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Book: The Nomads and the Mind Machine
Chapter 4: Pointless People

A deca-whore?!” Commander Pepe exclaimed, his immaculately shaved multiple chins doubling up like a barbil’s armpits.  “Mama Flesh was certainly more that we expected!  I’m not surprised you cannot get her into your ship.  She’s not the kind of miscreant you ever envisaged having to take onboard with you, I think!!

Ross Mental stood in front of the giant oval view-screen in Governor Ykcor’s expansive wood-paneled office.  He nodded. “Too fuckin’ right!  Only the tank bay would have been big enough, but my tank’s in there, and there’s no way I’m leaving that behind!  That fucker stays with me!”

The commander nodded.  “Understandable.

“Anyway, she’s lying outside next to the Morbid on the governor’s private landing pad.  Someone with a big enough cargo bay is going to have to come and pick the fucker up.”

Commander Pepe looked down at an unseen screen.  “For obvious reasons there are always many bounty hunters in the Odius Sector, especially near Repugnius, so there should be someone…  Ah, yes!  Cardigan Moth is close by, and currently between missions.

“I’ve heard of him.  Fuckin’ fifth-class only, though.  What about Ace and Panman?  Are they doing anything important?”

As always, yes.  They’re currently on Nemia investigating the kidnapping of  Professors Espanys and Larberec.

“Oh yeah!  I heard about that.  Serious shit!”

          “It is.  They are considered the most intelligent and cerebrally active humanoids ever born, and are personal advisors to Lord Gastronemous himself.  Finding them is far more important than transporting your fat whore, I’m afraid.

“I guess that fucker Cardigan Moth will have to do.”

He will, and don’t worry – he’s actually a fourth-class bounty hunter now – promoted only last month.  I recommended him for promotion myself after his remarkable defeat of the Elohesra Measuring Monks on the moon of Noisime.

Ross Mental laughed.  “Yeah, I remember that!  His solution was fuckin’ insane!”

The commander grinned.  “Indeed it was!  His ship certainly has the space to hold a deca-whore, and his physique, though slender, has many cyborg modifications.  I’m confident he can help.

A man, tall and gaunt, and with a solemn face that was aged and wrinkled to an excessive level, approached from the panoramic windows at the far side of the office.  His gold-braided deep red robes billowed behind him, and his footfalls were silent on the deep luxury carpeting.

Commander Pepe could see the man.  “Governor Ykcor!  Good to see you again!

The governor stood beside Ross Mental.  He gave a shallow bow, his expression still serious.  “And you, Commander Pepe.”

You must be very pleased that Ross Mental has finally stopped Mama Flesh’s filthy seduction, corruption and occasional murder of your senior officials, not least the bizarre rape of the assistant governor!

The governor’s expression did not change.  “I am pleased that she has been detained.  Assistant Governor Esoneguh’s recovery should be expedited by that knowledge.”

Then why aren’t you smiling?

Governor Ykcor frowned, deepening the already deep furrows between his sunken eyes.  “Because five square kilometres of my city were vaporised when that whore’s ship detonated, that is why!”

Ross Mental looked at the Governor.  “Think yourself lucky.  The super fusion device on that flab fucker’s ship was only a centimetre in diameter.  She could’ve fitted a device ten times the size, and then you and this fuck-off mega-building of your’s would have been vaporised too!”

“400 thousand of my citizens died.”  The governor said.  “And 600 thousand more were horribly disfigured.  A disaster of such magnitude has not befallen the city of Hadus for more than four centuries – long before I was elected governor!  I do not consider that ‘lucky’!”

Ross Mental glared at the governor.  “Most of the dead and disfigured are from the underclass!  They’re fuckin’ useless!”

“The underclass provides labour and custom for our core businesses – the brothels, casinos, deep lunge clinics and tea shops, and not least the swamp farms!  They are crucial to this world’s economy!”

“Don’t worry.  The fuckers’ breed like savages.  There’ll be more in no time.”

Commander Pepe intervened.  “Ross Mental is right, governor.  Your underclass, like the underclass on all worlds, do indeed have a very high birth-rate.  Their depraved antics will soon replenish the population.  And worlds like yours are popular destinations for intellectually-challenged interplanetary migrants.  Considering your city alone has over six-billion residents, the population and revenue loss due to this disaster is miniscule and can be rectified easily.

Ross Mental nodded.  “Yeah, get the fuck over it!”

Governor Ykcor gave a barely perceptible nod.  “There is a certain logic to what you are saying.  But the loss of the Gastronemous Gallery and its priceless contents is of serious concern.  It’s an intellectual tragedy of colossal …”

“Just rebuild the fucker and buy more paintings!”

The governor glared at Ross Mental.  “It’s not that simple!  There were three-thousand visiting art emissaries in the gallery at the time of the explosion.  They were guests invited from similar prestigious galleries on many of the central worlds, including…”

“Pretentious moon-faced fuckers - nothing more!”  Ross Mental said.  “They’re even more useless that your fuckin’ underclass!”

Governor Ykcor did not appear to appreciate the foul-mouthed bounty hunter’s opinion.  “The death of such dignitaries under my care is a diplomatic nightmare.  It will take months of delicate negotiation to…”

“No government gives a fuck about such pointless people!  Stop fuckin’ worrying!”

Commander Pepe intervened again.  “Again Ross Mental is right, governor.  As prestigious as your gallery was, it can be replaced, and those emissaries were indeed pointless – the product of millennia of obscene opulence.  Relax and let it go.”  The commander spoke to Ross Mental.  “I have just sent a message to Cardigan Moth.  He should contact you shortly to arrange the collection of Mama Flesh.

The bounty hunter nodded.

In the meantime, I’m sure Governor Ykcor will offer you the hospitality that you’re status as a top-class bounty hunter deserves?

After a momentary pause the governor nodded.  “Of course.”

On the screen, a pair of large firm breasts nuzzled up to the back of Commander Pepe’s head.  A cute giggle was heard.  The commander’s eyes wandered to the firm delights that pushed against him.  “I have pressing business to attend to, so I must go.  Oh, and please send some images of Mama Flesh to me.  I wish to ‘confirm’ your description of her!

Ross Mental laughed.  “Sure!”

Commander Pepe out.

The large oval view-screen on Govenor Ykcor’s office wall faded to black.

Ross Mental looked at the governor.  “Some of your planet’s finest fuckin’ ale would go down very nicely right now!”

The governor signed and walked over to his desk.  He touched a control surface.  On the far side wall two of the wood panels slid apart revealing a well-stocked drinks cabinet.  Bottles, decanters and glasses glistened under some sharp little spotlights.  “Help yourself, Mister Mental.”

The bounty hunter stomped over and grabbed a beer bottle.  He ripped off its cap with his left hand and gulped it down in seconds.  He dropped the bottle and grabbed another, and then turned to the governor.  “This is fuckin’ good stuff for such a gloomy planet!”  He said, forcing out one of his loudest burps ever.

Governor Ykcor forced a smile.  “Nice of you to say so.”  He turned and pointed to the doorway next to the expansive windows.  “We should check on Mama Flesh, should we not?”

Ross Mental ripped the cap off the second bottle and took a swig.  “You’re fuckin’ right.  Lead the way.”

The bounty hunter followed the governor through the doors and onto a wide grey landing pad.  Once again he was momentarily startled by the heat and humidity, this time accompanied by a strong warm wind.

From this altitude, at the top of the city’s Government Tower four kilometres above the streets, the grim vista of Hadus’s thousands upon thousands of dark towering buildings could be seen stretching all the way to the smog-shrouded horizon.  The permanent green and grey cloud cover was only a few hundred metres above and was like a thick mouldy blanket pressing down on the city - heavy and deeply oppressive.  In the far distance a deep black cloud of smoke could be see rising up to the thick cloud cover.  The fires ignited by the explosion of Mama Flesh’s ship still burned.

On the right side of the landing pad was the governor’s personal transport – a squat but luxurious black and pristinely polished air limousine.  Two black-robed bodyguards flanked the car, ready to escort the governor on some whim of a trip at a moments notice.

The governor and the bounty hunter walked passed the limousine and headed towards the left side of the landing pad.  There stood the magnificent Morbid, its scarred and jagged looks purposefully designed to induce dread and alarm into all who set eyes on it.  It sat there, low down on six thick splayed legs, giving it an insect-like appearance.

Lying in front of the Morbid was an even more alarming sight.  It was the pallid, sweating naked mass of Mama Flesh.  She was lying on her side, her nine remaining breasts amassed in front of her like a pile of half filled water balloons.  The folders of her gut undulated as she heaved air in and out of her lungs.  The two grappling hooks were still embedded deep into the back of her shoulder and one of her butt-cheeks.  A considerable amount of blood had pumped from her wounds and had congealed on the landing bay’s surface.

Noticing the approach of the two men, the deca-whore spoke, her voice strained and wheezy.  “Governor Ykcor!”  She said, her lips trembling to form a smile.  “You were next on my list.  How nice of you to find me!”

The governor stopped a few metres away from her.  “You have caused chaos and despair amongst my officials, and you have destroyed a significant part of my city.  It was fortunate that this bounty hunter was able to stop you.”

Mama Flesh gazed into the governor’s eyes.  Her own eyes widened.  “I’m yours for the taking, governor.”  She shook her mass of breasts, and then raised her remaining elephantine leg to reveal her secret.  “Bury yourself deep within my…”

Ross Mental leapt forwards and kicked Mama Flesh hard in the face.  The whore’s head snapped back.  “The governor’s not interested in a bulbous fuckin’ mass of ugliness like you, so shut up!”

The deca-whore’s head lolled around.  Blood gushed from her mouth.  She grinned, revealing an uneven set of blood-covered teeth.  “Oh, but he is!  He wants to experience me.  He needs to delve into my very…”

The bounty hunter kicked once more, this time using double the kicking power.  The servos in his cyborg leg groaned.  “I said, shut the fuck up!”

This time Mama Flesh’s head smacked into the landing pad.  She rolled slightly onto her back, no doubt embedding the hooks even further into her blemished hide, and said no more.

Ross Mental stood over her.  “Look at that hideous mound of blubber.  Why the fuck were your officials interested in that fuckin’ whale of a woman?!”  He took a long noisy swig of his beer, emptying the bottle.

The governor’s eyes crept up and down the whore’s body.  “There is something about her body that appeals.  I’m not sure what.  I think it’s the comfort that she could offer.  Look at the softness of her bulges and the warmth of her…”

“You sick fucker!”  The bounty hunter yelled.  “The standards of you and your inferiors are fuckin’…”  His ear-mounted communicator bleeped.  He answered.  “Yeah?”

This is Cardigan Moth.

“Mister Moth!  That was quick – fuckin’ impressive!”

I believe you require some assistance transporting a morbidly obese and visually unappealing woman of the night back to the Palace of Amino?

“A fat ugly whore, yes.”

I certainly have plenty of room in my hold so I’d be more than happy to help.  I can be with you in six renditions of a guicock’s mating call.”

“How fuckin’ long is that?”

About one hour.

“Then fuckin’ say that!”

Certainly.  Cardigan Moth out.

Ross Mental turned to the governor, who was still gazing at the bulging mass of Mama Flesh.  “You sad, sick, desperate fucker!”

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