Epilogue
PARTNERSHIP
"Well, what?"

The Kitty Klone sets a heaping plate of steaming Glucossian Fries on the table and Geronimo Lavoriss nabs a couple with his fingers. Gladius Slate, wearing a black patch over his empty eye socket, blows across the surface of a hot Chocosmelt drink and then cautiously sips at the liquid. Petunia Ren is examining the toppings within a Quaanaheeni burger and removes a slice of the pungent Steegleberry root. A slight, yellow-haired, blue-skinned figure slouching in the corner of the booth, disguised behind dark glasses, picks at a bright orange and yellow Emperor Hurdlefud salad.

Kitty's Kulinary Kipeche Kuisine diner is bustling with midday clientele. Adding to the hubbub is the constant chatter of the numerous Holo-Vis monitors situated around the seating area. The rapid-fire imagery is suddenly interrupted by the over-perfect face of an Andromeda Network Newscaster.

"Here's another bulletin," Fystik says, alerting the group. They turn their attention to the news brief.

"…strike was avoided in a last minute round of negotiations between the Interstellar Detritus Reclamation Company and the Interstellar Detritus Reclaimers Union.

"Concessions were made by the Company when it was revealed last week that Mirty Fuegg, the Union president, had been deeply involved with the terrorist organization known as the DataTrump Fruition Front. Officials on both sides agreed that all previous negotiations involving Fuegg would have to be reworked, and dispositions seemed friendly between all parties.

"As further details are released regarding the apparent motives of the so-called DataTrump Fruition Front, the typhoon of mystery and intrigue grows ever more complex. It appears that a small, clandestine group of executive officers of OmniCorp, the mega-corporation which formed as a result of the gradual merging of every existing company in the known universe, may be linked to the terrorist organization and the final explosive massacre on the Green Moon.

"It has come to light that secret negotiations between the OmniCorp executive board and the government, under the supervision of social psychologists, have been wrestling with the problem of the monopolistic system which currently controls the economic engines driving universal markets.

"It is believed the terrorist plot was concocted to thwart these negotiations. Although forced to reveal their intentions prematurely, government spokespersons have informed AN News that plans to dissolve the mega-corporation and reintroduce competition into the market were already being finalized. The destruction of the Green Moon, although a tragic loss of life, really won't affect the dissolution, and the economy will, by all predictions, continue on an upswing well into the foreseeable future.

"For a further update into the Space Commission hearings we now go live to the Dodecahedron where Captain Salata South, a key player in the final battle with the terrorists, is delivering a press release…"

Gladius and Geronimo shift in their seats, anxious to see what South has to say. The picture on the Holo-Vis monitor changes to a wide shot of the Dodecahedron, the huge administration complex of the InterGalactic United Military, then cuts to a closer shot of Captain Salata South addressing a large gathering of media personnel.

"…revealed that the terrorist organization had recruited several high-ranked individuals within the military and other infrastructural and governmental administrations, but we now feel that most of these persons have been taken into custody. I'm sure there will be a few more, but we will get them all, eventually." South glances around at the bristling assemblage, gestures to one of the reporters.

"Captain South," the reporter begins, "I understand that you, single-handedly, were able to take command in the critical stages of the battle on the Green Moon and put an end to the destruction. I was wondering what thoughts you had for the general public on how it feels to be a hero?"

"What?!" shouts Geronimo. "Hero? We carried that schmuck's ass!"

"Geronimo." Gladius is waving for Lavoriss to lower his voice, but Geronimo persists in his tirade.

"I can tell you, we wouldn't be sittin' here right now if we let that idiot––"

"Gerry!"

Several diner patrons turn to look at the commotion. Geronimo falls silent, relenting to Gladius's scolding look.

The Holo-Vis displays a close-up of Salata South, nodding and smiling. He thinks for a moment then begins his answer: "Well, I really can't take all the credit…"

"I should think not!" interjects Geronimo, eliciting another stern look from Gladius.

"…a young lieutenant by the name of Ginjee is going to be awarded a medal for bravery above and beyond the call of duty for her contributions, and I must give a great deal of credit to a couple of courageous men, whose names I won't mention because they are civilians, but without whose help I do not believe the terrorists would have been stopped at the Green Moon."

"Well, that's better," mumbles Geronimo.

"Captain South," another reporter is hollering, "are you aware of the numerous other crimes that have accumulated surrounding this case? For example: break-ins, fraud, shootings and, apparently, assassinations. What does the military plan to do about these?"

South clenches his jaw, the definition of his scar intensifying due to an influx of blood. He chooses his words carefully. "As you are well aware, an investigative operation may require that certain information be obtained through covert means, in order to protect the sources or to avoid tipping the intended targets, in this case the terrorists. The InterGalactic United Military is planning a compensation program for any persons directly affected by military interven––"

"How do you compensate for an assassination?!" shouts another reporter.

South's scar has begun to pulse. "To my knowledge," he says, speaking slowly, "the military was not involved in any such activities. Do not forget that the terrorists were conducting their own covert operations and that many of the aforementioned crimes have been committed by them, or persons recruited by them. The Investigations Committee will determine who, exactly, shall be compensated."

There is a huge uproar from the crowd. South is gesturing for the crowd to remain calm and, as the noise dampens, he speaks: "I'm sorry, I'm out of time for today, thank you." With that, he steps down from the microphones. The Holo-Vis image returns to the newscaster who signs off, back to regularly scheduled programming.

Gladius, Geronimo, Petunia and Fystik settle back into the booth, returning their attention to their lunches.

"Sounds like I'll get my ship replaced," sighs Geronimo, picking at his fries. "Hey, Gladman, how'd South get that hideous scar, anyway?"

A hint of grin breaks on Gladius's face. "Well, to make a long story short, it was soon after I had left the military and joined the IDR. Things had been going well, and I had just got the Gladknight I. I'd been dispatched to the Military Elite Squad Training Division. I didn't realize that Lieutenant South was in command of the facility's administration, and a stickler for details worse than I ever was.

"As it happened, I was moving my shiny new ship into position over their Sani-Bins, and old South starts screaming over my Commucon. It seems the base's janitorial crew hadn't finished dumping the trash and Salata wanted me to wait until they did. Now, it's not my problem that these soldier boys hadn't packed their crap away on time, and I had a schedule to meet, so I told him to stick it. At this point South recognizes my voice and demands I dock my ship so he can 'confer' with me on the issue. I know he just wants to stall for his lame ducks to get the trash into the bins. After all, a little botch up taking the garbage out can result in a serious smell, and South was still bucking for his promotion.

"So, I refused to wait and the bastard slams a Tow Hold on the Gladknight and reels her in for a forced dock. By this time I was steaming, so I barreled to the hatchway and was ready to take South on face to face. I guess old Salata had the same thought, because he was waiting for me on the other side of the airlock, ranting about filing a formal complaint against me with the IDR. Behind him, his troopers were stuffing trash down the shredder tubes as fast as they could.

"Push came to shove, and neither Sally or I would back down. But, unfortunately for him, I was bigger. I pushed him, I guess harder than I should have. He stumbled backward, slipping on a slimy bit of slop from one of the trash containers. He started flailing like a madman, his arms windmilling. South was screaming at me by this point, and I guess he thought he had his balance back, but he didn't. The next thing, old Salata upends himself into the shredder tube.

"The stupid toadies could only watch, horrified, but I rushed forward and tried to shut down the tube. We heard South screaming and cursing the whole way into the bin, where he landed on a hideously foul mountain of garbage. One of the shredder blades had been slow in retracting. Its oscillating serrated edge, heated by use, cleaved and cauterized South, leaving a scar from the top of his head down, spiraling around his torso, to the tip of his toe. It was quite a sight"

The group laughs as Gladius finishes his tale, then settle into a comfortable silence.

Finally, Gladius clears his throat and the others look to him. "I, er, have an announcement to make," he says, glancing down at his half-eaten meal.

Geronimo waits for it, grows impatient. "Well, what?"

Gladius remains staring at his plate. "I've, um, decided to quit working for the Interstellar Detritus Reclamation Company."

"Well, that doesn't surprise anyone, I'm sure," Geronimo retorts. "You'd hafta be nuts to stay on."

"Yes, well, there would be some reasons, I think, like having a ship to pilot, for one, and an income for another."

Geronimo raises his eyebrows, conceding the point.

"So," Gladius continues, "I guess I'll just be out on my own, looking for odd jobs here and there…" His train of thought trails off.

Petunia looks briefly to Fystik, who glances from her to the others and back.

"Well," Petunia begins, "Fystik and I are also going to be starting out fresh. Don't forget that we've come out of this with nothing, and there is no way we can file for compensation."

"Absolutely not," sings Fystik. "We've got to lie low for a while, we're not exactly innocent, you know."

"Yes," Gladius agrees, "your secret is safe with us, right Gerry?"

Geronimo glances at the pair, nods agreement. "Hey, we owe you guys a favor or two, even if you did torture our butts."

"Thanks," Petunia replies. "So, anyway, Fystik and I plan to open a legitimate vehicle repair and modification business, what with all the experience we've gained. Probably specialize in recreational vehicles this time. It's a couple of years down the road, at any rate, but you're welcome to join us if you like, Gladius."

Gladius smiles warmly at the offer. "Hey, thanks a lot you two, but I don't know if that'd be right for me. Detritus is kind of in my blood. I'll just wait around, see what comes up."

Geronimo is looking suspiciously at Gladius.

"Well, if you change your mind," Petunia replies, "the offer's still open."

"Most definitely," adds Fystik.

Gladius smiles and nods his thanks. Petunia and Fystik peck at the remainder of their meals. Geronimo looks around at the trio.

"Um, Gladman?"

Gladius looks up.

"Ya know, if I can finagle a half decent ship out of my compensation settlement, well, I just might need some sorta copilot to help me out. I've built up a pretty good business, with some reliable clients, too. It was gettin' a little hectic, anyway, and I was kinda hopin' to take on some help before I got into this whole mess. At one point I was even thinkin' of expansion, maybe get another ship… makin's of a fleet, ya know?"

Gladius is looking at him sheepishly. Petunia and Fystik are suppressing grins.

"Gee, are you sure, Geronimo, we've tried to work together in the past."

Geronimo shrugs. "Yeah, sure, I know, but we could at least try it one more time. I think we've matured somewhat, don't you?"

Gladius brightens. "You could say that. It was one hell of a way to go about it, though."

Petunia and Fystik nod their agreement.

"So, whaddaya say? Copilot?"

Gladius hesitates briefly. "If you'll have me?"

Geronimo begins to chuckle. Fystik and Petunia join in, and finally, Gladius, too, begins to laugh. He extends a hand to Geronimo, who takes it and shakes it vigorously.

"Welcome aboard, partner."

The foursome clear their tab and climb from the booth. Petunia and Fystik bid farewell and head for the exit, followed by Gladius and Geronimo.

"Hey, Geronimo, you come up with a name for your new ship, yet?"

"Yeah, the New Gnu Two."

"I always thought Gladknight VI had a nice ring to it."

"Forget it, Snickerbutt!"

Their conversation melts into the din and they disappear through the door. The galactic hub hangs resplendent beyond the observation window, its glittering stars beaming with hope and prosperity against the black void beyond. A blackness so infinite that it will always remain poised to consume, with minimal effort, even the brightest point of light.

THE END