Doomsday Warrior 13 - American Paradise

Free Doomsday Warrior 13 - American Paradise by Ryder Stacy

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Authors: Ryder Stacy
monicker better than Doomsday Warrior. He had to smile, too, at the thought of how President Langford’s face would appear if he heard the elaborate expression.
    “I need much men and war canoes,” Rock stated. “Me special need big dragon boat.”
    “Okay, you have. What else?”
    Rock had the whole shopping list, and he now rattled the list off.
    The chief quickly said he would oblige. “You will go far in water to mess up bad fella?”
    “You no take big fella Archer from my Hohannah! Archer stay here!”
    “Sorry, Chief, I need Archer. He—er—big hero. He best of my men.”
    “No! Archer stay here. Hohannah need big man,” the chief fumed.
    “I need big man come with me to fight bad Killalowee.”
    The chief threw down his flyswat and stood arms crossed. “No! Archer stay!”
    Rock wondered what to do. Then he had an idea. Rockson smiled and said to the chief, “I Chief-of-Entire-Outer-World make a deal. My big man marry your big girl before leave. Deal?”
    The chief grunted and picked up his flyswat. “Deal!”
    Hohannah was “much sad” when she heard that Archer was to leave. But her father told her Archer would marry her—tomorrow. Then she was happy and jumped up and down clapping her hands, creating a minor earthquake.
    Detroit was told the news, and he went to Rockson. “You really did it now, Rock,” he complained. “I don’t think Archer will go for it, even if it is a big honor to marry the chief’s daughter.”
    Rockson smiled halfheartedly. True, the big guy didn’t like strings attached to him. He was the ultimate freebooter, not even associating with the other warriors of Century City—except on missions. Archer preferred his own wanderings, his own company. But it was the only way Rock could get what he needed!
    “I suppose I’ll have to tell him,” Rock said.
    “NNNNO!” Archer moaned. “OHH NNOOONNOONNOOO!”
    Rockson blocked the exit to the hut that the session was taking place in. “Sorry Arch,” Rockson ordered. “You have to do it. We need the dragon boat and the chief’s supplies. Saying you would marry Hohannah was the only way I could get them.”
    “But you’ll be rich, Archer,” Detroit added, as an inducement. “The dowry is pearls, heaps of gold, lots of land . . .”
    Archer chewed this over and then said, “NOOOO! I NEEED FREEE!”
    “What are we gonna do?” Detroit, who had come along with his team leader as moral support, asked, throwing up his hands. “The chief will withdraw the dragon ship and the men, without the wedding.”
    Rockson said, “Archer—it’s an order. You’ve braved wind and storm, Russian bullets, nuclear bombs. You bailed out of a Soviet jet at Mach 2; you fought a lake-monster. How about it? What’s one simple little-old marriage?”
    For the wedding, Archer and Hohannah wore the customary Polynesian bride and groom outfits—masses of parrot feathers. In addition, Archer had some small orchids sewn in his beard. There were maids of honor: Leilani and two younger sisters of the chief’s daughter. Rockson and the other Freefighters added a bit of chivalry by lining up on both sides of the jungle-clearing aisle and raising crossed swords as an archway for the “happy” couple to walk through.
    Archer and his giggling, bouncing bride ran underneath the arch and stood before the chief. Umauu wrapped a rope around their joined wrists and knotted it. The knot, it was said, would not come undone until the bride’s passion was satisfied.
    Rockson saw the wild look of fear in Archer’s eyes as the big man’s wrist was entwined with the red vine rope. He sensed that Archer might try to bolt and lifted his shotpistol suggestively, pointing it at Archer’s gut. The big man caught the motion, and understood there was no backing out.
    It was a nice shotgun wedding.
    Archer glumly accepted the wrist binding and said, “Ikiwanapaki, Hohannah,” the equivalent of “I do,”

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