When Harry Met Chunglie Box Set

by Jack Q McNeil

  “I’m not in the mood tonight, lover,” I said as she hit the floor. I checked the flegmatic pistol was on stun and climbed onto her back.

  “Most of you know me, so tell the ones that don’t. I am pissed off and not in the mood for this shit. Knock it off.”

  The stillness formed near me and spread across the room. As legs and claws were lowered, I spotted a five ton mammal, of all things, being held down by two beetle-forms.

  “What’s this all about?” I called. “Is that you, Tulipbottom?”

  The larger beetle-form raised herself and looked round. She was the owner of Sid’s.

  “Deputy Marshal Chunglie?” Tulipbottom said. It’s like this, a lot of insects communicate in pheromones, so you can’t expect them to be called Dave. “Help. This... I don’t know what this is, but it wandered in here and started eating people.”

  It had a long tubular snout and tongue. I ran the Marshal Service sentient species identity program and found zero matches.

  “Even the Marshal Service have never run into one of these,” I said. “Stand clear, I’ll stun it and drop it in a cell. Maybe someone will claim it in the morning.”

  Someone shot me. The pain of having your seventh segment stunned has to be experienced to be believed. I pulled the duckfoot pistol but had nowhere to aim. Another shot took down Tulipbottom, and the troublemaker reared up, lashed out and grabbed her body with its tongue. I shot it. It screamed, I shot it again. It went down.

  Shots rained down, dropping the surrounding people. I realised the gunmen were among the roof beams, raised the duckfoot. Another shot caught three of my legs and I dropped the pistol. I was going down in a gunfight, shot in the butt.

  “Hope this doesn’t make the history books,” I said. “This is too embarrassing.”

  A shadow moved in the rafters and I caught it with the flegmatic pistols. A Rehd Shirt fell to the floor. There was froth round the muzzle, and a shadrifle strapped to its shoulder. It sank in that they were shooting me with stun beams. They were trying to take me alive.

  A tall figure stepped through the doors. It wore an ankle length black coat, black hat and had a brace of pistols belted to its hips. I didn’t recognise it until I spotted the artificial nose carved from the teeth of his enemies.

  “Ring the bell, school is in,” Schemiedan declared, drew and fired. Bodies dropped like flies. Except this was an insect bar, and that phrase is not PC. Besides, they had already shot most of the barflies in the crossfire. A furry body fell from the rafters and squished the mantis-form to yellow goo. I tried to feel sorry about that, I really did.

  Doc trotted through the door, shooting. She knelt beside my head and I wondered if this was rescue or payback.

  “Long time since you was laid at my feet, huh?” the smart arse said.

  “I am so not in the mood for your half-witted comments.” I would have replied with dignity, but my voice box made a hissing sound. I turned it off and turned it on again.

  “Take a nine count,” Doc said. “Me and Schemiedan have got this.”

  Two more bodies hit the ground. They were the only warm blooded, furry bodies in the room. Only now did I realise this was about the marshal. There was no way they were going to all this trouble for a deputy. I dragged myself towards the door.

  “Where you going, lover?” Doc asked, her eyes lit by gunfire.

  “Got to find Marshal Harry,” I said. “This lot must be after her.”

  “We’ll come with you,” Schemiedan said. He stood tall and straight, with a sword strapped to his back. That I recognised as the regalia of a Knight of the Gulled of Orion. “This fight is over.”

  “What’s with the clothes and the sword?” I asked. “I thought only humans wore clothes?”

  “These are the burial robes of a Knight of Orion,” Schemiedan said. “I’m in this fight to the death. Bury me where I fall.”

  “Happy thought,” I said. “Try to stay alive until we find Marshal Harry.”

  “Will do. I started this project with Loow Alsh, and in his memory, I aim to free those kids or die trying.”

  “And I’m coming along because he’s my patient,” Doc said, pointing a finger at Schemiedan. “And watching you get shot never gets old.”

  “Thank you, Doc,” I said. “When this is over, we need to have that talk.”

  “What talk?”

  “That serious talk we were always going to have.”

  “Oh, that talk.”

  I pulled myself into the street. The place was empty. People had run for cover. I moved quietly through the deep shadows. Every sensible man was in cover, behind a gun tonight. Isamary ran up the middle of the street, saw us, ran over shouting.

  “They grabbed my dad and I can’t find Marshal Harry, but everyone in that bar she went to has been shot!”

  “Dead or stunned,” I asked. I would have been holding my breath, if I had lungs.

  “Hard stunned. They look hurt bad, most of them. They shot my dad. He stood in front of me, I don’t know how many hits he took.” Isamary grabbed my front claws and yanked me towards his face. “You have to save my dad.”

  I waited for the pain to ebb. It didn’t, so I ignored it.

  “Carry me back to the office,” I said. “Fouler Welch will want to get in touch, he will call there.”

  “Okay,” Isamary dropped me, spun on his butt and strode off.

  I turned up the volume on my voice box to eleven: “Stop. Turn around, come back here.”

  I had learned the value of precise instructions from watching the marshal. Isamary stopped, spun and marched back.

  “What is it?”

  “I’ve lost the use of nine limbs and my seventh segment, I need you to carry me to the office.”

  “Me? How?” Isamary said, looking over my long body.

  “Turn round.”

  “Oh no,” Isamary turned and hunched. I grabbed hold where I could with my remaining limbs and climbed up. The big baby shivered.

  “What happened to that great warrior race?” Doc asked, grinning.

  “It’s all over for the Moordenaap,” Schemiedan said. “They were great fighters, back in the day.”

  “Schemiedan, I appreciate you saving my tail back there, but if you’re going to be this miserable, you can go home.”

  “I’d rather stay here and die like a man.” He pulled his face into a grin. I gave him points for showing willing.

  “Okay, Isamary, get me to the office. We’ll find out where the Rehd Shirts are keeping the marshal and Long Barnacle. Then we get them back.... Old School style.”

  CHAPTER 17

  Isamary dragged me through the door and let me down gently.

  “What’s happening out there?” Capolamp31 yelled from her cell. “We were live streaming the bar fights when the wifi went down.”

  “There were fights in the Tooyr bar and Sid’s—”

  “Let us out and we’ll back your play,” Capolamp31 offered.

  “Then the Rehd Shirts kidnapped the marshal and LB.”

  “We’re happy where we are,” Capolamp31 said.

  “No one was asking you anyway,” I called back. “Doc, can I trust you to watch my back?”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” she said. “Loow was my friend, and those kids were important to him. I’m ready to help.”

  I slipped Trembling Bob from its holster and placed it in a drawer of the marshal’s desk. The trembling increased.

  “Of course I want to take you,” I whispered. “But you’ll blast down the whole building and I need the marshal alive. I know you’re worried about her. Keep cool and I’ll get you a saucer of milk.”

  “You talk to your guns?” Schemiedan was behind me. Damn he moved quietly since he sobered up. I pulled the bottom drawer, found the pain medication in the first aid kit and tossed the sealed packet down my throat.

  “Only Trembling Bob,” I admitted. “It is nearly alive, and it likes the marshal.”

  The incoming message alarm acti
vated. The marshal had set it to Brahm’s Lullaby. It’s loud enough to be heard upstairs. Schemiedan clapped his hands over his ears.

  “I’m having a flashback here,” he said.

  “Then do it quietly,” I said. How a child’s lullaby could give a guy flashbacks, worried me. “Where’s Isamary?”

  Schemiedan shrugged. I turned on the communicator. Fouler Welch’s hologram was his head, growling. The teeth were larger than life.

  “That’s even uglier than the real you,” I said.

  “Shut your hole, Bug. I’m talking and you will listen. You want to see your partner alive, you will release our ship- now.”

  “I can do that,” I lied, only the marshal could. “But first I want proof of life.”

  “Proof of life where? You can look out a window or something for—”

  “I want proof the marshal and Long Barnacle are alive.”

  “You want two back? For one ship? I don’t think so. You get both back when we get the ship and our payment for these kids.”

  Doc leapt in front of me. “Is that all you want, or will we throw in the deeds to Port City?”

  Fouler Welch laughed. I felt the need to shoot him, a lot.

  “You get nothing until I see Marshal Harry is alive,” I said.

  The camera flicked and Marshal Harry was on the floor of the office. Her hands and ankles tied and a bag over her head. The POV moved, and I realised we were seeing through Fouler Welch’s eyes. I started the trace app running.

  “Harry? Can you hold up two fingers?” I asked. The marshal waved a hand, and the required number of digits.

  “They’ve not just broken the law,” she said. “They’ve broken the system.”

  “Shut up.” A Nesher back handed her, she slid across the floor.

  “Right, that’s all you’re getting until—”

  “What’s that guy’s name?” I asked. “I want to have the grave marker ready.”

  “You are funny, Bug,” Fouler Welch laughed. “You got an hour to sort out the release of our ship.”

  “No, you have thirty minutes to release Harry,” I said. “Or I blow up your ship.”

  “You what?” The POV changed, Fouler had grabbed one of his guys by the throat and was using him as a camera. The choking sounds were quite loud. “You would not dare! You are an—”

  “Marshal Harry is the officer of the law. She keeps telling me I have a dodgy sense of right and wrong,” A snort came from the background. “Without her, there is no one to stop me holding a bonfire in your engine room.”

  “Port Authority will—”

  The tracer readout projected directly into my brain. I knew where Fouler Welch was, and Harry.

  “I don’t care what Port Authority does, I hate that damn computer. Thirty minutes.” I cut the feed. “They’re holding Harry at their warehouse. We better get out of here before they attack again. Where is Isamary?”

  I called my taxi. Told him I would release his bond after this one last trip. InyagoM arrived thirty seconds later, and as we climbed on, Isamary returned at a run, out of breath with Daisy Tubes rolling along behind him.

  “What the hell is that?” Schemiedan pointed to the contraption strapped to Isamary’s back.

  “This is my father’s gun,” Isamary said. “My grandfather used it at the fall of Spruce. My great grandmother carried it at the battle of Weemsby. Many towel knappers were burned that day. Today, I will get my father back. But since I’ve never used this thing before, I also brought Daisy.”

  “Okay, let’s go get killed,” Schemiedan said, and climbed into the taxi.

  “I don’t want to get killed,” Isamary pointed out. “I just want my dad back in one piece.”

  “We can do that too,” I said confidently.

  CHAPTER 18

  I’ve always been over confident. It’s my one flaw.

  “I count fifteen guys on that roof,” Doc pointed. “Ten guys on that roof, and—”

  “There is an anti-aircraft weapon inside that cargo container,” Daisy Tubes said.

  “Had my suspicions about that,” I said.

  “And another one behind that shutter over there.” She pointed at a warehouse with a clear line of fire for the whole quadrangle.

  “Okay, I missed that one.” But it made sense. Any assault to the Rehd Shirts’ front door would be caught in a lethal crossfire. Over the centuries, people have pointed out other perceived flaws of mine, but I turned those into hobbies. Over confidence is the one that keeps getting me into trouble.

  “So what’s the plan?” Doc asked.

  “I was planning to kick in the front door,” I said. I brought up my cyber console and scanned the front of the building. “There’s eight guys standing behind the door, with guns.”

  Isamary moaned and slumped against the wall we were using for cover.

  “My worry is,” Schemiedan said, “what will stop the Rehd Shirts shooting the marshal and Long Barnacle once we kick in their door? Those guys are not known for playing fair.”

  “We don’t have to worry about that,” I said. “By now the marshal knows we’re coming, so she will have dislocated her thumb—”

  “Ew, that has to hurt.”

  “Slipped from her bonds and loosened the ties on her ankles. When the shooting starts, she will be ready to move.”

  “Good to know,” Schemiedan said. “So how do we get in without getting blasted to pieces?”

  “You and Doc take the taxi up, land on the roof at my signal and shoot your way in. Isamary, Daisy and I will make our own door.”

  “What will I do?” Isamary asked.

  “Stay here, cover our retreat,” I tried, for LB’s sake.

  “No.” Isamary decided. “I’m coming with you.”

  “What’s the signal?” Schemiedan asked.

  “You don’t need to ask,” Doc predicted. “When Chunglie makes a door, we’ll hear it.”

  I led the way along an alley, following the building we were using for cover. Isamary had questions.

  “Why are we making a door? I mean, there must be a fire door or something?”

  “Which the Rehd Shirts will have guards on. So we make our own door and shoot the guards in the back when they’re not looking.”

  “I thought battle would be more honourable, somehow.”

  “The winners make the rules, kid.” We arrived at another alley, I scanned for soldiers, traps or scanners, found none and trotted along. I didn’t like having a flat roof on either side of me, it was too easy for someone to hide from my scanners. Across from our cover warehouse was another warehouse. It was the same grey oblong block as all the rest, so I checked my internal map and satnav; lines and arrows displayed across my vision.

  “Can we get on with this?” Isamary said, shifting from foot to foot.

  “Give me a minute, I’m making sure we are shooting our way into the right warehouse.”

  “There are armed men on the roof,” Daisy pointed a claw. A head passed along the parapet.

  “Okay, we’ve got the right one,” I admitted. The wall crossed our road, creating a T junction, with a narrow alley going left and right. I peeked left, there were three warbots patrolling. Stubby, low to the ground and armed with duel anti-aircraft weapons. I peeked right, there were three warbots patrolling. I ducked back.

  “Someone liked symmetry. Right, the plan is... we go back and find another way in.”

  Shooting lit up the night. I jogged back a bit and raised my front half; the guys on the roof were pouring fire into the sky.

  “I wouldn’t like their ammunition bill,” I said.

  “They must have spotted the taxi,” Isamary said.

  “Daisy, drop those guys, Isamary follow me and shoot right, I’ll take the warbots on the left.”

  “Right. Is now a good time to mention I have never fired this thing?”

  “Just shoot and hope,” I drew all my weapons and stepped into the alley. The pistols could not penetrate the warbot’s armour, but
I targeted their sensor clusters and fired.

  “My vision is impaired, I cannot see,” the nearest one declared. Killer war machines always tell you their problems, no one knows why.

  “That’s the plan,” I said, and shot it with Old Number Seven. A hole burst in its hull and tossed it backwards. The other two chewed holes in the walls with their weapons, complaining that they couldn’t see either. Isamary hit the walls, the sky and the ground. I dropped my two and spun. The three warbots had reversed the length of the alley and taken cover. I grabbed the boy and stepped back as they returned fire.

  “We are under attack! We are under attack!” they declared.

  “We know,” I shouted back.

  “I can’t believe that bunch of whingers replaced me,” Daisy said.

  “See that wall?” I grabbed Isamary and faced him the right way.

  “Yes?”

  “Shoot a hole in it and dive through.”

  “The warbots I missed will shoot me.”

  “No, because they will be shooting at me,” I said, poked Pistol Pete out and fired. I followed up with the flegmatic pistols.

  “My vision is damaged, I cannot see!” Came from the far end of the alley.

  “The survivors on the roof have retreated,” Daisy said. “My weapons will not damage warbots.”

  Isamary fired. His grandmother’s gun blew a thousand holes in the wall, but they did not join up.

  “Close enough,” Daisy said, and charged across the alley. The wall held, shots bounced off her armour then it gave and Daisy disappeared in a cloud of bits. Shots blew chunks out of the corner I was sheltering behind. I pulled my duckfoot pistol. It shoots five beams at once. None powerful enough to put down a warbot.

  “Ready? When I shoot, you run,” I shouted over the noise of masonry being turned into gravel. Isamary nodded. The boy looked pale for a Moordenaap. I fired and swished the beams around.

  “My vision is damaged, I cannot see.”

  “Go!” I shouted. Isamary ran, I lunged, raised Old Number Seven and fired. A turret blasted into the air. I lunged through the hole, tripped and my front segment fell over a body. My claws caught in fur. I waved my antennae- it wasn’t Isamary. My infrared vision showed a hole in the inner wall, I slipped through, keeping low.