Max Rage Page 14

  “What are you doing?” Watchdog asked over the comms, his voice buzzing in Rage’s ear.

  “Being friendly,” Rage replied. He nodded to the three males in the group, all the same alien race as the women. They did not have the head feathers, but they did have the arm feathers and talons that extended a good few inches longer than the females’. “You all enjoy your day.”

  “And you,” the women said in unison. The males only nodded.

  Once past the group, Watchdog caught up to Rage and tapped him on the shoulder.

  “You want to lose that over-engineered nose picker?” Rage snapped. “Tap me again.”

  “You have now solidified yourself in their minds,” Watchdog said. “They will remember you. They may recognize you.”

  “They probably do recognize me,” Rage said. They made it to the end of the corridor and Rage stopped. He turned and faced Watchdog. “Those are Notchas. Are you familiar with Notchas?”

  “I have never met one, but I know of them,” Watchdog said. “My database holds all information about their race and civilization. They are fierce warriors and do not trust other races.”

  “Not a bad philosophy,” Rage said. “Your database have anything about the Chorpul Mission? The mission where I stopped their planet from being nuked from orbit? Yeah, read up on that. I’m kinda known with those folks. There was no way I could have hidden my identity to a group of Notchas. So I said hello and kept moving.”

  Rage spread his arms.

  “Except, now I’m not moving because I had to explain this all to you, Bolt Butt,” Rage continued.

  “They could alert others to your presence before we can arrive at Sector 42,” Watchdog said.

  “Notchas won’t do that. They don’t mix with other races,” Rage said. “If anything, I just bought us a little goodwill. They might help us if we run into them on our way out.”

  “You can’t know that,” Watchdog said.

  “I also can’t know if I’ll survive my next bowel movement,” Rage said. “People die on the can all the time, Bolt Butt.”

  “Die on the… I do not see how that has—”

  “The point is I had one card to play and I played it,” Rage said. “There’s a reason your boss hired me to lead this little heist. Because I know what I’m doing and I don’t second-guess my decisions once I make them. I wouldn’t advise that strategy with your own actions since you’re an idiot made of metal, but maybe try not to cramp my style or get in my way again. Got it?”

  Watchdog ground his gears for a couple of seconds. “I have it.”

  “Can we keep moving?” Fig asked timidly. “The atrium is just ahead and quite busy, by the looks of it. If Rage’s warnings are correct—”

  “Which they fucking are,” Rage interrupted.

  “Then it could take us some time to navigate the market,” Fig finished.

  “Does everyone remember what I said?” Rage asked.

  “It was only a scant few minutes ago,” Watchdog responded.

  “Nope,” Mosh said. “I wasn’t listening.”

  “Jesus… Head down. Don’t interact with anyone. Don’t make eye contact. Keep moving,” Rage explained again. “Atrium 828 will suck you in and you’ll never get out if you are not on your toes one hundred percent of the fucking time.”

  Rage focused on Watchdog. The bot’s passive face revealed nothing.

  “This beef here,” Rage said, pointing back and forth between himself and Watchdog. “We’ll settle it after we’re done with the job. Until then, you follow, I lead. No exceptions to that rule.”

  Watchdog nodded.

  “Good,” Rage said with a wicked smile. “Now, let’s dodge some vendors.”

  Twenty-Two

  Atrium 828 was a hustling, bustling, center of frantic energy and sensory overload. Specifically, the olfactory sense.

  “Oh, no,” Mosh said as he shoved a metal-skinned hand against his metal-skinned nose. “What is that smell?”

  “Everything,” Rage said. “Poisons, potions, liquors, and lotions. That’s Atrium 828. See those vendors there? Keep away. They’ll spray you down with that Nargarian cologne and you’ll lose all sense of time. Those women there. The ones that look like slabs of brick. Do not drink the sample shots they offer. Kessd vodka. It’ll strip your insides of all flesh and rot you from the insides out before you take more than three steps.”

  “What about them?” Fig asked, nodding at a group of incredibly beautiful human women that were obviously enhanced in the chest area. They stood in a smiling line, half-shirts tight, short shorts even tighter, and arms outstretched. “They look friendly. They have a sign that says ‘Free Hugs.’”

  “That’s not a they,” Rage said. “That’s an it. The free hugs are a lie. You go in for the free hug and you’re caught. That’s a lure made to look like hot chicks. It’s really an open fist that will hold onto you until you buy the Bascols’ home-brewed mead. Fucking Bascols make horrible mead and can only sell it by trapping customers.”

  “Oh,” Fig said.

  “And stop making eye contact,” Rage snapped. “Come on. We move. We keep moving. We do not stop to talk or sample any of the…” Rage looked at his team and frowned. “Where’s Tin Man?”

  “He left before you got to the Nargarian cologne part of your little speech,” Watchdog said. “Excellent leadership there, Rage.”

  “Goddamnit,” Rage growled, searching the crowded atrium for their teammate. “He’s a dead man if he gets sucked into the wrong stall.”

  “Not literally sucked in, right?” Fig asked. “There aren’t stalls that eat you, are there?”

  “Yeah. There are,” Rage said. “Hopefully, his metal skin will make him taste bad if he gets sucked in.”

  Rage moved out and began to navigate the chaotic throngs of humans, humanoids, and aliens that filled the atrium.

  There were more species and races than Rage recognized. He knew the Jipsus, a frond-like race that undulated their wispy limbs in order to communicate. No one had cracked their language, but they were friendly enough.

  One of the Jipsus wrapped around a small, dog-like creature and devoured it in a single bite. Rage winced. Jipsus were friendly enough unless they were hungry.

  The team took a quick detour around a group of dull orange teenage humanoids that were giggling and pointing at a pair of naked humanoid men that were hung well and busy sipping tropical-looking cocktails that were in glasses almost as tall as they were. With every sip of the drinks, the two men’s penises inflated then deflated. Over and over again.

  “Could have gone my entire existence without seeing that,” Watchdog said.

  “You and me both, Bolt Butt,” Rage said. “Fig? Any sign of Tin Man?”

  “What? Huh?” Fig asked. “Oh. Yes. I am surveillance. I should be scanning for him.”

  “Ya think?” Rage snapped. Then he saw what was distracting Fig. A sign above one of the stalls promised skin regrowth in a fraction of the time of other remedies. “Don’t even think about it. It’s not your skin that gets regrown.”

  “What? Oh…” Fig responded. “I wasn’t…”

  “Sure,” Rage said. “Tin Man. Where is he, Pinky?”

  “Three aisles over at a stall that is selling bright blue orbs,” Fig said. “Hmmm. Those orbs look familiar.”

  “Shit,” Rage snarled and began shoving people and aliens out of the way as he cut across the aisle they were in and headed for Mosh’s location. “Shit, shit, shit.”

  An incredibly tall alien female stepped in front of Rage. Her arms and legs stick thin and her eyes bulging from her oval head. She smiled down at Rage and revealed several rows of shark-like teeth.

  “The woman or man in your life will want you to smell fresh as an Arcturian Spring,” the alien said and sprayed Rage with a purple mist from a glowing glass bottle.

  Rage instantly stank of ass. Bad ass. Rotten ass. Ass that hadn’t been washed in decades while sitting in the sun all day, every day.

/>   “Goddamnit,” Rage grumbled as he tried to get past the woman. “Can’t you people ever learn that humans don’t like the smell of an Arcturian Spring? Now I smell like the anal glands of a rabid hippo.”

  “A rabid hippo? I am unfamiliar with the reference, but that must be a delightfully pleasant-smelling lifeform on your planet,” the woman said.

  “No, it’s the fucking opposite, lady,” Rage said and tried to move around her. She blocked his way and had a completely different glowing bottle in her hand. Rage never saw the switch. “Then this might be more to your liking.”

  She sprayed him and Rage’s vision swam. The atrium became a kaleidoscope of swirling colors and wobbly shapes.

  “Great,” Rage said and finally elbowed his way around the woman as his vision continued to go haywire.

  “Are you alright, Rage?” Watchdog asked. “Your vital signs have spiked and I can see that your brain waves are erratic. More erratic than normal.”

  “Stop scanning me, Bolt Butt,” Rage said. “I’m tripping balls right now, but I’m fine. I’ll burn it off fast.”

  The team moved between two stalls and Rage had to stare straight ahead to keep from going insane. To his right, he could have sworn that the stall was selling parts of his soul. The stall to his left was filled with mouths. Nothing but mouths. Rage blinked the images away and focused on his forward movement.

  A line of tentacles blocked Rage’s way when he reached the next aisle.

  “Fancy some love potion, gov’ner?” the owner of the tentacles asked. He was just more tentacles, all wadded up in a pile next to a stall filled with tiny bottles of all colors. “Put the damn back in your ham there?”

  “My ham has plenty of damn,” Rage said. “Fuck off.”

  “Oy, no need to be rude,” the tentacled thing replied. “How about you, plastic man?”

  Fig pushed up close to Watchdog and Rage, trying to disappear between them.

  “Hey, no need to hide,” the tentacled thing said. “You ain’t the first man with a pink plastic shell that I’ve come across. Step into my stall and I’ll get you all fixed up. A sip of this and a dash of that will turn you into the life of the party and the envy of all males across the galaxy.”

  “I, uh, I, I’m good,” Fig said.

  Several tentacles snapped out fast and wrapped themselves around Fig’s shoulders, steering him away from the team and back to the stall of potions.

  “Your friends have sapped you of your confidence, gov’ner,” the tentacled thing said. “They’ve undercut your personal power because they’re threatened by you.”

  “They have? They are?” Fig asked.

  “No, we haven’t, you weak little shit,” Rage said and yanked Fig free of the tentacles. “You drink any of those potions and all that will happen to you is you’ll die a painful death and end up as filling in some vegetarian wraps in one of the food courts.”

  “How would they be vegetarian if I’m in them?” Fig asked as Rage moved him away from the stall and the protesting tentacled thing.

  “Don’t overthink it, Pinky,” Rage said. “What I need you thinking about is where Mosh is… Goddamnit, where’d Bolt Butt disappear off to?”

  Rage spun about, keeping Fig clamped in his iron grip. There was no sign of Watchdog anywhere.

  “Find him too, Pinky,” Rage said.

  “Can you stop calling me Pinky, please?” Fig asked.

  Rage almost snapped at the guy, but he saw the look in his eyes and swallowed the cruelty that came close to passing his lips. “Sure. Fig.”

  “Thank you,” Fig said and went silent for a second.

  In that second, several vendors tried to spray, dowse, and drown Rage and Fig in their wares. Rage patted his rifle at each of them and they backed off. Except for a blind monkey-looking alien. That one had to be pulled back by a fellow vendor as Rage started to draw his rifle.

  “I can’t find Watchdog,” Fig said. “I do see Mosh. He’s right over there.”

  The metal-skinned man was standing in front of a stall about halfway down the aisle. Well, not so much standing as dancing like no one was watching. Everyone was watching.

  “Can’t punch your way through this. Can’t punch your way through this,” Rage muttered to himself as he started toward the wildly dancing Mosh. “Can’t punch your way through this. Can’t punch your way through this.”

  “Hey there! Wanna dance like no one is—” a sleek and sexy alien asked. Rage had no idea the gender, but didn’t really stop to study the alien. Instead, he punched it in the face.

  “Damnit,” Rage said then froze as everyone in the aisle stopped what they were doing and glared at him.

  Except Mosh. He continued dancing like a whirling dervish.

  “Not cool, man.”

  “What a dick.”

  “You punch your mother with that fist?”

  “What’d Lionel every do to you, buddy?”

  “What’s your problem, pal?”

  Rage ignored the remarks being spit at him and reached down to help the fallen alien up off the ground.

  “Sorry about that,” Rage said and brushed the alien off once it was standing again.

  “Whoa there, mister,” the alien said, swatting Rage’s hands away. “Careful where you’re brushing. This job doesn’t pay enough for me to be felt up like that.”

  “Felt up?” Rage tried to figure out what he may have been feeling, but gave up when he couldn’t quite figure out the alien’s anatomy. Still, it did have a damn sexy vibe and Rage was intrigued. “My bad, miss…?”

  “Miss? Great. Another gender-norm human bigot,” the alien said and turned its back on Rage.

  “I believe I have located Watchdog,” Fig said, nearly pressed up against Rage’s back.

  “Good,” Rage said then cleared his throat. “Hey. Sorry about the assumption. But my friend there is lost in the dance? You got anything to bring him back to reality.”

  The alien turned back to Rage, looked him up and down, then grimaced. “If the reality includes you, then I’ve done your friend a favor by setting him free with the dance.”

  “Ain’t gonna argue that, but he’s on the clock and really needs to get back to work,” Rage replied. “Uh…please?”

  “Oh, dear me, I believe we may have an issue,” Fig said, but was ignored by Rage.

  “Please? You humans think that word fixes everything, don’t you?” the alien said. “How about a sincere apology before you try to mindfuck me with your polite little pleases.”

  “Sorry,” Rage said. “For whatever I did.”

  “You call that sincere?”

  “For him, it is,” Fig said, peeking out around Rage. He patted Rage’s arm. “We really need to go.”

  “Gotta get Tin Man first,” Rage said. He whistled and Mosh danced around to face Rage. “Yo! Tin Man! Gotta go, pal!”

  Mosh boogied his way closer to Rage and grinned so wide his metal lips almost cracked.

  “What for, man?” Mosh asked as he put his hands behind his head and thrust his pelvis at Rage, over and over and over.

  And over.

  “Christ,” Rage snapped. “Keep that away from me.”

  “Come on, Rage, you gotta feel the groove,” Mosh said. “Let it fill you with the rhythm.”

  “Let’s take that rhythm out of here,” Rage said. “We got a job to do, Tin Man. And Bolt Butt is missing. How about you boogie your ass along with us, huh? How does that sound?”

  “Hold on,” the sexy gender fluid alien said, eyeing Rage closely. “Did he call you Rage? As in Max Rage, the Butcher of Bumbletown?”

  “Fuck,” Rage said. He glanced around quickly as he moved in close to the alien. “How much for you to keep your mouth shut?”

  “There isn’t a price you can pay that would stop me from revealing a piece of scum like—”

  Rage snapped the alien’s neck and caught its body before it fell to the ground. He wrapped his arms around the dead alien and waltzed it, literally, into the
stall, setting the corpse down on an empty chair as the patrons of the atrium swirled around in the aisle, oblivious to the murder that had just occurred.

  “Buzzkill,” Mosh said as he suddenly stopped dancing. “Total buzzkill, Rage.”

  “Had to be done,” Rage said. “Don’t feel good about it, but I don’t feel bad about it, either. Fig? We found Tin Man, now where is Bolt Butt?”

  “Why are you calling him Fig now and me Tin Man still? Huh?” Mosh asked. “No fair, man.”

  Rage jammed a finger under Mosh’s metal nose, but kept his eyes on Fig.

  “Bolt Butt. Where is he?” Rage asked Fig again.

  “He’s close to the exit,” Fig said. “He’s busy.”

  “Busy? Doing what?” Rage asked.

  “Preventing a group of Charbeshuns from entering the atrium,” Fig said. “I can’t hear what he’s saying, but whatever he is telling them is keeping them from searching the atrium.”

  “Good for him,” Rage said as he moved out and yanked Fig and Mosh along after him. “Can we get past them and out of this shithole?”

  “Perhaps,” Fig said. “Take the left there and slide through those two stalls.”

  Rage did as he was instructed, ignoring the glares from the vendors. Mosh began to do a little shuffle step and Rage thumped him hard in the arm.

  “Sorry,” Mosh said. “Still got the boogie in my body.”

  “We’ll get you a laxative for that,” Rage said. “Just try to keep up and not draw attention to us.”

  Mosh nodded and fell in step.

  “Right here then first left,” Fig said.

  Rage navigated around a crowd of humans in front of a stall of retro liquor bottles then dodged a pile of blubber that was pushing a cart filled with more blubber. Rage took the first left, his body barely squeezing through the space between the stalls.

  Rage reached the next aisle and spotted Watchdog at the very end. The bot was conversing with about six Charbeshuns, the smoke beings raptly paying attention to everything the automaton was saying.