Jet Laggers

Space Laggers

Chapter one - Cops N Crooks

“ydobon nac raech a maercs ni eht muucav fo ecaps, ro os yeht yas” growled menacingly from a long limbed, beast like creature, sitting impatiently, to an audience of unique abnormal looking lifeforms.

“What’s he blurting on about?!” Came from another creature sitting at the back of a thick, stretched out tin - can like craft they where all cohabiting in.

“It's Quakes Wisp* playing up again… Think he said - nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say” belched a disgusting, short and smelly looking creature sat side by side by an equally ugly creature; the pair likely twins of some kind.

*Wisp - A communicator traded to this nasty bunch by a group a of Kargon’s - the wisp itself was invented by a Bi - lingual inventor in-prisoned on the Kargon vessel known as the Whisperer, the Wisp is often implanted on any material near spoken word, it is then deciphered before it reaches listening lifeforms. The invention itself is a prototype to one of the greatest invention known in recent time the Whisper (comparable to earth’s invention of the wheel).

The twin let out a sigh and raised from his hard vibrating seat, looked to the creature at the back and said

“You see! Me and Bragg told you.. Kargan filth have traded us a bunch of duds… these Wisps are a heap of scrap and they bloody hurt my….” Before the creature could continue his rant, the roughest of the bunch interrupted impulsively and abruptly.

“Sit down Puntz and buckle up, you bucket of filth or It will brake off that little external communicator of yours and make it a permanent…! internal one!”

Puntz immediately stumbled back to his seat, looked to his brother and found an equal look of despair in his brothers eyes staring back to him. they both began to swell in an abnormal fashion, like balloons and roughly ten percent of their size.

Bragg began to gasp for air locked in his seat, tighter and tighter. Puntz attempted to unbuckle his seat brace, which became increasingly more difficult as his greasy, claw like hands grew to the size of sausages.

Very few of the crew of crooks that had the capacity to emote began to look uneasy.

The twins grew larger and larger. Each of their four dweeby little eyes began to bulge from their dweeby sockets.

“Boss..!?” Spoke from two uneasy cat like bandits in the mid row of the metal small transporting capsule.

The backward talking Quake no longer fantasising of taking ones screams to the emptiness off space, was even looking uneasy and for what ever reason he held his thick black nose and said -

“Ho on!”

“Oh blast it!” Came from the boss from at the back.

And with that the twins began to deflate their nearly double sized bodies, letting out an oozing, smog, wet like substance into the air. The crew of misfits began to choke on the grim, moist, putrid air. The ugly stench could only be compared to a human by grating a block of off stilton, onto a gallon of lumpy off milk and into a pan of aged old anchovies, pickled and then left to fester in an abandoned morgue tormenting the decomposing dead inhabitants all the way to the afterlife; it made ones eyes water enough to season ones chips.

The crew of eight became lifeless, that was except for the twins cowering like shrunk up prunes in their seats, the pilot also who was made up of gas in a squishy suit like a water bed to the touch and the boss sitting at the back with piercing yellow sharp eyes.

The boss more metal than just about anything else, had a pair of iron lungs capable of storing whatever It* needed, in It’s iron maiden of a body.

It* - I quote due to the boss along with Its cybergenetic body had no sex, neither Man nor Women and It was a pronoun of particular callousness and the boss had a preferable interest in being referred to by It.

One fears It, one does not understand It and one does not want It around; It was pleased by the word it.

It, the boss, Crux as It was called made an empty inhale. Not that It required the breath of air to Its Iron lungs, only to add the affect of an overworked boss straightening his crew in line.

“Fucking amateurs!..” It belted rising from Its metal seat.

“Are you fools quite finished letting out that foul stench.. my nose is not quite what it was..” It went on, while Putz and Braggs response-less, desolate bodies could not echo a word.

The gassy pilot appeared to move, his fish bowl like head one hundred and eighty degrees and turned all manner of colours. Shades of blues, purples and yellows lit up the bowl, like a Kandinsky portrait.

Faceless (as he is known) communicated in colours, only accurately interoperated by Crux’s intricate, cybergenetic, hearing waves.

“Ha Ha It gets it, It don’t have a nose.. just ease the Jet lagger in slow, It don’t want to be taken prisoner with half Its crew incapacitated… what a laughing stock It would be then eh…”

The Jet lagger Three appeared to be moving peacefully, all the while housing its gang of misfits uncomfortably towards the closest Quontripz* (*an intergalactic garage tripping ships and their crew all about parts of known space).

Many Quontripz away, on the tip of the neutral zone*, on a planet known as Razorplain a stocky, older being, sits sprawled out on a high mechanical chair and in a golden, brass looking mechanical room.

The room itself oval shaped, with a magnificent mechanical clock thrashing its pendulum from one Great Wall to another and the cogs and wheels turned as if the whole room twisted and moved.

*Neutral zone - being all known space to the Alphi council that sits in the eye of the known territories of space, all in the neutral zone abide too a kind of federal law, keeping individual law and the inhabitants of this area who posses power, intellect or age may well sit upon the great Alphi council aboard one of the greatest star ships in the known universe.

“Warden!?” Came a call and a knock from behind a camouflaged door. The room itself had no noticeable entry point or exit point like the mysterious clock tower had no way in.

“Yes! Um come in” Screeched the large figure by a desk with his works all spread about him.

With that a door suddenly shone open and allowed the figure behind it to enter.

“Warden I present you a Corporal Cross of the planet Kassion and corporal….” Before the gatekeeping android could continue Warden Walden stepped in.

“Enough Gatekeeper.. had I not known who I was letting in to my study.. I would not grant entry dear droid.. Now secure the Flak-lock*… and let the gentleman in”. Warden Waldon instructed turning his half flesh, half metal body to Cross’s attention. His body clicked and cracked just as the very walls he locked himself away in.

*A Flak - lock being the invisible door that housed Warden Waldon tightly within his fortress. It is said that the time taken to enter a Flak - lock without permission of its owner is to take as long as the universe is wide.

The art of crafting such a lock is a taboo within Alpha space, those within the council believe they have the right to see and know all within the neutral zone. Though fitting it is that the greatest prison Wardon in known space has the ability to craft such a thing; he has kept it a big secret.

The warden and Cross looked to one another for a few minutes. The only thing breaking the silence came from Wardens cracking pipe that he chuffed away on; the Pipe of dread the inmates called it as it meant the Wardon was unlocking something like a Rubik’s cube in his mind, only a fuse was about to ignite.

After more puffs, the Warden raised from his chair and hobbled over with his metallic cane supporting his century old leg, while the other creaked on gluing under its metallic weight to the floor.

“Get over here… you rascal!..” The warden let out a course of great emotion like greeting an old friend and Cross embracing it as if the same.

“Blast you old metal, Alphi, pirate, you look as old as the damn council itself! What did that Flakian prison do to you?” Cross asked.

“Well my dear friend… there is much for us… to discuss.. for this great clock… my refuge is now with great sorrow my prison” the Warden went on pausing in his old age, now emoting a more saddened look to his face and moving to his seat.

“Whatever do you mean Waldon?” Cross asked as Waldon walked on slowly to his desk.

“Well if you my dearest,.. most trusted and powerful ally have not heard already… the great Flakian vessel has fallen” sorrow hit the Wardon, with great disarray, he punched the metal desk in front of him and it dented under his metal grip. Cross was not one to be startled, battle warn like his comrade however startled by the astonishment of what he had just heard gave the Wardens desired affect.

“Impossible! Impossible” he repeated.

“I am afraid it is true” the warden said almost tearing up.

“Something has been a foot for some time,.. a plot perhaps,.. a revolt maybe,…. But corruption almost certainly” he looked on angrily.

“You mean the council itself?” cross speculated.

“Indeed.. and the fact that you… such a man of political status has yet to be informed… only confirms such treachery… but this I had already predicted” the Warden spoke confidently with his brilliant mind.

“Ok what do we do? if the corruption runs deep enough we must fish out such filth”.

Cross spoke eagerly sharp ready like a marine ready for command.

“No!… No Cross” the warden belted as crosses posture lost its firm stance.

“No?!” he replied.

“We must be patient Cross… if the council has been infiltrated.. we must first understand why… and besides I believe the evil that is a foot there is for another’s destiny” Waldon chuffed away taking deep drags from his dread pipe.

“We are to do nothing Warden..?” A look of disappointment came across cross’s face.

“Carful Cross!.. I am not so old that I would back down from a fight… and not while my metal body draws breath… No!.. We must be patient before we go into the hornets nest… work in the shadows,.. strike accordingly and with precision…”. The Warden pleaded.

“Ok.. Warden.. Sir.. I am at your disposal and yours to command. It will be like old times, you taking the rains and me your second… A lethal force indeed.” Sharp Cross stood at the ready, his skin began to illuminate to a darkened purple.

“Stand down Cross.. we are partners on this one.. I am to old for the command of battle fleets at my disposal.. all I ask is that you share what I am about to tell you to know one… my old friend” Waldon said rationally.

“Of course my old friend what do you have in mind?” Cross responded.

“Well first we are going to need a crew and then we are going to hunt down every last one of those scum, that fled my prison!” The warden grinned smashing his good hand into the metal desk.

Chapter two - Plans & secrets .........