“Where did you get Lampan blood?” Charlie regretted asking.
“From a Lampan of course,” came the grinning reply. “He was the last being used to power my ship. Do not concern yourself though Charlie. He was just a drifter.”
The Umfian coughed loudly. Greebol stepped forwards and allowed the large guard to scan over his left arm. The instrument in his hands beeped some more. It buzzed too.
“All Clear. You May Enter The City,” he said loudly to Greebol. “Next!”
Greebol nodded to Charlie that it would be alright. So, trying not to worry too much and putting on a brave face, the scruffy man stepped forwards, raising up his left arm.
The Umfian began the scan which, to Greebol anyway, seemed relatively simple and painless. Of course Greebol had had the scan a million times before so he was used to it. This was Charlie’s first experience of a Baggus Sentry blood scan.
Charlie was lost in a whole world of pain.
Chapter 17
“Am I alive?”
“Indeed.”
Charlie’s eyes began to focus. He could hear noise. Lots of noise. Yet he had no idea where he was or what he was doing. He wasn’t even sure if he knew what he was.
“It does sting a little,” said Greebol next to him. “I suppose I should have warned you but then I do not think you would have gone ahead with it. Very fragile your species.”
The buzzing in Charlie’s head stopped but it still felt as though his arm had been ripped from its socket and shoved back in the wrong way around.
He managed to stop his right eye from moving in the opposite direction to the left and finally realised where he was. He was outside. He was outside in some sort of market place. And it was raining.
Now this is what he had expected to see on this world! Hustle and bustle. All different types of aliens strolling through the market, buying strange exotic looking items with coins that shone so brightly they blinded the eyes. Amazingly horrific foods strung up at the sides of the stalls, some rotating on spits, others being allowed to rot slightly, five faced flies buzzing around them.
At the far side of the market place Charlie could make out a group of children (at least he thought they were children) playing some alien game involving a laser gun and a target strapped to the smallest child’s back. It ended messily.
A band began to play a head-achingly brilliant song with instruments Charlie could not even begin to understand. He wasn’t even sure how they were being played and through which orifice they were blown.
It dawned on him that he was standing on an alien world. The first Human (that he knew of anyway) to stand on another planet. Sure, that Armstrong fellow had walked on the moon but compared to this that was like taking a stroll through a park. And a pretty crappy park too.
He felt like saying something awe inspiring. Something like ‘yesterday I was but one man, today I feel like the whole of mankind’, but it wouldn’t make any sense to anyone other than him as here, on this, another planet, he was the only one amazed by it all.
“What do you think?” asked Greebol, breaking the spell Charlie seemed to be under.
“It’s amazing,” he gasped. “I mean it’s disgusting… the place stinks… looks like it was built out of dung… there are rats, six legged rats I should point out, running amok… and I am pretty sure we are standing in at least one layer of faeces… but other than that… it’s amazing!”
Greebol’s big fake blue face frowned. He was not sure if that was a compliment to the city or not.
As the two walked around the market, examining the bizarre items on the stalls, Greebol explained a little more about himself and the planet of Baggus’Regious.
Greebol had been born, like most Gumthars, on his home planet, but his parents had moved to Baggus’Regious when he was just a small child. It was here in the streets of the city of Baggus that Greebol had grown up.
He went to school just like any normal child – although the school he went to here was in fact a small room at the back of a seedy strip club owned by local a gangster where he was taught the important lessons of how to pickpocket, kidnap and bribe.
He played in playgrounds like normal children – although the playground was the remains of a burnt down hospital where druggies scavenged for syringes and dangerous narcotics and an insane doctor performed hideous surgeries on random folk (who he had drugged and captured the night before).
As a young adult he got a job, just like anyone – although his job was disposing of the remains of people his boss had slaughtered!
All in all Greebol’s early life had been quite normal. Quite normal that is for anyone living in the city of Baggus.
It was on his nineteenth birthday that Greebol had met another Gumthar named Gluxum. Gluxum was a bounty hunter. He had become his apprentice and soon became one of the best and most sought after hunters in the galaxy. The Baggus Sentry (the city’s local law enforcement) however had just issued a law that bounty hunting was illegal in the city and therefore Greebol was forced to flee Baggus.
He travelled for a short time around the rest of the planet which, compared to the city, was perfectly dull. Mostly barren land, except for a few small villages and farms scattered here and there. There was also only one small sea in the west that you could cross in less than two hours. Swimming.
It was after realising he was bored stiff that Greebol finally decided to leave Baggus’Regious and take his bounty hunting business to the rest of the universe.
Charlie nodded his head and said the occasional “Really?” and “Get away!” but in honesty he wasn’t really listening. He was too busy looking around this brand new world that was probably older than the Earth.
There really were many different species here. He saw Gumthars like Greebol, although they were all different shapes and sizes. There were the blue Lampans and the pig-like Umfians. He also saw other species including the green skinned race that the beautiful female in the electrical belonged to. He was in awe at the variety of species around him.
Looking up he saw a grey/green sky with small ships moving through the poisonous looking clouds high above. One particular ship moved in sporadic, fits of movement, as it zoomed closer and closer towards the planet.
Concern grew within Charlie. There was something about the way that ship was moving. It reminded him of his pet budgie as a child. Moron was its name. In its old age, Moron would fly, similar to that ship, around in circles before crashing down on the ground beak first. One time it crashed, it never got back up.
“Watch out!” Charlie shouted suddenly, just as Greebol was reminiscing about the time he kidnapped the Duke of Hefalog for fifteen bananas and a packet of crisps. Cheese and onion no less. “Move out of the way! Everyone! Look out!”
People ran. Stalls were knocked over. There were actual screams. The species in the city of Baggus were used to sudden calls of warning. It usually meant that someone was about to be assassinated or kidnapped or that someone was about to run through the crowd naked.
The various species in the market place ran backwards and forwards, not really knowing where to go. Usually they knew to either drop to the ground, their hands over their heads, or jump under the market stalls making a protective barrier out of unusual fruit. This was different. The man shouting the warning did not seem to know what to shout. He should have been shouting “Assassin!”, “Bomb!”, “Airborne virus!” or “Streaker!” Not “Look out!” and “Run!” and “Oh my God we’re all going to die!”
“Charlie,” said Greebol, “you have to understand something about these people. They are simple folk. Not unintelligent… just simple. They need some sort of order in their lives… especially when under the threat of death.”
Charlie glanced back up at the stray ship hurtling towards the ground. It was falling straight towards the market place. He was sure of it.
“The band stand!” he cried out loud, “everyone get under the band stand!”
“Are you sure Charlie?” Gree
bol questioned.
“Positive! I think.”
A hundred or so people squashed into the bandstand in a desperate attempt to flee from whatever the danger was. Elbows hit faces, knees hit unmentionables, a number of antennae poked into the backs of heads. One young Lampan was knocked over and became stuck in a large wind instrument that one of the band players continued to blow.
Charlie smiled. True, the bandstand was now a scene of complete havoc, but at least they were safe. He felt proud that he was finally getting to do something good. Something positive.
“They’re safe!” he said smugly.
“So you say,” Greebol responded, “but what about us?”
“Oh bugger.”
The ship heading straight towards the market, dangerously close now, suddenly switched its direction, the pilot obviously spotting the imminent destruction he would cause.
Charlie stood dumbfounded, mouth wide open aghast as the ship plummeted into the bandstand, crushing everything underneath its bulky, cube-shaped form.
The market place was quiet. Quiet and empty. Only Charlie and Greebol stood amongst the stalls, staring at the ship that slightly rocked backwards and forwards on top of what could only presumably look like mash potato.
Charlie gibbered. He spluttered. He went dizzy.
“Charlie…” Greebol said slowly and softly, “look what you did!” He turned his fake blue face and looked at Charlie with large fake blue eyes. “I am impressed,” he said. And he grinned.
Charlie was not impressed. He was mortified. Of course he knew that he hadn’t squashed all of those people himself. Of course the ship had done that. But they stood in the bandstand because of him. If only he hadn’t said anything. If only he hadn’t tried to save the day, tried to be a hero. Then the only ones that would have died would have been that awful sounding band and that might not have been such a bad thing.
This was the last time he would try to be heroic.
“Fancy a bite to eat?” Greebol said chirpily. “I know a great little café not far from here. Serves a lovely teacake and cup of hot bother.”
Charlie was about to respond when there was instant commotion in the market place. Blue lights flashed and sirens sounded as several hovering vehicles zoomed into the area, followed by a hoard of nosey onlookers, some with cameras.
Greebol shuddered. “The Sentry,” he whispered, “time we moved away from here. Best not to get involved in anything too publicised.”
Slowly the pair stepped backwards. Charlie looked to his feet and avoided eye contact with anything. Greebol whistled. Soon they were behind a stall where they crouched down out of sight.
“Can we go now please?” said Charlie. “I don’t really want to be around here right now.”
“One moment,” Greebol replied, staring intently at the cube-shaped ship. “That vessel… I do not recognise it.”
“So?”
“So, I like to consider myself a bit of a connoisseur in the vessels of the ten species of my dimension. My father you see. He used to stand at ports with his check list spotting them. My father was a… what do your people call it? A nerd!”
“Your point being?”
“My point is that this is an unknown vessel. It could be from one of these other dimensions. I am interested to see who the occupier is.”
From one of the hovering vehicles a tall figure stepped. He wore a costume similar to the Umfian at the landing bay, but this one included some rather swanky shoulder pads and the stripes down the sides were golden.
This was a new alien. Charlie had never seen one like him before.
Greebol however knew him all too well. He squinted his mask’s large blue eyes and scowled. “Rexan Stort,” he growled to Charlie. “He comes from the Jaal species and he is the superintendent of the Sentry here in Baggus City.”
“I take it the two of you don’t get along.”
“Oh we get along like a house on fire. I mean that literally as I once did set his house on fire. Since that day he has been… at least one of… my bitter enemies. Had me arrested here seven times. Six of those times he sentenced me to death!”
“I guess we should avoid him at all costs then?” Charlie asked, fearing both the superintendent and Greebol as he was reminded that his travelling companion was in fact a hardened criminal.
“Yes best keep away from him.” Greebol snarled. “Wait until he is on his own before we strike!”
Charlie gulped. And he still needed the toilet.
Chapter 18
Superintendent Rexan Stort sniffed the air. The distinct smell of blood lingered. It was a usual smell in Baggus, but rarely was it this strong. Stort didn’t care about the dead. Their troubles were over. His were just beginning. Here was a ship violating every law on Baggus’Regious. There was no communication with the Orbital Sentry at the guard station. No authorisation was given to this ship to enter the planet. Plus the pilot was obviously a drunk or a retard or both and couldn’t even dock in the landing bay.
Now there were deaths on this pilot’s conscience. Now he had to deal with the Baggus Sentry. Now he had to deal with Rexan Stort.
Superintendent Rexan Stort was a Jaal and, like all Jaal, his square jaw gave him a sturdy look. In fact Stort’s whole head was square. In the right situation his head could have been mistaken for a box.
His skin was a very pale yellow colour. So pale that it was almost white. So pale in fact that it was almost see through. It was disturbing to many criminals to be able to see his veins so clearly. Sometimes it made them drop to their knees and surrender in an instant.
He stroked his stubbly chin.
“Ready your weapons Sentry,” Stort shouted to his men.
Behind him a number of Sentry Officers edged forwards. Stort’s loyal men. The best of the best. At least the best of the best on Baggus’Regious. Compared to the law enforcement anywhere else in the galaxy they were probably a farce but they did what they could.
They raised their guns as one. Ready for whatever was waiting for them inside that ship.
“Open the door and step out. Slowly,” Stort shouted.
Nothing.
“I said open the bloody door and step out slowly!”
Still nothing.
A small Sentry guard with buck teeth and thick glasses leaned closer to Stort.
“Maybe he can’t hear you sir,” he said with a snivel.
“Thank you for that Forlus,” Stort muttered.
“He’s inside his ship sir,” Forlus continued. “It’s made of thick metal sir. Hard to hear through such thick metal sir.”
“Yes thank you Forlus I realise that.”
“Just saying sir.” The small constable picked his small green nose. Stort sighed.
“Look alert men,” he snapped, still in a mutter and in no way sounding like he was snapping.
Another officer ventured closer to the ship and poked around the base with his booted foot. Something squished. He bent down and peered through the smallest of gaps.
“Eugh,” he spat, “looks like my old lady’s chunky tomato soup under here sir!”
“That’s lovely,” Stort responded. “Now will you get away from there Axtin!”
The one named Axtin wiped his large black nose and scratched the random patches of thick, wiry hair on his face in confusion.
“Sir,” he said slowly, “I don’t understand what all these people were doing in the band stand?”
From behind the stall that sold second hand beef burgers something made a nervous cough. It was ignored by the Sentry.
“I don’t know Axtin,” said Stort, “maybe they really liked the music.” He knew this statement couldn’t be right. No one in their right minds would actually like the music that this band played. To Stort it sounded like they were being forced to vomit bile into a tin bucket. And then unfortunately being forced to do it over and over again. One squashed band was probably not such a bad thing. Not to Stort anyhow. For some reason the other inhabitants of Baggus se
emed to enjoy it.
“A sad day for music,” young Forlus solemnly sighed. “My mam bought me their first album. Had it signed and everything. Well… at least I can say I was here. The day the music died.”
“Indeed,” Stort muttered. “Put your helmet on straight lad,” he said to Forlus. “And you stop picking bits out from under that ship,” he said to Axtin, “it’s not your wife’s soup. I’m sure that tastes much nicer!”
“You would be surprised sir!”
Superintendent Stort cleared his throat and shouted once more. “Pilot… please exit your ship with your hands in the air!”
“Metal sir,” said Forlus, “I’m sure we’ve already been through this.”
Stort huffed and put his hands on his hips. How in the world did he ever get this bunch of fools working for him? He looked around his men. They all looked a little backwards. Helmets wonky, uniforms creased and dirty, scuffed boots. If there was one thing that really irked him it was scuffed boots.
And there were varieties of all the ten species in his unit. Forlus was a May’orn. Axtin was a Waabba. He had a number of Gumthar and Lampan and Zax-lar. He even had an Umfian, which was possibly his greatest challenge. Umfians are usually the ones arrested not the ones doing the arresting.
It is said throughout the galaxy that trying to command a unit with ten mixed species is the most difficult of tasks. Superintendent Groyling in the southern territories of the city didn’t have all ten in his unit. He only had four. Lucky bastard.
Still, these were his lads and he loved them. Each and every one. Except for the new starters that the Governor had sent over last week. They were just annoying. He had to train them and everything.
“You might want to try shouting through this next time sir,” said a voice next to him as he was passed a large megaphone.
Ah! Sergeant Edious Thinker! The best Sentry Officer in his unit. Thinker was always on the ball. Thinker reminded Stort of himself when he was younger. Back in the days when he used to care. Of course Stort had always been a Jaal and not a Lampan and Stort had had quite a rebellious social life, but still, there was something about Thinker that reminded Stort of his youth.
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