Max Rage Page 16

  “Chits in hand.”

  “I don’t have chits in hand, you little shit,” Rage snapped.

  “Keep talking to me like that and it’s three hundred thousand,” the vendor responded.

  “Bolt Butt? You happen to have two hundred thousand chits on ya?” Rage asked.

  “No, Rage, I do not happen to have two hundred thousand chits on me,” Watchdog replied.

  “Pinky?” Rage asked.

  “What? Oh, heavens no,” Fig replied. “I rarely carry cash these days. When you watch a good deal of your money get burned up by acid, you rethink how you control your finances. I stick with straight credit payments only.”

  “There’s an ATM over there,” the vendor said and pointed to the very far corner of the atrium. “No withdraw limit.”

  “Interesting,” Fig said. “I thought there was a ten-thousand-chit limit to those machines.”

  “Not on Horloc Station,” the vendor said. “You gonna buy the bear or not? I see someone down the row that came by yesterday and was looking at it.”

  “Bullshit,” Rage said as Mosh visibly became agitated at the vendor’s words. “Calm down, Tin Man. We’ll get the bear for you.”

  “I’ll hold it for ten minutes then it’s fair game,” the vendor said.

  “Thanks a bunch,” Rage said. “You’re a real fucking saint.”

  “I’m going to stay and keep watch on the bear,” Mosh said and turned to stare straight at the stuffed animal.

  “You do that. Pinky can hang with ya,” Rage said and cocked his head, indicating for Watchdog to follow. Rage walked off toward the corner where the ATM sat. Then he noticed the bot was not following. “Dude. You’re coming with.”

  “Am I?” Watchdog said. “I see no reason to accompany you.”

  “We’re going to have to draw off Lisha’s account,” Rage said. “I don’t have two hundred thousand in my account. Shit, Bolt Butt, I don’t have an account.”

  “Sounds to me like you have a cash flow problem,” Watchdog replied. “Good luck sorting that out.”

  “Hey, Watchdog old pal,” Rage said, getting the bot’s attention by using his actual name. “How about you take one for the team and walk with me over to this chit-dispensing apparatus and we get this show on the road?”

  “Chit dispensing apparatus? You have taken too many hits to your head, Rage,” Watchdog said.

  “Probably, but not the issue at the moment, Bolt Butt,” Rage said with a grin. “The issue is that right now, no one is after us. I’d like to keep it that way. Let’s pay the unscrupulous vendor and be on our way to Sector 42 and Morlaw’s strip club.”

  “Oh, uh, did you say you are going to see Morlaw?” the vendor called from her table.

  Rage glared at her. “How the hell can you eavesdrop from all the way over there?”

  “Good genetics,” the vendor said. She scratched at her scalp and frowned. “I think I may have to up the charge to four hundred thousand. Now that I know Morlaw is involved.”

  Rage closed his eyes and counted to fifty. Then he slowly opened his eyes and smiled at the vendor.

  “Four hundred thousand?” Rage asked. “Why’s that?”

  “Morlaw’s a dick and I don’t like anyone that does business with him,” the vendor replied.

  “What if I told you we aren’t doing business with him?” Rage asked. “What if I told you we’re doing the opposite of business with him?”

  “You’re starting a charity?” the vendor asked

  “What? No. Why would you think we’re starting a charity?” Rage asked.

  “Charity would be the opposite of business,” Fig said. “One you are making money and the other you are giving money away.”

  “Jesus Christ, I know what charity is, Pinky!” Rage shouted.

  “If you continue to be mean to the plastic man here, then I’ll up the price to five hundred thousand,” the vendor said.

  “I’m not liking how this is going,” Mosh said. “Rage? Am I getting the bear or not?”

  “Bolt Butt? We getting those chits or what?” Rage asked Watchdog.

  “No,” Watchdog replied.

  “Fine,” Rage said. He shot the vendor between the eyes. Her head turned to mist in an instant. “There ya go, Tin Man. Grab the teddy and let’s get the fuck out of here.”

  No one even batted an eye at the discharge of the rifle.

  Mosh walked around the table and picked up the teddy bear. He pursed his metal lips. “There’s brains on it.”

  “That really gonna be a problem?” Rage responded.

  “Nope. Just making an observation,” Mosh said. He flicked some brain matter off the teddy bear with a finger then patted its blood-damp head. “I’m gonna name you Book.”

  “You’re naming your teddy bear Book?” Rage asked. “What kind of name is…? Never mind. I do not give two slimy shits what you call that thing. Can we go now?”

  “What? Oh, sure,” Mosh said. “Thanks for the bear, Rage. You’re swell.”

  “I’m swell,” Rage said and walked off. “Great. Let’s get back to work, people.”

  Twenty-Five

  Horloc Station could not be considered modern or up to date. It wasn’t military stark or corporate efficient. The best way to describe Horloc Station was “eclectic.” Most people called it a pile of scrap with life support.

  Then there was Sector 42. If the rest of the station was seriously lacking in a cohesive aesthetic, then Sector 42 was the schizophrenic cousin to the rest of Horloc’s architectural chaos.

  Panels were bolted onto panels, creating a scalloped effect on the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Lighting fixtures were everything from hover car headlights to what might have been a sentient green goo that glowed every time someone walked by. Station interfaces were many times just computer consoles shoved into holes that had been cut in the walls.

  Rage hated the place, but loved it at the same time. It was wild and free, and the way Rage felt his day had been going, he could use a little wild freedom.

  Of course, dealing in wild freedom meant dealing with others that wanted to exploit the wildness.

  “How about you ugly sons of bitches hand over those weapons and all the cash you gots on ya?” a snaggle-toothed alien about Rage’s height, but rail thin, said as he stepped out of the shadows of what looked like a burnt-out cabin. The alien’s skin was gray and eyes were huge black almonds in its bulbous head. The alien had no clothes on and it made spotting his gender fairly easy. “You all deaf or what? Hand me the weapons and all your cash now!”

  Rage glanced over his shoulder. Looked back at the alien. Peeked around into the burnt-out cabin. Then frowned at the potential mugger.

  “You kidding me with this shit, gray?” Rage asked. “Look at you. How in the shit do you think you’re gonna take us? When was the last time you had a sandwich or something?”

  “I’m the perfect weight for my race, so you know,” the gray said. “My mom said I was in the ninetieth percentile when I was born. So you can stop with the skinny alien comments, ass pus.”

  “Ass pus? That’s a new one,” Mosh said. He held up Book. “Like my bear?”

  “Uh… Yeah. Nice bear,” the gray said. “You can give me that too when you give me your weapons and cash.”

  “No fucking way,” Mosh said and held Book close to his metal chest. “You are not getting Book.”

  “Book? You named your bear Book?” the gray asked.

  “Right?” Rage nodded. “Good to know I’m not the only that thinks that’s weird.”

  “Weapons and cash!” the gray shouted. “Don’t make me say it again!”

  “I won’t,” Rage said and went to shove past the gray.

  The alien produced a long silver rod and brandished it in Rage’s face.

  “You know where this has been? Do ya, human?” the gray asked. “Yeah, you do. All humans know about the probe. Your race is terrified of the probe. So back off, human, or I’m going to use it on you.”


  “You are? How? Like this?” Rage asked as he snatched the probe from the gray’s hand.

  Rage grabbed the alien by the throat, lifted him off the ground, then jammed the probe straight up the guy’s ass. Except the guy didn’t have an ass. Certainly didn’t have an asshole to jam a probe up. The gray screamed as he was impaled on his own anal probe.

  “Owwie,” the gray said as black blood dripped down the probe and got all over Rage’s hand. “You humans are right. That does hurt.”

  Rage threw the gray across the corridor. The alien smacked into the wall and slid down to the floor, his huge black eyes locked onto Rage.

  “Shouldn’t have done that,” the gray said. “Really shouldn’t have.”

  “We have movement inside that cabin,” Watchdog said.

  “I agree,” Fig said.

  “Asshole was gonna steal Book,” Mosh said.

  “What movement?” Rage asked, aiming his rifle at the dark doorway of the burnt-out cabin. “Big movement? Lots of little movement? More ass probers like the gray here?”

  “I have a name,” the gray muttered. “Carl.”

  “No one cares!” Rage yelled. “Bolt Butt? Fig? Talk to me!”

  “Scritch,” Watchdog said. “Three of them.”

  Rage swallowed hard then rolled his head on his neck as he powered up every function on his Axis rifle.

  “Scritch, huh? Oh, I know how to take care of some Scritch,” Rage said as he seated the butt of the rifle against his shoulder.

  Three eight-legged, six-armed roaches came rushing out of the cabin and straight at Rage. Watchdog yanked Fig out of the way so he wasn’t trampled or torn apart, yet the bot made no move to assist Rage. Mosh was busy talking to Book and laughing like they were sharing a secret joke.

  Before Rage could open fire, the three roaches got stuck in the doorway. Their chitinous limbs became tangled and they started chirping and snapping at each other as they realized they were stuck as shit.

  “Huh,” Rage said and lowered his rifle for a second. “This is why the Scritch stick to planetary assaults. You guys have no clue how to navigate galactic infrastructure.”

  The roaches hissed and spat at Rage, but he stepped back out of the way of the saliva projectiles.

  “Yeah. Done with this,” Rage said. “You guys are bugging me.”

  Rage laughed then fired. And fired. And kept firing until the Scritch were only piles of burnt shells and stray mandibles.

  “That felt good,” Rage said and slung his rifle. Then he looked over and down at Carl. “Anything else coming at us?”

  “No,” Carl said in a quiet voice. “Only have the three Scritch.”

  “Had,” Rage said. “Had three Scritch. You got shit now, Carl.”

  “How am I supposed to make a living?” Carl asked. He started to get up, but Rage tensed his muscles and the gray stayed down on the floor. “Can’t properly mug anyone now, can I? Not without some muscle. No one’s afraid of a gray. Especially not one with his own anal probe stuck up inside him. Gonna take a while for that to heal. I’m not only out three Scritch, but I’m probably out of commission for a couple weeks while the hole in my bum closes over. Thanks, buddy.”

  “Rage,” Rage said. “Max Rage.” The gray’s eyes widened. “That’s right. You sent three Scritch at Max Rage. I’ve taken out entire planets of the sons of bitches.”

  “There really should be a name-tag policy in Sector 42,” Carl said. “I mean, we could save a lot of wasted time and effort if everyone knew who they were dealing with.”

  “You should suggest that to Mike,” Rage said.

  “Oh, you guys know Mike?” Carl asked.

  Carl pulled the probe free, grimaced at the black blood on it, then set it aside as he tried to stand. Rage didn’t try to stop him. Not after seeing the quantity of black blood pouring from the alien’s impromptu ass. Again, the standing didn’t work out so well for Carl, so he gave up and stayed on the floor instead.

  “How do you guys know Mike?” Carl asked as he shifted to get comfortable right where he was.

  “No. Just fucking no,” Rage said and walked off. “Come on. We have a strip club to get to.”

  Watchdog and Fig followed right behind Rage. Mosh hung back and glared down at Carl.

  “Only bad people try to steal teddy bears,” Mosh said. “Think on that.”

  “I will,” Carl said as Mosh caught up with the rest. “Thanks for the advice! Say hi to Mike when you see him!”

  “This entire station is bizarre,” Watchdog said.

  “Ya think, Bolt Butt?” Rage replied. “What makes you say that?”

  They turned a corner and came faces to faces with a group of eight thugs, each from a different alien race. Rage wasn’t sure of any of the races considering the aliens were all obviously suffering from some very, very bad cases of space herpes. It was easy to diagnose since the space herpes worms were crawling under the surface of each alien’s skin.

  Mosh cringed back and wrapped his arms around Book. “Yuck. Space herpes. Don’t get any on my teddy bear.”

  Rage, Fig, and Watchdog took a moment to study Mosh for a second. Then they returned their attention to the aliens blocking their way.

  “You made it past Carl, I see,” the lead thug said as he stepped forward. He was some jumble of humanoid and possibly a camel. Hard to tell where one species ended and the other began. “I always said that anal probe threat wasn’t going to work one day. Looks like today is the day.”

  “Get the fuck out of our way,” Rage ordered. “Not in the mood for more mugger bullshit. You morons step aside and I’ll let you live.”

  “That so?” The lead thug laughed. The rest joined in then stopped when the lead thug raised his hoof-hand-thing. “We ain’t pushovers, stranger. I see you got yourself an Axis combat rifle. Nice weapon. You ever serve?”

  “I did,” Rage said.

  “Same here,” the lead thug said. “Merchant marines. Never did see any military action. How much action did you see?”

  “Oh my fucking God,” Rage muttered. “Bolt Butt? Will you do something? I’ve been fighting all day and I’m just tired of it. Kill these thugs so we can move on to Morlaw’s place.”

  “Morlaw’s? Tonight is chit wings night,” the lead thug said. “Too bad you can’t buy any wings when you’re broke.” He held out his hoof-hand-thing. “All your cash. And the rifle. And that bear the Qitnit is holding. I had one of those when I was a kid.”

  “Hey, Mosh?” Rage said. “These guys want to take Book from you.” Rage leaned in close to Watchdog. “No way I’m touching those guys. They all have space herpes.”

  “What?” Mosh exclaimed, not hearing Rage’s aside. “No way they’re taking Book.”

  “Not sure if we can stop them from doing that, Tin Man,” Rage said. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, I can stop them,” Mosh said. He glanced down at Book, kissed the top of the bear’s head, then handed the stuffed animal to Fig. “Protect him with your life.”

  “Does it have to be with my life?” Fig asked as Mosh cracked his metal knuckles and walked past Rage, right up to the lead thug.

  “What’s this about you wanting to take Book from me?” Mosh asked.

  “You named your bear Book? Why?” the lead thug asked. He laughed and the other thugs laughed too.

  “Most people wouldn’t want to deal with you on account of your space herpes,” Mosh said to the lead thug. “But I’m Qitnit. Space herpes can’t get under my skin. So picking you up by your lips and flinging you down this corridor ain’t gonna be a problem for me.”

  The lead thug stopped laughing. The rest of the thugs slowly stopped too, the last thug petering out to a frightened squeak.

  “You still want to take my Book from me?” Mosh asked as he reached out and grabbed the lead thug by his camel lips. “Better answer quick now.”

  The lead thug tried to answer, but seeing as how his lips were clamped between Mosh’s fingers, all he could do was moan loudly and wid
en his eyes.

  “I don’t understand what yer saying,” Mosh responded to the lead thug’s moans and nonverbal protestations. “Try again.”

  The lead thug’s moans and whines and frantic close-lipped pleas grew louder and more urgent. Mosh only shook his metal head.

  “Still can’t understand you,” Mosh said. “Maybe if I pull my hand away.”

  Mosh yanked hard and tore the thug’s lips off his face, sending blue blood spurting everywhere. The lead thug screamed and screamed.

  “Shit!” Rage said and jumped back away from the blood. “Little herpes!”

  In the pool of blue blood were masses of squirming worms. Even Watchdog, who was immune to space herpes like Mosh, took a few steps back. Fig pretty much had to lean against the wall to keep from fainting at the sight of the wriggling, wiggling clumps of worms.

  Mosh held the severed lips up for the rest of the thugs to see. None moved as all eyes focused on the dripping lips.

  “You should get out of our way now,” Mosh suggested and dropped the lips onto the ground. The thugs’ eyes followed the fall of the torn flesh then looked back up at Mosh. “I said GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

  The thugs got out of the way. They scrambled to get their wounded leader then scurried down the corridor, taking the first turn they came to.

  “That better not be the way to the strip club!” Mosh yelled.

  The thugs reappeared and took a different turn, moving as fast as they could to get away from Mosh.

  “That was close,” Mosh said as he returned to the team and gently took Book from Fig. He inspected the teddy bear. “Phew. No herpes on Book.”

  “Alright,” Rage said. “That was new. All kinds of new experiences here on Horloc Station. How about we get back to the familiar and go hit a strip club?”

  “It is a snuff club,” Fig said. “You said it was a snuff club. Not sure how that is a familiar sight.”

  “When you’ve seen as many beings butchered as I have then snuff becomes pretty damn familiar,” Rage said.

  “I think I know which way it is,” Mosh said and started down the corridor to the turn the thugs had first taken then abandoned. “Follow me.”