A NEW BEGINNING
Chapter Fifteen
"Velak Thratcher"
18:07 – Planet Snivelak, Thug HQ, Bogon Galaxy
Slam! Plow! Thug! These were the common sounds of young, aspiring henchmen and brutes, as well as other classes of thugs, who struck the hard floor after being given daily, proper training by the peerless beauty that was Captain Natasha—Manhunters leader and the Thug-4-Less Army's combat trainer. She wore a black instructor's uniform: a pull over v-neck top, a matching jacket and pants. The small class of six were all dressed in simple, loose combat clothing of brown. One by one, each thug endeavored to grapple the shabox, but met without much success, being hurtled over her shoulder and sent flying in the air for what seemed like eternity to the person being thrown. If one of them dared a frontal attack, she would block and parry off the attack, her small frame flowing like the wind, like a current, riding their momentum to a point, and then bringing up a fist for which to send harshly into their chest; the resulting grunt and grimace, or a pathetic yip they sometimes bayed, were what the captain expected every time one of her trainees accepted any of her mighty blows. Falling down seemed to be their only option—a wise choice—whenever she struck, for a sign of weakness would be just the attitude she hated, and her hatred for a sign of an unfavorable foible in the soldiers--under her command--would not be tolerated; moreover, it encouraged her meanness, something only a handful of thugs would ever profess. And if ever one of the trainees dared to kick at her during the training, she would instinctively catch his leg and retaliate with a fierce punch to the face. In all their agony and failure, she toughened them not only to be hardened privates of the thug army but also with the possibility of a few of them actually becoming a future Manhunter.
Despite all their hardships, there was one particular Snivelakian she seemed to be most fond of—beating him more than the others. She always did a little something extra to stir the young, aspiring henchman, who always declared before training how much he wanted to be a true thug. While the others guffawed at his big dream of becoming notorious just as one the elite members of the Manhunters division, Captain Natasha would shake her head and give a warming smile, reaffirming his optimism to an extent. But even at nineteen, there was one particular trait no other could ever emulate and that was his ability to shoot. A skilled marksman, and being only just that, was one of the two things that kept the other thugs off his back about his ambitious nature: he had the skill, but lacked enough experience to move quickly up the ranks; and as for the other reason no one ever made his experience at HQ a harrowing one was the nature of his relationship with a soldier above the ranks of all enlisted soldiers--Stravek Thratcher.
After showing the remaining, exhausted thug soldier to the floor, Captain Natasha dusted off her furry hands and beamed slightly at the organic pile she had created at the center of the training room within the Training Facility. "That's enough practice for today, come back at 2200 for a rehash of everything we learned before and today. Go soak your heads, boys," she said in a firm voice, picking up a small, discolored rag and throwing it atop a brute's face. "SPC Thratcher, you remain behind," she singled him out with a finger, beckoning him from among the pile of shifting and rising bodies—soldiers sliding off one another as the larger lizards of the group climbed to their feet from the very bottom of the heap.
Thratcher, slipping off easily from among the top of the bodies, landed on his clawed feet, staggering forward a little bit. "Yes, ma'am?" he called, ignoring the quiet chatter behind him, of the others spewing gossip between him and the captain. It seemed for a while now, on and off, that they were seeing and hearing more from the captain of the young lizard having to always stay behind, but they never knew why.
"Velak," she began, eying over his left shoulder as all the others within the group exited the room. "You did . . . performed . . . well today. A great demonstration of your improving combat skills. Your brother would be very proud if he were here to congratulate you himself, but he's at Siberius and on an important mission," she cozened easily.
Velak's eyes softened at the mention of his brother's name. "Why, of course he wouldz, if he couldz, and"—he sighed softly and averted his gaze from the captain's eyes as he spoke—"he's always been so busy ever since he gots promoted to be a part of the Manhunters. I don't sees or hears much of him anymore, but when I do our conversations are—brief."
Natasha clutched his shoulders and pulled him close, eying him with a little sentimentality. "Velak, you're the most courageous and selfless thug I ever had the privilege of training. You are already a part of the army's second line of defense, probably their secret weapon for all I care, one of the Specialists, right? With your skills, you'll move up the ranks in good time. Persevere," she brought up his chin with a hand, smiling again. "Besides, you needn't try to impress me anymore; you've already done that the moment I started training you."
"Yeah, I knows. But even as a Specialist, I'm the last one called in. Well, mostly," he smiled a little, enjoying the caress of her hand against his chin. "And if you says so, Captain, I won't try to dazzle you . . . out of me's pride," he grinned, receiving a small bop on the head.
"Smart-ass and adorably cute," Natasha purred. "I'll tell you what, Velak, I'll put in a good word to the general and get you assigned under Captain Rezabar, who is charge of the aerial defense task force. He'll assign you to a helicopter and a pilot, and together you two can survey the outer rim of the base today. That should be enough action for a day than having to hang around the cantina, eh?" She turned to leave and walked slowly and alluringly toward the exit, wriggling her short, black-striped tail.
Velak studied her, noticing how her body language spoke crescendos of wantonness, the way her luscious hips swayed made his mind run rampant with thoughts of carnality. Not even the right species, the immorality and irony of it all, to be instructed by a woman whose entire being marred from the whole thug order, created a deep-heated desire in every soldier's wildest fantasy to be with someone as attractive as Captain Natasha, and yet it was only a notion, something to dream about. Velak shared this vision of want, but in actuality he had something more secret that would make the others turn green with envy; a secrecy that could make him or destroy him in its entirety. He being a male, it was already programmed in his nature to stare, to attract, to want something far out of reach. But for him, to be constrained by rules was enough of an impetus to make him braver than any other thug to answer one's own question about the possibilities of having a companion. And from watching her leave, knowing how deliberately she tried to lure him into her trap, it worked, and his emotions waned the instant she stopped by the threshold of the door.
"Is there something mores . . . that you wants to say to me? Can I? Can we's?" he uttered almost in a final battle cry, his voice clear and somewhat loud enough for her to sense his desire for her. "How long is before the end of this, I wonder?" he said louder, as if the last sentence pained him as he had said it bravely. He stole several steps closer, stopping and waiting for an answer from her.
The shabox did not motion around; instead, her ears perked up, she pursed her lips into a curt smile, before answering in a voice too kind, too sly. "The first time is the last time: the last time is like the first time. When will it end, you ask? It could end today, tomorrow—next year or never, but neither of us will challenge that," she said, curling her tail high for him to see. "You already know when, where, and why. Meet me—soon," she said, and then pushed open the door and left him to his thoughts.
Only a few months after the completion of reconstructing the base into something more fortified, the thug headquarters had changed greatly, with some new additions to their mobile force. Upon entry into the base, there were eight buildings in all, each varying in usefulness. The reinforced glass shielding walls had long been removed around the center of the complex in favor for force field generator systems. The center was rebuilt into a recreational area for the soldiers off duty, a place now referred to by all new thugs as the plaza. To the left and right of the base entrance lied long, rectangular buildings; these were the sites for the second line of defense with the use of heavy artillery, such as energy cannons and anti-aircraft weaponry. These long and narrow buildings also housed an unbelievable number of privates, newly enlisted thugs from all parts of the galaxy.
The next couple of large buildings on the far eastern and western sides of the base housed, separately, the depot for backup space fighters, attack-ships, and other aerial assault vehicles. The building on the eastern side was the Manhunter building, a place also used for training new hopefuls. Between these buildings on the far sides of the base, two smaller buildings lied parallel to each other—the one closest to the base entrance was the newly built cantina; the other, a large and personalized barrack for veteran soldiers. And just north of the barracks was the capital building where all communicative activity were received and sent and orders given by the new Thug Leader. Finally, the last two square-shaped buildings, built considerably smaller than the others and erected on both sides of the main centre, were where heavy ground vehicles were kept. But even with these rearrangements, some parts of the thug headquarters remained relatively unchanged . . .
Before the headquarters the main bridge remained as it did for years, built sturdy and kept suspended by massive chain links on both ends the bridge's super structures. The roadbed stretched a mile long. The command tower, another source of mass communication for the thug army, was as it were approximately fifty yards from the beginning of the bridge. To the right of the tower was the first line of defense, the launch pad for attack-copters. Down every corner and street, deep, round, crimson lights lined the ground in perfect succession and light posts—with small vid-screens bolted high—around each corner, followed the labyrinth pathways until they reached the farthest stretches of all sides of the base. Almost at every junction, hidden among the futuristic architecture of the massive compound reaching some hundred stories, were a series of force field generators that were currently inactive. In the streets, armed soldiers ranging anywhere from henchmen, brutes, and non-Snivelakian species occupied the streets, marching by the hour and always being wary for trouble within and outside the base. Together, they sometimes served as peacekeepers and peacemakers, depending on the nature of an uprising caused among the off-duty thugs. Fights sometimes erupted between the young and the old thugs, the majority of them acting as patrons at the cantina; their battles were regularly spurred on by gambling.
Nearly two days after the Manhunters had been dispatched to apprehend the thief on planet Siberius, there was a meeting taking place inside a conference room in the central facility north of the barracks and Thugs-4-Less plaza. With no response from the Manhunters, this was enough to cause a little worry for the Thug Leader, so he had arranged a meeting with his highest ranked officers—Captain Rezabar and Captain Natasha. Before the meeting could start, however, the shabox's absence had already begun to pique the thug leader. He fleered as he slowly paced around the room, his every movement being observed mindfully by his Barlowian captain.
The former Vukovar tribesman released a soft sigh, beginning to wonder the whereabouts of his esteemed comrade. He tapped a clawed finger against his thug army chest plate, reminiscing of the past amid the silence between him and the leader of the thug army.
Rezabar had been the only noninhabitant to rise in rank to captain several months before Natasha, and unlike her area of expertise of martial arts, his lied in the Thugs-4-Less Air Force. A connoisseur of flying, commanding and instructing, he became the authority of the Thugs-4-Less air defense task force, earning the immediate respect of all thug pilots and soldiers. He was the former mentor of Natasha, who became his prized jewel after having learned the essentials of flying and teaching, many saw the young girl as being his protégée. After teaching the shabox everything in the arts of flying, making certain the woman developed an appreciation for the trade, she rose in rank just as quickly. Together, ever since the beginning, they were an inseparable pair working cohesively together, sharing a type of relationship as a father and daughter would. But those days of instructing his former student were over.
The middle-aged Barlowian stood to attention, powerful and stern, when his general spoke, voicing his displeasure for Natasha's lateness. "Where is Captain Natasha? She is delaying us greatly, and it's becoming very bad--for her," he seethed with a bit of annoyance in his voice.
Rezabar spoke in the shabox's defense. "I, too, have noticed har becoming less and less dependable lately. It makes me wondar what keeps har so busy. Surely har duties aren't as rigarous as mine," he said, his eyes softening. "Perhaps we should go on without har? I could always inform har myself . . . about har tardiness, General."
The General turned to him and gave a nod, pulling out a chair from the conference table and sitting down with his massive hands interlocked. Captain Rezabar remained standing and stole a glimpse of the conference room door, imagining his fellow captain walking in any minute, but no such thing happened.
The general's green and brown uniform rustled as he moved in to a more comfortable position in his chair. With a hand, he combed back his spiked strands, and then cleared his throat. "All right, let's begin," he said in a deep, self-possessed voice which echoed within the room. "What is the current situation at the heliport?"
Rezabar drew in a deep breath, "Well, sar, everything is in ordar as you requested: the heliport has been refarbished to accommodate our attack-ships and drop ships; what available airmen we have from our air forces on Gorn are prepared for their next assignments; around the base, a patrol is in constant operation. Everything is in motion: evaryone is working around the clock. Newly enlisted thugs are growing in great numbars evary day, sar."
"That's great news, as expected from you, Captain. And what of the off-duty men? Has there been any new developments? Conflicts?" The thug leader reclined in his chair, folding his arms behind his head.
The Barlowian shook his head slowly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, sar. A few random fights at the cantina and within the plaza, but nothing the guards patrolling those arias can't handle."
"I see," said the General. "And what of our mobile force? Are the redesigned Hover Tanks operational yet?"
"From what I hard from the mobile commander, they are oparational--ready for . . . well . . . war," Rezabar chuckled, turning his head once more to the conference room door. "I'm curious, General . . . what of the rest of the grand army--Notak, Gorn, Hrugis Cloud, Joba, Barlow, the Feltzin System?"
The abrupt opening of the conference door forced the general and captain to turn their heads as the late shabox slipped inside quietly more so than she had entered. She was dressed in her usual Manhunter fatigues of green and brown, which accompanied a small, black boonie that kept her raven hair flowing down her back. On the epaulettes on her right shoulder, there were two silver-tipped gold bars, the same rank as the air captain's. In her hands, she clutched a thin binder full of documents. By the smile on her face, they guessed she had some good news of her own to report. She walked and showed a sanguine air about her, her tail swaying in soft, rhythmic curls as she approached the table. She acknowledged her fellow captain with a nod, and then saluted to the general, whose less than enthusiastic nature returned a piercing look.
Captain Rezabar was the first to greet her. "Captain Natasha, as always, yar beauty commands the highest respect," he said as he politely lowered his long neck, bowing. "How are yar doing? And what have you thar?" He eyed the binder in her hand with a suspicious temper.
"Captain Rezabar, General . . . ." she began, but was interrupted by the thug leader. He unfolded his arms from behind his head and held up a hand to her, shaking his head in a dismissive way.
"Before you report your findings, Captain Natasha, I demand an answer for your absenteeism." The general's face marked indignation; eyes flaring a quasi, seething red.
The shabox sank with a bit of uncertainty on how to explain herself. To gather her composure and maintain a justifiable, presentable demeanor, she mustered a serious countenance, placing the binder in her hand down onto the smooth table top. Her small shoulders became level; her stance, efficacious. Her tail hung low, curled at her boots.
And without so much as lying or telling the whole truth, she said, "Well, I received the memo pertaining to this meeting a little too late. I was at the Training Facility, giving the hopefuls combat training, and thereafter I had to speak with a prominent student of mine in regards to Captain Rezabar and field duty, sir." She gestured toward her former mentor, eying him for support.
Rezabar curled his thin scaly lips into a furtive smile. "So, I see. Inform me of this potential aftar the meeting, my deer," he said softly, returning his gaze to the general.
The general could only nod understandingly after hearing this, but he kept a look of incredulity on his face. "Very well," he stroked his thick chin, creating a raspy noise in doing so. "What is this file that you've brought here? It better be some news from the Manhunters."
"Indeed, I too would care very much to hear about the progress of this bounty huntar team that is so greatly extolled," furthered Rezabar with a fatherly smile.
Natasha returned an elvish smile to both of them before continuing, "As I was saying, Captain Rezabar, General, I've finally received word from the Manhunters at Siberius,"--she reached down, opened the binder, and pulled out one of many files; the top one seemingly being the one of great interest--"At the Megacorp Munitions Factory, they've managed to successfully capture the thief and are now en route to planet Aranos, where the lombax will be temporarily incarcerated and interrogated aboard the Flying Lab."
Rezabar concurred with several nods. "That is very, very good news. You have trained yar men well." The compliment heated the shabox, making her blush behind her dark fur complexion.
"Thank you, Captain Rezabar. I'm glad someone appreciates my line of work," she said, returning a smile.
The general jerked a finger at the shabox. "Don't push your luck, youngling." Then he turned and looked at the other captain, fingering him too. "And don't you encourage her or I'll have the both of ya's polishing every soldier's boots from here to the other half of the galaxy."
The two captains stifled laughter.
"Be quiet, it's not a joking matter. Anyway, I have some good news of my own . . ."
Both captains straightened up immediately. Natasha gathered the files back into order and slid them back into the binder, and then stood at ease.
The general rose from his chair, leaned forward to the desk top, and propped himself up by his bare-purple knuckles. "As I was about to inform Rezabar, Captain Natasha, I was going to make a note of where our forces were in the transitional period of combining and collaborating with the tribesmen of Joba and Barlow and all the other thugs in Bogon . . . ."
Natasha raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip. "So how . . . goes . . . it?" She grinned sheepishly, showing small fangs.
"The thugs across the galaxy are making an effort to make alliances with allies and foes alike, so everything is going according to plan. Soon, we will have one grand military army at all corners of Bogon space--armadas at every system, within reach of numerous planets. Megacorp will probably being our biggest paying provider, requesting our services for support, bounties, and security. Why, we may even become larger than the corporation itself!"
Rezabar whistled. "Thug nirvana."
The general formed a wicked smile. "Yes, Thugs-4-Less will be one massively mobile military. After that, nothing can stop us."
"When will this diffusion be completed, General?" inquired Natasha, coming to the realization of the kind of inclination the Thugs-4-Less army proposed to the galaxy.
The general leaned back into a stance and instantly towered the other two; his monstrous silhouette overcasting not only them but the wall behind them as well. "In days, my dear. In days. On a further note, Captain Natasha, I will have a new assignment for the Manhunters whenever they get back. It'll require them protecting a certain someone. More on that at a later time. For now, Mr. Fizzwidget will be in Allgon City, planet Damosel, for the debut of the new whatchamacallit. I'll be sending a small group of thugs there to assist him, to offer him security, because you never know what may happen to the old coot. We need the old bastard more than you know it."
Natasha nodded and tucked her binder under an arm. "I understand where this is going. And I'll inform you if and when the Manhunters return. There are only four of them out there and one left behind for medical attention."
Rezabar motioned his head to the shabox to ask a question. "I presume it's Stravek Thratcher?"
She nodded. "Yes, he was injured during the last mission on Jakata. He should be fully healed very soon for the next mission, whatever it may be."
"If that's the case, then tell him to be a little quicker next time when it comes to meeting your fellow captain and me, all right?" quipped the general, who extended an arm toward the exit, showing them to the door. "That is all for now, captains. Be quick. Be gone," he said, followed by an ephemeral smile.
Outside the central building, the two captains descended some stairs, stopping halfway and observing the long street which ran past the cantina and barracks, and all the way to the main entrance and bridge exit. Behind them, their shadows faced the west, a sign that the sun was beginning to set. The sun lowering partially over the horizon created a soft, aural, orange glow over the buildings and streets of the base; however, the skies remained with a deep, darkened, compressed, red smog. With a whiff of the air, it reeked of machine oil and gasoline, but these smells were common for the base with its many vehicular operations which patrolled the streets just as much as the guards did.
And before the beauteous captain could return to her duties back at the Manhunters office, Captain Rezabar gripped her by the wrist and stopped her. In response, she glanced down at the offending hand and raised both of her eyebrows in alarm. He studied her with great attention, his scaly boned brows lowering.
"Just a minute, Natasha . . . . I sense something new in you," he moved in closer to inspect her, examining and sniffing about. "Did you just freshen up just befar you came to the confarence room? Hm?" He motioned away, releasing her wrist.
A part of the shabox shuddered in fear as an internal waft of coldness spreaded throughout her body. She looked uneasy. She didn't think he or the general would ever notice the sudden change in her appearance, but that assumption came back to haunt her . . . in the violet eyes of her former mentor, who then reached up and touched a few strands of her hair, some of which protruded from the bottom seam of her boonie. His face changed into a state of consternation when he realized that her hair was considerably moist and smelled of some sweet scent. This seemed to be in conflict with what she had said previously about her tardiness.
Her voice matured suddenly and came to her defense. "Sir, what's ever the matter? Is there a problem . . . with my hair?" she reassured herself, believing he would be naive enough to lean in a different direction with his suspicions.
"Yar still wet," he said, another thought coming to mind that moment. "I find it strange that you ware more than twenty minutes late to a meeting and yet you said you had stayed behind with one of yar soldiers? Must hair stay moist--like a watarfall--that long aftar the training session?" His eyes narrowed in deep contemplation, and before he could find a logical answer for his reason to suspect something foul with the shabox, she snapped her fingers to bring him to attention again.
"Oh! That's right. The soldier I wanted to bring to your attention," she broached in immediacy, feigning a surprised look. "Specialist Velak Thratcher."
Captain Rezabar cocked a brow, asking, "What of Velak? Isn't he the youngar sibling of Stravek?"
"Indeed, he is," she smiled smally. "For today, I was wondering if he could be placed under your charge because the Snivelakian grows weary of ground duty. I've been owing him this favor, and it's about time I lived up to my word. He's a well-rounded soldier. I believe his talents could be put to great use in the air. After all, he is a highly trained marksman. He needs to be kept distracted."
"Why is that, Captain? Is thar some undarlying meaning to this topic? Why must he be kept--'distracted'?"
"Why, of course there is!" she returned immediately, a grin appearing on her face. A deceptive look formed on Rezabar's face too. "Sir, by request of Stravek, he wants his brother away--out of his way. It's just that simple. Velak is a very ambitious soldier who is willing to do almost anything to get promoted to a higher rank, becoming that much closer to being a Manhunter. If this happens, this creates tension between--" she paused, trying to find the right words.
Rezabar looked to the sky and expelled a light sough. "Creates competition, Natasha? I see. We both know how these Snivelakians are when it comes to reputation. Sibling rivalry is something we don't need in the regime," he said, nodding slowly. "Very well, I will barrow this Velak Thratcher for a day, and if he proves himself to be as good as you say he is, I'll keep him undar my command for a while longar."
Natasha offered her paw, "Thank you, thank you, sir. You won't regret it."
The Barlowian pointed a threatening but playful clawed finger at her. "If thar are any problems with the boy, I know where to find you." He said stepping aside and turning to walk away, but looked over a shoulder to say one more thing. "And you bettar tell yar First Lieutenant Ghan to return Attack Ship 9 back to my heliport, or he'll be forced to deal with me. He's had it long enough. We're one ship short for partrol, so I need it tomorrow morning."
"Will do, sir. Good day!" she answered before the roaring engines of a Thugs-4-Less attack ship flew by, piercing the sky at breakneck speed toward the site of the first launch pad outside headquarters.
When Captain Rezabar recognized the sound of one of his ships zooming by, he turned to the sky and growled furiously, thrusting his fist into the air. Somewhere in the middle of his ferocious outburst, the shabox heard him cry, "Damn Brute! I want that ship back!"