Charlie Chicanery #2 (of 4)

Star Thuggery: A New Rap Sheet

Imagine a strange being, one who seems to be a humanoid made out of what looks like molten metal, except that you can see hints of electronics and other circuitry on its surface in places. Now, imagine that he's got some sort of energy staff sticking out of his body, one that was just put there by our man Charlie Chicanery, as he fights that bizarre entity while it stands behind the counter of his 'planets for sale' sales booth.

(That should do for a 'cover', shouldn't it?)

Notice: for those of you that are faint of heart, the following tale isn't exactly what one would call G-rated in nature. It contains a plethora of bad language, excessive violence, sexual innuendo, and of course, things that would get this story burned, were it in a printed form, by the more fanatical elements of just about any religion on earth. In other words, if these things offend you - you've been warned.

(That should do for a 'disclaimer', shouldn't it?)

***

"Fire it again!"

Complying with his friend's wishes, Chuck indeed gave off another burst of energy, focused through his transient steel staff into the tank of water. "You got it Wendell, though this is getting boring. Haven't you scanned enough of my tachyon blasts yet?" Chuck was trying to be helpful to his friend Wendell, who was almost irrationally excited by Chuck's revelations that he was, indeed, a mutant - much less one with faster-than-light powers.

"Yeah, I guess that's fine, Chuck. I've monitored everything I know how to with my equipment, and found out a bunch of stuff. You're not radioactive, for one thing - you or your powers. Lucky for us, I guess, or else we'd both be losing our hair by now. But, with what I've learned here, I just might be able to duplicate your powers in a technological sense - maybe build some sort of hyperdrive - assuming I'm right."

Chuck shrugged. "Either way, I'm beat, which is weird, since I don't need to eat or drink anything... and sleep is debatable, from what those E.S.E. goons told me." Chuck almost felt guilty about violating those non-disclosure agreements. Almost. But Wendell has been a good friend since he was in first grade, and is a certifiable scientific genius, to boot. The opportunity to study real-life, physics-bending phenomenon was like six shots of heroin to him.

"No problem buddy, I don't wanna kill you or anything. Just let me know when you're going out to space again, and I'll give you the sensor pack. That'll let me actually study a long-term trip into hyperspace. That'll be more than enough for me, as far as I know." With that Chuck took off from Wendell's place, and flew home to his apartment. His new, penthouse apartment, nestled within a rather posh building in New York City proper.

With his exorbitant salary from Extra Solar Enterprises, Chuck was easily able to afford the place, and being up on the fifty-seventh floor had its advantages. For one thing, hardly anybody should notice him hopping out the window to fly here or there, and if that became a worry, Chuck could always just use the roof access; he got a key to the roof as a part of his lease deal. Besides... there was something about the place that just felt... right to him.

A mystery for another day, probably, but either way Chuck was happy. Here he was, freshly turned nineteen, and rich out of his mind. Every job he'd pulled for E.S.E. had paid him quite well, and after squirreling away a small amount in mutual funds and whatnot, to cover an eventual (early) retirement, Chuck was spending the rest on the Good Life. Flat-screen H.D.T.V., designer furniture, night after night in exclusive restaurants, and so on.

Life was good.

***

When Riley called him that night, Chuck made right for the E.S.E. building in Pittsburgh - the commute for him was a negligible expenditure of time. He passed Kookla'k'k'x on the way in, giving the odd alien a high five on one of his (?) six hands (or feet) before entering Riley's office proper. "What's up, boss?" Looking up at the young mutant from his opulent desk, Extra Solar Enterprises' talent manager shuffled some papers, and smiled.

"Well, Charlie," as Riley always called him; the man was uncomfortable with 'real' names, after all. "I have a slightly more challenging Quest for you this time. You have done exceedingly well in your missions to date, but this one may be a bit more difficult. Regardless, getting to the meat of the matter, E.S.E. has need of an item that we can only describe as... magical. We have determined that it is within your practical range of travel, though only just.

"You will need to fly for a good month to reach its resting place, but we have no one else capable of fulfilling this mission. The only problem is that this artifact is being held by, how should I say it, rather hostile aliens, and as such, the upper management has authorized me to release to your care an additional armament - I suspect you've seen something similar to this in your local multiplex..."

With that, Riley threw Chuck an item that somewhat resembled a flashlight - with lenses on both ends. Pressing the only switch on the device, Chuck activated the energy staff, causing twin shafts of incredibly focused, incredibly deadly light energy to issue forth from each side. "Do be careful with that weapon, Charlie. Should you even barely graze yourself with it, you might find yourself bereft of a limb... or two.

"Anyhow, the management has this job on the highest of priorities, so please take off immediately. All the information about the job and your destination is here, on this navigational tablet. It has directions, instructions about both the item we require and the forces holding it, and anything else you ought to need to succeed in this job. I can't stress enough how important it is that you come through for E.S.E. on this one, Charlie Chicanery."

Frowning, Chuck harrumphed. "Harrumph. No sweat, Riley. My bills are paid several months ahead, so I don't need to prepare... I figure 'on call' means I should be ready - I am a professional, you know. Catch you later, tough guy!" With that, Chuck flew off, though he did make one stop first, picking up that sensor dillybob from Wendell on his way... out there. Not to mention a digital camera - Wendell asked him to take some Pictures.

Chuck just threw it in his backpack and rocketed off into Space!

Once he was in the quiet of the void, Chuck opened up the tablet Riley gave him, and activated the device. A somewhat upgraded version of the navigational beastie he used on his first mission, this one had a more swank interface, one that was even easier to use - and more high-res, too. Not that he was too thrilled with the job. Ten thousand light years away! "That'd take me forever... too bad I forgot to set my Tivo ™," thought Chuck.

"I'm gonna totally miss way too many episodes of C.S.I."

***

Being utterly isolated from human contact for any serious length of time starts to have negative effects on people, no matter how much they may actually hate their fellow man. Even a week spent away from other sentient beings can be troublesome, so you can imagine how well our hero fared after about thirty-three days out in the infinite void; it should've been a couple days less, but he wound up wandering off course while sleep-flying a few times.

He was almost ecstatic upon spying the space station, suspended above the purple gas giant in a nigh-polar orbit, one that kept it aligned with the world's icy rings, but barely out of reach of that perpetual pile of deleterious detritus. Racing around the rather large facility a few times, Chuck eventually found what he was looking for - a docking bay that contained atmospheric gases, when open, with some sort of specialized force field.

Coasting in, Chuck noted a non-secure airlock that led to the occupied areas of the station, and wandered in. He immediately brandished his staff at the space inside the airlock, not at all knowing who to expect inside. You see, the tablet Riley gave him explained that the company sought what it coined an extraplanar device. It had mystic powers, but those were unimportant; E.S.E. was only interested in the material it was made out of.

Apparently it had contracted its purchase from something it called a B'ntri, some sort of mystic, tentacular horror, but the creature was robbed and slain, its treasure stolen by a marauding Mechani (a sort of naturally evolved robotic life form) and its band of Granx't (sort of pink, human-looking aliens) followers. Supposedly, this group roams the galaxy looking for trouble and loot, and are first-rate Space Pirates ©.

So, expecting the worst, Chuck waved his staff at what turned out to be the empty space inside the airlock, and proceeded in once he noted a lack of other life forms. After opening the second airlock door, however, Chuck noted that there was a bevy of different aliens roaming around inside the station, beings of all descriptions. Some were big, some were small. A few matched the description of those Tsort he ran into on his first mission, even. *

But the Tsort were the least of his problems. No, Chuck was facing a plethora of oddball alien life forms that he'd never encountered before, many of which happened to be mechanical in nature; that would make it hard for him to suss out his target. Unless, of course, he could find a 'bot hanging out with a bunch of pink people-looking aliens. Which itself was odd; in all his travels, he'd never encountered the sci-fi standard of almost human-looking aliens.

Big bags of goo, sentient energy things, his anatomically bizarre Kookla'k'k'x co-worker, sure, but no people-y things. So, having nothing else for it, Chuck started looking for people in the station. He walked around, noting that this entry area seemed to be a sort of 'commons', where folks hung out, drank the probable equivalent of beer, and perhaps did shady business. There were several 'wings' to the station, though, and Chuck started to explore.

The one that was below was a sort of maintenance area, the stuff that kept this place functional. Control rooms, power plant, external defenses, and so on. The 'west' wing seemed to have all kinds of rooms, and at the end he found a counter manned (so to speak) by a big ball of high-energy plasma, one which had what Chuck could only call a partial suit of armor on, which allowed it to interface with the material world via two robotic, tentacle manipulators.

Not needing a room just yet, Chuck wandered to the 'east' wing, and found a bevy of businesses, selling this and that. Not that Chuck understood any of what they were saying and/or selling; while his mutant abilities ensured he could survive in the harsh rigors of space itself, they didn't leave any room for dealing with the natives. So, other than ogling at what were apparently space prostitutes (big floating rocks dressed in pink ribbons), Chuck ignored 'em.

Well, he ignored the rock prostitutes too, since he doesn't find rocks all that alluring. Though he did spend some time working the mechanics out in his head.

Finding himself at a loss, Chuck was getting a bit aggravated, and thinking that maybe being isolated out in the depths of space wasn't so bad after all. That's when he literally tripped over the humanoid in the space suit. Though he couldn't see through the man's (?) tinted helmet visor, he noted that the dimensions were approximately correct, and then had an epiphany. "Huh... maybe this isn't oxygen these things are breathing."

Sniffing the air with his almost unused nose, Chuck realized that this wasn't normal air - he couldn't quite figure out what it was, per se, but it seemed like that same sticky, slightly caustic stuff those Tsort had in their space dome dingus. Huh. After the suited entity said some things to him in what sounded like a rather curt tone, Chuck noted that the voice was decidedly female, and sounded human - if in a language he couldn't quite understand.

Putting his hands forward, Chuck apologized, noting that this person probably wouldn't understand him, and walked away. Of course, Chuck then followed him (or her) inconspicuously until he (or she) made her way back to the airlock. Waiting a few seconds, he then entered as well, and left the second door just in time to see that his quarry had vanished entirely. Apparently it (?) had gone into one of the six ships here... d'oh.

That's when he heard the voice. In English. In his head. "You seek Hariyan the Horrible, Yessss?" Looking around, Chuck saw nobody, and would've continued in that state until something started tugging on his jeans. Looking down, Chuck saw the oversized mushroom-thing peering up at him with those inky black 'eyes', and noted the little device under its' face that seemed to be giving off a bit of white smoke; maybe this thing couldn't totally breathe the air in here.

"Oh, it's all right - this is just a little nitrogen pick-me-up; keeps the air in here from making me sluggish. But I digress - the point is that I am Little-Spore-Resting-On-The-Squishy-Lakefront, and I require your assistance. In exchange I will help you find Hariyan. Do we have a deal?" As Chuck began to question this, Little-Spore added "Yes, that's the Mechani's name, though you didn't know it until I told you. Am I not helpful already?"

Wary of telepathic alien mushrooms, especially ones that kept interrupting his thought processes, Chuck wasn't so sure about this. However, he didn't think he had anything to lose, so he agreed. "Sure thing, Spud. What do I have to do?"

Feeling the mushroom-thing grin in his head, Chuck heard it answer with glee. "Well, I was ripped off by a salesman in the concourse earlier this month, and he refuses to give me what he owes me.

"I rightfully purchased the deed to a small planet a few light years from here, and when I arrived I found it had already been colonized by Zaahi, wretched plants from beyond the space I know. The point is that when I came back, the man told me that dealing with those Zaahi was my problem, though he didn't mention occupants when he sold the world to me. So I either need to get my money back, or I must exterminate the Zaahi!"

Chuck sat down to ponder this one. If this mental mushroom couldn't handle a bunch of plants, it was safe to assume he'd have problems with the things - this guy had mental powers, after all - or at least he assumed. So, the path of least resistance would be to get Little-Spore his money back... and if he cracked some heads here, big deal - it's not like he was moving in or anything. Heck, it's not like he'd ever find his way back here, he was sure.

"Okay, Little Spud, we have a deal. Let's go talk to your salesman pal and get your money back; I'd deal with the planty things, but I have no idea what they're capable of." Levitating with joy, Little-Spore then led Chuck back into the station proper, and up to the entity that sold him the planet he was so looking forward to owning, for whatever reason. That's when the telepathic communion began between Chuck, Little-Spore, and the salesman.

This 'fellow' was a strange, writhing mass of circuitry - at least, that's what Chuck was guessing. He looked like a sea of metal, which was wearing a humanoid form currently, but not quite liquid; on close inspection, Chuck could see some of the metal was forming solid shapes, as if the whole mass was built out of really small components that were in a constant state of flux. It was almost hypnotic, watching the bits and pieces flow about. Like a steel lava lamp.

"So, Grut, I've come one last time to ask for my money back - those Zaahi on the world you sold me were less than pleasant about the idea of moving out, and again, you never mentioned occupants when you sold me the planet. In fact, you said specifically that it was unoccupied!"

To this the apparent Grut just shrugged. "All Sales Are Final." It then pointed at the sign. Not that Chuck could read it.

Exasperated, Little-Spore looked up at Chuck, and gave him a nod. One of those violence-inspiring nods. Feeling like a mob leg-breaker, Chuck brandished his staff at Grut, who laughed. "Ooh, you gonna hit me with yer stick, girly-boy?" Suddenly, it was personal, and Chuck, after charging his transient steel staff up with tachyons, did just that. Smacking Grut dead-on in the head, Chuck was a bit unhappy that his weapon got stuck inside the circuit-creature.

"Hah hah hah - stupid human. You monkeys always come in here, throwing your weight around, but now the joke's on you! It then sucked the staff into his mass, leaving Chuck sans tachyons.

"Think you're funny, circuit-boy? Let's try THIS on for size..." Chuck then apprehensively broke out the energy staff, activating it immediately. He watched the blue shafts of deadly light form out of each end, and hoped that he wasn't the one it would kill today.

Sure, he could use staves, since he'd been training with his own extensively (when not drinking and/or visiting meat markets), but this animal was a bit different. One misstep wouldn't lead to a bruise - it would lead to an amputation! Whirling it around absent-mindedly, Chuck chuckled. "So, I'd really like to see you absorb this thing, Grut. Considering that it's got nothing to absorb..."

Chuck then poked Grut in the face with the energy staff. Making an audible, uncomfortable squealing sound when Chuck did this, Grut reeled back. It then started... transforming, turning into what appeared to be a floating pile of guns - all of which then opened fire on Chuck! "Gaah! C'mon, Little Spud!" Grabbing Little-Spore by reflex, not thinking how gooey he'd feel at the time, Chuck collected the mushroom-thing before it could be atomized.

This because Grut's massive rate of fire with those various slugthrowers and energy cannons was making a mess of the entire 'mall', here, and Chuck didn't want the alien getting killed because of his direct-action negotiation style. Depositing him down the hall, in that main commons area, Chuck then flew back towards Grut's booth, but the thing was coming his way anyhow. "Leaving so soon, biped? I don't think so!"

Apparently it had learned English already.

"Not at all, you Terminator 2 ™ wannabe!" With that Chuck rocketed at Grut full speed, and cleaved it in two - even if it did repair itself almost instantly. Chuck noticed that it was a bit... shorter, though, the parts he'd cut being wrecked beyond repair, and discarded. This gave him an idea... a strategy that he simply called 'cutting it up until it's too small to be a bother'. Chuck then swung madly at the mass of guns and things.

Trying to dodge his energy staff, the thing kept firing wildly, but since Chuck could move in three dimensions, getting a bead on him as he cut bits off was hard, and by the time he collected the bits that had been hacked off, he'd taken even more damage. So, within about a minute of violence, Chuck had destroyed about eighty percent of Grut's useful mass, leaving him much smaller. He could turn into one or two guns... or a diminutive humanoid.

"Now, how about that refund, shorty?"

Seeing that Chuck could indeed be the death of him, Grut relented, and after Little-Spore came back to his wrecked booth with Chuck, Grut gave him his money back. "Here, just go away - and don't ever come back!" After counting its loot, Little-Spore indeed did so, though it almost forgot that it had a deal with Chuck.

"Ah-Hem..." Looking back at him, Little-Spore nodded its oversized head.

"Ah yes... this way." Little-Spore led him to the airlock again, and pointed Chuck towards the last ship on the dock. "It's the one with six fins and three engines. I suppose you'll need a translator, too." Nodding, Chuck made for the ship, though two of those suited humanoids exited to block his way. No longer having his transient steel staff, Chuck was forced to use the ever-deadly energy staff again, which prompted those guards to draw guns.

A short time later, after those fellows picked up the arms and legs that Chuck had dismembered, Chuck made his way into their ship, and called out Hariyan. That Mechani showed up soon enough, since his minions weren't really doing anything to stop Chuck or his new friend - they saw how he dealt with their allies outside. Once again making a sort of telepathic 'conference call,' Little-Spore made it easy for Chuck to say his peace.

"Okay, clown. I just spent over a month flying out here to find you, and have had nothing but trouble since I got here. Had to fight some jerk made out of liquid electronics, have had to smell the noxious air in there," at which point Chuck noted that the ship was full of earth-normal air. "And I'm done with this. I came here to get the magic whatsit you stole from that, uh, B'ntri alien thing, and I'm not about to get any guff.

"Hand it over or I'm taking you, your crew, and this ship apart!"

More than a bit edgy, Chuck's words had a lot more weight than they otherwise should. Of course, the fact that he had inadvertently shoved his staff halfway into the deck he was currently standing on helped, too. Looking at the hole and the molten metal around it, Hariyan smiled. "Well, I can't argue with that too much, friend. I'm a thief, after all, and if you steal from me it's one of those karma things, I imagine."

With that, Hariyan walked away, and came back after a minute or so, sporting a rod made out some sort of purple, crystalline substance. "I guess your masters at E.S.E. sent you here, so I won't take this totally personally. But don't be surprised when I do horrible things to you when next we meet, tough guy. What's your name, anyway?" Striking a dramatic action pose, Chuck then introduced himself properly.

"The name's Chicanery. Charlie Chicanery."

Suppressing a chuckle, Hariyan nodded. "Got it, Charlie. Be seeing you."

Sneering, Chuck left Hariyan's ship, noting that getting the magic thing was much easier than dealing with the mushroom's problem. "Hey, Little Shroom, you owe me one." Nodding, Little-Spore agreed.

"Fine, fine... I'll admit my predicament was a bit more tricky to handle than yours. And you even lost one of your special weapons in the process.

"I tell you what. Returning the favor from here would be somewhat... difficult. But, if you take me to your world with you, I could probably help you out in some capacity in the future... not that I exactly know how. I'm sure we could work something out down the road, yes? Besides, I'm not sure my welcome is guaranteed here any more, what with all the destruction I caused, however indirectly, through you..."

This, of course, made Chuck laugh. "Ah, so now you want a getaway. That'll be TWO you owe me, buddy!" Seeing that arguing with him was pointless, Little-Spore relented.

"All right all right, fine. Just let me retrieve my life support bubble and I'll be ready, okay?" Though he was tempted to leave the mushroom thing here when it levitated off, Chuck hung around anyway. Not that he knew why... he wasn't in the business of helping aliens out, really.

That and, of course, he wasn't sure where this mushroom was going to live when it got to earth. The last thing he needed, after all, was a roommate...

* You know, those blue sacs holding the clear goo, or the clear sacs holding the blue goo, that Chuck ran into last issue?

***

Though it'll take him a month to get back to earth, there'll eventually be more jobs waiting for Chuck to take care of out in space. For instance, E.S.E. will have one lined up for both Chuck and his pal Wendell, who winds up working for the company, involving a matter duplicator that the company is simply dying to get its grubby little hands on. Whether or not the duo can pull this one off, though, is another story entirely...!

***

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