THE GREASE PIT

Knave Iespyk, Psychro Myntaello and Tug Mug Lybriem approached the seedy bar on the first moon of Plundarr, Tug Mug's home moon. Of course, using the word seedy when referring to any place on the first moon was like walking on the ice moon and saying that it was cold.

"Theese ees thee place. Thee Greease peet," Tug Mug said proudly. And rightly so. The Grease Pit was his old stomping grounds. He'd quaffed more ale in this establishment than you could shake Luna's riding crop at. What with being stuck on Third Earth for almost a decade he hadn't had the chance to come back. Now, though, it was different.

The doors swung open and Knave took in the scenery. The place smelled worse than anything he had ever smelled, and he had been assigned to washing Tug Mug's smelly shirts and socks on occasion. He didn't even want to think about the time his underwear had been brought down. A good dozen tables covered the floor and each was surrounded by a couple of chairs. The inhabitants seemed about as clean as the rest of the place. Mostly they were Gravitons, although there was a young boy of unknown race sitting grumpily in the corner. Knave guided the trio over to a table and flopped down at it. "Got the supplies?" he asked Psychro as Tug Mug went to get drinks. Psychro opened a small duffel bag and produced a deck of cards, a pad of paper and a pen. Knave took the cards and began shuffling. "Shall I go first?"

"Go for it. Knock yourself out," Psychro replied.

"Leeterally. Then wee can take your money," Tug Mug snickered.

"Good luck. Shade's got it all. All right then. First card is Red Eye. What do the initials BLT stand for according to Red Eye?" Knave asked.

It was an old game they were playing. Each card had a different person's name written on it. The questioner would take a card and present a scenario involving that person. The other players would answer. The questioner would pick a winner and then the next person would go. Psychro and Tug Mug had invented it one day while working in the control room.

"Starteeng us off easy, eh? Beets, Larvae and Tofu," Tug Mug said.

"Beetles, Lasagna and Tapioca pudding," Psychro replied.

"You're both wrong. Red Eye made this for me yesterday. It's Baked Beans, Lard and Toffee. Psychro wins because I like the word 'tapioca,'" Knave replied.

Psychro was next and drew his card. "Psikaris. The house is on fire. What's the first thing she does?"

"Saves her engines and tools," Knave said.

"Saves her Cameeo," Tug Mug snorted.

"Oh come on. Even if Cameo was in there you know her priority would be the engines and tools," Knave retorted.

"Have to agree with Knavey-Boy. Cameo ranks lower than the engines," Psychro said, marking the point on the note pad.

"Fine, fine. Eet's my turn," Tug Mug said, downing a mug of beer. "You're een for eet now, Psychro. Worst peeck up lines made by Psychro."

"Ha! Now that's an easy one," Knave chuckled, "Hey baby, why don't you pretend I'm a book and cover me."

"I've never used that one. Something more along the lines of 'Excuse me madam. Perhaps I could interest you in a fine evening of delicious wine, scrumptious food, and a warm body to lie next to," Psychro sneered.

"What about 'You must be tired. You've been running through my head all night?" asked someone behind them.

They turned in their seats and saw a Tiger-Psi cross standing with one hand on her hip. "Who are you?" Psychro asked.

"The name's Fantasy. You must be the one they call Psychro," the woman replied, appraising Psychro's assets. "I've heard stories about you. Most of them seem to be true." She took an empty chair.

"I'm taken," Knave remarked, holding up his hand and displaying his wedding ring.

"Sorry, what?" Fantasy asked.

"Just cutting you off before you get any ideas. He's the promiscuous type. Not me," Knave replied. "So, what brings you here?"

"Didn't have enough fuel to make it to the Psi Moon. Stopped on this planet for the night while my ship refueled. Figured you guys were the only ones worth sitting with. No offence, but Gravitons aren't my type. I like my men to bathe on occasion," Fantasy replied.

"Wait a minute. How did you know about me and that pick-up line?" Psychro asked, finding it difficult to get his eyes to hit any higher than her chest.

Fantasy took a swig of Psychro's mug while his attention was otherwise diverted. "Simple really. One of my friends told me that you'd used it on her. Dropped her pretty quickly if I recall correctly," she replied.

"That's Psychro for you. Hey, Tug Mug. Where did they get this stuff? Red Eye's leftovers?" Knave snorted, pushing his mug aside.

Tug Mug stood up full and growled, his hand resting on his gravity carbine, this drew the attention of several of the bar's patrons. "That ees eet! You can eensult my hair, my weight, my bodee odour, but when you eensult my bar and their dreenks you've gone too far!" he snapped. A group of seven biker Gravitons, in tight black leather and dark sunglasses, strode up to the table. "Deed you say you deedn't like thee beer?" the leader asked.

Knave turned to look at Psychro, a broad grin spreading across his face. The older man gave a slight nod of the head. Both men wanted a fight, and these Gravitons would do the trick. "Oh, there's nothing wrong with this place. Nothing a few gallons of gasoline and a match wouldn't cure," Knave replied.

"What was that? You dare eensult us again?" the lead biker snarled.

"Oh cool off," Knave drawled, before being decked.

"Stoopeed half-breed. Any time an Ice Loonatak makes an ice pun, he's about to breathe ice," the leader said.

"You're eeven stoopeeder. You just speelled my beer!" Tug Mug shouted, tackling the leader of the bunch.

* * *

From his table in the corner Sonarion sighed. He'd recently helped a lost child find his mother after three years stranded on the Psi moon, and now he was in the middle of a bar fight. So much for peace and quiet. A quick analysis of the sides told him that the Gravitons were going to pummel the newcomers into a brilliant purple smear on the wall. Which was too bad really. The woman looked nice enough, although he wasn't in the market for a woman, and the hybrids had one thing right at least. The beer did stink. Still, what could he do to stop seven large Gravitons from beating on three hybrids? There really was only one thing to do. Carefully he got up from his seat and moved down a hall to the public pay phone.

* * *

Psychro pushed his chair back and slammed his fist on the table. It burst into flame instantly. The Gravitons flinched and rubbed at their eyes. "Worked like a charm," Psychro murmured, diving over the table. A swift kick and an equally swift jab to the throat downed one of the bikers.

Meanwhile, Knave had managed to get to his feet and brush himself off. He contemplated joining Tug Mug in beating on the man who had hit him, but decided that there was plenty of other game present. The butt end of his icepick seemed to be a blur as Knave cracked into the head, legs and arms of a particularly thick Graviton. This one began teetering and tottering before landing with a crash on the floor.

Fantasy hated fighting. She could do it, and do it well, but not with these odds, not like this. Being half Tiger had granted her certain abilities in the field of illusions, her psi powers served to enhance this and make them more believable.

"Gah! Her arms are becomeeng tentacles!" one of the Gravitons said, turning and fleeing from this seemingly hideously deformed woman. He collided with one of his mates who was just firing a gravity carbine of his own. The shrieking man drifted up to the ceiling, thankful that he was at least away from the freak of nature.

Tug Mug had wrestled the Lunar equivalent of elephants that were heavier than the man he now faced. Still, the leader of the bikers possessed great strength and a modicum of intelligence, which was more than Tug Mug could claim. He waited for Tug Mug to commit to his wild drunken swing before rolling out of the way, causing his fist to smash through a support beam. Tug Mug's eyes widened as it toppled forward and beaned him in the head. "Queeck! Everybody out!" the leader, a slob named Roly Poly shouted, making for his motorcycle.

* * *

Sonarion looked up, confused. Apparently his analysis had been wrong. Still, he had committed himself to calling the police. He might as well carry through with it. "Yes, the Grease Pit. A little place on the corner of Bacon street and Lard avenue. You can't miss it. What? Yes I'm old enough to... urk!" Sonarion coughed as one meaty hand grabbed him by the throat and another smashed the phone. "Trivelal doesn't like leettle squeeelers. He squeeshes them good!" a fat Graviton snarled in contempt.

"Why don't you make yourself useful? This place could use a new rug," Sonarion replied, ramming his crescent-shaped blade through the man's own neck.

Knave snickered and began applauding lightly. "I knew one had gone this way. Nice work, for a little half pint," he said.

Sonarion extricated himself from the corpse and looked up at the stranger. "Go screw yourself," he muttered turning away.

"Hey, Knave! Guess what! There's a whole base of them nearby," Psychro said cheerily as he and the others approached. "Why don't we go down there and finish the fight? Most of them got away!"

"One less, it would seem," Fantasy said. "Who's your friend?"

"Half pint? Couldn't tell you. Let's just go down there and finish what has to be done," Knave replied.

* * *

Sonarion watched them leave with a mixture of relief and curiosity. His neck still hurt from the Graviton's fierce grip. It might be nice to extract some sort of revenge. Besides, he needed a ticket off this dump, and the tiger psi seemed like a good bet to be willing to take him away. Cautiously he began following the trail of the four companions.

* * *

The smell of gasoline and sweat permeated the air around the building that served as headquarters for the gang of bikers. It had probably been a warehouse at some point in the past, but now the only thing it held were illicit goods and many fat Lunataks. A rusty sign hanging over the door identified them as the "Rusty Nailz Ten." Knave was feeling in a strange mood and stopped his companions. "How many did you say died?" he asked.

"Just one," Tug Mug replied.

"Ah, then that sign needs to be fixed," he snickered.

"Just open the door. It'll need to be changed again before the day's over," Psychro retorted.

Knave indeed proceeded to open the door, and the four walked inside the building, not noticing the shadowy figure trailing behind them.

* * *

Roly Poly assessed the damages to his crew in the back of the warehouse. They had taken a severe beating and come out on top. Sure, they were a gang, they were used to fighting. They had stared down the Rockin' Riders of Risel and come out on top. No one else could boast that as an accomplishment. That's when Knave pushed open the door. Instantly Roly Poly grabbed a nearby crowbar and signalled to his men to gather their weapons. A length of chain, brass knuckles, even one Graviton carried a Snruzz Cola machine.

"Scatter!" Knave shouted, bolting off in one direction. Tug Mug followed suit, except in the opposite. Psychro stood his ground, protectively, in front of Fantasy. The woman began concentrating, making it appear as though more people were coming through the door. She wouldn't be able to hold the illusion for very long, but it would hopefully serve as something of a distraction.

Knave decided to take the man holding the Cola machine. He seemed like the greatest threat and possibly the bigger challenge. But first, Knave had to take care of that weapon. He reached down within himself for the spot each Ice Lunatak, or in his case part Ice Lunatak, possessed, but few knew about. He found the lethal ability to reduce the temperature of matter to sub zero temperatures. In other words, he could cause metal to becoming more fragile than glass. A long stream of the stuff spread forth from his lips and enveloped the machine. The graviton merely laughed. The attack hadn't seemed to have had any effect at all, until he shifted his weight and the machine shattered into razor sharp shards.

* * *

Tug Mug bowled into three Gravitons, as one might bowl over three pins in bowling, and snorted. "Thees ees too easy!" he said.

"You dare eensult us? For that you die," a graviton snarled, charging in. Tug Mug laughed again and blasted him with his gravity carbine. His own momentum carried him up and through the window. He would drift up until he hit outer space. Then he'd pop.

* * *

Psychro had decided that using his powers would be no fun. After all, what point was there when you could beat your opponent ten times before he knew what had hit him. Fists and feet rained down on both of the men trying to get a hold of him. He ducked low and planted a punch in one's gut. The second over swung and walloped his friend. An elbow to the groin and a strike to the chin knocked the second out cold.

* * *

To say that Fantasy was useless in a fight would have not only been unfair, but also incorrect. She enjoyed letting people make the mistake of assuming her helpless and thus ease up on their swings. Take the Graviton she now faced. His movements were slowed by the effects of both liquor and being beaten up earlier in the day. To slow down further merely allowed Fantasy to employ the basic knowledge on combat that she possessed to take his crowbar from him and bash him repeatedly over the head with it.

* * *

Knave couldn't help but chuckle as a second opponent came to fight him. "Don't you guys ever learn?" he sneered, tossing his icepick in the air lightly. "I guess I'll just have to beat some sense into that thick skull of yours."

"Look out!" came a sudden shout, as a small blur jumped down from the ceiling, preceded by a glint of metal. Knave turned, but kept his attention on where his opponent was, to see Sonarion tearing the throat of the chain wielding Graviton out. Knave flicked his wrist forward and impaled the last of Roly Poly's goons. "I hate it when people sneak up on me," he muttered, retrieving the weapon.

* * *

Roly Poly's eyes were wide as the five Lunataks surrounded him. "Rueened! All rueened!" he moaned.

"It gets worse. Much worse," Psychro said.

"Oh yes... Thee cops should bee here soon. They'll want to talk weeth you," Tug Mug said.

"Come on boys. Let's head back to my hotel room for some coffee to celebrate," Fantasy said, leading the way.

* * *

"You know. I believe this is the first time a woman has invited me up to her room for coffee and actually served coffee," Psychro snickered.

"That's all I'm here for, I assure you of that," Knave said.

"I'll drink to that," Sonarion added.

"All in all, a fine day's work. I guess it's back to military life though. Places to go, people to see," Psychro said.

"Hopefullee we won't have to see Loona," Tug Mug said.

"That's when we go elsewhere," Psychro snickered.

"How about you two? You both held your own back there, half pint even saved my hide. I'm sure you'd be welcome in the army," Knave replied.

"Figured you might be useful for something, like maybe getting me a ride back to the second moon?" Sonarion inquired.

"I've got business myself there. Sorry, but army life doesn't fit my life style. Another time, perhaps," Fantasy said.

"Perhaps," Psychro said.

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