When Harry Met Chunglie Box Set

by Jack Q McNeil

  “I’ve seen worse,” she said.

  “Auld Arty said Schemiedan’s got the job of night guard at this warehouse,” Holo-LB said.

  “I remember, I was there when he said it,” the marshal pointed out.

  “She never has got the hang of plot exposition,” I admitted. Schemiedan lay on the bed. Dust lay on everything else. His eyes were open, but he didn’t blink as holo-LB walked over and gave him a shake.

  “Mr Schemiedan,” Isamary said. “I’ve played all your adventures. I am a total fan.”

  Schemiedan continued to find the ceiling fascinating. The false nose carved from the teeth of his enemies, did not move either.

  “This is the Schemiedan?” the marshal asked. “Last Gunman of the Apocalypse? Knight of the Gulled of Orion?”

  “Yep,” holo-LB said. “This is what’s left of him. But he signed that poster for Isamary’s twelfth birthday, so I’ve always been grateful.”

  “I’ve still got that poster, back at my nest,” Isamary blushed and shuffled his feet. “Well, he was a hero to many people before the alcoholism got him.”

  Holo-LB shook the body and poked one staring eyeball.

  “He’s still warm,” he said. “Can’t have been dead long.”

  Schemiedan sat up.

  “Who you? What you doing in my place?” Isamary jumped a metre straight up. Even the marshal looked startled.

  “That gave me a nasty start,” LB admitted. “I thought the old boy was dead.”

  “I am Marshal Harry Ward the 23rd,” the marshal introduced. “And these are my temporary deputies. Are you really a Knight of the Gulled of Orion?”

  “A long time ago. They kicked me out at the finish.”

  “Why gulled, though. Funny word for titled knights.”

  “We don’t talk about that,” Schemiedan said. “But if you meet a six fingered man in a black hat, you just let me know.”

  “Can you tell us anything about Loow Alsh’s finances?” the marshal asked. “He seemed to spend a lot of money, before he died.”

  “Loow’s dead?”

  “You hadn’t heard?” Holo-LB asked. “The news is all over town.”

  “I been sleeping for,” he glanced at the clock. “Two days.”

  Schiemiedan threw his feet off the bed and onto the floor. “How’d he die?”

  “It looks like someone shot him and then tried to make it look like suicide.”

  The ancient warrior stared at his feet for a while.

  “Hello,” the marshal said. “Did you hear me? Loow Alsh is—”

  “I heard... just letting it sink in. There’s something I should tell you, but... damned if I can remember what it is.”

  “Schemiedan was the hero of the Bettel Fuss,” Marshal Harry said. “And a legend to the Turningblue Geggers. He would help us.”

  “I used to be him,” he said. “Lost him in a bottle. Or left him in a pawnshop.”

  There was a valise under the bed, the only clean object in the room. He tapped it with his heel. “Maybe that’s him in there. Should I open it and find out?”

  “Can you tell us anything about this?” Marshal Harry projected the holo-pic of children with a price tax I had sent her, above her palm.

  “Kids.” Schemiedan squinted. “Kids with a price on their heads. That aint right. I told Loow that ain’t right.”

  “You know the link between Loow and these kids?” LB asked. Schemiedan rapped his heel off the valise. His eyes unfocussed.

  “I don’t think we’ll get any help here,” the marshal said to LB. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait, I’m getting something. I told Loow about those kids. Told ‘im it ain’t right. Them smugglers trading in kids. Guess it don’t matter anymore with Loow dead. Damn shame what’s happening to them kids, but.”

  “What’s happening to these kids?” Marshal Harry spun on her heel and waved the holo projection under Schemiedan’s false nose.

  “The Rehd Shirts are trading them for drugs,” he managed. “Loow started buying them and sending them to a safe colony. Shame he didn’t finish the trade. Them kids don’t deserve the kind of life they got coming.”

  “Are you familiar with these Rehd Shirts?” Marshal Harry asked Holo-LB.

  “Yes, but if you are going after those guys, you will need Chunglie, Daisy Tubes and a corp of armed marshals. No word of a lie, those people are armed and vicious.”

  “Gimme a couple days,” Schemiedan said. “I’ll sober up and back your play. For Loow.”

  “No need,” Marshal Harry said. “We will manage.”

  “I got a box of sobriety pills,” Schemiedan announced. “If somebody needed me, I could still sober up. Probably.”

  “Those kids are in a bad place,” LB said. “If someone doesn’t pay off the Rehd Shirts, they will be sold on the open market.”

  “Can you pay the tab?”

  “I don’t have a third of what they are asking,” LB admitted. “Been a hard year. Maybe we could crowd fund this?”

  “The marshal will think of something.”

  “Got a lot of faith in the marshal, don’t you?”

  “Yes, because she has never let me down. Unlike most other people.”

  “Interesting thing you’ve got going here,” LB said, turning the holoprojector off and looking round the office. “Reminds me of my youth.”

  “Eyes front, soldier,” I said. “This gig is mine.”

  CHAPTER 13

  That night I dreamed of swimming in marshmallow. I paddled across a sea of green goo and dived deep.

  “Nebbish up! Chunglie nebbish up!”

  I roused to find I had sleep scurried. Or sleep munched. Big Walter's tail was halfway down my throat.

  “Help,” he yelled.

  “Do you two need some privacy,” Marshal Harry said from the door. “I can pop back later.”

  One advantage of having a voice box riveted to your underside is, you can splutter apologies with your mouth full.

  “Sorry, Big Walter, I was asleep.”

  “So are you going to stop nebbishing me?”

  I saw his point, grabbed four clawfulls and pulled.

  “Well, that took away my appetite,” the marshal said. “But as long as you guys are happy?”

  “Do you have to enjoy my embarrassment so much?” I demanded. “Not only is Big Walter a friend, but I had stuck to vegan for eight weeks straight. That’s a personal record.”

  “Apart from that corned beef sandwich you had for a midnight snack,” she said. “Two weeks ago. The kitchen was a mess.”

  “I have no memory of that,” I said. “I must have been sleepwalking.”

  “Come on, Chunglie. I couldn’t sleep for thinking about those kids. I want to talk to the Rehd Shirts.”

  “Easy, we pay them the last shroom,” I said as I followed the marshal downstairs. “To free the kids. The Mother of All Mothers might let them stay on Smuds, if you ask. She likes you.”

  “We can’t give the traffickers the shroom,” Marshal Harry said, as she took the seat at her desk. Isamary and LB sat on the floor in front of it, so their eyes were almost on a level. I reared my front half to vertical and placed a claw on the desk to steady myself. The claw was stared at by the marshal. She raised an eyebrow. I removed the claw.

  “We cannot hand the shroom over to the Rehd Shirts,” she started over. “Because they do not belong to us. But there’s an open warrant from Azusefulaz 6 for the Rehd Shirts, so we can threaten to hold them here, unless they release the kids. We just need to find where they are keeping the kids?”

  “I can make a call,” LB said.

  “Not surprised you’ve got the Rehd Shirt’s number,” Isamary muttered. “You’ve never been choosy about the people you deal with.”

  “I have had dealings with people who are a little dodgy,” LB admitted. Isamary snorted. “But the Rehd Shirts are a lot dodgy. The only person I know who would deal with them is Grey Malcom. Luckily he owes me a favour so he should take my c
all.”

  “Okay, but put the call through the office system,” Marshal Harry said. “So it is on record.”

  “Ah... Grey Graham is not the sort to say anything on record,” LB pointed out. “Not that we’ve done anything illegal you understand, he is just very careful by nature.”

  Isamary rolled his eyes.

  “Not that old fraud,” he said. “If you believe half of what he claims, he knows every crime lord in the galaxy personally.”

  “He does,” I said. “He’s their fence.”

  The marshal dry washed her face in her hands. “I feel bad enough buying information from Pop and he works cheap. What is a major fence going to want for his information?”

  “I’ve got you covered on that score,” LB said. “Grey Malcom owes me money, and I will write it off for Loow and those kids. Seeing a price tag on them... Schemiedan is right, that’s as wrong as you can get.”

  “Okay, keep the call off the office system, but let us hear it?”

  “That I can do.” LB held up his personal holo-projector and a modern art gif filled the middle of the office. There wasn’t a label, so I couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be. A tall, grey figure with a pointy grey head and large, dark eyes replaced the modern art.

  “Why have aliens never heard of underpants?” the marshal murmured.

  “Good morning, Long Barnacle, Great Grandson of Long the Way, patriarch of Branch Long of the tree Lo—”

  LB held up a hand. “I’m not calling to demand my money back.”

  “You’re not?” Grey Malcom visibly relaxed and looked around the room. “Is that Chunglie?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Where’s my pony, you fourteen clawed bastard?”

  “But I am calling with an urgent proposal,” LB said forcefully. “That will save you money.”

  “Money? Save me a lot of money?”

  “Yes. I find I am in need of an address. We... need an address. We need to know where the Rehd Shirts are keeping a group of Heedyin children. Somewhere in the—”

  Gray Malcom held up a hand: “Got you, and I have that address, the question is, how much?”

  “I was thinking twenty-five percent of—”

  “I was thinking... fifty percent.”

  LB choked. “Fifty? Are you trying to bankrupt me?”

  “Well, if you don’t want that address?” Gray Malcom let that hang for a moment. “It is a very private address. That group only deal with one trader in this city.”

  “Okay,” LB bowed his great head. “Fifty percent it is.”

  “Great. One-nineteen Boule Boulevard.” The hologram vanished, then reappeared. Grey Malcom pointed a long grey finger at me. “Never again.”

  “Abrupt sort of person, isn’t he?” Isamary said, as Grey Malcom vanished.

  “He’s gone this time,” LB said, and pouched his holo-projector before bursting into laughter. “I was afraid he wanted one hundred percent off his bill. And I would have given it to him.”

  “I’m not sure whether to be proud,” Isamary admitted. “Or ashamed here, Dad. You just bartered for a bunch of kid’s lives.”

  “At least now they have a chance of a life,” the marshal said. “You two stay here, Chunglie and I will talk to these people.”

  I perked up. Hopefully this meant she forgave me. What’s one building fire between friends, am I right?

  “You are out-numbered dozens to one,” LB pointed out.

  “Okay, you stay behind me then,” I said to the marshal. She went to her desk, took out her holster and strapped on her gun. I stared in shock. Okay, I don’t have eyelids, so I looked at the gun meaningfully.

  “I’ve had dealings with people traffickers,” the marshal said. “I’m going to talk, but if they shoot, I will shoot back.”

  “Got another gun in there?” LB asked.

  “Dad, what are you doing?”

  “I’m thinking one of my oldest friends died trying to help these kids,” he said, not looking around. “And this old fraud needs to step up.”

  “Me, too then.”

  “Not you,” LB said. “Your mother would never forgive me if something happened to you.”

  “Then not you either. Mum said I was to look after you.”

  LB pronounced his name slowly and distinctly:

  “Long Barnacle. What does the Long mean?”

  “It means you are the patriarch of our branch of the family tree,” Isamary ducked his head. “But you’ve never—”

  “Pulled rank? Well I am now. Stay here and... guard the prisoners.”

  “I’m the marshal here, that’s my line,” Marshal Harry said. She took a gun and holster from the wall cabinet and tossed it to LB. “Come on.”

  Harry led the way to the door, turned at the threshold and said: “Isamary, stay here and guard the prisoners. If we’re not back in a couple of hours, hit that red button over there and someone will come down from orbit to investigate.”

  “Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t die. I’m not ready to be an orphan.”

  “Dying’s the last thing I’ll do,” LB forced a laugh.

  “Not helping. Be careful.”

  The marshal rapped the top of my head as I crossed the threshold.

  “Just remember, this isn’t a western and you’re not Clint Eastwood,” she said. “You stay behind me and I do the talking.”

  “Of course, Marshal Harry. But... who’s Clint Eastwood?”

  “Look him up.”

  CHAPTER 14

  We took my taxi. I looked up Clint Eastwood and downloaded the Man With No Name trilogy into my brain. I enjoyed the music. We climbed down from the taxi in a warehouse area.

  “Can we do one of those scenes where the bodies drop in slow motion?” I asked.

  “No, I told you we are not doing a western.”

  The address we wanted was in a part of a quadrangle of other warehouses. They looked abandoned. The flat roofs had high parapets. I saw movement and my scanners showed metal and heat sources up there.

  “Men on the roofs with guns,” I said. “I’ve counted fourteen, so far. Fifteen... sixteen.”

  There was a cargo container fifty metres from the door but my scanners could not penetrate the walls.

  “So, I’ll leave you guys here,” InyagoM said. “Call me when you’re ready for—”

  “Don’t you move a centimetre,” I told it. “We may want to leave in a hurry.”

  “I want to leave now,” LB admitted.

  “Wish we had brought Daisy Tubes,” I said, as I tracked movement on the roof of the target warehouse. Whatever was in there needed a lot of protection.

  “We’re not here to start a fight,” Marshal Harry said. She looked over the door, spotted the button and rang the bell. “We are here to talk.”

  “But they might start the fight for us, you see?” LB pointed out. He had one hand on the butt of his gun. “What do you suppose is in that cargo container?”

  “Trouble, like a big gun or a lot of guys,” I said. “This kicks off, you take the guys on the roof, I’ll take that container then lay down suppressing fire while the marshal runs for that corner.”

  I pointed over my shoulder with a claw.

  “This kicks off, I’m not running. Besides, once Port Authority impounds the ship, they will need me to release it.”

  I wish I’d given that bit of logic a harder look, I really do. The door was armoured and impenetrable to my sensors. The walls were concrete, and I tracked a figure approaching the door. It was four metres tall and heat signature identified a mammal. The door opened and a huge muzzle poked through the narrow gap.

  “My name is Marshal Ward,” Harry said. “I and my deputies are here to talk to your leader about a serious matter.”

  “We didn’t do it,” the door keeper said.

  “Did not do what, sir?”

  “Whatever you think we did?”

  “Why would you think I think you did anything?”r />
  There was a long pause while the muzzle wrinkled, the tongue licked the lips and nose, which was then scratched industrially with a nail.

  “I’ll get the boss,” he decided. The door closed.

  “I’ve identified fourteen Neshers armed with blast rifles and six Curren,” I said in a whisper. “Ignore the Neshers, they`re hopeless shots. But the Curren are lethal.”

  Curren were three ton reptiles, with no conscience. The adults of both sexes hired out as mercenaries. Nesher were lighter but taller, with shaggy hair and long muzzles filled with teeth. Still, everyone I’ve met has fought an urge to pet Nesher ears. They are that cute.

  “I know,” LB said. “Mind that war I was in? It was against the Curren.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down for me,” I admitted. “The Curren fought in a lot of wars.”

  “It will not come to a gun battle,” Marshal Harry said. She did not sound confident. I had lost my enthusiasm for a fight. We were up against a wall, with no cover, surrounded by a firing squad of experienced gunmen. It would be a short battle.

  “Why is it I can trust you to have my back,” Marshal Harry said, looking round at me. “But I can’t trust you not to burn the street down while I’m away?”

  “At this point,” I said, tracking movement on the roof across the way. “I believe I can promise it won’t happen again.”

  The door opened and an auburn muzzle poked through.

  “Good day, my name is—”

  “Marshal Ward,” a voice growled, all the more impressive because he was speaking Terran without the aid of a translator. “I heard we got a marshal on Smuds now. I also heard my friend Loow is dead. Hope you realise the Rehd Shirts are the last who want him dead, since he has money for us?”

  “I realised that, sir. Since you know my name, may I know yours?”

  “Got a warrant?”

  “No.”

  “Then my name is none of your business.”

  “Would it be Fouler Welch?” LB asked. “There is only one auburn Nesher in the Rehd Shirts.”