PeeDee3, Intergalactic Insectiod Assassin in: In Sheep's Clothing (Season 1, Episode 2) Page 2

fast, but not near fast enough.

  Instinctively my other three claws drew. In a flash I had more artillery pointed at him than Planet Knox.

  He faltered a moment, then dropped the pistol and started crying, begging. Good. I like when they beg. I holstered all but the tuba blaster and lifted him off the ground by his throat.

  “Please, please PeeDee3. Hey, hey it’s me, Benny...”

  I was tired of the talk so I squeezed a little harder. It’s moments like this I wish my mandibles could smile. “Yeah Benny, I know who you are. How could I forget? We go way back.”

  Benny nodded and tried to smile a gaping, slimy eel smile. Man I hate their faces, the weird way their big mouths flap open like a puppet’s, and all those spiny teeth; no antenna, no ears; plus the lack of arms and legs unless they had biotronic grafts. They’re so…soft. Yuck.

  “I know you’re the snitch that sold me out to the Richardcraniums, that was a difficult molt and caused me a lot of trouble.” I brought his creepy face closer to mine. I wanted him to hear my mandibles clicking and see my digestive fluids dripping.

  The fear burst from his eyes like a volcano. My grip tightened and I was about to snap his neck like a twig.

  “Stop, stop it, please.”

  In my vengeance lust I’d forgotten all about the ‘Dillo. I popped open my ocellus, the simple eye in the back of my head. She was half curled up, her head down, hands clamped over her ears. “Just stop.”

  I knew she was a pacifist, but no one liked the Anguilaieans. They were personally responsible for the war that destroyed the golden nebula and allowed Galactipus Caesar the take control of the quadrant.

  The hairs in my joints were standing on end; something was off. I dropped the eel and pointed the tuba blaster at his twitchy head.

  He stumbled back against the brick wall, still holding the wound with one skeletal looking metal hand and pleading with the other. I kept the ocellus on her, and the complex eyes watching in all directions. I’m hard to sneak up on and fast as lightning as long as the temperature’s over Q17. If this was a play I was ready.

  I kept the little blaster aimed at him, but spoke to her, “Why’s the eel here?”

  “I don’t know,” she spat out, then curled over a little more.

  I cocked the weapon; it clicked loud, echoing in the alley. “Great,” I said, “Then I can blast him.”

  “No, no, wait,” she shouted.

  Good; I was getting somewhere. “So why the worm?” I asked enjoying they way the little creep shook all the way to the tip of his tail.

  Still partway curled, she looked up at me, looked me right in the eyes, which isn’t something most ‘Dillos do. She straightened up without breaking the stare. I got the feeling she was trying to read my thoughts, but there was nothing there to read, I’m all instinct. It’s why Kacekans were banned from the gambling depots.

  “I need him still,” she said with a confidence unusual in her race. “There’re things he does—can do for me; things I find displeasing.”

  I took a longing look at the groveling, pathetic mass before me and holstered the pistol, letting my trench coat cover the weapons. “So who’s the mark?”

  “Benny will give you all the information you need. I’ll provide the finance. How much do you charge for your services?”

  I kept a few dozen retina trained on the worm. “Depends on the who, what, where, and when; could cost quite a lot. Busting brain-casings gets expensive.” I added the last just to catch her reaction, but there was nothing there to catch.

  “We’ve got it,” she said, surprising me again. I’d never heard of a ‘Dillo living above the poverty line. Not sure I liked the ‘we’ either. There was more then meets the antennae to this dame, which was making her even more desirable.

  “I can give you fifty-thousand walbucks now and twice that when you return.”

  “Where am I going?”

  “You and Benny will catch a Mondoslo star-bus,” she said a little too authoritatively.

  “I never ride public transportation, it’s far too public.”

  “You will if you want to get paid,” she said far too authoritatively. But the thought of the money had my lower claws rubbing together. Despite millions of years of evolution, I still had a strong instinct to collect and store. “And everyone knows that about you,” she kept on yapping, “so you’ll be less likely to be noticed on a star-bus. Once in route, Benny will give you the necessary details. Do we have an agreement?”

  “You’re not giving me much to work from, sweetheart.”

  She kept up the stare, like she was considering. “All I can tell you is the mark is a Kacekan.”

  “A Kacekan huh?” I shoved all four claws in their pockets. “I never hit one of my own before.”

  I pulled out my credit stick. Thinking I’d drawn another weapon, Benny dropped to the ground, covered his head and started crying. She removed her stick from some lower cranny, pushed a few buttons and swiped my stick. I checked it; the dough was there. “I’m gonna need another thousand, to cover expenses.”

  Her expression changed at last. She seemed to be considering the amount, but a thousand’s a pretty standard fee.

  “All right,” she conceded at last, punched her stick again then held it out.

  I swiped my stick by hers, but misjudged a bit. Her stick dropped from her hand. I snatched it up and handed it back to her.

  “Sorry,” I said and tucked my stick in a pocket. “You can order the flowers now. When do I leave?”

  The eel slinked up to me; still clutching the wound, though I could see it had almost stopped bleeding, now covered with a white, mucusy clot. “Now, we leave now,” he said, then tucked his head down and hit me with another creepy eel smile. “—if that’s OK with you, PeeDee3.”

  He slithered down the alley, moving almost like I hadn’t shot him, then turned and fixed me with a slimy grin. “Thank you for not killing me.”

  “Thank you for not killing me yet, I think you mean. Now get going and keep your mouth shut.”

  He cast me a wary second glance then led the way out. Before I turned the corner I stopped and stole another peer at the ‘Dillo. Her leg was bent, foot up on the step, and she was twisted around tucking the stick back in somewhere I’d love to get my mandibles into.

  “So, will I see you again?” I asked.

  She caught me gawking, then stood and closed her armor around tighter, fixing me with an ice-cold stare. “I certainly hope not, Mr. PeeDee3.”

  I was sitting next to the eel in a super-deluxe bus seat. I don’t know if the dame was trying to impress me, but I didn’t give a damn about first class, and not just because I’m cheep, my exoskeleton doesn’t require soft cushions and wherever I am the seat next to me is generally empty—most beings don’t like to sit beside a bug. The seat came equipped with a Papple I-Spud 660 Neural Interface. Most of the brain equipped species were addicted to these things. They’d get a socket mounted in their heads, plug in, and the I-Spud would pump electronic pleasure waves directly into their brains. Brains are the reason the mindless masses are so mindless. Beings that are subservient to brains will buy whatever the corporations feed into their precious gray matter, so the telepathic broadcasts are pretty much a constant flow of ads for Fragg’n McNaggles, Walton Worlds, and Barkhouse Coffee shops, all of which I’m pretty sure are owned by SAMCO, the Satan’s Amalgamated Monolithic Corporation. Fortunately I didn’t have a brain, just several complex nerve clusters, which made me effectively immune to the electronic feeds. The stuff wouldn’t have worked on the Sharkrepods either, but my ancestors considered them a delicacy and pretty much ate them out of existence—so much for the scourge of the galaxy.

  “Can I offer you a Slurp-a-Chino?” the robotic stewardess, hanging from her ceiling track, asked.

  “Nah,” I grunted, not taking my complex eyes off an issue of People magazine someone had left in the seat—just looking through that thing made me hungry. I hoped wherever I was
going they served human.

  “How about your friend?” Her screen displayed an LED smile.

  “He’s fine. Besides, I shoved a mailbox in his mouth before we boarded.”

  She looked confused until Benny flashed her a smile, exposing the square box conveniently clogging his gaping mouth.

  With a high-pitched whirr of servos, she zipped away. Benny started poking me, and pointing at his mouth. He was whining like a Weaselarian; I think he was trying to complain. I answered him by raising the red flag on the side of the box. He stopped complaining.

  I didn’t hear a peep from him until we landed at the Vega-Monza station. He gave me a jab and pointed; I slid out, he followed.

  “Why’d you have to do that, stick a mailbox in my mouth? All you had to do was ask. I could have been quiet.”

  Benny started rambling as soon as I’d yanked the box out. I gave the box a second look and he shut up. He slithered away. I followed cautiously. In crowds and anywhere near nursery schools I made a habit of keeping my lower limbs tucked inside my coat and my claws set firmly on their weapons.

  I liked to keep at least two weapons ready at all times, and this time I was going too need to be extra careful. The Vega-Monza district is not very welcoming to bugs, to myself in particular; sometime before I’d had a little mishap with a big, bad Moth Daddy’s oldest daughter, a real cute caterpillar. Apparently she didn’t know that a Kacekan’s seed sticks with you for life. It keeps on fertilizing any old egg that comes