Fourgy Leaves Home, claws out

Naturally, Fourgy was, as normal, completely innocent. Sort of a drive-by innocent. As he rode out of the jungle and up to the city gates the two guards shook their heads. It was too late in the day to be outside the city wall. Then, eyebrows raised at seeing his take, they grinned at him and his cargo. He grinned back as one guard silently held his watch up and tapped it to show the time. The other started cranking away closing the gates. It was almost Threshold. They could all feel the dank night closing in.

Fourgy appreciated, as he rode down the street, that everybody had already taken shelter and bolted their doors. It made cycling faster and easier. He passed the pub, noticing that it was much busier and noisier than normal, and turned into his alley. Nearly home, his garage door was opening for him. His eyebrows popped up at the crash as the back door of the pub smashed open. Two fighters spilled out, swinging wildly. He swerved his bike to go around, but fate bit. The closest fighter fell back and in doing so, his right hand fell onto the back of Fourgy's bike. Right into a dino claw. Not good. It was a Red Bloodsucker claw, freshly harvested and still very active. The claw hungrily snapped closed on the man's hand, tugged, and started sucking. Well, as you probably know, Bloodsucker claws tug a bit to pump a bit, as they suck in through each claw's nostrils.

The man yelled and jerked, in pain and disbelief. You don't, well I don't, normally bump into Red Bloodsucker claws on the back of bikes in the alley. His commotion pulled the bike down with him. Sprawled on the ground, Fourgy turned over and looked back, just as two more of his fresh got Red Bloodsucker claws flopped over, following gravity, and sunk themselves into the man. As the yells soared into shrieks the fourth claw sniffed the smell of the blood pumping out of the back ends of the other claws and started snapping its claws together. Each claw was really a big dinner-plate sized paw, plus three long front claws and one nasty back jabber. Each of the four claws was about half as long as a man's arm. Which explains why, as you know, full grown Red Bloodsuckers can easily pick up a man with one paw. We're snack size. It also meant that the claw tips snapping together were easily loud enough to put the shivers in small mammals like humans.

Fourgy winced at the new shrieks. It was now Threshold and on this jungle world, Malay IV, shrieks after Threshold advertised free live dinner to all wild and jungly. He looked up and around in the gathering dark; a thousand kinds of winged nightkillers would arrive first. Uneasy, he checked the pub door, broken open by the offworlders. Not good. An open doorway to a whole pub full of wonderfully wiggly food - people. If a feeding frenzy developed, the noise and smells would draw in the big feeders. He swallowed hard. Amok waves of the big jungle dino-monsters could easily swarm the two guards and the wall. That's why people bolted themselves inside at night.

The shrieks changed. The other man was helping pull at a claw. Fourgy nodded. The claw would sense the struggling and inject flesh eating digestive poisons. Yup, just like that. No more shrieks drawing in competitors.

He reached over, selected tendons, and pulled, releasing the claws one-by-one. He raised his bike.

The surviving drunk stood back, slowly taking in the changes. Small fight. Guy on bike. Dead buddy. Claws out, and leaving the scene. He bellowed,“You killed Mike!”

By now other men had arrived at the door and were shooting blasters into the sky. Splats of this world's variety of bats and other horrid little winged creatures started showering Fourgy.

Fourgy shuddered and checked, the claws were all fine, so he pushed off. The drunk yelled “No way! Damn you!” He lurched ahead and grabbed for the bike. The fourth claw was delighted to shake hands. Finally getting its turn with a very nice juicy grab. Lunch at last.

A battle-grade blaster beam exploded a trail across the alley in front of Fourgy. In the sudden quiet they could hear masses of incoming alien things hooting, yumyuming, and barumphing. The shooter, another offworlder, called out, “Whoa right there, fella!” A whole swack of tourist battle-grade blasters started firing, lighting up the dark with serious overkill, as they happily blapped early birds.

Fourgy got that sinking feeling, as it sunk in. A pub load of friends off some tourist spaceship. Rich tourists drug-pumped for high gravity so they could visit a famously hard to reach dino world. Armed with influence, gravity-drugs, booze, guns, and ornery. All ornery in the back alley.

He breathed deeply and, unseen to others in the dark, reset his long barrelled hunting blaster resting on the frame of his bike. Harvesting the claws had been a three hour stalk-to-kill, survive-and-run, battle. Fourgy had fought off becoming lunch for a small pack of Red Bloodsuckers. They'd had a lot of fun hunting him, for too long. He had been the mouse for some cats. Here now, he was tired, standing in a growing shower of nasty gore under a blaster-as-fireworks light show. A full aroma blood bath, announcing dinner to incoming creatures. Two more beam blasts flicked past him.

He yelled, “you can't have my claws!”

The fourth claw jerked, then tugged and sucked at the man's hand and arm, adding a sudden new layer of screams to the party.

Three oversize beam blasts splatted chunks of claw around. Another ripped at Fourgy's hat.

Hats are special. Locals at the back of the crowd joyfully starting clubbing tourists.

Then a beam hit the frame of Fourgy's bike, the tires blew, and his blaster replied.

The Captain was clearly unhappy. No matter what he did, he was gonna get bit with this one. First things first. Deal with this dang critter-bit kid. He scowled as he looked at Fourgy's mass of bandages and torn clothing, normal for someone who survived a night flyer swarm attack. Well, this one still had his eyeballs. He scowled at Fourgy's gun, evidently a gunsmith kid. He sighed, the gun had fired a special beam, like a three dimensional spider web. As you know, it's called a spider beam, and the technology is privy to pirates. It's a shan zhai trade secret, that's very handy for zonking a whole room, alley, passage way full of pirate clients, or swarms of incoming birds, all in one blast. The problem was that firing it spat the word 'pirate' into a lot of minds. Kind of like, 'hello everybody, here's a home world for pirates'. He scowled at Fourgy. A beam guaranteed to produce skads of unwanted visitors of the worst kinds, for years ahead.

Just about as bad, the Captain scowled down at a crime-scene picture of a very long tailed six-legged black cat, stunned with it's gawd awful fangs still sunk into some dead guy's leg. The spider beam had stunned a whole lot of tourists, bats, locals, and other awed odd creatures. Including this nasty bit of work, a thing cat secretly living in his village. It was probably some envirogenetic mutant: half-Earth, half-Malay, half-space cat, more than hinting at some kind of horrid future. The jungle was winning, probing every which way and winning.

For his part, Fourgy was happy. He was getting a free trip off planet – a famously expensive journey for locals. It was easy to tell, he was alive and still inside the wall. He rubbed his hands together. He was taking a rich man's load of freshly cooked Red Bloodsucker claws to sell off planet. Sure he was itchy in reaction to getting beam bathed and critter bit and yelled at, and itching to go.

The Captain grinned back as he saw Fourgy's hand rubbing, thought bloddy little pirate, and decided to smile at him. Malay IV doesn't have jails. They kick you out of town – into the jungle, off-planet, or into a (secret, don't tell) pirate ship. You have to be on the ship first before you get a chance to try walking a pirate ship's plank into space. Fourgy was too innocent for the jungle and too young to be a pirate, so that left off-planet.

Oh, I forgot. Yes, for small stuff, they rope you up and kick you out into the street at night, watch the critters chew on you for a while, then pull the rope back in. If it's the normal small critters, they get both the whole rope and you back. In his case, Fourgy was already chewed up and had to go out of sight, beyond questions about spider beams and pirates. Off-planet was hiding in plain sight, normal for pirates.

The Captain's grin broadened as he thought about it, then announced. “I'm going to send you to Mmhm.” Fourgy's smile dropped as his head lurched forward with a kind of “huh?”

“No. Mmhm.” The Captain continued, “you're already street chewed. You're too jungle smart. Too young for a ship. So Mmhm's it.”

“Who's Mmhm?”

“You'll find out when you meet Mmhm.”

The Captain paused, then popped an image up into the space between them. It was a big long thing. Fourgy analysed, a big alien space thing surrounded by a huge amount of space debris. Old battle remains of some kind.

“I'm going to ask Mmhm to send you to see this gun.”

Fourgy had just settled back. He jerked ahead again with a “huh?” He'd figured out that the thing was over three miles long. A really big gun.

The Captain smiled again. The gun was secret, and telling Mmhm that he knew about it, via Fourgy, was a way of covering secrets with secrets. Perhaps also a way to learn a bit more about the bloddy thing. Like where it was in space.

Mmhm's place was a big space city. Can't tell you it's name, what, or where, but it's hidden in plain sight in an unusual orbit between two stars that circle each other. Hint: close to a space village of workshops that makes weird stuff in the special double-pull gravity region between the two stars.

Of course Fourgy didn't know all that, he was just prepared and delivered. First, groomed spiffy and space trained during the journey. He even learned what a tie was, how to tie and wear one, and several other uses for ties. Then, at the end of his journey, he was dressed in dirty coveralls and dumped as a no-name drifter in a cargo delivery area for the city. Something electronically linked up with his personal computer then guided him here and there, up and down, almost randomly round and about, through the city. Guiding him through at least six weights of artificial gravity. He couldn't tell if they were trying to lose any followers, confuse him, had a bonkers guidance computer, or were just seeing how long he could go without a bathroom. He did learn that the eddy currents between differing levels of artificial gravity could wreak havoc on flesh. That was the only clue he got that his guided trek would have killed the average Earth human. He also had no clue that the offworlders he's stunned had all come from this space city. The computers refused to name the city, so from his observations, he decided to call it Burpara, short for bureaucrat's paradise. A not bothered by real contact with clients and not-so-many humans paradise. As far as he could tell from his walkabout, nobody did any real work, they just managed numbers and diagrams and each other.

Finally, on the third pass through an area reserved for gas giants, they suddenly diverted him down a maintenance tunnel, and into Mmhm's reception area. A confused looking, good looking confused, normal Earth, 1G type, young lady was just settling into a twice too big chair behind a big front-half-of-an-army-tank-shaped desk. Minus the turret, after all she was a receptionist.

“Hi!” They grinned as they said it together. Humans seeing humans naturally bond in alien space. She continued to lower the chair to her size, so he stepped ahead. The entire top surface of the desk was some kind of alien keyboard with dozens of keys of all sizes and shapes. His computer indicated that the desk was newly installed, and that she'd put her coffee cup on the Delete key and her purse on the Smugfrd key. She touched something and the desk's rubber tracks rumbled ahead, leaving her out of arms reach of anything. They both grinned as she rolled her chair ahead. The desk rumbled away. Fourgy moved aside, then reached out to stop it. His computer beeped at it. Deterred, the desk first swerved away, then grunted twice, and continued on to thump into the wall. Evidently it didn't like her.

Fourgy turned back from watching, and said, “Hi, I'm Fourgy!

She frowned, “4G?” He nodded. She added, “a 4G world?” He grinned and nodded.

She looked him up and down, then said, “I'm Nicole Money.” She looked dubiously at the desk, now starting to alternately snort and whimper as its tracks chewed bits out of the wall. Then she continued, “they just assigned me here to receive you, but things are a bit out of hand.” She shrugged, looked over at the 3D display riding the whimpering desk, and said, “I think you're an hour early from what they told me, but what the heck. You might as well go on in.”

Signage indicated that Mmhm was a gas giant, and the office would have leakage, so he put on a light air mask, knocked, then opened the door. It opened a hand width, something mewled like it needed help, and the door slammed shut.

He looked at Nicole. She was frowning and said, “I think there's a problem. Try again.” He nodded and tried again. Nope, it slammed shut again. This time he thrust his weight into it and forced the door wide open.

His mouth dropped open. The whole office was pulsating, a huge multi-colored, floor to ceiling, pulsing space. Huge masses of spots and lines and blotches came and faded and travelled about, bouncing off the walls and ceiling. When he poked it, some blotches started roaring, all together like a flock of deranged vacuum cleaners. His head jerked about as he studied it-them-whatever, then he nodded. It was all in a bag. Maybe two gas bags. One more blueish on top, and one more pink on the bottom. The bottom one was making strange noises that came and went in time with a series of vertical rainbow colored ripples. Maybe, you've probably seen the pictures, like a booster rocket about to burst when it tried lift something too big. You might know some of the other odd noises, one just like a vacuum cleaner trying to eat a sock. Plus, other noises, such as the normal ones you get when gas bags scuffle about on office carpets, with at least three kinds of mewling all at the same time.

Something tried to hit him, but just slid past his face. He stepped back, suddenly wary and conscious of being way too slow. It tried again. He went into a boxer's crouch. Another jab. The whatever was jet fast but had a lousy aim. Again. This time he ducked aside, feeling silly at being way too slow. But he'd seen enough to recognize that the gas bag was jabbing squirt-arms of gas at him.

His eyes popped wide open as eyeballs formed on the surface and looked at him. Maybe two hundred eyeballs at the same time, in several sizes. Worse than cross-eyed though. No wonder it-them had a bad aim. Then it-them made a noise like an orange going through a blender. Several arms squirted at him, but this time he feinted and grabbed one.

Nicole came up alongside him, shrieked at the sight, and flapped her arms in the air.

Jolted, he decided that things were getting serious, so he tied the arm in a knot, like one would with an inflated balloon.

The ceiling started to crackle and buckle as it was forced upward, then dozens of arms flung out in all directions. Just like some kind of angry spiky sea creature.

One hit him in the chest, spinning him half around. Then it grabbed Nicole's gas mask, but she grabbed the arm, knotted it, and took her mask back.

Evidently unhappy with the new commotion, the bottom part, or bottom bag, started making noises like a chattering flock of small birds chasing a squirrel. Both bags, top and bottom, contracted together, sinking back into the room, Fourgy followed, looking for a boss of some kind. For all he knew they'd just eaten Mmhm. The bottom bag slid out from under and flitted through a round doorway that opened half way up the left wall. The remaining bag, now seriously shrunken and wrinkly, rolled back over the desk and sat down. It was still breathing heavy everywhere, in time with a set of jet-arms that were tapping at the top of its desk.

Fourgy's computer announced, “meet Mmhm.”

Uh oh, he'd poked his boss, while his boss was with somebody. Could have been a date, lunch, his wife, dental work. He shrugged, and said, “hi! I'm Fourgy”

Nicole snorted through her gas mask, said, “have a good meeting,” and left.

Mmhm started cascades of noises of some kinds, from some places, a bit like a mud fight in a sewing factory while unhappy squirrels chittered at the commotion. Some parts of Mmhm were trying to rescue his now deflated knotted parts. Other parts were squirting a serious amount of colored gas into the air.

Fourgy's computer listened, and sniffed and studied the gases. Particle filter warning lights came on, then it said, “Mmhm says hi, and why do you want to die young? Where is your mother? You're early. You can't see the gun yet. How do you like the gravity? You wanna be lunch?”

Fourgy blinked, he was hungry, and asked, “which gun?”

A big 3D image popped into the air between them. It showed the same huge space gun Fourgy had seen before. “Oh, yeah.”

Mmhm started puffing, this dumb kid knew the secret, then switched to rapid whole-body waves flowing down to the floor. Overloaded space booster launch mode again. The computer said, “if Mmhm turns green or coughs, Mmhm'll kill you.”

Mmhm's desk started rumbling ahead. Mmhm coughed, and a jet arm flashed past Fourgy and cracked the wall. Fourgy squatted, grabbed the remains of a chair that had been squashed flat in the ruckus, and flung it up into the damaged ceiling. Bits fell, but the chair hung up on something. That worked. Distracted by the debris, Mmhm turned blue, then orange, and finally mottled along with some nifty low growling. Oblivious, the desk kept going, and turned to follow Fourgy as he stepped aside.

Fourgy asked his computer, “how do I stop the desk?”

It replied, “bark.”

“Huh?”

“Bark”

“Like woof? Woof!” He barked, and it stopped. Boggled, he considered it. A voice controlled desk. Well, tank desk. He smiled, he was lucky. Dogs are extinct on Malay IV, all eaten, so it was luck that he remembered how to bark. He woofed for practice.

A slit opened in the top of the desk and a plastic document extruded. Fourgy grabbed it, but before he could read it, his computer said, “my electronic copy is a travel document. For you. To Hefty Seven. It's a heavy gravity ranch planet.” It paused and sniffed the room for clues, then added, “you are being sent on a training exercise.” It paused as it sniffed for awhile, red warning lights indicating that it's dust filters were overloaded were full on and blinking, then it said,“Mmhm says the last person sent there disappeared. He says your job is to sniff about, spray some gas, sift the airs, and ride the great gas back here again.”

Mmhm jiggled and grinned, a huge Cheshire cat grin, some other mouths formed, opened and spoke, squirting gas more or less together in a group, “go now.” Fourgy nodded. The tank desk responded by rumbling ahead.

Fourgy stepped back and turned to go, then stopped as the desk smashed into the wall going full tilt. The room shook and the chair fell. Mmhm meeped. The desk's rubber tracks started screeching against the wall and the thing reared up. Thup! Thup! Thup! Big suction cup feet walked it up the wall. Halfway up, it stopped and opened out, just like a flower opening. Intrigued, Fourgy studied it then nodded. It offered a whole mass of on-the-wall desktop services to air borne gas bags like Mmhm.

Out in reception a Thurip was chiding Nicole. Her desk had returned to position, with a quirk. It had opened up, the top had raised, inverted, then split into three leaves that had spread into a kind of shield for a belt-fed 40mm grenade launcher. It was now showing a serious piece of work for such a small space. He walked up to see what kind of grenades it used in such a small space. Nicole gave him a worried look and said, “they're worried about a pirate attack. Imagine pirates attacking here. Anyway, that's why Mmhm has abandoned the outer office and is trying to setup something up here.”

The Thurip was one of the splotchy blue-green-mildew ones. This one was lot worse smelling than the normal battle cleanup ones that we all see on the streets everywhere, selling remnants and souvenirs. Apparently it had a side business providing tank-desk reception area technical support.

Nicole said, “I just tried to send a memo and that pipe thing”, pointing at the grenade launcher, “blew three holes in each door.”

The Thurip nodded in satisfaction and said, “demo rounds. It's good to ensure quality and optimal performance despite arduous circumstances.” The Thurip reached over and delicately started spray cleaning Fourgy's computer filters, the warning lights changed from red to purple. Purple was off-scale, an unknown color, so Fourgy pulled back. The Thurip grinned, an ancient space scavenger species double Fourgy's size, and said, “it's okay. It's a free treatment. The colour? It likes my scent.” They all grinned, and the computer reset its lights to all green, good to go.