clenched fist of Toast swinging towards his head. He managed to avoid the worst of the assault, but the ham-like fist still caught him a

  glancing blow that was enough to send him flying across the promenade.

  Shaking his head, he looked up and saw the ominous duo approaching. They were obviously intent on having some fun at his expense.

  “Casio, can you get Lu out here? I think we have a situation.”

  “You can communicate with her directly, simply state her name and the message you wish to convey...”

  Kirk didn’t catch the rest of the instructions, as he was being lifted from the ground by Toast, who then began to spin Kirk above his head.

  “Put him down!”

  The spinning stopped, and through the waves of nausea, Kirk was aware that Lu was standing several yards away.

  “Beat it and we won’t hurt you when we’re finished here,” snarled Toast.

  “He said...” Plaach began.

  He didn’t finish because at that moment he was knocked unconscious by Lu’s boot. She’d leapt forward and launched a savage kick to the thug’s head. As Plaach crumpled, Lu sprang backwards landing with astounding grace.

  “I said. Put. Him. Down.”

  Toast let go, and Kirk fell heavily to the ground.

  “Big mistake, lady.” Toast grinned.

  He began to walk towards Lu, pulling a fierce-looking knife he had under his jacket.

  Kirk shook his head, clearing his vision enough to see what Toast was reaching for.

  “Lu!” He shouted. “He’s got a knife!”

  Toast, realizing the element of surprise was lost, moved with surprising speed for his size. He was however, still much slower than Lu.

  In one fluid motion she reached inside her jacket and pulled out what appeared to Kirk to be a pistol. Leveling the barrel at the looming Toast, she fired. There was a loud crack, and the muzzle of the gun flashed, sending a beam of light out towards Toast. The charge halted, and for a moment Toast seemed to stop in mid-stride. Then the beam that hit him seemed to grow and surround him. A look of sad resignation flashed across the thug’s face as he burst into millions of atoms contained within the rapidly solidifying field around him.

  As all of Toast’s atoms were sucked tighter, the glow became more tangible, until it seemed that everything was contained in a glass sphere. When the glowing stopped, the sphere dropped to the ground and bounced once, before coming to rest.

  Kirk looked at Lu in terrified amazement.

  “Is he dead?”

  “No,” said Lu, holstering her gun again. “The weapon is a P.R.P.”

  She offered Kirk a hand up.

  “You folks are really keen on your initials aren’t you?”

  She smiled. “Particle Rearrangement pistol.”

  Kirk looked down at the clear sphere sitting beside the unconscious Plaach. Looking closely, he was sure he could see a ghostly version of Toast swimming around in the misty center of the sphere.

  “The idea is that it takes the victim, vaporizes them, dissipates the water content of the body, and leaves the rest in a highly agitated form.”

  “He seemed pretty agitated to begin with.”

  “On a molecular level,” Lu said.

  “You mean like gas?”

  “Exactly. The final thing the pulse does is crystallize the air around the gas and contain all the parts. When your friend comes up for trial, he can be rearranged...”

  “Just add water,” Kirk smiled grimly.

  “Basically. Then he’s as good as new. Or as bad as before.”

  The sound of running footsteps forced Kirk to look away from the now trapped Toast.

  What he assumed were the local police now surrounded them, all aiming P.R.P.s at them.

  Lu reached inside her jacket and slowly withdrew a wallet, which she flipped open.

  “Special Agent Lu Pillah. I’m on official business and cannot be delayed. Who’s in charge here?”

  One of the officers stepped forward. “What happened here, ma’am?”

  “These two assaulted my colleague here. I was compelled to use force to subdue them.”

  “Is there a reward for their capture?” Kirk asked hopefully. He pointed to the sphere. “This one claimed to have a death sentence on several planets.” He pointed to Plaach. “And this one is particularly good at loitering, apparently.”

  “I’ll have to check, sir,” said the officer.

  Lu grabbed Kirk’s arm. “We don’t have time for this. We have a jump booked in a few minutes and if we miss it, we’ll have to wait for another chance and there’s no telling when that could be.”

  Reluctantly Kirk surrendered his ideas of being rewarded for the capture of some of the Universe’s most notorious scum and set off after Lu towards the Hyper Luminal Departure Lounge.

  Inside the Departure Chamber was a small console with openings for what Kirk guessed were eight F.R.B. units. The rest of the room looked cold and dirty, the paint peeling off revealing hard metal underneath.

  Lu took Sarge and slotted him into the first console opening and nodded for Kirk to do the same with Casio.

  When both F.R.B.’s were secure, Lu hit a large orange button on the console.

  “State desired location,” a metallic voice echoed around the room.

  “Sevres Prime,” Lu said.

  “Downloading calculations to F.R.B. units now,” said the voice.

  Kirk looked nervously around the room.

  “So, we travel in this then?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “How do we travel then?” asked Kirk, now growing suspicious.

  “Well, we hitch a ride on a tachyon beam.” Lu looked uncomfortable now. It wasn’t lost on Kirk.

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Well, tachyons travel faster than light, but because they’re on the other side of the speed of light, the rules are reversed, so instead of say, an increase in energy making them go faster, it actually slows them down. All we need to do is create a burst of energy, slow them down and hop on. Easy really.”

  “Where does the burst of energy come from?”

  “Are you familiar with the earth scientist Einstein? He has this equation...”

  “E=MC2?”

  “That’s the one. We need to get that kind of energy to slow down the tachyons.”

  “And just where do we get that energy?”

  “Well...” Lu laughed nervously. “Actually, it’s contained in you. Basically we’re blown up and our mass, the M part of the equation, multiplied by the speed of light, squared, will release enough energy to slow the tachyons. And as we will be reduced to basically highly agitated atoms, we can piggy back a stream of tachyons, across the universe and in a similar explosion at the other end, pop back as we were.”

  Kirk had turned away and was closely examining the door.

  “What are you doing?” Lu asked.

  “Looking for a way out. You never said anything about getting blown up. Brains sucked down my nose is one thing, but blown up...?”

  “Look, it isn’t that bad. I came here this way. Look at me, do I look like it did anything strange to me?”

  Kirk gave her a quick glance then returned his attention to the door. “I didn’t see what you looked like before.”

  “Download complete,” toned a voic
e. “Remove F.R.B units and commence travel.”

  Lu withdrew the F.R.B.’s and offered Casio to Kirk.

  “Look, it’s perfectly safe. You won’t feel a thing, and the journey will be over in seconds. Casio will trigger the energy release...”

  “Explosion!” Kirk corrected.

  “Whatever. Casio will start it. We hitch on the tachyons that have been aimed at our end location. When we reach it, a pulse signal will trigger a second energy release that is stored and taken with us, and we appear just as we were here.”

  Kirk stared at the offered F.R.B. as if it would bite him.

  “I promise.”

  Kirk still didn’t take Casio.

  “Look, I’m under strict instructions to bring you back in one piece. Do you think I would do this if I thought it would risk my mission?”

  Cautiously, Kirk reached out and took the F.R.B.

  “If this hurts...”

  “Casio, Sarge, go!” shouted Lu.

  Before Kirk could do or say anything else there was a blinding flash of light and the room was empty.

  Chapter Seven

  Poultice Charm had been out in the field too long. Being a salesman was fast losing its appeal when your territory was measured in light years. But things weren’t all bad. He had just landed the biggest deal of his life, and he was heading back home to celebrate.

  He now sat in the uniform of the Universal Traveling Sales Representative. He recognized it from having crossed large amounts of universe and having attended many conventions and sales meetings. The curious thing was that it was by no means a required dress code. The salesmen just seemed to gravitate towards the same clothing racks in the stores.

  His suit was a practical fabric. Sturdy and robust, hiding the dirt well. It was admittedly slightly behind the fashion, though still pressed with fresh crisp seams. He wore a necktie, the one area where individuality seemed to rebel in every sales representative. It was pulled tight, but covered a loosened top button on his shirt. Shirt fronts were always immaculate, while armpits, all four in Poultice’s case, were invariably damp and stained, which was why his jacket was rarely removed. This was part of the reason for the stains.