Part I: A Martian, A Starfish and A Space Ninja

PROLOGUE:

It was a dark and rainy day when the shadowy man slumped into the corner of the bar. The bartender, J.R. Buck, had been having a less than stellar day for business and was glad for any customer he could get. There was something about this man he didn't like. However J.R. had gotten used to that feeling being associated with customers, a bar in the lower level cities didn't usually get the most courteous of people. J.R. watched the man approach the counter suspiciously; he hadn't taken off his coat. "What can I do ya for, Mack?" the portly bartender said, in as casual a tone that he could muster.

"I'll have a Folsom Ring o' Fire, on the rocks." The man replied in a shady tone as he placed the credits on the counter. His use of the expression "on the rocks" took the bartender off guard. In this year of 20XY (they had to replace the last two numbers with variables because some people trying to recreate the Back to the Future movies screwed with the timeline so much nobody knew the actual date) nobody ever used it. Nobody even ever said, with ice, because drinks were molecularly altered to make them at a perfectly cool temperature of 45.67589322 degrees Fahrenheit at all times. J.R. merely assumed that the man was an enthusiast for the past and fixed the drink.

When he returned, he noticed a marked difference in the bar's atmosphere. Everyone had left. J.R. started getting nervous, and every bartender knows that when you're getting nervous you have to keep the guy talking. Make sure he doesn't know that you know and pop him in the head before he has a chance to figure it out. So that is exactly what J.R. did. "So, stranger, you mustn't be from 'round here, cause I knows ev'ryone in this town. Why're you here?"

"Business." Was all he said and he went back to his drink.

"Really, what kind of business is that?" the barkeep inquired becoming more nervous by the moment.

"My kind of business." He responded and, once again, returned to his drink.

"And, if you don't mind me asking, who do you have business with?" the bartender asked, almost afraid to receive an answer.

"You." He said, and this time he set his drink down and stared into the bartenders eyes. The top of the man's face was obscured by a long-brimmed hat that he wore.

"What do you want with me?" the bartender squeaked.

"Nuthin' you don't deserve." The man replied, coolly.

"Who are you?" by now the bartender's face was pale with fear and his hand slowly reached for the Maser Phaser Laser Blazer Rifle he kept behind the bar.

"I'm a Space Ninja," the man said, but this time he continued, "Y'know it's a pretty hard life being a Space Ninja. Everyone you meet thinks you're just tryin' to stick a knife in their back."

At this the bartender relaxed. He removed his hand from his gun. This man didn't want to kill him.

"Sad thing is," the Space Ninja continued, "they're usually right."

A gasp was the only thing that escaped J.R.'s lips. A knife was protruding from his back, and it had pierced his heart. He died in seconds. The man slowly stood up and, after retrieving the strange item for which he was hired to retrieve, walked out of the bar. He left a small tip on the counter.

Chapter 1: My Real Business

I walked casually out of J.R. Buck's bar and into the rain soaked street. I didn't like killing people, but it was necessary. J.R. Buck had a history of gambling, a history full of lost money, failure, and debt. He had owed a lot of money to some very bad people. The fat old man had tried to run away from his past. But if there's one thing that I learned from this job it's that your past runs a hell of a lot faster than you do. Buck was a sinner and he deserved what he got. Besides, I needed the dough.

My name is Samuel L. Hayabusa, and I'm a space ninja. I'm known in the criminal underworld as Sneaky Sam, because when I didn't want to be seen, I was as hard to find as a .22 Maser shell in the skull of a Zoopanthagon. A space ninja's job is very simple, people hire me to kill other people, and I kill those other people. No questions asked as to why, you just do it and get paid. We are bred and trained to be the best. We are masters of the mind, body, and the blade. Space ninjas are some of the most feared people in all of the Alliance.

"Joe, Joe do you copy?" my G3, whichwas acommunicator/watch/mp23 player/super computer/stapler/GPS/toaster, was receiving a message from the SSNBTA ( Super Space Ninja Bureau of Total Awesomeness).

"Ryu, for the last time my name is Sam now."

"Like it matters, Sam I have a new mission for you."

"Well, what is it?"

"This is from The Godfather himself, so you better accept it. He wants you to take out a Martian that goes by the name of Gloopigus. He should be making a transaction with some Space Mafia reps in a bar called The Starfish in two hours. Do you accept this mission?"

"Sure Ryu, wire it up to my file, I'll get started on it right away."

I sighed. Ryu was an old friend of mine from the academy. He was badly injured during a training exercise and couldn't become a space ninja. He opted to be my Secman instead, finding missions for me, handling money transactions, and communicating with the top ninjas. Annoyingly, he still called me Joe. That was my old name from training. It was tradition for a student to choose a new name based on a famous movie actor from the distant past when he became an operative. I chose Samuel L. Jackson after I saw a rare copy of Snakes on a Plane.

Oddly enough, every Martian was named Gloopigus so I decided to read up on him through the file Ryu sent me. I was fairly intrigued when Ryu told me it was a Martian. Martians are usually pretty straight, but every once in a while, one goes crooked. And a crooked Martian is not something you want to take on unprepared. I flipped open my G3 and typed in his name. When the file came up I gasped. I had seen him before. This guy was infamous on the outer rims for running a real mean operation. He ran a tight business, and when someone under his employment disappeared, no questions were asked. Everyone went along like usual, pretending nothing happened.

Also, the SSNBTA couldn't touch him. Most of our recent targets worked for him and most of our recent assignments were from him. He was killing off his own men, but we couldn't figure out why. But a contract being placed on his head makes it obvious. He isn't untouchable anymore. Someone working for him must have found something that will weaken his power base. It was probably Serpent, she was a stealth operative working for The Godfather. Gloopigus had recently been moving in on The Godfather's turf, so he wanted Gloopigus to be put away. It all made sense now, and it made me glad. Gloopigus had killed an informant of mine a while back. He was about to learn a very important lesson. Never mess with a Ninja's informant.

Chapter II: Starfish Juice and Plot Twists

I found the bar without much trouble, though the dozens of neon signs didn't hurt any. It appeared to be called the starfish for two reasons. 1, they specialized in drinks that were seasoned with starfish oil that had an effect equivalent to a deadly amount of alcohol and several drugs, and 2, the owner had a head that was roughly the shape of a starfish. I opted to skip the drinks and sat in the back. I reasoned that with my dark brown trench coat and wide brimmed hat I would be reasonably inconspicuous and could watch my target.

The wait wasn't too bad, and at least I could watch the girls while I waited. While one of the dancers performed a seemingly impossible maneuver that would have broken anyone's spine, I wondered what Gloopigus was coming here for. Ever since he hit the big time he rarely made the deals. While not actually a member of the space mafia, he had significant influence and could pass off a deal by sending one of his many representatives. In fact, he rarely ever made deals at all anymore. He had such a tight grip on intergalactic crime that nobody had any thing to make a deal with.

Suddenly, the door opened and he walked in. I reluctantly tore my eyes from the dancers swaying figure and surveyed the situation. He had two obvious body guards following (I had already spotted several trying to pass off as civilians in the bar) and they didn't look like pushovers. They were both giants at roughly seven and a half feet tall. They had horns and skin like a rhinoceros and general muscle mass of a ton each. They didn't carry any weapons because they didn't need them. These guys were Drovigordians, and real mean ones too. And slithering in between them was him. Gloopigus was tall for a Martian, about five feet, and looked like a king. He wore an elegant velvet robe that made an annoying swishing sound as it dragged across the floor. Each of his twelve tentacles was heavily adorned with jewelry and the jerk moved like nothing could touch him.

"Well, nothing could before. But, now I'm gonna do a whole lot more than touch you," I thought.

It was then that I noticed the table he was moving towards. I hadn't noticed before because the crowd was in the way, but now he stood out like a sore thumb. At the table where the deal would be held sat The Godfather himself. Gloopigus had been set up. The Godfather rarely went on business personally these days. This was more serious than I had thought.

Gloopigus sat down and shook The Godfather's hand. I simply balked at the sight. I had only met The Godfather once in my life and had never seen him treat someone like an equal. This was getting interesting. However, I couldn't possibly imagine what the deal was that they were going to make. That's when it hit me.

Chapter III: Dial 911 for Assassination

A few months ago, the President of The Alliance of Allied Allegiances (AAA or Triple A) had been prank called by a couple of teenagers. In his anger, the President had the two boys hunted down and publicly tortured and executed. He had also made all telephones illegal. The Vice President had barely convinced the President to allow all portable communication devices to remain legal so the Galaxy would not revolt. This had instantly started a new craze for the Black Market. Some people liked having phones in their houses and would pay good money for one. Thus, some smugglers had taken up the task of acquiring telephones and selling them at loaded prices to the Black Market. These guys were called Phoners and everyone wanted to have them. The Godfather of course controlled nearly all of the top quality Phoners. Since the business was so new, Gloopigus hadn't yet acquired a foot in the door. The deal must have been for The Godfather to provide Phoners for Gloopigus and the Martian to provide payment in return. You had to hand it to The Godfather; he knew how to get what he wanted.

And what he wanted was Gloopigus dead. I was happy to provide that. I decided to wait and see what happened. For the time being, there wasn't much of an opening; too many people were in the way. So I watched the deal, made sure no threat was being made to The Godfather.

Roughly ten minutes into the deal I noticed a change. The Godfather seemed to get impatient, and Gloopigus' men were beginning to take on threatening stances. Something had gone wrong. I slowly reached for my blaster. The window was closing and I had to act fast. However, the bodyguards weren't the only ones being threatening. Everyone was. I had made a mistake. Gloopigus hadn't planted a few people in the bar. He had planted everyone. This was serious. The Godfather was in danger, and no Godfather, no paycheck. I surveyed the bar quickly and a plan hatched in my head.

Gloopigus had just started shouting when I made my move. Throwing my hat to the side, I jumped on a table and shot in the air to get everyone's attention. They all turned quickly, drawing their Maser rifles. Good, the goons were as predictable as they were deadly. I waited until I heard the tell-tale humming sound the Masers make when they charge. Maser rifles were the deadliest in the galaxy. They were expensive, so most people had hybrids of them with other types of rifles. The Maser was a gun that shot a super charged shell, similar to that of a shotgun's, that contained an anti-matter mix. The mix was not pure anti-matter, so instead of blowing everything to bits, it simply ripped a hole in you with so much force it crushed bones, organs, and instantly vaporized any blood near the entry wound. However, a Maser had a few key flaws. It had to noisily charge the shell with electricity to make the mix work, and when fired that electric charge had to stay linked between the shell and rifle or the mix would act prematurely. This meant that the link could be bent and attracted to certain objects, most prominently Porginthius the main ingredient to Starfish oil, by a metal called Odysseum, the metal my plasma sword hilt was made of, when it is charged with plasma.

Thusly, when I activated my sword and threw it into the Starfish juice keg right when the Masers fired, the charge attached to it. This caused the shells to detonate prematurely, harming no one, while the electricity back lashed and sent a bolt so strong to everyone who fired, they passed out.

Everyone was on the floor except for Gloopigus, his two bodyguards, The Godfather, and me. I quickly pulled out my blaster and shot the two bodyguards in the eye so fast it overheated. They dropped like fish. I swiped my sword from the keg and held it to Gloopigus' trembling face. "Gloopigus," I said, "you should have realized that no one is untouchable. Not even you."

I stabbed his throat and returned my sword hilt to my side as he gurgled his last words. "Who... what are you?"

"I'm Samuel L. Hayabusa," I responded, "and I am a Space Ninja.'

Conclusion: Hanging From the Edge of a Cliff

I fled the scene quickly after I helped The Godfather escape. Those bodyguards wouldn't stay down long, and when they got up they would be really pissed. I thankfully had remembered to retrieve my hat and currently reviewed the night's occurrences. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had seemed wrong. I had assassinated one of the galaxies most tyrannical crime lords and had come away unharmed. I should have been celebrating.

I shook the feeling off and instead took to happier tidings. Considering the difficulty of the hit, the paycheck would be very big. And if there is one thing I love it's a big pay check. However, when I was thinking of the money it hit me. The Godfathers greeting of Gloopigus, the remarkable skill of concealment his hidden bodyguards had possessed the handshake. The handshake had been unusual. They had used a very subtle and very secret handshake. Gloopigus hadn't been the one who was set-up, I was.

"Hello there, Sam." Serpent said.

"Well, damn." Was all I managed to say before I hit the ground.