Slugging Pitchers
T
he
eight
of
us
EUSA
agents
had
already
tossed
back
two
pitchers
apiece,
at
least,
and
the
pain
of
a
long
stretch
of
hunting
miscreants
slowly
started
to
dull.
Take
more
than
what
swirled
inside
a
glass
pitcher.
We
patrolled
a
freaking
rough
sector
of
space.
The
Kory
Mae
,
the
ship
we’re
based
on,
wouldn’t
be
back
for
a
couple
days,
so
we
had
plenty
of
time
to
sleep
off
the
booze,
and
the
physical
pain
that
mingled
with
the
mental
exhaustion. So none of us slowed down.
The
barkeep
had
already
asked
us
a
couple
times
to
shank
it
down
a
notch.
Wasn’t
about
to
ask
us
to
leave.
Might
need
our
help
one
day.
And
she
wasn’t
going
to
call
the
local
constables
to
talk
to
us.
Take
one
look
at
our
EUSA-blue
vests,
sidearms
and
armor, the screw-you attitudes, and shrug.
I
think
she
was
grateful
we
had
a
limit
to
our
obnoxiousness.
We
needed
the
release. Instead of ragging on the team, she opened the banquet room for us.
We
took
advantage
of
it.
The
private
space
allowed
us
to
get
as
freaking
rowdy
as
we
wanted.
The
raucous
slurs,
jokes,
insults,
and
lies,
what
some
people
call
stories,
came
in
a
flood,
as
though
it
might
drown
the
other
frustrations
and
horrors
we
couldn’t
speak
of.
At
times
the
shouting
could
have
sounded
to
a
stranger
as
though
the
shooting
was
about
to
begin.
But
the
team
is
tightknit,
have
been
together
for
a
long
time.
Handpicked
by
the
colonel.
There
was
nothing
that
couldn’t
be
said
among
us.
Well.
Almost nothing.
Lieutenant
GanBwyll
glared
down
his
long
nose
when
things
got
just
a
little
too
personal.
More
often,
that
was
when
the
stories
dealt
with
the
colonel.
GanBwyll
had
a
lower
threshold
than
we
younger
agents
when
it
came
to
fun
at
the
commander’s
expense.
But
he
giggled
like
a
little
girl
with
the
rest
of
us,
as
her
famous
little
ditties
got
repeated.
“Did
I
tell
you
the
time
the
colonel
and
I
went
down
to
this
stinking
mining
satellite?
Think
in
the
Oneida
district.
Background
investigation.
Didn’t
expect
any
trouble. Weren’t wearing armor. Bloody hell broke out.
“There
must
have
been
twenty
scumbags
shooting
at
us.
Pinned
down
inside
this
refining facility the size of Earth’s moon.
“I
looked
over
at
the
colonel
and
she
wore
a
smirk,
like
she’d
never
had
so
much
fun.
We
were
crammed
behind
this
two-foot-tall
wall.
Shooters
above
us
on
the
catwalks.
We
were
flipping
goners.
I
prepared
to
thank
God
for
nothing.
And
Toni
was
smiling.
“I
asked
her
what
was
so
funny.
She
said
‘These
guys
don’t
know
who
they’re
dealing with, do they?’
“I
started
laughing
up
a
gonad,
and
it
gets
all
quiet,
like
the
scumbags
are
worried
they’re missing something. It gave us the only opportunity we were going to get.
“Toni
rose
up
on
a
knee
and
blasted
a
hole
in
a
chlorine
tank
that
was
about
seventy-five meters over our head. That place emptied faster than a diseased whore.
“Toni stands and walks out all calm-like. I still can’t believe we got out of that one.”
There
was
a
joke
that
maybe
she
sustained
a
groin
injury
and
didn’t
remember
what
really
happened.
A
round
of
catcalls
circled
the
table
and
my
story
telling
buddy
stuttered a declaration for our dear friend to perform an impossible act to himself.
“I
was
pinned
down
once
with
the
colonel,”
another
said.
“It
didn’t
look
good
for
us,
either. I hear Toni say quietly, ‘I’m glad Daemon has more friends than Molly did.’”
The
man
looked
down
into
his
beer
for
a
moment,
and
the
seven
of
us
reacted
to
his
sudden serious mood.
Molly
was
Toni’s
black
Lab,
before
Daemon.
They’d
been
together
almost
three
decades.
There
are
only
two
photos
in
the
colonel’s
cabin.
One
of
Molly,
and
one
of
Daemon.
Toni was cool dying, as long as Daemon was taken care of.
We
remained
quiet
a
moment
as
that
sentiment
sank
in.
But
we
weren’t
there
to
focus
on
the
realities
of
this
crappy
sector
of
space.
A
second
later
the
more
colorful
stories began anew.
“I
visited
a
harbor
master
once
with
Toni
and
Daemon.
The
guy
was
an
absolute
prick.
Made
the
mistake
of
insulting
Daemon.”
The
man
chortled.
“I’ve
never
since
seen
the kind of emotions that came from Toni that day.
“She
was
ready
to
close
down
the
port.
If
she
could
have
stood
tall
enough
to
get
in
his face, she couldn’t have backed him down any faster. She had the master gulping air.
“When
we
were
leaving,
Daemon
walked
over
and
peed
on
the
man’s
foot.
It
was
priceless.”
Between the chuckles another prepared to top that.
“Visited
a
restaurant
with
Toni
on
Earth
once.
Daemon
was
with
us,
of
course.
Other
than
staying
very
attentive
for
any
extra
food
she
needed
to
help
us
get
rid
of,
she
was
an
angel,
despite
her
name.
Some
uppity
patron
made
a
scene
about
a
dog
in
the
restaurant.
“The
riot
didn’t
come
from
Toni.
People
at
the
tables
around
us
stood
and
railed
at
the woman.
“Later,
I
learned
the
snooty
diner
was
the
governor
of
the
freaking
province.
Don’t
mess with Daemon in Chicago, let me tell you. She has friends in high places.”
“I
was
on
a
conference
with
Toni
one
time,”
another
agent
said.
“The
president
of
this
colony
was
giving
Toni
grief
about
the
heavy-handed
tactics
she
was
using
to
close
down a smuggling ring.
“She
ranted
it
was
killing
the
colony’s
economy.
Kept
dropping
names
of
people
she
was going to call. Going to get Toni stripped down to traffic duty.
“Toni
calmly
stated
she
was
going
to
pull
someone
else
onto
the
call.
Next
thing
I
know
the
freaking
premier
is
joining
the
connection.
She
told
Toni,
‘You
do
whatever
the
hell
you
feel
is
necessary.
You
know
I
trust
you
explicitly.’
Man,
did
that
shut
that
dirtbag up.”
A
couple
drowsy
eyes
popped
open
a
little,
impressed
Toni
could
get
the
immediate
attention of the leader of the Earth Union like that.
“I heard Toni’s been offered the director’s job a gazillion times.”
“I’ve
never
figured
out
what
motivates
the
colonel,”
GanBwyll
said.
“I
know
she
likes
the
quiet
of
space,
her
ship,
and
her
dog.
She
puts
up
with
the
rest
of
us.”
He
grinned and took a hearty gulp of his beer.
“For someone who doesn’t like a lot of attention, she knows a lot of people.”
“Or, a lot of people know of her,” another agent offered.
“She’s probably been involved in more high visibility ops than God.”
“I’ll
tell
you,
I
love
being
based
on
the
Kory
Mae
.
What
a
way
to
travel.
And
while
you
can
be
a
bore
and
a
pain,
GanBwyll,
I
wouldn’t
pick
another
commander
than
the
colonel,
if
I
had
a
choice.
Wouldn’t
want
to
have
anyone
else
in
the
galaxy
watching
my
back, either.”
“As
long
as
you
keep
her
on
ship,”
an
agent
shouted.
“She
has
a
way
of
drawing
fire.
I hate covering
her
six. It’s dangerous.”
There
were
a
bunch
of
inebriated
chuckles,
and
faces
peered
into
beer
mugs,
as
we
remembered our private adventures with Toni.
“How many times has she been shot?” someone asked.
“Every time,” another agent answered, drawing laughs.
“Tremynu
and
I
once
went
on
a
hike
with
her
on
this
world
out
in
the
middle
of
nowhere.
She
may
be
two
decades
older
than
us,
but
she
walked
our
asses
off
in
that
forest.
“We
came
to
this
lazy
little
river,
more
a
creek
than
anything.
She
stripped
down
to
her toes and dove into this small pool.
“I’ll
tell
ya
we
were
shocked
at
the
scars
and
dents
that
tiny
woman
has
all
over.
Maybe she spent a couple decades in Vice on some outer planet?”
“She always claims she isn’t bashful.” The agent laughed.
“I
understand
a
decade
or
so
ago,”
GanBwyll
said,
“long
before
she
joined
the
service,
she
was
attacked.
Horrendous
injuries.
Died
and
brought
back
a
couple
times.
Dozens of surgeries—” His voice tapered away.
Another
agent
continued
for
him.
“Add
up
the
scars
for
every
time
she’s
stepped
in
front of a laser or projectile weapon since.”
Heads shook.
“I’ve
seen
her
in
proper
clothes
before.
Dresses
up
right
nice.
Beautiful
woman
for
being
three-foot
tall.
Hard
to
understand
why
she
never
bothered
to
have
the
scars
fixed.”
“Not bashful or vain,” GanBwyll mumbled.
“Well,
never
challenge
her
at
chess
if
you’re
putting
money
on
it.
I
worked
with
her
on
a
case
where
this
chess
champion
offered
to
spill
his
guts
only
if
she
could
beat
him
and
twelve
of
his
buddies
in
simultaneous
games.
He
thought
his
challenge
was
like,
when pigs fly.
“But
she
told
him
to
bring
on
his
buddies.
She
walked
up
and
down
this
table
taking
out
some
of
them
in
just
a
few
moves.
It
was
so
cool
to
watch.
She
beat
our
witness
in
something
like
twelve
moves.
He
still
refused
to
cooperate
until
she
threatened
to
show
up at every match until he was no longer seeded.”
“There’s a twist on her favorite, ‘You won’t be getting rid of me so easily.’”
“Toni
can
be
sweet
and
brutal.
Don’t
ever
set
her
up
with
a
date.
I
’bout
lost
a
good
friend that way. She chewed him up, spit him out.”
“Tried to come across cosmopolitan, huh.”
“He can be a bit of a stuffed shirt.”
We all laughed.
“Probably
tried
to
impress
her
with
his
knowledge
of
politics.
Toni
knows
more
about galactic entanglements than God.”
“Or technology.”
“Or just about anything.”
“Gawd, it must be tough for Toni.”
Grins turned the woman’s way.
“Imagine
if
you
were
surrounded
all
day,
every
day,
by
people
that
sounded
like
idiots to you, how old would that get?”
The
door
of
the
banquet
room
flung
open
and
the
eight
of
us
drew
our
sidearms,
not
all
as
smoothly
as
we
would
have
preferred,
maybe.
But
no
one
lost
a
foot.
We
lurched
away from the table as a man the size of a galaxy class struggled through the entrance.
He
had
a
pretty
face
overly
made
up,
hidden
inside
a
round
circle
of
fat.
Over-the-
top
glamour
duds.
His
eyes
trailed
across
each
of
us,
expression
turning
sad.
He
teetered
toward
us,
swinging
his
arms
to
help
propel
one-half
of
his
body
forward
at
a
time.
Lordy.
Why
hadn’t
the
man
taken
advantage
of
medical
science
to
cope
with
his—challenge with nutrient intake.
A
stream
of
bodyguards
followed
him
in,
but
they
remained
relaxed,
even
with
our
weapons
pointed
at
them.
So
maybe
fatball
wasn’t
a
local
scumlord.
I
chilled
a
tad.
I
think my buds did a bit too.
“I
understand
you
boys
and
girls
are
from
the
Kory
Mae
.
Is
the
lovely
Toni
Tegaris
on
planet?”
His
voice
was
high,
like
a
four-year-old
child’s.
Far
from
what
his
exterior
suggested.
GanBwyll
answered
for
the
team.
“No,
sir.
The
colonel’s
on
a
mission
about
thirty
parsecs away.”
“Colonel.
Oh,
that
sounds
so
impressive.
You
tell
that
sprite
of
a
little
dear
her
lovey-dovey
Randal
has
been
waiting
for
her
to
answer
his
offer
of
matrimony,
and
that
I’m still looking for that perfect little world to buy her.”
None of us spoke. We stared, maybe some of us with gaping jowls.
“You’ll do that for little Randal, won’t you?” he asked.
“Cer—certainly, sir,” GanBwyll said.
“Delightful,”
the
man
answered
in
his
squeal.
“I’m
sure
she’s
been
terribly
busy.
I
thank you all. Carry on.”
He
rotated
on
his
axis
and
waved,
fat
little
fingers
wiggling
as
he
capped
it
with
a
tootle loo. He bounced through the door frame.
GanBwyll
sat.
The
eight
of
us
remained
quiet.
Eyes
darted.
We
still
held
our
freaking sidearms. One by one we holstered them and joined GanBwyll back at the table.
“That must be one hell of a story.”
“Can you imagine—”
GanBwyll interrupted hard, “Don’t even go there. Not even.”
© R. Mac Wheeler 2017