Chapter Nineteen
REPRIMAND
"If they want to kill me, let them."

The Vi-Troop Carriers(tm) pass over a smoldering Nauga field. Colonel Itchtrong sits in his Magno Command Chair(tm), watching as the landscape of the Green Moon unfolds before them. Ahead, the green laser curtain has been steadily faltering, and now the last sporadic burps come to an end. The self-destructing grid has ceased to function. Glancing skyward, the Colonel smirks and silently thanks his fellow Battle Accelerator commanders.

"All clear, sir," proclaims Lieutenant Flinnff.

"How long until we reach Verd's core?"

"Twenty minutes."

On the long-range Holo-Vis Monitor(tm) the ball of plasma wanes, revealing the crippled Abrogate amidst the shards of the defunct grid. Bloition, standing with the staff of the Crusade Strategy Room(tm), allows himself a calming breath.

"There's still one left," someone remarks.

"But look at it," snaps Bloition, "the entire front end is damaged. It's practically a derelict sitting up there."

"Perhaps we should let them go home and lick their wounds," offers another.

"No! Stanzilli!" The clerk steps forward. "Have Ikky Hummanah and his mercenary War Buzzard make an assault on that Battle Accelerator. It's time we put his services to the test."

"Right away, sir. Um, excuse me, First Chairman Supreme?"

"Yes?"

"A while ago, Second Clerk Tizzaphooex captured a spy. Munch should have him prepared for interrogation by now."

"I'll join you momentarily. Everyone, standby for commencement of evacuation. We are expecting help shortly." Bloition nods to the self-congratulatory gathering and heads for his office.

Gladius peers through a small, round window in the door, into what appears to be a cargo depot. He can see stacks upon stacks of crated goods, and beyond, far down the huge chamber, the docking bays where transport vessels load and unload their cargoes. The depot is silent and still.

Assured that there is no one around, Slate smashes at the door lock with the butt of the BIGGER GUN(tm). The lock surrenders. Cautiously, he opens the door, then leads Fystik and Geronimo into the warehouse.

"Where are we now?" Geronimo complains.

Gladius ignores him, examining the boxes and crates that surround them. At the far end of the main aisle, on the first of three docking bay pads, an Astral Cargo Sled(tm), used for ferrying goods to and from orbit, sits.

"Well, I don't see any Petunia and I don't see any terrorists, Gladman, so let's take that sled down there and get outta here," Geronimo says.

Gladius leaves him standing and walks deeper into the room. "There must be a way into their control center," he says, reluctantly allowing his old military training to impinge on the situation.

The solitary War Buzzard(tm) space vessel lifts from the green tarmac of Verd's landing base, heading for orbit and the damaged Abrogate. Its mercenary crew of seven, lead by Bratislav Winslow Vernon "Ikky" Hummanah, eagerly prepare for cleanup of the Abrogate's survivors.

Until recently, Hummanah had been plying his trade as a pirate, overpowering small, unarmed merchant vessels in the outer reaches of the Kielbasa Nebula, a penchant that was earning him a brisk trade in pastries and other baked goods.

Hummanah's technique was to feign a propulsion problem, ask the passing freighters for assistance, then walk onto the vessels and murder, in cold, hard buckets of blood, the crew. To Hummanah and company the kill was worth more than the booty, considering it great sport to accomplish these exterminations by means of crude weaponry, supplied by an insane warfare historian turned crude weapon fabricator. It was through this contact that Hummanah was put in touch with the DataTrump Fruition Front, billed as a jack-of-all trades.

And now Hummanah, with one flesh-hand and one prosthesis (the original lost early in his career during a botched raid at a pickling factory), works the controls of the War Buzzard(tm), heading out on his first real mission for the terrorists.

The Crusade Strategy Room(tm), which had calmed down with the elimination of the immediate threat from the Battle Accelerator HyperCrafts(tm), is once again consumed with chaos. Bloition bursts in and is taken aback by the hubbub. Shaking his head, he moves to the elevator at the back of the room. Turning his key provides an unsettling beep and a winking, digitized message on the small screen:

"First Chairman Supreme," comes the urgent voice of a Second Clerk.

"This elevator's broken, call maintenance," orders Bloition.

"Uh, right away, but there's something else, sir. We're detecting Vi-Troop Carriers within defense curtain limits. Prelim scan registers them to the Frak Crak Assault Squad."

The blood drains from Bloition's face. "Frak Craks?"

The Second Clerk nods, awaiting instructions.

"Announce that infiltration is imminent. Standby for full evacuation. Where the hell is Ondurf?"

"He went down to level nine to interrogate the intruder, sir," informs a nearby guard.

"Fine, just fine. Somebody get this elevator working and get Ondurf up here, now!"

BANG! CLANG! Clatter, clatter.

Gladius flips the BIGGER GUN(tm) toward the sudden noise. A ventilation grate next to him has just been booted off the wall from inside the duct. The blue-skinned alien and the pack rat rush to Gladius's side as a sleek, feminine leg pokes out from the hole. The leg is followed by its owner, Petunia Ren.

"Freeze, bitch!" growls Geronimo, drawing both Hand Cannons(tm).

"Petunia," squeals Fystik. He starts forward, but Gladius collars him. Petunia is genuinely surprised to see Fystik, but, as she eyes Gladius and Geronimo, she is overcome by a strong desire to be elsewhere. She is also acutely aware of the Five Point Pin Laser(tm) strapped to her left arm.

"Just hold it right there." Gladius has the BIGGER GUN(tm) trained on her. She gingerly begins to sidle away from the shaft. "Don't move!"

Petunia stands still. A scuffling and grunting becomes apparent in the silence. Gladius, Geronimo and Fystik trade confused glances. Suddenly, Petunia lurches forward, bumped from behind. The bumbling Snax struggles out of the air duct and pushes his way around her.

"Snax?!" blurts Gladius.

"Um, hi boss."

Gladius lunges forward, dropping his weapon. His hands encircle the slippery throat of the alien and he begins to throttle him vigorously. "You sack of dung! You miserable bag of pus. You put a military homing device in my ship!"

"There's no time for this," Petunia says. "The guards have probably made it to the detention cells by now. When they see that we've escaped they'll come looking for us."

WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP! WHOOP WHOOP!

A general alarm sounds throughout the cargo depot. Gladius stops shaking Snax and the five intruders scan the cavernous room for signs of trouble. A roving bot homes in on the group, relaying visual information to an unseen control station somewhere deep within the complex.

"Spy bot," blurts Geronimo. He begins to blast at the wandering eye. After several errant shots, he connects and the bot loses power, dropping to the platform.

"They'll be on us in minutes," Petunia warns.

Slate releases Snax and collapses onto a crate, slouching his shoulders and staring at the floor. "That's it, I've had enough."

Petunia looks to Fystik impatiently. "Let's get moving, Fystik, we can't wait for garbage men."

"But they helped me find you," says the Dismemberon, uncertain of his feelings.

She shoots him a disapproving glance, then backs away from the group. With a hint of hesitation, Fystik follows. Snax rubs at his neck, trying to assess the situation.

"Come on, Gladman," urges Geronimo, watching Fystik and Petunia head off down the depot. "We gotta get movin'. This place'll be crawlin' with guards any minute."

"No, Geronimo, I'm done. No more of this stuff."

Geronimo's jaw flaps, as if to say something, then clamps shut.

"Chairman Bloition, we have detected intruders in the cargo depot."

In response to First Clerk Rhymo Stanzilli's report, Bloition fingers his Commucon Stay-Close(tm). "Are they Frak Craks?"

"No, sir. Just a small, ragtag group… unidentified, except for Petunia Ren."

"Apprehend them," orders Bloition, now understanding the disabled elevator. He checks the load on his Junior Hand Cannon(tm). "I'll be right there."

"Look, Gladius," Geronimo implores, "you can either sit here and probably die, or hustle your butt so we can get the fuck outta here."

"Why, Geronimo? Why would the Company and the Union side with the military and use me this way. I've always done my best for them, or tried to. Now they've tricked and cajoled me into a situation where I have no choice but to risk my life trying to stop something that I'm not even sure about, anymore. I've had it. If they want to kill me, let them."

"Bullshit! I learned long ago that giant companies can't be trusted. Give 'em your best, believe in their thanks, put up with their moanin'… you wanna know how much they care? I'll tell you how much. That Company is a vortex, gorgin' itself until you're used up and down the funnel you go. Plenty more comin' in the top. Next time you watch the water goin' down the drain, go ahead, stick your finger into that vortex, pull it out and see how big a hole you left!"

Gladius sits, head low, absorbing the abuse. Geronimo takes a deep breath, glances at Petunia and Fystik as they slink off, now halfway across the giant room. He returns his attention to Gladius.

"Why the hell do you think I got outta it? Give, give, give. For what? Security? We are about to die, you call that security? Steady income? Steady boredom, I say! Take control of your life, like me, freelance. I'm my own boss, answer to no one. Look, if these idiots wanna steal Cows and blow each other up, let 'em. If I hadn't been stuck with you two schmucks, it would be my decision to fight back or walk away, no one else's."

Gladius slowly lifts his gaze to Geronimo. Snax has trundled away, following Petunia and Fystik.

"So we can either get the fuck outta here, or get ready to shoot these mothers. You gonna sit here, or move your happy ass?" Geronimo turns away, looks in the direction the others have gone, considering his options.

Gladius ponders what Geronimo has said. The depot will soon be filled with armed guards. "Fine, let's get moving," he says softly, scooping up his weapon.

Geronimo cocks an eyebrow at the big man and, together, they move out.