Artisan leaned confidentially towards Herc. "Captain Braveman," he said. "Now that we've got rid of the lady-folk, there are some pressing matters we men-folk need to discuss in earnest," Artisan continued, his face as grave as tombstone.
"What is it my friend?" asked Herc, his demeanour and smile full of reassurance. To know him is to trust him, and Artisan would be hard-pressed not to see that, for Herc was a man who settled even the most vicious space beast with a gesture and a smile and a swift snap from his neuronic space whip.
Herc could see Artisan's hand shaking as sweat gleamed on the old man's furrowed brow. Artisan was baring a great burden - and this burden was no mere trifle.
"It's the trifle," Artisan said, gesturing to a bowl - the one filled with trifle. A slave served the small trifles into a pair of ornate black pudding bowls (the bowls were black, it had nothing to do with the sausages made from pig's blood and floor sweepings - that would be ridiculous).
"Try this," said Artisan.
Herc took a small mouthful of the trifle, and for a moment he was in ecstasy. A wave of euphoria swept through his nervous system and, for a moment, he really wanted to dance to some Belgian techno.
"Wow," said Herc, leaning back in his chair. "What in space was that? "
"That is the root of our problem - this trifle is so amazingly tasty that traders from across the Intragalactic Empire have been paying vast amounts for the smallest quantities," said Artisan. "It's delicious, nutritious and makes you feel like you've just been at an all night space sex party with the Space Pope herself."
"Sounds like you have a fantastic arrangement."
Artisan shook his head dolefully. "The natives are getting a bit antsy about the whole deal," he said.
"What deal do you have with natives?"
Artisan rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it's not so much a deal as we take the trifle without asking, sell it for a ridiculous amount of Space Dollars and keep the profits for ourselves. Obviously, we pay our taxes in full to the Intragalactic King," Artisan added, shuffling on his seat, perhaps hinting through body language he may not have been paying all the taxes to the Intragalactic King that he was implying with his words. (Though this detail doesn't actually play into the rest of story, it's merely a device to flesh out Artisan Boule's character and motivations - it's what great writers do. Dan Brown does it all the time. It's really effective).
"I called you here because I need you to broker a deal with the natives. I need you to make them understand that this our trifle to sell and there's nothing they can do about it."
"If there's one thing I can't stand, it's natives." Herc slamming his fist on the table.
Herc awoke the next morning entangled in the naked body of the beautiful Exotica. He sat up and pondered the events of the night before - not the sexy ones, the ones to with work - what were those natives thinking getting in the way of the Intragalactic Empire? Why should they be concerned about such trifles? How was Herc going to save the day again?
He lit a Quantum Cigarette and inhaled its cool swirls of satisfying nicotine that space doctors across the Intragalactic Empire have endorsed. Exotica stirred, and looked up at Herc's rippling chest, his strong arms holding her tightly. "You were fantastic last night," she said with a seductive whisper as she reached for a Light Quantum Cigarette - the cigarette of choice for discerning ladies across the Intragalactic Empire.
"I may be brave and incredibly handsome, but I'm also a modest man," said Herc, modestly. He blew smoke rings that hung in the air like incontinence nappies on a washing line, "I think you can take some credit for last night's sexual encounter. For last night would have been nothing more than a quick five-knuckle shuffle and wipe up with a space tissue were it not for your sexy intervention. They were up there with some of the best two minutes I've ever known," he said, complimentingly.
Exotica smiled and closed her eyes, pulling Herc in tight so as much of her smooth flesh could be in contact with his. "If I could shed my skin and wrap it around you, I would," she whispered, sexily. "Anything to be closer to you."
"You say the most romantic things, my love," said Herc before kissing her on the top of her head, sensually, seductively.
"Just as a side note, you might want get that rash checked out," he said.
"What rash?"
"Oh, you'll find out," Herc chuckled.
Exotica gave a zestful smile.
The door swung open. Artisan marched into the room flanked by two slaves. "He sees, he conquers," he said, sardonically. "Captain Braveman, the Native Queen is waiting for you in the Embassy Room. I trust you will meet her and bring this nonsense to an end?"
"I will see her at once," said Herc.
Artisan looked at his daughter with a proud smile before leaving the bed chamber - it's not every woman in the universe that gets to spend the night with Space Captain Herc Braveman.
Exotica sat up, the light silken sheets clinging to her sensuous curves. "Will I—," she paused as tears filled her dark eyes, "—will I see you again?"
"Whenever I see the sparkle of a distant star, or the splendour of a black hole, I will think of you, my dear. When I hear the distant winds of space, I will only hear the name, Exotica."
Exotica breathed deeply and gazed longingly into Herc's strong eyes as tears poured wetly down her face like a really fast tap. Herc got to his feet, then wiped his knob on the drapes. He put on his freshly pressed uniform, his eyes never leaving Exotica as he pushed his arms through silver spandex.
"The Intragalactic Empire calls," Herc said. "And seriously, do get checked out, I've been itching like crazy since going with the Ambassador's daughter in the Austin 316 star system."
The Native Queen held out a long hand to Herc, who took it and kissed it. "A pleasure to meet you Captain Braveman," she said. Through her alien looks, Herc could see her beauty: she was like any other beautiful woman he'd been with across the Intragalactic Empire, but this one was different: this one had three boobies.
The Embassy Room was on the other side of the space palace. It was bright and airy, with plasterboard-lined walls and shelves brimming with native carvings: semi-abstract animals and figures exhibiting a unique aesthetic hitherto seen in the Intragalactic Empire. They weren't very good - the animals didn't even look anything like what they were meant to be, and the ones of people were all wonky and out of proportion. Herc didn't know much about art, but he knew what he liked, and these carvings were crap.
"Native Queen," Herc said. "I have been sent by the Crowned Prince Artisan Boule as an envoy for the Intragalactic King. I understand there has been conflict between your noble, savage people and our mighty Empire."
The Native Queen regarded Herc for several moments with her large dark eyes as he lit up a Quantum Cigarette. He offered her one, but she refused. Herc forgave the insult - he was sensitive to foreigners with their wacky accents and daft customs - within reason, of course. You can't muck about when it comes to foreigners - give them an inch, and soon everyone will be wearing funny hats and mispronouncing words that are dead easy for normal people to say.
"We are not happy with the behaviour of your so-called Crowned Prince Artisan," the Native Queen spat with her funny accent.
"Perhaps we could negotiate a deal. The trifles are very important to the security of our Empire."
"You may call them trifles, we call them our young."
Herc took a long cool drag from his Quantum Cigarette before stubbing it out. "Shall we sit down?" Herc suggested, gesturing to a shezlong with real velour upholstery.
The Native Queen sat down and Herc sat next to her. Not so close as to be touching, but close enough that she could smell his manly musk.
"When you say young, what exactly do you mean?" Herc asked.
"What you call trifles is the second phase of development for our species. They are in that state for two of our months."
"What's that in Intragalactic Standard?"
"Two months. It's easier for us to fall in
line with these things," she shrugged.
"Native Queen is a beautiful name," Herc said, brushing the side of her face with his finger. He smiled as her cheeks flushed.
"Thank you Captain Braveman, but your legendary sexual prowess will not change our position on this issue."
Herc grinned. "I've got some positions in mind," he said, unzipping his uniform.
Zestfully, the Native Queen yielded. The pair shared a passionate kiss and Herc squeezed each of her three boobies.
Once the deed was done and the Native Queen had mopped up the mess, Herc lit up a Quantum Cigarette and thought again about the Native Queen's stubbornness - it really wasn't very becoming of a lady. He remembered that as well as being a woman, she was also a foreigner - her ways were utterly inconceivable to any sane man. What were those natives thinking getting in the way of the Intragalactic Empire? How could Herc save the day?
"You were amazing," she said.
"I think you can take some credit for our sexual encounter. They were the best two minutes I've ever known," he said. "Just as a side note, you might want get that rash checked out."
"But our species don't get rashes."
The door swung open and Artisan entered flanked by two slaves. "He sees, he conquers," he said sardonically. "Captain Braveman, I trust the negotiations with the Native Queen are going well?"
The Native Queen sat up, her three boobies jiggling everywhere. "Prince Artisan, you have no right to enter the Embassy Room."
"Yes, yes," he said dismissively as he made dismissive gesture. "Captain Braveman, are the negotiations complete?"
Herc smiled. "We are in the middle of brokering a deal before you came in."
The Native Queen frowned. "We will not negotiate on this subject, I have already explained. Now please leave." She pointing to the door, pointedly.
"Fine, fine. I'm leaving." Artisan stormed out of Embassy Room.
The Native Queen sighed. "Will I see you again, Herc?" she whispered.
"Whenever I see the sparkle of a distant star, or the splendour of a black hole, I will think of you, my dear. When I hear the distant winds of space, I will only hear the name, Exotica."
"Exotica? Exotica? Prince Artisan's slattern daughter?"
"I meant to say Native Queen," Herc said, taking a puff from his Quantum Cigarette.
"Get out," the Native Queen snapped.
"But—."
"I will not negotiate with you or your pathetic Empire. Now leave."
Herc raised his hands and zipped up his captain's uniform. "I'm sure I'll see you around," he shrugged. "The Intragalactic Empire calls, so I was going anyway."
"Go!" she shouted.
"I'm gone," Herc said as the slammed door closed behind him.
"These trifles are so tasty," Herc said, chewing on his third serving. "We've got to get these damn natives to see sense."
"Do you think we're any closer to striking a deal?" Artisan asked.
Herc lit up a Quantum Cigarette. "Negotiations can be very difficult. If there's one thing I've learnt in all my adventures, it's that you can't trust natives and you can't trust space communists."
Artisan gasped. "Communists? On this planet?"
Herc nodded gravely as a grave expression spread across his face like concerned margarine. "I'm afraid there can be no other explanation."
"Well, I think you're doing splendid work Captain Braveman. I believe in you."
"Sometimes faith is all you need," Herc said, sagely.
Herc and Artisan turned as the door swung open behind them. A slave rushed towards them, gasping for breath. "Crowned Prince Artisan, Captain Braveman, sirs, come quickly. It's the Native Queen."
Herc rose to his feet. "What is it?"
"There's no time to explain, come."
"Slaves do not give orders," spat Artisan.
The slave makes a deep bow at Artisan's feet. "Forgive me.You can beat me later, but this too important."
Artisan and Herc followed the slave as they strode across the palace grounds, taking in its ornamental gardens and fountains. Artisan wouldn't shut up about the architecture and the quality of the craftsmanship of the stonework. The light in the sky was fading by the time they arrived at the Embassy Room.
"Now are you going to tell what this is all about?" Artisan ordered.
"Your Highness, please, there's no time," the slave said.
Herc entered the Embassy Room first to see the Native Queen hunched over on the shezlong, sobbing. "Native Queen, what is it?"
She looked up. "What have you done to me?" She was covered in open sores dripping with pus and red from scratching.
Herc shrugged. "I said you might get a rash."
"But it has already started spreading to my people," she said. "You need to help us."
Artisan leaned close to Herc. "You are a genius, Captain Braveman." He turned to the Native Queen. "I think we may have antibiotics and some topical cream to treat this. Of course, we will need to have you complete cooperation as regards the trifles. I don't want to hear anything else about systematic genocides or other such liberal nonsense. Are we clear?"
The Native Queen scratched at her legs and scowled. "Yes, yes, anything. Just help me stop this itching."
"Done," Artisan said.
"You were amazing, Captain Braveman - easily the best tactician I have ever seen. It has been my privilege to see you in action," Artisan said as he and Herc stepped into his space car. "You've secured our trifle market and put a stop to those dastardly natives."
Herc patted the Crowned Prince on his back. "I'm just doing my job."
"Well, I'll be sure to send a space telegram to the Intragalactic King to praise your fine, fine work."
"Just make sure you keep those shipments of trifles coming."
They both laugh for ages.
Artisan started the space car's engine and quickly sped across the landscape, leaving the twin spires of the space palace behind them.
After a short time, Artisan pulled up next to Herc's space capsule. "Will you be okay?" he asked.
"I'll be fine," Herc said. "I'm sure M-ArtIn will have made all the necessary repairs."
Herc stepped from the space car and smiled. "The Intragalactic Empire calls. Thanks for the ride."
"Thank you again. I'll always remember how you saved this planet from those stinking natives."
Herc waved as Artisan sped away in his space car. The space capsule's door hissed open.
"Uncle Herc, you're back," said Lolita.
"Sweetheart. I managed to save this planet from space communists, so my mission is complete. Did M-ArtIn manage to fix the capsule?"
"Nope," M-ArtIn said. "Lolita's been fiddling with some of the wires though."
"It wasn't easy, but I manage to reverse the polarity of the motherboard and reroute it through the secondary transponder," Lolita said. "Quite a few of the systems were burnt out, but I've managed do a complete overhaul of the relay subnet. It won't fly, but I've sent a message to the DEM. I had to take a few parts out of your electric slide-rule, but we should be good to go."
"That's lovely dear, but I was asking M-ArtIn about the space capsule."
"It's fixed," M-ArtIn said.
"Excellent work. I knew I could trust you, my trusty robot chum,." He patted M-ArtIn on the head.
"What do these guys want?" M-ArtIn asked, pointing behind Herc as a rumble of angry shouts and jeers rose in volume, like someone turning up the sound on a space hi-fi.
Herc was surprised to see a mob of around fifty natives charging towards them. "Damn reds," he muttered.
"I think we should probably go inside," Lolita said.
"M-ArtIn, Lolita - we should board the space capsule," Herc said in his most commandiest tone.
The trio stepped into the capsule and the door closed tight behind them. The mob hammered on the sides of the capsule with their fists, shaking it and banging it with sticks and clubs until tipping it over onto its side.
"Oh no," shouted
Lolita as sparks flew from the onboard computer and the outer door bent inward.
"Don't worry, everything will be fine," Herc said.
Suddenly, there was a chorus of screams outside. Then, the mob fell silent. The trio listened as the space capsule door clicked open. Herc peered out to see the carnage.
The DEM had disintegrated the natives with its space laser. Herc smiled, satisfied.
Helping Lolita out of the capsule, M-ArtIn scanned the scattering of burnt bodies. "Fifty-three dead natives. Crowned Prince Artisan will be pleased."
Herc lit a Quantum Cigarette as he led the way to his gleaming starship, the Deus Ex Machina.
Want more?
When Herc Braveman and his ragtag crew of the Intragalactic Empire's finest misfits and underdogs are called to the Austin 316 star system, it can only mean one thing — the spandex mines are in peril.
Herc will have to oil-up and shake off the ring-rust to win the title, because without the spandex trade, the Intragalactic Empire will be screwed.
Will our brave hero defeat the dastardly Barry the Bruiser against all the odds? Will he uncover a space communist plot. Or will it let everyone down and make for a flat ending? Will Lolita bring out her space cheerleader outfit?
Only you can find out. Join the exclusive Herc Braveman Adventures list to get Wrestling for Spandex now!
Click HERE for more Herc Braveman!
About the Author
Herchel K. Stroganoff writes the Herc Braveman Adventures on his computer.
You can follow him on Twitter @HKStroganoff — he mostly tweets about Phil Collins.
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Copyright © 2017 by Herschel K. Stroganoff
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
No Mere Trifle: A Herc Braveman Adventure (The Herc Braveman Adventures Book 1) Page 2
