Tales From the Terran Republic

Sitting in a ratty office chair in a rather cramped “office” with exposed piping and lit by hastily strung work lights deep within an equally cramped and ratty ship, Gil Mallory reviewed report after report.

He stretched and rubbed his eyes.

Since when did murder and piracy require so much paperwork?

Price of ‘success,’ he mused. Over the long decades, his little crew had grown and transformed from a gang of thugs and cannibals into a vast crime network that then grew to the point that the line between legitimate and criminal was blurred to the point of meaninglessness.

Business was business no matter what side of the line you were on.

And now they were right back where they started, murderous pirates…

He glanced at the spreadsheet of ships, crews, supplies, and arms and smirked.

…just on a much, much larger scale. While never one of the “big boys” like the Angels, the Wraith, or even those Harlequin freaks, Mallory’s Raiders, or “Mallory Diversified Enterprises”, as they called themselves these days, were a quite respected organization that nobody willingly crossed.

As they say, they didn’t have a lot of guns, but they had very, very good aim.

“Don’t we, old friend,” he chuckled at the ornately carved and gilt skull sitting on his desk, giving it a little pat.

There was a knock and the door opened, revealing an old woman whose beauty only seemed to improve with each decade.

“Vela,” he said as he checked her out for what must have been the millionth time.

“Get yourself a proper office, Boss,” she said. “I’m sick of walking all the way down here every time something comes up.”

“Use the square feet for something more important,” Gil replied, “All I need is a desk and I don’t even really need that.”

He smiled.

“Besides, the long walk keeps your lazy asses out of my hair unless it’s worth the walk. Is it?”

Vela offered him a tablet.

“The thirty-first century just called.”

“What?”

“Read for yourself,” Vela replied. “Besides, you wouldn’t believe me.”

***

Elsewhere in the battered old “flagship” of Mallory Diversified, a richly dressed Aat and his companions gleefully stuffed their faces from a platter of thick ship’s biscuts.

“Is good!” one of them chittered, his whiskers twitching with delight.

“They are!” Cro replied cheerfully. “Get fat.”

“Very fat!” another of his cadre agreed.

Their escort smiled indulgently as she ate a fresh fruit from the Aat’s homeworld. She had never seen basic ships rations, even the “nice” ones they gave guests, consumed with such gusto.

She idly wondered how many they could trade more for the khug that she was in the process of enjoying. It tasted like a spicy apple!

A chirp issued from her communicator.

“Mister Mallory will see you now, Cro,” she said with a crisp professional tone.

The Aat looked up at her sharply.

“I no come to see Mister Mallory,” Cro said, “I come to see Gil.”

“Mister Mallory is Gil,” she replied, “It is the same person.”

“They no have same name!” Cro said. “Me no dumb butt. Take me to Gil,” he said firmly trying not to sound angry.

“The Aat only have one name,” Gil said as he entered the room, “Two names are for notch ears who ruined their first one,” he chuckled, “or star softs offering yet more fuckery.”

He looked at the rations and the fruit.

“You traded hardtack for fruit? Our first guests here and you serve them fuckery?”

“They wanted the maggot loaf, Sir,” their escort replied with just a touch of fear in her voice, “I had half a cracker in my pocket and they sniffed it out!”

“Is really good!” Cro said happily.

“Well, have as much as you want, then,” Gil replied, “We have plenty of it,” he added with a faint smile as he was filled with quiet joy at the thought. Plenty of it resounded through his very soul.

“Thank you. Much happy!” Cro replied enthusiastically as he offered his paw in a handshake. “I Cro.”

“A pleasure Cro,” Gil replied as he looked at him carefully. “You have Vro’s nose.”

Cro looked at him curiously.

“Me no have nose. We not human. No keep parts.”

Gil laughed with genuine delight. Void, he missed the little guys.

Pity they would have nothing to do with humans after they returned to crime. Smart little fuckers.

“I here for Gil,” Cro said as he pulled out the box, “He owe favor. I need favor back.”

Cro opened the box revealing the ID.

“And he is happy to repay it,” Gil replied as he raised his metal arm. “I’m Gil. Please, let’s go to my office and talk.”

***

“So Vro did manage to get Hree after all!” Gil laughed, “Do you know he would sniff the air as she walked by? He had it bad.”

Gil’s eyes looked nowhere as he reminisced.

“Did he have a good life?” he asked.

“Yes!” Cro exclaimed. “He and Hree make many credits. They go home. Buy big farm. Have many kids. All kids Star Aat. All do better. Their kids do more better. Some kids become Star Aat. Other kids send their kids to school. Show smarts. Marry well. I become king man.”

Gil nodded with satisfaction.

“Vro and Hree were both smart, even for Aat’s,” he replied. Tough little guys, too.

***

“We no want gun,” Vro said firmly as Gil held an improvised but very effective coil gun with his remaining hand.

“But the Slakers know you are our friends, and this is about to get bloody. They aren’t not for you to fight with, but to defend with. We are hitting back tonight… hard. Tomorrow there won’t be a single Slaker on the entire station, and you won’t need them anymore.”

“No. We lock door. We hide.”

“Yes, do that. But if that doesn’t work, you’ll need the guns.”

Vela set a box on a nearby table.

“You can throw them out the airlock tomorrow morning if you want,” Gil said, “But until then, please.”

Vro let out a quiet snort.

“How you use these?” he asked with a resigned voice. “This fucked.”

“That it is.”

***

“Gil!” a portly pangolin like xeno wearing surprisingly human like clothes including a company knit polo shirt said as Gil entered his office. “How are you feeling? I called corporate and they have authorized a prosthetic. We’d hate to lose you.”

“Fine considering everything,” Gil replied. “Garth, we need to talk.”

“Oh?”

“You may want to reconsider our contract.”

“Really.”

“We can’t let this stand, Garth. They will keep coming.”

“Also handled,” Garth replied. “We’re transferring all of you to another location.”

“And they will just find us there. No. It ends today.”

“I see,” the Garth said as the scales protruded slightly on his forearms creating hard serrated ridges. “The hard fist, then?”

“Yep. And as our holder, you will be liable.”

Garth reached into his desk, pulled out a slugthrower, and slid it over to Gil.

“We thought this might happen,” Garth replied. “Your contracts are terminated, with prejudice, immediately. You are blacklisted not only with us, but across the board. You will never get another one ever again… at least with anyone you want to work for… I’m sorry… I know you wanted… Well. Sometimes you don’t get what you want, right?”

Gil took the slugthrower and put it under his shirt.

“We’re used to it.”

The panglo opened its jaw slightly revealing wicked fangs.

“Just so you know, I gave all of maintenance the day off. I hope you don’t betray my trust, use the access code one two three four five six, and use the robo to do anything… or make anything… regrettable.”

“Oh, we won’t.”

“Good. I would have to fire you if you did.”

“Perish the thought,” Gil smiled.

“I always wondered if the rumors were true,” Garth chuckled. “I guess I will see.”

“That you will, Garth. That you will.”

***

“We have to leave, Vro,” Gil said the following morning. “We ‘negotiated’ safe passage out of the system. After what went down last night, the Police and SDF don’t want to mix it up with us if they don’t have to.”

Vro scrunched his face into a grimace as his nostrils twitched. The unmistakable smell of roasting meat still lingered throughout this entire part of the station.

“Me thought you good. You not good. You bad. You worst.”

Gil sighed sadly.

“We wanted to be good, Vro. But the universe has a part for all of us in its little play. Not everyone can be the fucking Easter Bunny.”

“Me not know what you said.”

“It means that we wanted to be good but we were bad, Vro, very bad. That bad won’t let us be good ever again. So, we’re bad now.”

Gil’s eyes hardened, holding back the tears.

“I wish we could still be friends, Vro.”

“Me too.”

Gil pulled out an old ID.

“I also hope you never need to use this, but I owe you. We owe you. Maybe one day, and again I really hope that day is never, you will need that favor back.”

Vro just looked at him.

“Please, Vro. If not for you, then for your clan.”

“I take favor, Gil. You be good but you can’t be good. You fight foreverwar now. You win.”

“We will or we’ll die trying,” Gil smirked.

Vro laughed.

“You could be Aat. You notch ear but you Aat just the same.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“Be well, Gil.”

“You too.”

***

Gil shook himself as he returned to the future.

Cro looked at him curiously, cocking his head.

“Sorry, just thinking about your ancestor. Now,” Gil said with a smile, “now what can I do for you?”

“King lost son,” Cro said. “Not heir but son.”

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that,” Gil said calmly. “Who did it?”

“I not say dead,” Cro replied, “I said lost. We no find him. We need find him. Queen cry. I stop cry.”

“I assume this isn’t on your world. I know sometimes Aat nobles become Star Aats to keep an eye on things. Was that the case?”

“Yes. He on Zaran when you do stupid. We no can go there. You can. You find for me.”

Cro slid the ID across the desk.

Gil slid it back.

“That isn’t a favor, Cro,” Gil said, “That is a request. Vro was a friend of mine and this is something that friends do. It’s not a ‘favor’. The galaxy is going to shit, and you just might need that later. Save it for then.”

He leaned back in his dinky office chair.

“Now tell me more about this Aat.”

***

(Musical intro plays as the station logo is displayed.)

“Good afternoon Zaran! This is Lissa Kay bringing you the latest in music, videos, weather, and news! It’s another beautiful day in Hell, people and we’re here to make that day just a little more sunny! The latest from the Forsaken Propaganda Division is the usual crap. The enemy is taking losses across the boards, the relays are still down, the void consumes the foe, yadda, yadda blah blah blah. However, independent news, word from the pirate net, and streamers show that they aren’t completely full of garbage. Another relay is confirmed to be hit, sorry Vostoon, but at least none of your guys bit it. Kudos to their SDF for evacuating the area the second the Feds were lured out of the system… Y’know, you would think those morons would figure it out but as they say, “Thank God that they are so flipping stupid.”

In local news two cadres of Penitent each with their own inquisitor have arrived on our fair planet. I know… I know… Those guys don’t have the best reputation but since they changed their colors, they have done a lot of good on Raylesh and they have no problem operating in the hot zones. They have been sent by Mizz Naughty Pants herself to ‘help maintain order in afflicted areas’ and they are very good at doing that. You wannabe gangsters who think you rule the roost over there better calm your asses down and stop hassling the relief workers. There are plenty of supplies to go around and we don’t need your ‘help’ in distributing them. Word of warning, the Penitent don’t play and they are coming for you. They are walking tanks and have a real stiffness for ‘heretics’ like you guys. Play nice or find out if they are right about the afterlife or not.

The SDF is recruiting again. The latest shipments from on high mean that they can add another five thousand to their ranks. If you are healthy and interested, please contact the local recruiter for more info. If you want to join the Forsaken, you already know where you can go,” she added impishly.

She sighed. Why couldn’t things go back the way they were? Why did the universe insist on messing with them?

It just wasn’t fair.

She brightened back up. Universe or not, she had a job, a very important one. Keeping the sun shining was more important than ever.

“The Unified Religious Association is issuing a call for assistance again. The Feds on the reservation could use any used clothing, electronics, or household goods that you guys can spare. Don’t throw it in the recycling bin. Give your garbage to the Feds. Lord knows they can use it. And yes, your used clothing is useful. They toss it in the recycler and can turn it into new clothes for whatever species needs new underoos. C’mon, guys, they are people, too. Most of them are decent enough, especially the civvies who won’t turn in their passports. Don’t hate on them. They just want to go home.”

She paused and flashed a genuine smile at the camera.

“And in actual really important news, Jaho, if you are out there, please contact the station. Your momma is looking for you. She says if you make her come down here, you won’t like it.

Now kick back and relax. In honor of Jaho’s mother, we are starting the show with the old favorite, ‘Momma’s Coming Back’…”

She paused.

“One day guys, things will be truly sunny again. Until then… Well… Until then trust in God, keep that powder dry, and those requests coming!”

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