The Court of Crusty Killings: A Captain Space Hardcore Adventure

by Michael Ronson

  “I thought you were in agreement with me on Aplubia’s problems”, she continued, “but maybe you were simply interested in gaining access to my bedchambers.” At this, Funkworthy shot me a look. I shrugged. Hydrangea continued above us, “Carstairs hinted at your interest to me earlier. I hoped you were something more than what you seemed, Space: a man of substance.”

  “She’s baiting you”, Funkworthy whispered. I nodded my agreement, but felt bile rise in my stomach and a shout rise in my throat.

  The airship hovered away from us, still tantalizingly close but positioned over a sheer drop. She was playing it smart all right.

  “Why, when I found out that you… were the one responsible, Captain Space Hardcore, I was shocked.”

  “What’s this?” I whispered to Funkworthy. “She’s changed her tune.”

  She continued, “And then, to attack me so callously in my own bedchamber, forcing me to make this escape-why, I am appalled! I just hope there is some good left in you, Captain. Please, just present yourself so that we might settle this peacefully. Too much death has occurred at your hand!”

  “I think we have company”, Funkworthy whispered to me. “She’s playing to a new crowd now.”

  “Inspector Snoopel!” the speaker cried, confirming Ebenezer’s theory. “I’m so glad you’re here. The murderer Space Hardcore has just made an attempt on my life! Please, find him and bring him to justice. By any means necessary.”

  I peered out from our temporary cover to see the shabby inspector and a gaggle of the Royal Guard assembled next to a precipice taking attentive orders from the ship. Her orders passed, the Inspector turned to the guard and started pointing in all directions, sending men out in search of us. The ship pulled off and fired its thrusters, making its groaning way toward the southern city, over the chasm valley that bisected the capital. We were cornered. The building that had collapsed behind us had barred our escape, and I knew that within the minute a couple of the guards would be upon us.

  “We need to stop her!” I yelled.

  “But how? She has an airborne bedroom and the whole of the guard are alerted to take us down on sight!”

  “I don’t know yet, chum, but we have to do something. That ship’ll be on the way to the most southern point of this province and then across the divide of the valley. We have that much time to catch up to her before she is lost to us. If we can make our way through the city on foot and fight up to a tall turret before she reaches the point of no return, then we could stand a chance of jumping aboard and taking her down.”

  “Sounds pretty thin, Space.”

  “Well, I’m open to suggestions, as long as they come within the next nine seconds.”

  “Nine seconds?” Funkworthy queried, but I stayed silent.

  Eight seconds later, I rammed my fist out of the corner that we were cowering behind. It found the jaw of a guard with a satisfying smack. I turned back to Funkworthy.

  “Because we’ve been rumbled, old friend. Found, cornered and caught.” The yell of the other guard brought a clatter of feet, and as we heard them surround us I stepped out to meet the semicircle of guards and the smug, but still ugly and gratifyingly bruised, face of inspector Vacto Snoopel. I continued to address Funkworthy. “Because now this becomes a much simpler proposition. No more sleuthing, no more games. This is my area now.”

  “No more games, eh, Hardcore?” Snoopel called, mockingly. “Good to hear. Now be a good boy and give yourself up. We have the evidence!”

  He took out a big bag from behind his back. Inside was a carefully wrapped baguette alongside some other baked goods. He laid them dramatically on the ground before him. With his other hand, he spread out some blueprints, photos of Aplubian royalty, and crude plan schematics. “Found on your ship”, he called to me, “after a tip-off from an anonymous informant. Quite a spread, and enough to have you put away for life, or carted away dead. What’s it to be?”

  I continued to address Funkworthy as I eyed the nervous guards. “I’m not cut out for this Machiavellian double crossing, maybe. But I do know what I’m good at, and I think it’s called for right about now.”

  “Come on, Captain, give it up!” cried Snoopel, looking nervous as I flexed my punching muscles.

  Funkworthy stepped by my side and stretched his arms, cracking his knuckles and eyeing the left flank of guards. I yelled to him, though he was near, projecting my voice out to the guards on the right flank. “Yes, Funkworthy. Our path is a clear and straight line. Get to the ship and wreck any man, woman or tall child in our way.”

  “We fight.”

  Part Three:

  Once Upon a Revolution

  Because I would not pause for death

  He went and paused for me.

  I changed my mind and legged it home

  And had a pot of tea.

  Judith Bloomhammer

  Sensible Attitudes to Mortality

  The friend of my enemy is my cousin Peter.

  Old Dutch Proverb

  * * *

  Chapter Sixteen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  A Storm of Fists and a Flurry of Feet

  In which the freshly activated kraken starts its dread ascent, the Time Warden gives Ebenezer a warning and Space makes a dash for his ship.

  I hit the chap with a beautiful one-two combination. The powerful right knocked him clean out, but the left blow landed on him a millisecond later and woke him right back up. He looked dazed from his short nap, having enjoyed the verse’s shortest dream, but there was no time for any pleasantries. I grabbed his head and yanked it down to my crotch-not for a taunting gesture of victory, mind, but to block a very ungentlemanly kick that was coming to that area from another guard. Instead of wrecking my chances of producing an heir, his friend kicked him back into unconsciousness, and this time I simply threw him aside and addressed myself to the would-be cock-kicker.

  I threw a beauty of a right that must have erased all of the memories he had before he was five, and as he sprawled back, I intercepted a grapple from a guard to my left. In a few deft manoeuvres, I bent both of his elbows back and tied his arms in a double knot behind his back. I signed it off with a headbutt to the bridge of his nose that sent him down a flight of stairs.

  I glanced over and saw Funkworthy was actually acquitting himself quite well. The victory over the Baker seemed to have unlocked something within him, and he was attacking this melee with absolute ferocity. Never an intimidating physical presence, he instead danced lithely around the storm of incoming blows. I saw him duck under a whistling haymaker that came from a huge guard-the kind of punch that alters the tide miles out to sea and knocks birds from the air. Ebenezer almost curtsied under it, and while the man's arm was flailing in mid-air and pulling its owner toward the equator, he jabbed dozens of tiny blows to the sensitive underarm area. They were nerve strikes that looked puny, but I knew they would mean that that arm would be naught but a dangling lump of motionless meat for the foreseeable future. He jumped over a clumsy kick from another assailant and, landing before the leg was down, swept the other leg out from under him and cartwheeled away with the grace of a savage ballerina gone terrifyingly rogue.

  But I couldn’t look out for him, especially since he was surviving well enough. We had about six guys each orbiting around us, and if we didn’t finish it off quick, then there would be more coming. My fists were tingling in anticipation-it was time to feed them some chins.

  I aimed a wrecking ball right into the face of the first fool that charged me, and I swear that as the blow landed I saw his soul jump out of his body and wave a white flag. Another charged into the opening and I blasted him with an uppercut and then a downercut. He ended up largely back where he came from, so I just gave him a straight punch that seemed to settle matters. But I was taking too long dispatching each assailant, and with every second the guards closed in and figured out angles of attack.

  Arms snaked around my head and grabbed at my right arm in a
strong reverse chokehold. I bucked and wriggled madly to either side but quickly found that the hold was strong and my airway was being closed off. Panic threatened me, rattling around in my chest like a flighty bird that was scared of being strangled. I took a second and centred my mind. I had my neck compressed and my right arm tied up, but I still had my left arm free to do whatever it wanted. And it wanted to pound on some genitals. I pinioned around and-like a heat-seeking missile covered in knuckles-my fist found a way to the guard’s goolies and proceeded into a devastating carpet bombing of burrowing impacts. My hand was a blur for a few seconds, and by the time the man’s grip slackened around me and he slumped to the ground, I was sure he’d never have a child. Hell, I thought, surveying my handiwork, after that I’d be surprised if any kids he already did have hadn’t just spontaneously combusted.

  There was no time to admire my technique though; more arms were grabbing at me, getting in a few licks. I rolled my shoulders and jabbed out as they picked away at me. Every few blows they gave, they had to trade for one of my devastating strikes, but I saw that I couldn’t win a war of attrition. A blow opened up a gash above my eye. I returned the favour with interest, giving out a punch that scared physics and gave the ghosts of the man’s ancestors black eyes. But I was tiring. I was panting now, and each mighty blow was taking more out of me. Sheer numbers were going to be my undoing, just like in my Officer’s maths test, but this time I didn’t know if I’d just be able to get through it with sheer overwhelming violence.

  I looked over at Ebenezer, who had already seemed ragged at our reunion. He was ducking and dodging, but he was panting hard, the finesse having worn off his moves. He appeared more and more desperate. I needed a plan. I needed a weapon. I caught a glimpse of Snoopel’s beaming face. He could see us tiring too. In that moment, I wanted to march over there, paste him one before the guards took me down, trounce on his evidence and make one last break for it.

  I stopped for a second and thought. A light went off in my head. Something to do with going over to Snoopel. I ran the thought back to myself. Charge at Snoopel. Paste him one. Trounce his evidence. His evidence.

  His evidence!

  A surge of inspiration gave me a second wind. A fist was coming at me but, in slow motion, I straightened up and punched that fist's owner in the face. He staggered back and I pounced past him, breaking through the circle of guards around me. I made a mad rolling dash towards Snoopel. The man saw me and winced backwards, reading my movement as some kind of last-ditch revenge attempt. I dove for him and he fell back with a whimper. I landed at his feet, curled over and breathing raggedly.

  “Get him! Seize him!” I heard Snoopel shout, his voice an octave too high.

  Feet surrounded me, but I kept myself balled up. Hands tore at me, but I resisted as long as I could. Finally they wrenched me to my feet and I exploded backwards, in one hand a balled up evidence bag and cellophane wrapper, and in the other a huge and crusty baguette.

  Dodge, parry, duck, plié, dive, prance.

  I was running out of moves that started with a ‘D’ or a ‘P’. In other words, I was in trouble.

  I had been backed up against the sheer drop at the edge of the street. It plunged straight down for miles and, all things considered, I thought that I had fallen from enough heights already today. I had tired myself out, however, and the crowd had crushed against me. Now I was backed against the cliff face.

  I don’t have much punching power, but as I looked at my assailants, I was pleased with my handiwork as well as my footiwork. They would know they’d been in a fight all right. None were unscathed, but none were taken out of the fight permanently, and my frenetic fight had left me breathless and beaten.

  A blow came my way. I dodged out of reflex and threw out a flurry of chops at an exposed neck. He yelled out in surprise, but my beating on his larynx made the yell a modulating musical cry. I gave one last punch to it and he retreated. The rest of the guards eyed me warily, and I tried to marshal my fatigue. They inched closer. I threw out a threatening shape. They centimetred closer. I cracked my knuckles. They millimetred closer. I was slowing them down, but they were still closing in far too much, and I had run out of ways to threaten them.

  I couldn’t see past the barrier of guards to make out how Space was doing, so I hoped that he was faring better than me. I risked a quick glance towards the horizon and saw the Queen’s ship chugging along next to the city. Sure enough, some towers and minarets loomed over it. Maybe if we could have broken past these guards, we could have actually made it. A mad dash through the streets, a manic climb, a leap of faith: a plan loose and mad enough for Space. I decided that with my last piece of fight, I would make a dash past these cops and out into the streets. It would be close, but if I was fast enough….

  I tensed myself and looked for an opening. They were within a couple of feet of me. Now or never, I thought. It was time to act.

  “Open wide!” came the cry from behind the semicircle of guards.

  A swinging bread baton scattered them like frightened cows. They looked round at the shout and found a deadly lance of crusty death poking towards their mouths. Recognizing it in a second, they flew backwards as if from death itself. Gripping the baguette like a rapier and beaming his brightest smile was Space.

  He swung it around his head in a 360-degree arc, scattering the guards around him and making a wide perimeter for us. Triumphant, he ripped off the tip of the sword and stuffed it in his mouth, rolling his eyes in ecstasy.

  “I love the taste of bread in the morning. Tastes like victory!” he cried. I could do nothing but laugh. He wagged the bread baton around him in all directions, scattering our combatants like insects exposed to an open flame. They sprinted to a safe perimeter as Space and I took a moment to gather our senses; they appeared to be trying to puzzle out how the tables had suddenly turned on them.

  I went to his side as he kept the Aplubians at bay by swinging the loaf around us in a steady arc. Every time he flicked the bread in the direction of a guard, he fell back, covering his mouth and looking madly at the crumbs that flew from the end.

  “Don’t eat it all, Space, that’s quite the weapon!” I chided him happily.

  “Ha! It is tempting after so much of their Aplubian snot-supper. How are you feeling?”

  I felt rotten but exhilarated. It was an edgy state that I’d have to ride out before my nerves frayed completely and I crashed. “Pretty beaten up, but I must say, I think I’m up for a bit of a run.”

  “Midnight jog?” he waggled his eyebrows at me.

  “Bit of a jaunt.”

  “Why not? Sounds like fun.”

  “Just let me catch my breath for a second”, I said, feeling my strength return with every breath.

  “Excellent. Stick nearby me. These chaps will try to separate us but they’ll not venture near this thing. How far away is she? Did you see?”

  “We’ve a solid shot, but it’ll be a close shave before we run out of towers. In a few miles we run out of city, and then she’ll be travelling over the valley that separates this part of the city and the southern part. There’s a chasm that separates the two segments, you see.”

  “Yes, I got it. So you’re saying we should move?” he said, gripping his bread anew.

  “A little haste might be advisable.”

  “Alright. On your marks?”

  We crouched down to a sprinter’s start, looking to the avenue that the guards were protecting.

  “Get set”, I added.

  The guards scowled and took up fighting stances.

  “Go!” Space shouted.

  We ran.

  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  An Ascent and a Combatant

  In which Space meets the robo-kraken in aerial combat, Ebenezer is caught in a race against time and space and the Prince takes his throne.

  I thundered at them, jousting with my length of bread toward the face of a
burly, bearded guard. He feinted to the left, started to the right, and then, seeing me still stomping toward him with that gleam in my eye, simply dropped to the ground and made a mewling sound. I vaulted over the man.

  To my left, Funkworthy sped into a slide and shot between the legs of a bow-legged guard, evading grasping arms and gaining his feet as he shot through him in one fluid movement. Without pausing, we hurled past the scrum, and in seconds we were careening around the corner. The wall of punch-drunk guards behind us was left tasting the dust our boots had kicked up and admiring what my booty does when I sprint.

  We skidded around the corner to see a gauntlet laid before us. Guards and soldiers were flooding the narrow streets. They were crawling out of doors, windows, nooks and crannies like massive termites. Their looks of steely determination gave way to panic as they saw me and the bready weapon I clasped before me like a religious talisman to ward them off. I waved the stick at passing faces as we sped towards them, and they shrank back from it, letting out muffled cries as they clamped their hands over their bread-eating holes and noses.

  “Baguette! I’ve got a bloody bagueeeette!” I cried as I ran, giving a fair warning to the men who were, after all, just doing their duty. I didn’t mean these men any real lasting harm. They thought I killed their queen-they must have thought I was a madman.

  “Loaf! Out of my way or you’ll get a faceful of loaf!” I cried again. No, I didn’t want to explode these loyal soldiers. If I had had that in mind, I would have ended our previous conflagration fairly easily with the use of my sidearm, but that would have been unsporting and malicious; besides, I do not shoot an unarmed man (with the notable exception of the battle of Paraplegia 7 where I had to take on the dreaded Wheelchair Infantrymen with naught but my mounted cannon strategically placed at the top of a muddy hill).