"If he's the first male they see when they open their eyes…so be it," she said. She chuckled a deep, hearty chuckle. "Course, he's got only one eye to look back at them with, but at least it'll be an eye that's here where it should be. Not gallivanting around the universe with a bunch of furless freaks!"
On that note, Shank lumbered away, deeper into the cave's dark recesses. Quasar gave his clean-shaven chin a pensive caress as he watched her disappear from sight.
"Pleasant female. I assume she lives around here in some sort of cave dwelling. Honestly, I imagined your people swinging from the trees, ol' buddy."
"Some do." Hank grunted. He turned and started climbing up the side of the transport pod.
"Hey—where do you think you're going?"
"She's made up her mind. Lank will be their father. There's nothing for me here now."
On the one hand, Captain Quasar was elated by this news. No more trips to Carpethria every six months! But on the other hand, quitting had never been in his vocabulary, and he expected the same degree of tenacity from every member of his bridge crew.
"You're not going back empty-handed!" Quasar reached up and grabbed a fistful of the Carpethrian's fur.
"Please let go of me, Captain."
Quasar gave his solid helmsman a few tugs, but Hank remained stolid.
"Fine. You won't make things right? I will." Quasar charged into the shadows and tripped over a fuzzy lump on the ground. It squeaked as he went sprawling and cursing across the rock floor. Where he landed, catching himself with outstretched hands, two other fuzzy lumps waited, squealing as he collapsed on top of them. What were these things? He tentatively picked up one the size of a boot, and it squirmed like a very hairy slug injected with a healthy dose of adrenaline.
"Gah!" he cried as a pair of eyes opened in the fur and glinted with the transport pod's light. They stared up at the captain warmly like black oil marbles. "Oh no…" The fuzzy creature suddenly relaxed, nestling in his arms and purring contentedly. "No, no, no…" Quasar fought for breath. "Uh-Hank?"
"Yes, Captain?" the Carpethrian grunted from outside the pod.
"I think I may have stumbled upon…something."
"Yes, Captain." What sounded like a chuckle came from the Carpethrian. But Quasar couldn't be sure. He'd never heard Hank chuckle before.
Cradling the fuzzy baby in one arm, Quasar made his way back to the pod, careful not to step on any other babies squirming across the cave floor. There were quite a few, all headed straight toward Hank. The Carpethrian sat with four or five of his young ones crawling all over him, their eyes open, staring at him and grinning with rows of miniature fangs. Hank smiled back—something Quasar had never seen him do—baring his own vicious fangs and laughing deep in his flabby belly.
"Look at them, Captain. Aren't they adorable?"
Quasar frowned down at the one he carried and held it behind his back. "Uh-yes, they sure are. Where the heck did they come from?"
"Must've been napping nearby. Shank probably woke them up with all her caterwauling." Hank looked as close to giddy as any Carpethrian had ever looked. "You're mine. And you're mine." He gathered two in one arm. "And you're mine. And you're mine." He gathered the rest.
"How did they know?"
"Sir?"
"That you're their father?"
Hank shrugged his superior set of shoulders. "Guess they were just drawn to me. And I happened to be the first male they saw when their eyes opened, so now there's no going back."
"Right." Quasar swallowed. "About that…"
"Get back here, you little ingrates!" Shank bellowed from the dark.
With ear-piercing squeaks, the babies squirmed free of Hank's grasp and migrated toward the voice of their irate mother. Even the one in Quasar's arm managed to lurch free, hitting the cave floor and wriggling out of sight into the shadows. Hank stood and waved with all four hands as he watched them go, his ferocious smile fading. Quasar joined him at the transport pod.
"They'll know me now," Hank said quietly. "This bunch will remember I'm their father. Lank won't have them all."
Quasar couldn't help but wonder about the little one that had imprinted on him. Would the poor fellow shave himself bald when he grew up? Be a laughing stock? Or worse: an outcast?
"You all right, Captain? You look ill."
"There's something you should know—"
"Captain," came the sudden voice of Commander Wan via the communication device sewn into his collar.
"Yes, Commander?" He tried not to sound startled.
"We're in orbit, sir. Bill wants you to know the reactor is fully operational again, and that he believes the malfunction was due to sabotage. He has submitted a formal request to be allowed to deal with the culprit in any way he sees fit."
"Request denied." Quasar sighed and squeezed his brow. "Inform Bill that he can look forward to a week of janitorial duties for making such a stupid request."
"Yes, sir. We look forward to your return."
"On our way," Quasar signed off. He turned to his loyal helmsman. "Sure you don't want to stay?"
"With Shank? No thanks." Hank hauled himself up the side of the transport pod and dropped in through the roof hatch.
Captain Quasar turned to follow suit, but something made him look over his shoulder as if he were leaving a part of himself behind. But no, that wasn't the case at all. The fuzzy Carpethrian baby he'd nearly squished to death—such a warm little ball of fur… It would be raised by Carpethrian parents on its home world, not by a hairless human aboard a star cruiser. Quasar chided himself for even considering the prospect.
But as he climbed into the transport pod and sealed the hatch shut behind him, he knew he'd be returning to Carpethria again at some point. Probably not to escort Hank for a conjugal visit. Perhaps not to have the Effervescent Magnitude's cold fusion near-lightspeed reactor serviced. Instead, maybe someday he'd walk into a Carpethrian city crowded with identical, very hairy four-armed creatures, and one of them would walk up to him, wrap him in a tight, furry embrace...and call him Dad.
The Fastest Thumbs on Zeta Colony Four
Captain Quasar greeted his first officer with a wink as she climbed out of the cramped transport pod and into the Effervescent Magnitude's spacious launch bay. "Glad to have you back, Number Wan."
Commander Selene Wan ignored the ridiculous nickname and adjusted her uniform. Things tended to get a little rumpled while in transit. "Thank you, sir."
"Your vacation went well, I trust?" Quasar stifled a yawn. "The Paradisian Waterfalls as magnificent as ever?"
"The conference, sir?" He'd never shown much interest in her ten-year plan for advancement, culminating in an ambassadorship for the lucrative trade sector, so it came as no real surprise that he'd forgotten why she had disembarked over a week ago.
"Right." He snapped his fingers. "Something about negotiating artwork..."
"The Art of Conflict Resolution in Interplanetary Negotiations, Sessions 1-12, taught by former United World Prime Minister Thurmond Elizabeth Blackwell."
"Yes, that." He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "I hope you took some good notes. Our services have been requested on one of the Zeta moons. No more paragliding for you, I'm afraid."
One of her narrow eyebrows contorted. "Why would a Zeta colony contact us, sir?"
"Why wouldn't they?" He laughed, jerking his head for her to follow him down the corridor to the bridge. "I'm sort of an old-fashioned hero in these parts, you know. And I've been catching up on my reading, figured it wouldn't hurt matters: The Lone Ranger, Hopalong Cassidy, Coyote Cal and—"
"Sir?"
"Westerns, Wan." He grinned, baring a full set of dazzling pearly whites. "Oh, and check this out." His right hand shot to the cased Cody 52 Special at his side, loaded with pulse rounds. With a flick of his wrist, the weapon spun up out of its nubuck holster and made three full rotations around the captain's trigger finger before landing firmly in his grip.
"Impressive, Captain."
It was clear he'd been busy while she was away.
He shrugged, returning the weapon to its holster. "We'll have to blend in with the locals. The Zeta moons are notorious for their quaint, primitive ways, as you well know."
"Yes, I do know."
He gave her another wink. "A little exposition never hurt anybody." Striding onto the bridge, Quasar assumed his favorite stance—boots spread, hands on hips, chest fully inflated, chin high, gaze narrowed—and bellowed, "To Zeta Four, full speed ahead!"
Startled by the captain's sudden outburst, a few of the bridge personnel jumped at their posts. But the four-armed, very hairy helmsman only chuckled into his shaggy fur at their reaction.
Quasar grinned. "Got 'em again, Hank ol' buddy."
The helmsman nodded. "That you did, sir."
Commander Wan left the bridge to roll her eyes in private.
Zeta Colony Four wasn't exactly as the captain had expected. There were arid plains and rolling hills, dusty roads and clapboard buildings, to be sure, but no livestock: no lowing cattle, no stomping horse hooves or snorting horse nostrils. He hadn't realized the effect their absence would have on his overall impression of the place, and he lost some of the swagger in his step because of it. Perhaps it was foolish to assume these primitive people would never have incorporated modern technology into their culture. Thus, it really should have come as no surprise that hovercars transported folks to and fro outside, whirring by in gusts of moonpowder, and that a well-maintained airlock allowed Quasar and Commander Wan entry into the local saloon, a popular dust-free establishment known only as Las Zetas.
The governor, a toad of a man in a squatty green suit with an ancient timepiece tucked into its waistcoat, greeted them and scowled anxiously as he ushered them past the bar to his private office. Quasar raised a hand in greeting, smiling at every person they passed, but the townsfolk merely glanced at his uniform and turned away in absolute boredom. They looked to be a quiet, tired lot, and apparently it took more than the sight of two unfamiliar starfaring officers to rouse them from their drinks.
"Why are we here, Captain?" Wan whispered without moving her lips—a skill she'd picked up at the recent conference on Paradiso Seven.
"I believe we're about to find out, Commander."
From the horse-faced governor's mouth, they learned that Zeta Four had always been a peace-loving, gun-toting colony, ever since their great-grandparents had left Earth in the First Exodus to settle in the far reaches of the galaxy. The governor could trace his own lineage back to the original terraformers on this moon, a fact which usually had a way of lending him a hand around reelection time. But as of late, there was a new force to be reckoned with in town, a fellow by the name of Kaasjager who seemed determined to crush the spirit of Zeta Four's people under the power of his genetically enhanced thumbs.
"Excuse me?" Captain Quasar frowned at that.
The governor held up his own pair of fleshy appendages. "His thumbs, Captain. They're not like yours or mine. They've been...augmented." He cleared his throat. "He's our gunsmith, you see, but he ain't been selling your usual type of shooter for months now. You know, with a trigger?" He curled and flexed his index finger. "Nobody can get ammo for their old guns anymore, not since he's cornered the dang market!"
Quasar nodded to show he partially understood. "He's forcing you to buy a new type of weapon, is that it?"
"Yeah! You catch on fast, sir."
Quasar raised an eyebrow at Wan. She remained as stoic as ever.
"And you would like us to help you how, exactly?" she said.
"By running 'im right outta town!" The governor leaned forward on his desk and licked his lips. "Listen, I sure hope you don't mind, but I let Kaasjager know I was bringing in a hired gun—"
"Hold on now," Quasar said.
"—and you're scheduled to meet 'im right outside for an old-fashioned gunfight in oh, let's see now—" He retrieved his brass pocket watch and squinted down at its face. "Two Earth minutes." He clapped the timepiece shut and smiled up at them in turn. "I'd be much-obliged iffin you don't make me out to be no liar."
The captain stared back at him. Words failed to make an appearance.
"Good thing you practiced." Wan glanced down at Quasar's Cody 52 Special.
The governor stood with a heavy sigh. "I reckon yours is the only one in town still loaded."
How could an entire colony run out of ammunition? "Your people do a lot of shooting, I take it?"
The governor shrugged. "It passes the time. Guess we figured there'd always be more ammo whenever we needed it. Some have tried ordering off-world from that intergalactic superstore, you know, with the free shipping? But we've found them folks dead without a mark on 'em, drained of whatever energy the brain used to make their muscles work—including the heart. It's a real tragedy."
"Why not simply purchase the new weapon this gunsmith is selling?" Wan said, always the logical one.
"Because it's the principle of the thing." Quasar stood, and by the tears shining in the governor's eyes, he knew he understood the situation well enough. "You refuse to kowtow to this bully, and I applaud you for it. How much time do I have left?"
The governor consulted his watch again. "Thirty seconds."
"Very well."
"Captain." Wan faced him. "You don't have to do this."
"As I well know?" He gave her another wink.
"We could leave right now—"
"I never run away from a fight. At least, I try not to." He spun his Cody 52 Special up out of its holster, garnering a wide-eyed look of admiration from the governor. "Time to teach this Kaasjager a lesson."
Captain Quasar had no patience for people who were fashionably late. He was punctual, and he expected the rest of the known universe to operate in the same manner. Unfortunately for him, it often did not.
"So..." He glanced at the governor. "How much longer should we give this guy?"
The townsfolk had assembled with their petulant blasé air along main street, and the captain stood out in the middle of it with the Las Zetas saloon on one side and a friendly mercantile on the other. There were no tumbleweeds on this dusty moon, but it would have been an opportune moment for one to roll by, and it if had, it would have cheered Captain Quasar considerably.
The governor clucked his tongue as he consulted the timepiece in his hand. "He should be here by now—unless he's otherwise indisposed, that is."
"Ah. Yes." Quasar had heard about the diets of some of these moon colonists. The dehydrated local cuisine could do wonders to one's intestinal tract. "We're in no hurry, I suppose." He looked at Commander Wan, standing beside the governor with her arms crossed. Apparently, Quasar's decision to meet the town bully in this manner went against everything she'd recently learned at her seminar.
She met his gaze briefly, nodding her head toward the west end of town where Hank waited in their transport pod just over the hill, out of sight. They could return to the Magnitude whenever they wished.
Quasar set his jaw; the muscle twitched on command. He would not run from adversity—at least not before he saw the shape and size of the adversity he'd be dealing with here.
A boy crossed the street about halfway and stood there, his attention glued to the gamepad device in his hands. At the same time, a hush fell over the crowd. Would Kaasjager gun down such an oblivious lad if he stood in the way of a scheduled gunfight?
"Clear the street, son," Quasar called, gesturing for the youth to move quickly. "You might want to look up from that gizmo every now and then." He chuckled amiably. Young people and their fascination with gadgets! It was adorable.
But as shocked gasps coursed through the townsfolk, the situation suddenly became clearer.
"Ah. I see." The captain composed himself. "You're Kaasjager."
The kid's bloodshot eyes glanced up from the screen in his hands. He was no kid at all, just an undersized twenty-something with the makings of a beard that hadn't decided what it wanted to be when it grew up. "You
the gunfighter?"
"I am Captain Bartholomew Quasar of the Effervescent Magnitude, here to ensure that justice prevails!"
Kaasjager snickered, catching the governor's eye. "Where'd you find this guy?"
"He came highly recommended," retorted the governor, ducking behind Commander Wan.
"Am I to assume you're armed?" Quasar couldn't see a gun holstered anywhere on the youth's scrawny frame.
"Oh yeah." The kid grinned, baring gaps where teeth had lived once upon a time. He tucked his gamepad into a baggy pocket and flexed his abnormally limber thumbs, bending them every which way. "Ready when you are, mister."
Wan cleared her throat. When Quasar looked her way, she mouthed the words Negotiate, sir.
"Right. Well," the captain began. "I'm sure we can settle this matter like reasonable men. You see, the governor there just wants to be able to buy ammunition for his shooters. Is that really too much to ask?"
Kaasjager shrugged. "They're obsolete."
"Perhaps so, but you can't expect these people to buy your new models simply because you no longer stock what they need. It's absurd!"
Another shrug. "Supply and demand. They should get with the program."
"And if they don't, you kill them. Is that how your brand of economics works?"
"You gonna draw that thing or talk me to death?" The kid called out to the governor, "Give us a count."
"Oh, I don't know—" the governor stammered.
"This was your idea, so you give us a damn count!" Kaasjager screamed, his face burning crimson all of a sudden. In that instant, Quasar could easily imagine the youth losing his temper and killing just about anybody who stood in his way.
"One," the governor began. "Two-three—"
"Draw!" the kid hollered.
Quasar's hand dropped to his holster, but he wasn't fast enough. Already the youth had his gamepad out with both thumbs flying across the screen in a blur of superhuman speed, and as Captain Quasar felt himself freeze in place against his will, he had the sneaking suspicion that Kaasjager's device was unlike any other gaming gizmo in the galaxy.
Captain Bartholomew Quasar: Starfaring Adventures Page 2
