by Tom Dublin
"We demand that all political prisoners are released immediately, and safe transport is arranged to return them to their homes and families."
Nathan frowned as his face turned cold, his look murderous. "Understood," Nathan told Dollen. "What else?"
Jack was furious and his face betrayed his emotions.
"We demand the Etheric Federation withdraw from every world they have illegally invaded and retreat back to whichever corner of the galaxy they came from."
"O... K..." said Tc'aarlat, drawing out his response. "Is that it?"
Dollen shook his head, his left eye twitching as he focused on the sheet of paper once more.
"Finally, we demand that the so-called Empress of the evil Etheric Empire hand herself over to be tried and executed for her many war crimes."
A heavy silence hung in the air for a moment while everyone considered what Dollen had just said. The Baloreon attempted to fold up his list of demands with his free hand, eventually resorting to simply scrunching up the piece of paper and stuffing it back into his pocket.
"Can I ask a question?" said Jack after a moment.
Dollen turned to look at him, the movement causing more of his brow sweat to run down into his eyes.
"You say 'we demand'," Jack pointed out. "Who's 'we'?"
Dollen blinked, his eyes growing wide as he realized that he had missed out a key part of his speech.
Jack pictured him practicing his big moment in the mirror of his cabin. The traitorous piece of puke.
"We," croaked Dollen, “are Dark Tomorrow.”
Jack's eyes flashed with rage. "You're one of those dickless fuckers?" he spat.
"Tomorrow, the blood of our enemies shall rain down from the heavens!"
"Not this tired old shit," groaned Jack, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Dollen's face twisted into an expression of rage. "Dark Tomorrow is a non-partisan organization dedicated to the freedom of-"
"No!" Snapped Jack, shaking his head. "You're a truckload of terrorist twats!" Snatching up his empty beer glass, he hurled it at Dollen's head.
The glass slammed into his temple, shattering into a dozen razor sharp pieces, several of which embedded themselves into the side of the Baloreon's face, with one particularly pointed sliver slicing into the corner of his eye.
As Dollen screamed, Tc'aarlat grabbed hold of the bomber's tail, pressed his boot into the small of his back and tugged as hard as he could.
There was a sickening ripping sound as the muscle beneath the hairless blue skin tore away from the tendons fixing it to the bone.
Furious, Dollen raised his hand and tried to focus his one working eye on the small button on the top of the detonator.
Nathan's fist made contact with his jaw, and it was only the extremely strong bone structure possessed by the Baloreon that stopped the punch from being a fatal blow. Instead, the bone splintered, sending a lightning bolt of pain through Dollen's face and causing his brain to initiate an immediate shutdown in the cause of self-preservation. The Baloreon's eyes rolled back in his head and his legs buckled as he crumpled towards the floor.
All eyes fixed on the detonator as - almost in slow motion - it slipped from his hand, spun in the air and fell towards the floor, the button now facing down towards the solid, varnished planks.
Before anyone could react, Mist launched herself from Tc'aarlat's shoulder, swooping down and snatching the device from the air just inches above the ground.
Pumping her wings, she flew back to her usual perch, the wires connecting the detonator to the explosives in Dollen's vest street pulling taut as she landed.
Seeing their chance to help neutralize the situation, the armed guards burst in through the bar's main doors and spread out to take up positions around the establishment.
"It's OK, Keith" said Nathan to their sergeant as he hurried over. "It's just this guy. No other threats present."
"Thank you, sir," said Keith nodding. "If you and your guests could vacate the premises, I'll get the bomb techs in here to make the device safe."
"What about Dollen?" asked Jack. "What will happen to him?"
"I'll take care of him," said a voice from behind the group. Jack and Tc'aarlat turned to see a large man in gleaming black armor striding towards them.
"Gentlemen," said Nathan. "This is Ricky Milton Smith."
"The reputation of the New Rangers precedes you," Jack announced, shaking the newcomer's hand warmly.
"Yeah," agreed Tc'aarlat. "I hear you're the toughest sons of a bitches around here!"
Ricky shook his hand. "I'm sure you're a brave guy, as well."
"Too right!" crowed the Yollin. "Birds of a feather fuck together!"
"Flock together!" Jack put in.
"Same difference," said Tc'aarlat, stooping slightly so that one of the armed guards could retrieve the detonator from Mist's beak. "What will you do with this dick-splash?"
Ricky looked at the unconscious terrorist at his feet. "I'll interrogate him once he wakes up, and ensure he receives the appropriate punishment."
"Good," said Jack. He gestured to both Tc'aarlat and himself. "I just hope you understand that neither of us had anything to do with this. He used us to get in here and act like a grade A ferret-fister."
Ricky flashed a grim smile. "We have your arrival on board, and your entire conversation recorded," he assured them. "We appreciate the mechanics of the situation."
"And we'd better not have our payment docked for this, either!" insisted Tc'aarlat.
"I assure you that won't be the case," smiled Nathan. "In fact, there may even be a small reward for the safe capture of Mr Stonebrand here..."
The Yollin's face split into a wide grin. "The moment I met you, I knew you were one of the good guys," he proffered. "Now, when you say small reward, exactly how small are we talking here?"
Ricky turned, partly to hide his grin, and partly to wave the newly arrived bomb techs over to get to work.
"What say we continue our conversation in my office," suggested Nathan. He led Jack and Tc'aarlat down to the lower area of the bar and the main doors. As Nathan pushed them open, the men heard a fresh chorus of screams.
"What now?" sighed Jack.
On the far side of the mall, just outside the yellow exclusion tape, the group of Snowbiral girls were chasing a terrified Shrillexian, now wearing only his underwear and socks. He skidded on the polished floor as he tried to stop at the door to the male restroom.
With a haunted glance back at the girls, he slammed open the door and dove inside. Giggling with excitement, the bride led her three bridesmaids straight inside after him.
This time, it was the Shrillexian's turn to scream.
Nathan extended an arm towards another door positioned next to the beer cooler cabinets behind the bar.
"We'll take the long way around."
7
Alma Nine, Taron City, Government Building, Vice President's Office
"That devious fucking bitch!" spat Saf Tah, slamming his fist down onto the dark wood top of his desk, and sending a container of brushes, combs and tubes of hair gel crashing onto the floor.
Mol Gat, one of the Vice President's longest standing aides, hurried over to pick them up and return them to their spot beside a small but well-used mirror.
"I, um... don't understand, sir," he admitted as he refilled the pot. "Why would the, um... President enter into negotiations with the Etheric Federation without, um... informing you?"
Saf Tah glowered down at his assistant. "Because, you moron, she knew I would have put a stop to her plans."
Mol Gat cast a nervous glance over at his fellow staffer, Jus Clo, before standing to replace the collection of hair products.
"Oh yes, of course, sir" he cooed, hoping the faint tremble in his voice wouldn't betray the intense feeling of dread Saf Tah's rages always filled him with. "And, um... you would put a stop to it because...?"
"Because, you pathetic gutter slime, aligning ourselves with those Eth
eric bastards will put us on the path to utter destruction!"
He pounded on his desk again, toppling the pot of combs and gels once more.
"We'll be nothing more than a puppet planet, expected to come running whenever their pathetic excuse for an Empress clicks her fingers."
Snatching up the mirror, he peered at his reflection, carefully repositioning one of the tiny white lights woven into his chrome-colored hair.
"There's a reason we should never have given women the right to vote, let alone play at politics themselves."
"It's funny you should mention that, sir," said Jus Clo, taking a step towards his boss's desk, taking care not to tread on Mol Gat's fingers as he crawled across the carpet to pick up an errant hair clip.
He had sprayed his own extravagant hairstyle with an aerosol-based glue, and then dunked his entire head into a vat of multi-colored glitter.
The end result resembled something akin to the aftermath of an explosion in a Wiletime tree ornament factory.
"I actually had an idea for how we might be able to toss a dark stain upon President Tor Val's as yet untainted reputation," he announced with a smile.
He paused, in a way he hoped looked more dramatic than scared.
Saf Tah sighed. "Let's hear it, then," he growled. "And I hope it's better than your idea to name a sexually transmitted disease after her, then release a comedy song about it!"
Jus Clo clutched his stack of files to his chest and tried not to let the hurt show in his eyes. "Oh, it's much better than that idea, sir. I stayed up quite late last night working out all the little details, and I think you'll find-"
"Get on with it!" bellowed Saf Tah.
Jus Clo jumped at the cry, quickly lowering his collection of files to crotch level in an attempt to hide the fact that he had just peed himself a little.
"Yes sir!" he squeaked, awkwardly trying to blow his glitter-coated bangs out of his eyes without making offensive noises. "Of course, sir!"
Three seconds into his next dramatic pause, the aide thought better of it, and swiftly continued.
"We 'leak' the news to the press that Tor Val... is having an affair!"
Mol Gat gasped out loud, pausing mid-stretch as he reached out to set the Vice President's haircare pot back on his desk. "She is?"
"Of course not, you moronic mound of monkey turds!" roared Saf Tah. He pointed accusingly towards Jus Clo. "He made it up!"
Mol Gat gasped again, turning to face his smug colleague. "You did?"
Jus Clo nodded. "I did indeed," he said proudly. "And just think what the press will say when they get hold of that little tidbit of scandalous information..."
Mol Gat's eyes glazed over for a split second. "I, um... I can't imagine," he admitted a moment later.
"Well, I can!" thundered the Vice President. "They'll say exactly nothing, you simpering sack of shit. Tor Val is a widow. Her husband died on the journey over here ten years ago. She can have a relationship with whomever she damn well pleases!"
He slammed his mirror back down, causing the circle of glass inside the frame to crack into several pieces. "In fact, I wouldn't put it past the goddamn press to make a meal out of it and push her approval ratings even higher."
Jus Clo retraced his earlier step, eager to put more distance between himself and anything even vaguely throwable.
He was trembling so much that the tight silver curls of his freshly permed hair were practically vibrating.
Saf Tah fixed him with an angry stare. "Is that the best you've got?"
"Er..."
"Ooh, um... I had an idea as well, sir," Mol Gat put in, sounding much more confident than current circumstances suggested he should. "We've still got that ancient video footage of the Etheric Empire advancing on the Leith front line in their war. If we put that footage on TV, and played it backwards, it would, um... it would look as though the Empire soldiers were all cowards, running away from the enemy!"
Mol Gat blinked as a heavy plastic hair brush bounced off his forehead.
"Fools!" Saf Tah rumbled. "No, if we are to find a way to stop Tor Val from handing this world over to the new dictatorship on the block, we'll need to get a little more... personal."
He pressed a button positioned underneath his desk, and a hidden door clicked open halfway along one of the room's well-stocked bookcases. An unsmiling figure stepped through, removing his pair of mirrored sunglasses and slipping them into the inside pocket of his coat. Then he ran the palm of his hand over the sleek, smooth surface of his shaven scalp.
"Gentlemen," Saf Tah said to his two stunned aides. "I would like you to meet the President's head of security and my new best friend, Hip Win."
Federation Base Station 11, Nathan Lowell's Office
"Who was Dollen, really?" asked Jack once he and Tc'aarlat were seated in Nathan's office. "Aside from a pus-filled, suicide bombing bell-end, that is."
Tc'aarlat chuckled at the insult. As they'd passed behind the bar, he had grabbed an unopened bottle of single malt scotch and he was now holding it up to the light, admiring the warm glow of the amber liquid sloshing around inside.
"His real name was Nuckel Thuntang," replied Nathan. "He's been on the Etheric Empire’s radar for a while now. We couldn't believe our luck when you brought him right to us."
"Yeah," said Tc'aarlat. "Real lucky."
"But, nothing went off when you took us through security at the docks," Jack pointed out. "No alarms. Nothing."
"You're right," agreed Nathan. "No alarms. We had them silenced just before you passed through the scanners, but we got a good look at his bomb vest."
"Wait!" cried Tc'aarlat, lowering the whisky bottle. "You mean you knew he was wearing that thing the whole time we sat drinking and chatting with him?!"
Nathan nodded. "There was a chance he would try to ditch the explosives before you left after your delivery," he explained. "Or, the situation could have played out the way it did.”
“We had to wait for him to make a move, or the best we could pin on him was transporting dangerous material. Once he'd planted the device, or tried to blow himself up, we had him on terrorist charges."
Tc'aarlat rubbed his mandibles together. "You lot sure have a twisted way of doing things," he said, plunging one of his long nails into the cork in the top of the whisky bottle and pulling it out with a shtunk!
He raised the bottle to his lips, spread his mandibles, and took a long drink.
"Yeah!" he growled once he swallowed. "That's the fiery pits of Hell burn I've been looking for! Which is exactly where I'd like to send every single one of those Dark Tomorrow fuckers!"
Nathan noticed Jack sigh heavily and close his eyes. "I believe you have something of a history with that particular group don't you, Captain Marber."
"Does he?" asked Tc'aarlat, pausing as he raised the bottle to take another swig of scotch. He turned to Jack. "Do you?"
"You could say that," said Jack darkly. He sat in silence for a moment, lost in a distant memory. The other two men waited for him to be ready to speak.
"It was a lifetime ago," he said eventually. "Back when I was a platoon sergeant in the Empire’s Special Assault Marines. We were on a mission to locate and kill a group of Dark Tomorrow commanders who were gathering for a meeting in the Tuko region of a planet called Garalis."
Tc'aarlat's eyes narrowed. "You were in the Federation’s military?
“You knew I had a sordid past. Drop it.” Jack fixed Tc’aarlat with a hard stare.
“How can I drop it? You set out to kill them!” the Yollin continued unperturbed.
Jack nodded. "We had no choice. We'd tried unsuccessfully to capture them, cut off their access to weapons, and turn their followers against them - but none of it had worked. This was the last resort.”
“We got to the location - a family home on the outskirts of Baglavan City - the day before the terrorists flew in from all across the system, and secured a perimeter, staying hidden from our targets at all times."
"Did yo
u get them?" asked Tc'aarlat.
Jack shook his head. "They arrived as planned, and I was ready to detonate the wireless charges we'd sunk into the walls and foundations of the house. The plan was to bury the bastards in rubble and leave them to rot."
"What happened?"
Jack sighed. "One of the commanders turned up with two kids in tow. I hadn't anticipated any of them bringing non-combatants along, especially not children. But, the decision was made to proceed as planned. I was ordered to detonate the explosives and kill the lot of them."
"And, I'm guessing you didn't."
"I wouldn't," said Jack. "I couldn't. I was there to execute terrorists, not kids. That's not what I signed up for."
"But they weren't kids, were they Jack?" Nathan interjected.
Once again, Jack shook his head. "They were Alstublafts; an alien race that just look like children. They were on the kill list as well. I hadn't read the briefing documents properly, just skimmed over them en route."
"But... someone else must have known who they were," Tc'aarlat suggested.
"They did," Jack confirmed. "My commander tried to take the detonator switch from me and complete the mission himself, but I knocked him out and threatened anyone else who came near with my sidearm."
"The platoon was forced to storm the house instead," said Nathan, picking up the story. "They got most of the terrorists, but a few key figures escaped. Figures who have since gone on to plan and commit atrocities across the galaxy."
"I was court-martialed, dishonorably discharged and sent to jail for six years," Jack added directly to Tc'aarlat. "I got out about six months before we bumped into each other in that bar on Phosos."
"Which is why you were looking for a new career," said the Yollin, almost to himself. "A career with no responsibilities."
Jack lowered his gaze and didn't respond.
"And why you're now overweight and so out of shape."
Jack sat upright, scowling. He opened his mouth to respond angrily, but Nathan grabbed three glasses from a side table before that could happen.
"Let's have a drink before that stuff all disappears," he said, looking pointedly in Tc'aarlat's direction.
