Main Page: The War
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Previous: Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine (Unfinished)
“I’ve been meaning to ask you, Fal, how was your trip? Careful with those, they’re hot.”
“It was okay, nothing special. Watch it, you’re dripping.”
“So I am. Anything interesting?”
“Well, funny you should ask. I’ve got a bunch of weird spores here that stuck to the grill of my speeder. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before.”
“Hmm. Those look like they would go well in the Vercupti Surprise. Toss ‘em in.”
Ding-ding-ding.
“Just a moment, we’ve got a visitor.”
“Another one? Busy day.”
Fal switched on a surveillance screen above his head to get a glance at the newcomer, or, as it turned out, several newcomers. There were three humans, a robot, and two species he didn’t recognize, although they looked tauntingly familiar.
One of them, which looked like a huge pink puffball with muscular limbs and a head popping out, sauntered up to the service robot that was coming to meet it. “Hey, what’s cooking?” it, now apparently revealed to be a he, asked. “My interest being in mostly the literal sense of that phrase.”
“We have all sorts of food inside,” said the robot. “Take a menu.” It pulled a rather crumpled one from its stomach compartment and proffered it forcefully as if glad to be rid of the thing.
“Is that –?” asked Fal.
“It can’t be,” said Yal.
“Not here.”
“Not him.”
“Thanks,” said the pink puffball. “Now, about my baby here.” He jerked his thumb behind him.
The object he referred to looked perfectly at home here with regards to its being a beat-up pile of scrap metal. Fal and Yal squinted at it, disbelieving. Fal thumped the monitor, which only served to make it turn off with a shower of sparks. He thumped it again and, miraculously, it came back on. The fact that the object was still there looking very much the same, in fact exactly the same aside from the robot now hooking up a hose to its fuel tank on account of its being a parked spaceship, confirmed their hunch.
“It is.”
“It must be.”
“Buckton Roor.”
Buckton opened his mouth again, and they more than half expected him to say, “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Instead he addressed the robot again and said, “I’m looking to get her arsenal upgraded too. You do that sort of thing?”
“We can outfit her with all sorts of weaponry,” the robot promised.
“Mmm. Got any shuffleboard pucks?”
The robot paused. It was of course consulting its mental inventory of the warehouse but gave a disconcertingly good impression of wondering why it seemed to be constantly surrounded by idiots. “I’m afraid not, sir,” it said at last.
Buckton, for it certainly was him, sighed. “Oh well,” he said despairingly, “just refill the coffer with torpedoes, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
The group headed offscreen, towards the door of the fine establishment. “Quickly,” said Fal, “get out there and act like we’re not expecting them.”
“Right away,” said Yal, and hurried out the kitchen door, carrying with him a bowl of hot soup for another customer.
“About time,” grumbled the customer, who was sitting right at the counter in the main room. He was a short stocky creature encased in a bullet-shaped silver suit of armor. Four arms protruded from the sides and only his glaring eyes were visible beneath the helmet. Also, Yal had noticed with a bit of concern, he had a gun holster at each hip and a jetpack on his back.
“Sorry, stove’s on the blink,” Yal replied honestly as he set down the soup. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
At about that moment Buckton and his friends walked in, and Yal’s heartbeats immediately quickened. “Er – what can I do for you folks?” he called to them.
Buckton shrugged. “A place to sit, and, after we’ve made our decision as to what specifically it should be, something to eat while we’re sitting there.”
Yal nodded to an empty booth. Because nearly every booth was empty they at first had trouble grasping exactly which one he was referring to, but he indicated by means of complex sign language that it didn’t particularly matter and that seeing as this was Buckton Roor and his trusty assistant Zickle Farbreing he was dealing with, he would have been more than happy to kick someone else out for their benefit had circumstances been otherwise.
“Thanks,” said Buckton, and they chose a booth.
Alicia had certainly been in worse places in her life, especially recently, but even so the seating in the booth did not quite meet her standards. She was the first to sit down and it sagged several inches under her weight which, even if it had somehow doubled from the petite sum she remembered it being a few days ago, proved inconsequential to the total when everyone else followed suit.
That, and the fact that ninety percent of it was some alien version of duct tape, did not impress her.
Jamillika and Kahlo shared a look and their opinions with it. Jamillika was certainly used to more sophisticated dining arrangements, but she knew this was a crisis and sacrifices had to be made. She certainly would not have wanted to dine in luxury while her planet was dying. To Kahlo, of course, luxury is exactly what it was, and he felt uneasy. But they did not complain.
Buckton and Zickle could not have possibly cared less, as long as they got their food soon.
Hildebrant Cinda von Raptatori
Otana
Nico Medina
exchust
“It was okay, nothing special. Watch it, you’re dripping.”
“So I am. Anything interesting?”
“Well, funny you should ask. I’ve got a bunch of weird spores here that stuck to the grill of my speeder. Not quite like anything I’ve seen before.”
“Hmm. Those look like they would go well in the Vercupti Surprise. Toss ‘em in.”
Ding-ding-ding.
“Just a moment, we’ve got a visitor.”
“Another one? Busy day.”
Fal switched on a surveillance screen above his head to get a glance at the newcomer, or, as it turned out, several newcomers. There were three humans, a robot, and two species he didn’t recognize, although they looked tauntingly familiar.
One of them, which looked like a huge pink puffball with muscular limbs and a head popping out, sauntered up to the service robot that was coming to meet it. “Hey, what’s cooking?” it, now apparently revealed to be a he, asked. “My interest being in mostly the literal sense of that phrase.”
“We have all sorts of food inside,” said the robot. “Take a menu.” It pulled a rather crumpled one from its stomach compartment and proffered it forcefully as if glad to be rid of the thing.
“Is that –?” asked Fal.
“It can’t be,” said Yal.
“Not here.”
“Not him.”
“Thanks,” said the pink puffball. “Now, about my baby here.” He jerked his thumb behind him.
The object he referred to looked perfectly at home here with regards to its being a beat-up pile of scrap metal. Fal and Yal squinted at it, disbelieving. Fal thumped the monitor, which only served to make it turn off with a shower of sparks. He thumped it again and, miraculously, it came back on. The fact that the object was still there looking very much the same, in fact exactly the same aside from the robot now hooking up a hose to its fuel tank on account of its being a parked spaceship, confirmed their hunch.
“It is.”
“It must be.”
“Buckton Roor.”
Buckton opened his mouth again, and they more than half expected him to say, “That’s my name, don’t wear it out.” Instead he addressed the robot again and said, “I’m looking to get her arsenal upgraded too. You do that sort of thing?”
“We can outfit her with all sorts of weaponry,” the robot promised.
“Mmm. Got any shuffleboard pucks?”
The robot paused. It was of course consulting its mental inventory of the warehouse but gave a disconcertingly good impression of wondering why it seemed to be constantly surrounded by idiots. “I’m afraid not, sir,” it said at last.
Buckton, for it certainly was him, sighed. “Oh well,” he said despairingly, “just refill the coffer with torpedoes, then.”
“Yes, sir.”
The group headed offscreen, towards the door of the fine establishment. “Quickly,” said Fal, “get out there and act like we’re not expecting them.”
“Right away,” said Yal, and hurried out the kitchen door, carrying with him a bowl of hot soup for another customer.
“About time,” grumbled the customer, who was sitting right at the counter in the main room. He was a short stocky creature encased in a bullet-shaped silver suit of armor. Four arms protruded from the sides and only his glaring eyes were visible beneath the helmet. Also, Yal had noticed with a bit of concern, he had a gun holster at each hip and a jetpack on his back.
“Sorry, stove’s on the blink,” Yal replied honestly as he set down the soup. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
At about that moment Buckton and his friends walked in, and Yal’s heartbeats immediately quickened. “Er – what can I do for you folks?” he called to them.
Buckton shrugged. “A place to sit, and, after we’ve made our decision as to what specifically it should be, something to eat while we’re sitting there.”
Yal nodded to an empty booth. Because nearly every booth was empty they at first had trouble grasping exactly which one he was referring to, but he indicated by means of complex sign language that it didn’t particularly matter and that seeing as this was Buckton Roor and his trusty assistant Zickle Farbreing he was dealing with, he would have been more than happy to kick someone else out for their benefit had circumstances been otherwise.
“Thanks,” said Buckton, and they chose a booth.
Alicia had certainly been in worse places in her life, especially recently, but even so the seating in the booth did not quite meet her standards. She was the first to sit down and it sagged several inches under her weight which, even if it had somehow doubled from the petite sum she remembered it being a few days ago, proved inconsequential to the total when everyone else followed suit.
That, and the fact that ninety percent of it was some alien version of duct tape, did not impress her.
Jamillika and Kahlo shared a look and their opinions with it. Jamillika was certainly used to more sophisticated dining arrangements, but she knew this was a crisis and sacrifices had to be made. She certainly would not have wanted to dine in luxury while her planet was dying. To Kahlo, of course, luxury is exactly what it was, and he felt uneasy. But they did not complain.
Buckton and Zickle could not have possibly cared less, as long as they got their food soon.
Hildebrant Cinda von Raptatori
Otana
Nico Medina
exchust
