Intergalactic Terrorist (New Dimension Book 1)

by J. F. Monahan

  The slug looked down at the gaping hole in its side. “Bugger,” it said before suddenly exploding.

  Wextoal fell to the ground, dropping the laser gun as he went.

  The dragon collapsed, wheezing violently.

  One loud gasp blew out across the village from the Intelimals. Keesha fell to her knees by the dead animals’ sides and cried large teardrops from her foxy eyes. Her pain soon turned to anger as she turned to the sickly mess on the floor.

  Fists clenched she stormed towards it, followed closely by General Stouger and his men. They stopped, blocked by the smell, and watched angrily as a figure stood and wiped barf from its face.

  Charlie Pinwright could not sink any lower. Every single orifice on his body was filled with bile. Wiping his eyes he saw the strangest group of people staring at him in anger. As usual he had no idea what was going on. He raised his hand upwards and found that he was holding onto something. Wiping it clean he looked down at what appeared to be a gun from an old arcade machine. How the devil had this got into his hand?

  He looked up as a number of rifles cocked and pointed towards him. Out of pure impulse, Charlie pulled the trigger on the gun, firing towards the crowd who ducked for cover.

  The blue bolt flew crazily through the air and hit slap-bang in the middle of the chains holding Jackal the hunter! The chain snapped and Jackal found himself free! He jumped up, laughing loudly and rushed off into the jungle before anyone could stop him!

  Keesha and General Stouger turned back to Charlie who continued to aim the gun towards them in a state of wild panic.

  Greebol slowly got to his feet and placed Bob back into the bottle. His shoulder healed as well as it could be, he finally noticed the devastation around him. He looked to Charlie standing with the gun.

  “Charlie,” he gasped, “what did you do?”

  “I have no idea,” he admitted, “but as usual it seems to be bad for me.” He began to lower the laser gun.

  “I would not do that if I were you my friend,” Greebol said as he saw the general and his men ready to open fire. “Tell them to drop their weapons.”

  Charlie raised the gun again. “I blame you for this Greebol,” he grumbled. “Trust me to find you here! Why the hell can’t you leave me alone? You bring me nothing but bad luck!”

  “Tell them to drop their weapons Charlie!”

  “Drop your weapons!” the sloppy Human shouted. The Intelimals complied. “Now back away. I am a mad man with a gun! I am very, very dangerous!” The Intelimals backed away slowly.

  “Good work Charlie,” said Greebol smiling.

  “Be quiet!” Charlie screamed. That old anger issue of Charlie’s billowed out of him again. He was blazing hot. The sick on his skin literally boiled.

  “Charlie what are you doing with a gun?” said a sweet voice behind him.

  “I have no idea!” Charlie shrieked, turning to see who dare speak to him whilst he was in this, the foulest of moods. An’ishia flicked the last blob of vomit from her hair. Charlie’s temper quelled, An’ishia’s beautiful face instantly relaxing him.

  Charlie frowned. She was spotless. It looked like she had just come out of a pampering parlour. “Princess how do you manage to stay looking so God damn amazing after all we’ve been through?” he asked.

  An’ishia flicked her hair and fluttered her long eyelashes. “Must be the royal blood in me,” she said.

  Charlie sighed.

  “Let us keep our concentration please,” said Greebol. “As sexy as she is we must not get distracted.”

  “Shut up Greebol,” Charlie growled.

  But Greebol was not listening. He had spotted the vomit covered Wextoal creeping along the ground towards… the chest! Greebol made a mad dash for it, trying to push Wextoal out of the way. The Waabba struck out, grabbing the Gumthar on his injured shoulder. Greebol cried in pain and staggered. Wextoal had done just enough to get to the chest first, pick it up and open it.

  His face lit up from the glow of the gold inside!

  “Mine!” he shouted. “All mine!” He laughed like the crazy bastard he was.

  “Not today Wextoal,” said Greebol as he pulled the TITS controller from his shorts. The Waabba looked on his back. As he had grabbed at Greebol’s shoulder, Greebol had slapped a transport pad onto his overcoat. Wextoal reached for it but it was on that spot on the back that was almost impossible to reach!

  “Don’t do it Greebol!” he pleaded. “You owe me remember?”

  “You stabbed me Wextoal,” said Greebol sourly. “I am pretty sure you were meant to actually kill me. In my eyes… that means we are even!” He slammed his fist down on the large red button on the TITS remote control!

  Wextoal began to glow. He began to shimmer. He started to disappear as his body slowly dissolved into a billion pieces. “I’ll get you for this!” he screamed. “You mark my words! I’ll get youuuuuu…”

  And with that he was gone.

  “Where did you transport him to?” asked Charlie.

  Greebol shrugged. “I did not input a destination,” he admitted. “My old friend could be anywhere.”

  He picked up the chest that had fallen from Wextoal’s hands and smiled. He fingered the golden coins inside gingerly.

  “Now this is worth all the hassle of the last few days!” he said proudly.

  Giblet stepped towards them, his skin still steaming, a large burn mark in the back of his shield which, and not for the first time, had saved his life.

  “The treasure,” he said, “give it to me. It is rightfully mine.”

  “Finders keepers,” said Greebol stubbornly. And he actually stuck out his tongue.

  “We had a deal!”

  “In case you did not already know,” said Greebol, “I lie quite a lot. Ask my ex-wife. She will tell you.”

  “I need it!” Giblet almost begged. “Give it to me!”

  “No,” said a sly voice emerging from the jungle, “give it to me!”

  All turned to see the group of Elves led by High Delta officer Lemor’all. They had followed the King George to Intelligeous Prime and had been waiting for their chance to make an appearance.

  “You will see it is the correct choice,” Lemor’all continued.

  “The correct choice?” shouted Giblet. “You slime! What have you done to credit the treasure? I’ve been shot at!”

  “Really?” said the Elf. “It is a shame they weren’t more accurate. Now bounty hunter… give me the treasure.”

  “No give it to me!”

  “Me!”

  “No me!”

  “It’s mine!”

  “It is neither of yours!” Greebol crowed. “It is all mine! All of it! Every last gold piece! I deserve it! I do! The treasure stays with me!”

  Charlie turned to face the Gumthar and raised the laser gun, pointing it directly at his annoying, grey head. “No Greebol,” he said coldly. “it’s not yours. It never was. It belongs to either the Dwarf or the Elves and you will hand it over to one of them or by God I’ll blow your pasty head off!”

  The onlookers were stunned. Professor Amirous stopped examining the dragon’s vomit and gasped. Vegora Vrall nodded his head in appreciation; perhaps this Human was not a waste of space after all. Princess An’ishia felt a strange tingle of excitement inside her.

  “Charlie Pinwright!” Greebol said surprised. “I am offended! Impressed but offended.”

  “Hand over the treasure,” Charlie continued. “Or I will fire.”

  “I doubt that,” Greebol chuckled.

  “I will!”

  “Go on then. Fire. I dare you.”

  A blue bolt shot from the laser gun, narrowly missing Greebol’s head. He had to use all of his muscles to move his antennae out of the way.

  “My God Charlie,” said Greebol a little shaken, “you nearly killed me!”

  “I know,” came the flat response. “I missed.”

  Greebol looked at the treasure and sighed. “Very well,” he said, “I know when I am
beaten. But I shall let you decide. Who gets the gold? The Dwarf or the Elves?”

  Charlie looked from one to the other. He knew little about them both so had to use the only knowledge he had. The computer games he played back home. His character was always the Dwarf! There was no real competition.

  “Give the chest to Giblet,” he said at last.

  “Very well,” Greebol grumbled. He took one last look at the gold before handing it over to the little man.

  “You have made an unwise choice,” Lemor’all whispered. “Very unwise.”

  “It seems we are now drawing at six all,” Giblet beamed. “The next challenge is the last in this year’s tournament, which means it is all or nothing.”

  The Elf smiled slyly. “May the tallest man win.”

  Giblet closed the chest and held onto it very securely. He hoped his people were close by as the last thing he wanted was to be stranded on this world. As he turned he saw that the number of Intelimals had doubled.

  Greebol had also noticed their rise. “I think we should be moving on now,” he said quietly to Charlie and the others.

  However, before they could move, there was a commotion up ahead. Someone was moving through the crowd.

  “You won’t be going anywhere,” said Mayor Rajar, stroking his trunk nervously. The crowd parted and a number of soldiers in metal body armour with matching helmets that covered their entire heads rushed through with guns far bigger and deadlier than the one Charlie currently held. He dropped it.

  “I am sorry,” the mayor continued, “but he arrived right before you did.”

  Strolling behind the metal armoured soldiers stood one of the most fearsome sights that anyone could ever witness. The Overseer! He wore body armour of the darkest of blacks. So dark that you could lose your way in it. Spikes covered his shoulders, knuckles and elbows. A long dark silver cape reached around him that seemed to move as though it had a life of its own and upon his face sat a black helmet that hid his face with features imprinted on its surface so horrifying that it could not be put into words.

  Greebol’s knees knocked. Even Vegora Vrall seemed nervous.

  “I am the Overseer,” he said, his voice not loud, but somehow still managing to vibrate the heart. Bleeding the eyes. Burning holes in brains. Removing innocence from children. Drooping flowers. Shrinking manhoods. “And I have come for the terrorists. Do not resist.”

  Charlie had no intention of trying to. His mind scrambled. He raised his arms without even knowing he was doing it as the Overseer’s guards slapped handcuffs on him. Charlie was transfixed by the hollowness of the eyes on that black, black mask. It felt as though all of Charlie’s life had drained away.

  Greebol too put up no resistance as he was cuffed and, along with Charlie, led away from the village and into one of the Overseer’s shuttlecrafts. The thick door closed and the shuttle took off into the sky, heading for the Overseer’s judgement ship in orbit.

  “The rest of you please,” he said to those remaining, “you are all most welcomed guests onboard my vessel.”

  “I… I… I really have to be g… g… getting going,” Giblet stuttered.

  The dark figure smiled, although inside his terrifying helmet none could see it. “Please…” he said, “I insist.”

  Chapter 50

  Far away on a remote planet that was made up of roughly ninety nine percent toxic, acidic, skin melting fluids, and only one percent breathable, normal air, stuck on the top of a large, sharp spike by the collar of his large, dirty overcoat, hung Wextoal, shaking his fists in fury and shouting obscenities.

  And what of the dragon? Keesha took pity on the poor creature and kept it as a pet, making sure to wear oven gloves when trying to feed it.

  Chapter 51

  The Overseer’s judgement ship was as large and as black as he was. If it were not for the lights shining through the few windows, any passing ship wouldn’t even know it was there. In fact on many occasions a poor innocent ship, happily strolling through the galaxy, had crashed headlong into the judgement ship and, always being inferior, the poor innocent ship always came off worse.

  Some say the judgement ship is so black that even sunlight cannot reach it.

  Standing on the control centre of this black ship stood the Overseer himself, in the centre on a raised platform that also sported a grand chair, designed only for his rear. It had grooves and everything. The workers on his ship, wearing all in one dark grey jumpsuits that left nothing to the imagination in the crotch area, stood around control panels, pressing buttons and checking monitors apparently doing work. What that work was no one ever really knew and to be honest no one was ever going to find out. The grey, armoured guards stood at the entrance of the room, large weapons in their hands constantly watching all that went on around them.

  All in all it was quite an imposing sight for those not quite used to an environment like this.

  Giblet shuffled his feet awkwardly. This place was so regimented. The air was stagnant. Nothing like a Dwarf space faring vessel.

  High Delta Officer Lemor’all did not like being somewhere where he was not in command. He stood, arms crossed, starring out of the window at the stars, refusing to look at anyone.

  Vegora Vrall felt uneasy around so much authority. He was used to being a free man.

  Princess An’ishia was used to being watched all of the time back in the family palace on her homeworld. She hated it.

  Only Professor Amirous seemed to not care. He was more interested in the various metals that comprised the ships workstations, floors and walls.

  The Overseer paced up and down, tapping his fingers together. He turned his black masked face towards them and sighed.

  “I have been pondering over what to do with all of you,” he said, his voice causing workstations to crash. “Princess?”

  “Yes Overseer?”

  “I am returning you to your parents. They have been notified and are sending someone as we speak to pick you up.”

  An’ishia scowled. So they couldn’t even be bothered to get her themselves? Well that was typical. She shouldn’t have expected otherwise.

  “Vegora Vrall… your government has requested we let you go. In the interest of friendship I have agreed.”

  Vrall nodded his large, orange, pig-like head in understanding.

  “Professor Amirous Phililanous Phstophogus… I would like you to remain onboard. Our last lead scientist had an unfortunate ‘accident’ when he failed to do what I asked of him. I would like you to take his place. It would be a great career opportunity for you.”

  “Very well,” said Amirous, “serving onboard could be somewhat of a challenge. I must request my own cabin and not to be spoken to by anyone with little or no intelligence.”

  “I will make sure I am the only one who ever speaks to you then,” said the Overseer with what could almost be called a chuckle, but came out more like a strange sort of menacing gurgle.

  The dark figure turned to the Dwarf and the Elves.

  “There are many strange things happening of late,” he said slowly. “I am sure you will agree. Things that we cannot fully comprehend. I know your species… I know everything there is to know about you. I am the Overseer after all. Yet I also seem to know nothing about you. Curious times.”

  “We feel the same way about you Mr Overseer,” said Lemor’all nodding his head.

  Giblet coughed loudly, yet somewhere within that cough was a noise that sounded very much like the word “sleazebag”.

  “Therefore, again in the interest of friendship,” the Overseer said, ignoring the Dwarf’s odd cough but being sure to remember to give him some of his own special throat soothing ointment later, “I am going to forget what took place in the city of Baggus. It is only Baggus’Regious after all. Nothing to stress too much over.” And he winked. Again behind the mask, no one saw it.

  “You are most kind,” said Lemor’all with a fake smile. He would be sure to go to his commander when he returned to his homeworl
d to sort out this mess. Who did this masked figure think he was? He had no ruling over the Elves.

  “What of Charlie and Greebol?” An’ishia asked. “The bounty hunter failed his task for me therefore owes me a lot of money.”

  “The Galactic Ruling Body will happily compensate you for any losses your Highness.”

  “And What Of My Quarrel With The Gumthar?” asked Vrall. “I Still Owe Him A Broken Neck.”

  The Overseer patted the Umfian on the shoulder. It was a cold, heartless touch. “Trust me fine warrior, you will be happy with what we have in store for Greebol.”

  On the large monitor at the head of the control centre the Elves’ large silver ship and the Dwarves’ stocky vessel came into view, ready to back their men. A communications light beeped and the Dwarf Lord Shagbag appeared on the screen. He had a ring of beer around his mouth and was currently picking his fat nose.

  “Oh hello,” he said to those watching on the judgement ship, quickly removing finger from nostril, “I didn’t quite see you there! Well done Giblet. Once again you have done us proud.”

  Giblet nodded his head, trying to keep his cool in front of the others, but ready to jump up and down like a fool the moment he got back to his ship.

  Lord Shagbag looked at Lemor’all and stuck out his tongue.

  “Dwarf Lord,” said the Overseer, “it is an honour.”

  “Erm… the honour is all mine,” said Shagbag a little uncertainly.

  “Yes I know it is. What can I do for you?”

  Lord Shagbag scratched his bearded chin and considered the Overseer. The masked man made him uneasy. “It is in regards to our tournament,” he said coyly. “By order of the ancient rules, if we are helped by an outsider in one of our quests then that outsider must decide the next challenge. Therefore this bounty hunter… Greebol… must decide the next and final challenge.”