Tom Black #10: Eggs In One Basket
In which encounters between cast members of dubious morality
go in quite different directions.
Warning Note: This story includes some minor adult content unsuitable for younger children.
Badripoor’s alien quarter was new, legacy of the city’s unusual recent history of teleportation to other locations. After a sojourn as a miniaturised bottle city, Badripoor had spent some months squatting on the shore of a Swiss lake, then two days atop the ruins of an alien city on an alien world. When Badripoor had been sent back to its original Pacific rim location many of the Shee-Yar refugees that had swarmed into the town had claimed asylum and had returned to Earth with it.
Now the cluttered slums over the eastern half of the bay included a knot of streets where legal and illegal life-forms from three score worlds lived and worked and traded and stole. The first extraterrestrial thieves guild had sprung up within twenty-four hours of Badripoor’s return, the first alien brothel less than a day after that, the first alien extortion rackets only hours later. Badripoor had hardly blinked.
Tom Black walked alone into one of the ring of seedy cantina bars that ringed the fringes of the alien quarter. Strange spicy cooking smells drifted on the hot breeze that wafted complicated luminous ribbon banners. Flashing neon signs and harsh techno-music gave the place a Blade Runner feel, but the lights and sounds died out as Black entered because he willed it so.
Everyone in the bar turned to look at him as he crossed the floor to the counter. Hulking alien mercenaries, alerted by some survival sense, got out of his way.
The five-foot tall lizard enjoying a quiet Salaxian Skunkbrew turned uncomfortably as he realised the stranger was heading straight for him. His hands reached for the blasters slung across his scrawny hips until he realised that the weapons had an unfamiliar green glow about them.
“Um…” he began. “If this is about that weapons package that Sul claims I lost, I swear the thing was intact when I put it in the galactic post back to him. I had a receipt, but it got fried when this Nosfringian slimebeast I was chasing used its caustic phlegm on me, really. I can proven it, I think I still have some snot in my pocket. But if it helps I could write a cheque right here and now to cover…”
“Squibb,” said Tom Black. “You bill yourself as the world’s foremost bounty hunter, although you’re somewhat vague as to which world.”
“Squibb?” squirmed the humanoid reptile. “You think I’m Squibb? Hah, you’d be amazed how many people make that mistake. You’d be looking for my twin brother, who was cloned from the same motheregg. Last I heard he was out beyond the rim, somewhere in the Black Galaxy. Far, far away.”
“I’d like to hire Squibb.”
“And I’m back. You mentioned a job? A paying job? A cash job?”
Tom eyed the worried-looking reptile mercenary and reviewed his policy of asking Asil for recommendations. Asil tended to see the best in people. Tom thought she’d have needed a really good microscope with Squibb. “How did you come to Earth?” Tom asked the alien.
“Hah, funny story that,” Squibb cringed. “You know how things can get when you have a space cruiser possessed by Fairly Great Old Ones? Some hooligans boosted the Traders Lament II and crashed it into an Elder City, so I got this sweet Naicluvian jumpship off this Caphan warlord, but then it turned out to be infested with non-Euclidean rodentiforms, and then there was that Parody Forces customs search…” The bounty hunter caught his breath and looked back at his potential employer. “So I was trying to get the Lament I out of hock on Shee-Yar when the final bit of the Parody War went down. There was this slight misunderstanding with the Imperium Guard and this migrating Earth city seemed like the best place to hide, er, I mean fight for justice, and then while I was still passed-out drunk the whole thing zapped itself back here and…”
“You’re sober now, though?” Black demanded, eyeing the Salaxian Skunkbrew fizzing on the bar counter. “Sober enough for a job, anyway.”
Squibb followed his client’s gaze. “This stuff? Medicinal. For an old tail injury I got back on Maxell back in the day. Damn Pigeonwarriors and their caustic droppings. But I’m fine now and ready for action. For a reasonable fee. A modest fee. A fee.”
“Let me see your blasters.”
“My blasters?” Squibb held out his Mark IX Shankaru Atomripper 9000s with the sexy lady reptile engraved on the hilts; but he help his hands on the triggers. He’d been fooled like this before.
Tom Black generated kaos orbs in the palms of his hands, ghostly green balls that shimmered with an eerie flickering light and moved of their own accord. The will o’ th’ wisps hovered for a moment accepting instruction, then phased into Squibb’s guns and vanished there.
“Um…” Squibb worried. Exorcists were expensive in Badripoor.
“Just giving your weapons a little extra kick when they need them,” Tom explained. “There’s a Necromancer I want to have a word with, and I thought you could invite him to see me.”
***
Vicki Vee was wearing her best interview outfit, which was transparent and used enough cloth to make a doily. It was testimony to the supervillainess’ skill and training that she still managed to conceal enough weaponry to take down a small army. VelcroVixen was the best the was at what she did.
When she heard Tom Black returning to his hotel room she leaned back on his bed and readied herself for a vigorous recruitment interview.
“Hello, Mister Black. I heard you wanted to see me.”
If Tom Black was surprised at the exotically-clad blonde on his mattress he didn’t give any sign. VelcroVixen knew that he’d placed semi-sentient kaos orbs to watch his room, so they’d already have relayed her intrusion and slow, soapy preparation for their meeting back to him.
“You took me wanting to see you literally, then.”
VV glanced down at her supermodel body and moued. “I have nothing I need to hide,” she answered. “And I find that most of my employers expect a close working relationship anyway. I have testimonial references. And a website.”
She watched the man enter the room and make himself a drink. He didn’t use the bottle of champagne she’d ordered, although the vintage was excellent. That was a good sign. VelcroVixen preferred to hench for bosses who weren’t quite that stupid.
“You worked for Belasco Medici as his right hand woman.”
VV nodded, allowing her tousled hair to tumbled around her. “Right hand, left hand, all kinds of body parts. I ran his army of supervillains and mutates, organised this country, liased with the wider criminal fraternity. And I saw to his personal needs as well. All part of the service.” She patted the bed. “You’d be more comfortable interviewing me here.”
Her target shrugged and slid over to Vicki’s side. “I can see why you’re always in demand. But right now I’m not hiring aides. I just want to talk to people who worked with Count Armageddon. Especially smart people who’d take the time to work out information about him to give them an edge if things ever turned nasty.”
VelcroVixen pressed her lips against Tom’s and showed him exactly why she’d been voted Cheerleader of the Year in thirty-two states the year she turned 18. “I don’t talk about former employers,” she apologised eventually. “Professional standard. Except to say that you might just be the best kisser I’ve ever worked for. Wow.”
“I might be, yes. But Armageddon’s dead, destroyed by the Lair Legion. There’s no reason not to tell me something about him. I appreciate the confidentiality, that’s the sign of a real pro – and I’m not just talking about your villainess costume here – but I need to know about Medici’s kaos energies.”
“Just because Belasco’s dead doesn’t mean he won’t be back,” VV scorned. “You know how many times the Hooded Hood has died, and he’s still my most frequent boss?” She let her hands wander a little, hoping to move the interview on to other topics.
Tom didn’t seem to be shy. In fact he seemed to know exactly what he was doing. Vicki had to force herself to keep her mind on the job. “I really need to know,” he said. “How did Medici become a being of kaos? No harm in telling me.”
VV squeaked a little then relaxed. “You’re not going to… break my… resolve…” she insisted, breathlessly. “Although it’s fine for you to keep on trying. Try harder…”
“I know he came from the dimension of Technopolis. I know he ran a city-state there in that world’s Venice in a shattered Europe…”
“Florence,” Vicki corrected him, then realised she’d given away information. She was losing the seduction war. She immediately went on the offensive.
“There was some kind of accident or attack, Vicki. Something called a Kaos Chain experiment. Medici saved his city by walking alone into the unleashed kaos and mastering it. It changed him, making him something not entirely human, corrupting him into Count Armageddon.”
“I can’t help you with that,” VV squirmed. “Nobody can. Even Belasco himself didn’t know who was behind the Kaos Chain disaster, and he massacred enough people trying to find out. I can’t… help you out…”
“Try harder and then I will.”
“Nobody knew anything. Not even where the mysterious container they were experimenting on came from.”
“Mysterious container. A… box? A small wooden box with inlaid marquetry panels?”
“I guess. But I’m not talking. I’m not going to… to…”
“The Judas Box?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know how you’re making me feel like this. It’s like you know everything I want before I know it myself. I’ve never been job interviewed like this!”
“This isn’t a job interview, Vicki. Tom already has an assistant who can run his empire and meet his personal needs. Regret of the Damned, demon temptress.”
“Meh. I’d like to know what she can do that I can’t!”
“You’re finding out,” the person on the bed with her promised. “Regret can take the shape of anyone you desire, anyone who tempts you. And you wanted to seduce Tom Black, so this shift was easy.”
VV blinked in surprise, tensing beneath her partner. “You’re Regret? Not Black?”
“I screen all his junk calls,” Regret told her. “And he figured that to get information from you would require a specialist approach.”
Vicki’s head dropped back onto the pillow. Then she giggled. “Well, there’s plenty of stuff I haven’t told you yet,” she insisted, and dragged Regret down on top of her.
***
“You’ll appreciate our concern,” noted Hansel Fokker, lighting a cigarette and passing it to his twin sister who was sprawled on the arm of his chair. “We are all only now coming to terms with the brave new world after the Parody War. Things were already changing even before that. No stability. No order. This is bad for business and makes us… nervous.”
“Uncomfortable,” corrected Greta Fokker, exhaling smoke in proper film noir fashion as she caressed her brother’s hair. “In a few short years we have seen Zemo fall, and Blofish, and the Devil Doctor, and the Lynchpin of Crime. There have been upheavals amongst the Ass-Raping Ninjas, the Little Sisters of Discipline, the Mecca Cabonari, BALD. Why even our own dear father has been lost to us.”
“Aged almost to death and imprisoned by Sir Mumphrey Wilton,” Tom Black remembered. He only said it out loud to rattle the Fokker twins.
“For now,” agreed Hansel, colouring slightly. “But you will understand why many of us are cautious when someone bearing your power begins to show an interest in our affairs.”
“A very great deal of money passes through our hands,” agreed Baroness Elizabeth von Zemo. Right now she was supposed to be incarcerated by the US Federal Government but that didn’t seem to be a problem for her when she wanted a weekend in Badripoor. “A great deal of power and influence too. We all have specialities that we intend to protect against incursion.”
Tom’s gaze wandered back to Justus Screwdriver, the power-broker who had called this meeting for him at Badripoor’s exclusive Charity Club. “Crime is the very last true free-market economy,” Black suggested. “Supply and demand and survival of the fittest.”
“It would be unwise to cross B.A.L.D., Mr Black,” warned MODEM, the huge genetically-mutated head-in-a-chair created by the evil science cartel to rule over them. “We have powers and resources beyond your imaginings.”
Tom’s kaos spheres were even now downloading B.A.L.D.’s research database onto his private servers, but he felt no need to mention that. “There’s no need for threats,” he said instead. “Those kind of ultimatums can lead to misunderstandings. And mass destruction.”
“The Charity Club is neutral territory,” Screwdriver reminded them. “It has been so for a hundred years, and that neutrality is enforced. Now Mr Black has asked to meet us so we can resolve and worries or problems we might have with his sudden appearance on the scene, and so that he can learn rather more about the legendary Judas Box from which he gained his powers.”
“But nothing is for nothing,” the Baroness pointed out.
“I’ll take what you know in exchange for not putting you out of business,” Tom offered. “I needed you here so my kaos orbs can track your spoors, but now wherever you go I reckon I’ll be able to find you. And if I can find you I can get you.” He sipped his scotch. “But as I say, there’s no need for threats.”
The Baroness’ eyes narrowed and her lips pursed. Screwdriver hastily gestured for the stewards to send in the pastry cart.
“You overestimate your power, Mr Black,” Hansel Fokker warned. “Whatever your personal abilities, we each have organisations with immeasurable resources, innumerable operatives and weapons. Any one of us could take you down.”
“I pick your sister then,” Tom leered. “Meanwhile, I’d like to have any files or information you have on Count Armageddon or the Judas Box. If you can just keep talking pointlessly for a couple more minutes then my kaos orbs should have everything I need from your systems.”
“What!” exploded Screwdriver.
“You didn’t think I’d leave you yesterday without having one of my corpse lights inhabit your mobile, did you?” Tom asked him. “It’s not like all of you didn’t come here with precautions: Bethie’s emergency teleport, MODEM’s portable neutron wave field, the Fokker’s personal body weaponry and their hit squad in that van outside? By the way, all of those things are neutralised as of now. Just so you know.”
The Baroness turned her cold gaze on Tom, annoyed because her own covert bio-scanning wasn’t identifying ways of stealing and exploiting kaos energies. “This is neutral territory,” she scowled.
“And I’ve not attacked you. Just neutralised things you’d prepared against me, or unfair escape advantages. And now I’ll answer your questions.”
“You will die!” screamed MODEM, trying to wrest control of his hover-chair weapons platform from the kaos energies that now possessed it.
“You wanted to know my intentions. Will I be cutting into your markets, threatening your business, thwarting your plots? Well, the answer is not at this time. If you don’t come after me I won’t go after you. Not without warning you our truce is over. That’s the deal.”
“There is no deal!” growled Hansel Fokker. “There is only an upstart who knows nothing seeking to…”
“Hush, brother,” chided Greta. “It’s clear that Tom has a plan. This is only part of it. He’s playing us, and I’m intrigued about why and for what.”
The Baroness looked around intently. “We are not alone,” she warned, glancing at her Cartiér wrist-scanner. “There is a presence here. Two presences, linked. Cloaked. Twisting light around them to be invisible.”
“Ah,” breathed Tom. “I guess that would be spiffy then. President for Life of Badripoor? His symbiotic fern can do that stuff.”
Mark Hopkins decloaked, glaring at Black. “Yeah, me. What did you expect, punkass little kaos freak, throwing your weight around on my turf?”
“Oh my,” said Tom, holding his hands up. “It’s a fair cop.”
“spiffy,” sighed the Baroness, reaching for another éclair. “Weren’t ManMan or Nats available on the Has-Been Heroes roster today, then?”
“Okay bad people,” spiffy declared, “You’re all under arrest. Line up in order of lameness and I’ll cuff you up.”
Hansel and Greta exchanged glances and clasped hands. They didn’t look like they were about to surrender. MODEM triggered the emergency override on his chair and powered up his ion cannons. Beth von Zemo triggered an earstud waveform generator to broadcast a static wave to confuse the Unhappy Place fern that grew from spiffy’s cranium. Justus Screwdriver did nothing except watch.
Tom Black reckoned his kaos orb downloads would take another thirty seconds. He just hoped he’d timed the cultist attacks upon himself properly.
The windows of the Charity Club blew in as the Dark Young of Shrub-Niggurath showed they cared nothing for century-old neutrality pacts.
Spiffy’s fern freaked out and went into full attack mode against the non-Euclidean frottage of the minions of the Elder Beast.
The door burst open and the lycanthropes attacked. The Fokkers took down the first wave without even blinking. The Baroness casually shot down the Apostate Cultists climbing from the dumb waiter, between bites of her pastry.
“Black!” screeched MODEM. “You have betrayed us!”
Tom raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Me? I’m just sat here. I never invited all these gatecrashers.” He paused for a moment and contemplated. “Although I suppose I could help you all fight against the impossible odds of these sorcerous attacks, if we were able to agree to my terms for truce thereafter.”
Screwdriver smiled thinly, appreciative of the gambit. “Your planning and your kaos powers are formidable,” he admitted, “but there are ways to fool your will o’ th’ wisps, arcane and biological. For example…”
He touched his wristwatch stud and huge metal hands crashed up from the floor below, dragging Tom to the cellar, armchair and all.
“For example,” Screwdriver went on as Tom vanished beneath a pile of adversaries, “Baroness Morbo can mask life auras from your orbs. Dreamripper can fill them with false sensory inputs. Genetwist can alter human forms so they no longer even register as human.” He glanced down into the melee below. “And Anvil Man is pretty much immune to everything,” he added. “Oh dear.”
Cultists and elder beings and shapeshifters and undead poured in upon a fern-wielder and the elite handful of criminal masterminds. Tom Black vanished beneath the squad of attackers specially selected to resist his powers.
And then the Carnifex arrived.
***
Continued in Tom Black #11: Last Man Standing
***
Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2008 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2008 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
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