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Part 8 of our ongoing exclusive story. Enjoy!
"Come in, come in!" greeted Plop. "Make yourself at home. Sit down."
"I do prefer to stand."
"Fine, fine! Now, why was I told that you want to talk to me?"
"I have something to show you," I said wickedly, with a bad-guy type laugh. I am overdoing it, no?
"Oh, goody goody. I do hope it is poetry. I love poetry. I have some right here..." He opened one of the desk drawers, and took out--gasp!--the same huge, badly written poetry book before mentioned in these memoirs.
"Uh, no, thank you," I replied desparately. "Actually, it is this..." I took out the wafer with the findings I had recently made. "What would you think of this?"
I could swear that he turned green for a second.
"Y-Y-You see, it, well, I, ugggghhh!" he managed to stammer out.
I decided to use my good graces and help him out. "You swindled, bribed, lied, cheated, stole, cursed, and a few other things to get this rank, am I correct?" Plop slowly shook his eyestalks positively. Oh, I was enjoying this! "And this wafer here is the only evidence there is?"
This time he answered me. "Uh-huh."
"So, if I were to do this..." I shredded the wafer in half, and then in half again, "there would be no evidence, right?"
Just pin a medal or something on me anywhere, just anywhere.
Plop got down on what I assumed were his knees. "Thank you, kind sir. If there is anything I can do for you, anything at all."
"Well, first you could stop slobbering on my boots."
"Anything at all."
"Second, get up."
"Yessir."
"Third, tell me what this is." I put the blueprints of the Big
Banger on the desk in front of him.
"It's a colonial transport."
I had to go through this again. "Yes, but eliminate this and this, and add this..." I said pointing to the various spots, "what do you have?"
This time he turned bright yellow. "M-My G-G-God! A Big Banger!"
Now for the final blow.
"With...your...initials...authorizing...it!" I said each word slowly and deliberately for a great dramatic effect, while pointing to the GGG.
It worked. Plop fainted.
I went around Plop's desk and found the intercom. I pressed what looked like the talk button. "Uh, excuse me, Miss Secretary?"
A gruff voice came back. "Who ya callin' a secretary, ya no good, piece of sh..." I turned the volume down until I figured he had finished. "...ch!" His voice then disappeared.
I turned a few dials and tried again. "Miss Secretary?" I asked lamely.
"Yeah, whatdayawant?"
"Well, the general here fainted, and I would highly appreciate having a pitcher of ice-cold water sent in here immediately."
"Sure, it'll be a minute though."
"No problem." I took up the challenge of searching through the general's computer system. Since he was unconcious, I didn't figure he'd mind. I turned on the computer, and this is what it asked me:
PARKER DATABASES: VENUS EDITION 3.0
PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD:>
I quickly searched Plop's desk, and found a sheet of paper with several letters scrawled across it. I entered these into the computer, and the monitor now said this:
PARKER DATABASES: VENUS EDITION 3.0
PLEASE ENTER PASSWORD:>
SHUT UP -- I AM SMARTER THAN THOU
Bleep. The screen cleared.
PASSWORD ACCEPTED. ENTER SEARCH STRING:>
It was obviously taking the secretary longer than a minute to get my water, but right now I didn't really care. I thought about it for a minute, then typed in:
PASSWORD ACCEPTED. ENTER SEARCH STRING:>
BIG BANG DREADNOUGHT
Bleep. Whirrrr. Gurgle. The screen cleared again.
SEARCH CODE NOT FOUND. ENTER SEARCH STRING:>
I thought about it a moment, and then tried this:
SEARCH CODE NOT FOUND. ENTER SEARCH STRING:>
B.B. DREADNOUGHT
Bleep. The screen blanked, and then read:
SECURITY CODE 7 NEEDED. PLEASE ENTER CODE>
I took Plop's clearance code from his upper right hand pocket and typed the code into the computer.
SECURITY CODE 7 NEEDED. PLEASE ENTER CODE>
EAT MY SHORTS, COMPUTER
Bleep. The comptuer processed the information, and then stated this:
SECURITY CLEARANCE ACCEPTED. ACCESSING INFORMATION. PLEASE WAIT
I let out an stifled "Yes!" and pumped my arm into the air. I then took a wafer from one of the drawers, and copied all of the information scrolling down the screen onto it. I then inserted the wafer into my breast pocket; and then searched the computer databases until I found the place of storage of the colonial transport/Big Banger.
KFJ Spacedock.
By this time, Plop was coming around, so I turned his computer off. Strange that his secretary hadn't come yet.
"We've got to hurry!" shouted Plop, standing up and knocking over a few things. Okay, a lot of things. "This ship will ruin my career!" I didn't bother to point out that the evidence that I held would ruin his career as well.
He hurried over, with me right behind him, and opened the door - and he fainted again. Man, he had a weak constitution!
Then I saw why he fainted. Outside the office door stood twenty or so Venusian troops, their armor gleaming in the remaining lavender artificial light. In front of them stood the secretary, aiming an old Earth weapon at my chest, the deadly Mini 14 Uzi Slugger Lazrifle.
"Smile to see the pretty antelopes!" The Agency needs work on their thirty-minute "Know the Code" language tapes.
She fired.
Luckily, she was a bad shot, and missed me by a quite a few feet. The slag that came from the beam resulted in a ton of blown up drywall compound, which floored four of the guards, knocked them unconscious and splattered a good deal of dust around. I took out one of my stinkgross grenades, took a deep breath, regretted it, and threw the thing into the midst of the remaining guards. Seconds later, they were all dropping, and swirling insects began to fill the room. Plop, who had awakened by the sound of the lazrifle firing, was sitting up with his nose plugged.
"Stinks bad," he told me in a tinny voice.
Might I say, I grabbed Plop (don't ask me why) and ran like heck out the door. Plop gathered his wits and hailed a robocab. One finally stopped and we got in. "Spaceport, and step on it!"
"Step on what, sir?" asked the android manning the controls. Droids could be such dunces.
"Go to the Spaceport, and hurry please," I interjected.
"Yes, sir." The cab started and we were on our way.
"Who would want to do this to me?" whined Plop.
"Well, I think I might have a faint idea."
"Who?" asked Plop.
"Umm, does he have short blond hair, handlebar mustache, dark beady eyes..."
"Yes, Yes!"
I continued. "About six feet tall, a hawkish nose, and weighing about 350?"
"Yes, that's him!"
"Hmmm. Just as I thought." The cab started to slow down, and then
it stopped in front of the spaceport.
"Excuse me, sirs, but that will be 39 standard Alliance pesomarks please."
"But it on my tab," hollered Plop as we both hurried out the door. Now that I knew Illinois Jones was in on this, it was a whole new ball game. But sports are gay and this is about two dudes.
***
Plop and I ran into the spaceport, and since Plop still had his weapon, we used it to hold a ship for us so we could get passage to KFJ Spacedock. The trip only took a couple minutes, which we sat out in complete silence, I not being one for small talk.
When we arrived, we ran through the boarding tube and into a few guards. "Privates," ordered Plop, holding up the wafer I had given him, "where is this ship docked?"
The guards looked carefully at the wafer and one pointed to the west gate. "Over there," he answered.
We ran with all our might across the main lobby to the fartheset double doors, which were the ones the guard had directed us too, and then we opened the outer airlock of the Big Banger. "Which way to the engine room?" I asked to no one in particular. We got through the inner airlock, and noticed a sign that said:
Engine Room: 300 meters north
We started off in that direction, and then met up with some of Jones's guards. A fight began.
Plop used his weapon well, taking out two of them before they could react. Three of the remaining six charged me, while the rest went after Plop. I struggled hard, but two grabbed me by both arms, while the third stood in front of me, and giggled.
Actually giggled.
Now was the time to use the liquid injection training that I had given myself before leaving for Venus.
Using the two guards holding me for leverage, I lashed out with my left boot at the other guard as he came forward, connecting solidly with his chin. A resounding crack filled the corridor. He was out cold before he hit the ground. I then wound my arms tight, like a spring, leaned back, and let loose. Their heads came together, bonked nicely, and they went staggering into the gray walls of the corridor, thank you very much.
Plop was just finishing off the three men that had gone after him. After dispatching the last one, we continued toward the engine room.
"These guys are good, but much too stupid for a former Lord of All!" exclaimed Plop as we came to the engine room door.
"Typical goons," I replied, and the doors parted for us. We both gaped in surprise.
"Wharshaf?" said Plop, or something like that. Must be his native Venusian.
"This is somebody's idea of a joke, right?" I asked myself.
"Could be," my brain answered.
In the room, several dozen Natives were dancing around and around a large, black track that was rotating clockwise with their movements, whooping and hollering and making a huge ruckus (the Natives, not the track, in case you were wondering).
Plop headed toward the nearest Indian. "Excuse me, but we are looking for the gazelle room that powers the cheetah ship?
"Jlkaêt gherííaf," the Native replied.
"He speaks New Espanõl," said another of the Natives, seeing our puzzled looks.
"This is the room you are looking for," said yet another one.
"I'm sorry, but I'm not grasping something here. This is supposed to be the engine room. Where are the engines?" I asked.
"Loäffs nhóesâ jefraä klìñea hjeâccv," said the first Native.
"He says we run around this track, and this makes the ship move. Engines are stupid. Or," he continued, "your mother wears cheese for underpants. I get them mixed up."
"So the ship is moving now?" asked Plop, his deep husky voice rising a decibel to being a husky voice.
"You got that right, big fella."
I raced out into the corridor, giving the doors barely enough time to open for me. I passed the guards we had downed, the airlock, and then came upon the sign that I was looking for:
Bridge: 1500 meters ahead
I stopped for a minute, giving Plop managed to straggle up to me before I bolted again. "We have to stop this ship!"
Plop went straggling ahead of me with a new burst of speed. I followed on his heels, but then stopped the thought because he didn't have any. He just sort of rolled down the corridor.
The bridge doors whooshed open for us, and we burst upon the almost empty bridge. One man stood over one of the blinking panels that filled the area.
He turned, and I got a good look at him. Handlebar mustache, blond hair, beady eyes...
"Nice to see you again, Fleckner." He turned to Plop. "I am Illinois, criminal of excellent proportions. I'm sure you've heard a lot about me."
"Actually, no."
"Well, that's too bad." He turned and waved his hand around the bride. "With this machine, I am going to wipe out all police, armed forces, and every other person that is not a criminal or has potential for it. And you can't stop me." He laughed hysterically with his donkey laugh.
"We'll let the gods figure that out," said Plop. "If it's up to me, I'm liquifying you now.
"That's what you think, big ugly blob of mush," replied Jones.
Thanks to Plop, this provided me with a decent distraction, so I took out my trusty miniature lazpol given to me in my short Academy days, and had fun blowing up a few panels around the bridge.
"I am a criminal mastermind of excellent proportions! You will never defeat me!" Jones declared defiantly.
"That's what you think, lard breath," retorted Plop. Flames started licking at Jones's clothes. I took the liberty of blowing some more of his bridge into the machincal afterlife.
The sprinkler system came on.
"What kind of idiot would install a sprinkler system on a ship?"
I asked.
"Dumb question," my brain answered.
"Good point," I reanswered myself.
After pondering a few more important questions, I noticed that Plop had shrunk a couple inches. And as I looked closer, I could see a small orange puddle forming where his feet had been. Jones and I stared like men stare at a porno for the first time.
Plop was now waist-deep in the floor carpet, and was continually shrinking by the second.
"Jahfhasa lingo dorla!" he shouted at Jones. These were obviously some creative colorful metaphors, so I stored them in my brain for future use in case of my driving on the spacial beltline.
Well, by this time, Plop had disappeared, and all that remained was his weapon and several pesomarks, which fell between the deck plates.
Only now did I realize that the ship was still in hyperspace, and I was trapped with a maniac on board. Jones must have realized this too, because he broke out with that terribly annoying donkey laugh again.
"You're trapped, Fleckner, and now I can finally kill you for what you did to me back 75000 years ago!"
"I didn't do anything."
"You stole my wife!"
"I did not!"
"Whatever. You're dying right now."
The only trouble with this brilliant plan was that I had already disappeared through the bridge doors. This time, I ran past the engine room, rounded a corner, and saw a turbolift in front of me. The sound of pounding footsteps behind me carried my tired legs into the lift.
"Next deck!" I managed to gasp out.
"Thank you for riding me," replied the lift. "We shall now begin moving to your requested destination." Pounding could now be heard through the door. "Please hold on." The lift descended rapidly, plastering me to the metal grating in the ceiling.
The lift doors opened, revealing a very colorful, banner-filled corridor. Somebody stepped out of a doorway, and practically choked me to death with this elastic band that was attached to a cone hat that said "Happy Birthday!"
"What?" I asked, incoherently.
"Don't you know that it's Master Jones's birthday today?" the crowd said in unison.
"No, I didn't."
The lift doors parted to reveal Jones. "Capture him!" he shouted.
The crowd surged around me. I started lashing out with my hands and feet, but there were way too many people. They shoved me to the ground, and people held my shoulders and legs down.
Jones and his fat belly towered over me. "What should we do with him, boys and girls?" he asked.
"Hit him with a mace!"
"Tie him to the stretcher!"
"Electrocute him!"
All of these sounded so fascinating, though I would never want to try them out for myself.
I heard a faint voice from the back of the crowd. "Make him listen to that Richard Gordon creep!"
The crowd cheered at this.
"We'll do that. Take him away to the Listening Chair!"
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