The Rebellion Hyperbole
John P. Logsdon
Christopher P. Young
Blindfold
The universe was a dark place, especially to a man like Trek Gibbons, who was currently tied up and blindfolded.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and it probably wouldn’t be the last time; unless, of course, they killed him. But that was a threat that he’d heard repeatedly and they’d never acted on it.
Of course it was only a matter of time before fate won out.
Trek heard the door open behind him and caught the smell of cabbage.
“I think this time I’ll just kill him,” said a gravelly voice that Trek was quite familiar with.
“Hello, Riggo,” Trek said.
Trek was the one that got Riggo started in organized crime, in a manner of speaking. Trek was the arresting officer during a petty theft at a convenience store on Moxo, which was Riggo’s home planet. Riggo had been young and stupid, and Trek put in a good word for the kid, saying that he hadn’t resisted arrest in the least. The judge gave the kid a break, sentencing him to only five years of hard labor. On Moxo, that was considered lenient.
Trek had basically forgotten the incident and moved on, making numerous other arrests, each one as petty as the next, until one day he met up with an upstart named Rebben Coolait who had a penchant for solving crimes. He was just too shy—bordering on social anxiety disorder—to be in the spotlight. Rebben became Trek’s ace in the hole. Due to Rebben’s skills, Trek enjoyed a meteoric rise in his career. Each new case he’d taken on got tougher and tougher. Soon he was working on the highest profile crimes, traveling from world to world in the process. Within a couple of years the name Trek Gibbons appeared on more “arrested by” lines than any other detective in the galaxy. And it was all due to the fact that Rebben Coolait fed him the proper information at the right times.
Things were nearly perfect, and that was the rub. Whenever things get going too well, they tend to sour pretty quickly.
During the height of his success, Trek was quite the celebrity. He couldn’t go anywhere without the press hounding him about the next big case. People wanted his autograph, they wanted to take holopic-selfies with him, and many of them wanted to bed him down. He loved the attention, but it soon began to wear on his brain. He just couldn’t keep up.
That’s when his foray into Soothe started. The calming effect it gave him was euphoric, while it lasted; but the chaos always came back, bringing Trek home to reality. Once he had a hit of Soothe, he no longer wanted to deal with chaos. He just wanted to chill. It was addictive, and that meant it was pricey.
With all the fame and fortune bestowed upon Trek, money was rarely a problem. That was until about three years into the relationship with Rebben.
Trek’s undercover partner—the man that truly solved all the crimes—died in a freak space-diving accident, leaving Trek to again fend for himself with his less-than-stellar detective skills.
Things were looking bleak until the day that Trek was cleaning out Rebben’s house after his friend’s passing. During the cleanup, Trek learned about Rebben’s skills in writing. His sleuthing partner had written 27 books in total, all of them about the crimes that he and Trek worked on. They were amazing and fun, but the best part was that they were all told as if from Trek’s perspective. It was as though Rebben had believed that it really was Trek who was solving everything.
The Adventures of Trek Gibbons soon became a bestseller.
His publisher felt that the best strategy was to release a book every month in order to seize the moment and maximize revenue. Trek was still new to the publishing game, so he assumed that it was the best strategy, and it did result in him making millions of dollars. Unfortunately, it also meant that his final book was released 27 months after his first book…and there were no more. Trek was not a writer. He was barely a detective.
All was well for the first 5 years after that last book hit the shelves. Over that time there had been many holovid shows, a few movies, and a number of plays written and produced about his adventures.
Then a new series about an up-and-coming detective hit the scene and dethroned The Adventures of Trek Gibbons.
As fast as Trek’s popularity had soared, it crashed even quicker.
Soothe, once a friend that helped him combat chaos, became his only escape.
It broke him, forcing him to seek other ways to keep his habit going.
The only quick fix was to borrow money from the RiffRaff. And that’s when he met Riggo again. Where Trek had been on top, he was now at rock bottom; where Riggo had been at rock bottom, he was now on top. Riggo held no grudges regarding the arrest on Moxo. Actually, he had thanked Trek for helping to set his path straight. Were it not for that stint in prison, after all, Riggo may never have become the boss of the largest mob in the Gordo Galaxy.
Since their reunion Trek was in a constant state of borrowing and trying to pay back the crime boss, all because he couldn’t break free of the Soothe.
“Trek, Trek, Trek,” Riggo said, bringing Trek back to the present, “what am I going to do with you?”
“Let me go?” Trek said hopefully. “I’d love to finish up book 28 of The Adventures of Trek Gibbons, after all.”
One of the henchmen pulled off Trek’s blindfold. The lights burned until his eyes adjusted.
He was in Riggo’s office, that much he could tell. Whether it was the RiffRaff boss’s main place of business or a satellite spot, he couldn’t say. There weren’t any pictures or anything. Not that it really mattered at this point in Trek’s increasingly dwindling lifespan.
Riggo hadn’t changed much since Trek had arrested him back in the day. He was still squat and muscular, like all Moxoyarians. It had to do with the gravity, which was one of many reasons why Trek didn’t like going to Moxo. Too much of a strain on his aging back. Again, not that it really mattered at this point.
“I think I’ve waited for that long enough,” Riggo said. “I’ve come to believe that you’re not even writing the book.”
“Of course I am,” Trek said defiantly. “Just last night I was going through the edits and—”
“Let me see it, then.”
“I’m an artist, Riggo,” Trek said with a tsk-tsk look. “You know I can’t show my work before it’s been polished.”
“You’ll be dead before then.”
“Fair point.” He pursed his lips. “Ten more days and it’ll be done,” he said, thinking that maybe he could whip together a book in 10 days if he really worked at it. Riggo wouldn’t know if it was any good or not. “I just need a little more time.”
“Sorry, old friend,” Riggo said, pulling a sleek black weapon from his desk drawer.
“Is that the Neutron 1100 with the multiplexing rotator?” Trek asked, surprised that Riggo had gotten hold of one of the rarest weapons in the galaxy.
Riggo nodded. “Only the best for one of my oldest clients.”
“I’m not sure how to thank you.”
“Think nothing of it,” Riggo said and then pointed the blaster at Trek.
“Sir?” one of Riggo’s workers said, stepping into the office.
Riggo sighed and lowered the Neutron 1100 momentarily.
“Bep,” Riggo said exasperatedly, “can’t you see that I’m in the middle of something?”
Trek couldn’t see Bep, or any of the henchmen, for that matter, but he could feel the uncomfortable shift in the air.
“Sorry, sir, but you said that I was to interrupt you no matter what so that you wouldn’t forget that you have an appointment in an hour…sir.”
“What appointment?”
&nbs
p; “It’s your anniversary, sir,” Bep said.
Trek saw something on Riggo’s face that he’d never seen on a Moxoyarian before. Fear.
“That’s tonight?” Riggo asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Crap. And I only have an hour?”
“Yes, sir,” Bep replied. “You said to tell you one hour before the appointment. No matter what, you said. So, that’s what I’m doing, sir. I paid close attention to that no matter what part, sir.”
“Obviously,” Riggo said, dropping the gun on the desk.
“Did you get her a gift?” asked Trek.
“Huh?”
“You can’t take your wife out on her anniversary and not bring a gift, Riggo.”
“I can’t?”
“Come on, man,” Trek said. “I’ve never been married and even I know that much.”
“But this is my first anniversary,” Riggo said. “She’ll understand.”
“Hah!” Trek laughed, as did the henchmen.
“Fine,” Riggo said with a grunt as his stare silenced them all. “What am I supposed to get her?”
“Like I said,” Trek said, going to lean forward and then remembering he was tied to the chair, “I was never married. But, my dad used to get my mom flowers, chocolates, and diamonds…and not necessarily in that order, either.”
“Thanks, Trek,” Riggo said, looking sincere. It was hard to tell with Moxoyarian. “For that, I’ll let you live—”
“Oh, that’s great, because I have this tip on a speeder—”
“—through the night,” Riggo finished. “When I get to work tomorrow, though, I’m going to put you out of my misery.”
Communication Interruptus
Supreme Commander Monty McCracken sat in his office on the space station known as Quarn, one of the major political hubs in the Gordo Galaxy.
Where he should have been was on the command ship of the fleet that had been out to war for the last three years, but there were more pressing matters to attend to on Quarn. Primarily, The Committee had gotten out of hand.
No governing body was worth much to the likes of McCracken, but The Committee had slid down the slippery slope of pointlessness faster than any he had ever seen. They were slow, inept, ever-absent, and they were causing the gradual deterioration of the structure that had elected them into office.
As with all things in a democracy, it was only a matter of time before the members of The Committee were all replaced. The people would speak with their votes and, if the past five elections were any indicator, the current ruling body would find itself disbanded and replaced with something far worse.
But the current committee had an ace up its sleeve that its predecessors did not: They had found GOD.
McCracken was by no means an atheist. In fact, he had a very strong faith in the same God that his forefathers had believed in. But his God was one that sported only a single capital letter in His name. The Committee’s GOD went for full capitalization. To a man like McCracken, that was blasphemous.
Worse yet, McCracken had been present on a number of occasions when The Committee had spoken with this GOD character. They had to call him on a datapad line. This, alone, was ridiculous. On top of that, their GOD had a very lax attitude toward essentially everything.
Up until The Committee had found GOD, McCracken had been able to push his military agenda without much fuss. He had convinced the delegates to expand the armada, explaining that the Gordo Galaxy was in a state of vulnerability; he had built new and improved jump gates to ensure that all citizens would be protected in the event of an invasion; and he had persuaded them to declare war against the Grebnarians, a race of thieves that had consistently raided the Gordo Galaxy outposts that sat precariously beyond the gates.
All was running as smoothly as McCracken could expect…until GOD showed up. That’s when The Committee started paying less and less attention to McCracken’s advice.
GOD certainly disliked McCracken and he consistently one-upped him in everything. Deity or not, McCracken understood the power that the fellow had over The Committee, and that meant that the time had finally come for McCracken to start running the Gordo Galaxy himself.
Within the next couple of weeks, it would be him calling the shots, not some elected body of imbeciles or their poor excuse of a god.
The hum of his datapad signaled an incoming call.
“Hello, Joolahk,” McCracken said to his second-in-command. She was a Worge with purplish skin, taut muscles, and red eyes, but it was her razor sharp teeth that always set McCracken on edge. Most Worge had normal-looking teeth, by human standards anyway, but Joolahk fancied biting as a combat tactic. McCracken shuddered slightly. “How are things progressing?”
“We have completed the training,” she replied in her tough voice.
“Everyone is prepared?”
“Yes. How are things going there?”
“Fine, fine. I am awaiting a call from my contact. Once he is in position, phase one will be underway.”
“Who’ve you got on point?” she asked.
“Broog.”
“Broog?” she scoffed. “He’s a moron and an asshole.”
McCracken sat back and shook his head. It was often difficult to differentiate between smart and stupid when it came to Worges. Joolahk, for example, was probably the best leader that McCracken had met. But her choice of colorful descriptors sometimes painted her out to be less than professional. He would never say that to her, of course. It would violate numerous sensitivity rules he was forced to abide by.
“I’m well aware of his qualifications,” McCracken said tightly. “All my best and brightest are with you, if you recall. That leaves me dealing with Internal Security.”
“Yeah,” Joolahk said with a grunt. “Still, gotta be somebody better than Broog.”
“I’m sure there is, but remember that there is a fine line between being bright enough to do someone else’s dirty work and being bright enough to know that you’re doing someone else’s dirty work.”
“Good point,” said Joolahk, keeping her face taut. “You still expecting a week before we come in with the ships?”
“Probably a little closer to two,” McCracken replied. “I want to be aggressive, but I don’t want to rush and screw something up.”
“Agreed.”
McCracken’s pad buzzed again.
“I got Broog calling in,” he said. “Must be in position. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Good luck,” Joolahk said and then signed off.
McCracken took a deep breath and answered the call.
“Captain Broog, are you in position?”
“Yep,” Broog answered.
He looked almost identical to Joolahk, except that his eyes were a bit crossed and his facial features were not quite as cut. And, of course, his teeth weren’t pointy.
“You know what to do?”
“Yep,” Broog affirmed.
“Could you repeat it to me one more time please?”
“Okay,” said Broog, “I know what to do.”
McCracken took a deep breath. “No, Broog, I mean will you please repeat the plan to me?”
Broog groaned, grimaced, and then shrugged. “I go into room,” he droned. “I tell ‘em that I gotta put a box under the desk—”
“No, no, no,” McCracken stopped him. “You don’t want to tell anyone you’re doing that. Remember, we believe that someone is tampering with the communications systems, Captain Broog. If you tell them that you’re putting in a spying device, they’ll stop because they’ll know we’re on to them.”
“Right,” Broog said. “Forgot that part. Okay, so I don’t tell ‘em that I’m putting this box under a desk, but I do it anyway. Then I tell ‘em to get back to work and not to say nothin’ about me being there.”
“Almost,” McCracken said. “Let me make this easier for you. Here’s what you do: Go into that room, tell everyone that it’s a surprise inspection and that they should all wait outside for a
moment. Once they’re gone, you stick the device safely in the back top corner under one of the desks. Then you come out and say all is fine and that they can go back in. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did we have all this training? You coulda just told me that!”
“We didn’t have any training, Captain Broog,” McCracken said. “I merely sent you a box and some detailed instructions, which you apparently didn’t read.”
“Sounds like training to me.”
McCracken sighed. “Are you clear on what you have to do now?”
“Yeah, I got it. Go in and tell ‘em to get out, stick the box under a desk, and then tell ‘em all to get back to work.”
“Close enough,” McCracken replied. “What say you put the feed through your headcam so that I can follow along with you, in case you have any questions.”
“Yeah, okay,” Broog said.
A blink later McCracken was looking at the world from atop Broog’s head.
“You see what I see?”
“Yes, Captain. Go ahead in.”
Broog walked into the communications room and said, “Listen up. You get out while I do somethin’.”
Chenthly, the human who was in charge of the communications department stood up and walked toward Broog. “What’s the meaning of this?” she asked sternly.
“Ain’t no meaning. I got to do some official business, so you gotta get out until I’m done.”
McCracken sighed. It was so hard getting solid help these days.
“I would imagine that there would be some sort of record or document regarding this?”
“Look, lady,” Broog said, “I ain’t got time for this. If you want to complain, go for it, but for now get out. That’s an order from Internal Security.”
Chenthly harrumphed, but complied without further fuss.
“Well done, Captain,” McCracken said as the Worge shut the door behind the last departing communications specialist.
“Yeah, I know.”
From there it was smooth sailing. Broog crawled under one of the desks, stuck the device in place, clicked the little switch that activated it, and then crawled back out.
The Rebellion Hyperbole Page 1
