Chapter Twelve
SHAKE DOWN
"We never get that kinda business."

The vending machine issues the last dribble of Chocosmelt(tm) into a disposable cup and Rolezar Doughan begins to make his way back through the deserted complex to his office.

"Goodnight, Mr. Doughan," says a young clerk as she pulls the Communication Department's door closed.

"Night."

His pleasant smile fades as he rounds the corner and enters his office, the door sliding shut behind him. Standing at the large view port, he gazes out over the whorled galactic hub and wonders what to do with Slate's surprising information.

There is a soft tap on the door. He crosses to his desk and presses the release button. The door quietly whisks open.

"Ah, it's you. Come in."

Rolezar circles his desk to sit. He settles into his chair and raises his eyes to stare into the barrel of a snub-nosed Rebuker Pistol(tm).

"What do you thi––"

BZZZZT! FSSSS!

A neatly cauterized hole appears in Doughan's forehead. He unceremoniously falls face first onto his desk.

Behind the food bar Asilla perks at the beeping of the Proximity Alert(tm) alarm. She hustles to the kitchen view port to witness a new ship erupt into normalspace.

"Ha, another chance at gettin' outta here." She opens a channel on the Commucon(tm). "Hoddy, we've got more customers." She strains to see the approaching ship, sags a little as she recognizes it. "Oh, looks like an NNP Cruiser."

"Great," Hoddy replies, "start makin' donuts, D–O–N–U–T–S."

Fystik looks up from his Emperor Hurdlefud Salad(tm) and swivels to face the kitchen. Asilla's bound body is pressed to the view port.

"Excuse me," he calls, "did you say another ship was approaching."

Asilla comes to the bar. "Yeah, so?"

Gladius, who has been mucking around a now cold bowl of Carponian Slingermug Eel(tm) bouillabaisse, rouses at the development. "Probably the military."

"What'd ya say?" cracks the woman at the bar.

"A military vessel? Is it a military ship?"

"Naw. We never get that kinda business. It's a NNP Cruiser."

Fystik's eyes widen, his cat-like pupils dilating to solid pools of blackness.

"They happen by every other month, or so," Asilla continues. "And they aren't rude, like you two. And to think, I was gonna let you sweep me off my feet."

"NNP, as in Nectar Nine Police?" queries Fystik.

"Yeah."

Fystik rises, moves to Gladius's side. "Mr. Slate, perhaps we can make that arrangement now. I'm sure I can answer your questions. For instance, if you must know, we, Petunia, Weenel and I, run, or rather, ran a depot that trapped, amongst others, IDR Belly Cruisers, refitted them, and sold them primarily to a group called the DataTrump Fruition Front."

Gladius eyes the Dismemberon, suspicious. "Never heard of them."

"The terrorists, they're the terrorists."

Gladius raises an eyebrow. "The terrorists? The ones who have been attacking all the governmental bases?"

"Yes."

"Tell me more."

"If you agree to get us out of here before the Nectar Nine Police arrive. You see, I have had a past mishap with them, which may lead to them being annoyed by my presence. They may resort to violence, which I personally abhor." He issues a feeble smile.

Gladius rolls his eyes. "Deal. Keep talking."

"Once we're space borne. Not here."

"We aren't going anywhere until that Homing Detect O'Probe is removed from our ship," Gladius says, gesturing out the window to the Skulker.

Beyond the huge wall of glass the Nectar Nine Police Cruiser lines up its approach into the docking slip beside the Ebony Skulker(tm). A docking alarm bleats. Both men turn from the window at the sound of Asilla dashing from the lounge, spiked heels clacking up the ramp toward the docking bays.

"There is no time, Mister Slate."

"You'll take me to these terrorists?"

"Yes."

"Fine. Let's go."

Gladius reaches over and unleashes Fystik's hands. They hustle past the lounge view port, watching the NNP Cruiser complete its docking sequence.

"We must hurry," Fystik begs.

Together they move to the gangway, but stop halfway up, hearing the unmistakable approach of officers wearing highly polished jackboots: the trademark of the Nectar Nine Police.

"We're too late," whispers Fystik, freezing in his tracks and wringing his hands.

Gladius pushes the shivering Dismemberon back down the ramp. The footfalls of the police officers advance. Slate shoves Fystik down behind the food bar, then quickly moves to a seat facing the view port. From there he can see the belly of the Skulker and the gray steel of the NNP Cruiser's hull next to it. The two police officers step off the gangway into the lounge. Gladius casually looks them over.

The tallest of the two is a Losfallonite, a race of humanoids that have a strong affinity for old Earth insects. So much so that, through selective breeding and genetic tampering, they have taken on certain qualities formerly ascribed only to bugs. Their sharp-edged facial features are of a yellow and black chitinous material, a hard body armor. Their hands fold over into three digit, pincer-like appendages, capable of cutting flesh. The alien's body seems strange in its gray and black NNP uniform, his feet stretching the leather of the polished boots into odd, bony shapes.

The shorter officer, a skinny Homo sapiens male with a fluffy little mustache that runs the width of his mouth and leaves a centimeter gap between itself and his upper lip, moves up to the bar.

"Hey, Asilla!"

Asilla clomps down the ramp, wobbling on the heels, and slides behind the bar. Gladius gulps, waiting for her to draw attention to the hiding Fystik. Instead, she walks up to the short policeman.

"What would you like, Officer Plinket?"

"Do I smell donuts?" Plinket smiles a lecherous grin and leans over the bar to slap Asilla's ass.

"You might," she teases, "donuts for two?"

The Losfallonite cocks his head. "Got any Flaconnish Dung Bread?"

"No bread today. We got fresh Marr eclairs and Twanet cake, though. Our new supplier's got way better selection than the old guy."

"Hmmmph. Donuts."

"Grab a table, I'll be right out. Chocosmelts for both of you?"

Plinket turns to raise an eyebrow at his new partner.

"Chocosmelt good?" asks the Losfallonite.

"Yeah, it's great Ravv. You'll love it."

Ravv nods, his gaze drifting over to Gladius. Slate quickly looks back out the window, cursing himself for having drawn their attention.

Officer Ravv taps his partner's shoulder, points to Slate. Both officers observe his strange appearance, noticing he's wearing only his full-body underwear. The two cops move across the lounge to Gladius's table, taking the seats opposite him, their backs to the view port.

"Mind if we join you?" asks Plinket.

"Actually, I should be on my way," returns Gladius, not making eye contact.

A pincer grabs Gladius's wrist. "Please stay."

"Is that black thing your ship?" Plinket asks.

Gladius shifts uncomfortably, aware of the stories of Nectar Nine Police harassment as told by his workmates in the past. He must fabricate a story to explain the ship, but his mind is drawing blanks. His mouth begins to move, but no words form. Then he freezes, noticing movement beyond the police officers, outside the view port.

Fystik, clad in an Emergency Envir O'Suit(tm), slinks along the hull of the Skulker, reaching for the homing device.

"Answer, please!" demands Ravv, squeezing Gladius's wrist.

Slate flinches, snapping to. "Uh, yeah, that's my ship."

"How long you had it?" asks Plinket.

"Not long," answers Gladius, truthfully. In his peripheral vision, he sees Fystik detach the Homing Detect O'Probe(tm) and swim toward the hull of the NNP Cruiser.

"How long is that, smart mouth?"

Plinket is developing a bad attitude. Ravv twists Gladius's arm, the thorny exoskeleton of the pincer digs into his skin, making him release a small yelp.

"A month! I've had it a month!"

The Losfallonite relaxes his grip slightly.

"Really. And how can a guy who goes around in only his Spiffy Sensor Suit Undergarment afford that kind of ship?"

"It's my ship," Gladius insists.

Ravv's pincer closes and twists.

"Aaauuuggghhh!!!!"

"You got a real smart mouth, bub," Plinket says, rising. "I think we better run a check on you, 'cause I bet you stole that ship."

Gladius looks past the short officer, sees the probe firmly attached to the belly of the police cruiser. Fystik's feet are now sticking out of the exhaust port of one of the cruiser's AttiTooters(tm).

"Right, I stole it." Masking his actions as a response to the pressure on his wrist, Gladius reaches back with his free hand, grabbing the back of his chair.

"Well, Ravv, whadda ya think?"

"I think I snip off hand, then we process him."

Plinket lets out a donkey laugh.

Fystik is worming his way back toward the Skulker.

Feeling the Losfallonite's pincers tightening, Gladius begins to stand, tilting under the increasing pressure of the biting grip. Without warning, he swings the chair at his harassers. The chair legs rake across Plinket's face, sending him sprawling, and continue in an arc toward Ravv. In an attempt to block the awkward projectile he releases his lock on Gladius.

Gladius darts for the gangway, shaking his hand to restore the circulation, just as Asilla steps out carrying a tray of donuts and Chocosmelt(tm). Slate slams into her. Food flies everywhere. The police are pulling themselves from the floor, reaching for their weapons. Gladius scrambles up the ramp, disappearing onto the upper deck.

With Hand Cannons(tm) drawn, the two NNP officers bound after Slate, bowling over Asilla a second time, and crushing the fresh donuts under their polished boots.

Momentarily disoriented, Gladius races down the wrong corridor. The clanging of his feet on the grated metal deck halts as he comes to a dead end. Damn. He backtracks, rounds the corner.

BWAM! BWAM!

The NNP officers blast their Hand Cannons(tm) at Gladius. He hits the deck and rolls to one side, the shots cut deep divots into the surrounding walls.

"Don't move, Toecheese!" orders Plinket, his weapon trained on Gladius's skull.

Suddenly, one of Hoddy Scrunge's robots, heading for a refueling hose storage locker, whirs directly into Plinket's line of fire. Slate bounds to his feet, heaving the robot into the two officers. The pile stumbles backward and Gladius deftly skirts the jumble.

"He's getting away!" shouts Plinket, trying to heft off the Losfallonite, who is busy trying to heft off the robot.

Slate sprints down the corridor, searching for his docking bay door. Finding it, he pushes into the recess of the Firm Tube(tm) airlock, smacking into Hoddy Scrunge. The two of them tumble into the tube. Gladius struggles to his feet.

"You in a hurry, H–U–R–R–Y?"

"Yeah. Bill the repairs to the IDR, Rolezar Doughan's account, okay?" Slate reaches for the Skulker's door lock.

"Okay, but what about…"

Slate disappears within and the door slides shut. Hoddy shrugs and retreats from the tube, just as the two NNP officers arrive. The Losfallonite grabs Scrunge by his greasy tunic and hoists him.

"Where is man?"

Scrunge points down the tube.

Gladius stumbles up the small ladder onto the Skulker's bridge. The ship's AttiTooters(tm) ignite and Slate pitches forward as the Skulker jerks into reverse. He scrambles for the Piloting Magno Swivel Chair(tm) to find Fystik seated at the controls.

"Oh, hi, heh heh," greets Fystik, surprised to see Gladius.

"Going somewhere without me?" Gladius cuts the field of the Chair, pulls the Dismemberon out of it.

"Not at all. I thought I should just get things warmed up."

Slate growls at the blue alien, then takes his place at the controls. Fystik moves to the navigator's seat.

In the Firm Tube(tm), Plinket and Ravv lurch at the tremor caused by the wrenching of the Skulker.

"He's gonna take off," shouts Plinket.

The officers dart from the tube, quickly sealing the door behind them. There is a horrible screeching as metal begins to tear. The pair look through the view port as the Skulker rips free of the Firm Tube(tm), the Tube twisting and folding as though made of foil.

"Uh oh, O," says Hoddy, straining to see over the cops. "My uncle's gonna be real upset when I tell him about this, T–H–I–S."

"Come on," snaps Plinket, "we'll catch him in the cruiser."

The NNP officers race into their pursuit vehicle and fire it up.

On board the Skulker, Fystik checks the rear Holo-Vis(tm) monitor. "The NNP Cruiser is pulling away from the station. You've got to get moving."

"Don't worry, once we get up enough speed they won't be able to follow us into hyperspace."

Gladius punches the Hypo Blast O'Boost(tm). The Ebony Skulker, Series FX20(tm) leaves a blue streak of light in its wake.

On board the Annihilator, the digital coordinate readout begins to change.

"Sir, the probe is on the move again," informs Cleanerschmidt.

"How long until we reach the station?" Ragellon asks.

"We're ready to enter normalspace now."

"Do it. As long as the probe is still functioning we can track them. We'll stop at the station to make sure they left and aren't trying to pull a fast one on us."

"There gonna jump into hyperspace!"

Plinket swings his chair over to the Super Special Tracking Systems(tm) console, an exclusive Nectar Nine Police pursuit device. He looks through a targeting screen, lining it's laser sights on the Skulker's bar code identification plate. Ravv keeps the throttle open full, fighting to catch up with the receding runner.

"Firing Laser Tow Thread… NOW!" Plinket squeezes a trigger, shooting a thin, intertwining orange and pink laser beam. The beam silently makes contact with the Ebony Skulker's bar code, locking itself with the trajectory of the ship.

"Laser Tow Thread locked and tracking." Plinket turns to smile at Ravv. "We got him."

"Prepare for hyperspace!"

Gladius stabs the Cyan HooterTooters(tm) button and, with a shudder, the Skulker transcends the barrier from normalspace to light speed plus.