Kulture Vultures, Chapter 4: The Tit Offensive

First to go was the roof over their heads.

It was pierced and shredded by magnetized railgun rounds and lasers that sliced up the joint like birthday cake. The gravity motors must have taken a hit because some people were floating up and up. The ones who weren’t already dead struggled frantically but futilely to avoid becoming a bob in the sea of space. The elements of surprise and the lethality of the weaponry made it pretty much like shooting Denebian dingoes in a bathtub.

The far wall of the pirate bazaar exploded.

More of the place was coming down – maybe all of it. There was no warning, no effort to make an arrest. Just mass murder. The shock troops didn’t distinguish between male or female, young or old. Pretty soon death would be the only common denominator.

“We gotta make a run for it,” Zel said.  He grabbed Sprosty as the two tried to get out of Dodge.  “You knew,” he said with rage. “You knew the whole fucking time!”

They were using a thick floor-to-ceiling metal bookcase for cover. Sprosty looked guilt-ridden and said, “I didn’t know everything. I knew it was coming but I didn’t know when. And I didn’t know it would be here. I didn’t even know about this place until tonight. “

“But you were holding out,” Zel said. “What else are you lying about?”

“I’m not lying,” Sprosty said. “How do you tell someone you just met: Nice to meet you, by the way, a lot of people you know are going to be dead. There might even be a little planet-cracking.”

Zel was listening but thinking tactically. Instinct directed him.

How to get by Combine Shock Troops? They were easy to pick out. They wanted to be seen, dressed in the whitest white. Some of the motherfuckers glowed with luminescent armor.

Not all of them were two-legged. Some walked with a tripedal gait.  Others were four-legged lizards. Their weapon was affixed to their scaly heads and triggered when they bit down with their jaw.

We’re not going to out-run this, Zel thought. Too much firepower. They’d be dead in a heartbeat.

But if there was a ventilation duct in the wall nearby—

Zel spied one. “There’s a duct behind us,” he said. “We crawl in and find a path that gets us to the cab out front.”

“What if we can’t get there from here?” Sprosty fretted.

“I spent a long time around the pirates. They always plan an escape route, usually more than one,” Zel said. “Course, I could always leave you here to fend for yourself, but it doesn’t look like they’re taking prisoners.”

“I’m in,” Sprosty said, now even more alarmed. They squatwalked backwards, low, to stay under cover. Sprosty grabbed a few paperbacks along the way. “I don’t think you’re gonna have a lot of time to read,” Zel said as a photon kill weapon smoked a shelf of Kurt Vonnegut first-editions.

They got up against the outside of the vent. Zel told Sprosty, “Keep a look out.” As a corner of the vent cover popped loose, a small red furry ball rolled up against Zel’s left foot. Zel didn’t know what it was but he was certain he didn’t have time for it.  Then his ankle started heating up. The furball was warm, and when he picked it up, had unusual weight for its dimensions.

Then he got another surprise. The red ball opened its eyes.

“Mother of shit,” Zel yelped, dropping the crimson-colored fluff.

It landed with a soft fomp, rolled forward a few inches, sprouted three fuzzy tentacles and walked back to Zel. It gave him big, watery puppy eyes. And it chirped.

Sprosty stared warily and said, “I don’t trust it.”

“And I don’t trust you,” Zel said. “That makes us even all around.” Red chirped again.

“All right, all right. Climb up,” Zel said.

Rodent-like, the furball perched on Zel’s shoulder.

“Now you look like a pirate,” Sprosty said, “But a parrot would look even better.”

“Thanks. Also eat shit.” But Sprosty wasn’t there anymore. “Where are you, asshole,” he hissed. Then Sprosty was inside the ventilation system, helping to push the grate open from the inside.

“How did you do that?”

“Our kind has always been able to do it. It’s a survival thing. If I get nervous enough or if someone is trying to put holes in me, it just kinda happens.”

“Good to know.”

The furball made its bird-sound again.

They crawled and squeezed and nearly got stuck and did it again and again until they found a shaft leading to seeming safety.

Except it wasn’t safe. The Combine was still killing out here just as it was killing people back in there. And when it came to pirate booty, the shock troops were an efficient demolition crew. Virtually nothing was left. Every memory of good times, every scrap of Earth contagion was being destroyed.

Zel would’ve been angry if he had the time. Right now, he had more pressing matters, like saving his own skin.  “All those wonderful breasts, gone,” Sprosty sighed.

The furball whined.

They went down an exterior ladder and at last they were outside. How to get to the cab? Zel wondered. It was almost like a command in his head. There had to be a Combine shithead around somewhere, though most of them seem to be focused on the pit of flame that was once the pirates’ bazaar.

Zel and Sprosky broke into a run.

“Get to the cab, and make it fast,” Zel said.

“If we get off, won’t our sorry, sad asses be shot out of the sky?”

“Not if I can help it.”

When they got to the cab, a voice shouted out, “Halt! Where are you going?”

It was a shock trooper, three-legged, with a laser rifle pointing at Zel.

Sprosty had disappeared again.

Zel answered the storm trooper. “Just got here. A soldier told me the place was closed and to get out. Just following orders,” Zel smiled.

The triped approached slowly, reeking of unearned authority. “Empty your pockets! Show me the transport, from the inside – carefully.”

“Actually, I’m in a hurry. Is this gonna take long?”

“We’ll see,” said three-legs.

“No, I don’t think we will,” Zel shot back. Even before the word, ‘no,’ had left his lips, he pivoted on his left leg and brought his right foot into the triped’s stomach. Hard. It had made the mistake of thinking the rifle gave it the advantage. That wasn’t true at close quarters. Zel’s entire body had become a weapon of impressively swift and brutal force. He rammed the creature’s head against the side of the taxi. Again and again.  Some of the pulp that was above the triped’s crinkly neck began to stain the door. Zel kept doing it till that whole side of the cab was painted purple.

The limp figure in Zel’s hands was no longer fighting back.  “It’s your way or the highway, right? Welcome to the highway.”

Zel let the body drop. “I had friends in there!” he yelled at the dead thing laying limp next to his cab.

Zel had never done anything like that before.

He didn’t even know he could do anything like that.

Sprosty shimmered into existence. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Zel glared at him. “You can bail now, if you want. I’m a wanted man. I’m sure of it. Riding with me could mean a laser cannon pointed at your tenders.”

“If you’re wanted, I’m wanted. Besides, I can’t fly a ship. You’re my only way out. If I stay here, I’m dead meat.”

“Then get in.”

The furball – which amazingly had kept its grip on Zel’s shoulder through the fight – was still there. Zel put it on the dashboard. “We’ll need a name for him,” he said.

“I like bloodfart,” Sprosty said.

“A name that doesn’t evoke horror,” said Zel.

He started the cab. He hit the tune-box. Rock & Roll flowed out, somewhat distorted from busted speakers.

“AC/DC,” Zel said. “Highway To Hell.”

“That’s us,” Sprosty said. “Where are we going?”

“Earth,” Zel said. “The Combine won’t look for us there.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?”

“No. Hold on to your nuts.”

“I don’t have any.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

The furball wrapped its tentacles around itself and fell into sound asleep. Zel punched the throttle and they shot into the black.

Towards Earth.

Continue to Chapter 5: No Business Like Slow Business…