Chapter 35: Sublime

A savage roar rang through the warehouse, the sound of an infuriated animal, and before the first echo faded, Little Cato had turned. Wide-eyed and gaping, the young Ventrexian neatly and succinctly summed up the situation in two softly spoken syllables:

"Uh-oh."

There was no manual for fatherhood. From that fateful moment a desperate Avocato had begged Gary to look after his boy, Gary had been winging this whole 'being a responsible adult' thing. Since neither he nor Little Cato was dead or maimed (Gary had taken care to check both items off his 'to do' list early on in his Cato-centric adventures), he liked to think that now that he was settled into the role, he was doing a relatively decent job. Still, there were moments when paternal instincts kicked into overdrive, activated by nothing more than a tone of voice that told any father that it was time to panic.

It was that same tone of voice Little Cato just used, as a matter of fact. And anything that could take his hard-hitting, vicious little spitfire of a son aback like that deserved all the attention.

"What, what?" Gary demanded, looking around wildly for something to shoot and wrapping one arm snugly around his kid in case they needed to scram. All the slaves still alive had fled. There were a handful of slavers still alive, but they were either scattered, injured, or about to face a Ventrexian warlord who could give nightmares nightmares.

Little Cato was looking through the bars of the empty cages, pulling against Gary's hold. He pointed. "Dad, I think Dad just went feral."

"He what?"

"He's . . . I think you'd say . . . birdzerk?"

He blinked. "Berserk?" Gary followed the pointed finger and joined in the gaping as his better half abandoned all vestiges of civilization and took on everyone at once. It was instantly apparent how grossly outclassed the slavers were. "Holy sheeeeeshkebab! He can do that?"

"He's doing it." Little Cato glanced at his sire, uncertain. "It doesn't happen too often to Ventrexians, but when it does, things can get . . . messy?"

"Is he dangerous?" At Little Cato's incredulous look, Gary hastily amended, "To us, I mean. I mean, I can totally see he's dangerous."

"Uh . . . I might be safe . . . ish?"

"Will he snap out of it?"

"He'll go 'til he drops. So, a long time. Hopefully not 'til they're all dead."

"Okay, yeah, good point."

Still clinging to his son and dragging him along for the ride, Gary stepped around the cages for an unobstructed view of General Avocato bringing the fight to the crew of the Degune.

It was . . . beautiful. Not just seeing a pack of slavers getting the what for they so richly deserved. No, Avocato himself was beautiful to see as he loosed himself on the people who had kidnapped his family. Fighting, fighting, endlessly fighting. A predator in its element, eclipsing their futile defenses. He moved with fluid grace and blinding speed, with an economy of motion developed by a lifetime of training. Every inch of him was a weapon, from his harsh battle cry to claws and teeth and heavily booted feet to the equipment in his shocktog gauntlets, and every move was lethal. The light gravity, the blood-slicked floor, the fallen equipment - everything he touched, he used against the people he attacked, including the people he attacked.

Until this moment, Gary had never understood the meaning of sublime.

As they watched, Avocato hissed as he flung the sword hard, sending it slicing through the exposed thigh of a feathered alien. The punctured creature let out a shriek of agony, dropping on the spot to writhe right in the path of its horrified peers and add its blood to the growing pool on the floor. Never hesitating, Avocato released a few feet of a grappling cable from his gauntlet. He used it to whip a sumo-sized alien across the eyes, blinding it, if only temporarily, before turning on the next closest slaver. In one swift and smooth action, he leaped behind a Scoti female, catching the end of the cable and using it to garrote her as he pinned her with his knee to her back. The Scoti reached up reflexively, dropping her gun as the threat grew much more immediate and personal. Merciless, the general yanked her around as he tightened the cable to use her as a shield as a Kssess found his courage and opened fire, killing her for him. Avocato loosened the garrote and kicked the Scoti's body into the Kssess, neatly lashing out again to wrap the cable around the Kssess' forearm and blaster, yanking back hard enough to sever the insectoid's brittle arm at the joint, sending limb and gun flying wide.

At once flabbergasted and entranced, Gary watched in breathless admiration as Avocato slid across the bloody floor to sweep the Kssess' legs from beneath him, slamming the insectoid against the cage behind it with an audible crunch before throwing the creature aside bodily. He aimed his arm at the Kssess and the beam of a laser torch activated from his cuff, cutting directly through the insectoid's head and straight out the back.

"He is a killing machine," Gary stated, awe reducing his voice to a whisper. It was dazzling. Screams of pain and fury rose up, drowned out by Avocato's deep-throated growls, as Gary Goodspeed fell in love all over again. He squeezed his son close. "That is tight!" Then a sobering thought struck him and he sheepishly admitted, "Guess it was a good thing we were already married when he showed up on the Galaxy One or I would have been light years beyond toast."

"Naa, TB," said Little Cato, wriggling lose and edging toward the slaughter for a better view, "he thinks you're cute."

Despite everything going on, Gary grinned.

Little Cato sniffed, then glanced down as his boot came into contact with something sticky and smelly. The Delgan, dark blue in death, was pinned to the floor at his feet. He blinked, leaning over to grip the curved, wide-bladed knife impaling the worm. "Hey, I know this knife."

"It's one of Avocato's," confirmed Gary in astonishment, also recognizing it from his Galaxy 1 days. "Mooncake's favorite."

"Is now," agreed Little Cato, shoving it into his belt before returning his attention to his sire.

The claws came out for the next unfortunate, the sumo-shaped alien with saber-tooth fangs. To the feral Avocato, the Thork was simply a bigger target, and it didn't seem to have recovered from getting whipped across the eyes moments earlier. The clash didn't last long, though the Thork did manage to land a hit or two. The blows did nothing to slow the general. Knowing Avocato like he did, Gary was pretty sure his husband found the attempt to put a stop to this rampage amusing. Which raised the question – what would it take to stop Avocato at this stage?

Not that Gary wanted to, seeing as how Mr. Whiskers was doing a hell of a job eliminating the slavers. Still, he flinched as Avocato arose a bloodstained mess and the bulky alien was dead or wishing he was.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Splashed and dripping with red and green and orange blood, Avocato once again yanked the sword free, unconcerned that its temporary sheath was still alive. The feathery alien screamed and started to claw at his boots, trying to bring the laser knife to bear, but almost without looking, Avocato swiped the blade in a swift flick and the Zintibo was suddenly a head shorter. His foot stamped down, crushing the knife and the hand holding it in a splash of blue fluid.

One less weapon to be used against him, and one less enemy to use it.

This whirlwind of action and slaughter had taken place in a span no longer than a minute or two. It had happened so swiftly and brutally that the untrained, untested slaver crew could only stare in shock as seven more of their fellows were hewn down, too frightened to move. Sword in hand, Avocato stood still for the first time, panting as he faced down Korg and his beam fletcher, teeth and claws still bared. Three of the five remaining flunkies tried to edge away, their terror evident as they meant to slink back into the shadows. One glance at their weapons told Avocato that none of those attempting to escape could inflict any real harm on him – at least, not before he caught up with and killed them first.

Korg growled, simmering with hatred as he brought the fletcher to bear on Avocato. It was a big, powerful, and heavy weapon – and utterly unsuited to point blank fighting for the simple fact it telegraphed when it was building a charge. Fletchers were made for taking down a fighter in low atmosphere, perhaps, or wiping out a rank in a battalion, not against a single foot soldier. It was like using a cannon to swat a fly.

Every nerve taut, his tail lashing the air and yellow eyes staring, Avocato waited . . . and waited . . . and suddenly he dove forward as Korg fired. The fletcher's blue-white beam spat through the warehouse with a shrill discharge, melting cages and perforating the walls clean through to the street. The young Foog, who was staggering blindly about the rows of cages, was caught in the beam and reduced to ash before he could draw breath to scream. In the adjoining room, something caught fire. Gary yelped and hauled Little Cato well out of the way, retreating to the shadows against the side wall, out of the line of fire. Avocato rolled and landed on hands and feet in a low crouch, facing Korg again, a few vital steps closer than before. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and blood, a heady mix, intoxicating in its way as it brought back memories of battling the Tryvuulians.

Green spittle flew from the Kormidorn's mouth as he yelled, "Stand still, you bastard!"

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Pressed into the deepest shadows they could find against the wall, Gary kept Little Cato behind him as Korg's angry shout rose up. The last thing Gary expected to hear at this point was laughter. Avocato's laughter. The sound rang through the warehouse, a mocking reply to a ridiculous order. Such a response was completely out of place, but, oh, so genuine, making his mirth all the more disturbing in this setting.

The three nervous slavers screamed and scattered, their fear of a Ventrexian warlord crazy enough to make dodging laser fire into a game overwhelming their fear of their captain. From his vantage point against the wall, Gary kept a sharp eye on them, not about to trust such cowardice once they got out of Avocato's range, even if it was understandable. Heck, Gary didn't want to face Avocato, and he was married to him.

"On the left, TB," snapped Little Cato, taking aim as one of the deserters plucked up enough courage to try to shoot the general from behind. Gary hissed a curse, opening fire. The stolen blaster wasn't very powerful, but with Little Cato's equally wimpy gun backing him, they were able to gang up enough to down the would-be sniper, stunning her into unconsciousness with her filthy clothes smoldering.

Their actions, however, alerted Korg to their presence. The Kormidorn cast a swift glance their way, then got back to the more immediate problem of Avocato. The general was still, balanced on all fours, waiting and watching for his next opening, every sense centered on Korg and the beam fletcher. As if knowing he had only one chance, Korg adjusted his grip on the gun. Gary knew enough of stupid decisions to recognize desperation as Korg realized the mistake he had made in his choice of weapons. The slaver's own stubbornness made him incapable of abandoning a gun so powerful even if it was more hindrance than help in this situation, and now it was too late to simply walk away.

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Korg clearly thought to drive Avocato back, trying to catch the general even with the edge of the energy beam. The least touch of a fletcher would be fatal at this range. If he could feint . . .

As if reading his thoughts, Avocato suddenly motioned to the side, about to dive. Korg swung the barrel to follow, but Avocato was already lunging straight at him, his feint having worked. Committing to his mistake too late to reverse it, Korg threw himself back and out of the way, bowling into the last of his crew as the Regru blade smashed into the fletcher's firing controls. The sword bit deep into the mechanism, sending sparks flying and rendering both weapons useless.

Desperate for some distance, Korg seized the closest of his crewmen and shoved him into Avocato's path, forcing the general to pause a moment. The terrified slaver stumbled to a halt, only to catch a vicious spinning hook kick square in the head, courtesy of the Lord Commander's second, a death half the soldiers in the Tera Con fleet would have trampled one another to achieve.

Eyes narrowed, Avocato scanned the warehouse for Korg. Smoke and dust from the beam fletcher filled the air, a miasma that stung the senses. His glance fell on the last hapless slaver, who screamed and dropped its weapon before Avocato could so much as glower, running away as fast as it could before it ended as wrecked as its fellows.

Then a faint, muffled cough reached his ears. He recognized the source: Gary. Memory jogged, a faint reminder of his life beyond this state of frenzy. He had a husband. He had a son. Gary was trying to protect Little Cato. Gary was trying to stifle his body's reaction to the smoke that was now billowing in from the other room. Instantly Avocato knew the whole of Korg's intent. It was identical to the Lord Commander's methods: use what Avocato loved to control him.

No.

He would not allow it. He would not be enslaved again.

He was moving before the thought even fully formed, racing toward the source of that noise, every sense and nerve trained on Gary. Dodging empty cages – and a few cages with slumped forms in them – Avocato ran for the inner wall of the warehouse. He saw them at the same time, Korg to his left, Gary and Little Cato to his right. The Kormidorn was aiming a blaster at Gary, who was far less valuable to a slaver's mind. Gary could not see the peril he faced from where he stood, whereas Avocato saw all with sickening clarity.

He never slowed, not caring about anything except stopping Korg by any means. Gary turned, belatedly realizing his plight, moving to bring his own gun to bear even as he shoved his son behind him, shielding Little Cato with his body. Korg got off one shot, and Gary let out a shout of pain as the blast grazed his artificial arm.

"Die, you primie scum!" screamed Korg.

And then Avocato was there, putting himself directly in the line of fire as Korg opened up with his blaster, trying to mow them all down. The general rooted himself, his stance wide and low and his forearms braced before him to shield his face and torso. Laser fire buffeted him like physical blows, one after another, relentless, and Avocato knew neither he nor the shocktog's repulsor field could endure this outpouring of energy for long. The steady barrage was more than the suit could absorb, more than he could withstand, and he could feel the heat of laser fire building rapidly in the field protecting him. Soon he would burn. It would be worth it, if his son survived. He let loose a wild yowl that was equal parts pain and fury, then shouted, "Get behind me!"

They obeyed without hesitation, crouching to make themselves small behind him. Gary seized Avocato's uniform belt with one hand, and Avocato gasped, "Don't. Let, Me. Fall."

"Hell, no, Cato," was the defiant reassurance growled right in his ear, and Avocato took heart at the promise. Gary leveled his blaster right over Avocato's shoulder and shot back, catching Korg on the hip. The momentary reprieve as the Kormidorn staggered back was as welcome as his indignant bellow of pain. Avocato answered with a bloodthirsty roar, which Gary and Little Cato echoed.

Suddenly a stark, icy energy so dark it appeared black came seeping across a patch of the ceiling like some sort of cancerous growth. It sucked what little light there was out of the room, casting everything into purple shadows and biting cold. Gary looked up and let out a happy shout.

"Alright! My prom date has arrived!"

An unearthly scream reverberated through the room and with a shriek of tearing metal, a huge portion of the roof was ripped clean off the building and sent flying. Rain came pouring in and lighting flashed, illuminating Ash Graven where she hovered in the sky over the opening. She looked down at Korg like some unholy fury come to claim her own.

"Choooo-ki-ty!"

Ash was joined by Mooncake, whose eyes glowed as he built up a charge, and then a thoroughly waterlogged Chuckie swooped into view with Nightfall and Fox on his back. The shaggy pink beast let out his most intimidating 'Bork! Bork!' which left no one who heard it even mildly concerned.

"What the beag?" breathed Korg, his assault forgotten in light of this circus.

They were his last words. Avocato bolted forward from Gary's hold and in half a dozen strides he slammed full force into Korg. He shoved his arm right under the Kormidorn's multiple chins and without hesitation, Avocato activated the laser cutter in his cuff, shooting the tight beam through Korg's throat and spine. There was a pause of several breaths as Korg stared at the general in disbelief before understanding and then death caught up to the slaver and sent him straight to hell.