Hamster Kin
A Starshatter story
(Art by Neutronboar)
Friends, enjoy my Terran-Tuesday gift story!
Index: Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8
Chapter 1
The power of bloop
“We don't serve your vermin kind 'ere!” – sneered the bulky, power-club wielding bouncer.
“Go'on, git.” – spat out his fellow, hand on the beamgun.
Diminutive, the strange hat-wearing, big backpack-carrying, overly cloaked sentient who had respectfully attempted to gain entry into the totally-not-seedy establishment which these bouncers guarded the entrance of, held his snout.
“On second sniff I think, nay.” – squeaked the so-called vermin and, chased the by eye-watering fetor which suddenly spread out like a tsunami from said establishment's open doors, proceeded to evacuate the premises.
He'd stopped for a few minutes to sneeze said stench out and fix his wide hat. The latter, to the amazement of those who spared him another look, appeared to be handmade and from deceased plant-matter; alien straw to be exact. As a matter of fact, his backpack was so tall and wide, one would assume that as he walked around, he'd tip the hat over.
However, no matter how fast he strutted, his straw headgear remained steady.
Affixing a pair of much used goggles under said quite strange to look upon, yet surprisingly efficient against the omnipresent chill rain chapeau, the critter made his way into one nearby, and rather hard to notice wynd. Said street did not carry foul malodor, nor were any persons of obvious dangerous repute lurking about.
The hat-wearing alien made sure to scan it good and scan it twice.
Muttering something under his snout about lonely, yet supremely cozy paths, he took the first step. A minute later, the diminutive sentient stopped at the sliding door of an establishment completely different than the one he previously scouted. The entire thing, even without a scan, appeared of modest size and even the residential building which housed it, small. Not new, yet well kempt, everything had an aura of furtiveness; those who lived there were used to stretching their coin, so to speak.
The trash, where there was some, it did not roll on the pavement, but was packed in reusable sacks or vacfoam boxes. The critter even noted potted plants being fed water off the rainspouts, most of which appeared to be handmade, from odd bits of metal. As poor and narrow as this side street looked, there weren't any homeless people lying around, hungry, cold, and rotting in their own refuse.
Since there was no bouncer outside, he reached with his small hand and gently, knocked on the door. A burly arm slid it open and before him stood a tall man, old, yet once thick with muscle. Leaning on his crutch, the oldster first looked up, a mask of confusion on his scarred face.
“Down here.” – muttered the critter, catching the man's attention before he addressed him.
“Good sir, due to my already no small experience with your city I've got to ask. Do you serve...” – and the small one checked a holo-note littered with numerous local slang words – “my vermin kind 'ere?”
“'Tis the first time I've seen one of yer people.” – said the man and studied the straw hat-wearing alien conversationalist, asking in turn – “Do you have some coin, traveler?”
This prompted the critter to fuddle through his wet clothing, patting pockets, whenever his smallish arms could reach these.
He had a lot of pockets!
“If you do not, I can treat you a bowl of hot soup and a handful of baked lenehts.” – said the tall man with a sigh and stood aside, one hand welcoming the small alien in.
Not to be rude, the critter removed his hat and cloak so he could at least shake part of the water, before entering the venue. Indeed, as he deduced from looking at it from the outside, this was a small eatery. Though there was a bar, currently entertaining a handful of quietly drinking patrons, this wasn't a night club, nor was it a house of ill-repute.
“Sir, would you excuse my lack of knowledge,” – bowed the white-furred critter, when the old man entered – “what is... lenehts?
One of the drinking patrons, a youngish man, clad in one rather old but well-kept docker's spacesuit, pointed the big potted plant happily growing in the corner.
“They be fruit plants which grow nuts. Do you know what is a nut?” – the man spoke slowly, and politely articulated his words for the alien to understand.
Said alien's little blue eyes glowed, the second he heard the word and translated it to his own speech. He had finally produced a single coin, one made of strange crystal, etched with shiny, but slightly scratched metal. It immediately found its way into the old man's callous-covered hand and the critter occupied a free spot at the bar.
“Hope this pays me like, a bigger bowl of shooup?” – the critter asked following a moment of hesitance, his question paired with one of the most adorable toothy grins the patrons of this quiet establishment had ever witnessed.
The oldster, and pretty much most of the other patrons smiled back at him.
When the elderly man finally limped behind the bar, he skillfully poured two ladles of soup for his new guest, who used his huge backpack instead of the chair offered. The thing appeared to be comfy and especially for a diminutive critter, tall enough so his little hands could freely reach the bar top.
“You got that, friend! One big bowl of,” – and he deftly imitated the critter's accent – “shooup, coming right now!”
While the alien evaluated his meal with a long, funny to observe, satisfied sniff, the oldster offered him a plate of freshly baked lenehts. Again, the critter let his adorable snout do the tasting, before he grabbed a small handful of nuts and shoved them in his wide open gob.
“Yuik,” – the owner nudged the docker's spacesuit-wearing young patron and tossed him the alien coin – “tell me how much is this. Never seen one before.”
The man called Yuik received another fill of his chosen alcoholic beverage. Huffing and squinting, he began his study of the alien crystal-metallic coin. As for the guest himself... For the next half-a-star-minute, owner and patrons observed how the small sentient speedily devoured the nuts.
The shooup soon followed suit.
However, even though the critter attempted to sip quietly, each spoonful was followed by a colorful word in some alien lingo, “Humaniya-mummaniya!” and “Shoo shweeetsh!” among the most frequently used.
His meal finished, he produced a simple vacfoam handkerchief from one of his now much easily reached pockets, and with elegance never before witnessed by any of the men and women in this eatery, wiped his snout. A number of sudden occurrences interrupted the critter, who had raised a small finger and snout half-opened, intended to say something.
Yuik, finally aware of what exactly he was holding, too, was unable to speak properly.“T-t-teer...” came out of his mouth and those who knew the man well, threw him startled looks. Yuik had never, ever, stuttered, not even in his most drunkenness state.
Someone of burly stature violently kicked in the sliding door, a wave of chill wind and rain pouring inside the venue. Three men, and the onlookers would only use the term lightly when they addressed these, forced their way in. Armed with power-clubs arcing with electricity and low-yield beamguns, the thugs made way for a forth person to sit at the bar.
This one, half his body replaced with shiny cyber-tech, wiped all food, drinks, and nuts off the bar. Fist of metal slammed into the bar top, he inquired with a sneer – “Old shit, where's muh coin?”
“Hear dat or we'is breakin' your other leg-ah?!” – chortled one of the three thugs.
“I heard.” – replied the old man and pointed at the cyber-decked goon – “And I already paid you one star-week ago.”
“Dis is a new fee.” – and the shiny thug carved a bloody scar in the owner's cheek with his sharp metal finger – “Yous pays double right nahw or we trash dat stinkin' hole.”
His goons erupted in subservient laughter and one of them made a swing with his bat, shattering an empty table into pieces.
“Bettah' you pays nahw or t'morrah, all dese fools” – said the chrome-armed leader as he pointed the patrons – “dey be eating that vile schlop ye call food off the pavement!”
“Yeeeaaah,” – sniggered another one of the goons as his dirty shoe crushed the small pile of nuts which the small critter's eyes were looking at – “an' dem wozzy crap nuts!”
“Good sir,” – and the fluffy alien addressed his host – “would you say that, and I am just making an educated assumption here, that eating your selection of delectable foods off the street, this may cause us patrons indigestion or... worse?”
The silence was thick before, but when he spoke out, those who huddled in their seats appeared to be absolutely terrified. All, except Yuik, whose initial fright of the goons had seemingly evaporated into thin air. More, the man sported a smirk and it grew the more he looked at his clenched fist where the crystal-metal coin now hid.
As for the thugs themselves... They and their cybernetically augmented leader had never had anyone oppose, or for that matter outright ignore them and for so long a time, that they just stood there, quieter than corpses.
“Clean as it is,” – uttered the owner of the eatery, trying to stop his bleeding – “that street is still a street and, unsanitary.”
With a nod and another cursory glance at the crushed nuts, the small alien asked another question – “Might I also be correct in my following assumption, that this small gathering of unruly individuals and their clad in tin cans leader are wozzie-shit-smelling, no good racketeering goons?”
Eyes full of pain, the elderly man could only nod a yes, which immediately made the critter smile.
Cybernetics whining, the gangster roared – “Who the shit do yous think yous talkien to-eh?!” – and swiped at the critter, yet his metallic fingers did not snatch what he casually thought they would.
Instead of painful cries, there was the sound of lightning swift pitter-patter of tiny boots. To the amazement of patrons, owner, and the four thugs, the white-furred alien was out on the street, standing under the pouring rain. Somehow, the critter managed to not only dash under the goons' feet, but snatch and don his straw hat.
“Mr. Too Slow.” – he answered the goon’s question, and clapped his adorable little hands, mocking the cyborg's failed attack.
Weapons at the ready, the thugs and their cyborg boss rushed outside, surrounding the little one. Pulling a number on this gang wasn't something any of the locals would even imagine doing since they knew what would happen then. The same bloody thing that would befell this adorable alien if he did not run or grovel, the mortified patrons thought.
Not Yuik, who secretly pulled the owner's sleeve and whispered a single word in his ear. Surprised, the old man's jaw shook and he left his cheek bleed, eyes wide and looking at the street. There, the small alien stood in all his three feet tall; grinning, and chuckling without even a single shred of fear.
“Yous gon'ah die.” – announced the cyborg, and a short, curved vibroblade emerged from his metallic forearm, right before he clarified – “Slowly.”
“Iihihi!” – snickered the critter right hand on his snout, as he rested his left in one of his pockets – “Slowly says Mr. Too Slow!”
“Nab 'im! I'll skin dat filthy vermin alive!” – the boss ordered his underlings.
They had just began laughing as something tiny flashed in the rain. Pocket-size, nevertheless the EMP grenade shocked the cyborg so hard, that all of his shiny cybernetics became disabled. As he lay on the wet pavement wallowing in pain, the furry alien pulled a gun. It did not just look strange this rifle, but also a bit too small, and, as he reached for his own beamgun, one of the goons rumbled:
“Wutz dis, a toy?! Smash dem legs of 'is!”
They did not see nor hear how the alien sniffed the wet air, only the three flashes when his otherwise comically small rifle blasted gory holes in their flesh. Among the patrons, it was Yuik whose hearing was good enough so he picked up the weapon sounds.
Bloop! Bloop! Bloop!
“Iihihi!” – the critter chortled as he approached the temporarily disabled cyborg with a short, but vicious-looking vibroblade in hand.
The gangster was helpless, and though he squirmed and wriggled, nothing could prevent the alien from chopping all of his cybernetic limbs off.
“See, Mr. Too Slow, us Terrans... or I should say, us Hamsters, we kind of like our skin where it is.” – and the small one patted his wet furry behind.
“I hav' friends!” – screamed the agonizing gangster – “Dey tear yous to bits! Avenge muh! Kill ya ded!”
“Don't be threatening me with a good time, baddie.” – chuckled the hamster as he leaned in closer, and his otherwise adorable smirk evoked pure terror in the gangster's heart when he asked – “Them frens of yers, are they... maaany?”
“G-gangs, I k-knows... gaaah... t-two big gangs!” – Shouted the mutilated cyborg in between pained breaths, cyber-tech liquids and oils seeping in the gory street.
“Good.” – said the Terran with a happy smile and stabbed the cyborg dead.
On the next misty morrow, many of the city's unsavory elements noticed the impaled body of a certain cyborg, dangling from a traffic light. Indeed, those who knew him, made a quick note to the brutal manner of his untimely demise yet, for some reason, neither of the two big gangs which said individual claimed friendship with, were too quick to avenge him.
Every murder in the shiny, quite cyber-tech obsessed, criminal-ran City of Boklik had a complimentary period of two star-days... at the very least.
Excellent critter character development!
He's Reepicheep!