This is a fan translation of Agent of the Star Corps (Агент Звёздного корпуса) by the Russian science fiction author Leonid Kudryavtsev.
I claim no rights to the contents herein.
Chapter 11
Michael was maybe twenty paces away from the four enforcers of the committee. One of the Magnusians took a step to the side and blocked the path of the lemur-like alien.
"Where do you think you're going?" the Magnusian asked almost gently.
The lemur-like alien squeaked in fright and tried to slip past the committee member.
Grabbing him by the shoulder, the Magnusian hissed, "Trying to run away, are you? That's suspicious. Why do you need a shovel? For protection? To use against us then."
"I need it to dig up sacred black worms," the "lemur" explained. "Let me go, it hurts."
"It's going to hurt even more," the Magnusian chuckled malevolently. "Admit it! All these stories of sacred worms are nothing more than lies. This shovel is meant for us."
"No!" the "lemur" wailed. "It's not stories."
"Yeah, right. And where was it were you planning on digging for these worms? Right here on the pavement?"
"In my garden, of course. I have a pit of white soil there. Just for them."
"That's enough lies out of you. Why I ought to—"
The Magnusian raised his hand.
By that point, Michael was already a few paces from the committee members. Leaping up to the Magnusian, he grabbed his hand and said, "Oh, that's not right. Why are you bothering people on the street?"
The Magnusian was astounded. He couldn't fathom how an Abausian could've become so bold.
"What?" he asked in confusion. "You're tired of having teeth?'
"I am," Michael said cheerfully.
Out of the corner of his eye, Brado saw the other Magnusian reaching into his jacket, clearly going for his beamer. Brado realized that it was time to cut the conversation short.
If a bastard was given a chance to strike first, they would definitely take it. If they were given the chance, that was.
Jerking the Magnusian's hand forward, causing him to drop to his knees, Michael kicked the one pulling out the beamer.
The kick was good. The Magnusian flew back about five paces and even dropped his weapon. The lemur-like alien squeaked in fright, tossed his shovel onto the ground, and fled.
Wise move. Random witnesses often ended up victims in such fights.
At that moment, the porcine Bruan roared, "Why you stinking native!" Then he lowered his head and charged at Michael. Like a bull at a matador.
And what did a matador do when charged by a bull? Step aside, of course.
Michael succeeded. He released the hand of the kneeling Magnusian and, taking a step to the side, even managed to give him a punch. Another good hit. Brado's fist found its mark, which was the Magnusian's temple. He slumped like a ragdoll. The porcine alien momentum carried him past Michael. He tripped on the shovel and fell. Michael clearly heard his face strike the pavement with a squelching sound.
Lady Luck was a capricious one. Sometimes, when it really mattered, she tended to forget about the existence of someone she'd graced with her favor only moments earlier.
The last of the still standing opponents attacked so quickly that Michael barely managed to dodge the punch meant to break his nose. He did, however, miss the second punch to the gut.
Dropping onto the road, he managed to turn the fall into a roll.
Good. He even managed to dodge the next blow. The one after that hit him in the shoulder. Painful, but not deadly.
What next?
Next was bad.
The porcine alien got back up and joined the fray. Rolling and dodging blows, Michael realized that he was about to be turned into a soccer ball. He needed to get back to his feet.
If this had been an ordinary fight, playing dead would be a viable option. In an ordinary fight, if you were being pummeled by several people, and you were on the ground, getting up was usually not an option. The smartest thing in that case would be to cover your face with your hands, get into a fetal position, and wait for the others to get tired of kicking you. It wouldn't be pleasant, but you'd live.
But not in this situation.
Michael was certain that these four wouldn't leave him alive. They'd pound him into the pavement. And then smear him around.
Assuming he didn't think of anything, of course.
Brado tried. Making a sharp roll to the side, he tried to leap to his feet.
Yeah, right! The hooded alien brought him back down with a professionally executed leg sweep, followed by a kick to the kidneys. The porcine alien laughed.
But that wasn't the main danger.
Dodging another blow, Michael was able to sweep the battlefield with his gaze. One of the Magnusians was still lying motionless, having clearly lost consciousness, but the other one was just then picking up his beamer from the street.
Whoa!
A few more seconds, and he would be done for. They'd simply cut him into piece as an example to others. True, he had the unigun. But it was impossible to pull it out while rolling around on the street while dodging blows.
A weapon. He needed some kind of weapon!
The hooded alien dealt him another blow then took a step back, evading Michael's own kick. He rolled and…
Oh! It seemed Lady Luck hadn't been sleeping after all. She'd been preparing his salvation all this time.
Another roll, and Michael found himself next to the shovel. Naturally, he grabbed it.
Exactly what he needed!
The hooded alien tried to kick him in the solar plexus. Not this time. The shovel handle struck him in the leg with a dry crack.
Now that was different!
It seemed the pain was unbearable. The alien howled hoarsely and moved aside.
That was when Michael leapt to his feet.
A shovel was a fearsome weapon in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. And Michael did.
Hit struck the hooded alien's head. He dropped to the ground. His cloak rode up, exposing his furry goat-like legs.
The porcine alien was next. The shovel handle struck him in the gut. The alien fell, producing a strange hiccupping sound. Face-first again.
The Magnusian took another step and raised his beamer. But he never got to shoot it. The flat end of the shovel struck him on the head. A surprised expression came over the Magnusian, but he wasn't yet in a hurry to fall. He did drop the beamer, though.
Michael struck him a second time. On the head once again. With the flat end. This time the Magnusian collapsed.
It was over.
Trying to catch his breath, Michael looked over the battlefield.
Four opponents were down. But at what cost?
He got hit several times. His left shoulder, ribs, and right leg were hurting. But, most importantly, all this rolling had ruined his clothes.
He couldn't show up at the xenobotanist's place looking like this!
Michael swore.
All because he'd been relying on his own strength too much. There'd been no need for gladiatorial combat. He should've immediately gone for the unigun.
But hindsight was 20/20. There was nothing to be done about it now.
Michael picked up the Magnusians' beamers and, finding a storm drain nearby, walked up to it. Tossing the beamers into the roiling liquid, he took another look at the committee members.
Yeah, now he had to go back to the professor and change.
Or should he? What if someone of them woke up and saw him enter the house? And did it even make sense to go back there? He could just go to a nearby clothing store and buy what he needed there. He had plenty of money after raiding the chief centurion's safe.
"This was amazing! Please allow me to express my gratitude."
Michael looked around.
Right, it was the lemur-like alien. His bulging, perfectly round eyes were looking at him in silent admiration.
"You did what most inhabitants of this quarter has been dreaming of for years. I'm amazed. But I would suggest that you don't linger. These thugs' friends might show up. Plus you need to change."
"It's nothing," Michael grunted. "Someone had to stop these bastards."
"And you did that. Quite effectively too. But now I'd suggest that you follow me."
"Where?"
"My place, of course. It's not far. You need to clean yourself up."
Michael looked at the lemur suspiciously.
What if this entire fight had been staged by the Ragnites to lure him into a trap?
But the admiration in the lemur's eyes was genuine.
This was anything but a trap.
"What's your name?" Michael asked.
"Apollonius."
"What?" It took all of Michael's self-control to avoid smiling.
"Apollonius. You see, Earth's history is extremely popular on my planet. To be precise, the history of one nation. Greece."
"So you were named after a Greek god?"
"I was."
"And not just you?"
"Yes. This passion has been gripping more and more of my people. I think at least half of them probably have such names now."
Michael pictured a lemur-like female being called Aphrodite and once again had to hold back a smile.
"All right, Apollonius, lead on. You're right, I really do need to clean myself up."
"Then please give me back my shovel. I doubt you need it anymore."
"Of course."
Michael returned the shovel to its owner.
He accepted it with a measure of respect. That was probably the way a squire took a knight's sword or spear after a tough battle.
When they were at least a block away from the place of battle, they heard the wail of a centurion siren. Of course, law enforcement as usual appeared right on time. Maybe they'd even dare to arrest the defeated committee members. That would give Michael at least a few more hours.
Then again…
Brado had a feeling that he'd have to deal with those bastards again. If he understood what the committee really was, then, after the humiliation of their thugs, they'd do everything possible to run into him again. Except this time they'd shoot him on sight. In order to restore their reputation that had taken a noticeable hit.
Michael pictured how the leaders of the committee would react after learning of what had happened. Moreover, they'd likely be incensed that it wasn't some alien who'd beaten up their enforcers but an ordinary local. And that was who they were going to look for.
Then what was the problem? All he had to do was alter his appearance and make himself look like… Who? The Human wanted by the centurions? It seemed he'd have to mold himself a new face.
"May I ask what brought you to the Alien Quarter?" Apollonius asked.
"I'm looking for work," Michael replied. "Just arrived at the city yesterday. I was told that gardeners were always in demand in the Alien Quarter."
"That's great!" Apollonius exclaimed. He wagged his tail in excitement.
"Why?"
"I actually need a gardener. To… umm… take care of the plants the sacred worms feed on."
Michael threw him a look. It seemed the fan of Ancient Greece was no idiot. Except he didn't need a gardener, he needed a bodyguard. It seemed almost every alien on Abausa was sick and tired of the committee.
"It's not going to work. I don't think I'll be able to find work in the Alien Quarter anymore."
"Why not? What about me? I'll happily hire you for very decent pay."
"It's not about the pay," Michael said. "As you've seen, I just had a fight with four committee members. By doing that, I've dealt them physical and moral harm. They're not going to let it stand. I was able to beat up four of them, and only with the help of your shovel. What do you think is going to happen if eight of them show up at your home? Or twelve?"
"Yes, that wouldn't be good," Apollonius slumped. "They might mess up the pile where sacred worms live."
"Easily. And more."
"Too bad…" Apollonius muttered. "It would've been great."
"Sorry!" Michael spread his hands. "But why don't you to deal with the committee yourselves?"
"How?" It was now Apollonius's turn to spread his hands.
"Try to flood the centurions with complaints."
Apollonius shook his head sadly, "If only it were so easy… By the way, this is my home. Please follow me."
Apollonius's home was a small, cozy house, surrounded by an equally small garden, at the center of which was a fenced in pile of white sand.
Right, Michael thought. That's where the sacred black worms live. I wonder why he needs them.
But he decided not to ask the lemur-like alien that. It was possible that asking such questions was considered offensive on the planet of Greek fans.
Following Apollonius, Michael slipped into the narrow gate that was decorated with intricate carvings. Walking past the pile of white sand, the owner threw a pleased look at it. It seemed he was satisfied with it.
Noticing the look, Michael said, "It's a very beautiful pile of sand."
Apollonius beamed, "Oh, you're right. It's a large and very beautiful pile of purest, whitest sand. And the worms… I'll tell you a secret: my worms turn out to be the longest and the fattest. Just don't ask me to show them to you. It's considered inappropriate to look at other people's worms on my planet."
"I see," Michael said. He did his best to add slight regret to his tone.
"Maybe someday…" Apollonius said vaguely. "Someday… Come in."
He pushed a wooden door decorated with intricate ornaments and led Michael inside the house.
Maybe by the standards of Apollonius's homeworld his living room was incredibly cozy. But it made a strange impression on Brado. The ceiling was dome-shaped, decorated with a fresco that displayed a fat man wrapped in a sheet looking in admiration at a huge black worm, which was at least three meters in length, if the proportions were right. A curvaceous woman with enormous breasts and hips was floating over the fat man. She was holding a laurel branch, as if she was about to hit the fat man's head with it. Various animals were located around this pair, among them being a tiger, a large baboon, a small bear with a dumb face, a moose, and a seal.
At least two dozen columns lined the walls and corners. All of them were somewhat absurd and curved. A fountain with sculptures of harpies along the edges was in the center of the living room. Several oddly-shaped chairs had been placed around a huge table that looked to have been carved from a single piece of marble.
Michael estimated that the living room probably took up a significant portion of the house. But he did spot a small door between two of the columns, indicating that Apollonius's house had at least one other room.
Noticing his interest in the columns, the owner of the house asked with a measure of pride, "Impressive, isn't it?"
"It is," Michael said. "That's the word. Impressive. But why are they curved?"
"That's how it's supposed to be," Apollonius explained with an important air. "All Greek columns were curved. It's written in many historical texts."
"I see," Brado nodded. "By the way, may I use the water from the fountain to clean my clothes?"
"You may, but it's not going to work. Your clothes simply need to be replaced."
Michael shrugged, "I doubt your clothes will work for me."
Indeed, Apollonius was at least a head and a half shorter than Michael and was maybe half his weight.
"That's easy enough to fix," Apollonius said. "Please wait. We'll think of something."
He almost ran to the next room, while Michael sat in one of the chairs.
The fountain was gurgling peacefully. The room oddly smelled of honeysuckle. His right side, which had taken several of the hardest blows, was aching. He wanted to smoke. He was also thirsty.
Michael walked up to the fountain, cupped some water with his hand, and drank it. Then he returned to the chair and lit up a cigarette.
Had the fight been a mistake? Without a doubt. At the moment, the search for the item stolen from the Ragnites was significantly more important than pacifying hoodlums, even if they were completely unbridled. They could've easily killed him. If not for the shovel, the hooded alien would've probably already been dancing a jig on his bones.
Still, could he have really stood on the sidelines while another sapient being was being humiliated?
No, he couldn't have.
That meant that the fight had been unavoidable. That wasn't the issue, though. Could those four have been on the way to the professor's home?
Unlikely. Even if he assumed that the Ragnites were in control of the committee.
No, if they'd suspected that the Star Corps agent was hiding in the Alien Quarter in the home of the professor from Travalon, they'd have sent an entire squad of professionals armed to the teeth instead of four enforcers.
Michael took a blissful drag of his cigarette. The gurgling of the fountain was lulling him to sleep. His entire body was now aching, as it usually did after a good fight. The sensation was even pleasant in some ways.
Michael pictured the sort of commotion that was happening at the Ragnite HQ.
Of course. A Human that had to be found as soon as possible was hiding somewhere in the city. Maybe he'd even managed to slip away. Maybe he was at that very moment flying away from the planet on a passenger ship. Or maybe he'd decided to hide in one of the villages located not far from the city.
Right now they're sending everything they have to find me, Michael thought. Everything they have on this planet. Including the centurions in their pocket, the mercs, and the committee. Everyone.
He twirled the cigarette butt in his fingers, put it out, and stuck it into his pocket. He didn't see an ashtray and didn't want to look for one. He didn't even want to get up.
That's right, the committee, Michael thought. The Ragnites could've sent several committee squads with the task of coming the Alien Quarter to see if any outsiders have shown up. And then one such squad runs into a strange Abausian that manages to beat the crap out of four thugs. Would the committee report that to the Ragnites? They had to. Or would they not want to appear weak to their masters?
He leaned back in the chair. The pain in his right side was growing stronger. Michael nearly groaned but didn't want to change his position.
What would happen if the committee reported the fight to the Ragnites? Would they realize that the strange Abausian was the person they were looking for?
They would. By that point they had to have figured out that he'd escaped the centurions with the use of a plastisymbiote.
Michael smiled.
It had probably been quite a shock to them. No wonder! They'd finally realized that their quarry could change his appearance and become anyone at any moment. True, he couldn't grow tentacles like those of a Zimean or a third arm like that of a Tarman. But he could become a Magnusian, an Adalian, or an Abausian.
An Abausian!
The Ragnites had to have realized that trying to catch a Human capable of changing his face was pointless. But there was one characteristic he couldn't change.
His psychology. His behavior.
Exactly. That meant that the Ragnites would have to have told their mercs to search not for someone who looked like a Human but who behaved like one, who behaved strangely.
And what was stranger than an Abausian starting a fight with four enforcers and even managing to beat them up?
Therefore, as soon as the Ragnites learned of the fight, they'd immediately realize that their quarry was hiding right under their noses, in the Alien Quarter.
And there it was. There was nothing to be done about it. All he could do at this point was disappear from the Alien Quarter. The sooner the better.