Max Rage: Intergalactic Badass!

by Jake Bible

  “Yes,” Watchdog said. “Which is part of the regular security protocol. The only comms use has been from Cook alerting Horloc Station of our pantry requests. A grocery list. Other than that, there has been nothing.”

  “Then what we have is a mystery,” Rage said. “A mystery that doesn’t change shit.”

  “Except now the bot is going with you onto the station,” Neela reminded.

  “Right. That. Pain in the ass, but not a job killer,” Rage said. He pushed his empty plate away and stared at Neela. “This will work as long as Watchdog does as he’s told and doesn’t get in my way. Him being on the station doesn’t change your objective. Focus on getting the goddess’s name. That’s your job. You gonna have a problem with that?”

  “No,” Neela stated flatly.

  “Good. Then let’s eat up, gear up, and get ready for Horloc Station and Sector 42,” Rage said. “Anything else I need to know?”

  No one replied.

  “Great. Eat. Gear. Kickass.”

  “Um, may I ask a quick question?” Fig said.

  “Go for it, Pinky,” Rage replied.

  “Did anyone have a visit from a yellow beach ball last night?” Fig asked. “Uh, and then get peed on by the yellow beach ball?”

  “Is that what that smell is?” Mosh asked. “You need to shower.”

  “I have,” Fig replied quietly. “Several times.”

  Rage laughed hard and left the dining room.

  Twenty

  The ship was cleared for landing and guided to their specific landing pad by a set of clabbered together grav tugs. The machines cleared the way for the Hourglass then sputtered off to assist the next ship.

  When the energy shield was engaged around the landing pad, the side hatch opened and a set of stairs descended to the landing pad. Rage stood at the top of the stairs and glanced around. No guards. No mechanics. Not a sign of life.

  “Not that I wanted a big deal made, but this is creepy as shit,” Rage said.

  Neela, right behind him, glanced out at the empty landing pad. Her eyes fixed on the port doors set into the pad’s wall that led into the station proper.

  “We’re being watched,” Neela said.

  The port doors slid open and a rotund gentleman waddled across the landing pad, his three eyes wide and expectant.

  “Oh, you must be Max Rage,” the gentleman said.

  “Yeah. Who the hell are you?” Rage asked, as he gripped his rifle.

  “Oh, I’m Mike,” the man said when he reached the bottom of the stairs. He gestured for Rage to come down. “I’m head of security for Horloc Station.”

  “You? You’re head of security for Horloc Station?” Rage asked, not buying it. The rotund man looked like a happy accountant. Even with three eyes, he was about as bland and normal as a person could be in a galaxy that was far from bland and normal. “You filling in for someone?”

  “What? Oh, heck no,” Mike said. “It took me a long time to get this position, believe you me. I’m the real deal.”

  Rage looked over his shoulder, past Neela, past Mosh, past Watchdog and Fig, and saw Lisha smiling back at him. She gave a quick nod. Rage returned his attention to Mike.

  “If you say so, man,” Rage said and walked down the stairs to the landing pad. He slung his rifle over his back and offered his hand. “Max Rage. Let’s get on with this. Which way should our friend go once she’s inside? We need her to get to Sector 42 well before us.”

  Mike shook Rage’s hand then looked confused as Neela descended the stairs, no longer looking like Neela. She’d morphed into a blob of jelly with several tentacles whipping over its head.

  “Oh, I see, I wasn’t aware you had a Ghej with you,” Mike said and bowed low, sweeping his arms across his chest. “Your majesty.”

  “Why are Ghej royalty?” Mosh asked, joining Rage and Neela.

  “No clue, Tin Man,” Rage said. “They just are.”

  “Their race once ruled ninety percent of the galaxy before the other races banded together to force an open system of governance,” Fig said.

  “No one asked you, Pinky,” Rage said.

  “His majesty will need to be escorted to Sector 42,” Mike said. “I will have my people do that immediately. I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed such a venerable individual to traverse the corridors of this station alone. No, Horloc may have a reputation, but it is not a place of savagery.”

  “Yeah, it is,” Mosh said. “Right? It totally is a place of savagery. Also smelly. The place stinks.”

  “Yes, well, we have a rodent issue,” Mike said, scrunching up his nose. The motion made his middle eye squint. “The rats have been dying in the walls and we can’t get to them fast enough before their corpses start to decay and bloat. Oh, you should have seen the mess coming out of a transfer vent in Sector—”

  “No one cares, Mike,” Rage said. “What we care about is getting this job done. So, how about you get your security people to escort Neela here to Sector 42, m’kay? Then, once that’s done, you give us a shout and we’ll make our way there separately. Think you can handle that?”

  “I believe I can,” Mike said, sounding wounded. “I am very good at my job, thank you.”

  “I’m sure you are, pal, I’m sure you are,” Rage said and patted Mike on the shoulder. The man didn’t move. “The escort, Mike!”

  Mike jumped then called for his people. Five guards arrived at the landing pad a minute later and stood at attention while Neela slithered her jelly body through the port door and into the corridor beyond. The guards followed and Mike turned to Rage with a proud smile on his face.

  “It will take His Majesty at least thirty minutes to arrive in Sector 42, if not a little longer,” Mike said. “May I suggest we adjourn to my office for refreshments? My wife baked some brownies and they have a delightful psychedelic effect when inserted—”

  “We’re good,” Rage said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Mosh said. “I love brownies.”

  “Inserted? Inserted where?” Fig asked.

  Rage sighed. “Bolt Butt? You got a comment to make too?”

  “I am fine remaining silent,” Watchdog said.

  “Something we can agree on,” Rage replied. “Mike? It doesn’t do us any good to be seen with you once we leave this landing pad. You understand that, right? You should probably go and get back to work. Business as usual so it doesn’t rouse any suspicion. We’ll make our way to Sector 42 on our own. But, you know, thanks for thinking of us.”

  “I can have the brownies wrapped and you can take them with you?” Mike posed.

  Mosh started to reply, but Rage elbowed the big man in the chest shutting him right up.

  “No brownies, Mike,” Rage said. “You mention brownies again and I’ll take one of your eyes out with Pinky’s dick.”

  “What now?” Fig exclaimed.

  “I wouldn’t like that,” Mike mumbled. “Fine. I wish you all good luck in your endeavors.” He leaned to the side and tried to see up into the ship. “Hi, Lisha! Maybe we can chat later? Catch up on old times?” There was no response. Mike tried to smile, but failed. “She’s probably busy. Lady like that is always busy.”

  “Yep. Lady like that is always busy,” Rage said. “Just like we are. Busy getting ready for this job. Which has already started, so…”

  Mike nodded in agreement then focused on Watchdog. “Uh, you may or may not be aware, but sometimes bots are not as welcome on this station as others are.”

  “Yep. Fully aware,” Rage said. “He’ll be hanging out on his own. We won’t be bothered.”

  “Oh, no I mean he should stay close to you,” Mike said. “Shouldn’t be a problem if he’s with living beings.”

  Rage frowned. “Does he have to be with us?”

  “It would be best,” Mike said.

  Rage looked from Watchdog to the rotund man. “Fine. The bot stays close.”

  “Lovely,” Mike said and smiled, rocking back on his heels over and over again. He k
ept smiling and rocking, smiling and rocking, smiling and—

  “Fuck off, Mike!” Rage yelled. “Go do your job and get the fuck away from us!”

  Mike jumped, spun about, and waddled away as fast as his rotundness could take him. He reached the port doors, turned to say something, gulped as Rage reached for his rifle, then was gone into the corridor.

  “Nice fellow,” Fig said. “Where do you think the brownies were to be inserted? I’m only curious.”

  “I hear anything else about brownies and I start killing team members,” Rage stated. Mosh’s mouth clamped shut. “Good. Now, we have some time to kill. We can do that here or we can take the long route to Sector 42, maybe scope out who’s onboard the station.”

  “Doesn’t that risk our being discovered?” Watchdog asked.

  “We’ll already be getting attention with you coming along. Plus, that’s what we have Pinky for,” Rage said. “You ready to mask our fun little stroll through this den of villainy?”

  “Me?” Fig asked. “Oh, yes, of course. Let me jack into the systems and make sure everything is working properly.”

  Fig’s eyes glazed over then flashed brightly as a green tint formed over his corneas. He nodded to himself for a couple minutes then smiled.

  “There we go. I’m connected to the station’s main surveillance system,” Fig said. “Working my way through the other individual systems. Should have a handle on it all shortly, but if we care to begin our journey, I should be able to keep our presence from being noticed by prying, hacking eyes before we reach the first independent system.”

  “Good work, Pinky,” Rage said. “Bolt Butt? Anything we need to know about the station’s tech? Any new security protocols coming online that might make our job tricky?”

  Watchdog snorted in his bot way. “The security protocols on this station are horribly inadequate. But that is to be expected when on a station occupied by the bottom feeders of the galaxy. This is not a demographic that wants tight security. I believe Mike’s position here is simply to make sure that businesses do not get ripped off and the important players are taken care of. I highly doubt he does any true securing of anything.”

  “Yeah, I got that too,” Rage said. “Nice guy, though. Just so fucking enthusiastic that I could snap his neck.”

  “Not until we get those brownies,” Mosh said.

  Rage turned slowly and glared at the metal man.

  “Right. You said not to talk about the brownies or something violent would happen,” Mosh said. “What was the violent something again?”

  “Never mind,” Rage said. “Pinky? Where we going first?”

  “We’ll take a right in the corridor and make our way to a small food court about five junctions down,” Fig said. “Oh, it looks like they have Nogling sandwiches. I know it’s only been a couple hours since we ate, but I do love some Nogling sandwiches.”

  “I could go for a Nogling sandwich,” Mosh said. “Rage?”

  “It’ll look normal and kill time, so sure, you two can have your sandwiches while Bolt Butt and I do our jobs and watch out for assholes looking to start something,” Rage said sarcastically.

  “Great!” Mosh exclaimed. “I’m getting mine with mustard!”

  “I love mustard,” Fig said.

  “We are so fucking dead,” Rage muttered.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Watchdog said as the group moved out.

  Twenty-One

  Mosh insisted Rage take a sandwich. He didn’t really want one, but taking the offered food was better than creating a scene in the food court. The sandwich was surprisingly tasty.

  “Not bad,” Rage said.

  “Right?” Mosh said, bits of bread and condiments falling from his open mouth as he walked back to get more.

  “Velpoohians at four o’clock,” Watchdog said as Rage finished off his sandwich. The two stood against a wall, a few yards away from the Nogling stall where Mosh was getting thirds and Fig was still trying to decide what fillings to get in his first sandwich.

  “I see ‘em,” Rage said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They don’t seem to be looking for anyone.”

  The two Velpoohians were from different humanoid races, but their dress gave them away as pirates instantly. Frickin’ rags and smeared goggles. The pirates both scanned the food court, saw the Nogling stall, and smiled as they hurried over there.

  “Jesus H, what is it with Nogling sandwiches?” Rage asked. “It was good and all, but I’ve had better on Earth from a street vendor at 4am in the morning.”

  “Fleshbags are easily swayed to believe the way of the flock,” Watchdog said. “It is your undoing.”

  “Jorts are our undoing, Bolt Butt,” Rage said. “Blasphemous creations. Man only needs a good pair of jeans and those jeans should have legs that go all the way down.”

  Watchdog swiveled his head to stare at Rage. “You really like jeans.”

  “Everyone really likes jeans,” Rage said. “Best invention ever.”

  “I might disagree with—”

  “Best. Invention. Ever,” Rage snapped.

  Watchdog held up his hands. Then his eyes flashed red. “We have more pirates incoming. I set up a tracking alert and there is a group of six headed this way.”

  “More sandwich junkies?” Rage asked.

  “Not unless sandwich junkies need heavy weapons to eat with,” Watchdog said.

  Fig and Mosh stiffened then glanced over at Rage and Watchdog. They both nodded and dropped what they were doing to join them.

  “I pushed a warning into their feeds,” Watchdog said. “Fig was distracted by his inability to make a decision regarding his sandwich.”

  “I almost had it, too,” Fig said, disappointed.

  “Did ya now?” Rage said. He turned and checked the entry points to the food court. “Which way?”

  “Fig,” Watchdog said.

  “The pirates are coming from the east corridor so we should take the west corridor,” Fig said. “Not that there are really compass directions in space, but I am orienting myself according to the station’s maps and—

  “West is that way?” Rage asked, pointing at an entryway.

  “Yes,” Fig replied.

  “Move out,” Rage said and led the way.

  The team made it out of the food court just as the six Velpoohians arrived.

  “How we looking?” Rage asked as he kept the team moving.

  “They are looking around the food court, but they did not see us,” Fig said. “They will more than likely ask some of the patrons if they saw us and which way we went. We should change corridors, and perhaps decks, as soon as possible.”

  “Keep an eye on them, Pinky,” Rage said. “Bolt Butt? Find us a new route and make sure the way is clear. I don’t want to run into any dead ends or locked bulkheads, got it?”

  “I know why I am here, Rage,” Watchdog said.

  “Good to hear. Existential crisis averted for Bolt Butt,” Rage said. “Which way?”

  “We’ll use the stairs at the end of this corridor and go up two decks,” Watchdog said.

  “Long corridor,” Rage said.

  “Walk quickly,” Watchdog countered.

  “Why not fight?” Mosh asked. “Why not break them into tiny pieces?”

  The big metal man flexed his shiny muscles and grinned, showing teeth that were ready and willing to chomp down on something and tear it asunder.

  “The point is to get to the strip club without attracting attention,” Rage said. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t need Pinky with us.”

  “I perform a function beyond simply—” Fig began.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Rage said. “Talking to Tin Man here, not you.”

  “When do I get to crush shit?” Mosh asked. “I’d really like to crush some shit.”

  “On the way back,” Rage said.

  “Perhaps crushing shit can be avoided,” Watchdog said. “We might be able to—”

  “No mights, Bolt Butt,” Rage said. “W
e’re on Horloc Station. We deal in absolutes in this place. And I absolutely know we’re gonna be fighting every step of the way back to the ship as soon as we steal that goddess. I know Morlaw. That mess of skin will send everything he has at us.”

  “Then we get to crush shit and kill some pirates?” Mosh asked.

  “Then we get to crush shit, shoot shit, blow up shit, stab shit, maybe strangle shit, and for sure kill shit,” Rage replied. “You good with that now?”

  “As long as it happens,” Mosh said. “Walking is boring.”

  “Pirates on our six,” Fig said. “That’s the correct terminology, yes? On our six if they are directly behind us?”

  “That’s the correct terminology, Pinky,” Rage said just as they reached the stairs. “Everyone, up we go.”

  The team ascended the stairs quickly, making it up two decks in only a few seconds.

  “Pinky?” Rage asked when they arrived at the corridor they needed. “How we looking?”

  “They’re confused,” Fig said, pleased. “They stopped and are arguing about which way to go.”

  “Bolt Butt?” Rage asked Watchdog. “Where to now?”

  “Straight,” Watchdog said. “We take this corridor to the end, turn right, follow the next corridor after that until we reach Atrium 828.”

  “Atrium 828?” Rage said. “Ah, man, that’s the worst one.”

  “There are degrees of quality between the atriums?” Watchdog asked.

  “Nah, they’re all shit, but this one is annoying shit,” Rage said. “Keep your heads down and keep walking. We get through as fast as possible. Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact and do not let them block you.”

  “Oh my, what are we in for?” Fig asked. His eyes glazed as she studied the images in his ocular feed. “I see stalls. Vendors at the stalls. Customers buying goods from the vendors at the stalls.”

  “Don’t need a play by play, Pinky,” Rage said, turning right at the end of the corridor.

  Halfway down the new corridor was a group of humanoid aliens standing around and chatting. They all paused and turned to stare at Rage and his team.

  “Ladies,” Rage said to a pair of female aliens dressed in skin-tight uniforms that accommodated the rows of oily feathers that stretched from their taloned fingers and up over their forearms. They wore jeweled headbands that held back the feathers that covered their heads instead of hair. The two women nodded to Rage. “Lovely day, don’t you think?”