Chapter 3
At Separatist Headquarters consternation was in the air.
"What do you mean Snot can't make it to the rendezvous?" General Vast shouted.
"That's what he said, sir!" An aide replied, "He says he stubbed his toe and can't fly his ship now."
Vast was flabbergasted. "Since when does a sore toe prevent you from flying a spaceship?"
The aide shrugged helplessly. "That's what he told me!"
General Vast turned to the other commanders.
"General, Princess Astrid is expecting Snot to get her off the Shattermaster. That was the plan."
"I know that!" Vast snapped. "Snot's bailed on us."
"How'd that guy get to be an Ace anyway?" another general spat in disgust. "He should've been court-martialed a dozen times already!"
"Aye, we shouldn't have chosen him for this mission."
"He volunteered for it."
"He only volunteered because he likes the idea of saving the Princess."
"And backed out at the last minute, the coward,"
"Never mind that now." Vast interrupted, "Who else can we send to pick up Princess Astrid?"
The others exchanged anxious glances. One spoke. "As I recall, the plan was to let the Princess get caught, obtain the final piece of the map, escape aboard Snot's ship, and then meet up with the rest of us on Gronkle-5. We've already sent all our Fighters to secure the landing site on Gronkle-5. All we've got here are the Cruisers and transport ships. And they'd be no match against the Shattermaster."
General Vast groaned. "Every pilot is gone?"
"Yes sir."
"Astrid could steal a Federation ship," someone suggested.
"She might just do that if we don't come up with something fast, but it'll take some time for her to realize that Snot isn't coming to get her. In that time she could easily be captured for real. The way I see it, we need to send someone to extract her and we need to do it fast."
"And we don't have any pilots available." Vast groaned.
"A moment, please, Mein General!" a man in a wheelchair rolled over to them. I called him a man, but in truth his legs, though largely hidden by his trousers, resembled headless salmon. It was as though someone had cut his legs off and attached the decapitated fish to the stumps. He was a thickset man with a round face and even rounder nose and short blond hair.
"Make it quick, Dr. Ingerman," Vast said.
"We have no pilots available here, but there is a spaceport two parsecs away that would, assuredly."
"And they'll all be mercenaries and bounty hunters," Vast retorted, "They'd sell us all to the Federation and blow the money on drink and dice. And even if one did agree to help, they'd charge us a fortune!"
The Doctor scratched his face with a gloved hand. "Maybe, Mein General, but such pilots that visit that port are superb and daring. And judging at the way the facts line up, do we have a better choice?"
Vast looked around at the others and asked for opinions. Nobody liked the idea of enlisting outside help for this, especially from a hive of galactic lowlifes, but nobody had a better idea.
.
So Dr. Ingerman flew a small shuttle to the space port on the planet Pulagard. He wheeled his way into the local cantina, which was rather ominously named 'Comatose'.
It was as one would expect in this kind of place. Creatures of all sorts and sizes were everywhere. Some looked like oversized bugs, others like hairy slobbery beasts, still others like upright reptiles. There were even combinations of these. All were armed to the teeth and gave the impression of toughness. They were all mercenaries who were used to living hard and fighting indiscriminately. Dr. Ingerman, who was partly intimidated and partly impressed by the many species present, rolled himself over to the bartender. He imagined everyone present was watching him even though none of them seemed to be looking at him.
"Greetings. I need a daring pilot with a fast ship and I need them fast!"
The bartender hardly looked up as he wiped a glass with a dirty rag. "The gin is first class, sir."
Dr. Ingerman handed him some money. A drink was produced, which Dr. Ingerman shoved to the side.
"Very good, sir. Now, you need a fast ship?"
"That's what I said. A fast ship and a pilot who's not afraid to face potential death, dismemberment, torture, violence, persecution, or getting the paint of his ship scratched. Discretion is essential. Anybody here I could hire?"
"Hmm…that's a tough one, sir."
Dr. Ingerman bought another glass of gin.
"Well, sir, as it happens, the Centennial Condor docked here earlier today."
Dr. Ingerman perked his ears up. "The Centennial Condor? The ship that can fly 12 parsecs in that many seconds? Here? Wonderful! Who has her?"
"Recently—oh, my mind is so cluttered up with stuff, I think I've forgotten—"
Dr. Ingerman bought a third glass.
"As it happens, I don't know his name, but I do know he's right in the corner over there. Best hurry, though, when he stops here he never stays for long."
Dr. Ingerman wheeled his way over. The man in question was wearing faded brown leather clothes and wore a helmet which covered his entire head. He gave Dr. Ingerman the impression of an unsavory man who was best left undisturbed, but the Doctor was on a mission.
"Excuse me?"
"Yes?"
It was hardly a promising start. "I understand you own the Centennial Condor?"
"You do, do you?" the man shifted his weight slightly.
"I'd like to hire you for a one time charter. It'll be dangerous and require discretion, but you'll be paid well for it, I promise you."
The man leaned back in his chair, eying the Doctor from behind his mask.
"What's the job?"
"I'll give you the details when we leave. For now, all I'll say is it involves rescuing a woman." He hoped that would be a good lure. Most mercenaries loved the idea of rescuing women.
The man did not react. He simply said, "From whom?"
"Her enemies." It was not safe to say 'the Federation' in a place such as this cantina. Anybody here might be a Federation spy or supporter, including this man.
The evasiveness did not seem to faze the man. "What's the reward?"
"Fifteen thousand, plus protection from reprisals from her enemies."
"Sorry, but I don't accept deals from strangers."
The Doctor held out his hand. "Dr. Ingerman."
The man shook it. "H. Trio."
"What's the 'H' stand for?"
"Whatever you like. Han, Harold, Harry, Horemheb, Harvey, Hormenphius, I don't care. So, Dr. Ingerman, when do we leave?"
"As soon as possible."
"The Condor's docked in Bay 49. You'll have to take the accessible route. I'll be along in a few minutes."
Dr. Ingerman wheeled away, but hesitated near the bar.
"Say bartender, where's the accessible route to Docking Bay 49?"
"Oh, my poor mind is so tired, I fear I might have—"
But this time, instead of buying another drink, the Doctor turned to Trio, who pointed to the left. Dr. Ingerman nodded, thanked him, and departed. Trio watched thoughtfully.
"Fifteen thousand to rescue a woman? Either she's quite a woman or there's something political going on here." He stood up and made for the door.
And almost at once a green man got in front of him, a ray gun pointed right at his chest. "Going somewhere, Trio?"
"Obviously, because I can hardly be going nowhere if I am walking."
"Oh how amusing. You always were a snarky one. But Alvin wants you, his robot, and his ship back. Mostly his ship, of course."
"You can tell him from me he won't get any of them." Trio growled.
The mercenary cocked the gun. "Alvin the Glut wants you back. You can come like this, in pieces, or a body bag. It won't matter to anyone else."
At that moment a red skinned woman with large fangs joined them. "Hold it right there! He's mine, Turmogen!"
"Lady Furnacious!" he gasped.
She grinned nastily. "The same! And I'm taking my buddy Trio home to Alvin!"
"I love you too, Furnacious, but Turmogen was here first," Trio pointed out.
"Yeah, I was here first!"
"And I'm here third!" a small creature that resembled a weasel cried, "He's my prize!"
"Oh shut up, Socket!" snapped Lady Furnacious. "This doesn't concern rodents like you!"
Socket held up a ray gun that was nearly as large as he was. "Say that again and I'll knock those beauties out of your mouth!"
"Now look, guys, there's no need to get angry here." Trio said patronizingly.
"She called me rodent!"
"He's trying to claim my prize!"
"My prize, you mean! I was here first!"
"First the worst, second the best, third the one with the treasure chest!" Socket taunted.
"It's gonna be my treasure chest, you little—"
"I don't have any treasure in my chest," Trio quipped.
"You will when I've shot you!" Turmogen said, "These bullets are expensive, you know!"
"How much?" Socket asked, suddenly interested.
"Six hundred apiece."
"Ooh! How about I kill you and take them?"
"In your dreams, Muffinhead. Now, Trio, come with me right now and everyone else keep back, and I won't have to use any of these very expensive bullets!"
"Who's a Muffinhead?" Socket shouted.
"But Socket was here third," Trio protested, ignoring the outburst.
"So what? It's over for you, boy!"
"Actually, it ain't over 'till the fat lady sings," Trio replied.
"Ooh! Come on, Furnacious, give us a ditty!" sneered Socket. She barred her fangs and snarled at him.
"Nut so fass!" roared a frog like creature that was so tall his head brushed against the ceiling.
"Thob the Slob!" everyone cried.
"Same! An' Ah'm gonna take lil' Three-o 'ere ta me pal Al!"
Trio put his hands on his hips. "Oh yeah? Tell me, Thob, do you still have the death sentence on a dozen different planets?"
"Yeah, so?"
A four legged man joined them. "Special Undercover Agent X Cubed. Did I hear that correctly? This Thob the Slob is a fugitive?"
"He's all yours!" Trio said lightly.
"And you're mine!" Lady Furnacious cried.
"Mine!" shouted Socket. "Mine, mine, mine!"
"Ah'm not goin' nowhere!" roared Thob the Slob.
"Shut up you rat!"
"Are you gonna take that lying down, Socket?" Trio asked.
"Who's a rat?" Socket roared and fired. The shot missed the Lady horribly and instead hit Turmogen in the foot. Turmogen screamed and unintentionally kicked Thob the Slob in the leg. Thob exploded and slammed his fists into the Agent, sending him flying into a table where a few drunkards had been having a drinking contest. With the liquor glasses smashed and the precious liquid lost forever, they furiously charged at the group. A classic barroom brawl broke out. And in the chaos nobody noticed Trio slip out the door, chuckling to himself.
.
He made his way quickly to Docking Bay 49. As he approached his ship he saw Dr. Ingerman on the gangplank yelling at a robot that resembled a black beach ball with a small dome for a head, which was blocking the doorway.
Trio hailed them. "What's going on, Bud?"
"There you are!" The robot spoke in a language of growling and whirling sounds. "I caught this guy trying to sneak onto our ship!"
"That robot is a menace! It zapped me in mein leg!" Dr. Ingerman cried.
"Take it easy, both of you!" Trio said, "Bud, this is Dr. Ingerman. Doctor, this is 2TH-LS, my best friend, co-pilot, and maintenance/security robot. C'mon, Bud, let us in. I just had a run in with some mercenaries. They were a bunch of lost causes, but this place isn't safe for us anymore."
"Typical." The Robot grumbled as he followed Trio down the corridor. "So what's with the Fishleg man?"
"He's contracted us for some rescue job. That's why he was trying to get on board."
"And you didn't think to tell me about it? I thought he was trying to steal the Condor! I was defending our home! And putting up a good defense, I might add." The robot proudly added.
"As always." Trio replied, looking at the robot fondly. "Now, let's get out of here!"
As Dr. Ingerman wheeled his way into the cockpit, 2TH-LS rolled over to the wall and, extending some metal appendages, began flipping switches and pushing buttons. Small lights upon the walls and on the dashboard lit up, the engines roared and wheezed, and the seats began vibrating. Trio pulled a lever and the Centennial Condor rose into the air. The buildings below became smaller and smaller, until the ground resembled a conglomeration of children's toys. The Condor steadily rose higher and higher, passing through the clouds, then higher still and rising above them, then so high that the blue sky became hazy and darkened, while stars, hitherto invisible, became brighter and more numerous. And with that the Condor burst out of the planet's atmosphere and entered into the endless realm of Outer Space.
Trio leaned back in his chair, admiring the view. But Dr. Ingerman tapped his fingers impatiently.
"So where exactly are we going?" 2TH-LS asked.
Dr. Ingerman simply gave them a set of co-ordinates. "Now can we hurry, please? I thought you said this thing was fast!"
Trio growled in annoyance and pulled on a switch. Nothing happened. He groaned. "The Hyperactive Drive must be out again. Bud, take over." He clambered out of his chair. Dr. Ingerman then noticed for the first time that Trio's left leg, or at least the lower portion of it, was a metal prosthetic. Trio exited the cockpit. Dr. Ingerman and the Robot waited. A few minutes later they heard a yell and the very loud sound of metal slamming against metal. As soon as he heard it, 2TH pulled on the switch and the Condor shot off at the speed of light.
"What happened?" Dr. Ingerman exclaimed.
"The Hyperactive Drive likes to malfunction. So he gives it a good kick."
"That method actually works?"
"More often than you'd think."