*Catastrophe Baker and the Aliens*

* * * *

Catastrophe Baker, all six feet nine inches of him, walked boldly into the middle of the alien encampment on Henry III.

"My name's Baker!" he bellowed. "Catastrophe Baker! And I'm here to settle the war by fighting your champion --winner take all!"

He was instantly surrounded by armed aliens. A hundred weapons were aimed at him. Finally one alien, wearing more medals and brighter insignia than any of the others, stepped forward.

"Your reputation precedes you," he said. "But how do we know you are that hero?"

"If I ain't, your champion will beat me without working up a sweat," answered Baker.

"True enough," said the alien. "But we have already won the war, so your offer is meaningless."

"You ain't won nothing if I'm still standing," said Baker.

"Blow his legs away," said a feminine voice.

Baker turned and found himself facing a beautiful young woman.

"Now that's a hell of a thing for a prisoner to suggest, ma'am," he said. "Meaning no offense."

"I'm not a prisoner."

"Well, if push comes to shove, it's an even worse thing for a turncoat to suggest."

"I'm just a businesswoman. These people need weapons. I sell weapons. We fill mutual needs." She stared at him. "What are you doing here all by yourself?"

"It goes with the heroing trade, ma'am," said Baker. "I aim to take on their most fearsome fighter, wipe up the floor with him, and bring this unfortunate conflict to a close."

She stared at him for a long moment. "You really believe that, don't you?"

"Ain't nothing born, foaled, hatched or spawned has ever been able to make me holler Uncle. I don't imagine these here alien scum got the exception."

"Why should they fight you at all?" said the woman. "They've already defeated the Navy, and you're here all by yourself. Why shouldn't they just kill you and be done with it?"

He stared right back at her. "Are you _sure_ you're a woman and not just some alien look-alike?"

"I'm a woman."

"You sure don't sound like a member of the same race. You got a name, ma'am?"

"I've got lots of names," she replied. "In my profession, it's a necessity."

"You got one you prefer to all the others?"

"Not really."

"Then, since we're on Henry III, I think I'll call you Eleanor of Provence."

"Isn't that the name of the moon?"

"You're every bit as round in the right places as the moon," replied Baker.

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"I ain't flattering you, ma'am," said Baker. "You can't help being beautiful any more than you can help being a deceitful, backstabbing, unscrupulous traitor to the human race. But at least you're easy on the eyes."

"You still haven't answered the lady's question, Catastrophe Baker," said the alien commander. "Why shouldn't we just shoot you down in cold blood?"

"Because you don't want me to fall down."

"Why not."

Baker opened his tunic to reveal a number of explosives taped to his torso. "Because if I fall down, so will every alien and every structure within ten miles of me."

"Then why should we have our champion face you?" asked the commander. "If he knocks you down, the effect will be the same as if we were to shoot you right now."

"You give me your word of honor as an alien and an officer that you won't shoot me and I'll take the bombs off before the fight."

"And if we refuse, what then?"

"I ain't thought that far ahead," admitted Baker. "A race that's willing to take on our Navy don't strike me as a bunch of cowards."

"You have a remarkable way of expressing yourself," said the alien. "Even when you are complimenting us, it sounds like an insult."

"Have your champion make me apologize," said Baker with a confident grin.

"You are much bigger than any of us. I don't think it would be a fair fight."

"Tell you what," said Baker. "I ain't twice as big as you. I'll take on your two best at the same time."

"It's an interesting proposition," said the alien commander. "But the stakes are unrealistic. I do not have the authority to call off the war --and when your Navy sends reinforcements, as I suspect it will, I very much doubt that you can get them to return to their base."

"Okay, you got a point," said Baker. "What stakes do you want to fight for?"

"We don't need money and we don't need weapons," answered the alien. "And I have no idea what else you want. So why don't _you_ propose the stakes?"

"Okay," agreed Baker, "I reckon I'd better, if we're ever gonna get this thing up and running." He looked around the area, and then his gaze came back to Eleanor of Provence. "Here's my proposition. If I win, you give me the woman."

"What?" she demanded.

"Us humans got to stick together," said Baker. He smiled and winked at her. "The closer the better."

"That's outrageous!"

"Fighting for outrageous stakes just naturally goes with being a hero."

"Just a minute," said the alien commander. "That's what we give you if you win. What do you give us if _we_ win?"

"I'll fight the rest of the war on your side."

"Isn't that at odds with your stated beliefs?" asked the commander.

"Sure is," answered Baker. "It'll give me that much more incentive to win."

"But if you _do_ lose, you will place yourself under my command?"

"Right." He shrugged. "It won't be so terrible. I _like_ fighting."

"It's a deal," said the commander.

"Now wait a minute!" said Eleanor.

The alien turned to her. "I do not expect to lose this wager," he said. "But even if I do, how can I turn down the proposition? If our champions lose, then, while I will miss your wit and charm and companionship, you are, after all, merely a salesperson of dubious loyalty who can be easily replaced. But if we win, we will secure the services of the famous Catastrophe Baker." He turned to Baker. "How long will it take you to prepare?"

"As long as it takes me to unwrap these here bombs."

"We shall be ready."

Baker was watched carefully as he disattached the explosives from his body and laid them gently on the ground. Then he looked around to see if his opponents had shown up yet.

They had. One was short and heavily-muscled, the other tall and lean, with the grace of a dancer.

"What are the ground rules?" asked the alien commander as the two champions approached Baker.

"What rules?" he responded. "This here is a freehand fight. Hitting, kicking, biting, and gouging are all legal. So are kidney punches --always assuming you _got_ kidneys."

"When is it over?"

"When only one of us is left standing."

"I agree to your rules --or lack of them," said the commander. His army moved closer, forming a circle about thirty feet in diameter around the three combatants. "Let the battle begin!" The muscular alien charged Baker. He could have sidestepped, grabbed an arm, and twisted, but he was curious to see how he measured up to his opponent, so he planted his feet and took the charge against his chest and belly.

The alien bounced off.

Now the tall one approached cautiously, dancing on his toes like a boxer. Suddenly he launched a kick at Baker's groin. Baker grabbed his foot before it landed, lifted it as high as he could, and twisted sharply. The alien flipped in the air and landed on his back with a heavy thud.

Baker grinned. "Come on!" he urged them. "Let me have your best shot!" Both aliens charged him at once. He took two blows to the face and one to the neck, then swung a roundhouse at the taller, thinner alien and floored him. He felt a trickle of blood on his lip, licked it off, and turned to the muscular alien.

"You throw a pretty nice punch for a little feller," he said. "Now let's see how you take one." He stalked the alien around the circle, finally cut off his escape route, and connected with a mighty blow to the head. The alien dropped like a ton of bricks.

Just as Baker thought the fight was over, the taller alien leaped onto his back, biting his neck and digging his fingers into Baker's eyes. Baker shook his massive head, sending the alien reeling away. Then he picked the graceful being up, held him over his head, spun around three times, and hurled him as far as he could. The alien flew totally beyond the circle of soldiers, hit the ground heavily, tried groggily to stand up, fell over, and lay still.

Baker turned to the alien commander. "They put up a good fight for a pair of alien heathen. Tell 'em when they wake up that they lasted about as long with me as anyone ever has." He walked up to the woman and took her by the hand. "Come on, Queen Eleanor. Time for us to be going." As they began walking to his ship, the alien commander called out after him. "You have forgotten your explosives, Catastrophe Baker. We are an honorable race. We will allow you to take them with you."

"You keep 'em," said Baker over his shoulder.

"You are sure?"

"Yeah," he said. "They got waterlogged back on Silverleaf II a couple of years ago, and haven't been worth a damn ever since. You couldn't blow 'em up with a detonator."