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Figmund and Zandy

Figmund was a half-man, his head and upper body decidedly pig-like. Zandy was a Dark Rabbit, having left the Rabbit Colonies over ten years ago to seek her fortune. They met on Shefaz — the glittering centre of the Federation of Core Systems. He had just heisted several million splods from a transport on Rike. She had just stolen jewellery worth half a million splods from the Prince of Estinador.

It was love at first sight.

They spent a week in the most expensive hotel on Shefaz, only emerging to dine in the Ekzeko Tower, which overlooked the dazzling city centre. He bought her exotic cocktails like Poll de Woll and Swizzy Lerp Lerp. She bought him chim-chims from Greech and Thakwak. And they ate like Royalty, ordering the most expensive and elaborate dishes.

On the seventh day, there was a knock at the hotel room door. After a moment or two, the door opened and the head of Figmund’s robot, Zix, poked into the room. Zix was an amalgam of several robots and mechos, constructed by Figmund over several months, as he stole, or otherwise acquired, the parts he needed. As a result, Zix suffered from a mild inferiority complex, very unusual for an artificial.

“What are you doing here, Zix?” snorted Figmund, who was sitting in an enormous armchair. He was lounging in his underwear, the morning’s plastic draped across his lap. Figmund had been reading the toons, his favourite part of the plastic.

Zandy was still in bed, even though it was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon. She was buried beneath a mountain of blankets and quilts. Only her long fluffy ears protruded beyond the pillow.

“So sorry to bother you, Mr Figmund,” said the robot timidly. “But you asked me to remind you about the Rukzaw situation. It’s less than a week away.”

“Okay, very good, Zix,” replied Figmund. “Now fuck off and leave us alone!”

“Oh, er, yes, so sorry,” stammered Zix, as he withdrew from the room by backing out awkwardly through the doorway. The robot was careful to close the door as quietly as possible.

There was a stirring on the bed as Zandy attempted to emerge from her nest of linen. Eventually, her head and shoulders broke free. She yawned, wriggled her nose and smoothed out her crumpled ears.

“What was all that fuckin’ noise?” she snapped.

“Sorry about that,” replied Figmund calmly, as he stood, letting the plastic fall to the floor. He walked slowly across the carpet towards the bed. “It was just Zix reminding me of a little job I’ve got coming up. In fact, you might like to join me? Have you ever been to Rukzaw?”

“Never heard of it, Figgy,” grumbled Zandy. “Is it even a planet?”

“Yes, it lies just outside the Federation in the Nivios System. And on it is the biggest zamzar mine in the Quadrant,” continued Figmund, as he slid onto the bed, and sought out Zandy’s limbs with his trotter-like hands.

“I like zamzar,” said Zandy softly, as Figmund buried his snout in her warm neck and placed a hand upon her breast. Zandy groaned and lay back on the pillow as Figmund crawled on top of her, pressing his piggy mouth against her big rabbit teeth.

“Let’s do it once more,” whispered Figmund, between kisses. “Then we’ll go out to dinner and I’ll tell you all about Rukzaw.”

Zandy groaned in agreement and opened her legs to the half-man’s persistent prodding.

Several days later they were on the planet Slyvo, where Figmund had agreed to meet the rest of the crew assembling to steal a zamzar shipment on Rukzaw. Slyvo was a small, cold mining planet, dimly-lit by the distant star Arto 4, and sparsely inhabited by prospectors, miners, and those that serviced them.

“Why are we in this horrid place, Figgy?” whined Zandy, as she held her cloak tightly about her as protection from the freezing wind.

“I told you, Zan, this is where we’re meeting the gang,” sniffed Figmund.

They were in a settlement of shacks and tumbledown ruins known as Krow Koo. Dotted along the Main Street were bars and cafes. The couple entered one called Krowzers, which was little more than a tin shed and so dark inside that it was almost impossible to see.

“Oi! Figmund!!” roared a voice from the darkness. “Over here, yer bastard!”

Figmund led Zandy across the room towards the source of the voice. As they grew accustomed to the light, the dark shape took on form. The character with the booming voice was another half-man — the powerful head and shoulders of a gorilla merged with a human body. Two figures sat silently at the adjacent table — a human with greenish-skin and slanted-eyes, and a grubby-looking flapper, its dirty wings folded untidily on its back, its claw-like hands gripping a mug of smead.

The big half-man hugged Figmund, then looked disapprovingly at Zandy.

“Who’s the bunny?” he grunted.

“This is my partner, Zandy Zark,” replied Figmund. “She’s gonna be part of the crew.”

The green man snorted: “We don’t need no fuckin’ bunny!”

The flapper added with a squawk: “Haw greez rik rik bunny fuk!”

Zandy responded with a speed that surprised even Figmund, whipping a dagger from a belt at her thigh, and leaping across the table at the green man, the dagger so close to his throat that a little blood began to trickle down his neck.

“I ain’t just any bunny,” hissed Zandy. “I’m the bunny wanted in seven Systems — for armed robbery, kidnapping and murder!”

Then she span around and pointed the dagger at the flapper’s startled face. “Do you understand, chicken-man?”

“Blurk!” said the flapper, tears trickling down its cheeks.

“Hey, I like your girl, Figgy,” laughed the gorilla-man. “She can look after herself.”

“Fuck you, monkey-boy!” snapped Zandy, as she put away her knife. “I ain’t nobody’s girl, and I never needed no one to look after me.”

“Hey, I don’t doubt you, Zandy,” said the gorilla-man apologetically. “How about we start afresh? My name’s Gris, the fellow with the bleeding neck is Spint — our security expert, and this is Ert — our inside er…man from Rukzaw.”

Gris and Figmund sat down at the table, with Zandy reluctantly joining them after a minute or two. Now and again, she would glance at Spint and Ert, but found that they avoided eye contact, either staring into their smead or talking directly to Gris or Figmund as they discussed the proposed raid on Rukzaw.

Zandy was soon bored by the talk, and wandered over to the bar, where she ordered a glass of gewe. She lingered for only a momënt, but it was long enough to attract the attention of a tall, bug-like creature with the twitching mouthparts of an insect.

“Hey sweetie!” it croaked. “Wanna come back to my shed?”

“Eat shit bug-eyes!” snarled Zandy, as she elbowed her way past the startled creature.

A few days later, the group reconvened on Rukzaw, landing in a densely forested area to the west of the zamzar mine. Like Slyvo, Rukzaw was a mining planet. However, Rukzaw had grown rich from its zamzar reserves, its capital, Tiro, one of the most impressive in this corner of the Galaxy, a cluster of gold and glittering towers.

They had travelled in two ships, Figmund and Zandy in the half-man’s ex-military craft, while Gris and others had used an old mining vessel. They assembled on Figmund’s ship, squeezed around the table in the galley.

“Well, are we all set?” asked Gris.

“Sure, Zan and I are gonna look after the guards,” replied Figmund.

“I’ll break into the hold,” said Spint, with a sly grin.

“And Ert and I will shift the zamzar containers into my ship!” said Gris, as he reached into a bag at his side. “You’ll need these,” he added, placing a shiny new laser-pistol in front of each of them.

“But first of all, we gotta take care of the Escorts! There’ll be four of them, two at the front, two at back,” continued Gris. “They are remotes, but they’ll be armed with powerful laser-cannons, so watch out. And once we knock them out we have about ten minutes before reinforcements are sent from the Mine.”

“That’s a pretty tight timeframe,” observed Figmund.

“I never said it was gonna be easy!” said Gris with a chuckle.

Gris and his colleagues returned to their ship and, after an unsteady start, flew across the forested hills towards the rendezvous point with the zamzar delivery craft. Figmund and Zandy followed them in their sleek military vessel.

The two ships nestled on a hillside overlooking the valley along which the zamzar delivery vehicle was due to travel. While they waited, Zandy questioned Figmund about the job.

“Hey Figgy, how much are we gonna make out of this heist?”

“Well, it’s being split four ways, so I reckon we’ll being looking at three million splods for us,” replied Figmund.

“Is that all,” observed Zandy. “Isn’t there any way we can improve that a little?”

“What are you suggesting, Zan?”

“Well, I really don’t think that grubby flapper deserves a full split? Or that Spint character — he gives me the creeps!” said Zandy.

“You think we should double-cross them?” asked Figmund with a grin.

“Maybe,” replied Zandy.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the zamzar transport craft. It was a large, slow-moving box-shaped vessel surrounded by four remote escorts — small robotic devices that buzzed through the air like insects. The convoy moved snake-like along the valley.

Gris and Figmund launched their ships, and quickly caught up with the transport vessel. Gris then manoeuvred his ship up and over the convoy so as to destroy the remotes at the front, leaving Figmund and Zandy to take care of the rear remotes.

“Can I do this, Figgy?” pleaded Zandy. “I’m a great shot!”

“I know you are, Zan.”

Zandy positioned herself behind the front guns, then, as Figmund steered as close as he could to the convoy, she took aim and fired upon the remotes. She destroyed one of them with the initial blast, but just scorched the second. The damaged remote began to return fire, its pulsing blasts powerful and accurate.

“Take it out, Zan, or the ship’s fucked!” yelled Figmund, as he struggled to maintain control of the spacecraft.

Zandy took up aim again, even as the second remote fired upon them. Her next shot grazed the remote, causing it to spin out of control. As it did so, it continued to fire cannon blasts, but they either hit the ground or disappeared harmlessly into the sky. Presently, the remote spiralled earthward, hitting the ground with a tremendous explosion.

Meanwhile, Gris and his crew had knocked out the forward remotes, and were trying to force the transport ship to a standstill. Figmund joined in by firing upon the transport’s rear thrusters. Before long, they had crippled the craft, and it crashed nose-first into the planet’s soft soil.

As the dust settled, Gris and Figmund drew their ships alongside the transport. All five crew members exited their craft, each one carrying a laser-pistol. Without a word, Figmund and Zandy headed towards the front of the ship, where the guards were located, while Gris and the others began their attempts to open the rear of the craft.

There were two guards in the ship’s cabin, both thurgs — large, spine-covered aliens from beyond the Outer Rim. The thurgs did not look like they were going to surrender easily, both of them pointing laser cannons at Figmund and Zandy.

“Open up, freaks!” screamed Zandy. “Or we’ll fry you!”

Figmund began blasting the cabin door. The thurgs looked on without expression, their cannons still pointed at the two intruders.

As the door sprang open, everything happened at once. The guards fired wildly, laser blasts ricocheting about the cabin, while Figmund and Zandy rolled across the floor, shooting upward at the alien’s belly and chests. The shots were good, but thurgs are protected by thick scales, and the laser blasts only scorched the surface.

Zandy was quick to slip behind the thurgs and climb onto the back of one of them, inserting her pistol into the thurg’s ear and pressing the trigger without hesitation. The thurg dropped to the floor, vapour spilling from its ears and nose. Zandy tumbled from its back and shot the second thurg in the face. The alien fell backwards, slamming into the ship’s control panel and setting off some sort of alarm. A metallic shreiking filled the air.

Figmund was reminded that there was some urgency involved, with support already on the way from the zamzar mine. He grabbed Zandy’s arm and hurried her out of the cabin.

The back of the transport was open, and its contents emptied, but Gris and his cronies were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s going on?” asked Zandy crossly.

“I’m hoping they’ve just taken the zamzar back to the spot where we met earlier,” said Figmund. “If not, we might have been double-crossed.”

The couple flew back over their meeting place in the forest, but there was no sign of Gris or his ship. Repeated attempts to contact Gris on the Commlink failed, with the connection showing up as ‘dead’.

“Those fuckers!” shrieked Zandy. “I’m gonna fry ’em all!”

“I shouldn’t have trusted that gorilla,” added Figmund. “He’s a dishonest prick!”

“Well, why did we trust him, Figgy?” snapped Zandy.

“I didn’t see what could go wrong,” said Figmund.

Zandy picked up something from the console in front of her and hurled it across the ship’s cabin.

“We’ll find ’em, Zan,” assured the half-man. “We’ll find ’em and we’ll make ’em pay!”

Searching for three fugitives in a space as immense as the Galaxy would normally be close to impossible. But Figmund had a few contacts that might help them, as well as several ideas as to where the trio may have gone.

“In order to sell the zamzar they first have to get it purified,” said Figmund. “And there are only three places in the Galaxy that process zamzar — here on Rukzaw, on Malathusa, and on Targo.”

“Well, we know they’ve left Rukzaw, so it must be one of the others,” offered Zandy.

“And Targo’s facility is close to redundant!” added Figmund.

“That leaves Malathusa,” said Zandy. “Let’s get going — I wanna fry those bastards as soon as I can!”

They left the mining planet, and crossed the Federation of Core Systems until they reached the far edge, where the Malathusa System was located. Malathusa itself was an important industrial and administrative centre for the Federation, its population a blend of humans, half-men and aliens.

Figmund parked the ship in a Spaceport close to the industrial heart of the planet, the zamzar processing plant only a short walk away. Laser pistols at their sides, Figmund and Zandy walked briskly along the darkening streets. The processing plant loomed on the right, its roof a shiny golden dome.

But the plant looked closed for business, its gates firmly locked, and the area beyond, quiet and empty. Apart from one or two security lights, the place was shrouded in darkness.

“Well, if they came here, they’ve already moved on,” said Figmund.

“The bastards!” spat Zandy.

They turned to walk back to the Spaceport, when a terrible grinding sound burst from the processing plant. This was followed by a steady metallic whining.

Figmund and Zandy looked at each other. They returned to the gate and began to look for a way into the plant. Zandy found some footholds where the gate joined the wall. Within seconds, she was over. Figmund was not as agile, but followed Zandy as best as he could. Once they were both over, they drew their pistols once again, and walked quickly in the direction of the noise.

They drew up close to a wide door leading into the heart of the plant and peered inside.

Ert the flapper was at a control panel filled with flickering lights. Gris was standing on a platform in front of a mouth-like vent feeding in the raw zamzar. Spint the human was nowhere to be seen.

“We should wait until they’ve finished,” whispered Figmund. “There’s no point us taking the raw zamzar.”

“Mmm…I guess so,” agreed Zandy. She was itching to get at the double-crossers.

They stood back from the doorway, waiting for the right moment to burst in on Gris and his gang.

“Look what I’ve found — a pig and a rabbit!” snarled a voice behind them. It was Spint, the green-skinned human, pointing a large laser cannon at the couple.

“Spint!” growled Figmund.

“C’mon, I wanna show Gris and Ert what I caught snooping,” said the green man.

He pushed them into the plant room where Gris and the flapper were still working. Gris was visibly surprised to see his former conspirators. He even looked a bit guilty. Ert the flapper simply cackled before returning to work.

“It didn’t take you long to find us,” said Gris.

“Fuck off, Gris,” snapped Figmund. “Just give us our share and we’ll be off.”

“Sorry Figgy, it’s too late for that,” said Gris. “We’ve got plans for this stuff.”

“What shall we do with ’em, Gris?” asked Spint.

“Yak yurgi ni ni squerch!” suggested Ert, without looking up from the control panel.

“Hehe…good one, Ert!” said Spint. “What do you think, Gris?”

“Okay, bring ’em up here,” said the half-man.

Spint pushed Figmund and Zandy up a ramp, then a series of stairs, until they stood alongside Gris at the vent into which he was pouring the raw zamzar.

“You can push them in, Spint,” said Gris. “I don’t wanna do it.”

“I don’t wanna do it either,” grumbled Spint. “It was Ert’s idea!”

“You gutless shits!” cried Zandy. “Either get it over with or let us go!”

“Alright, c’mon get in there,” said Spint, as he prodded Figmund roughly with the laser cannon. Figmund turned and pushed back at Spint, causing the man to stumble slightly.

Meanwhile, Zandy jumped high on her rabbit legs, grabbing onto a chain that hung from the ceiling. She swung in a loop, coming back at the platform, and kicked Spint into the open vent. He squealed for a moment, then was quiet.

Gris, who was without a weapon, turned and ran, while Ert disappeared with a squawk of panic, flapping his shabby wings and lifting awkwardly into the air.

Figmund and Zandy watched them flee, shaking their heads in disbelief.

“Well, that was easy!” said Figmund. “I expected more of a fight.”

“I was looking forward to frying the bastards,” grumbled Zandy.

The pair completed the zamzar purification process, with the final product sitting in stacks of gleaming silver bars.

“How are we gonna get these to the ship, Figgy?” asked Zandy.

Figmund left the building and, after a few minutes, reappeared driving a motorised cart.

“This should do!” he said to Zandy, and together they loaded the zamzar onto the cart.

As they drove out of the processing plant and made their way towards the gate, Zandy glanced up at the sky.

“Hey, Figgy, should we be worried about that big ship with the flashing lights?”

The ship was enormous, cone-shaped, with a ring of orange lights on the bottom. As it approached the zamzar processing plant, it drifted so low that it looked about to hit the building’s dome.

“Y’know I got the feeling these folks might be from Rukzaw,” said Figmund.

“Holy Fanola!” cried Zandy. “Let’s get out of here, forget the zamzar!”

“Hang on, Zan, there may be a way out of this yet,” replied Figmund.

The ship emitted a series of foghorn-like sounds, which may have been a warning in the Rukzaw tongue. Almost immediately, a dozen or so sky-bikes issued from an opening in the bottom of the immense craft. Most were ridden by armoured thurgs, but one or two were occupied by Rukzawians — small insect-like creatures with eight legs and four eyes. The Rukzawians were excellent builders and crafters, but terrible soldiers, hence their reliance on mercenary thurgs.

“What are we gonna do, Figgy,” cried Zandy. “We can’t fight off that many soldiers!”

“Don’t panic, Zan,” said Figmund. “I’ve got an idea.” He pulled out his Commlink and entered a series of codes.

Meanwhile, the Rukzawians and thurgs landed in a circle around them. One of the Rukzawians climbed from its sky-bike and approached Figmund and Zandy.

“Goo glick nar nar pito goo zamzar reet,” it said, with its clicking scissor-like jaws.

“But we didn’t take your zamzar, that was Gris the gorilla-man and his gang,” explained Figmund. “We were rescuing it for you!”

“Vam voot!” snapped the Rukzawian, as he waved four of his arms at the surrounding thurgs.

Figmund and Zandy were grabbed, and strapped onto sky-bikes. Then the zamzar in the cart was loaded onto a platform carried between two bikes.

The Rukzawian climbed back on his craft, and with a gnarled croak, lifted off towards the ship above. The others followed him, spiralling upwards towards the giant craft.

But before they could enter the ship, Figmund’s ex-military cruiser appeared low in the sky, its blasters firing upon the sky-bikes and their riders. Several were hit, including the Rukzawian leader, and they tumbled to the ground far below.

The remaining Rukzawians and thurgs panicked, some of them turning in circles aimlessly, others trying to return to their ship as quickly as possible.

Figmund’s ship swooped back through the flock of sky-bikes, shooting down several more, before taking aim at the door in the bottom of the giant Rukzawian craft. Explosions ripped through the base of the ship, while smoke and flames poured from the damaged door.

The thurgs carrying Figmund and Zandy were well short of the spaceship when its door was blasted, and cried in dismay to see the damage done. They span around to return to the zamzar processing plant, the thurgs carrying the zamzar following them.

Figmund’s ship followed them, and landed in the yard outside the plant just as the thurgs manoeuvred their sky-bikes onto the ground.

“Release the prisoners and unload the zamzar shipment, or you will be vaporised,” boomed a stern, mechanical voice from Figmund’s ship.

Having seen the damage inflicted upon their ship, as well as many of their comrades, the thurgs did not hesitate to do as commanded. Soon, Figmund and Zandy were free, and taking control of the situation.

“We don’t want to take prisoners, so you lot can just fuck off back to your ship,” said Figmund, after taking laser pistols from the thurgs and turning them around on the startled creatures.

“Fukkov?” said one of the thurgs, looking at its equally confused comrades.

“Go! Go back to ship! Fuck off!” shouted Figmund, pointing at the sky.

The remaining thurgs climbed aboard their sky-bikes and, reluctantly, took off towards their still burning spaceship.

As they disappeared from view, Zandy turned to Figmund and said: “How did you get your ship to do that, Figgy?”

Before Figmund could reply, the hatch on his ship opened and the little robot, Zix, emerged and walked towards them.

“Zix!” exclaimed Zandy. “I didn’t realise that you were such an amazing pilot! I thought you just cooked and cleaned for Figgy.”

“I hope I did okay, Mr Figmund,” said Zix.

“Better than okay, Zix! We got to keep the zamzar, as well as get rid of Gris and the Rukzawians,” replied Figmund.

The three of them loaded the zamzar into the ship’s hold, and prepared to leave Malathusa.

“Where to, Mr Figmund,” asked Zix, as he climbed into the cabin.

“I think I’ll go shopping,” said Figmund. “What do you think, Zan?”

“Just what I was thinking,” replied the Dark Rabbit.

“Shefaz then?” asked Zix.

“Shefaz,” confirmed Figmund.

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