Max Rage: Twelve Punches To Mars! Read online

  “Son of a…” The fine increased by ten credits. “…gun.”

  Klaxons blared and the cabin was filled with flashing red lights.

  “WEAPONS ALERT! WEAPONS ALERT!”

  “No, I didn’t mean a real gun!” Rage exclaimed.

  Six hundred micro-bots fell from the ceiling.

  Rage came to on the hard floor of what he had to assume was an interrogation room.

  He assumed that because Detectives Labous, Nast, and Zell were leaning against a wall and staring down at him. There was a table in the center of the room. Rage reached up and pulled himself into an empty chair. Once he was situated, he focused on the person sitting across the table.

  A person he knew very well.

  “Hello, Rage,” the person said. “It’s been a while.”

  Rage blinked a few times then bolted out of his chair and backed away from the table.

  “No fucking way. You’re dead. I watched you fucking die,” Rage exclaimed.

  “That you did, Max,” the person, a woman with short white hair, deep black skin, and dressed in a nice suit, agreed. She was not huge. She did not look imposing or intimidating. And she wore very dark sunglasses. “Unfortunately for both of us, I had a contractual obligation to Earth Corp not to die. So they brought me back.”

  “How does Rage know this woman?” Detective Nast or Zell asked. Rage could never keep track of which was which due to the intense blandness of both.

  “That’s his ex-wife,” Detective Labous said. “Scutter Slang.”

  “Oh, this should be fun,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Gentlemen? Do you mind if I speak to my ex-husband alone for a minute?” Scutter asked.

  “Uh, I don’t believe we can allow that,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

  “No way,” Detective Zell or Nast added.

  “Probably not a good idea for our careers,” Detective Labous said. “Sorry. The reunion will have to be supervised.”

  Scutter swiveled in her seat and focused her sunglassed gaze on the three detectives.

  “You do know why I am here, yes?” she asked.

  “We know,” Detective Labous said and shrugged. “But we’re here to keep an eye on him. Can’t do that if we leave the room.”

  “The reunion will have to be supervised,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

  “I already said that,” Detective Labous grumbled.

  “Yeah, but we’re Earth Corp and you’re only Greenville PD, so when we say it, it counts,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Ignore them,” Rage said and sat down again. “How the fuck are you alive?”

  “It’s an interesting story,” Scutter began. “We’re going to need lunch.”

  Seven

  “So, this here, isn’t you?” Rage asked around a mouthful of what he assumed was chicken salad. They were in an Earth Corp facility, so best not to ask too many questions about one’s meal ingredients. “Or not the original you, at least.”

  “No, Max, not the original me,” Scutter said, wiping her mouth after pushing her empty soup bowl away. “The original me had her head punched through by that Qitnit friend of yours.”

  “Not a friend,” Rage said. “Work associate.”

  “Like I said,” Scutter continued. “Earth Corp wasn’t done with me and they had my body cloned and the scans of my brain uploaded from the Memory Banks and into the new body after they retrieved my DNA from what was left of Horloc Station.”

  “And they did that because why?” Rage asked.

  “You gonna eat those chips, Rage?” Detective Nast or Zell asked, pointing at Rage’s plate.

  Rage grabbed up all the chips on his plate and shoved them into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed then turned and said, “No.”

  “Cute,” Scutter said. “I was contracted by Earth Corp to keep tabs on Roger Morlaw. That was why I was really on Horloc Station. You screwed that all up. Earth Corp felt they had not gotten their credits worth, so they resurrected me, added a couple years to my term for breach of contract, and here I am.”

  “You haven’t told me why you’re here,” Rage said. “I know the how, but not the why.”

  “There will be an assassination attempt on Lord Sahndle,” Scutter said. “And I’m here to prevent that.”

  “Lord Sahndle? He a Ghej?” Rage asked.

  Ghej were an alien race that looked like blobs of jelly with tentacles whipping about everywhere. Rage never did know why, but they were considered galactic royalty by all races.

  “He’s not only Ghej, but the biggest Ghej celebrity in all the galaxies,” Scutter said. “How do you not know that?”

  “What the fuck do I care about Ghej celebrities?” Rage scoffed. “I didn’t even know there were a cappella mime troupes until a couple days ago.”

  “Really?” Detectives Nast and Zell asked at the same time.

  “If Lord Sahndle is killed, it will plunge this galaxy, and all neighboring galaxies, into a millennia-long war that Earth Corp would like to avoid,” Scutter said. “Which makes your arrival perfect timing.”

  “How?” Rage asked.

  “I need a security team. You know how to lead a team better than I do,” Scutter admitted. “If you agree, then Earth Corp will wipe away the debt from all those fines you got on the shuttle.”

  “I’d rather work off the seventeen thousand credits some other way,” Rage replied.

  “Seventeen thousand?” Scutter laughed. “Rage, you owe two million credits. You peed yourself that last time and shorted out half the micro-bots. Those little guys aren’t cheap, Max.”

  “Two million?” Rage asked. “You have to be shitting me…”

  “I wouldn’t waste my shit on you, Max,” Scutter said. “Not now, not ever.”

  “Two million?” Rage asked.

  “Plus interest,” Scutter said. “Thirty-six percent per day.”

  “Per day?” Rage shouted. “Earth day or Mars day?”

  “Intergalactic standard day,” Scutter replied. “So you have that going for you, Max. But you’ll never catch up if you try to work off the debt.”

  “Unless the work is for you,” Rage said.

  “Exactly,” Scutter said.

  “They aren’t on the team, are they?” Rage asked, hooking a thumb at the detectives.

  “Don’t insult me, Max,” Scutter replied. “I’d rather be two million credits in debt to Earth Corp than work with schlubs like these assholes.”

  “Hey!” Detectives Nast and Zell said.

  “Fair enough,” Detective Labous said.

  “The problem is,” Rage said and leaned forward, “I have a job. I’m supposed to be keeping my…lady friend’s son and his a cappella mime troupe safe.”

  Rage shook his head.

  “At no point in my life did I think I’d ever be saying something like that out loud,” Rage admitted. “Maybe you should just shoot me and put me out of my misery.”

  “If you die owing Earth Corp, then they’ll only resurrect you and make you do some other shitty job,” Scutter said.

  “Fucking sons of bitches,” Rage muttered.

  “You know we work for Earth Corp, right, Rage?” Detective Nast or Zell said.

  “Best not to talk about Earth Corp like that in front of us,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Don’t care,” Rage said and focused on Scutter. “So what do I do about Junior?”

  “He’s on his own. So is his a cappella mime troupe,” Scutter said.

  “Punching Air,” Rage said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Punching Air is what they call themselves. I’d let them die just for the name, but I like Mascholine and she’s my boss, so I’d rather keep the little shit alive.”

  “Punching Air? You know Punching Air?” Detective Labous asked.

  All eyes fell on him.

  “What?” He shrugged. “Okay, you got me. I like a cappella mime troupes. Punching Air is one of the better ones. You think you can introduce me to t
he Punches, Rage?”

  Rage blinked, opened and closed his mouth several times, before he could form the word,

  “What?”

  “The Punches. Can you maybe let me meet them in person?” Detective Labous asked.

  “Punches?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Punches?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” Rage said.

  “That’s what they’re called,” Detective Labous explained. “Each member of Punching Air is called a Punch. Lenny Punch is my favorite, but Darfur Punch is pretty high on the list.”

  “These guys are all a bunch of douchebruhs,” Rage said. “Frat boy douchebruhs. That’s all they are.”

  “Well, yes, the culture may be a little problematic, but oh, the performances,” Detective Labous said. “I could watch them for hours.”

  “You know what? I don’t care,” Rage said. “Good on you, Labous. Dig whatever the fuck you want to dig. I still have no idea how in the fuck a cappella mime even works, so who the fuck am I to tell you what to like and not like, right?”

  “That’s rather open-minded of you, Max,” Scutter said. “What’s the angle?”

  “Labous is gonna watch over Junior and the other… Punches,” Rage said. “If I’m gonna lead a team for Earth Corp to keep some Ghej royal asshole safe, then that’s the deal. Labous keeps Punching Air safe for me.”

  “Nast? Zell?” Scutter asked the two bland detectives. “You have a problem with this?”

  “We’ll still be watching Rage,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

  “Labous can do whatever he wants,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Labous?” Scutter asked.

  “Are you serious?” Detective Labous looked like he was about to faint. “I get to be security for Punching Air?”

  “You may want to pick up a couple extra security guards to supplement the fact you aren’t me, but yeah,” Rage said. “Knock yourself the fuck out.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening,” Detective Labous said.

  “You and me both, Detective,” Rage said. “You in?”

  “I’m in!” Detective Labous exclaimed.

  “Are you in, Max?” Scutter asked.

  “Not much of a choice,” Rage said. “But I do have one condition.”

  “You are in no position to ask for conditions, Rage,” Detective Nast or Zell said.

  “Yeah, Rage, just feel lucky you aren’t being shipped to a labor colony,” Detective Zell or Nast said.

  “Feeling so lucky,” Rage said and rolled his eyes.

  “What’s the condition?” Scutter asked.

  “It’s an easy one,” Rage said. “I get to pick my weapons.”

  “That’s the condition?” Scutter asked.

  “Yep.”

  “I thought you’d want to pick your own team.”

  “I have a feeling you already have the team picked.”

  “I do.”

  “Then I want to pick my own weapons. Any weapons I want for the job, I get to have. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Scutter responded and extended her hand.

  Rage took it, shook it, and grinned. Everyone except for Scutter shrank back as the grin grew.

  “When do I get to meet this team?” Rage asked.

  “How about right now?” Scutter replied. “Best to yank the bandage off quick.”

  “Exactly,” Rage said.

  “Punching Air,” Detective Labous whispered. “I am so blessed.”

  Eight

  “There ya are, baby,” Rage said as he clutched the dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle in both hands, admiring the sheer beauty of its killing efficiency. “It may not be the most expensive or dangerous weapon in all the galaxies, but in my hands, it will be.”

  “Wow. He really likes Axis combat rifles,” someone said.

  “Max? You want to meet the team or what?” Scutter asked.

  “Whoa, she calls him Max. Not Rage, but Max,” another voice said. “Cool…”

  “On a scale of one to ten, how likely will everyone survive?” Rage asked, his eyes still locked onto the dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle.

  “Max…” Scutter snarled. “Don’t fuck around.”

  Rage finally turned to regard the three other members of the security team.

  “Let me guess,” Rage said, slinging the rifle across his back. Then he began pointing at the three. “You. Tech. You. Overwatch. You. Muscle.”

  The first member of the team Rage pointed to was a rather boring-looking human. Except that the skin was obviously synthetic and the being made a clicking noise every time he blinked.

  “I am Rasco,” the being said.

  “Starsch, right?” Rage asked. “Android race.”

  “Don’t call me an android, dude,” Rasco said. “The Starsch are biological beings of synthetic origin. Get it right.”

  “That makes no sense,” Rage said. “Don’t really care. You.” He pointed to the next being. “Kalanip.”

  “Yeah!” the alien responded with considerable enthusiasm. She was a multi-eyed, single-armed, four-legged alien that looked like a small horse, but with scales instead of hair. And she had two wings folded across her back. “The name’s Choosper. Such an honor, Mr. Rage. I mean it. I’ve like been a fan since I was a little foal. Working with you is a dream come true.”

  “That’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard,” Rage said and turned his attention to the behemoth standing to the side of everyone. “Jamba, yeah?”

  The being was easily over eight feet tall. Six arms and two massive legs which looked even more massive since the guy was wearing what looked like five pairs of pants. And at least four shirts. His face, which was uncovered, was deep black and slick with oil that dripped from his eyebrows.

  “Bill,” the Jamba said, extending a gloved hand. Even with the glove, oil was seeping through. “What’s with the rifle love, man?”

  Rage thought for a moment then shook the guy’s hand. He wiped the oil slick from his palm onto Rasco’s shirt.

  “Really, dude?” Rasco asked. “I mean, really?”

  “Had to wipe it somewhere,” Rage said with a shrug. “Okay, this is how it’s gonna go, people. You will—”

  “No you don’t, Max,” Scutter said. “This is my team. You won’t be giving orders. I will.”

  “If I’m not giving orders, then what am I here for?” Rage asked.

  “I lied. I’m team lead. And as you already guessed, Rasco is tech, Choosper is overwatch, and Bill is muscle.”

  “Crowd control,” Bill said.

  “Crowd control,” Scutter echoed. “You are the bodyguard, Max. While Rasco is constantly scanning every bit of data for possible threats, Choosper will be above, covering our asses with her rifle—”

  “It’s a dual plasma, laser-guided hot rocket launching, never-empty Axis combat rifle, too! Isn’t that cool!” Choosper said. “Twinsies!”

  “Yay…” Rage scowled.

  “And Bill will make sure the path is clear once you’re on the boulevard,” Scutter continued. “You’ll be right by Lord Sahndle’s side at all times, Max. At all times. If he has to take a wicked shit or wants to get frisky with a guy or gal, you’ll be standing there, watching. You never, for absolutely no reason, will ever let him out of your sight or arm’s reach. Not fucking around, Max. You will need to be within—”

  “Got it,” Rage said and held out his arms. “If I can’t kill him myself, then he’s gotten too far away.”

  “Whoa,” Choosper said. “He went straight for kill instead of hug. I’d have said hug because, I mean, that’s where my mind goes first. But he went for kill. So cool.”

  “She’s gonna be a problem,” Rage said and hooked a thumb at Choosper. “I don’t do sycophants. Worship me silently, horsey.”

  “Kalanips aren’t horses, dude,” Rasco said. “Get some education, m’kay? F
ucking Earthlings. Ignorant bunch of organ bags.”

  “He’s growing on me,” Rage said, his thumb shifting to take aim at Rasco. “You shitty to everyone you meet?”

  “Just musclebound tough guys with overinflated senses of importance,” Rasco said.

  “Good,” Rage said. “You stay you. Bill?”

  “What?” Bill responded.

  “Should I tolerate or hate you?” Rage asked.

  “Are those the only options?”

  “Please say kill you, please say kill you, please say kill you,” Choosper muttered.

  “Yes. Those are the only two options,” Rage said, shooting a death glare at Choosper.

  The Kalanip pretty much melted on the spot from the attention, the murderous intent ignored completely.

  “Tolerate if you want. Hate if you want,” Bill said. “Doesn’t matter to me. I’m here to do a job and I plan on doing it to the best of my ability, man.”

  “You get to live,” Rage said.

  “He has our lives and our deaths in his hand,” Choosper said.

  “You want to be turned into glue there, horsey?” Rage asked. “Because I can arrange that. I got a glue guy back on Earth.”

  Choosper’s cheek twitched.

  “What’s that? What’s going on with your face?” Rage asked. He turned to Scutter. “Is she gonna cry? Is the fucking horse alien you hired for overwatch gonna cry?”

  “I’m just so happy,” Choosper said and wrapped her one arm around Rage. “So damn happy.”

  “Scutter…” Rage snarled.

  “Okay, Choosper, that’s enough,” Scutter said, prying the Kalanip’s arm off of Rage. “He will kill you if you push too far.”

  “It’d be an honor to die at his hands,” Choosper said between sniffles.

  “The honor’d be all mine,” Rage responded. “So, Scutter?”

  “Yeah?”

  “If we’re hired to keep Lord Dingleberry alive, then who’s watching him now?”

  “Don’t call him dingleberry,” Scutter said, an accusatory finger jammed up under Rage’s nose. “You fucking with the team is unavoidable, I know that. But, fucking with the client? Unacceptable. You address him as ‘my lord’ or ‘Lord Sahndle,’ got it?”