The Death of Biggar Fro Read online

The Death of Biggar Fro

  A Short Story

  By

  Robert Cubitt

  © 2016

  This short story is entirely a work of fiction. All the names characters, incidents, dialogue, events portrayed and opinions expressed in it are either purely the product of the author’s imagination or they are used entirely fictitiously and not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. Nothing is intended or should be interpreted as representing or expressing the views and policies of any department or agency of any government or other body.

  All trademarks used are the property of their respective owners. All trademarks are recognised.

  The right of Robert Cubitt to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright Designs and Patents Act 1988

  Contents

  Dedication

  The Beautiful Bounty Hunter

  Author’s note: Automatic firing shotguns

  The Magi - One - The Out Of Place Android

  And Now

  Dedication

  Dedicated to the memories of Mary Shelley, Jules Verne and H. G. Wells. Where they went the rest of only dare to follow.

  The Beautiful Bounty Hunter

  An Kohli knew at once that her black skin tight Superdry ™ outfit was the wrong choice. Coupled with her mane of indigo hair she would stand out against the light colours of the wall like an ink blot on a sheet of paper. Too late to worry about that now, she realised. Her target had arrived. She glanced around hoping to find a pool of shadow where she could better blend in, but she was disappointed. The casino didn’t do shadows. It did plenty of gold and crimson trim for its cream coloured walls, but no shadows.

  She spotted the bodyguards first, of course. The Jackon with its overhanging brow, big muscles and giant feet were the first choice of the galaxy when it came to muscle with very little brain power behind it. This particular example had been hit very hard with an ugly stick every day since birth. The Aloisan was an interesting choice for the second minder, though. That was unusual to say the least.

  There were two things that she knew about Aloisans; that the whole galaxy knew about Aloisans. The first was the most obvious to the casual observer; they were ridiculously good looking. Ovary flipping good looking if you were a female or hermaphrodite, or just hunky if you were the sort of male that liked ridiculously good looking male Aloisans. This specimen was a credit to his species, tall, well-muscled, his pale green skin shone with the sort of inner glow that other mere mortals can only aspire to. His emerald eyes sparkled like the stones they were named after. An Kohli felt herself going weak at the knees and had to force herself to focus. Other females in the room had already given up the fight and were in various stages of lust as he passed by, ignoring them while at the same time alert for danger.

  The other things she knew about Aloisans, which was why his presence was so remarkable, was that they had the highest standards of morals of just about any species in the galaxy. If an Aloisan found a five victel coin in the street he would fret about it for days if he couldn’t return it to its rightful owner.

  So what was he doing guarding the less than moral body of Biggar Fro?

  “They’re here.” An Kohli whispered, her throat microphone picking up her words and relaying them to her co-pilot, orbiting high above the planet.

  “Got that.” Gala’s words rasped in her earpiece.

  Biggar Fro took a seat at one of the tables. His bodyguards remaining standing behind him, facing outwards to observe the rest of the room. He tapped his drinks requirements into the ordering system as well as a credit account number. The croupier droid responded at once, pushing a pile of high denomination chips across the green baize to stand in front of the new arrival.

  Of course such old school gambling devices such as chips were no longer necessary. Casinos themselves had ceased to be necessary, generations before, but there is a ritual to gambling that the true gambler craves. This wasn’t just betting, which anyone could do, this was sport and like any other sport it required the right arena. Biggar Fro ran his thin, pointed tongue across his lips, savouring the pleasure to come. Just as the drug addict needs to feel the needle pierce their skin, so Biggar Fro needed to see the cards turn over, there, right in front of him, not on a screen.

  But there was more to it than that. He could be anonymous, gambling using the galacticnet, just like everyone else, but then he wouldn’t be able to say to the galaxy ‘Look at me. Look at how rich I am. I am going to risk all this money on the turn of a few cards and if I lose I will hardly even notice the cost’. Already one of the gambling networks had a camera drone hovering over the table to relay events live across the galaxy.

  He was small even by the standards of the Dysacs. His thin frame did nothing for the figure hugging Superdry fabric. Well, figure hugging on anyone else, An Kohli had to concede. On Biggar Fro the clothes looked more like a leaky balloon. She wondered idly if he’d had to bribe the designer to be allowed to wear his designs. The thought brought a smile to her lips, if only fleetingly. His thin face was smooth, unlined by cares. No doubt much money had been spent to assure such smoothness. Biggar Fro had a lot to care about, not least the fact that An Kohli was in the room and intent on claiming the not inconsiderable bounty that was being offered for his capture.

  Crowning Biggar Fro was the tell-tale sign of the Dysac species, that which marked them out from similar species across the galaxy; his hair. It exploded around his head in a mane of crimson glory. When he stood he looked like an old fashioned match stick that had just been struck.

  “What’s your plan?” Gala’s voice startled her as it sounded unexpectedly in her ear.

  “I don’t know yet. I can’t take him here. I had to surrender my weapon at the door.” She felt naked without the reassuring weight of the big Menafield Pulsar that habitually hung at her hip. Physically she wasn’t big enough to deal with the two body guards. One at a time, maybe she would stand a chance, but despite what all the movies portrayed, it is difficult for even the most accomplished fighter to tackle two assailants if they worked as a team. Teamwork wouldn’t be the Jackon’s strength, but she had no doubt that the Aloisan would more than compensate for his colleague’s shortcomings.

  Besides, the Guild had very strong views on collateral damage. If there were no warrants outstanding on the bodyguards, she was governed by the rules of minimum force, and she doubted that such a constraint would be enough to overcome their bulk.

  As for her target himself, Biggar Fro, his warrant specified ‘dead or alive’, which allowed her some lee-way, but she always preferred to take the ‘alive’ option if she could. There were plenty in her profession who were less fussy about such niceties, but An Kohli regarded the unnecessary use of lethal force as a failing in a bounty hunter, not a strength.

  “I’ll tail them when they leave and look for an opportunity along the way. Once they’re in the open who knows what could happen.” She told her co-pilot.

  “Do you want me to come down and give you a hand?”

  “No.” Her voice was sharper than she had intended. “Look, one of the body guards is Aloisan. I’m not sure, but I think that’s important. Do a search on Aloisan bodyguards and see what you come up with.”

  “That shouldn’t take long. I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

  “Me neither. That’s why it worries me and that’s why I don’t want you coming down here until I know what I’m dealing with. I may need you later.” And you can’t help me if you’re already dead, she didn’t add. It was the deal they had. An Kohli did the dangerous stuff and Gala came riding to the r
escue if it all went belly up, as it had on more than one occasion.