ILLEGAL ALIENS

But then a horrifying thought hit the locksmith, and with sure fingers he removed the squirter mechanism from Boztwank's spacesuit and clipped it to his leather jacket just in time. Ah!

With the toe of his metal boot, Hammer nudged Crowbar's lack of remains. "You got a garbage chute around here?" asked the tall human with a sneer.

"Of course, sir," Trell replied, weighing his next words carefully. "Should I take care of that before or after I turn the ship over to you?" There was a pause, and slowly the street gang turned towards him. Yes, he thought that would catch their attention.

The ganglord tried to speak, but found he couldn't. Turn the ship over to them? Holy spit, it hadn't occurred to him that this spaceship was now theirs. They owned a spaceship? A freaking bloody spaceship!

"Brother Deckers!" Hammer proclaimed, taking a dramatic stance. "We have hit the big time at last!"

"Right on!" Drill cried enthusiastically, shaking the laser rifle in the air above his head. "The Bloody Deckers in space! Look out NASA! Who-wee! We gonna be badder than the baddest! Badder than...than the freaking Angels!"

That was sacrilege to Chisel. The Hell's Angels? Nobody was badder than the Angels! Why, the Hell's Angels motorcycle gang was like having to take a leak, or rush hour traffic; an unstoppable force of nature. But if Drill said so, then it must be true. The boy grinned from ear to ear. Wow, badder then the Angels. Gosh!

"So what we gonna do first, chief?" Drill asked eagerly, slinging the crystalline rifle over a shoulder.

Do? The ganglord's plans hadn't evolved that far. Scratching his neck, Hammer surveyed the bullet-shaped room with its incredible array of controls. What could a starship do, fly to the moon? Who cared? That wouldn't put money in your pocket. This called for some serious thinking. Hammer sat down in Idow's deserted chair and rested his boots on top of the control board. Fearful, Trell rushed over to neutralize the controls before the human accidentally pressed the wrong button with his feet and blew something up, most likely them.

"Hey, Trell, baby," Drill asked copying the position of his chief. "Can you fly this ship for real?"

Even to the humans, the expression on the face of the alien crewmember said that he was insulted. "Fly the ship? I am a Master Technician! Why, given time and materials I could build a starship!" Trell stated firmly, but politely.

"Chill out, dude," Hammer commanded, lacing his hands together atop his greasy mane of hair. "The man was only asking."

While rooting through the clothes of the dead aliens searching for something to steal, Chisel found three metal belts made of woven silver strands, each having a weird ornate buckle covered with bumps and lumps. Those must be the controls, the boy deduced, his brain almost exhausting itself from the strain. Buckle and unbuckle. Pressing a random bump to see if he was right, a sparkling bubble sprang into existence around Chisel. The frightened youth threw the belt away and the bubble went along with the belt, leaving Chisel behind.

With a clang, the metal belt hit a panel near Hammer's feet, startling the ganglord. He turned grudgingly. "What in the hell are you doing now, pinhead?" Hammer asked annoyed.

"It bit me!" Chisel whined with a finger in his mouth, using his standard phrase for anything not working as expected.

"Yeah, sure," Hammer replied, rising from his seat and retrieving the belt from the floor. The twinkling light field readily admitted his left hand, but his right, holding the laser rifle, met stonewall resistance. The ganglord switched hands and the same happened.

"Hey, Trell, what is this thing, anyway?" he demanded.

"Personal defense field," Trell sighed in disappointment.