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