"A Duke Walks Into a Bar"

[Joe Manning 0]

URGENT NOTICE TO ALL RESIDENTS AND VISITORS

- April 2nd, 2420 -

 

By order of the Taurus Brothers, the ports of Tranquility are sealed until further notice. No one is permitted to depart the planet without the Guardians' explicit approval. Anyone wishing to leave Tranquility may put in a request with the local Guardian office.

 

Anyone possessing information that may lead to the apprehension of the criminal mastermind known as Minos is urged to contact the local Guardian office at once.

 

Captain Duke Redding shook his head at the notice on the bulletin board. It was printed in bold print on a large sheet at the center of the board, several job offers buried underneath it. The large silver emblem of the Guardians -- a bull's head within an old-school sheriff star -- was displayed at the bottom. Rude graffiti covered the notice, including a silly-looking mustache on the bull -- the Guardians weren't very popular in this tavern. The rest of the board was covered with old off-world job offers, untouched by mercenaries unable to leave the planet.

 

Duke turned to face the common area of The Maze. The tavern was more crowded than usual, full of mercenaries who touched down on the planet prior to the Guardian lockdown. They huddled around the tables downing flagons of booze and sharing the tales of their latest exploits. It was a much more raucous place than the Guardians' lounge -- The Maze catered to freelance mercenaries, a much rougher sort of clientele. The bar was mostly unoccupied, a surprising condition that may have had something to do with the large Orion gentleman sitting at itss midpoint; the bar's only other occupant was a ragged-looking character brooding over a bottle at the far end. The bartender was frantically filling glasses, a pleased look on his face; no doubt, the closure of the ports was doing great for his business. His contented look was broken when the Orion slammed his fist down on the bar top.

 

"WHERE'S MY REFILL?!" the large green brute barked, banging the bar top three more times. The patrons at the nearby tables turned to watch him apprehensively. The man who dared to share a bar with the unruly giant paid no heed.

 

"Just a second, Gorot!" the bartender said, quickly reaching for the tankard of Zangosian Black Ale. "Got a lot of orders to process here. But I'll be pleased to take care of yours first ... "

 

"Don't let that miserable drunken ogre bully you, Pete," Duke yelled out to the bar. A hush fell over parts of the tavern when his voice was heard. "Everyone knows that Orion females are the dangerous ones of the species."

 

The Orion turned to look in Duke's direction and growled. "You shut your mouth or I'll bust it."

 

Duke laughed and began slowly weaving his way between the tables, smiling and nodding at the mercenaries as he passed. A few tipped their hats to him; some of them looked anxious. The bartender was busy refilling the Orion's flagon; he too looked anxious. "Speaking of big ugly green things. I could have sworn as I pulled into the local port ... that I saw a Klingon Bird of Prey parked on one of the landing pads. Not unusual for members of the warrior race to be here on Tranquility ... "

 

Several throaty shouts of self-announcement emerged from one corner of the bar, where a band of Klingon mercenaries were seated around a pitcher of bloodwine. "However," Duke continued. "This particular Bird of Prey was in -miserable- condition. The sort of condition no Klingon would allow a Bird to enter the sky in. It was practically a run-down wreck. Much like the large green mass in here ... "

 

Gorot growled. The bartender glanced quickly between him and the man at the end of the bar. Duke continued toward the bar. "If I'm not terribly mistaken, the runes on its hull spelled out the word 'Qob.' Now I could have sworn that I left a Klingon Bird of Prey named Qob out in the Hydran Expanse ... with its power offline and half its crew dead."

 

The mercenaries around one of the tables quickly stood and made a discreet exit from the tavern. They'd only come to The Maze to relax, and they could sense a brawl when one was coming. Duke boldly took the barstool right next to the Orion and signalled to the bartender. "Scotch whiskey, Pete, and make it snappy. I want to enjoy a few drinks before the drunken sod clears out all your stock."

 

Gorot finished off a flagon of Black Ale and slammed it down. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm and looked over at the mercenary Captain. Duke returned the look with a large grin. Several more patrons, having just been brought up to speed on recent events, stood and retreated from the tavern. The bartender gripped the bottle of scotch tensely as he filled a glass for Duke. "Take it easy, Duke," he said. "Why don't you just take the bottle over to the Andridge boys' table and tell'em about some of your adventures?"

 

"I'm in no mood for storytelling, Pete," Redding replied. He pulled up the flap of his overcoat and pulled a pouch of credit chits off his belt. "I'm in the mood for celebrating. Taking out the raiders in the Hydran Expanse was rewarding enough. But using that decrepit old Bird of Prey as bait ... letting her draw all the fire while my boys swooped in and finished the raiders off ... "

 

"Duke ... " Pete pleaded.

 

"Can't imagine how that bust-up old wreck made it back here," Duke said, ignoring the bartender. He looked over at the Orion. "I heard half of Qob's crew was wiped out ... including that fine young first mate. You remember her, don't you, Greeny? I always told her she woulda been much better off at my side. But she wouldn't listen. And look what stayin' on that big green garbage scow got her. Damn shame, too. Girl like her could serve a Captain in more ways than one ... "

 

Wood clattered against wood as the stool at the end of the bar tipped over. Everyone in the tavern drew in sharp breaths and watched the lone drinker dash the length of the bar with a half-empty bottle of bourbon in hand. Duke didn't budge as the drinker raised the bottle to swing it down on his head. Gorot quickly stood and extended his massive green hand, catching the drinker's arm by the wrist in mid-swing.

 

"You bash that bottle over my Captain's head," Gorot growled. "And I'll break your arms."

 

"Hi Joe." Duke said with a serene smile.

 

Joe Manning glanced from Duke to Gorot with bloodshot eyes, his wrist still clutched painfully within the Orion's grasp. He relaxed his arm and nodded slowly, and Gorot slowly released his grip but kept his menacing gaze on Joe's face. Everyone in the tavern was watching as Joe slowly withdrew the bottle of bourbon.

 

"A man doesn't have to search hard to find you," Duke said, sipping his scotch. "Right at the bottom of a bottle of booze, as usual."

 

"I've come to learn that a bottle of booze is the only thing I can trust," Joe replied, shooting a disdainful look at Duke. "A reliable companion with a myriad of uses." He brought the bottle of bourbon upward sharply, smashing it against the side of Gorot's head. The Orion's eyes crossed as he staggered dizzily. Duke pushed himself to his feet, but Joe didn't give him any more time to react, quickly hooking a right fist. The punch caught Duke by surprise, knocking him aside to one knee. Joe grinned and looked up at the staggering Orion. He grabbed the giant's tunic and pulled in Duke's direction. His last semblance of balance torn away, Gorot tipped over. Duke tried to roll out of harm's way just a second too late; the Orion fell onto his Captain's back with a terrible crunching sound that mixed with a feeble groan of pain.

 

"QI'yaH, Joe!" the bartender moaned as he reached for the rifle under the bar. The patrons all watched as Joe rubbed his right fist and lazily kicked a large shard of glass toward the fallen pair. Many of them were disappointed with the brevity of the exchange. The ones who remained had been expecting a full-blown brawl ... and, by Kahless, they were going to get one.

 

"RUMBLE!" One of the Klingons suddenly shouted, and chaos erupted. A great mob yell swept over the tavern as bottles, chairs, and fists began to fly in every direction. Pete hurtled over the bar and started swinging the butt of his rifle around, trying in vain to restore order. A glass of beer somersaulted across the tavern and broke against the bulletin board, dislodging the Guardian notice. As the sheet of plastic fluttered away along with several of the job offers, an old notice was again visible at the center of the board:

 

HIRING CREW

 

Skilled mercenaries needed to crew the starship Qob. Experts in all starship fields being accepted. All species welcome. Good pay, plentiful work opportunities. Inquire with Pete Gibbons, bartender of The Maze.

 

Joe Manning

Captain of Qob