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Book by Rubens Michael
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Extrait :
A very different planet.
Cole, in the most dignified, reasonable tone that he could muster, said, “Kenneth, seriously, you don’t want to lay your eggs in my brain.”
Kenneth, who was dangling Cole upside down by one leg, said, “Stop squirming, Cole. You’re making this very difficult.”
Kenneth had a truly wonderful voice—cultured, warm, soothing.
“I don’t mean to be a scold, Cole,” he said in that voice, “but you shouldn’t gamble if you can’t pay your debts.”
“Kenneth, I can’t even begin to tell you how well I’ve learned that lesson,” said Cole. “In fact, I—whoa! Is that your ovipositor?!”
“Mm-hmm. Oh, come now—you don’t have to make faces.”
“No, no, it looks fantastic—have you had work done?”
“Nope. Just clean living. Hold still, please.”
Kenneth’s voice did not match his appearance.
His appearance, while not precisely defying description, did manage to challenge it mightily. A casual observer would quickly note an overall design direction that leaned heavily on marineinspired elements—tentacles, claws, tentacles with claws; a fin here and there, hints of bioluminescence; plus an overall squishi- and squidginess. Added to the mix were subtle insectoid influences: boldly colored patches of exoskeleton; clumps of coarse, rigid hair.
And eyes. Many, many eyes.
Kenneth did, however, have a really sensational voice.
“You’ve got a really sensational voice,” said Cole.
“You’re too kind.”
Cole was in no way a casual observer. He was at the moment an exceedingly up-close and upside-down observer, face-to-face—or face-to-whatever—with Kenneth’s complex mouthparts and impressive array of eyeballs, swaying on their lengthy stalks.
Cole could see his own reflection in dozens of their shiny black surfaces. His overall design direction placed him squarely in the human category. His flight jacket was hanging around his ears, providing a backdrop for his dark hair and a face that rated a solid eight on the official Handsome Scale. Right now, however, his face merited about a 4.5, distorted as it was from gravity pulling it in the wrong direction, and from sheer terror.
The most immediate cause of that terror was Kenneth’s ovipositor, hovering just at the edge of Cole’s peripheral vision, the hairy appendage ready to posit Kenneth’s ovi where Cole very much did not want them posited.
“You know, Kenneth, have you ever considered doing any VO work? I could probably put you in touch with some people,” offered Cole.
“You remember the Xhat’s campaign? ‘Xhat’s Poog Sticks—’ ”
“ ‘—the poogiest sticks of all,’ ” finished Cole. “Of course! I love that one! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it!”
“Really? That’s very gratifying to hear,” said Kenneth. “Anyhoo, where were we. Oh, right. My brood.”
“Kenneth, stop! I can get Karg’s money!”
“That’s what you told me on InVestCo Four, and InVestCo Seven, and FunWorld World.”
“No! I mean, yes! But this time I mean it—I can get it. I am getting it!” Cole gestured up, or rather down, at the assortment of coins and bills that lay strewn on the pavement of the alley.
A few of Kenneth’s eyeballs lazily extended down on their eyestalks to examine the money.
“Wow. Four point three-seven percent of what you owe. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
They were alone in the alley. Just a few kilometers away were the towering buildings and broad, ordered streets of the Bourse, the largest of the Exchange Cities of InVestCo 3, the largest of the habitable planets of the Financial System system. Beings of all shapes and sizes were bustling about there, happily buying and selling and putting and calling and marketing and branding and shareholding and producing and consuming and whatever else the more-or-less honest folks did.
High above the planet, above the branding campaigns that scrolled endlessly across the upper cloud layer, the advertsats patrolled the orbits, zooming up with aggressive cheerfulness to welcome visitors from other planets and systems across the galaxy, places where yet more folks were buying and selling and commercing and et cetera. Places where very few beings—if any—were being dangled by one leg by a creature like Kenneth, and desperately wishing they had a big gun.
Cole had a big gun. He’d pointed it at Kenneth when Kenneth grabbed him. Kenneth ate it.
“Kenneth, this money is just a down payment. I’ll get the rest.”
“How, Cole? More gambling? Another inept smuggling mission? Some complex scheme, doomed to failure from the start?” Kenneth sounded almost sorrowful. “You know, I think you should reflect on the life choices you’ve made. Some beings are just born to be itinerant space adventurers. Others aren’t. You know who’s really good at it?”
“Uh, jeez. Let me guess: Teg.”
“Teg!” said Kenneth, apparently not hearing him. “He’s courageous, handsome—”
“He’s not that handsome.”
“—dashing—”
“He’s not that handsome.”
“Oh, please. He’s easily a nine point four, and an honest nine point four. He certainly didn’t need to pay some kid to hack into the dating-service system and boost his Handsome rating from a seven point six to an eight.”
How did Kenneth know about that?
“I know a great deal about you, Cole. Don’t forget, I’ve been following you for quite a while. Anyway, this is all academic,” continued Kenneth. “Have you been consuming a lot of the local fish lately?”
“What? Why?”
“High levels of amargam. Very bad for my offspring.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I’ve been on a total bender with those fish. Fillets, steaks—”
“Um-hmm.”
“—uh, soup, fish sticks . . . uh . . . sashimi! Raw sashimi! Raw!”
“Strictly speaking, ‘raw sashimi’ is redundant. So, which of your eye sockets would you like me to use?”
“Kenneth, listen, I’ve probably got amargam coming out the hoo-ha!”
“Well, fifty thousand eggs, I’m sure some will survive.”
“All right, Kenneth, I didn’t want to do this. But I’ve about had it.
I’m going to count to three, and you’re going to put me down, and then you’re going to give me back my gun, which was very expensive.
One—”
“Two three,” said Kenneth, finishing for him.
“Kenneth! Farg it!” Cole kicked and thrashed about violently. He took a vicious swing at Kenneth’s collection of eyes. The eyes easily moved aside, like wheat parting gently before the wind.
Cole was left panting, exhausted. His shirt succumbed to gravity and flopped down, bunching up under his chin. He could feel the cool night air on his rather pasty belly, not quite as firm as it once was. He sighed.
“Kenneth, please—this is humiliating.”
“Nonsense, Cole. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’d think you’d be proud to host my young.”
“Not for me. For you. This is beneath you.”
“Tell me about it.”
Kenneth’s ovipositor drew back to strike.
“Hold on!” said Cole, “Can’t we just hee hee hee!”
Kenneth paused. “Something’s amusing?” He sounded amenable to joining in the joke.
“No, I’m hee hee hee!” said Cole. “Your tentacleheeheeheeee!”
Kenneth was holding Cole by his right leg, a tentacle wrapped around his calf. An unseen patch of that coarse insectoid hair had started to brush Cole lightly on the sensitive skin above his ankle.
“Help! Hee hee heeeee!” screamed Cole. “Heehee SOMEBODY HELP ME HEE HEEEEEE!!”
“Cole—ho ho ho—it’s no use. Ho ho ho.” Kenneth was now chuckling jovially. “There’s no one—ho ho—around.”
“Hee hee hig hig hig!”
“Ho ho ho! The stress monitors—ho ho!—have been disabled.
The police won’t be respondinghohohohoho!”
“HEE HEE HEE!”
“HO HO HO!”
It was true about the stress monitors. Cole had made sure of that, although it was Bacchi who did the actual disabling. The cleanscrubbed network of alleys, set within the warehouse district, was the perfect location for an ambush. Which is why Bacchi had chosen it to ambush the tudpees, and Cole had chosen it to ambush Bacchi, and Kenneth had chosen it to ambush Cole.
“Ho ho ho!” repeated Kenneth, jiggling with laughter, the ovipositor quivering as it approached Cole’s right eye.
Cole’s sheer terror expanded far beyond its original borders and became all-engulfing, overwhelming terror. He opened his mouth to scream. “Hee hee heeee! Hee hee heee!!” was what came out.
“Hohohohohoooo!” replied Kenneth.
“Hee hee hee hig hig hig!”
“Hohohohohohohohooooo!”
“Hee hee hee hee heeeeeGACK!”
Cole’s laughter was abruptly cut off as Kenneth wrapped another...
Présentation de l'éditeur :
Cole, in the most dignified, reasonable tone that he could muster, said, “Kenneth, seriously, you don’t want to lay your eggs in my brain.”
Kenneth, who was dangling Cole upside down by one leg, said, “Stop squirming, Cole. You’re making this very difficult.”
Kenneth had a truly wonderful voice—cultured, warm, soothing.
“I don’t mean to be a scold, Cole,” he said in that voice, “but you shouldn’t gamble if you can’t pay your debts.”
“Kenneth, I can’t even begin to tell you how well I’ve learned that lesson,” said Cole. “In fact, I—whoa! Is that your ovipositor?!”
“Mm-hmm. Oh, come now—you don’t have to make faces.”
“No, no, it looks fantastic—have you had work done?”
“Nope. Just clean living. Hold still, please.”
Kenneth’s voice did not match his appearance.
His appearance, while not precisely defying description, did manage to challenge it mightily. A casual observer would quickly note an overall design direction that leaned heavily on marineinspired elements—tentacles, claws, tentacles with claws; a fin here and there, hints of bioluminescence; plus an overall squishi- and squidginess. Added to the mix were subtle insectoid influences: boldly colored patches of exoskeleton; clumps of coarse, rigid hair.
And eyes. Many, many eyes.
Kenneth did, however, have a really sensational voice.
“You’ve got a really sensational voice,” said Cole.
“You’re too kind.”
Cole was in no way a casual observer. He was at the moment an exceedingly up-close and upside-down observer, face-to-face—or face-to-whatever—with Kenneth’s complex mouthparts and impressive array of eyeballs, swaying on their lengthy stalks.
Cole could see his own reflection in dozens of their shiny black surfaces. His overall design direction placed him squarely in the human category. His flight jacket was hanging around his ears, providing a backdrop for his dark hair and a face that rated a solid eight on the official Handsome Scale. Right now, however, his face merited about a 4.5, distorted as it was from gravity pulling it in the wrong direction, and from sheer terror.
The most immediate cause of that terror was Kenneth’s ovipositor, hovering just at the edge of Cole’s peripheral vision, the hairy appendage ready to posit Kenneth’s ovi where Cole very much did not want them posited.
“You know, Kenneth, have you ever considered doing any VO work? I could probably put you in touch with some people,” offered Cole.
“You remember the Xhat’s campaign? ‘Xhat’s Poog Sticks—’ ”
“ ‘—the poogiest sticks of all,’ ” finished Cole. “Of course! I love that one! I can’t believe I didn’t recognize it!”
“Really? That’s very gratifying to hear,” said Kenneth. “Anyhoo, where were we. Oh, right. My brood.”
“Kenneth, stop! I can get Karg’s money!”
“That’s what you told me on InVestCo Four, and InVestCo Seven, and FunWorld World.”
“No! I mean, yes! But this time I mean it—I can get it. I am getting it!” Cole gestured up, or rather down, at the assortment of coins and bills that lay strewn on the pavement of the alley.
A few of Kenneth’s eyeballs lazily extended down on their eyestalks to examine the money.
“Wow. Four point three-seven percent of what you owe. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
They were alone in the alley. Just a few kilometers away were the towering buildings and broad, ordered streets of the Bourse, the largest of the Exchange Cities of InVestCo 3, the largest of the habitable planets of the Financial System system. Beings of all shapes and sizes were bustling about there, happily buying and selling and putting and calling and marketing and branding and shareholding and producing and consuming and whatever else the more-or-less honest folks did.
High above the planet, above the branding campaigns that scrolled endlessly across the upper cloud layer, the advertsats patrolled the orbits, zooming up with aggressive cheerfulness to welcome visitors from other planets and systems across the galaxy, places where yet more folks were buying and selling and commercing and et cetera. Places where very few beings—if any—were being dangled by one leg by a creature like Kenneth, and desperately wishing they had a big gun.
Cole had a big gun. He’d pointed it at Kenneth when Kenneth grabbed him. Kenneth ate it.
“Kenneth, this money is just a down payment. I’ll get the rest.”
“How, Cole? More gambling? Another inept smuggling mission? Some complex scheme, doomed to failure from the start?” Kenneth sounded almost sorrowful. “You know, I think you should reflect on the life choices you’ve made. Some beings are just born to be itinerant space adventurers. Others aren’t. You know who’s really good at it?”
“Uh, jeez. Let me guess: Teg.”
“Teg!” said Kenneth, apparently not hearing him. “He’s courageous, handsome—”
“He’s not that handsome.”
“—dashing—”
“He’s not that handsome.”
“Oh, please. He’s easily a nine point four, and an honest nine point four. He certainly didn’t need to pay some kid to hack into the dating-service system and boost his Handsome rating from a seven point six to an eight.”
How did Kenneth know about that?
“I know a great deal about you, Cole. Don’t forget, I’ve been following you for quite a while. Anyway, this is all academic,” continued Kenneth. “Have you been consuming a lot of the local fish lately?”
“What? Why?”
“High levels of amargam. Very bad for my offspring.”
“You know, now that you mention it, I’ve been on a total bender with those fish. Fillets, steaks—”
“Um-hmm.”
“—uh, soup, fish sticks . . . uh . . . sashimi! Raw sashimi! Raw!”
“Strictly speaking, ‘raw sashimi’ is redundant. So, which of your eye sockets would you like me to use?”
“Kenneth, listen, I’ve probably got amargam coming out the hoo-ha!”
“Well, fifty thousand eggs, I’m sure some will survive.”
“All right, Kenneth, I didn’t want to do this. But I’ve about had it.
I’m going to count to three, and you’re going to put me down, and then you’re going to give me back my gun, which was very expensive.
One—”
“Two three,” said Kenneth, finishing for him.
“Kenneth! Farg it!” Cole kicked and thrashed about violently. He took a vicious swing at Kenneth’s collection of eyes. The eyes easily moved aside, like wheat parting gently before the wind.
Cole was left panting, exhausted. His shirt succumbed to gravity and flopped down, bunching up under his chin. He could feel the cool night air on his rather pasty belly, not quite as firm as it once was. He sighed.
“Kenneth, please—this is humiliating.”
“Nonsense, Cole. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I’d think you’d be proud to host my young.”
“Not for me. For you. This is beneath you.”
“Tell me about it.”
Kenneth’s ovipositor drew back to strike.
“Hold on!” said Cole, “Can’t we just hee hee hee!”
Kenneth paused. “Something’s amusing?” He sounded amenable to joining in the joke.
“No, I’m hee hee hee!” said Cole. “Your tentacleheeheeheeee!”
Kenneth was holding Cole by his right leg, a tentacle wrapped around his calf. An unseen patch of that coarse insectoid hair had started to brush Cole lightly on the sensitive skin above his ankle.
“Help! Hee hee heeeee!” screamed Cole. “Heehee SOMEBODY HELP ME HEE HEEEEEE!!”
“Cole—ho ho ho—it’s no use. Ho ho ho.” Kenneth was now chuckling jovially. “There’s no one—ho ho—around.”
“Hee hee hig hig hig!”
“Ho ho ho! The stress monitors—ho ho!—have been disabled.
The police won’t be respondinghohohohoho!”
“HEE HEE HEE!”
“HO HO HO!”
It was true about the stress monitors. Cole had made sure of that, although it was Bacchi who did the actual disabling. The cleanscrubbed network of alleys, set within the warehouse district, was the perfect location for an ambush. Which is why Bacchi had chosen it to ambush the tudpees, and Cole had chosen it to ambush Bacchi, and Kenneth had chosen it to ambush Cole.
“Ho ho ho!” repeated Kenneth, jiggling with laughter, the ovipositor quivering as it approached Cole’s right eye.
Cole’s sheer terror expanded far beyond its original borders and became all-engulfing, overwhelming terror. He opened his mouth to scream. “Hee hee heeee! Hee hee heee!!” was what came out.
“Hohohohohoooo!” replied Kenneth.
“Hee hee hee hig hig hig!”
“Hohohohohohohohooooo!”
“Hee hee hee hee heeeeeGACK!”
Cole’s laughter was abruptly cut off as Kenneth wrapped another...
Meet Cole: hapless space rogue, part-time smuggler, on a path to being full-time dead. His sidekick just stole his girlfriend. The galaxy's most hideous and feared bounty hunter wants to lay eggs in his brain. And the luxury space yacht Cole just hijacked turns out of be filled with interstellar do-gooders, one especially loathsome stowaway, and a cargo of freeze-dried orphans.
Reluctantly compelled to deliver these defenseless, fluidless children to safety, Cole gathers a misfit crew for a desperate journey to the far reaches of the galaxy. Their destination: the mysterious world of Yrnameer, the very last of the your-name-heres—planets without corporate sponsors. But little does Cole know that this legendary utopia is home to a murderous band of outlaws bent on destroying the planet's tiny, peaceful community.
Follow Cole's adventures through a delightfully absurd science-fiction universe, where the artificial intelligence is stupid, dust motes carry branding messages, and middle-management zombies have overrun a corporate training satellite. In the spirit of Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, The Sheriff of Yrnameer is sci-fi comedy at its best—mordant, raucously funny, and a thrilling page-turner.
Reluctantly compelled to deliver these defenseless, fluidless children to safety, Cole gathers a misfit crew for a desperate journey to the far reaches of the galaxy. Their destination: the mysterious world of Yrnameer, the very last of the your-name-heres—planets without corporate sponsors. But little does Cole know that this legendary utopia is home to a murderous band of outlaws bent on destroying the planet's tiny, peaceful community.
Follow Cole's adventures through a delightfully absurd science-fiction universe, where the artificial intelligence is stupid, dust motes carry branding messages, and middle-management zombies have overrun a corporate training satellite. In the spirit of Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett, The Sheriff of Yrnameer is sci-fi comedy at its best—mordant, raucously funny, and a thrilling page-turner.
Les informations fournies dans la section « A propos du livre » peuvent faire référence à une autre édition de ce titre.
- ÉditeurPantheon
- Date d'édition2009
- ISBN 10 0307378470
- ISBN 13 9780307378477
- ReliureRelié
- Nombre de pages288
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