0700 and Lorrdain's still in bed. Pathetic. Where did Sci find this kid? He can't be more than twenty. And that hair! Blue stripes? Did Sci snatch him right off of a skateboard?
And why me?
Last night, that thing at the restaurant, when he told those girls I was the Queen of Norway. Oh yes, he'll pay. Mike might be the undisputed king of practical jokes around here, but I can certainly hold my own. I don't start them, but the ones aimed at me don't go unanswered.
It's nothing to do with the girls in question. Truth be known, I thought they were both pretty skanky. I was really worried about the kid's taste for a little while. I'm sure he could have gotten them both for ten Dars. It's really just the principle of the thing. Meet your new wingleader, and half an hour later you're telling strange floozies in a bar that he's not only a woman, he's European royalty!
Oh yes, the boy will pay.
Which is what makes it so pathetic that he's still asleep. Cause his time has come.
I stood outside his door, dressed in my best black flightsuit with all the insignia in place. Flag on the left shoulder, Terra Group emblem on the right. Name tag on the left chest. My boots were shiny as polished glass. I wore my cap down low over my eyes, which I'd learned years ago made someone look more intimidating in situations like these. My gunbelt was strapped securely around my waist with my blaster in its holster and the rest of the equipment in their usual places. Even to my own eyes I looked every inch a Starfighter Command drill instructor.
And much to Lorrdain's imminent chagrin, I held an old fashioned metal trash can in my left hand and a wooden club in the other.
This was going to be fun. With a good bit of residual frustration still bubbling around in my system from my encounters with Lady Lenka yesterday, I could stand to blow off some steam. I couldn't think of a better way to do it. Or a more deserving person to do it to.
I indulged one last smile of anticipation before I forced all expression but extreme seriousness from my face. I reached out and gently turned the door handle, careful not to bang the club on the door. I pushed it open a tiny bit, so it wouldn't close again. Drawing in a deep breath, I took a half-step back.
Then I lashed out with my right leg and delivered a powerful, flat-footed kick to the door. The door slammed open against the opposite wall, landing with a tremendous bang. Before my foot was even back on the ground, I was banging the club on the trash can as loudly and as frequently as I could.
"LORRDAIN! WAKE UP YOU WORTHLESS BAG OF HUTT SLIME!" I yelled at the top of my lungs as I charged into his room. I crossed to his bed, continuing to slam the club into the trash can. Arrek Lorrdain shot up from his sleeping position to sit almost straight up in bed, his eyes wide in shock and confusion. I closed the rest of the distance to the bed and gave it the same hard kick I'd given the door. "QUIT LOAFING! GET OUT OF BED YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A FIELD AGENT!"
Arrek jumped out of bed as fast as he could and stood staring at me. "What the . . . ?" he began in utter confusion.
"I DIDN'T GIVE YOU PERMISSION TO SPEAK, FIELD AGENT! AND QUIT EYEBALLING ME!" Arrek managed to draw himself into a decent semblance of the position of attention, looking straight ahead rather than at me. He looked seriously confused, with a little irritation creeping in around the edges.
I stopped banging the trash can with the club and moved to stand right in front of Arrek. I stared down at him for several long moments, then allowed myself to break into a sadistic smile. "Good morning, sunshine," I said. "Sleep well?" He started to say something, so I cut him off. "Good. So, Arrek, you have any idea what this is all about?"
This time I actually waited for him to answer me. "Uhhh . . . I think so," he said, a slight quaver of fear in his voice.
"Oh that's good. Excellent. Saves me the trouble of having to explain it to your sorry ass." The kid was so scared he was shaking around the edges, in his hands and legs. I was afraid he was going to create a puddle there on the floor if I didn't cut him some slack. "So, I guess you'll think twice next time you feel like telling someone your wingleader is the Queen of Norway, won't you?"
Fresh confusion replaced the fear on Arrek's face as he turned to look right at me. "Sir?" he stammered.
"Oh come on, Lorrdain, you remember. Last night, seedy little restaurant, two trashy girls. You were the King of Norway, and somehow in your infinite wisdom you thought it'd be cool to make me the Queen? Remember that?"
"Uh, yes sir. I mean no sir. I mean . . . oh sithspit!"
It was my turn to look confused. But only for a second until I could suppress it and return to my drill instructor demeanor. "Well which is it?" I demanded.
"Yes sir. I do sir."
"And will you be doing that again?"
Inexplicably, relief spread across his face. "No sir!"
"Good. You've got two minutes to get into your flightsuit and get out into the hallway. MOVE!" I bellowed. As I closed the door, I was struck by the strange feeling that I'd seen Arrek before somewhere, And maybe that sister of his, too. Sylvana. But where?