How to Save the Universe with a Drunk Space Ninja

by Jay Key

  “You done, old timer?”

  “Go on.”

  “We’re here to find someone. Rather, two people.”

  “That’s not all too uncommon on Prime. People are always looking for someone here. What did these two people do? Murder a family member? Steal some cash?”

  “No, we’re not after them in that manner. We’re trying to save them.”

  “Religious missionaries, then, I presume.”

  Ishiro’shea entire body pulsated in silent laughter.

  “No, definitely not. More likely to be a restaurant critic,” Duke replied.

  “Then what? What are you saving these two poor souls from?”

  “They’re on the run and being heavily pursued by a really nasty man.”

  “This planet has a surplus of nasty people.”

  “This isn’t your ordinary gang thug. This is Admiral LePaco. You know that name?”

  The bartender grabbed two more bottles of ale from under the bar. He placed them under Duke and Ishiro’shea’s noses.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of Admiral LePaco,” he snapped. “Who hasn’t? How far from civilized space do you think Prime is?”

  “Well, LePaco is back and now has a pretty impressive force at his fingertips. They’re causing some major problems and trying to take over the universe.”

  “So I’ve heard,” the bartender responded.

  “You have? Great. Then you understand our situation. We were sent here on good intel from a reliable source, suggesting that the two people that we are trying to locate are somewhere on Prime. They’re both from Earth. Probably around your age. Ish, show him the photo.”

  Ishiro’shea pulled out the photograph of his parents and showed the bartender.

  “I’m guessing these are your parents?”

  The ninja retracted the photo.

  “Why would you say that?” asked Duke. “How could you even say that? He has a mask on.”

  “He looks just like them. Let me guess, Earthers. She’s Japanese. He’s Scottish. No wait, Irish. Yeah, definitely Irish. That makes you, well, a very interesting person, huh? Not a lot of Irish and Japanese hugging each other these days, right?”

  The bounty hunters looked at each other.

  “I’ll take it by your silence that I’m right. So why are these two so important?”

  “I’m not sure that’s any of your business,” Duke snapped.

  “Fine, fair enough,” the bartender replied diplomatically. “I learned a long time ago not to press people on this planet. The majority of the time, ignorance is not only bliss but it’s what separates you from a dead you.”

  “We’ve been to almost every bar on Prime and no one knows anything,” said Duke. “We’re hoping that you can change that—and I’d say we’re off to a promising start.”

  “Searching the bars first, smart move.” The bartender raised a bottle of beer. “But I haven’t seen them. I’ve seen Earthers come through, there’s a huge transplant population here. No shock, right? But I haven’t seen these two. Are you sure that you can trust your source?”

  “It hasn’t failed us yet,” replied Duke.

  “It?”

  Duke debated for a moment whether it would be prudent to explain the nature of the astral anomaly produced by the magic orb that the Neprians referred to as the Orb That Controls Everything and Must Be Respected. He decided against it.

  “Yeah, ‘it.’ It’s not into gender identification,” stammered Duke.

  “Right,” replied the bartender.

  He’s not buying that, Duke concluded.

  “If you wholeheartedly trust this source of yours—”

  “We do,” interjected Duke.

  “Right, well if you do, then I can only offer my sincere good luck.”

  “Thanks for the help. And thanks for the local brew. What do I owe you?”

  “On the house.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s been a while since I talked to a Nova Texan.”

  “Free beer for being a novelty?”

  “I’m sorry if that offends you, stranger.”

  “Not at all, I wish every place had that policy.”

  “What’s your name, if you don’t mind me asking? If I see another Nova Texan in my bar, I’ll ask them if they know you.”

  “Duke LaGrange. Adventurer. Trailblazer. Poet. A true man of the universe. They might not know me, but they’ll have heard of me.”

  Ishiro’shea’s eyes rolled back.

  “Is that right?”

  “And this is Ishiro’shea. Of Earth. But you know that.”

  “And he doesn’t speak?” asked the bartender.

  “He can, at least, I think he can. He swore a vow of silence until he’s reunited with his parents.”

  “Honorable. Don’t see that much these days,” the old man stated. He turned to face the ninja. “I really wish that I could help you, my mute friend.”

  It was the first time that the grizzly barkeep seemed somewhat likable.

  Ishiro’shea placed the photo of his parents on the counter and extended his hand over the bar. The bartender shook it.

  “Good luck, Duke LaGrange and Ishiro’shea…” He trailed off as something caught his eye. He picked up the photograph and examined it closely.

  “What is it? Do you recognize them after all?” said Duke, his optimism unguarded.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  The bartender sat the photo down and tapped part of the image of Ishiro’shea’s father.

  “But I know what this is.”

  How did this nameless owner of a ramshackle old bar in an unlit alley on T’ckuvu Prime come to know about Ishiro’shea’s father’s necklace?

  “What what is?” asked Duke, feigning ignorance.

  “The necklace. Or rather the pendant that he’s wearing. Your pops must run with some pretty ritzy crowds, Ishiro’shea.”

  “I don’t understand,” replied Duke.

  “That flash of jewelry right there is as old as this planet. Maybe older. It was stashed away on Earth. Japan, I’m guessing. It was said to be a magic pendant that helped a brave samurai save his peoples back on ancient Earth. No one knows where he got it, or how he got it. I thought it was locked away in some museum vault. But there it is. Unless it’s a replica, of course.”

  “Probably just a replica,” said Duke quickly.

  “It’s priceless.”

  At that moment, before the last syllable in “priceless” was finished, the two native T’ckuvians approached and sat on either side of the bounty hunters. They stood as tall as a Jungafallowian, their shoulders extending above where their head rested. It wasn’t unreasonable to think that the T’ckuvians evolved to meet the planet’s growing need of thugs and street toughs. These guys were big, ugly, and didn’t come across as scholastically-minded types.

  “’Allo there,” the orange T’ckuvian belted. The stench of fermented grain was overwhelming. Did this guy drink the beer or bathe in it?

  “Yeah, ‘allo there from me too,” echoed the purple T’ckuvian. “Where are you twos from? Not from here, I see.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Duke.

  “First off, you don’t look like us. Second, I ain’t never seen ‘ya. Third, and this is the real kicker, you’re drinkin’ in this dump.”

  The orange T’ckuvian cackled wheezily at the purple brute’s joke. The bartender ignored the comment and placed two mugs of ale in front of the locals.

  “I need better clientele,” said the barman.

  “This place isn’t that bad,” countered Duke. “I prefer a nice local dive bar with a set of esteemed and classy regulars.”

  He raised his glass. The T’ckuvians did not reciprocate.

  “My name’s Roller,” said the purple T’ckuvian. “This here’s Noot.”

  “’Allo again,” added Noot. He scratched the tiny patch of straw yellow hair on the top of his head. “Welcome to Prime.”

  “Obliged,” replie
d Duke.

  “Did we hears you sayin’ that you have something priceless that needs findin’?” asked Roller.

  “We didn’t say anything about anything being priceless. My good man here did,” replied Duke, pointing to the bartender.

  “He’s right,” responded the crusty bartender “I did say it. But I’m right. It’s quite an artifact. And to think it could be somewhere on T’ckuvu Prime.”

  The two brutish T’ckuvians exchanged glances and deep-throated laughs.

  “Dare I ask what’s so funny?” Duke queried hesitantly.

  “Artifacts is a fancy word for something that’s fancy,” answered Noot.

  These guys are brilliant.

  “And we love findin’ fancy things,” finished Roller.

  “I see. Well, my new friends, I think we have this one under control. No need for any more investigators,” replied Duke diplomatically. “But we do appreciate your offer to help.”

  The two ogres shared another chuckle.

  “You ain’t hearin’ right, stranger,” began Roller. “We ain’t offerin’ to help you find this thing.”

  “I apologize for the confusion. Boy, do we look silly,” said Duke, raising his glass.

  “What we are doin’, though, is beatin’ you senseless and takin’ that artifact back to the boss for a payday,” finished Roller.

  “Is that so?” Duke said.

  He stood up and drew his laser revolver, but a sharp pain pierced his hand. Then he didn’t feel his gun anymore. The bartender had knocked the pulse pistol out of Duke’s clutches with a bottle of the local beer.

  Ishiro’shea swung at the bartender, but he dodged the strike. The blade stuck momentarily in the shoddy material of the counter. The barkeep whipped his apron off and wrapped it around Ishiro’shea’s head before the ninja could respond. Noot grabbed Ishiro in a vice-like bear hug.

  “No point in squirmin’,” bellowed Noot. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Duke turned around and was met with the purple fist of Roller. He hit the floor with a loud crash. Before he could regain his bearings, he felt the pressure of a giant hand grasping the back of his neck. He was whipped up onto his feet in a flash.

  “Don’t be thinkin’ ‘bout that other gun neither,” threatened Roller. “I won’t be pullin’ my punch if you do.”

  That was him pulling his punch?

  “Take him to the boss then?” asked Roller.

  “I don’t care. Do whatever you want,” replied the bartender. “This is your show, gents, not mine. But leave their weapons here with me, if you don’t mind.”

  Duke looked up at the grizzled barman through an already swelling eye.

  “On second thought, you’re an ass and this bar isn’t a ‘nice local dive,’ it’s a...” Duke struggled for the right insult, but the pain from being coldcocked and his genuine anger at being deceived by the bartender left little room in his brain for creativity. “...place that serves crap beer.”

  The bartender smiled. “I’m sorry to hear that, Duke LaGrange of Nova Texas.”

  Chapter 3

  Hefty and the Booze Man

  “WE’VE SURE BEEN GETTING CAPTURED a lot, little buddy,” Duke noted. “If it’s not a bunch of cave-dwelling Neprian rebels, it’s Psitakki guards at an imperial gala; if it’s not at the Grand Shaman’s party, it’s at a dumpy bar on T’ckuvu Prime by two moronic goons.”

  “You’re the one with your hands tied. So maybe youse are the moronics,” replied Noot.

  “Yeah, we’re the ‘moronics,’” said Duke, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m glad you agree with us,” remarked Roller.

  Two more T’ckuvians entered the room. Both were the same color as Roller.

  “These the two guys with the artifacts?” one asked.

  “They don’t have ‘em but they can help us find ‘em. It’s one of their daddy’s necklaces, and daddy is hangin’ out somewhere on Prime.”

  “How’d we know that?” asked one of the new natives.

  “Sources,” replied Noot. “They’ve got sources. The Booze Man thinks it’s the real deal.”

  The newcomers looked over Roller and Noot; then they turned their attention to Duke and Ishiro’shea. They didn’t seem all that impressed.

  “What’d he say again?”

  “Priceless,” responded Roller, with a slight twinkle in his eye.

  “Good. You follow proper protocol bringin’ these guys in?”

  “Yeah,” began Roller, “we did it like we was told. Bagged their heads ‘till we got here. Tied ‘em up. Didn’t cause any major damage. You can see they’re in one piece.”

  “And you says the Booze Man thought this was a good score?”

  “Yeah, we done told you that,” replied Roller agitatedly.

  “Fine. Let’s go see the boss then.”

  The boss’ quarters were as lavish as one would predict a leader of an underground crime syndicate’s to be; except this was T’ckuvu Prime and there wasn’t anything “underground” about it. At first glance, Duke couldn’t tell if this was part of a private residence or part of a multi-floor commercial campus, but then it hit him.

  Casino.

  Nothing aboveboard happened in the back room of a casino, especially when that casino is located on T’ckuvu Prime. And double-especially when that back room of that casino on T’ckuvu Prime is owned by the extremely wealthy and equally extremely merciless gang boss, Hefty Senchax, leader of the Senchax Crime Syndicate.

  “So you’re Duke LaGrange? I’ve heard of you, ya’ know,” belched the portly crime lord, who was lounging on a burgundy plush velvet sofa. “I thought you’d be bigger.”

  I thought you’d be smaller, the bounty hunter mused. Then again, everyone’s smaller than you, you obese bastard.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Senchax,” he said aloud. “It’s an honor to meet you, though I’m not exactly sure why I’m meeting you.”

  The rotund Senchax attempted to reposition himself on his velvety throne. It was clear that the overweight criminal wasn’t going to fit comfortably in any size chair, save for that of a Mega-Troll, and he needed the sofa to account for his excess girth.

  “According to my associates Noot and Roller here, you may have a lead on a priceless artifact.”

  Duke glanced back to see the T’ckuvian thugs grinning. They seemed to be generally proud of themselves.

  A servant hoisting up a silver platter passed Hefty’s couch. Hefty snatched a few morsels from the carrier, something in a shell. He slurped down most of the contents; the remainder slid over his multiple chins and settled on the front of his dress shirt. Another servant quickly replaced the one hawking the shelled delicacy; this one carried an assortment of skewers sporting a variety of brightly-colored vegetables and fruits from across the galaxy. He picked one of the skewers up with his meaty thumb and index finger and examined it closely. He then tossed it to the side of the room. The server was horrified. Hefty’s fist crashed down on the plate, sending it to the floor. The server sprinted to the back of the room. Before the plate ceased its wobbling, another servant was already on all fours cleaning up the mess.

  Must be watching his food intake, thought Duke.

  Hefty turned his attention back to the bounty hunters. “As I was saying, Noot and Roller claim that you know the whereabouts of something that I might find valuable. And, as much as I trust their infinite wisdom, I also verified this with the Booze Man. It seems that you two may have met him at his fine den of delightful drink.”

  “Yes, we did. Seemed like a nice enough guy at the time. I guess we were wrong.”

  “So tell me about this trinket that’s supposedly worth more than all of my businesses—every one of them entirely legitimate if anyone asks, by the way—put together and multiplied by seven.”

  “We aren’t looking for any thing, we’re looking for two people,” explained Duke. “And I think your informant might have a drinking problem, because whatever he thinks that nec
klace is, it’s not. No way it’s worth that much.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, it’s so.”

  “Why do you think he said that to me, then? Do you think he lied to me?”

  “I’m not saying that,” Duke stuttered.

  “Then what are you saying, Duke LaGrange?” questioned the bulbous boss. “Better yet, how about you tell the Booze Man directly to his face that he’s wrong?”

  A figure stepped from a dimly-lit recess in the far corner of the room.

  “Long time, no see, fellas,” he said, acknowledging the bounty hunters. He respectfully bowed to Hefty Senchax.

  “These guys here tell me that you’re mistaken,” said Hefty. “That this necklace isn’t worth my time and effort. And I should let them just waltz on out of here.”

  “Mr. Senchax, it is up to you if you want them to waltz out of here but I can assure you that the necklace is worth as much as I say it is. The pendant that’s affixed to it is no ordinary pendant. It’s the Heart of Nobunaga.”

  It was obvious that Hefty Senchax and his menagerie of assorted goons had never heard of the Heart of Nobunaga. It was also clear that Duke LaGrange had never heard of the Heart of Nobunaga. It was even more clear that these facts frustrated the Booze Man.

  “Is that good?” asked Hefty.

  “Very. It’s very good, sir. The Heart of Nobunaga belonged to the man responsible for bringing Japan out of certain despair following one of Earth’s great world wars.”

  “Which one was it?” asked Hefty.

  “I’m not sure, I always get numbers thirteen through eighteen confused. Anyways, from the darkness and devastation, Japan rose to prominence, led by a great warrior and leader, Takeo Nobunaga.”

  I think Ishiro’s related to that guy, remembered Duke.

  “Nobunaga had an item—an inexplicable and unimaginable item—that helped him defeat his enemies and rebuild his nation in a new image. Over time, the artifact that aided him was lost, found, lost, found, lost, and eventually faded into legend. Scholars just chalked up Japan’s rise to charismatic leadership and slightly superior weaponry. The Heart was eventually found again. But, under the assumption that it was just a benign piece of metal, it was displayed in a museum as nothing more than a good luck charm.”