“Yes. It does.” Tom glared at his nemesis. “What are you doing here, Jeff?”
“I’m here for the arbitration.” Conundrum jerked one fat thumb at the space alien sitting at the head of the conference table. “Conundrum & Company has been hired to represent Goreblog the Death-Slayer.”
The space monsters seated around the table were all massive piles of steroid-enhanced muscle, armored plates, and tentacles, but Goreblog was by far the biggest. The Horde King was sitting, but still towered several feet over Tom’s average height. Every inch of his purple torso had been tattooed with images of his dark god, Garfield the Cat, and various scenes of Garfield engaging in acts of violence and depravity. Goreblog the Death-Slayer stopped absently scratching his back with a running chainsaw, long enough to nod his spiked helmet toward Tom.
“’Sup?”
“Mr. Goreblog,” Tom said politely. “Your fleet has invaded Earth 345-B-98081 and committed a series of atrocities, including trespassing, vandalism, genocide, and the indiscriminate playing of Insane Clown Posse music in public at extremely high volume. This dimension is covered by Stranger & Stranger. This is a violation of–”
“Hey, whoa there, Stranger in a Strange Land,” Conundrum said, holding up one bloated hand. “Save it for the Arbiter.”
Tom resisted the urge to blast Conundrum through the bulkhead. “Very well.”
Conundrum laughed. “What did I tell you, Goreblog? Doctor Strangelove here is all business, all the time.” He reached up and slapped the massive Horde King on the back. Goreblog growled and Conundrum stepped back. Jimmy the Intern huddled behind Tom’s legs.
“Mr. Stranger?” Jimmy’s voice was meek. “I don’t feel so good.”
“That’s probably because of the sub-optimal gravity created by this ship’s rotation, and the fact that my scans are showing you possess a blood alcohol level sufficient to incapacitate an adult water buffalo.”
“I’d offer you some refreshment, but you don’t take candy from Strangers! Har! Am I right? Get it?” Conundrum asked Goreblog, but the alien clearly didn’t get it. “Never mind. Have a seat, Tom.”
Tom Stranger sighed and pulled up a chair.
Conundrum tried to make small talk. “So, Tom, how is your home world?”
“Totaled.”
“Oh . . . That’s right. Forgot. Sorry about that.”
The Arbiter arrived a few minutes later. Interdimensional Insurance Agents never knew which Galactic Arbiter would be assigned to their claim, only that they would always be fair, their judgment wise, and their justice swift. Tom had worked with this particular one before.
“All rise,” grunted the alien serving as the bailiff. Everyone did so, including Goreblog, who had to duck to keep from impaling his helmet spikes into the ceiling. “The honorable Chuck Norris of Earth 872-Round-House-Kick presiding.”
“Holy crap, it’s Walker, Texas Ranger!” Jimmy cried. Tom kicked Jimmy where he’d been hiding under the table. You didn’t want to upset a man so incredibly awesome that they’d renamed his home planet after one of his karate moves.
The Arbiter scowled, took off his cowboy hat, and took a seat at the head of the table. “Gentlemen, this is cutting into my Total Gym time, so let’s make this quick. What seems to be the issue?”
Tom Stranger cleared his throat as he activated his holographic display. “The Horde has invaded this dimension without provocation. My client planet needs them to leave immediately and seeks damages for th—”
“Easy there, Strangers in the night, exchanging glances,” Jeff Conundrum interrupted. “This dimension clearly provoked my client. They were just begging for Goreblog’s unholy wrath.”
“Is that true?” Chuck Norris asked. “And I warn you, Mr. Goreblog, I eat space mutants for breakfast. Literally. In fact, I had one on my waffles this morning, so do not test my patience.”
Goreblog reached one purple tentacle inside his armored carapace and removed a single Polaroid photo. Chuck Norris took the picture, studied it for a moment, then passed it to Tom Stranger without comment. The picture showed a white fence with the words Space Monsters r teh suck and lame spray-painted on it.
“As you can clearly see, teenagers from this dimension defaced Mr. Goreblog’s fence. He had no choice but to destroy their entire planet in reprisal.” Jeff Conundrum stuck his thumbs through his neon glowing suspenders. “Ergo, all the damages from this invasion are not Mr. Goreblog’s fault. In addition, his mental anguish and suffering from this vandalism requires compensation.”
“The Horde already ate Europe,” Tom said.
“I’m still feeling peckish,” Goreblog grumbled.
Chuck Norris stroked his manly beard thoughtfully. “I’m afraid Conundrum’s got a point, Mr. Stranger. Sounds like your client started it, and as galactic law clearly states, don’t start shit if you can’t finish it.” Much of the galactic code of laws had been based upon the Planet of Texas.
But Tom Stranger hadn’t been given the award for best customer service for three years in a row for nothing. He flipped the photo over to hide it from view. “So, Mr. Goreblog. This fence of yours that was defaced, what kind was it?”
The Horde leader swiveled his multitude of eyes over and looked to Jeff Conundrum in confusion. Conundrum seemed surprised at this development. “What’s that got to do with it?”
“Answer the question,” Chuck Norris ordered.
Goreblog looked back at Tom Stranger. “Uhhh . . . pokey with stabby spikes?” Tom shook his head. “Uhm, does it have skulls on it?” Tom shook his head again. “Metal with razors and land mines?”
“Three strikes,” Tom made a tsk-tsk noise as he passed the photo over to Chuck Norris. “And no touchdown.”
“That not how sports work, man,” Jimmy whispered from under the table.
The Arbiter took one look at the photo and frowned. “That is clearly a vinyl fence, Mr. Goreblog. This photo is staged. Did you just try to fabricate evidence during my arbitration?”
“I didn’t know anything about this, your Awesomeness!” Conundrum begged.
Chuck Norris slammed his fist into the table, because only a wuss needed a gavel. “I haven’t been this offended since Jade Helm. I find in favor of Stranger & Stranger’s claim. The Horde of Righteous Purification needs to pay for all the damages, pain and suffering compensation, and return to their own dimension immediately. Arbitration is adjourned.”
“ENOUGH!” Goreblog rose, grabbed the conference table and flipped it across the room, revealing Jimmy the Intern, who screamed and crawled under Chuck Norris’ chair. “Foolish humans, Goreblog has no fence! I swear on the soulless void of Arbuckle that you will feel the wrath of Goreblog! ATTACK!”
Tom’s targeting eye scanned the forty enraged Horde monsters and then the structure of the spacecraft itself. “I’d suggest keeping small arms fire and energy weapons usage to a minimum,” he said to Chuck Norris. “Or this whole place will come apart.”
“Fine.” Chuck Norris stood and cracked his knuckles. “I haven’t face-punched anything to death yet today anyway, and it’s almost lunch.” Chuck and Tom stood back to back as the slavering mutants surrounded them. “What about your friend?”
Tom looked to where Jimmy the Intern had assumed the fetal position on the floor and had begun sucking his thumb and rocking back and forth. “Please, try not to trip over him, Mr. Norris. He’s new.”
The Horde attacked in a screaming wave of tentacles, meat cleavers, and ’roid rage. Tom pulled one of his cufflinks off and threw it to the deck, where it exploded into a cloud of nanobots. The microscopic robots immediately began to devour the first rank of enemies. Tom leapt through the purple cloud of dissolving tissue and melting bones, and landed in their midst, where he really got down to business. Tom Stranger moved faster than their many eyes could follow, striking with surgical accuracy and superhuman strength, each blow of his hardened fists sending an opponent flying.
Meanwhile, Chuck Norris had responded with sh
eer badassitude. Tom looked up from decapitating an alien with a length of monomolecular wire to see Chuck Norris round-house kick Goreblog’s head entirely through his own torso and out his rectum, literally turning the Horde King inside out. Tom’s encyclopedic knowledge of biology had not considered that possible. He automatically updated the Chuck Norris Wiki on his infolink.
They had been outnumbered twenty to one—13.333 to one if you counted Jimmy, which Tom did not, since Jimmy had spent the entirety of the battle being kicked back and forth like a fleshy soccer ball—but it was over in seconds. Tom dispatched his final opponent by chopping its head off with the reinforced edge of his hand.
The mother ship shuddered as a drop ship launched from the dock. Tom watched out the window as Jeff Conundrum escaped. “We’ll meet again, Conundrum,” he promised.
Chuck Norris dusted off his jeans. “I got alien on my boots. I think they’re ruined,” he stated flatly, then spotted Goreblog’s corpse and cheered up. “I think I’ll skin that big purple fella there, make me a new pair. Thanks for the assist, Stranger.”
“Always a pleasure, Mr. Norris,” Tom said happily, moving aside as a purple torso fell from the ceiling and splattered on the floor. “Will that be all, then?”
“Don’t forget him,” Chuck Norris said, pointing at Jimmy. “I think he wet himself. Sheesh. These kids today. Back when I got into Interdimensional Insurance you had to have guts.”
“It is truly sad, Mr. Norris. Good day.” Tom Stranger grabbed Jimmy by one foot and dragged the incoherent intern down the passageway.
Jimmy’s crazed babblings struck a chord and Tom had a sudden thought. Since he’d been given this intern by accident that meant Stranger & Stranger’s proper intern had been accidently sent to work in a call center. A proper Interdimensional Insurance Agent Intern had to be a scholar and a warrior. The thought of somebody with so much potential being chained to the soul-crushing abyss of a call center filled Tom with dread. He dragged Jimmy faster.
“Ow, hey! Dude!” Jimmy shouted as Tom tossed him through the airlock. “What’s the dealio?”
Tom Stranger did not know what a “dealio” was. “Quickly, Jimmy, we must return to your world.”
“Yay!”
“To Nebraska.”
“Huh?”
CHAPTER 3:
Tom Works through His Lunch Hour
THEY WERE SPEEDING toward the nearest rift when Tom Stranger placed a call to his secretary, Muffy “Sparkles” Wappler, back on Home Office World.
“Ms. Wappler, I’ve had something come up. Could you let my twelve o’clock know I will be running late?”
“Jimmy Hendrix and Kurt Cobain will be disappointed if you have to miss lunch again, Mr. Stranger.”
“My friends know I have to put insurance first, but see if they’ll order some mammoth for me. Scratch that. Applebee’s has the best dodo fingers. If I’m late, just put it in the fridge. I’ll microwave it later.” He hated missing out on his regular Thursday client lunch appointment, but this was far too important. Interdimensional insurance was not just a job. It was a calling. “Could you be a dear and send the paperwork and a check over to President Baldwin? The Arbiter found the invaders at fault.”
“That’s great news, Mr. Stranger.”
“And don’t forget to remind him that if they fill out our customer satisfaction survey, they’ll receive a five percent discount on their next month’s premium.”
“You did just save their whole planet from total annihilation, sir.”
Tom figured that was worth at least a seven or an eight on the satisfaction survey, but he strove for tens. “There’s always room to improve our customer service, Ms. Wappler.” Tom ended the call.
Jimmy the Temporary Intern was strapped into the seat next to him. “Your secretary sounds smoking hot.”
“Muffy Sparkles is an insurance professional. The love of providing good customer service shines through. Of course she is attractive.”
“Can’t wait to meet her!”
Tom thought about opening the airlock so Jimmy would be sucked out into the cold vacuum of space, but it would have been rude to deprive the Nebraska call center of its rightful intern. Tom would never steal from another insurance company in such a disrespectful manner.
Jimmy continued trying to make awkward conversation. “So, dude, like all that krav kickboxing tai-bo back there, you look all normal, like mild-mannered and stuff, but then you’re all like pow, boom, ninja flip, and I think you decapitated a dude with your bow tie and I’m like, whoa, are you a Terminator or something?”
Tom found that grammatically incorrect question to be racist. “No, I am not. However, I will have you know that some of my best friends are cybernetic organisms, and they would find your language offensive. Terminators may be living tissue over a metal endoskeleton, but they still have feelings, Jimmy. Not to mention Skynet is a valued customer.”
“Whoa, chill out, man. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”
Tom shook his head sadly. In addition to being as survivable as a standard Earth chicken, Jimmy seemed terribly unsuited to provide quality customer service.
“So like with all this Multiverse stuff, pretty much everything we can imagine gets its own universe?”
The answer to that profound philosophical question was incredibly complex, requiring advanced mathematical equations to even begin to comprehend the never-ending cosmic dance that stretched the boundaries of human imagination, but since Jimmy wasn’t very bright, Tom abbreviated his answer to, “Sure. Why not?”
“Mind blown.” It turned out Jimmy was full of questions. “So, like, if I imagine that dolphins took over, there’s an earth ruled by dolphins?”
“Fourteen to be exact.” Though Tom did not enjoy doing business with aquatic mammals. They tended to be rather flippant about doing their paperwork correctly. Well, except for manatees. The noble manatee was meticulous and always paid their premiums on time.
“So there’s even like a universe where the Cubs win the World Series?”
“Don’t be absurd.” There were some limits to probability.
“What about that fat guy with the neon-blue hair on the spaceship? Was he like you?”
If they’d not been hurtling through space, Tom would have pulled the giant robot over and given Jimmy a stern talking to. “Jeff Conundrum is nothing like me.”
“Sounds like you guys got a beef.”
Tom was not sure why he would share a cow with his sworn nemesis.
“I meant this Conundrum dude is like an Interdimensional Insurance Agent too, right?”
“I am afraid so, Jimmy. Only you need to know that the insurance business has a dark side.”
“Dark side? Whoa . . . You are a friggin’ Jedi! I knew it, man! I knew it!”
“Their customer service is poor.”
“Just like the Sith!”
In Tom Stranger’s belief system, poor customer service was the ultimate sin. Sure, Jeff Conundrum was also personally responsible for the totaling of Tom’s home universe, but bad customer service was simply unforgivable.
“Aw, man, Conundrum can’t be that bad. They’ve got really funny commercials!” Jimmy began to sing the Conundrum & Company jingle. “Wreck your car, sink your boat, flood your house, leave a sponge inside a patient’s brain. Conundrum is there! Look, an ironic caveman! How do we save you so much money? It’s a conundrum!”
Tom looked wistfully over at the airlock button. It was big, red, and just tempting him to push it. But Tom sighed and continued trying to explain his complex industry to a moron.
“They avoid payouts. They do not vigorously pursue their clients’ best interests. They hide their terrible service with clever marketing to prey upon the gullible. Not only have they brought dishonor onto all Interdimensional Insurance Agents, but Conundrum & Company has grown wealthy across the entire Multiverse by doing everything they can to stall or deny their clients’ righteous claims.”
“What’s a claim?�
��
Before Tom could push the airlock button, a hologram appeared over the dash. The warning klaxon told him this was an emergency call from one of his biggest clients. “I must take this. It’s CorreiaTech.”
“What’s a Korea Tech?”
“Only the most powerful megacorporation in the Multiverse.”
“Like Korea the country?”
“No. It is merely pronounced the same way, which is why the CEO purchased the North and South Korea on his home planet and had the countries renamed to avoid confusion.” The countries now known as Commie Jerk Face Land and Gangnam Style had not been pleased, but CorreiaTech was just that powerful.
Luckily, it wasn’t the terrifying and merciless Interdimensional Lord of Hate himself calling, but rather one of his chief minions. The image of an enormous fish tank formed in the holographic field. Floating peacefully inside was CorreiaTech’s Chief Financial Officer, Wendell the Manatee. Judging by the lettuce floating in his tank, the CFO had interrupted his lunch to make this call. That meant it was serious.
“Hello, Wendell.”
“Meeeeeeerrrrp,” Wendell said by way of greeting, but then he got right down to business. “Flooooooo?”
Tom was fluent in Manatee as well as six hundred and eighty four other languages. “Why yes. What a fortuitous coincidence, I happen to be on my way to Earth 169-J-00561 as we speak.”
“Dude! It’s a magic narwhal!”
“HOOOOOOOOOON!” Wendell bellowed.
Those were fighting words. “Forgive Jimmy. He’s new.” Tom leaned in closer to the hologram and whispered. “He has a Gender Studies degree.”
The manatee gave Tom an understanding nod. Luckily Wendell knew how difficult it was to find good help nowadays.
“How can I provide quality customer service to you today, sir?”
“Mehwwhooooooooooo,” stated Wendell as he chewed his lettuce ominously.
“The very gates of hell have opened?”
Target Rich Environment Page 33
