Malparadiso Station Season 1.9
Episode 9 The Bukk Stops Here
Episode 9: The Bukk Stops Here
Three cycles later, Granny Claws let Myril make a bit of toufood soup and served it to the bravest of her clientele. They liked it, even though they said it would never be as good as Granny Claws’ recipe.
Granny Claws told Myril, “That’s because when I make it, I spit in it.”
Bukk continued to cook during the midcycle and last cycle rush, and Granny Claws hired another klekovan to clean up behind him. Myril came in early to cook for the fourth shift meal and to make preps for Bukk. He would leave just as Bukk came in and go back to Yroi’s to process the things Slime and his tribe brought in: toasted crème, fried grubs with firebug or hot-and-sour coating, and other kinds of packaged, take-along food.
Word began to get around, and the early cycle rush began to be the credit maker. The Full Bowl’s reputation improved so much that even some non-kleeks began to show up, including a Lev1 notable, so famous he was called The Man.
Granny Claws took the order herself that morning and delivered it. She took a seat beside him while he ate. No one could hear what they talked about, even though every ear was aimed in their direction.
Bukk came in for his shift about half an hour early. Myril was finishing chopping some grubs as the oil heated to fry them. He had all the condiments filled—firebug shells ground, tunnel lips dried and sliced, and a vat of slime weed soaking in hot-and-sour juice, which had become a Full Bowl favorite.
Bukk put on his white uniform and apron—some things being the same all over the Galaxy. He hadn’t said anything to Myril since Myril had come back to work. Myril didn’t know if Granny Claws had talked to Bukk, but Myril just stayed out of his way, just did his own job.
He made sure he didn’t eat anything that Bukk cooked.
Myril heard Bukk coming up behind him. Bukk was large for a klekovan, heavy-set, and his solid footfalls raised the hair on the back of Myril’s neck. Myril spun around, knife in hand.
Bukk stood behind him, glowering. “You won’t live out the day, sape,” Bukk said. “Make your peace with the Core because you’re going to see Her.”
“Then you’ll have to show me the way,” Myril said.
He’d known the fight was coming since he had met Bukk. Myril was stuck between Bukk, the cutting counter, and the grill with no maneuvering room. He had length of reach over Bukk, but Bukk had weight advantage, more space to move in and, Myril hoped, less experience and slower reflexes.
Bukk took a step closer. Myril crouched a little, his knife ready to pierce Bukk’s belly if Bukk made a jab towards him. His knife hadn’t cut meat in a long time. Something about steel craved blood, and Bukk’s would do.
Bukk feinted with his left fist, jabbing with his knife. Myril saw the movement, ducked under the fist and slit Bukk’s apron at elbow level. Now Myril was in the open kitchen, and Bukk was against the grill. No blood showed on the apron, so Myril hadn’t connected with him. Bukk was more agile than he looked.
Myril could hear some commotion in the dining room, but he was focused on Bukk. The sounds were far away and not important. Bukk turned and seized the oil pot and slung it at Myril, the arc of the brown liquid flowing in slow motion from the edge of the pan as Myril jumped back, slamming his hip into the reclaim vat. The steaming oil splattered across his stomach, soaking into the layers of cloth in his apron instead of frying his face. Myril backed toward the back door, limping slightly, but luring Bukk across the oil-slick floor.
Bukk charged toward Myril, bellowing in rage. Another sound came through to Myril, the sound of a female screaming something unintelligible. He let Bukk get up some momentum, then he dodged down and right, towards the dining room door. He picked up a flicker of movement on that side and rolled under another blade. He stood again, between the open door where a server stood yelling and another klekovan ran towards him. Bukk turned to follow Myril, lost his footing and fell, just as the other kleek reached him. Bukk clutched at the other kleek to steady himself and then threw him against the back door. The second Klekovan slumped to the floor.
“Bring it on,” Myril said.
Bukk glanced at the door by Myril’s hand. A human had appeared there with blaster drawn.
“Get out of my kitchen!” Myril hissed. He swung at the man who stepped back into the dining room. Myril was tired of bowing to kleeks, and he wasn’t going to back down to another human. This was his fight, and it was long past time to settle it.
Bukk circled around him, trying to get between Myril and the door, his feet still sliding from the oil. He made a rush at Myril, his knife by his hip ready to slice its way up through Myril’s short ribs.
The oil did him in. Bukk slid just enough to be off balance. Myril sidestepped him, driving his own knife into the kleek’s ribs just as Bukk’s blade glanced along Myril’s shoulder. Myril twisted his knife and jerked it out, both to deepen the wound and to get his weapon back.
Bukk was bleeding now, but he did not slow down. His eyes seemed glazed over—Bukk was on kreef! He couldn’t feel the pain yet. Myril would have to stay out of his reach, or disable him...or kill him.
He’d known it would come to this, one way or another.
Myril went for Bukk’s arm, aiming for the wrist, to make him drop his knife.
He missed.
Bukk was too quick. Myril heard the other Kleek behind him just in time to dodge, but the other Kleek’s blade slit his sleeve and his arm.
“Stop this!” thundered Granny Claws.
Bukk glanced at her. Myril grabbed his cutting board and threw it at Bukk, clipping the side of his head and dazing him. The other kleek dropped his knife and backed up to the tunnel side back door, pressing the exit button.
When the door opened, the passage was full of children, Slime and his tribe. Each of them held some kind of weapon—sticks with pieces of complastalloy or rock shards tied on—knives, and pieces of machinery. The kleek collapsed and covered his head.
Bukk rushed towards Myril again. Myril dodged towards the back door, leading Bukk towards the tribe. He held his blade low. He only had one more good swing left in that arm before it went numb. Bukk held his knife high, to slash down when he reached Myril. Myril swung up and across, slicing Bukk’s neck, but Bukk’s swing caught Myril’s arm and broke it. Myril dropped his knife, his fingers reacting to the pain. He jerked away from Bukk, trying to keep an eye on the knife, ready to grab it with his other hand.
Blood poured from Bukk’s neck. He looked surprised. He couldn’t breathe. He put his hand to his throat as if he were choking. His eyes crossed. He fell backwards into the tribe. A multitude of small hands took hold of Bukk, dragging him into the tunnel.
Myril picked up his knife, looking around him for more assailants. Bukk’s friend began to crawl out the back door As if from a distance, he could hear people screaming, Granny Claws yelling, all kinds of commotion. Granny Claws and the human blocked the door to the dining room. Myril closed the back door.
“Now what?” he said to Granny Claws. His adrenaline faded to let the pain take over his awareness.
Granny Claws frowned, looking at the mess in the kitchen. “I’m going to have to pay another healer, and hire a cook, too. That’s what!”
"That's because when I make it, I spit in it." 🤢