-SALOON AT THE EDGE OF EVERYWHERE-

Chapter Twelve

“Aw, he’s kind of cute,” said Jimmy.

The members of the second recon unit clustered around the swinging doors, taking turns looking at the Whalepede.

“I guess,” said Ken Bower, “now that he’s sucking that big nasty tongue back into his mouth.”

The long, sticky tongue was indeed withdrawing back down Mainstreet, but Jimmy noticed something else. Although the tongue was retreating, the giant head had just moved five feet closer.

“Uh, Boss,” Jimmy told Mof, “it seems to be heading this way.”

VarnTa was looking down at the floor. “What’s all this white stuff?” he asked to no one in particular.

“That’s from the ceiling. When the two bad guys came in, they shot some kind of guns into the air and really ripped the roof apart. I mean, they weren’t shooting at anybody, it was like they were just trying to get our attention,” Ken answered him. Ken was the only one from recon 2 that had been in the main saloon at the time of the attack. He continued, “Some of it is from Ned’s shotgun. He was shooting up into the air also, because of all the people running around, but it sure chased those guys back out the door.”

That was when the loud voice boomed from the back of the room, badly startling the members of recon 2.

“Show us your booty,” yelled the voice.

This demand threw the group into something of a panic, and not simply because of its loud and startling unexpectedness, or the fact that it suddenly became quite clear that no one from recon 2 had bothered to keep an eye out for the intruders, and they had taken the squad completely unawares by the simple expedient of strolling boldly through the door from the kitchen area. No, this panic had more to do with the unusual nature of the demand, and its unfortunate double meaning in the English language. All in all, it was a decidedly confusing state of affairs. Most of all, it made it difficult for them to decide if that meant that they should turn around, or remain facing away from the voice. It all sort of depended on which sort of booty was meant, after all. After exchanging uncomfortable glances, they decided to see who had made this confusing request.

There were two of them. That was the first thing they all noticed. Then they all noticed the big gun one of them was holding, because guns are scary, and you almost always notice if someone is pointing one at you. But as more of the details began to sink in, it was very hard to focus on the gun, because the alien holding the gun only had a gun, and that was all. Of the alien standing next to the one with the gun, this could certainly not be said. He had all kinds of stuff, and when taken all together, this stuff seemed to point to a very specific theme, which in a way was a relief to the prisoners, because it answered the question as to which type of booty the alien might prefer.

The tall, thin, black and yellow-striped beings were obviously of the same species, and very similar in appearance. It was in their fashion sense that they seemed to have a slight divergence, particularly in the way of accessories. Here, the naked alien with a large gun was most definitely playing second fiddle, and so it was to his partner that the eyes of the newly made captives were drawn.

Starting from the bottom up, I will attempt to describe this being’s not quite unique style: He was wearing large, black, floppy boots that folded and drooped on his skinny legs. Apparently the boots had not been large enough, because the toe and heel of the boot had been torn away to allow the three toes to poke through, two to the front, and one to the rear. He wore torn shorts which were vertically stripped in black and white, and which I must admit seemed to clash with his own natural stripes terribly, though I make no claim to be a good judge of fashion myself. Holding these shorts up on the thin torso was a wide, black leather belt, which, also due to the thinness of the torso, was wrapped around the waist at least two times, only to be clasped by a silver buckle in the shape of a human skull. Stuck into the belt was a long, curved sword in a black scabbard. It appeared to be a katana, the fighting sword of the Samurai of Japan.

The arms were bare, except for a multitude of wrist watches and bracelets of obviously human design. Covering the skinny chest was what looked to be a child’s size black t-shirt that said ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ on the front. The torso was so long that the distance between the shorts and the t-shirt gave the piratical being an unintentionally humorous, stretched-out look, like a snake wearing little bits of clothing at either end of its body.

It was on the pop-eyed head that the creature had placed the finishing touches of his ensemble. A blood-red scarf was tied rakishly across the forehead, and pulled down low over the bulbous eyes. From either side of the headband dangled huge hoop earrings, presumably because the alien had no ears from which to dangle them.

As the two little groups stood there sizing each other up, time once again did its magic trick of stretching, and the awkward silence dragged on. It was almost as if no one knew what to do next.

Ned was still watching the door when he remembered that cell phones work on the Hub. Human telecommunication technology was less advanced than that of any other Hub-using race, and easily duplicated.

Hell, Ned thought, we could be using them as walkie-talkies.

He wondered if he should call Rufus and get a situation report. On the other hand, he didn’t want Rufus’s phone to ring if he was sneaking around anywhere near the enemy. In the end he decided to wait until Rufus called him, though to be honest he had some doubts about whether or not Rufus would think of this himself.

‘Shiver me timbers?’ asked Rufus of himself. Even though he felt that he knew a lot about pirates from the books he had read, he still was not sure precisely what that was supposed to mean.

He decided to bluff. It was poker night, after all.

“We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way,” Rufus said, fingering his knife and trying desperately to sound tough. Then it dawned on him that he sounded too much like a movie gangster. I have to talk to him in language that he can relate to, he decided.

He started over. “I will keelhaul you if you do not tell me what I want to know. I am one of the all-time champion keelhaulers ever known among my people. Oh, I have keelhauled quite a few people in my day.” He said this in his most menacing voice, but going for sincerity as well. He even threw in just a hint of pirate, but not too much. It made him feel silly. He hoped that the alien prisoner would not stop to consider the fact that it was highly unlikely that Rufus would have a barnacle-encrusted keel under which to drag him anywhere in the vicinity. On the other hand, it would most likely work just as well to drag him under the sensor-encrusted rim of the Hub, considered Rufus. Yes, a good old-fashioned space-keelhauling, that’s what was called for in this situation.

“Drop dead, Human.” Their captive said this in a petulant tone, sounding a lot like a spoiled earth teenager. It was clear that Rufus’s bluff had been called.

Rufus scanned the room. Candybar was tying bundles of drinking straws around Gollum’s broken arm with a dishtowel. What a clever way to make a temporary cast, Rufus thought with admiration. Asa was helping, holding Gollum’s arm steady. Young Molly was kneeling beside her new friend, looking into Gollum’s eyes and talking very earnestly with him.

The Prince was busily engaged, slurping diet soda out of the spigot of the soda dispenser. He had to stand on the condiment bar in order to do it. The Qualm was floating nearby, seemingly focused on the pseudo-pirate. Ox was still holding the prisoner. Even the Whalepede was occupied, busy stomping slowly down Mainstreet.

Rufus looked around for the Professor and spotted him standing in a corner with his back to everyone. He sidled over to him, striving for inconspicuousness.

“Professor,” Rufus began, but he left the sentence unfinished. The Professor had one hand inside the blanket that covered the stone, and his eyes were somewhere very far away. Rufus was afraid to touch him. Then the Professor shook his head, and his eyes were clear. He looked into Rufus’s eyes and said, “Rufus, this is going to sound strange.”

Strange, Rufus thought, looking around at the bizarre scene that filled the McDonald’s restaurant in outer space? Compared to what, exactly?

The Professor went on. “I don’t have all the details, Rufus, because these stones are only updated by the multidimensional beings. It is their memories that the stones retain, so I can only access the last time one of these ‘Creators’ as I think of them, visited or had interaction with the pirate’s species. And that must have been a long time ago.”

“Who are they, Professor? And what do they want?” Rufus was desperate for any kind of information.

“I can’t pronounce the name by which this species refers to itself, Rufus. It is quite long. And I cannot tell you what these particular pirates are after. But I believe I know something about them.” The Professor sounded pleased with himself.

Rufus gave him a two-handed ‘wrap it up’ motion.

“I believe what we have here,” said the Professor, once again using his lecturing voice, “is a gang of rebellious teenagers.”

Rufus was completely unprepared for this piece of information. “What?” he asked, not quite sure he had heard correctly.

“It seems that this species some time ago decided that the males, upon reaching breeding age, became so unruly as to be uncontrollable. The mere whiff of a female would cause riots. The youths got so out of hand that the society as a whole decided to ship the whole lot of them off planet. And they do this each year with the entire crop of males, just as they begin to hit puberty. Bye bye, and don’t come back home until you’ve grown up and want a job. The entire civilization has simply abdicated their parental responsibility, as it were. They even cheerfully pay for whatever damages anyone else may sustain at the hands of their exuberant offspring. But this, this seems to be a little bit beyond mere adolescent revelry. Do you think this is some childish prank gone horribly wrong, Rufus?” Here the Professor gestured around himself, as if including not only the smashed and shot-up restaurant, but the entire universe as well. Or maybe Rufus only imagined that part. But Rufus had some firsthand experience with both childish pranks and acting out against authority.

Rufus scowled and put a hand on the Professor’s shoulder, saying, “If your theory is correct, Professor, these pirates are yet another wonderful example of human creativity bringing woe and despair to the stars.”

The Professor actually smiled. “You do have a way with words, my boy.”

“We need to come up with a name for them.” Rufus mused. “We can’t keep calling them pirates. It just sort of dignifies the whole thing.”

“I just have such a hard time imagining teenagers behaving in such a manner,” said the disappointed old teacher.

“You must have taught at private schools, Prof.” Rufus teased. “Haven’t you ever watched ‘Cops’ on the TV? These guys aren’t even the worst I’ve seen.” Rufus glanced again at the prisoner. He was striped with horizontal bands in the same colors as a wasp, and had arms and legs like whips.

“We’ll call them Whip Wasps, Professor, how about that?” Rufus said proudly, and then rapidly changed his mind. “No, Wasp Whips, that’s it. Which one is harder to say, Professor?”

The Professor was taken aback. “Why?” was all he could think to ask.

“If I get to name a whole race, I want it to be the best tongue-twister ever. Don’t you think that would be…?” Rufus stopped, somewhat embarrassed that he had been going to say ‘funny’.

The Professor looked thoughtful, and then tried saying each combination out loud as rapidly as possible. An experiment is always likely to engage a Professor’s interest. He said each again, just to double check his results.

“I believe Wasp Whips wins, though the margin is slim,” the Professor delivered his learned verdict.

“Ahem,” Rufus heard Candybar say behind him, and then she went on, “Are you two just about finished?”

Rufus turned to find everyone in the room including their Wasp Whip prisoner staring at him. He felt himself blush.

“Okay,” he said loudly, not sure how much of the hushed conversation everyone had heard. “Prince, Asa, watch the rear door. Candybar, Qualm, come over here. We need to talk.”

They all did as he had told them. Rufus had been thinking about the show ‘Cops’. He said, under his breath, “We are going to do the ‘good-cop, bad-cop thing’.” It was time to run another bluff.