It stopped and stared towards Greebol’s electrical. Its black eyes focusing in on its prey. There was food inside that big tin can!
Flashing out its claws it prowled towards the electrical, sniffing out the creature within. Someone was sleeping inside that ship and whoever it was, was about to become dinner.
Dinner for a dragon!
On a bright control centre in the large silver ship a control panel flashed. The homing beacon within the dragon's belly had been activated.
The beast was within the city below! Soon it would be theirs and they would be one step closer to once again beating the Dwarves in the tournament.
It was time to leave the ship!
Chapter 24
Superintendent Stort was in a foul mood but was in no way showing how foul his mood actually was. No one would have blamed him for showing his anger.
The Dwarf was gone and had threatened Stort with his life, which, although Stort had no fears of actually being killed by the Dwarf, wasn’t the nicest of thoughts.
Plus a very important building and some not so important but still necessary buildings around it had just been destroyed, killing all within, on his watch. This was typical.
Then there was the fact that the Governor seemed to be blaming all that had happened on him. Not that he would expect anything else. The Governor always seemed to blame Stort for the city’s problems. He was the Governors scapegoat.
“I’d punch him in his fat face,” Forlus said, almost every single day.
“Luckily I have a little more restraint,” would be Stort's response.
Right now that restraint was being tested.
“We could blast it out of the sky sir,” put in Axtin, referring to the large silver ship. The Waabba rustled the hair on his head, face, hands, arms and the few strays on his tongue and pretended to shoot with an invisible weapon up at the ship.
“From the fire power that vessel showed us,” said Sergeant Thinker as he sat on a fold-out chair that he carried for occasions when sitting seemed the only option, “I think we would probably be the ones who would lose. Now if we happened to be stationed on any other planet…”
“But we’re not on any other planet,” said Stort forcefully. “We are here… on Baggus’Regious. We don’t do things like other planets. We don’t conform to the crowd. This planet does things its own way and right now is no different. If we want to get rid of these newcomers then we’re just going to have to bloody well do it ourselves and not by firing big guns up at it.”
“Mainly because we have no big guns,” put in Forlus picking his teeth.
“That is one reason,” Stort muttered.
“Then what should we do sir?” asked Axtin excitedly. He loved it when the superintendent was in this determined, decisive mood. He always had a plan!
Stort frowned as though deep in thought. “I have no clue whatsoever,” he said and took a puff of his cigar.
“We could always just ask them what they want to their face,” Thinker suggested and he pointed over to a long tube that had extended from the ship down to the ground. An elevator was rapidly descending.
“There always is that option,” Stort grinned and moved off towards the elevator, spitting out his cigar as he went.
His men followed obediently, Forlus stopping to pick up the cigar and pop it in a nearby bin.
The elevator arrived at the bottom and slowly opened. Five beings stood inside, taller than most and very graceful. As they walked from the elevator they looked as though they were gliding through the air, their feet seeming not to touch the ground.
They all wore long robes, shimmering with the light. It was impossible for onlookers to tell if their robes were silver or gold or a mix of the two.
In one, perfectly synchronised movement, they removed the hoods over their heads, revealing pointed ears and long, sleek, beautiful blonde hair that stretched down their backs. For a moment, with their long, lovely hair and their faces, small featured and effeminate, they could almost be mistaken for women. In fact private Forlus did mistake them for women. His eyes grew large and, if you looked really close, little love hearts appeared in his pupils. Afterwards he would regret this mistake for many years as the other officers would love to remind him in the Sentry changing rooms. Usually whipping towels would be involved.
“Put your tongue back in private,” Stort snapped without sounding at all like he was snapping, “they’re as manly as you are.” He paused in reflection of those last words and wished he had phrased them differently.
The five beings turned to Stort, who they recognised as an authority figure. The superintendent was confused. He knew this species. He had seen them many times before. Yet in the back of his mind he could not help feeling like they were totally alien to him.
“We have come for the dragon,” said the leader, his voice like treacle running down the side of a spoon, “nothing less… nothing more.”
Stort cleared his throat. “Well… you’ll have to bloody well find it somewhere else. You’ve violated so many of our rules that…”
The leader put up a hand and instantly silenced the superintendent. Stort blinked. No man had the power to stop him mid speech. Not even the Governor. Yet this one had. It must have been the hair. It was so silky and dreamy. Bloody hell, now he was doing it! Snap out of it man!
“Your rules and regulations have no meaning to us,” the leader continued. “At this moment in time we care only for the tournament.”
“What bloody tournament?” Stort shouted, angry now. “And who in Beff’s name do you think you are?”
The leader smiled but it was not a happy smile. It was a sly and sickly smile that could pick your pocket and make you bed ridden for a whole week.
“I am High Delta officer Lemor’all,” he said slowly, as if talking to a foreigner, “and I am the ranking officer of this Elfin fleet.”
“So you are…?” questioned private Axtin.
“I am an Elf you imbecile!”
Axtin was taken aback. He was used to Forlus being called an imbecile but no one had ever said it to him! To be honest he wasn’t even sure he knew what the word meant!
An Elf! Elves! It all made perfect sense to Stort now, in a perfect sense that still didn’t seem to make any sense at all to him.
“The treasure chest inside the belly of the beast will be ours,” Lemor’all said softly, “we will cut up the dragon, take the chest and win the point for our people. Then the Dwarves will not stand a chance.”
The others behind him nodded their heads approvingly. Even though they were all smiling quite clearly thrilled with the prospect of beating the Dwarves, not one of them removed the placid, calm, tranquil demeanour they projected. They must have been the stillest species to ever exist. Possibly stiller than a tree.
“You’re not getting any dragon or treasure,” Stort said firmly, not understanding what dragon or treasure he was talking about, “and neither is the Dwarf. Now if you’ll return to your ship and fly away like nice friendly people then perhaps we can forget this incident ever took place. Agreed?” Stort knew he shouldn’t have spoken to them like they were little boys but for some reason, knowing these were Elves made him suddenly feel rather childish.
Lemor’all, as though not even hearing the Jaal’s words, held up a tiny black box, which flashed rapidly into the eyes of Stort and every other sentry officer in the surrounding proximity.
Instantly, they all fell to the ground, their minds turned momentarily to cream cheese.
The Elves nodded in understanding, almost as though they had spoken telepathically to one another. If anyone had been unaffected by the flashing black box, they would have seen this strange understanding take place and wonder what they could have been saying.
“I love it when things go to plan,” is what could have been said.
Or, “Ah the little black box! Gets them every time!”
It could even have been, “Damn! I left my hair straighteners on, we’ll have to go back
!”
In reality it was none of these things. It was something completely different. Or nothing at all. Were the elves telepathic? Only the Elves knew and they were not going to share with anyone else.
The five Elves waited for the elevator to rise back up into the ship, followed by the long tube, before they moved, as one, into the heart of Baggus City.
Chapter 25
Reverend Kimfin straightened his robes and stepped formally from the prayer room and down the spiral staircase towards the main church. He wore a serious look upon his pale face and walked tall and very straight.
Although there was no real expression on his face, you could tell that there was something lurking underneath, just you were not quite sure what.
Reverend Kimfin, like most of the True Believers, was a Jaal. Therefore he had a slightly square head and very pale yellow skin. Beff was a Jaal god, worshipped by the anaemic skinned people for centuries. Of course, as in all societies, not all Jaal believed in Beff. Mokhal Grear, the galaxy famous adventurer, known for discovering several of today’s most important planets (these included Lirth, a small boggy world where the flatulent smell proved to be a cure for hiccups, and Sperme, a large desolate rock where any female visitors instantly find themselves pregnant), didn’t even believe in an afterlife and has, on record, gone as far as saying, “If I haven’t met Beff during all my explorations through space, then I doubt I am going to when I die.”
Kimly Tufferbottom, one of the most respected Jaal writers, famous for her 'oh so flamboyant, oh so morbid' poems, once wrote a both loved and criticised ditty about the matter. It went something like this:
“Yey, I slit my wrists, I took a lethal pill,
Yet somehow my brain I am unable to kill.
I tried to drown, I tried to burn,
But still my death I could not earn.
Is anyone watching, waiting for me to die?
Is a higher presence watching my eternal cry?
I do not believe in such a being any more,
For Beff was not a knocking at my door.
How could such a god allow me to be,
This incredibly, hideously ugly?”
And she really was. Mirrors actually cracked in her company.
Rexan Stort was another non-believer in the almighty Beff. His reasons were much simpler. He could never bring himself to understand why a great and powerful being could ever allow a rotten and crappy place like Baggus to ever exist.
Reverend Kimfin removed his hood and considered the strange looking Lampan and the even stranger looking pink fellow standing in his church. How dare they interrupt their meditation cycle? Everyone in Baggus knew that when the bells toll only a fool would disturb them.
These two must be fools.
Still, Reverend Kimfin was a man of Beff. He had the reputation of god to keep.
“My brothers,” he said, arms open and a fake smile on his pale face, “welcome to the church of Saint Intingus III. How may I help you?”
Greebol grinned. Kimfin was supposed to be spiritually connected with Intingus himself. If that was the case then he should already know who he was, but it was clear from the Jaal’s blank expression that he didn’t have the foggiest.
“Au contraire my good Reverend,” said Greebol, “it is we who can help you!”
Kimfin frowned. These fools better not be trying to sell him anything.
Charlie also frowned. How the hell did Greebol know how to speak French?
“Who are you?” asked the Reverend.
“You do not recognise me?” asked Greebol, toying with the holy man like a cat toying with a trapped mouse. “Can your beloved saint not see beyond my face? Does he not know who I am?”
The reverend strained, hard, as if trying to see inside Greebol’s soul. The face he pulled disturbed Charlie greatly. He was pretty sure that the Jaal was about to do a poo.
“Are you a taxman?” came the reply after a short time.
The smile on Greebol’s face dropped. If there was one thing in the galaxy that he hated it was taxmen.
“I seriously do hope that you are taking the Michael,” he said moodily.
Interestingly to know, the ‘Michael’ that Greebol spoke of is not the same 'Michael’ that Humans often speak of in similar situations. Everyone knows that the Human ‘Michael’ refers to Michael McPhilliy, a Scottish shepherd who was mocked for years by rival farmers who dressed as sheep, making him believe he had more than he had. Michael McPhilliy got his revenge by dressing as a wolf and eating his rival's herds. From then on ‘don’t take the Michael out of me’ meant basically; if you take the piss out of me I’ll eat your sheep.
The ‘Michael’ that Greebol referred to was a large mountain, Mount Michael, back on his home world. Really it had no relevance to Greebol’s current conversation.
“Enough of this,” Reverend Kimfin said in a sharp, impatient tone. “Just tell me who you are and then get out of my church!”
“Your church?” Greebol asked. “I thought this was Saint Intingus’ church!”
“Enough!” shouted the reverend.
“Greebol!” Charlie hissed.
Kimfin turned his head sharply to Charlie, smiled then turned slowly to look at the Lampan.
“Greebol?” he questioned suspiciously. “The bounty hunter? Is that you? You’ve changed since we last met.”
“Not really,” Greebol grumbled, frustrated that his game of annoying the holy man had been ruined. He reached his hands behind his back and slowly removed the Lampan body he was wearing, flopping his large belly back out. When his body was no longer blue and he once again had four arms instead of two, he reached up to the mask.
“Is this such a good idea?” Charlie whispered.
“It is okay. We are all friends here.”
Greebol ripped the mask from his head, revealing his grey, chubby chopped, yellow eyed Gumthar face.
“Ah there it is,” said the Reverend. “A face that only a mother could love. And would this equally bizarre looking beast be your partner?” He bounded down the final steps and grabbed hold of Charlie’s cheeks with his four fingered hands, pulling and stretching at his skin.
Charlie was so insulted he couldn’t even speak. He just stood there and took it. It reminded him of younger days when his Auntie Sophie would grab his boyish plump face and jiggle it around in, what was meant to be affection, but was actually rather painful, very uncomfortable and somewhat embarrassing.
“Indeed he is,” Greebol answered, “but not the one you know.”
“Hmm?” the reverend muttered, still concentrating on Charlie’s chops.
“Please stop trying to rip his skin from his face.”
Kimfin released Charlie who fell backwards, rosy red cheeked, feeling confused and very abused.
“Are you telling me that this creature actually looks like this?” the Reverend asked, not really looking for an answer. “How very unfortunate.”
Too far. This man, Reverend or not, had gone too far. “Now just a damn minute,” Charlie snapped but before he could tell the Jaal what he thought of his pasty skin, square face and massive nose, Greebol stepped in front of him.
“Time to talk business,” he said very seriously. Charlie was shocked by his ‘partners’ sudden change in attitude. “I have what you asked for.”
“About time too,” said the Reverend. “You are late.”
“There were… complications. Trouble with my electrical. Weird things happened to the galaxy. But no worries. I am here now. So… where is the money?”
“Patience hunter, patience. I do not see the… item.” The Reverend beckoned around the room with his hands, pointing out the lack of belongings that Greebol had brought with him.
Greebol chuckled and it went on a little too long. “That is not how I work your holiness and you know it. Show me the money.”
“Not until…”
“Show me the money!” Greebol sounded angry. This, Charlie knew, was his travelling partner at work
, doing what he did best. Scaring the living daylights out of people.
Reverend Kimfin stared into the Gumthar’s yellow eyes. Greebol stared back at the Jaal’s dark ones. Someone had to budge first.
Charlie shuffled his feet nervously and looked over to the other Jaal in the corner of the room. They nodded to each other awkwardly.
What seemed like an eternity passed but was probably only a few seconds. Eventually, when a number of trickles of sweat began to run down Kimfin’s forehead, like a couple of fast snails in a race, leaving their trail behind them, he looked away. With a click of his fingers, the other Jaal in the church headed off into the back room at great speed.
A few moments passed before the door opened again. The Jaal returned, followed by at least thirty others. All were priests at the church of Saint Intingus and all wore the hooded robes. Two of them carried a heavy looking case.
Charlie was worried. He had not seen this many hooded figures since that time he took a walk in the dark through the park. That night Charlie had never felt so much like a punching bag. He never punched a punching bag again after that as he knew exactly how it felt.
“Smirt, show them your knobs,” the Reverend ordered.
There was a snigger. It was from Charlie’s direction.
The priest, the one that had opened the door to Greebol and Charlie, stepped forward with the case and gingerly opened it. It was full of shiny golden coins.
Greebol rubbed his hands together and slapped Charlie on the back. “Payment!” he chuckled and began to move forward towards the case, his three fingers twitching.
Reverend Kimfin instantly swept across the floor, his feet hidden behind his long robes and snapped the case shut before Greebol could get his greedy fingers on the money.
“Now,” he said, “it is your turn. I showed you mine now you show me yours.”
There was another snigger from Charlie’s direction.
“Very well,” said Greebol. He stepped back to Charlie.
“What happens now?” the Human asked.
“We give the good priests what they paid us for.”
Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1) Page 17
