The Amazing Tales of Wildcat Arrows (2 page)

"A catastrophe, Superordinate One! A catastrophe!" He slid up to the platinum dais, coming to an abrupt stop with a screeched brake of his feet. He almost toppled over the stone balcony on the other side.

Big Gun arched a brow. What was it this week? Too many bidding on the floor? A surfeit of commodities on the company ledgers? An imminent attack by a rival consortium? Or too much spice in the evening meal?

With Heiner it could be any one of those things as he perceived each one with the same level of gravitas.

Big Gun waved his arm motioning the distraught man to slow down and take a breath. The Day of Investiture was fast approaching—only a few months were left before the capstone of the Whatnot Consortium was firmly and irrevocably placed in his hands.

He had proven himself for three years, as law demanded.

It was time for him to take permanent control. The directors of all twenty-nine corporations had patted his attaboy head and agreed that he would be the next ascending member to the royal board of Whatnot.

There were speeches to write.

Lots of speeches. As far as Big Gun was concerned, this interruption was not well-timed.

"Relax, Heiner," Big Gun remarked drolly, magnanimous and patient in his finest hours. "I am sure nothing is so dire that you must kill yourself before imparting it to me."

"Oh, but it is, your Superordinate One! The—the—" Heiner's face flushed bright red; his eyeballs began to roll back in the sockets.

The clodpole was about to pass out.

"BREATHE!" Big Gun commanded. "One, two—out. One, two—in." Big Gun impatiently waited for his No. 1 Stoolie to gather himself.

"It is the Heart of the Merchandiser!!" Heiner finally burst out.

Big Gun blanched. This was the last thing he was expecting. His voice dropped in cadence. "What of it?"

"It is missing!" Heiner started wringing his hands.

"
Missing
? What do you mean it is missing?"

No. 1 snapped his fingers. "Gone. Just-like-that."

"But—but that is impossible! It is guarded night and day!
How could this have happened?"

"We don't know. Everything was fine one moment and then the guards found themselves waking up from a sound sleep! They have no memory of what transpired! Oh Director, what shall we do?
The Heart of the Merchandiser
!" He wailed, just in case Big Gun was not appreciating the full horror of the situation.

Big Gun sat back in his director's chair and rubbed his jaw.
This is serious indeed
. Without the Heart of the Merchandiser he could not be named "the true and righteous Poobah" of the consortium.

Worse than that, the by-laws decreed that who so ever possessed the Heart of the Merchandiser on the Day of Investiture would be claimed Incomparable Honcho.

Big Gun closed his eyes. He was more concerned about the fate of Volauvent should some unscrupulous person—one who could steal the Heart of the Merchandiser itself—actually ascend to the head of the company. He loved his employees, and they him. Volauvent was scheduled to get many boss-perks because of his promotion. For one, Whatnot had promised every citizen of Volauvent a free housecleaning quarterly. Should the people find out they might not be getting that—well, it would be
terrible
.

There would be an uproar.

He recalled the anti-clutter riots of '09 with a shudder.

And surely such an unscrupulous thief would not be concerned with the company's best interests?

Unlike many Corporations, it was Whatnot's core policy that a Director could not manage his employees wisely without at least giving the
appearance
of caring about them. The Heart of the Merchandiser, the purest, largest, inclusion-free hunk of miadne stone ever found, was the symbol of everything that Whatnot stood for.

"
Profit with commiseration
!" was not only their motto; it was their entire advertising campaign.

This was a dire situation indeed.

"What shall we do? What shall we do?" Heiner carped over and over.

Big Gun's stroked his jaw, his shrewd business acumen swiftly coming into play. "Did the guards find anything unusual? Anything at all?"

"Just some scratches where the miadne was housed. Our forensics experts examined the area for prints, fluids, fibers… there was nothing. Whoever took it was highly skilled."

"How did they get past the lasers, the cameras?"

Heiner shrugged.

Big Gun pushed a button next to his chair. An image of one of the forensic examiners shimmered in front of him.

"Sir?"

"Let me see the images of the scratches."

"We couldn't make anything of them, sir. They appear to be just random markings. Probably from when the stone was pried loose."

"Just let me see it."

"Right away, sir."

An image of an empty pedestal formed in front of his face. Two sets of scratches were dug into the base on either side of the housing. The left side featured two series of scratches truncating from the end of a main line. The right side had two identical lines radiating out at an angle from a single point.

Big Gun snorted. He reached out and grabbed the edge of both images, folding it over and onto itself so the scratch lines joined. "What does that look like to you, Heiner?"

Heiner squinted at the images. "Arrows, sir?"

Big Gun leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his ample belly. "Exactly.
Arrows
. And who is the best tracker in the
galaxy
?"

"Um…" Heiner's face screwed up in confusion. "That would be Wildcat Arrows, Sir."

"Exactly."

"But he couldn't have had anything to do with this! He's been incarcerated for the past six months on Cretion."

Heiner's vast knowledge of mundane facts and his ability to toss them up at lightning speed never failed to impress Big Gun. The man was a living, breathing search engine.

"Doesn't sound like him. What's he in for?"

"That is not altogether clear."

"I see." Big Gun stroked his jaw. "Arrows is definitely connected in some way to this theft and I'm going to find out just where he fits in. Those scratches are no coincidence. Someone left a cartouche for us to find. Get me the warden on Cretion; I want to speak to Wildcat."

Heiner punched a code into his pinkypod. A low conversion ensued.

A few seconds later Heiner looked up with a puzzled frown. "Arrows escaped earlier today."

Big Gun arched his brow. He was surprised and, in a begrudging way, impressed. "From a Class One security prison?"

"A first, I believe."

"Mmm. He
is
good. Were any ships able to leave Volauvent before the lock-down?"

"Just one."

"Where did it go?"

"Slide."

Big Gun nodded curtly. "Start there. And see if you can find any other connection to that ship. Overlook no detail. There has to be something on our surveillance cameras."

"Yes, sir!"

After Heiner left, Big Gun stood up and paced the entire length of his cavernous work chamber.

He had been a well-loved Director, having proven himself cunning in all matters of business. This planet enjoyed an excellent trading level because of his shrewd dealings.

But that could all end if he didn't get the Heart of the Merchandiser back!

Well, he still had plenty of secret contacts…

He was not going to let this spurious theft get the better of him!

Not without a fight.

Should Arrows have gone completely underground and disappeared… Well, he would need an alternate plan.

A worthy plan.

And if that did not work—there would be some serious paybacks in order!

Appropriately, the first name on that 'to-do' list started with an "A".

Somewhere in the galaxy 2036, e.t. (Earth time)

"Where are we?"

"I have no idea."

Lucky Red stretched in her chair and crossed her booted feet over the command console of her ship.

Well, technically not
her
ship.

That scoundrel Wildcat had disappeared on Cretion over six months ago and left them to deal with it!

The motley crew he had assembled over the years had to make their way across an unforgiving galaxy without benefit of their savvy Captain. No one seemed to have any information as to his present whereabouts.

As she crossed her hands behind her head, the worn denim covering her shapely legs pulled taut. From covered wagons to intragalactic space ships, blue jeans had survived. Lucky had on her standard uniform: a black vee neck tee, wrangler jeans and her favorite 'jangling' Justins.

The silver buckled straps twining around the insteps of the black boots clinked 'real
purty'
when she moseyed into a cargo bay.

Exactly like Wildcat had taught her.

To the rest of the galaxy, there wasn't anything as terrifying as a Texan moseying in space.

At least according to her brother, who had witnessed the horrified fascination first hand.

She did love to see all those amusing alien expressions when they found out that her Justins were still made from
gen-u-ine
animal skin.

She was an Earthgirl and proud of it! Damn straight.

So what if Earth was the butt of every sorry joke in the galaxy? And, she had heard them all.

What's the difference between a garbage troller and Earth?

Nothing.

Why did the Kraogian Ooze Sucker defer to the Earthling trader?

Professional courtesy.

How many Earthlings does it take to change a rocket sprocket?

All of them. First they must argue whose sprocket it is then they kill each other off for the chance to change it.

She was heartily sick of it! So what if the rest of the civilized planets considered Earthlings barbarians? It certainly didn't stop them from being
interested
in Earthlings.

"Maybe Clugot knows where we are?" Lucky sighed, not expecting a positive response.

SpinDrift pursed his soft beak. "Why would Clugot know? He never leaves the engine room!"

Oh well. Floops were kind of a weird group. And of all the weird-ass Floops in the galaxy, SpinDrift took the prize. Even other Floops thought Spin was kind of
odd—
so that said it all.

"You never know. I'll check." Lucky leaned forward and pushed one of the purple buttons on the panel in front of her.

Clugot's square head filled the screen along with his perpetual, blank stare.

"Urrr?" Came the deep, scratchy voice.

"Clugot, do you know where we are?"

"Urr."

"Okay, thanks anyway." She flipped off the link.

SpinDrift waddled over. "Well, what did he say?"

"Um, he said
urr
."

"That's all he ever says!" He started to walk away then stopped. "Wait! Two 'urr' sounds or three?"

"Ah, two, I think."

SpinDrift nodded and gave her a superior look. "I told you he wouldn't have a clue."
¹

Lucky's jaw dropped. "You didn't know that and you don't know that."