The Dopes of Hazzard (1/5)
A simple job goes wrong when a canine war hero is drawn into the kidnapping of four world leaders.
by Toby Grierson and Nigel Kitts
Part One
Fifty-five was the average lifespan of the Martian Turkey. Curious name for an animal that is neither from Mars, nor even a bird; it was a breed of dog. Genetically enhanced to be four times smarter than the average voter, Bucket was thirty-five and lived with his ‘owner’ Jimmy Dope.
"Well, Bucket," Jimmy Dope said, “we've done it again.” He was examining rows and rows of healthy marijuana under artificial lights in the back of his trailer in the Arizona desert.
Literally, solar panels on top of the trailer were connected to artificial sun lamps inside the trailer. It was blazing bright outside. Growing marijuana had been legal for decades, but Jimmy didn’t have a gardening license. The gardening finance reform act of twenty-fifty one meant he could be jailed for years.
Once a cop had knocked on his door.
"I see you got a lot of solar panels up there," he said.
"I need a lot of power cause I play a lot of Quake."
"Do you got a license for that shooter game?"
"Yes, sir. Right under this pile of machine guns." He whipped an A4 sheet of paper out from under his guns like a magician.
The cop squinted at the pile of machine guns. "None of those have got any illegal attachment rails do they?"
"No, sir."
"Good." He examined Jimmy Dope’s gaming license. “You best keep it that way if you know what’s good for you.”
Video game licenses were twenty percent cheaper than gardening licenses and didn’t require a degree in most states. With the proper licensing it would take him forty years to break even; he would need to sell it in a place where it’s still illegal, like Amsterdam or California.
Bucket snarled and groaned. "Woof!"
"That’s right bucket, we’ll have enough profit to upgrade the photo-thermal watering system."
Bucket then heard a noise; multiple sine waves layered upon each other, now Doppler shifting. "Woof!"
"What’s that, Bucket?"
"Woof!"
"Your music degree is finally paying off?"
"Woof!"
"Trouble at at the old mill?"
Bucket furrowed his brow and growled.
"Let’s go have a look," Jimmy said.
They stepped outside and here, descending in front of them was a large disc which seemed almost black against the blazing blue sky. Three legs appeared from the base and reached for the ground as it set itself on the desert sand in front of them.
"Bucket, get my double barrel."
"Woof." Bucket had no hands.
"Oh. Duh."
Jimmy Dope went inside and came back out with an old side by side shotgun chambered in four-ten.
A hatch opened under the vehicle, and a grey-skinned alien with big black eyes and a smooth head rappelled to the surface.
"Good evening!" he said with a peculiar accent.
It was noon.
"What do you want here," Jimmy asked.
"We met online. I go by Onasala666, but my real name is Onasala Six." He smiled smugly.
"Onasala666" had agreed to buy six kilos of product for some bitcoin. For personal use.
"All right, well, you got the money?"
"Yes, about that." He approached with a large yellow coil in his hand. “I couldn’t figure out how to do the bitcoin thing so I found this solid gold coil in the ship’s transmatrix manifold and when I pulled it out none of the warning lights turned on so I assume I can use it as currency.”
"You can."
"Then we’re set."
Jimmy Dope went inside, grabbed a paper-wrapped block with "Onasala666" written on it in black ink and went back outside and gave it to Onasala. He took the coil. “That all for you, sir?”
"Not quite." He then looked at Bucket and said; “I’m also here to hire a mercenary for a short mission. About six hours and I bet not too dangerous.”
"Woof," Bucket said; he had agreed.
"Are you bringing your pet?"
Bucket looked at Jimmy Dope and woofed.
"I get to come along?" Jimmy Dope said.
"Woof."
"Thanks, Bucket!" Jimmy Dope said. He then shouted, “Hey Siri! Take care of the weed when I’m out!”
Siri did that little bleep thing and ignited a small welding nozzle as they climbed into the ship and shut the hatch. Now in the cramped three seat flight deck, they felt every lurch as the vehicle pulled itself from the ground and began to accelerate.
"Woof," Bucket said, asking effectively; why me?
"I saw your record from the French Foreign Legion," Onasala said. “We need a man like you for a job like this.”
"Woof."
"Don’t be modest. The Legion of Honor and the Navy Cross is quite enough for me."
"What sort of mission is this?" Jimmy Dope asked.
"Well," Onasala said, “have you ever seen that episode of Star Trek Enterprise where they put the crew to sleep but the doctor has to stay up and he hallucinates that T’Pol is with him?”
"Yeah," Jimmy Dope said.
"Do you wanna watch it again?"
"No."
"Then I have nothing for you to watch while we work and I will have to ask you to be quietly patient."
"I am a nearly qualified marijuana gardener and I will not be treated like an idiot."
"Woof," Bucket said.
"Oh, fine," Onasala said. “Listen. I accidentally kidnapped a handful of world leaders. I need a team to help put them back before anyone notices. Also, they’re asleep and if you wake them up the timeline will be corrupted and this dude in a futuristic suit shows up and I really don’t want that. As for payment, I’ve got plenty more gold coils where that came from.” The ship began to vibrate and made a sound like bending metal. “I think they’re ballast.”
Bucket and Jimmy Dope looked at each other and then to Onasala and smiled, which is quite an achievement for a dog, but he is a Martian Turkey.
Now they felt a lurch as the vessel hit the ground. Onasala dropped a set of keys in Jimmy Dope’s hand and said, "All right, you guys know what to do."
"Woof?"
"Oh, I guess you don’t. Listen. You go outside and there’s a door and you go in and you know, figure it out."
Bucket nodded. They crawled down the shaft to the hatch at the bottom of the ship where the only interface was a red lever and green lever side by side. Jimmy Dope pulled the red lever. The hatch exploded and dropped into a white sheet of snow.
The cold air stung their skin.
"What was that?" Onasala shouted from the flight deck.
"Nothing!" Jimmy shouted back. Bucket groaned and pointed his nose at the green lever, and jumped out. Jimmy followed.
They stood up under the ship in the middle of a mountainous snowfield in what appeared to be the Himalayas and here in front of them about thirty meters away was a black rock face with a steel door in it.
They waded through snow which came up to Bucket’s neck until they reached the door. Jimmy Dope raised the key with a shivering hand and pressed it into the keyhole, but it was too full of ice.
They returned to the ship. Bucket howled.
Onasala responded, "Why the hell would I have a hair dryer?"
"Woof!"
Onasala appeared in the hole, looked down and said, with annoyance; "did you pull the red lever?"
"Kinda," Jimmy said.
"I’ll flog you later," Onasala said, and dropped a device which looked like a pistol into the snow.
Jimmy plunged his hand into the snow, felt around and pulled out the gun. "It’s a laser!" He said.
"It identifies as a phaser," Onasala said.
"How do I control the power setting?" Jimmy asked.
"You don’t."
They scrambled back to the door.
"I’ll aim at the door next to the lock and use the phaser to warm it up until the ice melts," Jimmy said.
He gripped it in both hands, aimed and squeezed the trigger. A dazzling white light blinded them and they heard a burning sound mixed with what one could reasonably mistake for a thousand screaming ghosts and when their eyes adjusted the door had completely melted.
"All right now I’m gonna try the key," Jimmy said.
Bucket jumped over the boiling fluid and into the dark tunnel.
"Here, let me light it up," Jimmy said, aiming inside the tunnel.
"Woof!" Bucket shouted.
"Okay, fine."
Down they went about sixty meters toward a faint light until the tunnel opened into a vast room with what looked like a mainframe from the sixties and control panels with lights and dials and knobs and a series of large glass tubes filled with a clear liquid.
Inside the tubes were; Napoleon, Tutankhamen, King Harold and Jesus. Next to them on a metal folding chair behind a teletype machine, was Fred Noonan.