Pew! Pew! - Bad versus Worse

by M. D. Cooper

“Sure. I had it tough before my company took off. I know a lot of people are just looking to get a break and get ahead. That’s fine. I can be evil without screwing them over like all the other villains,” Krample said.

  Gordon shrugged. “And I respect you for that. The thing is, I wasn’t even able to find banking records of Galactic Claus for you. A contract this large, even for just this system, has to be in the billions of standard credits per year, and it’s as if the Jolian government is sending all of this digital dosh to another system entirely, maybe even more than one. It’s diluted to the point that there is no recognizable chain of progression—no currency staying in this system. Think what you want, but that to me means that this Galactic Claus is probably a lot more powerful than you expect, and you may have just kicked the beegle hive on this one.”

  “So what does that mean to you?” Krample asked.

  “First, it means my rate just tripled for the risk factor—we’ll get into that momentarily. Second, it means that this Galactic Claus is probably only one entity working over multiple systems in the galaxy. This is bigger than just the Jolian system, and I hate to say it, but Galactic Claus, whoever or whatever its true identity, is probably more evil than you.”

  Milton took a deep breath and refrained from saying anything. Normally he wouldn’t appreciate Gordon or even listen to his pizza foil hat ramblings, but they were making sense here in a very real, tangible way. Milton was an expert on finance, and it really didn’t make sense to move so much wealth across the galaxy where intermediaries were involved along each jump of the Transgalactic Hypergate System. Unless they were dealing in their own cryptocurrency where they could limit the fees to just the information transmitted.

  “Which to you would mean that Galaxmas is one giant conspiracy to amass incalculable wealth and power across the galaxy for one entity,” Krample said.

  Gordon nodded, pulling the rod of pepperoni from behind his ear and taking a sizable bite before returning it to its resting position. “Exactly. Let’s say I agree to help you and I do help you find and communicate with Galactic Claus. I want to be paid hourly for my time, with the condition that my percentage of future earnings, up to our thirty million standard credit ceiling, will decrease by 50% if you actually pull this off. Less risk for me, more pepperoni pizza for me, and less cost for you if this crazy plan actually works. Finally, if I agree to help you, my name can’t be on any of this.”

  “I think we would like to discuss this in private,” Milton said. “If that would be all right, of course.”

  “Certainly, I’ll be here,” Gordon replied, returning his attention to his screens and working on some of his coding with an oily keyboard Milton couldn’t believe was still functioning. “I have some stuff in storage closet two, but there should be enough room for you to talk there if you would like.”

  “Gordon!” the handheld radio on Gordon’s desk crackled. “Gordon, some Jebulian kid threw up on the slide. We’re going to need you to clean that up. Can you confirm you’re on it?”

  “If anyone asks while you’re out of the room, tell them you don’t know where I am. I am not cleaning that slide again that’s the third time today.”

  “Sure thing,” Krample responded as the three of them walked out of the room. Milton could see the Jebulian kid who was sick. He was bluer than Milton had ever seen a Jebulian and it didn’t like he would hold up much longer without an explosive round two. One of the Chunky Cheddar’s employees brought him a yellow bucket previously used to hold mop water, clearly frustrated that he was having to deal with what must have been an assistant assistant manager duty.

  Storage closet two was roomier than expected despite being a much smaller room than Gordon’s home of filth. The three of them made their way inside, closing the door behind them.

  “What he was saying is actually making a lot of sense. We need to be very careful, especially if this Galactic Claus is bigger than our research has led us to believe,” Milton started.

  “I agree,” Krample said. “Gordon will be a useful asset, and his finder’s fee actually seems quite generous. I will be happy to pay his salary for the time being, however. Xallia, Milton, I want you both to know that if this does work out, you will both be compensated beyond your wildest dreams.”

  Xallia smiled. “Thank you, Krample. I might not like his living arrangement or anything about how Gordon carries himself, but he does seem incredibly intelligent and proficient at whatever it is he does—minus mopping up Jebulian vomit on slides, of course.”

  The three of them laughed. Milton’s phone buzzed, and he pulled it out of his pocket, smiling at what he saw. ‘GALACTIC CLAUS STEALS GALAXMAS—CITIZENS SHOCKED, OUTRAGED.’

  5

  Many hours later after a very generous shopping spree funded by Krample, Xallia was back at Chunky Cheddar’s with a bunch of game tokens stuffed in her purse. The three of them had full reign of the now-closed arcade while Gordon worked in the back, still trying to get ahold of Galactic Claus. The stories surrounding the theft of millions and millions of units of Krample Co products was circulating like a Hexephoxilyne fire with no signs of slowing down. Any remaining Krample Co Products that were somehow remaining on the shelves of rare collector shops had been seized up quickly, but the blame was falling on Galactic Claus, not Krample Co.

  There were the tin foil hat conspiracists that had pieced together the true story, but as Milton had explained, they had no basis or proof to back what was being called outlandish claims—especially since Krample Co was such a beloved company for so many across the Jolian system.

  Jessie Thoulig, CFO of Krample Co was on record stating that Krample Co was monitoring the situation and was devastated such a grievous theft could occur in the first place. He explained that he didn’t know why Krample Co products were being targeted, but that Krample Co would be willing to assist the Jolian government in any way possible during these investigations.

  As they had predicted, Jessie gave no mention of Krample Co’s plans to secure the bid to become the new Galactic Claus. Bargland Midas would be facing a tough decision now as Milton had explained to Xallia. On one hand, he had tried to kill them to take control of the company so he could sell his significant holdings before they turned to a loss. On the other hand, he now saw that this whole crazy taking over Galaxmas plan was a very real possibility now, even if the situation was out of his control.

  “You know, they say this game hasn’t changed in thousands of years,” Krample said, rolling a well-worn ball down a scuffed skeeball lane and into the top, high-scoring slot. Lights flashed congratulating the well-aimed roll. “Might be a little different with the gravity in some places, but Circle-S stays at a pretty consistent 1.0.”

  “That being the case,” Xallia said, rolling her ball down the lane and landing it in the samee high-scoring slot as Krample, “I don’t plan on losing.” She smiled at the small victory, but despite all the years she spent at Chunky Cheddar’s as a kid, she was struggling against Krample.

  “You know, he has one of these machines in his party lounge on the top floor of Krample Co,” Milton said. “So it’s very impressive you’re matching him.”

  Xallia smiled at him. “Well, I used to spend a ton of time playing this when I was a kid. I used to miss maybe one in ten throws on the corner slot. You wouldn’t believe how many tickets I won here. I actually calculated my average ticket to token ratio and traded my tickets to other kids at a profit. It was rare for me to leave Chunky Cheddar’s without a top shelf prize.”

  Xallia and Krample surpassed Milton’s score by several magnitudes, but it was clear he was just playing for fun now. In the end, after three tied games in a row, they declared it a draw and went to check on Gordon.

  “Any luck?” Krample asked as they navigated through the boxes of pizza to get to the greasy coder.

  Gordon nodded. “Yes, actually. Galactic Claus wants to meet. I did exactly what you said and didn’t mention that this was all your doing. He actually reach
ed out to the net-scooper I planted just like you said. After the day, it’s clear he or they are feeling some real heat right now.”

  “So what now? How do we do this?” Krample asked.

  Gordon grinned. “This is where my worth comes in.” He pulled up the encrypted conversation with GC. “This communication encryption was solid, but I got past it with the full might of Chunky Cheddar’s consolidated AI resources. A gross misuse of company property, but it did the job and I’ll just label it is a bandwidth test in the system logs. It looks like Galactic Claus is on Hilthe. We have their location and now we can stage our infiltration if you’d like to go that route before trying to talk with them. Or, if you want to go the more subtle way, we can just arrange for the meeting to be catered by Chunky Cheddar’s.”

  “I would like to talk to them, but it would be good to have the rest of you with me with the blasters in case things get ugly. Now, the suit I brought has nanomesh in case they try to space me in the meeting, but you’ll need disguises and gear,” Krample said.

  “Like costumes or something?” Milton asked, frowning.

  Gordon nodded. “Exactly, we’ll be using Chunky Cheddar’s costumes, but they will be modified with reinforced nanomesh, extra blaster slots, tons of space for charge packs, and everything we’ll need for an all-out blaster fight if things get ugly. We’ll be able to repel an army if needed.”

  Xallia winced. “I’ve never shot a blaster before.”

  “That’s okay,” Milton assured her. “It’s not so hard, you just point and squeeze the trigger. Current blaster tech makes shooting skill trivial.”

  Milton tried to move and accidentally kicked a pizza box, sending it along with several loose pizza crusts skittering across the floor. The kick displaced an uneven pile, and Milton soon found himself holding back an entire mountain of boxes with his hands as they started to spill on top of him. Xallia wanted to do something to help him, but instead took a measured step away as a mangy, sizeable vat rat leapt from its hiding place and onto Milton’s shoulder. The horrible creature fixed Milton with a challenging stare then screeched and scurried away as more boxes fell, swallowing Milton whole. He was screaming for help the whole time this was happening, trying to fight off the seemingly endless onslaught of falling boxes.

  “Good Gesh, it’s a pizzalanche,” Krample cried. “Milton!? Are you still alive?”

  “I… think so, yeah,” Milton called from somewhere inside the giant pizza piles which now blocked the only way out of the storage closet.

  “If you’re done messing around, Milton, there is still work to do. You just made a mess of my home,” Gordon grumbled. There would be no apology for the unfortunate disaster and the accompanying trauma Milton had faced. In Gordon’s eyes, this was of no fault of his own. Milton had kicked over what Gordon had probably considered a delicate work of architectural genius. Xallia tried to understand where Gordon was coming from, failed, then realized she too was beginning to share Milton’s opinion of the man despite how good he was at all this tech stuff.

  When the whole ordeal was done, and he was fished out from the wreckage, Milton simply stormed out of storage closet three and into the main area with his laptop without saying another word. He had expressed his intent to not let Gordon touch his laptop, but apparently the trauma of a pizzalanche had trumped that notion. Had it not been for the smell, the greasy stains on an otherwise nice suit, Gordon’s general unpleasantness, and the danger close encounter with the displaced possibily rabid vat rats, the ordeal probably would have been funny to Xallia.

  “Milton, I’m really sorry to do this,” Krample said from the doorway. “Gordon needs your laptop to get all the relevant data from the Hopper that you downloaded from the ship’s archives.”

  “And you expect me to let him use my laptop? After what just happened? I’m going to have to burn this suit now.”

  “I’ll buy you a new one. If it’s that bad after he’s done, I’ll even buy you a new laptop.”

  “Fine, but this is on my terms. Xallia, could you please help me?” Milton called from the doorway.

  Xallia followed Milton to the kitchen which was dark. Several cryocoolers kept pizza ingredients fresh while the many plasma ovens were all powered off and cold. Milton produced his laptop and set it on one of the titanium workstations while he searched.

  “What are we looking for?” she asked.

  “Plastic wrap. We have to cover the whole laptop, otherwise he’ll ruin it. His hands will desecrate anything they touch. I wish I was joking, but I’m not. You saw the rod of pepperoni behind his ear, right? What kind of person does something like that? I wish he wasn’t so good at what he does, I really hate that we need his help. I hate this horrible place, I hate the games, I hate the fooglegasting mascots and costumes, and now I somehow hate the pizza more than I did before.”

  “Here it is,” Xallia said, passing him the roll of plastic. “I do think he is pretty awful for what it’s worth. I’m sorry about the pizzalanche thing. I didn’t want to step away—there were just so many boxes and I didn’t want to get swallowed, too.”

  “Not your fault at all, I’m glad the boxes didn’t get you, too. Sorry to vent to you,” Milton said.

  Xallia smiled. “It’s no problem, Gordon hasn’t made this any easier on you. Now, let’s get this thing wrapped up, so it’s safe from pizza grease.”

  The two of them secured multiple layers of plastic wrap along all surfaces of the laptop, doubling down on the keyboard and sections Gordon would be touching. Just as they were about to finish, a massive crash reverberated from outside the kitchen. It was followed by a rain of what sounded like shattered glass crashing down onto a hard surface.

  “What was that?” she asked him.

  “I don’t know, but it didn’t sound good,” Milton said, pulling the small holdout blaster from the back of his pants and clicking off the safety.

  Xallia, despite never shooting in her life, took out her blaster as well, following close behind Milton as he inched toward the swiveling Kitchen door, turning off the kitchen lights and peering through the circular window on the door.

  “Someone broke into the main entrance,” Milton said. “You should stay here.”

  Xallia shook her head. “I need to warn the others.”

  “Okay, nice and slow. I’ll try to cover for you, so stay low. Could just be some punk kids—we don’t know.” The two of them opened the door with caution, making their way from the dark hallway and slipping behind the prize counter. Xallia couldn’t see anyone moving through the half-lit arcade area, but that didn’t mean it was empty.

  Pew Pew! Crack! The sound of blaster fire followed by solid impact rung out in the open space.

  Gordon rushed out of his office wearing an oversized Chunky Cheddar costume. He was holding a blaster rifle with both hands, shouting like a maniac as he blasted away at the perceived intruders with a clear disregard for company property even though he would be the one who would have to repair any arcade games damaged by blaster fire. Krample rushed out after him, shooting with his pistol.

  Xallia tried to peer through the glass of the prize cabinet where all the lowly stickers, erasers, and jungochits rested piled high in cheap bins. She could see the outline of what looked humanoids making their way through the arcade—moving between the games.

  Milton stood up, shooting three quick shots with his blaster before diving back down. Xallia screamed as one of the attackers shot a barrage of red energy bolts their way, shattering the glass of the prize cabinet and sending small trinkets flying through the air. The smell of burning plastic and rubber filled the air, and Xallia tried to lower herself further as the attack continued for several more seconds before someone speaking a foreign tongue yelled out in frustration—maybe his blaster had jammed.

  “Milton, Xallia! We’re leaving. Now!” Krample shouted. Milton blasted as he stood from the prize counter, grabbing Xallia’s hand and running back to the hallway where Gordon was holding back the attacker
s with some difficulty. Xallia glimpsed the attackers who were dressed in matte black tactical armor. They held compact repeater blasters and were filling the air with red plasma bolts and the smell of ozone. Gordon was taking a lot of hits, but it looked like the Chunky Cheddar costume was holding up quite well, even though the surface was singed and smoking.

  “Come on!” Gordon yelled, pulling Milton and Xallia back behind him as he covered their retreat. To the back hallway.

  The four of them rushed out of the back door into a maintenance hallway usually restricted to the general population of the mall.

  “Do you know where we’re going?” Krample demanded, stealing a glance behind them as they ran through the narrow, poorly lit hallway.

  “Of course. We’re going to the docking bay to take the Chunky Cheddar’s catering shuttle to Hilthe. You’re taking the Hopper and meeting us there. The intruders won’t be able to follow us out of the mall. I’d also be surprised if security wasn’t on their way, too,” Gordon panted. He was breathing heavily as they rushed down the hall. More blaster fire echoed from behind them, but they had rounded a corner before the blaster bolts could catch them. Gordon stopped abruptly, slamming his back against the wall and waiting for the full enemy force to storm down the tunnel. It was a bottleneck and Gordon held the only available cover. He waited a few more seconds then rounded the corner, squeezing down on the trigger and stopping the attackers in their tracks. Their armor seemed to be preventing most of the damage, but a couple of them had fallen and weren’t getting back up. Xallia watched in awe as Gordon’s Chunky Cheddar costume absorbed the enemy’s sustained repeater fire. “I’m Crispy Cheddar!” Gordon screamed at the attackers who seemed to be cutting their losses and retreating. It was an odd thing to yell, that was for sure, but the attackers actually had reason to fear the Chunky Cheddar costume, it seemed to be the superior armor.

  “This has Bargland’s name written all over it,” Krample seethed. “The toad won’t quit. We need to be prepared for another attack.”