-SALOON AT THE EDGE OF EVERYWHERE-

Chapter Twenty Five

The last pirate in the lounge still holding a needle gun was a lad named Qweej, which you must admit is a good, piratey sounding name. His Captain was still missing and he hadn’t bothered to place anyone in charge in his absence.

Qweej looked around at his fellow pirates. All four of them. Then he looked at the huge crowd of hostages that he was supposed to be controlling. His friends were armed with an assortment of knives only, so this left Qweej with a dilemma. He couldn’t go look for Beeltee without shifting the balance of power in the room considerably. He compromised, and told one of his former classmates to peek outside and see if perhaps their Captain was about ready to go.

The Wasp Whip he selected did as he was told, and quickly returned with more disquieting news. “The Captain is lying down, and that Rufus guy is standing by him holding a gun. One of those big green guys is holding Jeetar by the arm. I saw Oratee and Sarloo on the floor too, and they weren’t moving,” was the less than satisfying report given by the returning pirate.

Qweej glanced back at their supposed hostages and noticed that all of them that he could now see were facing away from him, paying him and his friends no mind what so ever. And all of them had now joined in the happy cheering as well. What was going on?

The young Marines, all twenty of them, as they moved farther into the lounge, were contemplating the fact that they had never been greeted so enthusiastically in their lives. They were hugged and slapped on the back and even kissed by an excited throng of relieved civilians and ships crew and Hub dwellers. It was like trying to move through Times Square at midnight on New Years Eve. It made it very difficult for the Marines to maintain a proper military disposition or deployment. 2^nd Lt. Mathew Sarota kept his men moving forward as best as he could, but the festive and boisterous crowd was not making it easy for him.

At last he managed to squeeze out through the back of the crowd, and stopped suddenly. He was face to face with one of the hostiles, and the hostile had a strange gun of some sort. Lt. Sarota had a gun also, a very nice and very reliable combat pistol. But he had put it back in his holster to ease his way through the mob. He glanced behind him and realized that not one of his troopers had managed to keep up with him. He was all alone. Well, Marines know how to bluff at least as well as poker players. You might be surprised at how often it comes up in their line of work. So he calmly met the eye of the tall, striped, armed alien, and said in his best command voice, “2^nd Lt. Sarota, United States Marines. I have come to accept your surrender.” And then he expectantly stuck out his hand, palm up.

“Yes, sir,” said Qweej the pirate politely, and placed his gun in the officer’s hand.

Rufus was still standing in the sticky Whalepede slobber when two Marines, rifles sweeping to take in all the life forms on Mainstreet, came out carefully through the door. They were immediately followed by two others.

Rufus was the only one holding a gun, besides the Marines themselves, so two of the Marines began shouting at him to get down on the floor. All of them were aiming their rifles at him now, but Rufus had no intention of letting himself end up glued to the floor, so he raised his hands and put on a welcoming smile.

The closest Marine, whom Rufus could now see was still suffering from a bad teen complexion, shouted at him, “Drop the gun, drop the gun.” His pimply face was deadly serious.

“I don’t think I can,” said Rufus. He shook the hand holding the gun over his head, but the sticky saliva would not give up its grip. Great he thought, almost laughing at the idea that he might end up shot over such a silly misunderstanding.

But then all of his friends from the comm room were surrounding him, crying and laughing and congratulating him. The young Marine shrugged and lowered his weapon, at least a little.

It was then that Rufus noticed the Reporter floating in the air nearby. I wonder how long that has been there, he considered briefly?

Well of course the Reporter had been right in the center of things all along. Rufus and his group of volunteer antiterrorists had never noticed it, not even on the monitor screen in the comm room. The small globes were inconspicuous; perhaps by design or selective breeding or whatever, I have no way of knowing.

The Reporter had recorded and broadcast the first moments of the hijacking of the cruise ship, and it had been there for the grand finale as well. It had observed and memorialized Rufus’s first confrontation with the pirate Captain in the lounge when he and his group had used Winnse as a living shield, followed by their reverse retreat. Then the Reporter had nonchalantly drifted out into Mainstreet behind Beeltee and his two cronies when they followed the wrong way-facing withdrawal, and stayed nearby to immortalize all the following events.

The news services of nearly every civilization had long since worked out methods of adapting the Reporter’s unique ability to instantly send their recordings to all the other Reporters in the universe, and figured out ways to use these recordings for their own media’s coverage.

What this meant was that billions of living beings spread out over the vastness of space could watch a news story as it unfolded. This was like the white Bronco police chase, only on a slightly larger scale. Rufus didn’t yet know, in fact the media outlets themselves did not yet know, but this story broke viewing records as the most watched event in the history of anything. Whole planets shut down as beings became so fixated by the unfolding drama that they forgot to go to work, or anyplace else for that matter. About the only sentient beings in the universe who didn’t know that the hostages had been rescued by Rufus and his friends were the hostages themselves.

Rufus was also unaware that he was a hero. To anyone watching the drama, Rufus and his small band of brave followers had seemed so resolute and determined, it had looked as if Rufus was following a brilliant and masterful plan, not just making it up as he went along. It was just as well for Rufus’s peace of mind that he did not know about his new status, because he sure didn’t feel like a hero.

There was very little of the second-guessing common to this sort of broadcast. No experts or commentators came on the air to say how this or that could have been handled differently.

The whole universe had gasped and moaned when Asa faced the Whalepede tongue to give Rufus a chance to escape. They had cringed and cried when Beeltee gunned down the three unarmed beings, and then cheered when they had come back to life. When Rufus had yelled at the pirate Captain that he had been trying to save the pirates as well as everyone else, the universe was again brought to tears.  It had all played out exactly like a good drama should.

In his heart, Rufus would always feel that he had nearly cost Ssseeeet, Frodo and Asa their lives, and it would bother him for as long as he lived.

But for now he was surrounded by his cheering, crying, hugging group of friends, feeling shaky from the multiple adrenaline bursts his system had sustained. He sought out Ssseeeet and crouched beside him.

“Are you ok, Ssseeeet? Do you need a doctor or something?” he asked in genuine concern.

Mr. Toad translated the reply, “No, he says it is a mere scratch. Some soothing ointments and he will be fine.”

Rufus was so relived that he almost sat down right there in the goo. “I didn’t even know you could do that thing with your digestive juice,” he said with a very real smile.

Mr. Toad passed on the reply, “It is only possible in moments of extreme stress or fear or anger.”

“Well, I guess we sure had those, all right,” Rufus said, “But I’m still sorry I got you shot.”

“He says he volunteered,” continued Mr. Toad, “And besides, it was the pirate that shot him. You are not to blame.”

Rufus put the hand that didn’t have a gun stuck to it gently on Ssseeeet’s head and peered into his eyes. “I’m still sorry.”

Even as more Marines came out on to Mainstreet to peel the last of the pirates off of the floor and take them into custody, Rufus turned to the young Xxo. So far, Rufus had not had a chance to say even one word to this new friend. “I saw you charge that pirate with the pistol. I never even saw him there until I heard you growling at him. How did you know he was there? No one else in the comm room saw him on the screen as far as I know.”

“I did not see him, but I saw one weakness in your plan for the enemy commander to exploit. I simply took steps to guard your flank if there was a need to.” The Xxo’s English was improving rapidly.

Rufus was both impressed and moved. “You saved my life, I think. I would be honored to call you my friend.”

“It would be an honor for me, as well, and I would gladly follow you into battle again, my commander,” said the one hour-old alien seriously.

Suddenly the Warlord spoke, “I give my title-name of Warlord to my youngling, for his bravery and sound battle tactics. Now I will truly be the General, but the command has been past on.” And with that he gave a low bow to his offspring. Once again the whole group cheered, even though they weren’t all quite sure what any of that meant.

A tall, attractive blonde woman in a white naval uniform came up and stood close to Rufus, being carful not to step in the mess on the floor. “Mr. Blacke?” she said, addressing him.

“Ah, Captain Browne, I presume,” said Rufus. “Are you here to arrest me, or just give me a good chewing out?” He tried a tired smile.

“All’s well that ends well, Mr. Blacke,” she said, matching his smile, tiredness and all. “I was never thrilled about using my Marines as a Swat team, just so you know. I was left with very few options, none of them good.”

Rufus was half listening to Asa, who stood nearby explaining how the Whalepede had used his tombstone-like teeth to scrape him and the two pirates off of his tongue before spitting them back out like unwanted watermelon seeds.

Rufus was a little confused. “Well then, what can I do for you, Captain?”

“Sir,” she said earnestly, “I would like to shake your hand.”

“It would be a pleasure and an honor, Captain,” said Rufus, holding up the hand that was still glued firmly to the gun in an apologetic manner. “You don’t mind if we use our left hands, do you? I seem to be stuck with this thing temporarily.”

The Captain agreed, but she seemed just a tiny bit put off. She crinkled her nose slightly, and said, “Sir, you smell like…”

Rufus cut her off one last time.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” he sighed.