Alien Madness: Gatori, #2

By Larry Brasington

Synopsis
 

Mix together a dash of venomous envy, large reptilian predators, a were-tiger and secret government forces and you have a light-hearted science-fiction fantasy romp. Set in the future, on a used car lot, an unlikely mixture of heroes and villains gathers for a mad-capped adventure.
  The lot is held together by a cast of dysfunction characters led by  Larry’s mysterious ex-con friend and a former spy, Ron McKay. But unknown to everyone Ron is serving out his penitence for rescuing Larry’s father during a covert mission for the government.
Using a small horde of  insect-like nano-bots, Ron keeps tabs on Hillary Zane, the villainous neighbor, and her clan whose latest plot to close the lot down. Ron learns while watching Hillary she now possess a strange alien box; a box that has hypnotic powers  hold Hillary on her.
Enter a trio of alien scouts to retrieve the artifact. They are the Gatori, a fierce warrior race, bent on invading human space, but they must have have been sent to find and take possession of the  mysterious box. In a whirlwind of converging plots, Ron, aided by his former partner and a love sick young woman, decide to confiscate the box at the same time the aliens decide to make their move.
What ensues is a small invasion when the aliens grab the box.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Larry Brasington
• Release date: May 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781497717213

Larry Brasington

As an author I the stories I write are ones I want to read. Having grown up in the Black and White movie days I saw every black and white Horror film, Detective Story and war movie I could. The Thin Man, Kansas City Connection, Maltese Falcon, Creature from the Black Lagoon, The Original Thing, the Day the Earth Stood Still, D-Day, Iwo Jima, Rhodan, Godzilla, just to name a few. I devoured books about American history. My first published story in 1968, “Temple in the Swamp”, a H. P. Lovecraft like tale, which might have been the start of my zombie phase. I enjoy writing stories that I would like to read. Currently I have published three novels: “Alien Madness” a science fiction tale, “Unholy War: the Brandenburgers—Russia 41” an alternative history-fantasy, and “Beyond the Wall” a historical adventure set in 168 AD in Scotland. I currently have a series of stories about Shane Eiland, Elf Detective called “Sum Yung Gye” and “The Case of the Missing Husband”. These are Noir style mysteries with a super hero flavor are my favorites and I hope the reader will enjoy them to.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Ron McKay paused to take a sip of coffee and gazed at the twin suns of New Argyll starting their daily trek. For a moment he studied the shiny two-story building of thermo-pane and polished metal next door. Like most retail stores it was an easy mark, too many points of access. A shadow passed a second-story window, Hillary, she’s in early, so something’s up, I wonder what? Ron blew on his cup a second time and drank, savoring the flavor. It was a special blend imported from Earth and he loved it.

Holding his gate remote Ron said, Open sesames. The audio lock released the gate and it swung back.  Ron turned and scanned the lot. This was the best part of his day, the time before the other people arrived. He admired the neat rows of speeders, carriers, hovercraft, and ex-patrol cars lined up in perfect order; Ron craved order. When his gaze rested on a large shape, he frowned. The old assault carrier sat at the end of a row, out of place with the other vehicles, a relic, a warrior among the sheep. Ten years and no one’s even opened the door. Will it ever sell? Ron laughed, only if someone wants to start an invasion.

Ron took a last look and saw the billboard standing watch over the lot. The neon lights read EEL RANCH; both the W and H were dim. The letters need to be fixed, just like my life. What am I doing still here? How had his life taken this twist? But, like the sign, his life would have to wait.  Today was another glorious adventure into the wacky, boring, and crazy world of retail sales.  Ron braced himself like a fighter entering the ring and marched off to the showroom.

Ron bounded up the steps two at a time and instantly regretted it. He was out of shape. For a moment he clutched the handrail to catch his breath. Good thing Gunny Simms can’t see me. God, I’m getting soft.  Recovered, Ron headed for his office, his headquarters. Ron controlled everything from his office. His expert fingers quickly brought his computers online, data flashing on all screens. The monthly sales appeared. Ouch. Not good. Need some more sales and Susan is a zero. Wonder why?  She’s the star.

Before Ron developed a course of action, the rear doors opened and in marched Gloria Perkins, 7:45a.m. planet standard time. One could set their clocks by Gloria, Ron thought. She was never late, never early. Gloria waved to Ron as she sat. Today she was dressed in a bright, sunshine-yellow dress that reflected lightly off her red boots. On her it looked good, appropriate. Anyone else would have been laughed out of the galaxy. But not Gloria, Gloria was different, Ron thought.

It also helped that Gloria was good at her job. She was the go-to gal: the office guru, receptionist, assistant, title clerk, and rumor warehouse. In short, she was the glue that held the place together. One of her many quirks that annoyed Ron was her propensity for nicknaming everything and everyone. He knew she called him Bossy Boots. Ron didn’t know if it was a cut or a compliment. Perhaps his nickname was her appraisal of his management style, whatever it was, it gigged him.

Chapter 2

Larry brought his speeder down next to the building with a gentle bump and got out. In the repair bay he spied one of the Ranch’s service droids, an android mechanic, and its number clearly marked on its back. X529, is Wendy in?

The metal head rotated 180 degrees unlike any human neck could. Affirmative.

Ah...good.  Ask her to see me, I’d like her to.... Larry said, but the android abruptly turned and marched off. Larry shook his head. Will I ever get used to talking machines?Probably not.

Briefcase in hand, he strolled toward the showroom. Behind him he felt, more than saw motion. Turning, Larry confronted a tall muscular girl, a foot from him. The sleeves of her blue work blouse were rolled up to reveal vivid tattoos. The left was a swirling black dragon with amber eyes, which followed you as you moved, and the right a Celtic rose. From Wendy’s golden hair, it was obvious that in her lineage ran the blood of the Vikings.  Yet her emerald green eyes spoke of Celtic mists.  But it was not her hair nor her tattoos that made men look, it was her ample chest that drew men’s stares.  It did not bother Wendy; it was all part of the game.

For a second, Larry was transfixed by those green eyes; their fire held him like a tangible force. He had to fight an urge to sink into them. Retreating a step, Larry stammered, Ah, Wendy, hi. I’d like you to clean my speeder. Okay? Why am I asking a 19-year-old for permission, I’m the boss?

A heartbeat passed, then another, as Wendy savored Larry’s discomfort. Sure, anything for you, boss. Anything at all. Wendy gave him a seductive smile.

The way Wendy said, anything burned a hole in his loneliness. How long had it been since Theresa died? Two years?  Wow, I could use a bath of ice water to cool off, this is too intense. With an effort Larry snared his thoughts and dragged them back. This is not a good idea, let’s stay away from the fire. 

Thanks. It was all he could summon. Fearing touching her hand would escalate his passions, he tossed her his ignition coder, pivoted and briskly walked away. Wendy grinned and made a one-handed catch of the coder.  Her plan was working.

Trying too hard to distract himself lest he drowned in a sea of unwanted emotions, Larry concentrated on getting to his office. Step by step he kept going, afraid to look back. Maybe later I can deal with this, or maybe not?

At his approach, the doors opened with a quiet whoosh and Larry entered. Morning, Gloria, Larry hollered. Seeing Gloria’s yellow outfit, Larry paused long enough to soak in the full effect: yellow knee-length dress, red leather thigh boots, amber-colored hair and six-inch nails. It was a bold statement even for Gloria. Impressive.

Hi, boss. Gloria replied. Correspondence and deliveries are on your desk.

Larry chuckled to himself, Anything of importance?

Now, boss, you know that I don’t read your stuff.

Of course you do, Gloria. I’d be shocked if you didn’t. Anything I need to know about?

One piece, from the city’s code enforcement; something about site plans. They say there was a toxic dump here before.  You might want to read that one, Gloria said.  Then her hands moved in a blur as she answered the incoming calls. Wheel Ranch. How may I direct your call?

Great—another disaster, I hate business—too many problems, too many questions and problems. I should take that pitching coach job, Larry sighed and continued on to his office. Unlike Ron’s, Larry’s office was a refuge and inner sanctuary. It didn't have three sides transparent like Ron's, no, three good solid walls and a door, which closed. Pressing his hand on the pad, it unlocked and he entered. Everything was in its place, a picture of Wildcat Stadium behind his desk, pile of communications-letters, and magazines on his desk. A few pictures of Larry’s father Lawrence. One with his father cutting the ribbon for the store, another Lawrence Jones surrounded by a dozen blue-clad policemen, street warriors at his retirement party, and oddly enough a younger, thinner Ron and a tall stranger in the background. Larry had always wanted to ask Ron why he was there, but hadn’t.

Larry dropped his brief case and sighed. God, doesn't it ever get any better? and turned on his computer display. This desk looks like a train wreck. Coffee. I need coffee. He hit his com-pad, Gloria, could you have someone bring me a cup of coffee. When he glanced up, a smiling Gloria held out a cup of steaming coffee.

Don’t burn yourself. It’s volcano hot. Oh, by the way, Wayne’s been hollering at me all morning to let him know when you are in. You might give him a call, Gloria said.

At the mention of Wayne (their overworked bookkeeper whose thankless job of trying to keep the Ranch afloat, solvent, and paying the bills on time was like juggling live bobcats), Larry replied, Okay. Thanks for the coffee.

The computer’s sultry voice said smoothly, Yes, boss. God, why’d I let Ron ever talk me into a woman’s voice?

Computer, run a daily report on sales, repair and parts. Larry said. Then with reluctance he added, Please.

Well, since you asked nicely, the computer replied. The top of Larry's desk was a Plexiglas computer screen. Numbers began appearing. First, vehicle sales, surplus equipment, repair orders, and parts; everything scrolled up. At the far right bottom corner a green light flashed. Green was good. A green number meant a profit, a red number a loss, and a yellow number signaled the day had broken even.

Green. Larry said. Good.

Morning, Larry. Ron said cheerfully, strolling into Larry's office. We had a good day yesterday and today has started off great. I just full retailed a guy on an old NF 300 police cruiser. I was beginning to think it was growing roots. Mesmerized him with my charm. Of course when I turned him over to ‘Grumpy’ in the corner, he tried to unravel the whole thing. Larry, you got to let that guy go! He's driving away customers and making us all nuts. On cue, they both heard loud angry voices coming from the showroom area. It’s 9 o'clock in the morning, too early for this kind of madness. Larry stood up.

Hastening toward the commotion, Larry and Ron headed toward the business office where a familiar scene played out; two men stood toe-to-toe, shouting. It was getting ugly. To boot, their volume had customers and employees stopping in their tracks to turn their heads to watch.  It was a disaster.

Like a referee at a fistfight, Larry moved quickly and placed himself between the warring pair. Okay, what is the problem? he demanded, looking first at the customer and then Dave.

The customer glared at the newcomer, The problem! The problem is I’m not paying $600 Federations a month for an old cop car! I don’t give a rat’s ass how NICE it is.

Dave, the business manager, reached past Larry and waved a contract in front of the man's face, Oh yes you will, or I’ll sue for breach of contract. You lying toad.

This is going nowhere, Larry thought. Turning so he could see both men at the same time, he said, Stop, both of you. Enough. He took the contract from Dave and held it down by his side. Sir, I think it would be better for all of us if we parted friends.  It’s apparent to me we’ll never be able to satisfy you, so I invite you to leave. The customer’s face went blank. He was taken completely off guard. But, but all I wanted were lower payments, the man stammered.

Well, sir, I am sure Dave investigated the possibilities with you and explained the options to you? Larry said, trying to smooth things out.

Say what? You’re not going to sell me the car because I want a lower payment? The customer asked with growing disbelief. Hell, I’ll buy the damn thing, if you will get the payment under 600 crowns.

Oh, yes you will buster, Dave yelled.

Larry looked past Dave. Why do I put up with this? Ron’s right. Dave’s got to go. Quickly, Larry sidestepped Dave and pulled up the deal screen. The washout screen showed a healthy deal at 580. What is Dave thinking?

Looking at the customer, Larry said, Mr. Swanson, ordinarily I don’t change a deal at this point. But, if you are satisfied with payments of 590 a month, please sit down. Then, turning so only Dave saw his face, Larry frowned. Dave, print up a new contract for Mr. Swanson. I’ll sign it. Swiveling back to face Mr. Swanson, Larry stood, extended his hand and added, Thank you for your business, Mr. Swanson. Larry did not wait to hear Mr. Swanson's reply; instead he beat a hasty retreat toward his office with Ron in tow.

Oh, that went well, Ron smirked. Have you considered being a hostage negotiator or mayor of New Portland? Larry shot Ron a dirty look that said, ‘Watch it.’

Chapter 3

Mayor, Larry mused, haven’t thought about that one. Larry smiled at the customers as he walked back to his office.  When he was out of earshot of Dave he pivoted on Ron and said, You’re right. Next time Dave gets on his high horse, fire him.

Ron stammered, Me, fire him? I never fire anyone; you do the firing!

Larry wasn't listening. He seemed preoccupied. Just do it.  Have you seen Susan? he said.

Susan? No, I haven't. It must be her time of the month or another crisis of the moment.  I haven't seen her majesty today.

You’re a little tough on her, Ron. I would ... well, when you see her, tell her I want to talk with her.

Ron studied Larry and tried to understand where this inquiry came from. It might be her sales or lack of them, but Larry never bothered with sales staff before, or could it be something else, but what?  Sure, I’ll tell her, Larry.

Before Ron could follow up, Wayne, the bookkeeper, strolled in. Wayne was a slender built man equipped with sparkling blue eyes that attracted girls like a magnet. Between his good looks and his personality, Wayne was one of those people everyone liked.

What's up? he said, looking at Larry and Ron, Dave blow another deal?

Yes. How are things going this month? Larry asked.

Wayne’s expression showed he was a little confused by Larry's question.  The month? It’s going along okay. You know, the usual stuff. We haven’t hit our break-even point yet.

What I wanted to tell you, boss, is the bank called. They want to do an inventory audit—tomorrow.  I thought I would warn you and give Ron a chance to rope in his strays. Bankers get edgy when they financed something and it isn’t here. They want their money.

God, it’s not even noon and more headaches. I should have stayed in baseball.  Larry sat down.  Ron, you might as well get a head start on the inventory check. No sense in letting the banks dictate to us. Cut them off at the pass, so to speak.

Wayne, I want you to see how long Dave has been here: vacation time, sick leave, that sort of thing. Oh, and find out if he owes the company anything? Wayne was about to ask Larry if he intended to fire Dave when a piercing metal-on-metal screech followed by a heavy thump came from outside, another wreck.

Intuitively, the three men headed toward the front porch for a view of the street. They saw a familiar scene. Today’s victim, a Class B hauler, lying on its side; its massive cab blocking the entrance to Pegasus Motors while the trailer stretched out to cover three of the four ground lanes of traffic. Bystanders like vultures were circling and the ground traffic, limited to one lane, started to bunch up. Caught in the act of turning, the car hauler’s load of new sleek Pegasus speeders lay scattered in bits and pieces. They appeared a totaled loss.

At the epicenter of the wreck was a smoking ground truck, loaded with building material, and buried dead center of the transport trailer. It was wedged in the chassis of the hauler. Spellbound, the trio watched as the owner of the truck forcibly climbed out his crushed cab’s window, jumped to the ground, and began yelling at the transport hauler.

The hauler, clearly enraged by the other driver's stupidity, was searching for a weapon. His hands latched on to a crowbar. Picking it up, the man advanced with murder in his eyes. Sensing the impending death match, all foot traffic stopped to watch, and passing vehicles ground to a halt as the drama unfolded.

This in turn started a rolling series of minor fender-benders as the moving cars hit the stopped vehicles in front of them.  One bump was a police speeder-cycle, which rear-ended a stopped car, tossing the officer to the ground, where he now lay groaning. No one noticed him except Ron, who took off at a run to aid the injured officer.

Quickly scanning the man from head to foot, Ron determined he was injured and decided to call for help. Picking up the dangling communication mike, Ron pushed the button down and said, You have an officer down at 19th Lane and Main Street. There has been an accident. Repeat, officer down and injured. Require assistance.  Satisfied, Ron paused to check the stricken man again. Then, assuring himself the injured man had nothing life-threatening, he walked away, leaving the officer lying on the ground holding his knee. As he left, Ron smiled, his good deed for the day done; now he could watch the fun. 

Ron was not the only one to check out the accident. Sallying out from Pegasus Motors came two of the Zanes: a short portly man in his thirties and a white-haired man leaning on a cane. From the tilt of his nose and frown on his face it was easy to discern the accident had invaded the portly man's personal time and space. He loathed being there.

The older man seemed to be on a mission. His steps were purposeful and he moved like a heat-seeking missile toward the two combatants. Forcing his way through the bystanders by waving his cane and threatening to strike, the elder Zane soon pushed himself to the edge of the crowd where he stopped and stood face to face with the ground truck driver, who in turn was eyeing the hauler, whose arm swung back and forth in preparation to hit somebody. What happened next surprised everyone.

The older Zane waved his cane in the face of the hauler and addressed him in a loud voice. Young man, young man. Please, get your vehicle out of my driveway, no one can get in or out.

The hauler homed in upon his new target, WHAT! Are you crazy?

Young man, I told you to get your vehicle out of my driveway. No one can get in or out of my store, said the older Zane.

Listen, mister, the hauler replied. I just got hit. This idiot knocked over my load of new vehicles for YOUR dealership. I’m not in a good mood and there’s no way this flipped-over rig is moving, sport.  He now had the menacing bar gripped in both hands in front of him.

That is just unacceptable, unacceptable.  I am going to call your company, the older Zane announced, not backing down an inch, even though the hauler towered over him; his son, thoroughly embarrassed by the scene, looked around for a place to disappear.

A heartbeat passed, then another. The hauler did not know whom to hit first. The younger Zane just hoped it wasn't him. As the hauler swung the bar back to strike, sirens began to wail, heralding the arrival of a small armada of police craft: patrol cruisers, speeders, a hover unit and even one armored riot vehicle descended on the street. At the sight of so many officers, the trucker dropped his arm, letting the crowbar dangle.

In seconds, two dozen blue-clad warriors emptied from their vehicles like Marines hitting a beachhead and surrounded the potential combatants. This turn of events startled everyone, especially the hauler who felt robbed of his chance to hit someone. The ground truck driver, coming to his senses, took the arrival of the police as his chance to get lost in the crowd, while the older Zane snorted and began pushing his way out of the mob, heading back toward his showroom.

Several warriors in blue, spying the police speeder lying on its side in the street, broke off and headed toward it.  In the meantime the injured officer, who was just sitting up, was embarrassed by his minor mishap. How would he ever live this down in the squad room?

As if to make things worse, an ambulance dropped out of the overhead lane and came to rest on the street beside the injured man.  Seeing the ambulance’s arrival, Ron figured the show was over and walked back to where Larry and Wayne waited. The excitement was over.

I expect that ought to tie up the Zanes for a while. Now we can do some real selling, boss, Ron remarked.

Larry looked at Ron, then Wayne. He raised his eyebrows and headed back inside. They followed him.  Ron, now that the excitement is over, don't forget I would like to talk to Susan when she comes in, Larry said.

Back to that, are we. Sure thing, Ron replied.  Ron watched as Larry retreated to his office closing the door behind him. He stood there until one of the sales staff, Bud, interrupted him with an anxious look as though he was going to lose control of his bladder.  Could you look at a deal, Ron?

Ron’s first impulse was to say sure, hold it up where I can get a good look, but he relented. Sure thing, nothing else is going on. What have you got, Bud? Ron said, following Bud into his office. 

Larry came back out of his office and seeing Wayne talking to Gloria called out to him, Wayne, how many days has she missed in the last six months?

Wayne was tempted to ask who, but he knew Larry was asking about Susan. I don't know exactly, Wayne answered, but ever since she got back from Nell’s she hasn't been herself. I'll look it up. Anything else?

No. Gloria, my coffee’s cold, Larry responded very absently.

Wayne shook his head. What was going on here, Larry suddenly showing an interest in Susan?  It’s fine by me, whatever floats his boat. Wayne left Larry massaging his temples and mumbling to himself. Wayne shook his head. Poor guy needs to lighten up, he thought. Better get ready for the bank guys—now that was something to worry about.

Chapter 4

A hair past 10:00a.m., a battered green ground car limped into the employee parking area behind the main showroom. A decade ago, the car had seen better days; not an inch on the fenders was smooth anymore, the right headlamp and reflector had been hit and were cracked, leaving just enough reflector to pass a police inspection at, say, fifty yards. It was a bucket of bolts. Steering the car was an attractive dark-haired young woman, who held the steering wheel in a death grip.  She seemed possessed with parking the car.

Suddenly, the car lurched to a stop, which seemed more like a controlled crash. Once stopped, the driver took a moment before pulling down her mirror to look. Reflected back at her, Susan saw an athletic woman wearing a gray business suit, which badly needed to be starched and pressed; its shape was gone. Susan surveyed her face; it was pale as if she had been sick or fighting a long illness, but it was the eyes that caused her to stare. 

Oh, they were her brown eyes all right, but something else was there. What? Susan did not have a clue. She reached over to her passenger seat and picked up her red data pad and brown purse. She knew her brown handbag didn’t go with her gray suit, but she loved the bag and wasn’t willing to part with it just for fashion’s sake. Thus armed, she pulled the handle on the door and pushed it open with her foot with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary, so that it flew open and back. She had to shortstop it with her foot. Then with an effort she slid out and stood. God, I’m an hour late, great start, Sue.

Using her hip she pushed the door shut. What am I going to tell Ron this time?  Hi, I'm late, again. Because I’m turning into...he won’t believe the truth unless I bite him, Susan thought. Might be a last resort, the very last.

Determined she would meet Ron head-on, Susan walked purposefully in the direction of the showroom, passing rows of vehicles. She waved at Sam, one of her fellow salespersons. He was showing a hovercraft to a man, a woman, and their three kids. Sam smiled and continued talking to the woman while demonstrating how the rear compartment housed a food preparation area. Sam folded it down carefully. Susan smiled and walked on. By the way the woman was smiling and the man was rolling his eyes, Susan knew that the couple were buying the hovercraft; if you got the woman, you made the sale.

Outside the showroom she saw Tony. Tony was an alien. Everyone called him Big Tony because his real name was unpronounceable, it sounded like Assannniiiknxhl. Tony was hard to miss because he was eight feet tall, furry, and built like a giant bear.  He was a Kodakian.  Like humans they stood on their legs, but unlike humans those legs weren't straight but more like the hind legs of a bear. The resemblance did not stop there; he had retractable claws, fur, and yellow cat’s eyes. Tony was in charge of keeping all the vehicles on display clean. Susan felt herself tensing; her inner being was rising to fight. Not now, she felt like screaming, no, not now. She waved at Tony; his fur had turned a deep amber color.

Tony waved back at her, Miss Susan, how are you today?

Great Tony, just great, and you? she said, not really meaning it nor did she want to hear his response. As she walked by him, Big Tony followed her with his eyes. For a moment Susan thought Big Tony sniffed at her, but then he turned back to washing. I'll have to watch myself; Big Tony knows I'm not myself. Hell, I know I'm not fine, yet what's a girl to do?  I spent the entire weekend not being fine.

As she climbed the steps to the sales offices she searched for Ron.  He was