How to Pick Up Women with a Drunk Space Ninja
Page 4
“Fine. Follow me.”
They headed to the bar, ignoring the chaos that they had—in large part—caused.
“Greetings, sirs,” Earl said as they approached. “How may I help you? I see that you have had quite the eventful evening here at Joe’s.”
“Earl, can you fetch Queenie, please?”
“I’m right here,” came a voice from behind the bar. Queen Joe rose elegantly from a crouched position near where she kept the pricier bottles of happiness.
“Startled me there, Queen. Anyways, please tell Ishiro’shea about our opportunity.”
“Ah yes, what we discussed earlier, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Duke said with a smirk.
“If you could’ve solved my problem regarding an unknown and seemingly uncontrollable astral anomaly that was creeping into my bar—I would’ve given you both access to my portals free of charge.”
“See, Ishiro! I told you—wait—‘could’ve’?”
“I’m sorry, Duke. The ‘portal’ is gone. Sometime between you hitting on those Hilterians and getting crushed by the ceiling, it left. No wild portal, no free portal card. Sorry.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me? This is really not my night. Any chance for another shot of that whisky, at least?”
Ishiro’shea seemed reenergized at the thought.
“Guys, I’m not so sure that this is the time to be drinking. I mean, for one thing—you did a number on my bar tonight. More than usual. I’m not overly happy about that. You also seriously injured two members of one of our biggest musical draws—during their performance, no less. Oh yeah, and you shot a hole in my roof.”
“So, you’re telling me that we probably aren’t going to get another shot of whisky?”
“Turn around.”
Duke could see the Trampling Death Robots starting to collect themselves—and repair themselves. They’re gonna be pissed. Flakka-Grog wiggled around a bit. Damnit, he’s not dead? He could sense the crowd getting louder and bolder. If they riot, I’m public enemy numero uno.
“We’ll just take the bill, if it’s all the same to you, your Highness.”
“We can settle later. I would probably just leave before things get to a point where even I can’t help you.”
“Thanks. Much obliged.”
Duke and Ishiro’shea headed for the exit opposite the stage.
“At least you got your ‘it’ back, Duke!” shouted the Queen.
“Good point! I might hit up those Hilterians next time we’re in town!”
The bounty hunter stumbled over what appeared to be a black polymerized chloroprene suit clinging to a magenta-skinned body. It was motionless. In its perfectly circular palm was a half-eaten MechaBurger 8000.
Okay, maybe I won’t, Duke thought to himself as he and Ishiro’shea exited the bar.
Chapter 5
The Beeps and Blinks of Space Travel
“TONIGHT WAS KINDA CRAZY, HUH?”
Ishiro’shea did not respond to Duke. In fact, he accelerated the speed of his march towards the parking area.
“Slow down, bud. Are you mad at me? Or are you just trying to get as far away as possible from what’s brewing inside the bar?”
The rumbling from inside Cyborg Joe’s continued to intensify.
“Fine. I’m sorry for leaving you on the floor—and choosing to hit on those Hilterians; but you can’t blame me for your ill-fated attempt to join the band. And I didn’t force you to puncture Sprinkles’ eye with your sword. You gotta cut me some slack there, Ishiro.”
Still the ninja did not respond; he kept his hurried pace.
“Oh yeah, sorry for the whole table thing, too. I didn’t mean to leave you fending off those robots—I was truly in a bit of a predicament myself.”
Once again, the ninja did not respond. But Duke was not surprised by Ishiro’shea’s lack of reaction—in fact, Ishiro’shea hadn’t said much of anything since he took his vow of silence upon graduation from the College of Cohorts, Consorts, Co-Conspirators, and Other Assorted Sidekick Types many cycles ago. He was the Salutatorian. Duke and Ishiro’shea had a partnership solidified by more than simple words and pats on the back. They didn’t need to communicate in the traditional sense; they had true bonding experiences. Real friendship-forging stuff. However, Duke was quickly realizing that he, at present, was bonding more with his own guilt than with his sword-wielding colleague.
“Can you even imagine what we could’ve done with unlimited access to those portals?”
Duke LaGrange and his silent sidekick stared up at the Deus Ex Machina, or at least the parts of her that towered over the other ships parked at the loading dock. She was an old ship, but she was their ship, twice the size of Cyborg Joe’s and twice the alcohol consumption. She looked as if she came off of the same assembly line as Ol’ Betsy. She was loud and weathered and battle-tested; she possessed nothing new, sleek, or sexy—she encompassed the phrase “they don’t make ‘em like that anymore” in both the positive and negative connotations. It was without a doubt that ecological regulations were ignored to produce such a spacecraft. She was a priceless relic to half of those that laid eyes on her and a worthless pile of junk to the other half—she was art. Duke and Ishiro’shea loved the Deus Ex Machina—no matter the pickle they were in, no matter how impossible a solution seemed, no matter if they backed themselves into a corner with no plausible manner in which to escape—she always bailed them out.
“Mr. LaGrange, your keys,” exclaimed the Glyptodian valet at the loading dock.
“Thank you, my good man,” Duke responded as he took the keys from his furry grasp.
The valet held out his hand for the customary tip. Duke paused at the sight of the extended arm and upright palm. He then slammed his hand down, probably bruising the Glyptodian’s metacarpus.
“Alright, son! Stay in school.”
The valet appeared to be caught off guard, then seemed agitated. Duke launched himself down the loading dock until he reached the Deus Ex Machina.
“Come on, Ishiro’shea—we need to book it before those pissed-off patrons figure out that we vamoosed.”
As Ishiro’shea patted the young Glyptodian on the shoulder and flipped him some monetary units, Duke yelled out, “My tip wasn’t good enough?”
Ishiro’shea rapidly made his way to the parking spot just as Duke was opening the hydraulic hatch on the left side of the massive ship. For such a large ship, the entry hatch was quite confined. The door closed with the noisy clang of a dropped pot on a ceramic floor and the elevator shot them up towards the bridge. It was only a ten second climb but those ten seconds contained the same maddening elevator Muzak that was installed the day that Duke acquired the ship during a rousing game of No-Limit Nova Texan Strip Skeeball. It had been fifteen cycles of the same melody; fifteen cycles of that same earworm-planting monstrosity.
“I’m going to install a new song in this damned thing. I mean it this time. I’ve had it!” Duke barked.
Ishiro remained silent.
The door slid open with a nails-on-a-chalkboard screech to reveal the austere bridge of the Deus Ex Machina.
“Seriously, I mean it. I’m thinking the Nova Texas Planetary Anthem. How about that, huh?”
Ishiro’shea ignored the statement and approached the main control panel. It mirrored the appearance of the ship, in that it was oversized and underwhelming to the eye. A bit long in the tooth for a modern onboard controls system, but it still worked for the majority of the time. With speed befitting a ninja, Ishiro’shea’s dexterous digits poked and prodded the luminescent buttons of the panel. Duke loved the beeps and blinks of space travel.
The bounty hunter made his way up to a raised platform in the geometric center of the bridge. There, in all of its glory, was his captain’s chair. His leathery throne. The most comfortable place to rest one’s tired body in the whole of the known universe. Over the years of use, the chair had formed around the shape of Duke’s backside—he took pride in
knowing that this piece of furniture was now customized for his needs. He kicked up his feet along the surrounding rail as he sank into the warmth of his favorite seat. His headache started to dissipate, his eyes closed, and he took in a deep, long breath. As he approached a moment of true bliss, he broke in and out of muddled song.
Hail Nova Texas, a beauty under the sun,
It gets hotter than Hell,
For which it ain’t much fun,
But we have cacti and critters and fried meats on-the-go,
Don’t tell us what to do ‘cause we have our shotguns in tow...
...and we don’t have sex with our livestock.
He petered out. “Yep, definitely gonna make this the new elevator tune.”
Duke had almost forgotten about the damage that he had caused back at Joe’s and was about to drift off into a long overdue nap, until the familiar rattling of Deus Ex Machina’s shell signified takeoff. The ship departed the loading dock with a clamoring “see ya’ later” to Kelt, then headed into the vast playground of space.
“Where to, Ishiro? Anywhere tickle your fancy?” Duke asked with a slight yawn.
Ishiro’shea pressed a few buttons and swiped his right hand quickly over a holopad. It glimmered. Immediately, the large view screen at the front of the bridge appeared above the control panel. The split-panel view screen showed both the actual space in front of the ship, and also a more technical interface with all of the scanning data, systems status checks, and other miscellaneous bits of information needed to keep a spacecraft flying. Front-and-center on the dashboard, the long-range scanner results were materializing.
“Not a lot of traffic in this sector right now, is there? Okay, want to bounce on over to the Oscavia? I think we have a few free massages from those triplets that we helped out—remember? I’m pretty sure that we need to collect on that. Two for me, one for you.”
The ninja’s glare was icy.
“One for me, one for you—flip for the third?”
Ishiro’shea repositioned the long-range scanners to examine the area to the right of the vessel. More blinks and beeps. He didn’t acknowledge Duke’s suggestion.
“Okay, no to the Oscavian Caves. Want to do some work? We can make it to Tardasio 7 in no time and see what Sol has cookin’—sound good?”
Suddenly, something appeared on the scanner. The icon on the interface was that of a spacecraft. But it was big. Really big.
“What in Nova Texas is that?”
Ishiro’shea’s hands were working at a speed that Duke had never seen before. He must be pretty curious as well.
“It looks like… like… a school bus? At least we didn’t fire on ‘em. That would’ve been messy. On to Sol’s.”
Duke relaxed back into his chair and tilted his hat over his eyes. In a matter of seconds, he was startled by a slap on his shoulder. It was as firm as frozen peanut brittle. How did he get up here without me knowing? Oh yeah, he’s a ninja.
The ninja pointed towards the screen.
“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s no ordinary school bus!”
The goliath ship continued on a course straight towards the Deus Ex Machina. It engulfed the view screen. Upon it, dead center in crudely applied stencil work, were the words:
TRAMPLING DEATH ROBOTS FAN CLUB & ATTACK SQUAD, JUNGAFALLOW III CHAPTER.
“I guess we’re gonna get to finish that scuffle after all. Let’s get in position, little buddy.”
Chapter 6
Buttons Where There Weren't No Buttons
THE SHIP DWARFED THE DEUS Ex Machina in the same manner that a peanut is dwarfed by a macadamia nut—if the macadamia nut is the size of a high school gymnasium.
“Ishiro, patch me in.”
The ninja swiftly darted over to the far left side of the control panel and began to input digits with rapid-fire precision. After a few moments, he threw his hands up in frustration.
“Not answering our hail? See if you can override.”
The ninja worked with speedy aggression.
“Hurry... hurry... they’re firing up their weapons. And not to add any more pressure or anything, but they’ve got an Ootrelian star cannon.”
Ishiro paused momentarily. The Ootrelian star cannon was one of the most deadly weapons in the known universe.
“I thought those were outlawed,” said Duke, mostly to himself.
Ishiro’shea threw his thumb up.
“Excellent, little buddy.”
Duke cleared his throat and began.
“My name is Duke LaGrange. Adventurer. Trailblazer. Poet. A true man of the universe. And I’m sure that this is just a big mix up.”
Silence. Then a small crackle of interference.
“Mr. LaGrange. It is nice to finally meet. Your reputation precedes you.”
“And who are you?”
“You have indeed put some of my closest friends away for long periods of time,” the voice said, ignoring Duke’s question. “You’re probably the eighth or ninth most decorated and respected bounty hunter in this sector.”
“Eighth or ninth? I would like to meet the other seven. I’m...”
“However,” the voice interrupted, “I am afraid that you are severely overmatched and outclassed this time. Your folksy charm and overactive libido will not save you. I will take pleasure in knowing that I was the one responsible for ending your life. The Robots and my fellow brothers must be avenged. Plain and simple.”
Word travels fast.
“Mister, I am afraid it is you that’s run out of luck.”
“You and your ego amuse me, LaGrange. Your systems, if they are working properly that is, have probably detected the fact that I have an Ootrelian star cannon. Your dilapidated ship won’t withstand one direct hit. On top of that, my other armaments are immeasurably more advanced than anything on your floating junk heap.”
“I think you underestimate us. Which is surprising for a school bus driver.” Duke knew it was obvious he was bluffing. “But indulge me: to whom must I credit for finally putting me out to pasture?”
“I am Prince Korzo-Tapor of Jungafallow III.”
Duke muted communication.
“Hey Ishiro, I thought there was a revolt against his government and he was hung? Double-looped noose and all.”
The ninja motioned that he could not confirm the incident.
“You are probably thinking that I was killed in the Not So Great Revolt of 4392?” the voice said.
“Never crossed my mind.”
“Needless to say that I was not. And I have taken back what is rightfully mine—Jungafallow III. With the help of the loyal and proud members of the Trampling Death Robots Fan Club, of course.”
They really are loyal.
“But alas, I must end this autobiographical interlude,” a distinctly different voice said.
Must be the other head.
“Only a fool could think that they could take out Duke LaGrange with a school bus full of fanboys.”
“I am not a fool and this is no school bus. In fact, its design is what allowed us to approach without any suspicion. So, who’s the fool, Mr. LaGrange?”
As the prince spoke, the interstellar school bus decloaked and a boxy Jungafallowian Fighter materialized. The only two characteristics that remained consistent were the Ootrelian star cannon and the fan club stenciling.
“So how did you survive the revolt, your highness? Or is it highnesses? What is the proper way to greet dual-craniumed royalty?”
“Mr. LaGrange, you are simply stalling now—and I am sure that your mute comrade is planning some sort of chicanery as we speak. I hear he is the brains of your outfit.”
Duke noticed Ishiro’shea’s smile beneath his mask.
“You’re right, your Royal Scumbag, I was stalling. My old floating junk heap managed to lock on its tractor beam undetected. More advanced, my ass.”
“Tractor beam?” the prince laughed. “LaGrange, it really was a pleasure to meet you. But now, you must die.”
Ishiro’shea redirected the tractor beam onto the Ootrelian star cannon in a narrowed field of pure concentrated power. The Deus Ex Machina descended with a jarring jerk. An explosion engulfed the front of the larger spacecraft. The star cannon was ripped off like a dirty bandage. Clearly, the cannon had been a custom after-market addition to the ship, so there was no gaping hole left where the weapon had been—the innards were completely guarded. This was unfortunate for Duke and Ishiro’shea.
“What were you saying about a star cannon? You might be the one with the ego problem, o great exalted ones. I think it’s now a bit more of an even playing field, as they say.”
“Well played.”
The poise and lack of emotion—traits not common among the prince’s species—made Duke quite uneasy.
“Commander, I’m ready to engage with the rest of our artillery,” hissed another, decidedly more Jungafallowian voice.
“Proceed, Lieutenant.”
“Rest of their artillery?” asked Duke, directing his query to Ishiro.
The gigantic vessel roared with a thunderous salvo of weapons. Duke stood on the bridge as the ship unleashed a round of fury that he knew was likely the last thing that he would see in this lifetime.
“Brace for impact, little buddy.”
The Deus was rocked.
“And now for the final blow to the mildly famous Duke LaGrange,” Korzo-Tapor’s voice echoed over the speakers.
“Mildly?” Duke smirked.
The sizzles of frying wires and the clangs and cracks of failing infrastructure throughout the doomed ship redirected his focus to Ishiro’shea.
“It’s been a real pleasure,” Duke said solemnly as he tipped the brim of his hat in the direction of his friend. “Didn’t think this was how it was going to end.”
Ishiro’shea continued to plug away at the control panel. He turned around and gave his longtime companion a simple wink.
The Deus Ex Machina was overwhelmed by the Jungafallowian artillery barrage. Explosions consumed the aging shuttle. Its crippled body fell limp as it began to float away against the infinite tapestry of space.