Curvaceous Kevlar and other inspired tales

Red MacGregor's Sporran - Part 6

The sergeant sat on a bench outside, looking patient.

"What's the problem?" I asked. "Why won't he come out?"

"He says he's busy and he doesn't want to be disturbed. He's just drinking beer and talking to Helen, the bartender." He shrugged. "He's not committing a crime that I can see, so there's not much I can do."

"Can't you get a warrant for something? Drunk and disorderly?" I pressed.

Sergeant Smith shook his head. "He's not drunk and he's not disorderly. He's just blown through two kegs of beer. Can't get a warrant based on beer consumption."

"Fine," I huffed. "I'm going in."

I entered the dark pub, which smelt considerably better in Rob's absence. Helen and the Neptunian leader were the only occupants.

Helen nodded a greeting to me as I took a seat, but the Neptunian kept talking.

"…Those two-headed mulletfish were just embarrassing. I mean, our geneticists were trying to create colonists who were technically-inclined heroes, capable of inventing whatever technology they needed to survive in the tough environment on Europa. So we took as our example an Earth hero. MacGyver. He could build explosives out of a glass of beer. If we'd known that the technical expertise was just for show, entertainment, it would've helped. But the mullet hairdos were just horrific. They bred prolifically, too, so that they were so inbred after the first few generations that most of them sprouted two heads. Two heads – both with mullets!"

"It sounds very disappointing," Helen murmured, tapping another beer.

"You have no idea," the Neptunian mumbled, sucking so hard on his straw that he drained his beer. He reached for the new one, pushing the empty toward Helen.

"So we tried again, watching all the human communications channels, looking for a better hero. We found Rob Roy, Red McGregor, the Scottish Robin Hood. We checked and he didn't seem to be fabricated like McGyver was, but we needed the genuine man and we couldn't find him. We interrogated humans on the stations, looking for him, but they wouldn't give him up. So we had to come here and threaten the whole planet, just to get what we needed.

"Did you see him? He's old and frail and not impressive at all! What am I supposed to tell my superiors – that we found our hero, but he was so old and decrepit that I don't believe he's the right one!  He doesn't even have red hair any more! I'm going to be a laughing stock back home if I don't wipe out this planet, for not meeting our demands!" He slurped up more beer through his straw.

Helen picked up a pair of scissors. "I'll be right back." She slipped into the store room behind the bar, returning maybe a minute later with a small bundle wrapped in a tartan tea towel. She held it out to the Neptunian. "I think this will help you."

The Neptunian unwrapped the bundle clumsily with his gloves, took a glance and folded it back up again before I could see. "You're a jewel among humans, Helen." He drained his beer. "Now I have to go pass judgement with some human in a skirt and some military idiot called Peter Jackson."

He stood unsteadily and walked out of the pub, without seeing me.

I followed behind him, at a safe distance.