The Gunbear Chronicles: Garbage Day


“Why am I here?!” Plox pounded his meaty fists on the interrogation room table. A lone lamp swung overhead and dust particles floated down from the ceiling.

BN6 hovered opposite the Gamorrean across the table. The island of light in the center of the room cast an eerie glow on the administration droid’s sandblasted silver body. “Once again you and your men have been dumping District 24’s garbage into the Sarlaac Pit when you should dispose of it in the environmentally-friendly manner set forth by Mayor Gunbear.”

“That’s preposterous!” Plox said banging on the table again. BN6 noted that every time the Gamorrean spoke, it sounded as if he was shaking his head with a mouthful of meat. The droid turned toward the nearest wall and projected an image. A skiff hovered over the Great Pit of Carkoon and several clearly discernible figures launched bin after bin of refuse into the pit while the Sarlaac’s tentacles swayed in the light of Tatooine’s three moons.

“That could be anyone!” Plox protested. This time when he slammed his fist one of the bulbs in the overhead lamp flickered and threatened to cast the room in complete darkness.

“Mayor Gunbear takes sanitation very seriously,” BN6 responded cooly.

“Gunbear! Hah!” Plox leaned forward across the table and jabbed a finger in the droid’s direction. “Who does he think he is to drag the Chief of Sanitation down here like this? The only time he cares about trash going into the Sarlaac Pit is during re-election. I’m not scared of him. You float on back to his office and tell Mayor Gunbear I think he’s shooting blanks and he belongs in a zoo.”

BN6 drifted back toward the door. “You just told him.”

“HRMPH!” A low, stately grunt rolled from the darkness in the back of the room. Plox’s eyes grew to the size of a Krayt Dragon’s. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck. Scent of the Dune Sea, the Mayor’s signature cologne filled his nostrils.

Mayor Gunbear circled around Plox. The Gamorrean expected rage. He expected the Mayor’s fangs to tear him to pieces. Instead, Gunbear studied him with his dark, glassy eyes.


“Mrphsh,” Mayor Gunbear snorted and Plox shut his mouth. The Mayor turned to BN6. “Graughaggargahhh?”

“Yes sir. Your speeder is ready,” the droid responded. BN6 rounded the table towards Plox. “I’m afraid I need to bind your wrists now.” The Gamorrean looked at Gunbear. This was not what he expected at all.

Plox ate a mouthful of sand when Mayor Gunbear threw him out of the speeder. He struggled to get to his knees with his hands bound behind him. His eyes watered and tried to adjust to the hot suns. The sand burned beneath him. BN6 zipped over to Plox as Gunbear climbed out of the speeder. A small bladed arm protruded from the droid’s body and he sliced the rope binding the Gamorrean’s wrists. Plox tasted moisture in the sand. It congealed in his mouth. He licked his sleeve to get the iron taste off his tongue and checked his surroundings. To his horror, six of his men lay dead around him! Their blood seeped into the sand everywhere. Each had several blaster burns. Plox choked and spat. Suddenly he heard a thud behind him. The Gamorrean turned and saw a blaster laying at his feet.

“Mayor Gunbear offers you the heavy blaster,” BN6 stated. “He wants you to have a chance.”

“Mrahhmf,” Mayor Gunbear said.

“I…I don’t want to pick it up,” Plox stammered, shuffling a step back from the blaster. “My apologies. Please!”

“Mrahhmmmmf,” Mayor Gunbear repeated in a quieter but somehow more deadly tone. On his large, furry head sat a wide-brimmed black hat in the style made famous by the bounty hunger, Cad Bane. They were all the rage at Tosche Station this season. His paw hovered a mere inch from the grip of his heavy blaster. The handle was made from the sacred Wroshyr Tree of Kashyyyk.

Plox panicked. He dove for the weapon but before he got half way to it, Mayor Gunbear’s blaster was in hand. He fired several times into the Gamorrean’s fat body and a seventh corpse collapsed on the dune.

“MRAGRHRMF!” Gunbear roared. He took off his hat and threw it in the back of the speeder.

“Yes sir, it is hot,” BN6 replied.

Mayor Gunbear crawled into the driver’s seat. He had a meeting with a representative of the banking clan after lunch, a city council meeting to attend and on top of all that now he had to find a new sanitation crew for district 24. He shook his head.

“Sir, what shall I do with the bodies?” BN6 called out.

“Grapmvh grarahhgar!” Mayor Gunbear said and hit the accelerator.

“Dump them in the Sarlaac Pit? An excellent idea!”

Burnt Toast

Have you ever wanted to read near-future, alternate-earth Battlestar Galactica fan fiction that stars Paul Brooks? Want no more!


It was 5:37 a.m. in Los Angeles. The sun rose slowly in the west, setting the Pacific Ocean on fire. Paul thumbed through Tinder, wishing his date from last night would vanish from his sheets, melt back into the sea of digital noise.

She’s been here too long, he thought. The room is starting to smell different.

Paul knew he shouldn’t have had that last PBR but he grudgingly admitted to himself that the cycle will repeat tonight. He didn’t reprimand himself though. At that moment, blinded by the western sun piercing through the blinds, he was just too hung over and tired to care.

Paul slid out of bed without waking her. He longed for that fresh-out-of-the-shower feeling without wanting to do the work. He was happy to find just enough coffee grounds to make a cup of Ronald’s Lite, his favorite.

“Hey Mac,” his date said, yawning from the mess of sheets.
“It’s Paul,” he replied. In the span of a breath he imagined murdering her a dozen different ways.

More than anything Paul wanted to be alone in his room with his cat, a working air conditioner and about eight more hours of sleep. His dream did not include this bedraggled Tinderella.

“Are you from here?” she asked, clearly not remembering their conversation from last night.
“No one’s from Los Angeles,” he replied. “Caprica City.”
“Go Seabucs,” she said, rolling over bare-assed. Lords of Kobol, he wanted her gone.

A few coffee grounds fell into his mug. Perfect.

Paul grabbed a tiny spoon from the drawer and went fishing for the dark specks. With his other hand he absent-mindedly flipped through Tinder, glancing at every third image. Finally one caught his eye. It was the familiar face he’d been looking for. Just then he felt the woman’s warm hands slide around his waist from behind. She rested her chin on his shoulder. Paul dropped his phone into his pocket.

“Got any plans today?” she whispered then nibbled his earlobe.
“Yeah, I have a meeting.” He turned around. Her rat nest of blond, curly hair was in perfect fashion for a walk of shame. She stuck out her lower lip. It was a cute pout Paul was totally not in the mood for. He sighed. Time to get down to business.
“What’s for breakfast?” she asked in her cute voice.
“Burnt toast,” Paul replied as he chucked the scalding hot coffee into her face. The girl screamed and clawed at her eyes. She tumbled backward over his chair, narrowly missing his cat, Saul. Paul casually reached behind a cereal box and pulled his pistol. Her shrieks were unbearable to his booze-dried brain. Her spine was glowing hot red.
Paul dropped his knee onto the back of her neck, pinning her to the ground. He put the pistol to the back of her head and pulled the trigger without saying word. Now he had THAT to clean up. New rule: get a hotel room if you’re going to have fun with the cylons before killing them.
Paul pulled his phone from his pocket. Blood had seeped through his pants so he used his shirt to clean off the screen. He checked Tinder for his new girl. She was identical to the one he just shot except for her straight dark hair. It was going to be a long night and Paul knew he’d better make his introduction…