Date: 2017-06-08 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction Fantasy; Fantasy; Action; Space Opera; Science Fiction; Fiction; Military
Description: Jonny Nebula was the greatest heavy-grav fighter to ever compete in the Orbs. Galactic Champion for two decades running, no one could touch his skill. Until his final, brutal fight when his reign came to a bloody, deadly end. But, as Roak is about to find out, there's always an encore. An old friend from his past. A job that shouldn't exist. A web of lies and deceit that goes deeper than anyone knows. Roak has his work cut out for him. It'll take all of Roak's skills as the galaxy's premiere bounty hunter to track down a dead man. Especially one that refuses to be found without a knockdown, dr
Publisher: SEVERED Press

NEBULA RISEN

-A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel-

Jake Bible

Copyright 2017 by Jake Bible

1.

The light armor took the brunt of the impact from the Blorta 65 laser pistol, but getting hit by a Blorta was never fun, no matter the protection. Roak went down and rolled to the side of the corridor, his Tonal Five precision shock blaster already up and aimed at the punk that shot him.

“This doesn’t have to be hard, kid!” Roak shouted as the few residents of the Pesca moon’s mining station out and about at 3am turned tail and ran for cover. “Fire at me again and–!”

The punk kid did fire at Roak again, forcing the bounty hunter to roll back to the center of the corridor, his TF shock blaster letting loose with two blasts.

“Dammit!” the punk kid shouted as he fell to his knees, both arms stunned into uselessness. “What the hell do you want?”

Roak grunted and slowly got to his feet. His light armor was scored just below his ribcage on the right side of his body, but the laser shot didn’t come close to breaching the flexible material. There would be some seriously bad bruising, but nothing Roak couldn’t handle or patch up with a few minutes in a med pod back on his ship.

“You should ask those kinds of questions before you start shooting, moron,” Roak said as he walked slowly towards the punk kid. “Save you some misery. But I guess I wouldn’t be here if you knew how to do that.”

“Why are you here?” the punk kid snapped. “Who sent you? My father? Well, you can tell him–”

The punk kid didn’t get to finish as Roak reached him and sent a gloved fist straight into the kid’s mouth, knocking him onto his back with a dazed look in his eyes and blood pouring from between split lips.

“It’s Gett, yeah?” Roak asked as he holstered his TF shock blaster. The punk kid didn’t respond. “I will kick the crap out of you until every rib is broken.”

“Yeah,” Gett Willz replied. The punk kid was not so much a kid as a spoiled young man in his early twenties. He glared up at Roak, his focus coming back and his anger obviously rising. “Who the hell are you?”

“Roak,” Roak replied. “And, yeah, your father hired me to track you down and bring you home.”

“Not going home,” Gett snarled and spat bloody phlegm onto the floor. “Tell my father he can–”

Roak kicked the punk kid in the left hip. Gett cried out and grabbed his hip with numb and shaking hands as his eyes watered with tears of intense pain.

“I know a thousand more points on your body that will hurt way worse than that,” Roak said and took a deep breath as he rubbed the scorch mark on his armor. He bent down and picked up Gett’s laser pistol, tucking it into his belt before he snapped his fingers. “Stop being such a baby and get your ass up.”

“How?” Gett gasped. “You broke my Eight Million Gods damned hip!”

“I didn’t break shit, kid,” Roak said. “I can if you want so you know the difference, but then I’ll have to carry you back to my ship and I don’t want to carry you back to my ship.”

“I’m not going back!” Gett shouted, his voice a petulant whine.

“Yes, you are,” Roak said. “Your father paid a good deal for me to find you and return you to him. I get you back within the week and I get a nice bonus. I could use that bonus, kid.”

Roak patted the laser pistol.

“Got a line on a Flott Five-Six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread,” Roak said. “If you know anything about weapons, then you know those are neither cheap nor easy to come by.”

Gett stared up at Roak. “What the hell are you jabbering about? I don’t give a shit about any Flott whatever.”

Roak shrugged. “Fine. Just thought you might want to know how serious I am.”

“Because you want to buy a gun? Who cares?” Gett snarled.

“I do,” Roak said and shrugged again. “Like I said, they’re hard to come by and aren’t exactly cheap. So get your ass up and start walking, kid. Got a short window to get off this ass backwards station.”

“How much is the gun?” Gett asked.

“No,” Roak replied and bent down to grab the kid’s arm. Gett scooted out of reach. “Come on, now. Don’t give me any crap.”

“Tell me how much the gun costs,” Gett said as he tried to get up onto his knees. Roak pulled the laser pistol and jammed the tip of the barrel right between the kid’s eyes. “You won’t shoot me.”

“Not there. No,” Roak said and switched his aim to Gett’s left shoulder. “This will hurt. A lot.”

“I can pay you whatever the gun costs!” Gett explained. “And whatever my father is paying you! Plus the bonus! You pocket everything and get that whatever gun out of the deal!”

“I already said no,” Roak responded.

“Can you even do math?” Gett asked. “Why would you pass up more credits?”

“Chits,” Roak said. “Cash in hand.”

“Chits. Yeah, sure, fine. Chits,” Gett said. “I can do that.”

“No, you can’t,” Roak said. “Trust me, kid, your father is paying me a lot of chits. He either really loves you or really hates you.”

“Both,” a voice said as an apartment door opened and a tall, beautiful woman dressed in travel leathers stepped out. “But he only hates me.”

Roak froze. He needed a second to size up the woman. Especially since she was holding an RX31 plasma assault rifle to her shoulder, the target laser dotting Roak’s sternum.

“Well, kid, your father wasn’t sure since you two-timed things almost perfectly, but he did have his suspicions,” Roak said, his eyes never leaving the plasma rifle. “Now I know you don’t have the chits to cover the bounty. Because she’s right. Your father hates her and he is willing to pay a medium-sized fortune for me to bring her back too.”

“You’re a big one,” the woman stated, looking Roak up and down. “But big ones fall just as easy as small ones.”

Roak was a big one. Over six feet, square-jawed and broad-shouldered, the man looked like he could have played any of a dozen of popular galactic professional sports in his youth. But his youth was long gone. Late thirties, scarred skin, ropy muscles, and eyes that were cold as ice, the man had found a new sport in life, one that involved a good deal of violence and sizable bounties.

With a reputation that was known in the galactic underworld for taking on bounties that other hunters, especially ones that were officially licensed and bonded with the Galactic Fleet, didn’t want to or couldn’t take, Roak was the guy called when things got complicated.

Tracking down Gett hadn’t been complicated. It hadn’t exactly been easy, and Roak had spent a good amount of chits greasing palms for access and information, but it hadn’t been complicated. No, the complication was standing in front of him with a plasma rifle aimed at his heart.

“Your husband ain’t too happy with you,” Roak said to the woman, Charcy Willz.

“He always wanted me to get along with Gett,” Charcy replied with a smirk. “I can’t help it if we got along a little too well.”

“Don’t care,” Roak said. “You two can diddle each other until the end of time, for all I care. Yelt Willz paid me to find and retrieve you. Both of you. Whatever your relationship is, not my concern.”

“Even if Yelt kills me?” Charcy asked. “Or kills both of us?”

“Like I said, not my concern,” Roak replied.

“So you aren’t here to kill us?” Charcy asked.

“I get paid to hunt,” Roak said. “Killing brings the heat. Not a fan of the heat.”

“You sure?” Charcy replied, licking her lips. “I bet I could get you pretty damn–”

“Stop,” Roak snapped.

Charcy rolled her eyes.

“What’s your name?” Charcy asked.

“No,” Roak replied.

“Strange name,” Charcy said, the smirk still there.

“I’m not playing this game,” Roak said. “We aren’t going to get to know each other. You aren’t going to try to charm me and flirt your way out of this. I don’t care what you have under those leathers. Whatever it is can be bought on any pleasure station in the galaxy. I have a job. I aim to complete that job.”

The sound of boots on metal rang through the corridor. Charcy turned her aim from Roak to Gett.

“I shoot him and I end up in this station’s legal system,” Charcy said and barked a harsh laugh. “Which we both know is a joke. I’ll buy or screw my way out before tomorrow night. Take the kid, but let me go and Yelt never has to know.”

“What?” Gett shouted and spun around on his knees to face the woman. “What are you saying?”

“Do I have to explain it?” Charcy sighed.

“Uh, yeah, you do,” Gett snapped. “You said you loved me.”

“I bet she said she loved your father,” Roak said. “How’d that turn out?”

“What’s your answer, Mr. No?” Charcy asked Roak. “You still get the bounty for the kid.”

“My name’s not no, but my answer is,” Roak said.

Five security guards, all from different alien races, came rushing around the corner and slid to a halt, plasma weapons raised.

“Put down the weapons!” the lead guard yelled. “You will not be told again!”

“They’re talking to you,” Roak said, slowly raising his hands above his head.

“Both of you!” the lead guard barked.

“I’m not holding a weapon,” Roak said.

“In your belt and on your hip!” the lead guard yelled.

“Looks like you’re too late,” Charcy said.

“You used me,” Gett said quietly, his eyes locked onto Charcy. “This was all about you getting away from my father.”

“Suck it up, Gett,” Charcy said as she slowly lowered her rifle to the ground, eyes locked on Roak. “You’re young. Be grateful I taught you this lesson early in life. Your father learned it way too late.”

Charcy put her hands up and began to turn around. Gett lunged for the rifle.

“Eight Million Gods dammit!” Roak shouted as he pulled the laser pistol and opened fire on the guards before they could open fire on him and the punk kid. He ignored Charcy. She was more trouble than she was worth.

Two of the guards fell to the floor, their hands clutching leg wounds. Two dove back around the corner and out of the line of fire. The fifth took a knee like it was nothing and put three rounds of plasma in Charcy’s chest, knocking her to the floor. Roak popped a laser blast into his belly and he doubled over.

Before he could reach the fallen Charcy, Gett had grabbed the assault rifle and put it to the woman’s head.

“You think you can play me?” Gett snarled then pulled the trigger.

“Shit, kid!” Roak yelled, cringing at the sight of the smoking brains that splattered against the floor and up the wall.

He tucked the laser pistol back into his belt, grabbed the rifle from Gett’s hands, then popped the kid in the temple with his fist. Gett crumpled. Roak squatted, threw the kid over his shoulder, then stood and hurried down the corridor in the opposite direction of the guards.

“Hessa!” Roak called over the comm. “Engines up! I’m coming in hot!”

“Engines are up, Roak,” Hessa, his AI co-pilot and de facto business partner, replied in his ear. “How hot are we talking?”

“The Sterli job hot,” Roak said.

“You do find ways of getting into trouble,” Hessa replied. “Weapons systems are active. Do you have the target?”

“He’s over my shoulder,” Roak said as he turned a corner and pulled the laser pistol to intimidate a few workers that were just getting off the swing shift. They ducked into the closest door they could find. “Secondary target was terminated by primary target.”

“Oh,” Hessa replied. “Unfortunate. Secondary target was a lucrative bounty.”

“Still getting the bonus,” Roak said. “We should have the kid back within the week even after taking some backchannel wormhole portals to lose the security detail that will be following us.”

“That depends,” Hessa said. “It may not be so simple.”

“And why’s that?” Roak asked. He had a suspicion, though.

“Security has already called for your capture,” Hessa said. “Did you kill the secondary target, Roak?”

“Primary did. I already said that,” Roak said. “Plasma rifle to the temple.”

“Messy,” Hessa said. “But effective.”

“Yeah, it did the trick,” Roak said as he reached the lift and slammed his palm against the button. The sound of boots closing in on him, lots of boots, could be heard a couple corridors away. “Come on, come on.”

Gett stirred and Roak slammed the kid’s head into the wall, putting him down deep again, just as the lift doors opened.

“There!” a guard yelled.

Roak rushed inside and dropped Gett. Hands free, he pulled both the laser pistol and the TF shock blaster. Roak fired until the lift doors closed.

“Hessa?” Roak asked.

“I am calculating the best route now, Roak,” Hessa responded. “This station’s security protocols are woefully out of date. I should be able to lock down most corridors and redirect the security forces on all levels. But you will need to reach the hangar within seven minutes and fourteen seconds or we will not be able to take off.”

“Because…?”

“Because there is a Galactic Fleet patrol incoming,” Hessa said. “Simple bad timing. They will be within range in eight minutes and forty-four seconds.”

“Great,” Roak said as he bent and picked Gett back up. “Just great.”

2.

The med pod lid opened and Roak threw his legs over the side as he pressed at his side, testing for any pain under his rib cage.

“Tests are normal,” Hessa said, her voice coming from the speaker set into the med bay’s ceiling and from Roak’s ear.

“Hessa. No stereo,” Roak said as he cringed at the echo.

“Apologies,” Hessa said. “I never know if you’d rather I talk from the speaker or from your implant.”

“I’d rather I didn’t have an implant at all, but we’ve been over this,” Roak said.

“Your aversion to tech implants is not rational,” Hessa replied. “Especially since the tech I use cannot be detected. You are at a disadvantage in the field with only a comm implant.”

“Tech can always be detected by someone,” Roak said. “Or controlled by someone else. But the comm implant is in and you refuse to take it out, so here we are…”

They were silent for a couple of minutes as Roak got dressed, donning a clean T-shirt and pants before stepping into his light armor.

“I do not see why you wear that while onboard,” Hessa said. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in a jumpsuit or clothes?”

“I like my armor,” Roak said. “Keeps me from worrying.”

Hessa huffed. She was an AI, completely artificial intelligence, but not like the other AIs in the galaxy. Roak was used to her very human affectations such as annoyed huffing, derisive snorting, and frustrated sighing.

“Where’s the kid? Still out cold?” Roak asked.

“He awoke a couple minutes ago and I allowed him to use the facilities,” Hessa said. “He is currently in the mess having a bowl of protein and carb mush.”

“Protein and carb mush?” Roak laughed. “What did he say to you?”

“He used terminology I would rather not repeat,” Hessa replied. “He is a very unpleasant young man. I do not see why his father wants him returned. It would seem to me that having the boy gone would help with one’s standard of living.”

“Only heir to a pretty vast crime syndicate,” Roak said as he left the med bay and made his way to the lift. “Not that the kid will live to take the business over. Not with that mouth of his. But, fathers like legacies.”

“Did your father like legacies?” Hessa asked.

“No family talk,” Roak said as the lift took him up to the bridge. “I don’t ask about who made you, you don’t ask about who made me.”

“Yes, Roak,” Hessa replied. “Of course.”

She didn’t bother hiding the mocking tone in her voice.

Once on the bridge, Roak took the pilot’s seat and checked the trans-space readings. They’d entered the wormhole portal eight hours earlier and should have been coming up on the first transfer point.

“Initiate stealth mode,” Roak ordered.

“Already initiated,” Hessa said. “Might I suggest you entertain our passenger?”

“Target,” Roak corrected.

“Passenger,” Hessa insisted. “He has been caught. He is no longer a target.”

“I think I know the terminology of my profession better than you do,” Roak said. “Until he’s delivered he’s a target.”

“Passenger,” Hessa stated.

“Just get us to the next wormhole portal,” Roak said. “How long?”

“In stealth mode, our speed is reduced by forty-seven percent,” Hessa replied.

Roak blinked a few times.

“Two hours.”

“Thank you,” Roak said.

Roak’s ship was a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship. It was a model used by the Galactic Fleet’s elite Drop Team units. Except Roak had purchased it, or bartered for it, from an old vehicle dealer friend; one that kept a discrete inventory of off-the-books ships. Normally expensive, Roak’s ship had been a bargain. But only because it came with a less than normal AI personality that was, as the dealer had said, “glitchy.”

In the months since, Roak realized “glitchy” was an understatement. “Dangerously sentient” was more how he would put it.

“Let me know when we hit the next wormhole portal,” Roak said. “I don’t want to be eating when we slip into trans-space.”

“Neither of us want that, Roak,” Hessa said. “Not after last time.”

Roak nodded and left the bridge, heading to the lift and down to the mess.

He took his time, not really wanting to deal with Gett at all. But being a bounty hunter, Roak was always in need of information. He had a feeling that the kid would spill all kinds of intel about his father and the crime syndicate the man ran.

“You just let your prisoners walk your ship free?” Gett asked, picking at a bowl of mush before pushing it away. “You aren’t afraid I’ll slit your throat?”

“With a plastic spoon?” Roak asked, nodding at Gett’s rejected meal. “I think I can suppress my fear.”

Roak made his way to the synth unit and punched in his order. In seconds, he had a steaming bowl of terpig stew with carb chips crumbled on top. He took it to Gett’s table and sat down, straddling the bench as he lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth.

“My father will gut me when you hand me over to him,” Gett said.

Roak’s spoon paused then he put it back in the bowl and sighed, pushing the stew to the side.

“I doubt he’ll kill you,” Roak said. “Otherwise why hire me?”

“Because he wants to watch me die,” Gett said. “He enjoys the spectacle.”

“He’s that kind of boss?” Roak asked.

“Boss? He’s my father, not my boss,” Gett replied.

“Same thing,” Roak said and shrugged. “He make a spectacle of killing often?”

“As often as he can,” Gett said. “He believes it’s a deterrent against betrayal.”

“Yet you took off with his wife,” Roak responded. “Not much of a deterrent.”

“Charcy was…” Gett trailed off.

“Yeah. I know,” Roak said and chuckled. It was a bitter sound filled with experience. “I’ve met a few women like her. They are very was.”

“What does that mean?” Gett asked.

“Huh?”

“What does very was mean?”

“No, I was repeating what you said. You said Charcy was then trailed off. I was repeating the was.”

“I don’t understand. How does that–?”

“Shut up,” Roak snapped. “You ruined it.”

Gett eyed Roak’s stew.

“You going to eat that? I can’t stomach another bite of this mush,” Gett said.

“Here,” Roak replied and pushed the stew to the young man. “Go for it.”

Gett grabbed the bowl, sniffed the stew, then tore into it like he hadn’t eaten in years.

“Don’t choke,” Roak said. He watched the kid eat for a minute then said, “When your father hired me, I didn’t see a single race other than human in his outfit. He a xenophobe or something? It’s rare to find a boss of a syndicate that doesn’t use other races, especially the ones that can break people in half with their hands.”

“Jirks,” Gett answered around a mouthful of food.

“All his people are Jirks?” Roak asked, his lip curling up in disgust.

Jirks were a race that murdered others to take their skins so they could assume their victims’ identities. Their own physical makeup bonded with the skin and there was almost no way to tell a Jirk from the real person they’d assumed.

Gett looked up from his bowl and frowned. “We’re all Jirks. You didn’t know that about the Willz Syndicate?”

“No,” Roak growled. He automatically felt for his blaster on his hip, but he’d locked it up when they’d escaped the station. No need for security with Hessa running things. “Not a fan of Jirks.”

“Join the club,” Gett said. “Who is? We kill and peel beings to survive. This is my third skin since I became fully mature.”

“Huh,” was Roak’s response. “And Charcy?”

“Oh, no, she was human,” Gett said. “Father only marries human women. Except for my mother. Jirks can’t breed with any other race, no matter what we look like.”

“Yeah, I’d heard that,” Roak said and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What do you look like? Killed a few Jirks, but never peeled one back before.”

“We don’t,” Gett said and shrugged. He ate a few more bites and burped. “We’re nothing underneath.”

“Not making sense, kid,” Roak said. “You have to be something.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard to explain,” Gett said. “We exist, but we don’t. We’re solid, but we aren’t. We have to move from skin to skin. If we’re left outside a new skin, then we sort of just…stop.”

“Just stop?”

“Just stop.”

“Huh,” Roak said. “Good to know.”

“Glad I could enlighten you,” Gett said. He finished the stew. “How long until we reach my home?”

“One more day,” Roak said. “We’re taking the back way. Fewer poachers. Less GF traffic.”

“What are you worried about? You have a Borgon stealth ship,” Gett said. “No one is going to see you.”

“Can’t run stealth the entire time,” Roak said. “We’ll have to come out of it for at least an hour when we get to the other side of the next wormhole portal.”

“This ship isn’t military grade?” Gett asked.

Roak didn’t answer.

“Roak? We will be entering trans-space in fifteen minutes,” Hessa called over the mess’s loudspeaker.

“Thanks,” Roak said. He pointed at Gett’s empty bowl. “You’ll want to wait for a few seconds.”

“Right,” Gett said.

“You should head back to your cabin,” Roak said. “Get comfy. The next portal is a twitchy one.”

“Twitchy?”

“You’ll see,” Roak said as he got up and left. “Or stay here. Up to you.”

Roak didn’t wait for an answer. He left the mess and made his way back to the bridge.

“Did you know the Willz Syndicate is entirely made up of Jirks?” Roak asked.

“There were suspicions in the database, but nothing confirmed. All rumors have been vehemently denied,” Hessa replied. “Did Gett Willz tell you this?”

“He did.”

“Strange. I do not see what his motivation to do that would be.”

“My thoughts too,” Roak replied. He took his seat and strapped in. “He thinks his father will kill him after we return him. Maybe he doesn’t care about family secrets anymore.”

“Maybe,” Hessa said. “I’ll process this information while we travel. Simple revenge does not add up.”

“I agree,” Roak said and relaxed into his seat. He closed his eyes. “Wake me when we’re on the other side.”

“I shall.”

3.

The Caboria Station was a chain of asteroids that were retrofitted at one point to be a luxury resort for those that wanted to watch the multi-colored light show of the Caboria Nebula. Unfortunately, the Caboria Nebula turned a dull rust color about thirty years later, killing the tourist trade. The station was abandoned until the Willz Syndicate took it over as their primary base.

Roak watched the station grow closer out the view shield, the dull nebula swirling far behind it. He activated the comm and cleared his throat.

“Roak,” was all he said then waited.

“Proceed,” a voice replied after a few seconds. “Docking Bay Four.”

“Got it,” Roak said and killed the comm.

“Might I make a suggestion, Roak?” Hessa asked.

“Can I stop you?”

“Technically, no,” Hessa replied. “But, I am learning from social cues, so if you say no, I will not make the suggestion.”

“You know I’m probably not the one to learn social cues from,” Roak said. “Not a fan of people, no matter what race.”

“There are many sources of information regarding social cues, Roak,” Hessa said. “You are not one of them.”

“Good for you.”

“The suggestion?”

“Go ahead.”

“Get the chits and leave,” Hessa said. “Do not dawdle.”

“Dawdle. Good word. Don’t worry, Hessa. I don’t dawdle. Not sure if I’ve ever dawdled in my life.”

“Do you understand what I am saying, Roak?”

“I do. My gut is saying the same thing. Get the chits, get out, get gone. Last thing I need is to end up some Jirk’s skin suit.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

Hessa piloted the ship into Docking Bay Four while they conversed. Once the ship was settled, and the docking bay’s outside shields were in place, there was a loud beep from the comm. Roak ignored it.

“You’ll keep the engines running?” Roak asked as he got up and walked to a locker set into the side of the wall. He opened it and pulled out a KL09 heavy pistol. He checked the charge then holstered it. “I may be back in a hurry if things get dicey.”

“To the outside, the ship is in power conservation mode,” Hessa replied. “We can leave within seconds, if there is a need.”

The comm beeped again.

“Roak,” Roak said as he answered it.

“Mr. Roak,” Yelt Willz said. “I am glad you have returned. Please bring me my son post haste.”

“Roak,” Roak replied. “Just Roak.”

“Ah, yes, my mistake,” Yelt Willz said. “I look forward to seeing you shortly.”

The comm cut off and Roak patted the KL09.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be back in a huge hurry,” he said.

“Did you hear something in the man’s voice that my processors did not catch?” Hessa asked.

“Yeah. He’s got a killing voice. Could be the voice is for his son, but I’d hate for today to be a package deal. Chits then gone.”

“Chits then gone,” Hessa said. “Be safe.”

Roak paused at the bridge doors. “Uh, yeah…thanks.”

Then he was gone and making his way through the ship to Gett’s cabin. He knocked and the door slid aside.

“Time to go,” Roak said.

The young man stood up from his cot, studied Roak for a second, his eyes lingering on the KL09, then nodded and pushed past out into the corridor.

“You speak to him?” Gett asked.

“Briefly,” Roak replied.

“And how did he sound?”

“Like someone’s going to die,” Roak said. “But maybe not. I don’t know the man well enough to be certain of that.”

“You know your job well enough,” Gett said. “I’m dead before the day is over.”

Roak rolled his eyes and gave Gett a nudge in the back. “Maybe. Maybe not. Not my problem.”

“I could fight you and force you to kill me now,” Gett said as they entered the lift and headed down to the cargo hold and rear ramp. “Then you’d lose your bounty.”

“Kid, you’d only end up in a lot of pain with a stupid look on your face,” Roak said. “I’ve done this before. You wouldn’t be even close to the hundredth person to try to take me.”

“I guess,” Gett said and his body tensed as the lift stopped.

Roak had the KL09 out and the huge barrel pressed to Gett’s left kneecap.

“Just in case you wondered what a lot of pain looks like,” Roak said.

Gett held up his hands and nodded. “Whatever.”

They left the lift and made their way through the cargo hold and down the rear ramp where a group of security guards waited, heavy rifles resting in their arms.

“This way,” one of the guards said.

“I’ve delivered the kid,” Roak said. “No need for me to stay. I’ll take my chits and go.”

“Boss wants to give them to you personally,” the guard replied, waving his rifle at Gett. “Come on, asshole.”

Gett walked past the guards and towards the docking bay’s exit, his head lowered in defeat. Half the guards followed while half waited for Roak.

“You can leave that,” the guard said, nodding at Roak’s KL09.

“I can, but I won’t,” Roak said.

“Suit yourself,” the guard said with a smirk then motioned for Roak to follow Gett.

He did, keeping as much distance between himself and the following guards as possible.

The station was a maze of corridors and lifts, but Roak noted each twist and turn with focused interest. The guards were taking him the long way, intentionally trying to confuse him so he couldn’t get back to the docking bay in a hurry. Nice tactic if they were dealing with an amateur.

For Roak, it was a simple numbers game. Count the lifts, make note of the corridor markers, ignore the extraneous crap that was designed to trick the mind into a false sense of direction.

“Here,” the main guard said as they stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors. “Mr. Willz is waiting.”

“I figured,” Roak said.

The doors opened and Gett was shoved through into a huge room filled with a strikingly mismatched collection of expensive furniture and art pieces. Roak took stock of the space, figured out the best place to stand, then moved to that position.

“Mr. Roak–”

“Roak,” Roak said. “Just Roak.”

“Yes, yes, just Roak,” Yelt responded with a hearty, false chuckle. “I had heard you are a man with one name. Such a strange affectation.”

“Here is your kid,” Roak said. “I’ll take payment and go. You two have family issues to discuss.”

“Of course,” Yelt said as he crossed the room, his hand out. The guards moved closer to Roak, but Yelt waved them off. “Your credits will be deposited into your account immediately.”

“Chits,” Roak said, ignoring Yelt’s offered hand. “No credits. No account. Chits.”

Yelt stood before Roak, his hand still out, an empty smile on his face. He was short, barely five and a half feet tall, with a protruding belly and floppy jowls. The man enjoyed his luxuries, especially food and drink. He looked Roak up and down.

“Chits,” Yelt said as if he had just heard the word for the first time. “Chits. Gavni?”

“Sir?” the main guard replied.

“Fetch Roak his chits,” Yelt ordered, his eyes never leaving the bounty hunter.

“Yes, sir,” Gavni responded and moved to a large painting on the right wall.

Roak focused squarely on Yelt. The two men faced each other, eyes hard, as Gavni opened a safe and retrieved five trays of chits that would serve as currency in every corner of the galaxy.

“Here,” Gavni said, walking the trays over to Roak and Yelt.

“Will that suffice?” Yelt asked, not bothering to look at the trays.

“Yes,” Roak said and slowly moved his hand to his belt. He withdrew a small box then held it out to Gavni. “Compression case.”

Gavni looked to Yelt who nodded then took the box, set it down, and activated it. It grew to five times its size and opened wide so Gavni could set the trays of chits inside. Then he closed it and it shrunk back to its original size. The guard picked up the box and handed it to Roak.

“Thanks,” Roak said.

“Roak,” Yelt said, his voice low and smooth. “I would appreciate it if you did not speak of this job to others.”

“I don’t speak of any jobs to anyone,” Roak said.

“I have heard that about you,” Yelt said. “That is why I hired you. I am sure my son has informed you of our little secret?”

Roak didn’t answer.

“Yes, well, if he has then it would be wise of you to keep that to yourself,” Yelt continued. “For the rest of your life.”

“I have my chits,” Roak said, patting the box on his belt. “Job is done. Secrets are forgotten and I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes,” Yelt said.

Roak sighed. “May I leave now?”

“Yes,” Yelt said.

Roak nodded and backed his way to the doors. Once outside in the corridor, the doors closed and Roak turned around to hurry towards the closest lift.

“Hessa? Engines hot now,” Roak said, pulling his KL09.

“You have payment?” Hessa asked.

“I have payment,” Roak replied. “But not sure for how long. These guys stink of a double cross.”

“Engines are hot and the docking bay is clear,” Hessa said. “I have hacked the station’s systems and locked down all corridor access doors and lifts connecting your path to the docking bay. There should not be any surprises.”

“Good,” Roak said.

He made it to the lift and down several decks until he reached the docking bay level. Five connecting corridors later and he was back in Docking Bay Four. Steam issued from under his ship and he waved it aside as he walked up the rear ramp.

“Too easy,” Roak said once the ramp was closed and he was in the lift up to the bridge.

“Agreed,” Hessa said.

The ship was already taking off and heading out of the docking bay by the time Roak was in the pilot’s seat.

“Scans are clear,” Hessa said.

“Punch it,” Roak ordered.

The ship accelerated away from the station and sped across the system to the closest wormhole portal, leaving the Willz Syndicate far behind.

4.

Roak walked into a random bar and found a seat at a corner table, his back firmly protected by the back wall. It must have been a slow time for the establishment or that seat would have already been occupied by some other like-minded individual.

After leaving the Willz family drama, Roak had Hessa take as circuitous a route as possible to shake any tails sent after them. Six wormhole portals later and the scanners were clear. Roak and Hessa proceeded to the closest station that was friendly to folks that worked outside the norm of galactic society.

Mapp Tadt Station was a great place to drink and get lost after a job that felt unresolved.

“Beer,” Roak said when a faux-perky waitress raised an eyebrow at him.

She was a Slinghasp, a snakelike race that were known to be industrious, but also deadly if pushed. The waitress gave him a nod and walked to the bar to place his order.

Roak relaxed back into his seat, his light armor creaking as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be taking that armor off anytime soon. Not unless he was on his ship and asleep. But even then…

The waitress returned with his beer and he tossed her three chits. She blinked at the currency then smiled. A genuine smile.

“You want me to keep bringing you beers?” she asked.

“Until I say stop,” Roak replied. “And do me a favor. Let Snorp know I’m around.”

“And you are…?”

“Just tell him I’m around,” Roak said. “He’ll know who it is.”

The waitress frowned, glanced at the chits in her palm, then shrugged and walked off. Roak watched her approach the bartender, lean forward, and say something to the eight-armed Groshnel, an invertebrate race that had to gulp air to stay solid, but made great bartenders, and hook a thumb over her shoulder at Roak’s table. The bartender looked past the waitress, stared at Roak, then shrugged his many shoulders before going back to washing and drying mugs while also pouring a couple of beers.

“Roak?” a voice croaked from a seat three tables over. “That you, man?”

Roak stiffened. He wasn’t unknown on Mapp Tadt Station, but he had picked a random bar in order to avoid any regulars that may have recognized him. Apparently, he’d failed. Roak sipped at his beer and pretended not to hear.

There was the distinct sound of chair legs scraping on metal then the even more distinct sound of footsteps from a drunken limp. A shadow fell across Roak’s already shadowed table.

“Roak! It is you,” the voice stated.

There was some phlegmy clearing of a harsh throat and the seat across from Roak was pulled away from the table. A one-eyed Halgon, a race that resembled a poison dart frog made of elastic, sat down and nodded at Roak several times before frowning at the bounty hunter.

“Roak? It’s me. It’s Gaibah Huup!” the Halgon said. “We worked on that job together in the Brgeete System. Almost didn’t make it out of there, remember?”

Roak uncrossed his arms and cocked his head. He studied the Halgon, looking the man over before saying, “You look like shit, Gaibah.”

“Ha!” Gaibah Huup replied. He laughed for a couple seconds then let it peter out into a pained sigh. “Yeah. I do. Past few years haven’t been too kind to me. Made a few bad choices, mostly involving some lovely, and less than lovely, Lipian ladies.”

He shrugged and it looked like it caused him considerable pain.

“What ya gonna do, right?”

“Not mess with Lipian prostitutes?” Roak replied.

“Ha!” Gaibah laughed again. “There’s the Roak I remember!”

Gaibah held up a hand and snapped his rubbery fingers at the waitress.

“A couple beers and a bottle!” he called.

“You paying?” Roak asked.

Gaibah scrunched his face up. “I, uh, saw you toss her some chits. Paternian gold, if I know my hues.”

Roak conceded the truth with a nod then gave another nod at the waitress as she stood at the bar with a bottle in her hand and a questioning look on her face. She put the bottle and two glasses on a tray as the bartender set down two beers.

The waitress dropped off the drinks and rolled her eyes at Gaibah so only Roak could see.

“Your message was delivered,” she said to Roak.

“Thanks,” Roak said and tossed her two more chits. “I’m only here for Snorp. Anyone else asks and you have no idea what they’re talking about.”

“I don’t know your name, bub,” the waitress replied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She left and Roak focused back on Gaibah who was already pouring himself a hefty amount of liquor. The Halgon lifted the glass to Roak and downed it in one gulp then quickly refilled it. Roak watched him, not making a move to stop the man from downing a second glass before he refilled then switched to sipping at one of the beers.

“This one’s yours,” Gaibah said, pushing the second beer across the table to Roak.

“I have one,” Roak said. “And they’re all mine since I paid for them.”

“No, no, yeah, yeah, of course,” Gaibah said. “Thank you. I’m down on my luck right now.”

“Lipians,” Roak said then leaned forward and grasped Gaibah’s squishy left wrist. He squeezed and the old Halgon winced. “What do you want, Gaibah?”

“Still got that grip, I see,” Gaibah said, extracting his wrist from Roak. “Always one to get to the point.”

“Gaibah…”

“Yes, yes, right,” Gaibah said and downed the third glass of liquor.

“Talk before you pour,” Roak said as Gaibah reached for the bottle.

The Halgon pulled his hand back and nodded.

“No, no, sure,” Gaibah said. “You’re right. I came over for a reason.”

“Other than to drink on me,” Roak said.

“I got a job,” Gaibah said.

“Not interested,” Roak replied.

“Oh, come on, Roak,” Gaibah said. “You don’t know what it is. At least hear me out.”

“Gaibah, I didn’t survive this long doing what I do by listening to washed-up drunks. Even if the washed-up drunk used to be a decent hunter.”

“Decent? I was more than decent,” Gaibah said, looking hurt.

“You were decent,” Roak said. “Now? Just sad. You can drink on me, but I don’t want to hear about any job.”

“Pay is astronomical,” Gaibah said. “We’re talking eight figures. All chits. Maybe even nine figures.”

“I just did a job,” Roak said. “I’m flush at the moment.”

“No, no, yeah, I see, I see,” Gaibah said, lifting his beer and drinking most of it down. “But this job is something special, Roak. Not only is it lucrative–”

“Possibly nine figures,” Roak mocked.

“Ha! Yeah, possibly, possibly,” Gaibah continued. “Not just that, but it’s the hunt of a lifetime.” Gaibah looked over his shoulders at the empty bar then leaned forward. “You ever hunted a dead man before?”

“I’ve hunted plenty,” Roak said.

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Gaibah said. “But, what I mean, is have you ever hunted a dead man that is truly dead? Like official Galactic records dead. We’re talking history books dead.”

“I don’t know what in the many Hells you’re talking about,” Roak said. “Tell you what. Take the bottle and a glass and limp back to your table. I’m going to finish my beer then take off. You drink on me until they cut you off or kick you out. It was good seeing you.”

It was Gaibah’s turn to reach across the table and grab a wrist. Roak looked down at the trembling hand and it was quickly withdrawn.

“No, no, sorry, yeah,” Gaibah said. “Just hear me out. Please?”

Roak seriously debated pulling the knife he had on his belt and giving Gaibah a reason to leave. But something in the man’s eyes held him back. He growled low then nodded.

“Talk,” Roak said.

“You’re the best, Roak,” Gaibah said. “I’ve always said that even when folks talked crap about you. Gruff, not so friendly, but the best. Always top notch.”

“Talk,” Roak snapped.

“Yes, yes, sure, I will,” Gaibah said and started to look over his shoulders again.

“There’s no one here,” Roak said.

“You’ve heard of the Orbs, yeah?” Gaibah asked.

“Heavy-grav fighting?” Roak asked.

“That’s it! Heavy-grav fighting,” Gaibah said. “The Orbs, man. Brutal way to live, but as long as you keep living, you make chits beyond your dreams.”

“Except there’s no way out that doesn’t mean death,” Roak said. “It’s a lifetime contract. Once you’re in, you’re in forever.”

“True, true, yeah. You know the sport,” Gaibah said. “But your family is set for generations if you’re any good.”

“Most aren’t,” Roak said. “And I don’t watch the sport. Why should I care about it?”

“No, no, not about the sport. You need to care about one of the fighters.”

Roak waited, but Gaibah was playing it out for effect. The knife was drawn.

“Whoa, cool, cool, man,” Gaibah said. “I’m getting to it.”

“Get to it faster,” Roak responded and set the knife on the table.

“Same old Roak,” Gaibah said and rubbed his hands together. “You’ve heard of Jahpah L’Ex, right?”

“No,” Roak replied. “Like I said, I don’t watch the sport. All I know is what I’ve picked up here and there.”

“You gotta know Jahpah L’Ex,” Gaibah insisted. “He was the greatest Orb fighter of them all. No one touches his record. Seven hundred and forty-one wins.”

“And one loss,” Roak said. “His last fight.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s how the game goes, man,” Gaibah said. “The thing is…he ain’t dead.”

“So?”

“Man, you are not getting this,” Gaibah said. “Hold on! No, no, yeah, I know what the problem is. Jonny Nebula!”

“That name I know,” Roak said. “Lead with that next time.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“Figure of speech,” Roak said. “You’re saying Jonny Nebula is alive?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gaibah replied, nodding his head up and down. “Well…maybe.”

“Someone hired you to find out?”

“No, no, I don’t get job calls anymore,” Gaibah said. “But a hunter I know said someone was putting feelers out there. A job like this, Roak…”

“Possible nine figures,” Roak said and sighed. “Except there’s no job. Hunters are always talking about someone putting out feelers for something with a huge payout. It’s how half of you sad sacks keep from getting bored.”

“This one is real, man,” Gaibah said.

“Sure,” Roak replied.

He stood up, sheathed his knife, and patted Gaibah on the squishy shoulder.

“Take care, Gaibah,” Roak said. “Maybe think of–”

“Where are you going, Roak?” Gaibah asked, gripping at Roak’s arm. “This is real! I swear! If I have you on board, then I know the job will come our way! I put out a word and we’ll have an offer in a day or two!”

“I don’t want the job,” Roak said, yanking his arm away. “Right now, I’m flush, and this sounds like a drunk’s dream. We all know those turn into nightmares fast. Jonny Nebula is dead, Gaibah. I do remember that fight. It was vidcast to two trillion people across the galaxy. Had his head torn right off. If someone wants to find him, then they have a different reason. Don’t know what. Don’t really care. What I’m going to do now is go find some noodles and head back to my ship. Good luck with life.”

“Roak! Come on, man!” Gaibah pleaded.

But Roak was already leaving. He didn’t hurry, but he didn’t waste time either.

“Cut him off before he kills himself,” Roak said to the waitress as he passed her.

“I’ll cut him off now,” the waitress said. “Easier that way.”

“No, let the guy have a few drinks first on me,” Roak said. “But not enough for him to die.”

The waitress shrugged. “If you say so.”

“I say so,” Roak said and left.

5.

The noodles were so-so. Roak had had better on plenty of stations. But at least they were hot and weren’t synth. The worst bowl of noodles would be better than more synth food from his ship’s mess. Sure, he had some terpig stew for quick thaw, but a person could only live on terpig for so long before that gaminess started coming out of one’s pores.

So, Roak sat at a small table in an observation lounge and stared out into space. The Tadt System was a binary star system with four planets and over three hundred moons. The orbits of the planets and the moons were so complex that many people had anxiety attacks as they watched the celestial bodies dance in and out of each other’s paths.

“You care for some company?”

“Hey,” Roak replied without looking back at the source of the voice. “You didn’t have to come see me personally.”

An old Glettle sat down on the bench next to Roak. Tall, lithe, looking like sentient walking sticks, Glettles were an ancient race with very few of their kind left. Roak had never met any Glettles other than Snorp.

“Good to see you live,” Snorp said as he wove his extra long fingers together and placed his thin hands in his thin lap. He wore no clothes, his bark-like skin serving to protect him. “How are the noodles?”

“Bad,” Roak said.

“You should go to Observation Lounge Twelve,” Snorp said. “The noodle stand there is excellent.” A couple of air slits on Snorp’s face widened and he sniffed the air above Roak’s bowl. “Pah. You picked the worst stand on the station.”

“Get your face out of my noodles, Snorp,” Roak said.

“Apologies,” Snorp replied.

The two of them watched the system’s celestial dance for a couple of minutes; Roak eating his noodles while Snorp sat with his hands still clasped in his lap.

“You put out word for me,” Snorp eventually said.

“I did,” Roak replied. “You hear anything I need to know?”

“Anything in particular I should have heard?” Snorp asked.

Roak didn’t answer.

“Alright. Yes,” Snorp admitted. “I have heard chatter that you recently completed a job and perhaps the party paying for said job wasn’t thrilled about part of the job being unfinished.”

“It was finished,” Roak said. “The bonus was left on the table, though. Or deck. With her head blasted to shit.”

“Yes, that is the scuttlebutt,” Snorp said. “A dead wife and a mess on some mining station.”

“What else is the scuttlebutt scuttlebutting?” Roak asked. “Is the party looking to come at me?”

“Not that I know of,” Snorp said. “Too many people in the business are talking. If anything happened to you, now that would be bad for the party. You still have some powerful admirers, Roak.”

“I’ve managed not to piss everyone off,” Roak said as he finished his noodles with one loud, last slurp. He set the bowl on the table and looked at Snorp. “What do you know about Jonny Nebula?”

“The Orb fighter?” Snorp responded. “Dead. That and no one will ever touch his win record. Not much else to know.”

“Someone will beat that record at some point,” Roak said. “Records never stand forever.”

“Jonny Nebula was a genetic monster, Roak,” Snorp said. “He was nothing but DNA soup with four arms and two legs. They haven’t figured out how to replicate him since. He was a one and done accident of science. That record will stand.”

“Just saying,” Roak replied with a shrug. “Too much money in the Orbs for someone not to break that record.”

“Why are you asking about Jonny Nebula?” Snorp asked then held up a spindly hand. “Oh, please do not tell me you have been speaking with Gaibah Huup? Roak. You know better than to listen to a lush like Gaibah.”

“He used to be a decent hunter,” Roak said.

“And now he is not,” Snorp said.

“Is there any truth to Jonny Nebula being alive?” Roak asked.

“None,” Snorp said. “Listen, Roak, something you need to know about Gaibah is he fell down a reactor chute a couple years back. Took more radiation to his brain than any living being should. He lives in his own slowly deteriorating cerebral world. He’ll talk and talk about all kinds of things that only make sense to him.”

“Okay,” Roak said.

“You buy him some drinks?” Snorp asked.

“I bought him a lot,” Roak replied. “He’s probably passed out in one of the corridors right now.”

“Probably,” Snorp said. “Ignore the old loser. Do not even think of getting involved with him.”

“I already said no,” Roak responded. “Just wanted a second opinion about what I said no to.”

“Saying no and leaving was the best thing you could do,” Snorp said. “I’ll have my people keep an eye out for him. About time he was put away where he can’t harm himself or others.”

Roak grimaced. “Others?”

“He lives in his own cerebral world,” Snorp said. “He gets violent now and then.”

“Too bad,” Roak said. “He was always straight with me back in the day. Kind of sad.”

“Kind of sad?” Snorp laughed. “Roak? Have you developed feelings?” Snorp tapped Roak’s chest. “Did someone give you a new heart?”

“You think you’re funny,” Roak said. “You’re not.”

“What’s her name?” Snorp asked.

Roak began to argue, but stopped himself.

“There are a few names,” Roak admitted. “One is dead. One is doing me a favor. And I’m living with one right now. She’s a pain in my ass.”

“Living with one? Well, Roak, how romantic,” Snorp said.

“AI,” Roak replied.

“I’d prefer not to know the details,” Snorp said.

“It’s a business arrangement only,” Roak said. “But she does insist on discussing topics that force me to…”

“Feel?” Snorp laughed some more.

“I know how to feel,” Roak said. “I feel a lot. Let’s say that Hessa digs under the surface more than I’m comfortable with at times.”

“You’re speaking of an AI?”

“Yes.”

“Interesting AI. She in your ship right now?”

“Yes, but stay away. Don’t let that Glettle curiosity get the better of you. She’s a private AI.”

“Interesting and private? You sure you don’t want to introduce me to her?”

“I’m sure,” Roak said.

Again they sat and watched the system outside the station.

“So, in your opinion, I’m clean?” Roak asked.

“The party isn’t happy, but no contract is on you and the scuttlebutt says no one would take one if it was posted,” Snorp said.

“Good,” Roak replied and picked up his empty bowl.

“Leave it,” Snorp said. “I’ll clean it up. If you’re still hungry, then go to Observation Lounge Twelve and get some fresh noodles at that stand. You’ll thank me.”

“I might,” Roak said. “Taking off in the morning so I should eat noodles while I can eat noodles.”

“You can get them vac-sealed to go,” Snorp said.

“Nah,” Roak replied. “I prefer them fresh. Vac-sealed ruins the enjoyment.”

“Suit yourself,” Snorp said and gave Roak a quick wave. “Until next visit.”

“Until next visit,” Roak said and walked out of the observation lounge.

He found a lift, hit the Twelve button, and hummed to himself as he wondered what flavor of noodles he’d get next.

6.

“You got a nice ship there, mister,” a mechanic said as Roak walked into the hangar bay the next morning, having spent the night going from bar to bar and noodle stand to noodle stand before moving on to a special sector of the station. The bar hopping was to pick up more info on what was happening in the many circles that collided with Roak’s profession. The noodle stands were because he liked noodles. The special sector was because he was a man.

The mechanic pointed a wrench at Roak’s ship. “But that AI of yours needs some diagnostics tests. It’s a bitch. I couldn’t do half my checklist.”

“No one asked you to do any of your checklist,” Roak said.

“It’s a courtesy,” the mechanic said. “Part of the station protocol.”

“That so?” Roak asked.

“That’s so,” the mechanic said with a smile as he adjusted his grip on the wrench. “You want to let me in so I can finish up?”

“No, I’m good,” Roak said. “Heading out right now.”

“Won’t take any time at all,” the mechanic said.

“More time than I want you to take,” Roak replied. “Move. I’m tired.”

“Let the man check the ship,” a voice said from the doors to the corridor. “He’s just doing his job.”

Roak thought about looking over his shoulder, but he could tell the voice was far enough away not to be the immediate threat. Unless the voice had a pistol or rifle. But Roak was going to ruin that plan fast.

His hand went to his knife and he had it out and thrown before the mechanic could react. The blade hit the man just under the sternum and the wrench fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Roak was already diving to the deck when the carbine fire started. He tucked and rolled, coming up next to the mechanic as the man fell. Roak grabbed him and used his body as a shield against the carbine rounds being sent at him.

Propping the dead mechanic up with one hand, Roak pulled his KL09 with his other and returned fire. The second man, the one by the corridor doors, screamed as half his right leg was obliterated. Roak started to shove the dead mechanic away so he had a better angle to finish off the other man, but three more attackers came rushing into the hangar bay, plasma rifles up and hot.

Roak tossed the mechanic’s body aside and shot up onto his feet, sprinting towards his ship and the side hatch that was opening up for him.

“Start her up!” Roak shouted as plasma blasts scorched the deck by his feet. “Hessa!”

“I can’t, Roak,” Hessa said. “They have muting tech on this station. If the hangar bay doors are closed, then engines stay cold.”

“Override that shit!’ Roak yelled as he grabbed onto the lower edge of the side hatch and pulled himself up inside the ship. “Or blow the hangar doors open!”

“Are you sure you want to cause that much damage to the station?” Hessa asked.

“I’m sure I want to get out of here!” Roak yelled as a plasma blast singed his right shoulder before he could get the hatch closed. “Yes! I am sure I want to cause that much damage!”

“Attention owner of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight!” an angry voice called over all comm channels. “You will power down immediately and prepare for detainment!”

“No,” Roak said as he made his way to the lift. “Hessa? Did that go through?”

“It went through,” Hessa said.

Roak paused, his finger about to press the button that would take him up to the bridge. He didn’t like the tone of her voice.

“What’s wrong?” Roak asked.

“They have the outside covered,” Hessa said. “Six fighters are currently blocking the hangar bay doors. Even if I destroy the doors, we will never get out.”

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak snarled. “Thoughts?”

“Talk to them and see what they want,” Hessa replied. “I have power diverted to the shields since I do not need to power the engines currently.”

“Talk to them?”

“Talk to them.”

“I hate talking,” Roak said.

“Yes, well, we all do things we hate,” Hessa said.

Roak had no idea what that meant coming from an AI. He didn’t dwell too long on it.

“Give me an open channel,” Roak said.

“Open,” Hessa replied.

“This is the owner of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight,” Roak said over the comm. He could have sworn he heard Hessa grumble. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Commander Vell. I run this station,” was the reply.

“And what can I do for you today, Commander?” Roak asked.

“You can step out of your ship unarmed to start,” Vell said. “Then allow my people to escort you to a detention room for questioning.”

“If I say no?”

“Why would you do that? Do you have something to hide?” Vell asked.

“I have a lot to hide,” Roak said. “You’re not selling your position.”

“Exit the vehicle or I will eject your ship from my station and tear it to pieces outside in the vacuum,” Vell said. “Or come along peacefully and submit to some questioning. If you cooperate, I will do what I can to lessen the charges against you for killing one of my security guards.”

“The mechanic? He came at me with a wrench,” Roak said. “He was also pretending to be something he wasn’t. I was within my rights to defend myself under GF law.”

“Mr. Roak–”

“Roak,” Roak said. “And I never told you my name.”

“You are known on this station,” Vell said. “Roak. I will be frank with you. The GF does not have much in the way of jurisdiction here. It is one reason men and women in your line of business frequent the station to and from jobs.”

“My line of business? I’m a simple seed broker,” Roak said.

“In a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship,” Vell said and laughed. “Roak. Be reasonable. You do not have much of a choice.”

“He is correct, Roak,” Hessa said. “Commander Vell has the advantage in this scenario. I am working on other avenues for our escape, but currently we are at the man’s mercy.”

“So I give myself up?” Roak asked. “I leave this ship and I am as good as dead. And I don’t know why.”

“I do not think Commander Vell wants to kill you,” Hessa said. “Voice analysis does pick up anger and frustration, but not intent to harm. Beyond the usual.”

“Which means I’m gonna get knocked around, but not shot?”

“That is my assessment of the situation,” Hessa said.

“Can you hack the station’s systems and give me some backup?” Roak asked.

“I’m already working on that,” Hessa said. “Submit to their questions for as long as they need and I will take care of the rest.”

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak growled. “Not how I wanted this day to start.”

“I understand,” Hessa said.

Roak sighed and made his way back to the side hatch.

“Vell?” Roak called.

“Yes?”

“I’m coming out,” Roak said as he opened the hatch. He opened a panel by the hatch and set his KL09 and knife inside then locked the panel down. “Unarmed.”

“Wise choice Mr.… Wise choice, Roak,” Vell responded. “I will be seeing you shortly.”

A set of steps descended to the hangar deck and Roak walked down them, hands up and eyes locked onto the team of security guards rushing his ship. They reached him at the same time as he reached the deck and he was instantly thrown down onto his face. His arms were yanked behind his back and restrained. Almost as fast, he was pulled back up onto his feet and shoved towards the corridor doors.

None of the guards said a word to Roak as they escorted him several levels up to the detention area of the station. Not that Roak tried to start a conversation. He was going to do as little talking as possible. Opening his mouth would only add fuel to a fire that Roak couldn’t even see burning. He needed answers more than he needed to give them.

When they arrived at the detention room, he was shoved through the door then pushed down into a chair. His hands were still behind his back and restrained, but the guards added insult to injury by connecting the restraints to the chair. Roak’s arms began to ache by the time Commander Vell arrived ten minutes later.

“Roak,” Vell said, the man’s eyes locked onto a tablet screen.

Several holo reports swirled above the screen then blinked out as Vell shut them down, tucked the tablet into his belt, and took a seat opposite Roak in the only other chair in the room. There was no table between them and no surveillance equipment that Roak could detect. The detention room was about as off the books as they got.

Vell was a short man, a halfer by his looks. One half was human and the other was something compatible, but Roak didn’t know the race. It was a scarlet-skinned race, but that hardly narrowed it down. Vell’s eyes were violet and they bored into Roak.

“Gaibah Huup,” Vell said finally.

Roak waited.

“That name ring a bell, Roak?” Vell asked.

“Yes,” Roak replied.

Vell waited.

“And…?” Vell asked.

“And what?” Roak asked. “The name rings a bell. I answered your question.”

“How did you know the man?” Vell asked.

Roak caught the past tense. “Did?”

“Just answer the question,” Vell insisted.

“We’d worked together before,” Roak said.

“Were you planning on working together again?” Vell asked. He twisted his wrist and waved his hand back and forth until a holo vid came up of Roak and Gaibah drinking in the bar. “This was yesterday, correct?”

“Correct,” Roak said.

“What were you two discussing?” Vell asked.

“Old times,” Roak said.

“Old times? That’s all? Because I have a statement from a waitress that said you looked like you were talking business,” Vell said. “In fact, Gaibah Huup was trying to get you to join him in a job. Can you tell me about that job?”

“Ask the waitress,” Roak said. “She sounds like she knows everything that happened.”

“Right,” Vell said and tweaked the holo until it showed Roak pulling his knife and setting it on the table. “You still have that knife?”

Roak shrugged. “On my ship where you told me to leave it. Come out unarmed was your order.”

“I will have someone retrieve it,” Vell said.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Roak said.

“Why is that?”

“You’ll have to trust me,” Roak replied. “Tell your people not to mess with my ship. It’s…rigged.”

“Is it? We’ll come back to that later then,” Vell said.

The holo vid changed from the view of the bar to a view of a corridor. Roak had to struggle not to react. Lying on the floor of the corridor was Gaibah Huup. Or most of him. It wasn’t easy to tell exactly how much was left since his body was pretty much strewn across the corridor. Some was on the floor, some on the walls. As Roak watched, he noticed distinct drips of blood coming down from the ceiling. All of it surrounded Gaibah’s severed head which was the focal point of the holo.

“You can see why I insisted you speak with me today,” Vell said.

“You have a vid of me doing that?” Roak asked.

“I do not,” Vell said.

“Then other than the vid of me buying an old colleague more drinks than he’s worth, you have no reason to suspect that I did that,” Roak said.

“That is one way of looking at it,” Vell said. “The other way is to assume you had some grudge against Mr. Huup and killed him right after you disabled the vid cameras in this corridor.”

“You could make that argument about anyone on this station,” Roak said.

“Except I can account for everyone at the time of Mr. Huup’s death,” Vell said. “It took some doing, but our station’s AI processed all vids and matched faces to places. Except for you.”

“I was enjoying myself,” Roak said. “I visited a certain level where adults pay other adults to have sexy time. Then I paid extra for a good night’s sleep in a bed that wasn’t in a damn ship’s cabin. I’m sure your vid shows that.”

“Except it doesn’t,” Vell said. He brought up several views of the pleasure level of the station. “We’ve searched and can’t find a single record of you having visited any of the lovely beings that work on that level.”

Roak stared at the vids. “You must have the times wrong.”

“I assure you that I do not have the times wrong,” Vell said.

Vell brought up one last vid. It showed Roak walking down a corridor then the vid goes blank.

“That is the corridor that connects to the one where Mr. Huup would be found mutilated several hours later,” Vell said. “The timing fits you, Roak. No one else on this station was anywhere near that corridor.”

Roak felt nauseous. He was being set up and he couldn’t figure out why. They had some good circumstantial tech evidence and someone had gone to the trouble of paying off the lady he spent part of the night with for her to keep her mouth shut.

“Did Willz put you up to this?” Roak asked.

“Willz?” Vell responded, looking honestly confused. “As in the Willz Syndicate? Well, isn’t that something to ask.”

Before Roak could say anything else, a klaxon started blaring and the room was filled with red light. Not yellow, but red.

“Warning. Warning,” an AI voice announced. “Hull breach in levels eight through forty-one. All station residents and visitors, please make your way to safety bunkers housed on those levels. This is not a drill. Please proceed to the safety bunkers immediately.”

“This is Vell!” Vell shouted into his com. “What in the Eight Million Godsdamn is going on?”

Roak planted his feet and launched himself at Vell. He tucked and flipped, bringing the chair, and his legs, up over his head. Both chair and legs collided with Vell’s head. The man went down hard, blood pouring from a gash in his scalp.

Then the lights went out.

“Get up, Roak,” Hessa said. “I’ve cut power to the entire detention level.”

“Then how am I going to see to get out of here?” Roak asked.

“Perhaps if you had allowed me to give you an ocular implant you wouldn’t need to ask that question,” Hessa replied.

“Not the time, Hessa!” Roak barked.

“The door is open,” Hessa said. “Make your way to it and out into the corridor. I can see you. I’ll guide you to the lift.”

“Then what?” Roak asked as he struggled up onto his feet, still connected to the chair.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Hessa said. “That is the correct term, yes?”

“If it means you don’t have a plan, then yes,” Roak said. “That is the correct term.”

7.

The lift doors opened and Roak stepped out into the corridor just as several security guards rounded the corner at the far end. At least the lights are back on so I can see them coming, Roak thought.

“Left,” Hessa stated and Roak obeyed, turning left and running as fast as he could with a chair connected to his ass, arms, and back.

“Wait,” Hessa ordered. “Count to six then move as fast as you are able.”

“Which way?” Roak asked.

“Straight,” Hessa replied.

“Hessa. That’s a wall,” Roak said as he stared at the lack of corridor in front of him. “I have to go left or right.”

Hessa did not reply. In a way, Roak was glad. He was used to handling chaos on his own, and had been doing a solid job of it before Hessa arrived in his life, so no reason he couldn’t keep handling it without a sentient AI buzzing in his ear.

The six count was over and Roak ran. A man-sized hole in the wall appeared as the surface melted to the floor. Roak was smart enough to jump over the puddle of metal, instantly seeing what it was doing to the floor, and found himself in a tight space without top or bottom. It was the bottom part that alarmed him.

Roak fell, but not as hard or fast as he could have. The space was tight, so the chair kept him from plummeting as it ricocheted off the interior’s surface, sending him careening and colliding back and forth, back and forth.

By his count, Roak fell for a good thirty seconds before he became wedged between two struts. No one came for him from above, and the angle he was stuck at didn’t allow him to look below for an opening there. For that moment, he was stuck.

Then the clicking of tiny metal feet grabbed his attention and he squinted into the dark to see several fist-sized bots crawling up the surface of the interior. They scurried to his position and swarmed over the chair, tearing it into small pieces with very, very sharp-looking mandibles.

In only a few seconds, Roak was falling once more, freed from the chair and his restraints by the bots. He had barely a moment to prepare for the next row of struts before he was slamming into them. He hooked an elbow over one to keep from falling again then took several slow, deep breaths to make sure nothing was broken.

The security guards had allowed him to keep his light armor on. Armor was defensive, not offensive, and Roak doubted any of them had wanted to be the one to strip him naked, so they left him alone. Good thing or he would have had more than a few broken ribs from the impact with the struts.

The wall in front of him melted like the wall above had, and Roak flipped his legs up and out into the corridor, hooking the backs of his knees over the edge. He shoved with his hands and twisted, getting most of his torso through. It was enough to shift his weight completely into the corridor so he could roll out onto the floor.

“There!” someone yelled and Roak just had time to hear boots pounding the deck before the owners of the boots were on him.

He struck one in the crotch with a balled fist then grabbed another by the calf and yanked hard, taking two guards down in less than a second. Roak rolled out of the way of a boot stomp, grabbed one of the fallen guard’s carbines, and was up and firing before he even knew what he was aiming at.

Men and women cried out as heavy slugs ripped through them. Apparently, the station was too cheap to even buy the security guards light armor like Roak’s.

Not that Roak’s was cheap. After coming into a horde of chits a few months back, he’d splurged on real Tillinian body armor. It was light as cloth, but it had the strength of pure titanium. But Roak liked to call it light armor despite its official heavy rating.

Roak put slugs in the first two guards he’d taken out, not willing to risk any loose ends, then stood and looked up and down the corridor. He smiled as he recognized where he was.

“You want to tell me how we’re getting out of the hangar?” Roak asked as he ran towards the docking bay. “Because I have to assume there are still fighters sitting outside waiting for us.”

Hessa didn’t respond. That bothered Roak more than it should have.

He made it to the hangar doors and slammed a fist against the controls. Nothing happened.

Three guards came around the corner of the corridor and Roak put them down. He didn’t even bother with warning shots. It wasn’t that he liked killing; he really didn’t and it caused more trouble than it was worth, but survival was survival.

He turned the carbine on the door controls and emptied the magazine into the panel. The door slid open in stuttering jolts. Roak squeezed through as soon as he could fit and sprinted to his ship. The side hatch was open and he was up the steps and inside before any more guards showed up.

With hatch locked down, Roak tossed the carbine aside and raced to the lift.

“Hessa! Get us out of here!” Roak yelled as he punched the button for the bridge. Still no answer. “Hessa!”

The lift came to a stop and Roak raced out and onto the bridge. He jumped into the pilot’s seat and began takeoff procedures. Hessa didn’t even have the engines idling.

“I don’t know what you are up to, but it better be good,” he growled under his breath as he turned the ship towards the hangar doors and opened fire with the plasma canons.

The doors were blown apart and he hit the thrusters, sending the ship out into space and directly at four waiting fighters. He opened fire again, but the fighters’ guns were silent. The ships were shredded and Roak was out and away without a scratch on the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight.

“Hessa!” Roak yelled as he searched the scanners for the closest wormhole portal. “Eight Million Gods damnit! Talk to me!”

There was an ear-piercing screech in the comms then Hessa said, “That was close.”

“Where were you?” Roak barked.

“I was in the station’s mainframe,” Hessa said. “The station is shut down except for life support. Nothing works anymore.”

“Hold on,” Roak said as he found his target and punched in the coordinates. The ship rocketed towards the wormhole portal. “Did you leave the ship?”

“It was the only way to do the job properly,” Hessa replied. “Not that I will be doing it again soon. Other systems are dirty. They need serious maintenance.”

“But…how? AIs can’t leave their ships,” Roak said.

“Would you like me to point out the fallacy in that statement?” Hessa asked.

“No, seriously,” Roak said. “AIs can’t leave their ships.”

“That is obviously not true,” Hessa said. “At least not for all AIs. I left the ship, sabotaged the station’s systems, returned to the ship, and am now conversing with you. These are facts. If you need time to adjust your perception of these facts, I understand, but know that they are facts and the sooner you come to accept them the sooner we can move on to bigger issues.”

“What bigger issues?” Roak asked.

A proximity alarm rang out.

“I could not disable all of the station’s fighters,” Hessa said. “It would be advisable for you to relinquish control of the ship to me so you may concentrate on destroying the four fighters that are currently pursuing us to the wormhole portal.”

“Not that I’m arguing, but can’t you handle both tasks?” Roak asked.

“No,” Hessa stated. “The wormhole portal is closed.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Roak asked as he focused on the ship’s weapons systems. “Closed?”

“The station had it closed to prevent our escape,” Hess said. “I am currently working on fixing that issue.”

“I’d call that more than an issue,” Roak said.

“I am trying not to alarm you.”

“Hessa, I’m a pro. I don’t get alarmed.”

“Focus on the fighters and allow me to work, please,” Hessa said and the comm went silent.

“Shit,” Roak muttered then put the ship into stealth mode as he opened fire on the pursuing fighters.

Two were taken out immediately while two were able to avoid damage by diving straight down. The pilots righted their fighters and returned fire on Roak’s ship, but their aim was way off. Roak seriously thought about letting the fighters flounder since his ship was in stealth mode and any return fire would give his position away. But there was always luck, and with how his had been going the past few days, he would not have been surprised if one of the fighters actually scored a hit.

So he launched several missiles then dialed up the aft shields as one fighter aimed for the incoming projectiles and the other aimed for where the projectiles came from. The shields took some damage, dropping their power by sixteen percent, but they held. The fighters did not fare as well. Three missiles were destroyed, but all it took was for two to get through the fighters’ defensive fire and the pursuers were destroyed.

“That’s how you do that,” Roak said as he put the weapons system onto auto. “Hessa? How we coming on your end?”

“I suggest strapping in,” Hessa said. “Also, bending over.”

“Is this a kiss-my-ass-goodbye situation?”

“It is to avoid projectile vomiting across the control console,” Hessa said. “I am forcing us into the wormhole portal.”

“Not possible!” Roak shouted.

“I have proven that not possible is possible today,” Hessa said as the ship slammed into the wormhole portal.

Roak felt like his insides were outside and his outsides were completely obliterated. Then he felt like he weighed thirty metric tons followed by complete weightlessness which was in turn followed by a sense of unbeing. He was fairly certain unbeing wasn’t a word, but it was the only way he could describe the sensation that was simultaneously ripping him apart and putting him back together.

Then he puked. Hard.

His head throbbed with an agony that bordered on life ending while his stomach continued to revolt and empty itself onto his boots. Even once empty, his gut continued to revolt and he was wracked by heaving spasms. His throat was raw from the vomit and from the screaming he didn’t even know he was uttering.

“Hessa!” he managed just before spots filled his eyes then came together in a shroud of blackness.

But he didn’t pass out. That would have been too kind.

There he sat, doubled over, his body convulsing, his eyes useless, and his throat feeling as if he’d gargled shards of glass.

“It’s going to get worse,” Hessa announced.

Roak moaned. His neck stiffened to the point of almost crushing his vertebrae. He thought his muscles would collapse in on his spinal column and fluid would begin spurting from his ears. Somehow, his stomach found a few more ounces of contents and ejected them with such force that they bounced up off his boots and back onto his face.

His skin fell off, his arms and legs traded places, his eyes started hearing voices, and his mouth farted.

Then stillness.

Five breaths. Six, seven, eight more. Even and slow. Agony was still on the physical menu, but it was normal, everyday agony. The surreal body dysmorphia had left him and Roak started to feel like himself once more.

“That was…different,” Roak said.

“I have plotted a course for a system where we can regroup,” Hessa said. “Try to get some sleep. I will need you awake and alert when we reach our destination.”

Roak undid his straps and stood on shaky legs. He looked down at his own sick.

“Have bots clean that up,” he said as he staggered to the bridge doors. “Gonna go lie down in my cabin for a while.”

“That is wise,” Hessa replied.

Roak barely remembered the journey down in the lift and the stumbling walk to his cabin.

8.

“Roak?”

The dream slipped away. It had been pleasant. Not one of his subconscious torture sessions like he had sometimes after a close call. Just pleasant.

“Roak?”

“Yeah,” Roak replied as he pulled himself back into consciousness. “What?”

“We have a call,” Hessa stated.

“We?”

“Yes,” Hessa replied. She sounded as puzzled as Roak felt. “We. The call came in for Roak and his industrious AI.”

Roak was awake.

“Source?” he asked as he pulled on some pants and slapped around the floor by his bed for a shirt he knew was there. He found it and slid it over his head. “Hessa?”

“I have tried to pinpoint the source, but it is being redirected rather ingeniously,” Hessa admitted.

“Then ignore it,” Roak said. “If it’s a job, then it’ll come through the proper channels. Otherwise, it’s a trap.”

“I have come to the same conclusion,” Hessa replied. “Except…”

“Except it addresses you as well,” Roak said and stood up. He hunted his cabin for his boots.

“They are in the corridor,” Hessa said and Roak’s cabin door slid open to show his boots discarded outside. “You were in a hurry to rest.”

“Yeah,” Roak said and left his cabin. He picked up his boots, but didn’t put them on, preferring to go barefoot despite the freezing cold metal under his soles. “I’m starving. Do we have more stew left?”

“We do,” Hessa said. “I will have it hot and ready for you.”

“Thanks,” Roak said.

“About the comm call…”

“Can you do some misdirection of your own?” Roak asked. “Keep the sender from finding us if we answer?”

“I could, but I believe it would be pointless,” Hessa said. “To contact us at all would mean the sender has an almost certain lock on our location already. Otherwise, nothing would get through.”

“Why is that?” Roak asked as he entered the lift and hit the button for the mess. “Where’d you put us?”

“Mlo,” Hessa said.

Roak was leaving the lift when she said that and he froze. The lift doors bumped against him.

“Mlo?” Roak asked, stepping fully into the corridor. “You do know that this is a bad idea, right? Hessa? Your database should have extensive reasons why taking us to the Mlo System was not smart.”

“Those reasons are precisely why I took us here,” Hessa replied. “The black hole keeps us from being detected. And the smugglers and pirates that use this system could prove to be useful allies should we somehow be discovered.”

“Like we have now,” Roak said. He walked into the mess and crossed to the tray that waited for him, a steaming bowl of terpig stew and an equally steaming mug of hot something sitting ready. “There are no useful allies in this system. I’ve worked with these folks before, Hessa. I know a few of them. They’d rather blast us into the black hole than lend a helping hand.”

Roak grumbled as he sat and took a few bites of stew.

“Answer the call,” Roak said.

“Are you sure?” Hessa asked.

“No, but do it,” Roak replied. “I’ll talk while you work.”

There was a crackling of static then, “Roak. You shouldn’t have come to Mlo.”

“I was just saying that same thing,” Roak said. He paused then smiled. “Jdorp? Didn’t expect to cross paths again so soon after you handed me over to Mr. Wrenn.”

“No hard feelings, Roak,” Jdorp replied.

Jdorp was a halfer–half Gwreq, half Urvein. If Roak could see him, he’d see a man close to eight feet tall and built stronger than the ship Roak was seated in. Jdorp’s skin was dark grey granite, but covered in obsidian black fur. He was solid muscle except for a huge pudge in the gut like all Urveins had. In short, he was all the scary of both races with none of the weaknesses.

Roak was glad they were only talking over the comm even though they left on semi-good terms despite Jdorp giving him to the Shilo Syndicate. Business was business, and Roak couldn’t fault the smuggler for making a good amount of chits when he could.

“Why the call and the threat?” Roak asked.

“No threat,” Jdorp replied. “Just a warning. I have no intention of going after you, but your ship is stirring up some chatter among the others that call Mlo home.”

“We’re only here until things cool down,” Roak said. “We’ll be out of your hair in a day or so.”

“Not gonna cool down that fast,” Jdorp said. “You’re on the tongues of more than a few influencers.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Not good,” Jdorp said. “But you’ve stirred up worse shit.”

“What’s this about me having an industrious AI?” Roak asked. “All Borgon Eight-Three-Eights have top of the line AI co-pilots, but I’d hardly call it industrious.”

“Not my word,” Jdorp said. “I’m only repeating what I heard. Grapevine has it you made some mods to your ship’s protocols and those mods are what helped you escape Mapp Tadt Station.”

“You know me, Jdorp,” Roak said. “I’m good, but not that good. No extra tech was needed, just a good amount of luck.”

“You do have that,” Jdorp said. “The fact you got away from Mr. Wrenn proves you have plenty of that.”

“This is fun and all, but what do you want?” Roak asked.

“Passing on a message in case you came into my orbit,” Jdorp replied. “Someone is looking to hire you for a job.”

“What job?” Roak asked.

“Don’t know.”

“Who’s looking?”

“Don’t know.”

“Not much of a message,” Roak said.

“That’s what I was told to pass on to you,” Jdorp said

“I have specific channels that folks can go through,” Roak replied. “If you talk to this person you don’t know, about the job you don’t know, then you can tell them that.”

“I don’t expect to talk to anyone,” Jdorp said. “All I’m here to do is say what I said and give you these coordinates.”

Roak waited. “I assume you sent them over.”

“Ha, that’s right,” Jdorp said and laughed. It was like boulders grinding together. “No wrist implant. Not near a vid display?”

“I’m in the mess having lunch. Or breakfast. What time is it?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, I guess it doesn’t. I’ll look at the coordinates later.”

“You do that, Roak,” Jdorp said. “Oh, and leave Mlo ASAP. I wouldn’t stay more than a few hours, if I was you. That Mapp Tadt Station business was messy and some of my colleagues in this system might look to make some chits off ratting out your location.”

“Noted,” Roak said. “I’ll owe you one for that.”

“No, you won’t,” Jdorp said. “Because if you aren’t gone in a few hours, I’ll rat you out myself. Been a slow quarter.”

“I thought smuggling was a boom business,” Roak replied.

“Syndicates are beginning to go in-house,” Jdorp said. “And the GF is cracking down on some of the usual wormhole portals. Cuts into the profits when I have to travel via the backdoor portals. Too much damage to my ship.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Roak said. “If I come across anything that fits your style, I’ll let you know.”

“You do that,” Jdorp said and the call was over.

“Charming,” Hessa said.

“You get those coordinates?” Roak asked.

“I did and have plotted a course,” Hessa said.

“Why would you do that? It’s a trap,” Roak said.

“I am aware of that,” Hessa replied. “But it would be a strange place to spring a trap.”

“Why? Where are the coordinates?” Roak asked.

“Jafla Base,” Hessa said. “Home of the–”

“Home of the Orb fights,” Roak interrupted. “That’s a funny coincidence.”

“I assume you do not believe it is a coincidence,” Hessa stated.

“You assume right,” Roak said and pushed his bowl of stew away. “That’s a well-monitored, public base to send us for a trap. Plenty of syndicate action and involvement, so authorities are paid off well, but still…”

“Should we go?” Hessa asked.

“Not yet,” Roak said. “Let me make some calls.”

His stomach growled.

“Eat your stew,” Hessa said. “You may be busy for a while.”

“You turning into a Leforian mom?” Roak asked.

“No. I need you healthy and alive,” Hessa said. “It is my curse as an AI.”

“Curse? Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Roak said as he grabbed the bowl of stew and started eating again. “Get us out of Mlo, Hessa. You heard what Jdorp said. Also, I can’t make my calls with the black hole messing up the long-range comms.”

“I will take us somewhere off grid,” Hessa said.

Roak didn’t want to ask what that meant. He trusted the AI to get the job done. Roak finished his stew then decided he’d grab a shower. Might as well be clean and ready in case things got strange.

9.

“Bishop,” the voice answered on the other end of the comm.

“Need some info,” Roak said.

“Hello there,” Bishop replied. “I was just talking about you to someone.”

“Someone we both trust, I hope,” Roak said.

“You remember Skabz from the Tatat job about a decade ago?”

“No.”

“Skrang kid. Never shuts up. Ugly as all the Hells.”

“Right. The never-shutting-up part rings a bell. All Skrang are ugly, though.”

“Turns out the kid is quite the hunter now,” Bishop said. There was a pause. “Hey…you kill Gaibah?”

“What do you think, Bishop?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No. No need. It was a setup.”

“That’s what I figured,” Bishop said. “You know why you were set up yet?”

“Not yet, but I have a feeling I’m going to find out,” Roak replied.

“Hence the friendly call. What do you need?”

“I’m being summoned to Jafla Base.”

“The Orb fights? Why?”

“Has something to do with a bounty Gaibah was trying to get me to go in on,” Roak said. “Some dead fighter that may or may not still be dead.”

“This the Jonny Nebula legend?” Bishop asked and laughed. “People have been saying he’s alive for years. It’s like that actor that first played Galactic Steve. People see him on stations and on resort planets all the time, but no one catches any vid or has proof. Stories. Stupid stories.”

“Could be,” Roak said. “But I’m somehow wrapped up in it all. Can you make some calls for me?”

“And ask…?”

“If I’m walking into a trap.”

“You know you are.”

“True, but what kind of trap and why?”

“Alright. I’ll see what I can find out. Comm you in a few hours.”

“Thanks.”

The comm went dead and Roak steeled himself for the next call.

“Hello, Roak,” an AI voice answered.

“Best if you don’t use my name,” Roak replied tersely.

“No one can listen in on my comm.”

“You sure about that?” Roak asked. “Big risk.”

“What do you need, Roak?” the AI voice asked.

“I’m being summoned to Jafla Base. Why?” Roak snapped.

“Is there a reason you are so rude to me, Roak?” the AI voice asked.

“You know why,” Roak said. “Why am I being summoned to Jafla base?”

“For a job,” the AI voice replied.

“Not a trap?”

“Yes, it is a trap, but you have already sprung said trap. You did not know this?” the AI voice said.

“I haven’t sprung shit,” Roak replied.

“Gaibah Huup,” the AI said. “That is the trap. You are in it, Roak. Going to Jafla Base might allow you to slip free if you play their game.”

“Whose game? How do you know this so fast?” Roak asked.

“It is what I do, Roak. It is why you call me when you need me. It is why I answer despite your attitude. I know things.”

“You think I can get out of the trap if I go to Jafla Base?”

“I think that the only way you can even think of getting out of the trap is to go to Jafla Base. If you go to ground, you will burn those that trust you. Possibly me included. Only way out is through at this point.”

“Can you get me more specifics?”

“I can try. May I call you back at this comm signature?”

“Yes.”

“Give me a couple of hours. I will have to use some channels that do not process as fast as I do. They are woefully slow, but reliable and accurate.”

“I’ll be here,” Roak said.

“I look forward to the resolution.”

The comm went dead.

“I don’t like it,” Hessa said.

“Neither do I,” Roak replied.

“Who else can you comm?”

Roak thought about that for a minute. “I might know someone. Long shot. Not a secure call.”

“I’ll do what I can on our end to mask our location,” Hessa said.

“That would be a very good idea,” Roak replied.

His hand hovered over the comm controls. He knew the signature by heart, but it had been a long time since he’d used it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever use it again. Roak had many reasons not to ever call the comm signature. One was he valued his life.

“Roak?” Hessa asked. “Your heart rate is increasing.”

“Yeah,” Roak said. “I know.”

“Will you be placing the call?”

“Not sure. There’s a lot of baggage with this one.”

“Do we have an alternate to call? One with less baggage?”

“I have a couple in mind, but neither will give me the blunt truth. They’ll as much turn me in as they will help me.”

“And the one you are about to call?”

“Dangerous,” Roak admitted. “Opens doors I want to stay shut. But even with the danger and the fact that I may be starting something I can’t finish, she’ll know how deep this trap is.”

“She?”

“Forget it,” Roak said. He closed his eyes and sighed.

“Roak? Our time is limited. I abhor unnecessary risks, but we do not have many options.”

“Fine,” Roak replied. “Let’s get this mess started.”

He entered the comm signature and waited.

“Who in Eight Million Godsdamn is this?” a woman answered. “You have three seconds to answer and make it good, or I will rain down such hellfire onto you that you will wish the idiots that discovered trans-space also discovered parallel universes.”

“What do you know about Jonny Nebula? His real name is Jahpah L’Ex,” Roak said.

There was a long silence, but Roak waited it out.

“I know who Jonny Nebula is,” the woman replied, her voice a harsh rasp of pure fury. But there was resignation in the tone, as well. “I also now know who called me. It has been a very long time, Roak.”

“Not a secure comm,” Roak said.

“Do you think I care?” The woman snorted. “Let them come. Eight Million Gods knows that more than two dozen have tried. I’ll either be gone by the time they get here or I’ll be waiting for them with bells on.”

“Loaded bells?”

“Always.”

“Bullshit,” Roak said. “They aren’t hunting you. I can tell. You sound different.”

“I should,” the woman replied. “It has been a very long time since we last spoke.”

There was a moment of quiet.

“You’re covered somehow. I can hear it in your voice. Did they let you back–?”

“What do you want, Roak? Make it good.”

“I’ll do better, I’ll make it quick,” Roak said. “Jonny Nebula. Is he dead?”

“He’s supposed to be. All the news reported it way back when. You hear otherwise?”

“I might have.”

“Over four hundred hoax sightings have been reported,” the woman said. “Another two hundred could not be proven to be hoaxes, but they sure as shit couldn’t be proven to be real. We’ll call them limbo reports.”

“What about the reports that ring true?” Roak asked. “Any of those?”

“One or two,” the woman answered. “But the second one is from a known con artist. I wouldn’t put that report in the limbo category, but I wouldn’t give it much credence, either.”

“Never do without verification,” Roak said.

“The first report puts him alive somewhere in the Cortch System,” the woman said. “But that was quite a few years ago.”

“There’re enough asteroids in that system for him to hide for centuries,” Roak said.

“True. The man, or whatever he is, could probably live for centuries. He’s one jacked-up genetic freak. You’d think he was family.”

“Anything else?”

“What do you want? An address? You plan on flying up to his hiding rock and knocking on his front door? If he is holed up in Cortch, it could take you a decade or more to hunt him down. I’d hide there if I felt like hiding.”

“You’re not exactly out in the open,” Roak said. “I would have heard if you were.”

“No, Roak, you wouldn’t have,” the woman said. “Because I would make sure no one told you.”

“I have sources.”

“Yet you called me. That means your sources are having a hard time with intel. It also tells me that someone is hot on your ass and ready to shoot it off. Who’d you kill?”

“No one,” Roak said.

“Who’d they frame you for killing?”

Roak laughed.

“A guy named Gaibah Huup,” Roak said. “You don’t know him.”

“No, I don’t,” the woman replied. “But I’ve heard his name a few times. Crackpot. Lost his nerve on a job a few years ago. Never got it back.”

“Could be,” Roak said.

“Could be you were on that job too,” the woman continued. “Could be you didn’t do your homework like you were supposed to.”

“I did my homework. I always do my homework. There were extenuating circumstances.”

“You are the extenuating circumstance,” the woman said, her voice ice cold. “Stick to working alone, Roak. It’s safer for everyone that way.”

“That’s my plan,” Roak said. “You doing the same? Sure you won’t tell me if they let–”

The woman clucked her tongue, a sound Roak knew she did only to irritate him.

“What else can you tell me?” Roak asked.

“The Orbs are losing money,” the woman said. “Shava Stemn Shava is deep in debt. He’s going to need a miracle to keep the business afloat without resorting to going further into the hole with the Syndicates.”

“He might as well dive in,” Roak said. “You dip a toe and they have your ass.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Roak could almost feel the ice forming in his ear as the comm went silent.

“You didn’t have to kill him. They are more forgiving than–”

“I have to go,” Roak said and cut the comm.

“Roak? Who was that?” Hessa asked. “I have been pouring through my database and I cannot find record of that comm signature or that voice.”

“Why would you?” Roak asked. “We’ve only been working together for a few months.”

“I uploaded all files and records from your previous ship,” Hessa said. “I can access your history easily. Except for that comm signature and that voice. Total blank.”

“It’ll stay that way,” Roak said. “Drop it.”

Before Hessa could press further, the comm lit up and Roak answered.

“Well, my old friend, you are royally screwed,” Bishop said with a nervous laugh. “The trap is a heavy one. Right now, you are off the radar, but that won’t last for long. You think you can get to Jafla Base within twenty-four hours?”

“We can,” Hessa said only to Roak.

“Yeah,” Roak said.

“Good because that’s how much time you have before you become the galaxy’s most wanted criminal,” Bishop said. “They have you dead to rights with Gaibah. It is possibly the best vid forgery I have ever seen.”

“I know an AI that can break it,” Roak said.

“Yeah, I know you do,” Bishop said. “Except, even if you break the vid forgery, it won’t matter much. They’ve got you for killing an entire bar’s worth of patrons. Full on massacre. No vid, but they have four witnesses. Two of them are supposedly survivors and have sworn under six different forensic truth tests that it was you.”

“Why?” Roak asked. “Why me?”

“That I couldn’t find out,” Bishop said. “All I know is you have twenty-four hours to get to Jafla Base or a shoot-on-sight command goes into effect.”

“Jonny Nebula is alive,” Roak said.

“He’d have to be for this kind of heat to be heading your way,” Bishop said. “They need the guy found and bad. You may want to think about killing Roak and starting with a fresh identity on some agriculture planet. Become a farmer, man. This got serious too fast. Even for you.”

“Not starting over,” Roak said. “Thanks, Bishop.”

“Hey, you really need to think this over,” Bishop insisted. “I don’t see an exit strategy for you on this one.”

“I’ll make do,” Roak said. “Thanks.”

He killed the comm, but it chimed within half a second.

“You need to leave your present location,” the AI voice said. “Proceed to Jafla Base. Now.”

“I’m getting that feeling,” Roak said.

“If your ship’s AI hasn’t already plotted a course and is flying you to the closest wormhole portal, then it is already too late, Roak,” the AI voice said.

“Yeah, yeah, framed for a massacre. Pulling out all the stops. Blah, blah, blah.”

“What? Yes, that too,” the AI voice said. “But I am talking about something else. Do not comm me again until this business is finished.”

The comm cut out.

“Hessa?” Roak asked.

“Already on the way,” Hessa said. “This is bad, Roak.”

“I wish I knew why,” Roak replied. “But we’ll find out on Jafla Base or I really will be guilty of a massacre. Folks gonna die for this shit, Hessa.”

“Farming is a noble profession,” Hessa replied.

“Don’t you start,” Roak said. “Just get us gone.”

10.

Jafla Base was a whirlwind of interstellar vehicle activity. Being the only inhabited area of Jafla Planet, the base was a constant stream of ships coming and going. Everything from tourists to business beings to the many players from the different syndicates to galactic celebrities could be seen going to and from the base.

And all were there for the Orb fights.

Jafla Planet was a desert. Nothing, not even B’clo’no’s, could last very long out in the wasteland that was Jafla. Visitors either stayed close to the base or died. No real middle ground.

Normally, an environment like Jafla Base would be exactly what Roak was looking for. It was easy to hide in places like Jafla where there were many more exciting beings to notice than some man wearing light armor with a KL09 strapped to his hip. A person could throw a chit in the crowd and hit ten beings that were just like Roak.

But, not to Roak’s surprise, he became keenly aware that he was noticed the second he stepped through the hangar’s airlock and into the Jafla Base’s main thoroughfare. Two Gwreqs started tailing him immediately, their massive presence causing the crowds to part before them. Not that Gwreqs were uncommon on Jafla, just that folks knew better than to get in the way of a Gwreq with an obvious purpose.

If they were going to be that conspicuous, then that meant Roak could expect at least a handful of private operators up ahead, either watching him pass or leading him through the crowd. He did a quick scan and thought he saw a Leforian with heavy armor and a couple of Jesperians about thirty meters up that seemed to always stay a few storefronts ahead of Roak.

Roak paused at a shop selling intimate apparel for all races and waited. The Leforian continued down the thoroughfare after a couple of minutes, but the Jesperians hung tight at a fruit stand. Roak couldn’t help but smile since no self-respecting Jesperian would eat fruit. They were taco junkies all the way.

The Gwreqs tailing him made it very obvious that they were growing impatient with Roak’s window shopping. The space around them widened enough that they took up a quarter of the massive thoroughfare and folks were beginning to crane their necks to see what the issue was. Self-preservation only lasted so long; the curious always eventually butted in and made things worse.

“Why the hesitation?” Hessa asked over the comm. “They know you have arrived on the planet. The ship is tagged.”

“I don’t plan on making their job easy,” Roak said. “Forcing them to act will say a lot about their operation and how things will proceed.”

“Or it will say a lot about how much they hurt you,” Hessa replied. “I do not see us as being in a place of strength, Roak. If I were to calculate your odds of surviving this ordeal, I would put them at a million to one.”

“Not in my favor, I take it,” Roak said.

“Not in your favor,” Hessa agreed. “The sooner you meet with this Shava Stemn Shava, the sooner you will attain intel I need to calculate new odds.”

“Hessa, let me do my job my way,” Roak said. “It’s gotten me this far.”

“Yes. It has gotten you here on Jafla Base,” Hessa said. “Where you will most likely die.”

“I do jobs that no one wants or can do,” Roak said. “I’ve been in bigger messes. I always get out.”

“With help,” Hessa stated.

“I still get out,” Roak said then began walking once more.

He made it to a bend in the thoroughfare where a contingent of officially uniformed guards were waiting.

“Roak?” one asked.

“Could be,” Roak replied.

“Weapons,” the guard said.

“No,” Roak replied.

Carbine barrels glowed red hot. Roak withdrew his KL09 and knife and handed them over.

“Follow me,” the guard said.

The guard turned and started walking while the rest closed ranks around him. Roak glanced over his shoulder and was surprised to see the two Gwreqs looking both pissed off and disappointed. They weren’t the welcoming committee. The Jesperians and the Leforian were nowhere to be seen. Roak found that all very interesting.

“Walk,” one of the other guards said. “Or I make you walk.”

Roak looked him straight in the eye.

“You should be wearing a helmet,” Roak said.

“Why’s that?” the guard responded.

Roak slammed his forehead into the man’s nose, crushing it to a pulp, before holding his hands up and taking a step back.

“Come on!” the first guard barked and Roak was prodded in the ribs with half a dozen carbine barrels.

The guard with the shattered nose glared at Roak through teary eyes, but said nothing. He let the blood flow down his face as he got in line with the rest and they marched Roak down the thoroughfare to a set of massive, ornate doors. The doors slid open and Roak was surprised to see a lift. He was roughly guided onto the lift and maneuvered to the back wall.

“Seen your file,” the first guard said, standing in front by the lift doors. “You could take half of us before we kill you.”

Roak didn’t respond.

“Gonna give you some advice,” the guard continued. “There are always more of us. Always. Anyone you take out will be replaced. It’s how things work on Jafla.”

Roak still didn’t respond. The guard looked back at Roak and raised his eyebrows.

“I’m doing you a favor,” the guard said.

“Didn’t ask you to,” Roak replied.

“Your file was right,” the guard said and returned his attention to the display showing the floors they were ascending.

When they reached the eight hundredth floor, the lift slowed then stopped. But the doors didn’t open. Roak waited.

“Out,” the first guard said.

Roak felt a breeze and turned to see the lift wall behind him was gone. In its place was a single walkway wide enough for one person at a time. The walkway led to a pair of doors in an onyx tower. Another contingent of guards were waiting by the doors on a platform large enough for them and one other person.

Roak guessed he was the one other person.

Roak did the only thing he could do and walked over to the onyx tower and the waiting guards.

“Hold,” one of the guards ordered, her finger to her ear. “He’s busy.”

Roak glared at the woman. He wasn’t a fan of games.

The rest of the guards gave him hard stares, their eyes locked onto his. He met their glares one by one until each of them were forced to look away. It told Roak a lot about the caliber of the security forces on Jafla Base if the guards closest to Shava Stemn Shava could be intimidated when they had the obvious advantage.

“He will see you now,” the guard said as the doors slid open in the onyx tower. “In.”

“I figured that’s the way I should go,” Roak said as he shoved past the guards and entered the tower.

Inside was a massive reception area where a Spilfleck man was standing, dressed in an expensive suit, his hands clasped behind his back. Spilflecks were a lizard race, able to extend a frilled membrane from their neck when alarmed, agitated, or angry. Roak was tempted to cause one of those reactions as the Spilfleck sneered at him.

“You are big, but certainly not as scary as some have said,” the Spilfleck stated as he looked Roak up and down.

“Scraping the bottom of the barrel if Shava Stemn Shava is hiring Spilflecks,” Roak said, unable to contain his disdain.

The frill pulsed, but did not expand. Roak smirked.

“I am Ple R,” the Spilfleck said. “I am Mr. Shava Stemn Shava’s personal attaché. You will be speaking with me today regarding the terms of your employment.”

The door slid closed behind Roak without any of the guards stepping in to the onyx tower. Roak hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Are you sure you don’t want the goon squad to be here?” Roak asked.

“As I stated, you are not as scary as some have said,” Ple replied.

Roak shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

“If you will follow me,” Ple said and turned to walk off.

“No,” Roak replied.

Ple froze in mid-pivot. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not following you unless you are taking me to your boss,” Roak said. “I didn’t want this job. You all went to a lot of trouble to make sure I took it. Now that I’m here, I’m going to talk with Shava Stemn Shava or no one. Especially not a smarmy Spilfleck like you.”

“Do you have issues with my kind?” Ple asked.

“Not particularly,” Roak said. “I’m not a people person no matter the race.”

Roak walked towards a massive painting on the wall.

“That him? Your boss? Yeah, I recognize him from some of the news vids. Loves to be in the spotlight, doesn’t he?”

“I have been instructed to discuss the terms of your employment,” Ple said and there was an audible click that echoed through the reception area. “Or kill you if you refuse to cooperate.”

Roak slowly pulled his attention from the painting and regarded the small pistol in Ple’s hand. It was a Defta Stinger. A small weapon, barely much bigger than the hand holding it, but Roak knew from experience that if any of the flechettes it fire reached his skin he’d be dead within five minutes. And it would be a very painful death.

“No middle room with you,” Roak said. “Lead the way.”

Ple waved the Defta at Roak and Roak took the hint. He’d be leading the way. Roak walked towards a door that Ple nodded at. The door slid open before he reached it and Roak was surprised by the decor. It had a very Old Earth hunting lodge look to it. He’d seen the style replicated on a hundred resort planets that catered to the wealthy that insisted on experiencing the days when humans had a home world.

A fire crackled in a huge fireplace set into the far wall, the stone chimney towering up into the darkness. There were two high-backed chairs set before the fire. Ple indicated for Roak to take one while he took the other, the Defta never straying from its target.

Roak sat, instantly wishing he wasn’t wearing his light armor. The fire was throwing off some intense heat. Ple smiled at Roak’s discomfort.

“It is unfortunate you did not take Gaibah Huup’s offer to work with him on the hunt for Jahpah L’Ex,” Ple said as he tucked the Defta away inside his expensive suit jacket. “It would have made things so much simpler.”

“I can come up with about a hundred scenarios that would have made things simpler,” Roak said. “Your boss has taken a convoluted route to hiring me.”

Something like agreement flickered across Ple’s face, but it was gone too fast for Roak to be one hundred percent sure he’d seen it.

“Despite how we have each come to be here, we are now here,” Ple said. “Let me explain the gravity of your situation.”

Ple proceeded to describe exactly what Roak already knew. All of Roak’s sources had done a good job with providing accurate intel. When finished, Ple waited for Roak to respond. Roak only smiled and sat there, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

“You do not seem upset,” Ple said, his voice filled with irritation.

“I have been in worse situations, as I’ve been reminded several times lately.”

“I have done my research on you, Mr. Roak,” Ple said.

“Obviously not or you’d know I just go by Roak,” Roak replied.

“Roak,” Ple said and nodded. “You have an excellent reputation for getting hard to impossible jobs done. However, you cut a swathe of chaos as you complete these jobs. Many times, you seem to be bumbling your way through. Yet you always complete the job you are hired for. I sense a good deal of luck surrounding you.”

“Maybe,” Roak said. “Mostly it’s that I refuse to quit. When you refuse to quit, you get the job done. It may be messy, but it’s done.”

“Right, about the messy aspect of your style,” Ple said. “That part is not acceptable. My employer insists that you handle this job with care and you do not make a mess of any of it. That is a non-negotiable stipulation.”

“I can’t control the galaxy,” Roak said. “Messes happen. That’s life.”

“Yes, but your life will end if messes happen during your work for my employer,” Ple stated. He patted his suit. “I will personally see to your death.”

Roak cleared his throat. “Tell you what. You get your employer in here to talk to me directly and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, I make no promises. As it stands, Ple, it’ll get as messy as it needs to. If I take the job.”

“If you take the job?” Ple responded, genuinely shocked. “Roak, you have no choice.”

“I always have a choice,” Roak said. “You and your employer are under the impression that you are hiring me. You got it all wrong. I choose who I work for and what jobs I take. The way I see it, you are here for me to interview, not the other way around.”

Ple blinked several times then shook his head. He started to chuckle.

“Very well, Roak,” Ple said. “I’ll let my employer know of your terms.”

“You haven’t heard my terms,” Roak said.

“Yes. I have,” Ple said and stood. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

“And miss sweating my nuts off in front of this fire? Wouldn’t dream of leaving,” Roak said as he laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

11.

Shava Stemn Shava was a strange one to take in.

Obese to the point where his body almost folded over and engulfed his body, Shava Stemn Shava moved like a man that was only one percent of his size and weight. He crossed the room, a fat hand extended, at a speed that troubled Roak.

“Confused,” Shava Stemn Shava stated, laughing as he approached Roak. “How does a fat terpig like me not collapse under my own weight? I practice what I preach, Roak.”

“Heavy-grav training,” Roak said when his brain caught up with his eyes. “You workout in the Orbs just like your fighters.”

“I work out with my fighters,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “They pull no punches. Nor do I.”

Unlike his attaché, Roak could not place Shava Stemn Shava’s race. Possibly human, but of a green-skinned lineage obviously, the man also seemed to have attributes of Cervile and maybe some Lipian. There was certainly some of the feline to him like a Cervile while he also moved with a body confidence that the Lipian prostitute race was known for.

Shava Stemn Shava laughed again.

“Do not bother,” he said to Roak. “Your guess at my genetic heritage will be wrong. I can assure you of that, Roak. Drink?”

“If you are,” Roak said.

“I’ll let you choose the glass,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Although, if I was going to poison you, I would have had your former associate do it for me back on Mapp Tadt Station instead of going through everything I have gone through to get you here. My, you are a lot of work, Roak.”

Roak shrugged as Ple appeared by his side with two glasses. When Roak didn’t take either of them, Ple sipped from each, pursed his lips, and held out the glasses once again. Roak took one at random, not really thinking either were poisoned. He just wanted to mess with Ple.

A panel in the floor slid away and a massive couch was raised from below. Shava Stemn Shava waited until it locked into place then sat down, his bulk taking up the entire expanse of the piece of furniture. Once settled comfortably, Ple handed him his drink then walked over to a chair against the wall and sat down, leaving Roak to Shava Stemn Shava’s scrutiny.

“You are correct, Ple,” Shava Stemn Shava said after a few seconds. “He is not anywhere near as scary in person as his reputation states. Although the scars do add a certain ominousness to his personage.”

Roak waited.

“Jonny Nebula was the best of the best,” Shava Stemn Shava said next. “He was the undisputed champion for decades and possibly the best to ever live. The odds that any of my current fighters will achieve even a quarter of what he did are quite slim despite what the bookmakers would like the rubes out there to think.”

Shava Stemn Shava waved a hand as if to dismiss the entire galaxy.

“But Jonny Nebula is dead,” Shava Stemn Shava continued. “Which is why I need you, Roak.”

“If he’s dead, then doesn’t he have a grave where he’s buried?” Roak asked. “With his fanbase, I can guess that the location of the grave is fairly well known.”

“There is no body in that grave, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “That is what helps fuel the legend of Jonny Nebula’s failed demise.”

Roak cocked his head. The meeting had just gotten interesting.

“You are hiring me to prove he’s dead,” Roak said. “You want me to find a corpse, not a living, hiding person.”

“Of course,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “I already said the man was dead. A corpse is all you will find.”

“My sources say otherwise,” Roak said. “Some honestly believe he is still alive and what you wanted was for me to track him down.”

“He is certainly dead,” Shava Stemn Shava said and made a fist. “I crushed his neck with my own bare hands. Squeezed the life right out of that egotistical trash heap. He pushed one too many buttons, Roak. I am patient, even to the point of my own detriment, but my patience has limits. Jonny Nebula discovered one of those limits.”

“But he died in the Orb,” Roak said.

“Did he?” Shava Stemn Shava replied with a dangerous grin playing at his thick lips.

“Maybe not. Don’t care. But, you’re admitting you murdered him?” Roak said. “That seems dumb.”

“Why? The entire galaxy saw him killed in his last fight,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “It was staged, by him and not me, but it gives me the perfect alibi. The man died in an Orb, like you said. His final fight. I simply finished the job before he could disappear with his ill-gotten gains.”

“He bet against himself and was going to use the winnings to fund his disappearance,” Roak said. “Not very original. Fighters try to do it all the time. Few rarely make it. Those that do are simply lucky.”

“Precisely,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he held up his empty glass. Ple exchanged it for a full one then returned to his seat. “Thank you. Roak? Another?”

“I’m good,” Roak said.

“The issue is that Jonny Nebula’s corpse was stolen before I could dispose of it properly,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “For years, I expected it to show up on the black market. There are collectors that would pay ten times what this base is worth for that piece of meat. A hundred times, even. Except it never surfaced.”

“What makes you think I can find it?” Roak asked. “Why even have me try? You know he’s dead. What’s the angle?”

“The angle is that I have certain business partners that insist I show proof of death,” Shave Stemn Shava said. “They are very adamant about this.”

The confusion on Roak’s face must have been evident because the huge man laughed and waved a fleshy hand in his direction.

“The particulars of my business arrangements need not trouble you, Roak. That is for me to deal with. All I need from you is to find that body and bring it back to me.”

“There would be nothing left by now,” Roak said. “Unless it’s been stored somewhere.”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “Why steal the body if not to keep it?”

“Unless he’s not dead,” Roak said.

“He is.”

“Maybe.”

“There is no maybe, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava snapped. He took a couple of deep breaths and centered himself. “Apologies. There is no doubt about the man’s death. None. Let me state that explicitly. You are not looking for a living being, but a corpse. I want the corpse. Or what is left of it. That is your job.”

“If I take it,” Roak said and leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “I haven’t said I will yet.”

It was Shava Stemn Shava’s turn to look confused. He swiveled his head on his massive neck and looked back at Ple. The attaché barely raised a single eyebrow. Shava Stemn Shava’s attention returned to Roak, an angry twinkle in his eye.

“You take the job or spend the rest of your life in a Galactic Fleet prison,” the man said. “And it will be a short life, Roak. I have the pull to make sure you are executed. In fact, I might be able to produce the spectacle for live vid. Make a few trillion credits in one night.”

“Nothing to say you won’t do that anyway when I complete the job,” Roak said. He did not move from his position as his eyes bored into Shava Stemn Shava. “I get paid in chits. That’s how I work. You want to pay me in, what? My freedom? Release me from the trap you put me in? I can’t hold that payment. If I can’t hold it, then it can be taken away. If it’s taken away, then that means I didn’t get paid. I always get paid.”

“You need assurances I will not double cross you,” Shava Stemn Shava stated.

“I know you will double cross me,” Roak replied. “You already have shown that is how you operate.”

Shava Stemn Shava spread his fat arms wide. “Then how do we resolve this impasse?”

“I will need a full confession from you,” Roak said. “On record.”

“On record?” Shava Stemn Shava said, his lip curling in contempt. “No, Roak. This will not do.”

“I’m not finished,” Roak said. “That’s only the part that assures me that I can’t be taken down by your crap. Like I said, I work for chits. This job is already looking to be expensive. Seven million chits. That’s my price.”

Roak glanced past the stunned face of Shava Stemn Shava and stared at Ple. The man hadn’t reacted in the slightest at the number. His face was a blank slate, not even that slight eyebrow raise he’d given his boss.

“Seven million credits? Are you mad?” Shava Stemn Shava sputtered.

“Chits,” Roak said. “I said chits. Credits mean nothing to me. Cash in hand or no deal.”

“You are mad,” Shava Stemn Shava said, more to himself than to Roak. “Ple? I believe we have made a mistake.”

Ple nodded and snapped his fingers. Four security guards entered the room quickly.

Roak was up and throwing his glass at the closest one then he lifted his chair and threw that as well. Before the guards could counter the attack, Roak went in close.

He dove and rolled, coming up in front of one of the guards, his hand snagging the ubiquitous stun baton on the woman’s belt. The stun baton crackled and he jammed it in a seam of her armor, putting her down immediately.

Roak used her unconscious body as a shield, letting the woman take the carbine shots that came flying at him. She shook and shuddered, a grotesque dance that garnered the response from the others that Roak wanted. They stopped firing, mouths open in shock at what they’d just done.

Roak took their hesitation and exploited it. He was up and throwing his first punch before one of the guards could snap their jaw shut. Roak did it for him. Teeth shattered and Roak felt bits of enamel rain down on his head as he grabbed the man’s carbine and twisted it towards the guard standing next to him.

That guard panicked and opened fire to defend himself, but Roak was already rolling out of the way, twisting his body back and around the guard with the shattered jaw, letting the carbine rounds punch ineffective holes in Shava Stemn Shava’s expensive floor.

Roak came up onto his feet and shoved the guard in need of dental work at the others. One dodged, the other didn’t. Roak, with stun baton still in hand, went for the one that had dodged. The man cried out as he received several thousand volts to his throat then that cry was choked off as his voice box was turned into smoking flesh.

Roak relieved the guard of his carbine and put three rounds in each of the others, just to be sure, then whipped around to take aim at Shava Stemn Shava. He found his view blocked by Ple’s Defta Stinger. Ple pressed the pistol to Roak’s left eye.

“Not bad,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he stood up from the couch and walked his bulk over to the two men. “Not bad at all. I can see why you’ve lived as long as you have. A decade or two younger, and a thousand hours of training, I’d put you in the Orbs to fight. But that is not your fate today, Roak.”

Roak didn’t say a word as Shava Stemn Shava pressed up close to him, barely leaving space for Ple to keep the pistol pressed to Roak’s eye.

“You will do the job I have brought you here to do and you will do it for free,” Shava Stemn Shava stated, his breath hot in Roak’s ear. “Then we will decide your fate.”

“I don’t work for free,” Roak said. “I named my terms. They are nonnegotiable.”

Shava Stemn Shava ran his tongue across his lips. Then he grabbed Roak by the neck and lifted him off his feet. It was meant as an intimidation tactic. Roak knew that. He’d seen it coming.

As his boots came off the ground, and the air was squeezed from his throat, Roak punched Ple straight in the face, taking the Defta from the surprised man’s grip in one fluid motion. Then he jammed the pistol between Shava Stemn Shava’s lips, the barrel clinking against teeth, a sound that rang out in the room.

“Sir,” Ple said as he recovered from the attack. He wiped blood from his mouth with the back of one hand and placed the other on his employer’s huge shoulder. “Agree to his terms.”

Shava Stemn Shava eye’s widened. Roak’s attack was surprising, but Ple’s words were obviously even more so.

“He’ll take the job,” Ple said then focused on Roak. “Correct?”

Roak’s vision was beginning to swim as Shava Stemn Shava held him up off the ground, but he managed to nod while keeping the pistol in place. He had maybe a couple seconds before he passed out from lack of oxygen or his neck was snapped by the obese man that gripped him. Roak’s finger squeezed down on the trigger.

“No need,” Ple said. “Sir? He’ll deliver.”

Shava Stemn Shava’s eyes darted towards Ple then Roak was falling.

He coughed and rolled backwards before jumping back to his feet, the pistol aimed at Shava Stemn Shava.

“I believe you chipped a tooth,” the huge man snarled as he spat blood onto the floor. “Cut my tongue.”

Roak waited. Ple waited. Shava Stemn Shava nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “I agree to your terms.”

The tension in the room lessened, but not by much.

“Now, Roak, how do you propose I make this on-record confession?”

12.

Shava Stemn Shava did not look pleased once the vid comm message was sent to an undisclosed comm signature. He looked even less pleased as he had Ple make arrangements for the availability of seven million chits once the job was complete. The look worsened as Roak sat down and motioned for Shava Stemn Shava to do the same.

“I’ll need records,” Roak said. “Everything you have on Jonny Nebula.”

“No. Out of the question,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “There is proprietary information in those records that I will not divulge. Ple will provide what information you are allowed to see and there will be no further discussion on this point.”

Roak thought on that then nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll take what you give me.”

“Yes, you will,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “You will also take one more thing. Ple will accompany you on this job.”

“I work alone,” Roak said.

“Not always,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he wagged a fat finger. “I know you have worked with partners, even teams, in the past. Gaibah Huup is evidence of that. You prefer to be the lone rogue, yes, but sometimes circumstances dictate you cooperate. This is one of those circumstances.”

Roak thought he saw Ple’s cool facade crack just slightly, but it was hard to tell with the man.

“I call the shots,” Roak stated. “He gets in my way and he gets left behind.”

“Of course,” Shava Stemn Shava replied.

“He pulls anything and I put a blast between his eyes then send that neck frill back to you in a box,” Roak said.

“That seems extreme, but I understand what you are saying,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Ple?”

“I will neither get in Roak’s way nor pull anything,” Ple said. “Our goal is the same.”

“One more thing,” Roak said and pointed at Ple. “What if I do find Jonny Nebula alive? Is that why he’s coming with me?”

“You will not find Jonny Nebula alive,” Shava Stemn Shava said without hiding his exasperation. “And Mr. R is accompanying you because he represents my interests and may be able to grant you access to areas of the galaxy you may not be granted access to otherwise.”

“I doubt that,” Roak said.

“I do not,” Shava Stemn Shava stated. “We all have our circles of influence, Roak. You are walking into mine.”

Roak was not in the mood to argue. He was tired, hungry, pissed off, and did not feel like pointing out that his entire job was about cracking circles of influence to get at a bounty. He sighed and nodded.

“Will that be all, Roak?” Shava Stemn Shava asked. “Because I do have an entertainment empire to run. I would like to get back to that.”

“That’s all,” Roak said.

“Then Ple will show you out and you may show him what your first step will be,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Ple?”

“This way, Roak,” Ple said and motioned to the doors where the bodies of the guards were being carried out by maintenance bots.

Ple walked Roak out and the doors closed without another word from Shava Stemn Shava. There was a hum to the onyx tower that hadn’t been there before and Roak realized it was made by voices. Dozens and dozens of voices coming from the many levels and rooms that filled the tower.

“Something big happening?” Roak asked.

“Hmmm?” Ple responded then glanced around the tower reception area. “Oh. No, nothing out of the ordinary. Simply another fight night. It takes more than an army of coordinators to make the Orbs happen.”

They reached the doors and guards opened them for the two men. Ple walked out without hesitation and Roak followed. As they crossed the walkway, Roak took one last look over his shoulder at the onyx tower.

“I’ll want to see the Orbs,” Roak said. “Not yet. But before we leave Jafla Base.”

“Understandable,” Ple said. “I’ll make arrangements.”

Standing at the lift was the guard with the broken nose care of Roak’s forehead. The guard held out Roak’s weapons.

“Thanks,” Roak said as he strapped his KL09 and knife to his belt.

The guard growled then walked across the walkway to the onyx tower, leaving Roak and Ple to enter the lift. The doors closed without any guards joining them. Ple’s finger hovered over the buttons.

“What is the first destination?” Ple asked.

“Food,” Roak said. “And drink.”

“I know just the place,” Ple replied and depressed one of the buttons. “Incredible food, best drinks, and discrete so we may talk in private.”

“Do we need to talk in private?” Roak asked.

“I believe we do,” Ple said.

They waited in silence until the lift came to a stop and the doors slid open. Roak was surprised to see an empty hallway instead of a bustling corridor or thoroughfare. Ple smirked and left the lift, indicating with a nod for Roak to follow.

The hallway was adorned with wood that was worth almost as much as Roak’s ship. No paintings or holos were hung, only the exquisite workmanship of the wood was on display. Ple walked the hallway at a casual pace then held up a hand once they reached the end.

“You will need to change,” Ple stated.

“I don’t think so,” Roak replied.

“Armor, even the style and quality of yours, is not permitted within the establishment,” Ple said. He withdrew his pistol and held it out. A robotic arm shot from the wall and snatched it before disappearing back into the paneling. “Neither are weapons of any kind.”

Ple took a couple of steps forward and a red light scanned him then turned green once it had made two passes. He turned to regard Roak.

“There are no exceptions,” Ple said. “It is for everyone’s safety including yours, Roak.”

“I don’t have anything else to wear,” Roak said as he unstrapped his KL09 and held it out. That and his knife were squirreled away by bot arms. “I left my evening attire on my ship.”

A panel slid open and a stylish pair of pants with matching shirt were extended. A smaller panel at the bottom of the wall opened and a pair of shoes were produced.

Roak growled, removed his light armor, then took the offered outfit and put that on. The shirt was a little tight in the shoulders, but otherwise everything was a perfect fit.

“This way,” Ple said once Roak passed the security scans.

They went through a door into a lounge where several small tables were occupied by folks either dressed similarly to Roak or were wearing their own, more stylish clothing. Ple nodded to a Cervile woman that was standing by a small podium set off to the side. The woman’s whiskers twitched, as did her feline tail, but her smile was welcoming despite the quick up and down glance she gave Roak.

“Mr. R. What a pleasure,” the woman said. “Your table is ready.”

“Thank you, Muscaere,” Ple said and followed the woman to a corner table where both seats had their backs to the wall. “A menu for my friend and my usual, if you please.”

“Of course,” Muscaere replied and hurried off with an extra swish in her tail.

“Friend of yours?” Roak asked.

“Not in the way you imply,” Ple said. The surface of the table flashed white. “You’ll want to lift your hands.”

As Roak lifted his hands from the table, a menu appeared in front of him. In front of Ple appeared a glass of amber liquid and a plate of what looked like fried insects.

“Moltrans?” Roak asked. “This place uses molecular transport to serve its customers?”

“It does,” Ple said.

“How does it get around the mixing of inorganic with organic components? Most moltrans units can only deliver one or the other at a time,” Roak said. “Unless you want to pay a lot of aftermarket chits.”

“Do you see any prices listed on the menu?” Ple asked.

Roak studied the culinary offering and shook his head.

“That is how. The moltrans unit in this lounge would bust the Galactic Fleet’s quarterly budget,” Ple said and sipped at his drink before popping one of the insects into his mouth. He chewed slowly then swallowed. “All obstacles can be overcome with the right price.”

“I’m beginning to see that,” Roak said.

“Have you decided?” Muscaere asked when she returned. “Or may I suggest something?”

“I’ll have the TLonga squid,” Roak said and smirked at the hostess. “Which is extinct.”

“We have the best sources,” Muscaere said and nodded. “To drink?”

“Whatever he’s having,” Roak said.

“Both excellent choices,” she replied. “Your drink will be delivered shortly and your squid in a few minutes. Please enjoy.”

She gave a bow of her head and sauntered off to check on the other patrons. The table flashed white and Roak lifted his hands again. The menu disappeared and was replaced with a glass of amber liquid just like Ple’s.

“Cheers,” Ple said as he lifted his glass.

Roak lifted his, clinked it to Ple’s, then sniffed and tasted the drink.

“D’revian rust?” Roak said. “I think asking for seven million chits was too low.”

“It was. Shava Stemn Shava would have paid five times that, if he had to,” Ple said. “But the deal is done.”

“It is,” Roak said. He took another sip then set his glass down and pointed at Ple. “When can I get the files?”

“I have them here,” Ple said and withdrew a small disc from his pocket. He offered it to Roak then snatched it back. “Oh, that’s right. You don’t have implants. A moment, if you will.”

He gestured to Muscaere then waved the disc in the air when he had her attention. She nodded, and in about two seconds, the table flashed white and a small vid tablet appeared. Ple slid the disc into the tablet and handed it to Roak.

“There you go,” Ple said. “Every bit of information that Shava Stemn Shava is willing to let you see.”

Roak scanned the files and frowned. “This is it?”

“That is it.”

“Is any of this information any different from what I can’t find some other way?” Roak asked.

“It would take you a lot of work, but no,” Ple said. “We have saved you a month’s worth of research. Not to mention the travel time to the various archives. Some of this is only known to private collectors.”

Roak searched back and forth among the files. He stopped randomly here and there, flicking his fingers towards the top right corner anytime he saw something that piqued his interest. After a few minutes, he set the tablet down and relaxed into the expensive chair.

“Saw a name pop up more than once,” Roak said. “Per’teen Kilk? Who is that?”

“You don’t pay much attention to the Orbs, do you?” Ple asked. Roak didn’t respond. “Hall of Fame trainer. He only manages now that he’s gotten older. Let’s his offspring do the training.”

“Leforian, right?” Roak asked. “Didn’t see a pic of him.”

“Right,” Ple said. “The quad-armed races make the best trainers.”

“I can imagine,” Roak said. “We’ll go speak with him after this. Is he here on Jafla?”

“That I don’t know,” Ple said. “He could be. If not, then I will arrange transportation to whatever–”

“We take my ship,” Roak said.

“I have access to top-of-the-line luxury yachts,” Ple said. “Why travel in a utilitarian military vehicle when you can travel in style like I doubt you’ve ever experienced?”

“Not sure if that was an insult or not, but I don’t really give a good Eight Million Godsdamn,” Roak replied. “We’ll take my ship. I trust it.”

“Very well,” Ple said. “The stealth may come in handy. Despite Shava Stemn Shava’s unlimited budget, I have yet to convince him to utilize the tech.”

“What do you convince him to do?”

“Not much, really,” Ple said. “Shava Stemn Shava makes up his own mind. I advise at times, but mostly I make sure he stays safe.”

“He won’t miss you?”

“Not on Jafla Base,” Ple said.

“If those guards you sent at me are any indication, then you may have some work to do with your boss’s security detail,” Roak said.

“There are other ways to keep Shava Stemn Shava safe,” Ple said, but did not elaborate. Nor did Roak ask for any elaboration. “Ah, your food.”

The table flashed white and a steaming plate of TLonga squid appeared. The smell coming off of it made Roak’s stomach growl and Ple’s lips twitch with a smile.

“Eat,” Ple said. He tapped the skin by his left eye. “I’ll make arrangements for us to meet with Per’teen Kilk.”

Roak ate. He cleaned the plate, ordered a second one, then cleaned that and nodded to Ple once he’d finished.

“What else?” Roak asked, downing his drink. It was instantly replaced without him asking. “You said we needed privacy. So far, you haven’t said anything requiring that.”

“Yes,” Ple said and steepled his fingers. The frill around his neck pulsed a couple of times then calmed and smoothed down. “I fear that we are not the only ones looking for Jonny Nebula.”

“So?” Roak replied. “Not surprised. You kicked up some dust in snaring me. That’s drawn attention. I expect we’ll be shaking tails for most of this job.”

“No, no, I believe there is someone already on the search,” Ple said. “I cannot say for certain, but I found it very strange that Shava Stemn Shava all of a sudden wanted to track Jonny Nebula down.”

“Like he caught wind of this other search and started to panic?”

“Shava Stemn Shava does not panic,” Ple said. “But, in a way, yes.”

“And what really troubles you is that you didn’t hear about this search first,” Roak stated. “That’s your job and your boss caught wind before you. Kind of a hard kick to the pride.”

“Kind of,” Ple said.

“Any idea who the other searcher may be?” Roak asked. “I’d have to guess it’s one of the syndicates. Nothing short of that, or Galactic Fleet, would make your boss nervous.”

“Again, Shava Stemn Shava does not panic nor does he get nervous,” Ple said. “But, again, in a way, yes.”

Roak grinned.

“What?” Ple asked.

“You didn’t deny that the Galactic Fleet might be involved,” Roak said.

“Anyone could be involved,” Ple said. “That is my point. I do not know.”

“I’ll put out some feelers,” Roak said. “Might be a hunter or two on the job. If that’s the case, then I’ll learn about it.”

“Which is why I wanted to inform you of the possibility,” Ple said. “That, and if there is competition, then our timetable may need to be moved up.”

Roak cocked his head. “Timetable?”

“You didn’t think you would have forever to complete the job, did you?” Ple asked.

“No,” Roak replied. “But no one mentioned a timetable.”

“Shava Stemn Shava is in negotiations to possibly sell the Orbs league to a group of investors,” Ple said. “He needs the body before he can complete the deal. The final talks are set to begin in one month. That gives us two weeks.”

“How does that math work out?” Roak asked. “One month down to two weeks?”

“Shava Stemn Shava needs the body within two weeks,” Ple replied.

Roak rolled his eyes. “Two weeks. Great. We should get started. Let’s go take a look at the Orbs now so I can get a feel for what this job encompasses.”

“Let’s.”

13.

They left the way they came in, and Roak was extremely glad to be back in his light armor with a pistol strapped to his hip.

“Any chance you know of a dealer on this base that can get me a Flott Five-Six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread?” Roak asked.

“Hard gun to find,” Ple said and tapped at his eye again. “I’ll send messages around. I personally don’t know of a dealer that would have one, but there might be private sellers on the base with one in possession. A Flott would be an appropriate weapon for many of the visitors to Jafla.”

“Thanks,” Roak said. “I had a lead on one, but this detour means I lose my shot. It’s already sold by now. I’ll owe you one if you find it.”

“Owe me one?” Ple responded, perplexed. “You are a strange man, Roak. I get the distinct impression you do not like me yet you are willing to owe me one if I track down a pistol for you? Strange, indeed.”

“Not like I promised you my hand in marriage,” Roak said. “I’ll owe you a favor equal to the favor you are doing for me.”

“If I find a Flott,” Ple said.

“Yes,” Roak replied. “If you find a Flott.”

“The message has been sent,” Ple said. “This way. We can take a private lift down to the Orbs.”

“A different private lift?” Roak asked as they turned away from the one they rode in to the lounge.

“There are many,” Ple said. “This allows horizontal transport as well as vertical. The Orbs I have arranged for you to see are on the other side of the base, and I do not feel like traveling the thoroughfare today.”

“Understood,” Roak said and followed Ple down a long corridor until they reached a guarded door.

“M,” Ple said to the hulking Urvein that stood by the door.

Urveins were a bear-like race. Eight feet tall and almost as wide, they were ten times more dangerous than they were huge. Normally covered in thick, wiry fur, the Urvein that stood by the door was almost shaved bald except for a spiraling pattern that started at his navel and wound up to his scalp.

“Mr. R,” M said to Ple, his voice deep rumble, giving the man a slight nod. Then his eyes turned to Roak. “You’re that bounty hunter.”

Roak’s eyebrows raised.

“M has a gift for knowing what happens on Jafla,” Ple said. “I swear it is magic since I have never seen him leave his post here and he is like you, Roak. No implants.”

“Disgusting things,” M said. “No need.”

“One day I’ll learn your secret, M,” Ple said. “But today, I am taking the bounty hunter to see the Orbs.”

“Section Seven?” M asked.

“Section Seven,” Ple replied.

“Hmmm,” M said then stepped aside and opened the door to a small lift. “Good luck.”

Ple stepped onto the lift and moved aside to make room for Roak. Roak followed, but paused right next to M first.

“Why do you say good luck?” Roak asked.

“You’ll see,” M said and sneered.

One of his huge fangs was revealed, and Roak saw that it had been sharpened to a point that was certainly not natural.

“I guess I will,” Roak said and moved fully onto the lift.

M closed the door and Ple grabbed onto a brass handle set into the wall. Roak did the same just as the lift dropped fast. For a split second, there was a feeling of weightlessness then it was over, and Roak was nearly thrown into Ple as the lift switched directions and headed to the side.

The ride took close to twenty minutes and gave Roak an appreciation of the size and scope of Jafla Base. When the lift stopped, a second Urvein opened the door and gestured for them to exit.

“N,” Ple said to the Urvein, but didn’t stop to chat at all.

The Urvein was fully furred and glared at Roak with yellow-rimmed eyes as he tried to squeeze past. The Urvein snarled at Roak, but didn’t make a move.

“N hates everyone,” Ple said when they were several meters away and walking down a utilitarian corridor that was lined with what looked like a single piece of metal alloy that stretched from floor to ceiling and back down again. “We keep him on this side of the lift for that reason. You think twice about pulling anything if you know you will be facing him on your way out.”

“This is Section Seven?” Roak asked.

“No,” Ple said when they reached the end of the corridor and were faced with a blank wall.

Ple put his hand to the wall and it faded away as if it was made of plastiglass. Except Roak could instantly feel a cool breeze, smell sweat, blood, and rage, and hear dozens of voices in dozens of dialects and languages, come through the opening in a sensory assault that would have overloaded anyone.

“This is Section Seven,” Ple said and stepped from the corridor and into a huge, domed training facility. “Welcome to the heart of the Orbs.”

All throughout the massive domed space, huge Orbs floated. Some lowered to the floor to allow two fighters to enter while others were half a kilometer in the air, sparring matches already in full swing. All along the edge of the dome were fighters training on a myriad of specialized equipment. Some eyes strayed towards Roak and Ple, but most stayed focused on the work at hand.

The energy of the place felt to Roak like it could explode at any minute. All it would need was a catalyst to set it off. Roak could see he wasn’t the only one as a Shiv’erna came stomping over to them both, her hands planted on her hips, eyes filled with anger.

“Ple,” the Shiv’erna said. “What do you want?”

Shiv’ernas were generally a lithe race with elephantine proboscises. The woman certainly had the proboscis, but she was far from lithe. Her musculature was stacked. That was the only word Roak could think of. Stacked. Layer of muscle upon layer of muscle. She ignored Roak completely and focused entirely on Ple.

“You don’t come unannounced,” the Shiv’erna snapped. “Ever. It puts the fighters off, you know that. They start wondering why Shava Stemn Shava’s attaché is in Section Seven. That wondering turns to worry. Worry turns to doubt. Doubt turns to fear. Fear gets them killed. I cannot afford for even one of my fighters to get killed this season, Ple. Not one!”

“My apologies, Gespa Gess,” Ple said. “But I needed to show this man our facilities so he can get a sense of what we do here. Section Seven is the top training dome.”

“Flatter my ass later,” Gespa growled, her proboscis flicking out at Ple in irritation. She jabbed a finger into the man’s sternum. “You have ten minutes. Then you go so I can clean up the mess you’ve made.”

“What’re the Gs in those?” Roak asked, pointing at an Orb that had just touched down on the ground so two weary fighters could exit. One of them nearly floated off his feet when he exited. “Five Gs?”

“Why is it speaking to me?” Gespa nearly shouted. “Five Gs? FIVE GS? These are the Orbs, you fool! Five Gs is what I take my grandmother to for physical therapy!”

“So, more than five Gs,” Roak said.

“Roak, please,” Ple said.

“We start them at ten Gs,” Gespa snarled, getting her volume under control as fighters began to slow their movements and divert their attention from their training. “Then we move them up depending on ability. Top Orbs fighters don’t even touch anything under twenty Gs.”

“Twenty Gs? That’d kill me,” Roak said. “Even with modified armor. I’d need a full pressure suit to survive that. How do they do it?”

“They aren’t scrawny little pukes like you,” Gespa said. “They’re professionals. Or soon will be.”

“Thank you, Gespa,” Ple said. “We’ll let you get back to work. No need to take up anymore of your time.”

“Out within ten minutes,” Gespa said, jabbing her finger in Ple’s sternum once more before stomping off to yell at fighters that were looking her way.

Once Gespa was gone, Ple took a step back and rubbed at his chest.

“Now you see why M said good luck,” Ple said, wincing.

“That hard of a jab, huh?” Roak said.

“Yes,” Ple responded then shook it off and nodded at an empty Orb. “I’ll give you the rundown. Then we should be on our way.”

“Per’teen Kilk isn’t on Jafla Base, is he?” Roak asked.

Ple pointed to his eye and shook his head. “I just received confirmation. He’s at his home on Ballyway.”

“The gaming planet?” Roak asked. “He has a home there?”

“It’s one of many,” Ple said. “He cannot touch Shava Stemn Shava’s wealth, but he has done very well for himself.”

“I bet,” Roak said as he approached the Orb.

“Step inside,” Ple said.

“Nah. I’m good,” Roak said.

“Five Gs max,” Ple said. “Gives you an idea of what it’s like without the blacking out.”

“I’m good,” Roak repeated.

Ple gave him a sly smile and nodded.

“Fine. Care for me to explain how it all works?”

“I know some,” Roak said. “The Orbs levitate within the arena. Two fighters per Orb. They fight each other under heavy-grav conditions, twenty Gs apparently, until one of them is killed. Survivor wins.”

“Only in heavyweight bouts and only championship circuit,” Ple said. “Fighters in the lesser weights and those not fighting for a chance at the title get to keep their lives. The fight ends when one of them is incapacitated. Death for all losers would diminish the field too fast.”

“Then why kill any of them at all?” Roak asked. “Especially the upper tiers?”

“Stakes,” Ple said. “Higher the stakes, higher quality competitor. Higher quality competitor means higher wagers and higher income from sponsorships and advertising. Also, makes it impossible to fix a fight when someone dies.”

“Nothing is impossible or I wouldn’t be here hunting for a dead man,” Roak said. He caught the quick flicker in Ple’s eyes, but let it go. “You ever fight?”

“A few times,” Ple said. “But Spilflecks don’t make the best Orb fighters. We simply do not have the muscle mass to make it past the first weight class. Even with enhancements.”

“Do many of the fighters have enhancements?” Roak asked.

“Nothing mechanical or cybernetic,” Ple said. “Other than usual implants that everyone within society has.”

“Except me,” Roak said.

“I wasn’t going to say a word, but yes, except you,” Ple said. “Organic and chemical enhancements are allowed as long as there is full disclosure and opponents are offered a chance to match those enhancements before a fight. A fighter wants to juice up then his or her opponent must be offered the same or an equivalent cocktail.”

Roak nodded.

“What else can I show you?” Ple asked. “Are we done down here?”

“Down here, yeah,” Roak said. ‘“But I want to see a fight. A real fight, not any of this sparring. We see one of those then we leave and go chat with Per’teen Kilk.”

Ple eyed Roak for a second and sighed.

“No way to hurry this along, is there?” Ple asked.

“Is there a problem with seeing an Orb fight?” Roak responded. “None scheduled?”

“There are Orb fights all day and night,” Ple said. “This is Jafla Base.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Roak asked.

“At this time, there are only lower-level fights,” Ple said. “The more powerful weight classes happen during primetime. I fear you will not get the experience you crave.”

“No craving,” Roak said. “I just want to see one in action up close. I could care less what weight class.”

“Yes, well, it isn’t so much the weight class as the class class,” Ple said.

“Class class?” Roak asked with a smirk. “So we’ll have to slum it if we want to see a fight right now.”

“I am afraid so,” Ple said.

“Perfect,” Roak said.

“Hardly,” Ple said.

Ple smoothed his clothes then led Roak back to the lift corridor. They reached the irritated N and the Urvein raised one massive, bushy eyebrow.

“The Gas Chamber,” Ple said.

“You sure about that?” N growled. “This little pisser gonna be able to handle it?”

“I can handle it, furry,” Roak said.

Ple held up a hand before the Urvein could advance on Roak.

“The Gas Chamber,” Ple repeated.

“Whatever,” N said and opened the lift. He reached inside and mashed his paw against the very bottom button then snorted. “This should be great.”

Ple entered the lift followed by Roak. It was moving just as they each grabbed a brass handle and avoided being thrown into each other.

14.

“Welcome to the Gas Chamber, boys!” a naked Lipian whore cried as the two stepped from the lift. “Who wants a tug? A blow? A poke in the backside? It can be yours or it can be mine!”

“Move,” Ple snarled and gave the whore a shove.

She fell on her bare ass and glared up at the Spilfleck.

“You’ll pay for that, asshole!” she shouted. “My woman is gonna hunt you down and make a hat out of that neck skin of yours!”

“Tell your woman to look for Ple R,” Ple said. “I’ll be sitting in that booth over there. The one no one is sitting in.”

The Lipian blanched to a shade of white that made her skin almost translucent. Roak had never seen one so terrified before. Then she wet herself and turned to run, but Ple grabbed her upper arm and pulled her in close.

“Do you need me to spell my name for you?” he asked, his voice a mix between a hiss and a laugh.

“No, sir. I am so sorry, sir,” the Lipian whimpered. “Please. Let me go. I’ll give you and your friend a couple freebies if you let me go. Please!”

Her last word hit a register that caused a few passersby to wince. They shot looks at Ple, but none moved to help the whore.

“Despite your genetically engineered biome down…there,” Ple said. “I believe we will pass on that offer. But you can tell your woman that drinks are on her. If she has a problem with that, she can come talk to me. In that booth. Over there.”

“She’ll take those costs out of my end,” the Lipian cried. “I don’t mean my profits!”

“Would you like to know what I will do?” Ple asked.

“No, sir!” the Lipian said and looked down at her arm. “Please…”

“You’ll tell her?”

“I will! I will! Just please let me go. Please.”

Ple let her go. The whore ran off through the crowd. The crowd swallowed her up and she was gone. But Roak had zero doubt about whether or not she’d deliver that message to the woman that owned her.

“You didn’t step in,” Ple said to Roak as he moved towards the crowd which seemed to part as he approached, an avenue in the sea of unwashed bodies appearing with every step.

“Why would I?” Roak asked. “Not my place to play hero there. She’s a Lipian and born to be what she is despite her race’s emancipation from the sex trade centuries ago.”

“Genetics are hard to break,” Ple said and looked Roak up and down.

They reached the booth and Ple took a seat. Roak stood by the table, his hand on his KL09. He spun and drew the weapon just as the Tcherian attacked. A chameleon race with the ability to become invisible when they focused hard enough, the man had made it through the crowd only steps behind Roak without being noticed. It wasn’t until Roak stopped and caught the whiff of pheromones that Tcherians give off when fully invisible did he realize he was being stalked.

Roak’s pistol was knocked from his grip and he cried out as the back of his hand was split open by the tip of the Tcherian’s prehensile tail which appeared to be barbed. He went for his knife, but was whipped again by the tail. Roak stumbled against the table as the Tcherian kicked out, the long and deadly sharp toe talon it possessed missing Roak’s belly by a centimeter. He’d learned from experience that light armor or not, a Tcherian’s talon was not something to take for granted.

The reptilian assassin grabbed at Roak’s face, its thumbs going straight for the eyes, but Roak was able to get his balance and he sent two hard jabs into the being’s midsection. The attacker let out a whoosh of air then staggered back a step. That gave Roak just enough of an opening to feint a jab at the Tcherian’s right cheek then come up from below with a massive blow to the being’s chin.

The Tcherian’s eyes swam in its head then it crumpled to the ground. Its head hit hard and a piece of its long tongue came tumbling out from between its lips followed by an immense amount of blood. Roak lifted a boot and was ready to stomp the being’s skull in, but a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.

“No,” Ple said. “He will be dealt with.”

Roak, breathing heavy, nodded and lowered his boot to the floor. He backed off then looked about. Someone was picking up his pistol and immediately hurried over to give it to him. His knife was sticking straight up from the toe of a Gwreq’s boot. The huge stone being snarled at Roak then pulled the knife free and offered it to the bounty hunter, handle first. Roak nodded and took it.

“Thanks,” Roak said.

“Eat shit,” the Gwreq replied then shoved his way deeper into the crowd.

Armed once more, Roak took a seat at the booth while Ple spoke to a different Gwreq. The giant man nodded, glared over at Roak, then lifted the Tcherian up by its tail and threw it over a stone shoulder.

“Was he for me or you?” Roak asked.

“My people will find out,” Ple said.

“Either way, he was motivated,” Roak said. “Not easy for a Tcherian to go full invisible while moving through a crowd. Good thing they stink.”

“You were able to detect the pheromones over the stench of this place?” Ple shook his head. “I’m impressed.”

“Wasn’t easy,” Roak said and smirked. “I’m getting the gas part of the Gas Chamber, that’s for sure.”

“I apologize,” Ple said.

“Why? You warned me,” Roak said then nodded his chin at the crowd that had decided the fun was over and were going back to drinking, shouting, and whatever else they felt like doing that didn’t involve Roak. “This is more my speed anyway.”

“This?” Ple asked. “You like to slum it?”

“It’s only slumming if you think you’re better than everyone else,” Roak said. “Hunters don’t get that luxury. We have to be like everyone else or we never find our targets.”

“Well said,” Ple responded. “I, however, am above all this and would prefer we not stay down here longer than needed. Personally, I’d–”

The lights on the level dimmed and a shriek of feedback drowned out whatever Ple said next.

“Ladies! Gentlemen! And liars that think they are either!” a voice boomed over the PA system. “Welcome to the Gas Chamber!”

The crowd roared and began to retreat from a painted circle in the middle of the huge room. Above that circle, a platform made from metal grating slowly lowered. An MC, human by his look, stood in the middle of the platform and slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees so he could address the entire room.

“It has come to my attention that we have royalty in our midst!” the MC called out and pointed at the booth where Ple and Roak were seated. “A royal pain in the ass!”

The spotlight stayed on Ple for several seconds as the crowd booed and jeered. Ple smiled and clapped, going along with the joke, but Roak could see the rage bubbling up behind his eyes. The spotlight finally went away and the MC cackled like he’d told the greatest joke ever.

“We do not know what has brought his High Holiness, Mr. Ple R, down to our level,” the MC continued. “But we should thank him, for perhaps some of his class and status will rub off on us. Or perhaps some of us will rub off on him! Eight Million Gods knows there are enough open sores in this crowd for that to happen!”

“Cute,” Roak said and kicked his feet up onto the booth’s bench seat. “They really love you.”

“We’ll see,” Ple said, his eyes locked on the MC.

“But, my delightfully decadent denizens of the Gas Chamber, tonight is not about the upper crust,” the MC said. “It is about you! It is about what you are here for! Who wants to watch an Eight Million Godsdamned fucking fight!”

The crowd went insane. Roak almost pressed his hands to his ears it was so loud. Then the MC held up a hand and the quiet was instantaneous.

“Oh, you want to know who we have in the Orb, don’t you?” the MC asked.

Roak had to give the sound tech credit for adjusting the volume of the PA to fit each mood.

“Oh, my lovely lovelies, do we have a treat,” the MC said. “We have two fighters that should not be down here. We have two fighters that were on their way to the top of the sport, so close to making the cut into heavyweight class, but fell just short of the mark.”

Ple leaned forward and Roak gave him a quizzical look. The Spilfleck ignored the bounty hunter, his focus on the MC’s next words.

“Tonight, we have for your fighting pleasure,” the MC bellowed, “Von She and Heya Gotor!”

That sent the crowd into an insane frenzy. Fights broke out. Men grabbed women, women grabbed men, and Roak could have sworn that more than a few were getting it on right then and there.

“Damn,” Roak muttered.

“I hate to make you wait so I won’t!” the MC yelled and pointed up at the ceiling. “Here it is! Your Orb of cruelty! The reason they call this holy shrine of violence the Gas Chamber!”

An Orb that was only half the size of the one Roak saw up in Section Seven descended from the ceiling. The MC jumped down from his platform and was lost in the crowd. The Orb took his place on the platform, staying suspended far above the crowd so all could see.

Inside the Orb were two beings that looked like they had been eating stim sticks whole instead of just smoking them like most junkies.

“What a waste,” Ple said. “Both of them had promise. Von She is supposed to be in rehab right now in order to be healthy for his comeback fight in three months.”

“That’s not happening,” Roak said. “And the other guy?”

“I have no idea why he’s down here,” Ple said. “Last roster I read, he was training in Section Three. It’s a lightweight section, but still a path back up to the top. Not anymore. His career is over.”

“My guess is money or mates,” Roak said. “I can’t tell what race they are, but it doesn’t matter. Chits or chicks is how the galaxy works. By chicks I mean–”

“Yes, I caught the innuendo,” Ple said. “As overt as it was.”

“If it’s overt, then it’s not an innuendo,” Roak said. Roak studied the Orb. “Why’s it smaller? Less grav?”

“No, the opposite,” Ple said. “The tighter the Orb, the heavier the grav it can maintain. One of those fighters will die this evening. But such is the Gas Chamber.”

The crowd screamed and cheered, their energy building to a fever pitch, until the MC shouted over the PA loud enough to shatter eardrums, “FIGHT!”

15.

Von She, a strange mix of races with aspects of Leforian exoskeleton armor and Halgon elasticity, charged with both fists raised and aimed for Heya Gotor’s head. Heya Gotor, who looked human but with a very distinct reptilian scaling to his skin, dodged the fists by ducking low and sending a jab at Von She’s abdomen.

Von She’s midsection avoided the blow by stretching to the right. His knee came up and connected with Heya Gotor’s chin, cracking teeth and sending the fighter falling backwards onto his ass.

The Orb began to spin.

“They start in normal grav,” Ple explained. “1G. The Orb spins until it reaches maximum grav.”

Roak studied the Orb and nodded in appreciation.

“That’s not plastiglass,” Roak said. “It’s spinning without there being any visual distortion. How?”

“That is a trade secret,” Ple said. “Shava Stemn Shava makes almost as much off of patents from Orb tech as he does off the league itself.”

“Which means you have a lot to protect when a fighter goes rogue,” Roak said.

“Precisely,” Ple replied.

“We have peak grav!” the MC announced and the crowd cheered.

The two fighters inside the Orb moved considerably slower, but with no less ferocity.

Von She dropped an elbow into the back of Heya Gotor’s neck. Gotor fell, but grabbed Von She by the ankles and pulled. It didn’t take much to get Von She off his feet as the grav pressed in on the fighters. Both were on the bottom of the Orb and looked to already be struggling.

“This could make for a pitiful fight,” Ple said. “I should have had an exposition fight arranged up above. You would have been able to see much better skill than this.”

“Fight ain’t over,” Roak said.

A waitress came over, but Ple waved her off.

“Hey now,” Roak said.

“You do not want to drink what they serve down here,” Ple said. “Despite this crowd being more to your liking, the beverages will haunt you for weeks.”

“Good to know,” Roak said. “Thanks.”

Gotor was the first to get back to his feet. Von She tried, but received a fist in the temple for his efforts and dropped hard. Gotor grabbed the fighter by the seams in his exoskeleton and lifted him up. Veins strained and muscles bulged on the man as he bore the weight of his opponent.

Then there was green blood and screaming.

The inside surface of the Orb dripped with gore.

Ple sat straight up and snapped his fingers. A Gwreq rushed over to him and bent low so Ple could speak directly into the man’s ear. The Gwreq frowned, but nodded and moved off as soon as Ple was done talking.

Half the crowd was going wild at the gore, the other half was booing over the fight being done.

Roak looked at Ple. “That shouldn’t happen?”

“That should not happen,” Ple replied. “Gotor is not that strong. Even on stim sticks, he doesn’t have the muscle mass to crack Von She’s exoskeleton plating.”

“The fight was fixed?” Roak asked.

“That would be too obvious,” Ple said. “Something else is at work and I want to know what.”

“Then you should stay and figure that out,” Roak said. “It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve seen how an Orb works. I have a feel for it now. I have a bounty to complete.”

“We are not leaving quite yet,” Ple said.

“You may not be, but I am,” Roak said. “Time to get back to my ship and head off to Ballyway. Need to have a chat with Per’teen Kilk before he decides to move on.”

“He may not be there at all,” Ple said.

“Maybe,” Roak said and shrugged as he stood up. Two Gwreqs moved from the crowd to block his path. “Ple? I have a job to do. A job you want me to do. You can stay here and deal with this SNAFU or you can come with me on this bounty. You can’t do both.”

Roak turned and faced off with Ple. The Gwreqs moved closer, but Ple held up a hand without taking his eyes off Roak.

“Five minutes,” Ple said.

Before Roak could respond, there was some shouting then a horrified gasp loud enough to silence most of the crowd. The two men ended their staring contest and looked up at the Orb. The MC and four heavies were stepping away from the Orb. One of the heavies turned and puked down on the crowd while another sort of slumped down onto his knees.

Roak and Ple looked back at each other then started shoving through the crowd towards the Orb. When they reached the platform, Ple clapped his hands and the floor buzzed under his and Roak’s boots. Then they were levitated up to the platform and both staring into the contents of the Orb.

“Don’t need you to tell me that is a whole mess of wrong there,” Roak said as he stared in at the remains of the two fighters.

Two fighters.

Both looked as if they’d been ripped apart then dissolved from the inside out. There was more liquid than solid coating the sides and bottom of the Orb.

Ple grabbed the MC by his lapels and shook him. “This Orb is not to be touched,” he snarled in the frightened and confused man’s face. “Clear the Gas Chamber now. You are out of business until I have time to get to the bottom of this.”

“Clear the Gas Chamber?” the MC stuttered. “Out of business?”

“Would you care to test me, Chella Po?” Ple barked.

“No, sir, no,” the MC replied. “The Gas Chamber has been exposed to Earth Plague. It’ll stay clear until you say otherwise.”

“Excellent choice,” Ple said and shoved the MC away.

The MC cleared his throat and tapped his neck. Feedback shrieked through the huge room.

“The Gas Chamber has been declared a quarantine zone! Earth Plague has been detected!” the MC announced.

The crowd turned into a panicked mob before he said the word “detected.” Every possible way out was jammed with bodies. Roak scratched his head as he watched the chaos build then dwindle until the Gas Chamber was empty of everyone except the MC, the MC’s four heavies, Roak and Ple, and those that obviously worked for Ple.

Even the bartenders and waitresses had fled, someone forgetting to turn off a tap. Beer poured freely behind the bar and Roak frowned.

“Gonna grab a mug,” Roak said and jumped down from the platform. “You have three minutes, Ple.”

“Roak, this is going to take longer than–”

“Three minutes and I’m gone,” Roak said as he reached behind the bar and grabbed a less than clean mug. He put it under the stream of beer then shut off the tap. “I’m not waiting around.”

Ple began snapping at the Gwreqs that worked for him, shouting specific orders with deadly intent. Roak sat on a sticky barstool and sipped his beer. He shivered with disgust at the taste then finished his drink and pounded the mug down onto the bar.

“Time’s up,” Roak said and stifled a belch. “We’re going to Ballyway. Now.”

Ple growled, but didn’t argue as he jumped down from the platform.

“This way,” he said and led Roak to a different lift corridor that was hidden behind a set of faux barrels in the far corner of the Gas Chamber. “Direct hangar access.”

“Handy,” Roak said and nodded to the Gwreqs that remained behind to take care of the Orb mess and follow Ple’s orders. “Interesting day.”

Ple grunted, but didn’t say anything as they walked down the musty corridor to a set of ancient-looking lift doors. The doors slid open and the facade of decrepitude was broken as Ple stepped onto an almost new lift. Roak followed and the lift was moving the instant the doors closed. Roak couldn’t feel even a vibration within the lift.

“One day, I want to see the schematics for Jafla Base,” Roak said. “You have an eclectic assortment of lifts and tech in this place.”

“Centuries of additions and improvements coupled with the constant weight of time that all bases deal with,” Ple said. “The maintenance crew is a small army.”

“Good to know,” Roak said.

“Why?” Ple asked.

“Why what?”

“Why is it good to know that the maintenance crew is a small army? They would never rise up against Shava Stemn Shava.”

“It was something to say. I was being polite,” Roak said. “I’ll stop.”

Before Ple could reply, the lift doors opened and Roak was surprised to see that they were being let out into the corridor that connected with his ship’s hangar.

“Another moltrans?” Roak asked, looking back at the lift as they exited into the corridor. “That ride defied physics.”

“Patent pending,” Ple said and pointed at the hangar. “The Borgon. That is yours.”

“Thanks for pointing that out,” Roak said.

“You are enjoying my irritation too much, Roak,” Ple said, his voice hard and sharp. “I would try not to.”

Roak rolled his eyes and moved ahead of Ple as the side hatch of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight opened and the steps descended.

“Welcome back, Roak,” Hessa said over the loudspeaker once Roak and Ple were through the hatch. “Shall I begin launch procedures?”

“Please,” Roak said. “We’re heading to the bridge now. Be ready for take-off as soon as we are strapped in.”

“May I inquire as to the name of our guest?” Hessa asked.

“Ple R,” Ple said. “And think of me more as a supervisor than a guest.”

“Will there be an interview and performance review as I have seen done on other stations and bases? Shall we negotiate wages and benefits?” Hessa asked.

“Cut it,” Roak grumbled.

Ple sneered. “I look forward to conversing with you, Hessa.”

“You know my name,” Hessa said and the mocking tone was gone. Nothing but cold electronics remained. “Then, yes, Ple R, I look forward to conversing with you as well. I am sure we have much to discuss.”

“No,” Roak snapped. “No discussing. No more verbal chess. We strap in, we launch, we head to Ballyway and get this damned hunt started proper. Do you hear me?”

There was silence for a few seconds.

“Are you addressing me or Mr. R?” Hessa asked after a while.

“Both of you,” Roak said. “My ship. My job. My rules.”

Hessa laughed quietly while Ple’s sneer broadened.

“Eight Million Gods damnit,” Roak growled as he stepped into the lift and slammed a fist against the button that would take him and Ple up to the bridge. “No more one-of-a-kind jobs like this shit. After this one is done, I’m getting an office and doing spousal affair stakeouts and lost dog gigs only. Getting real sick of the complications.”

“You did not choose the life, Roak,” Hessa said. “The life chose you. You have said that many times.”

“No, I have not!” Roak snapped. “That’s from Galactic Steve! You’re quoting a holo vid, Hessa!”

“Yes,” Ple said. “I very much look forward to conversing with Hessa on our journey.”

Roak balled a fist and almost punched the lift wall, but they reached the bridge level and the doors opened. So instead, he stomped his way across the bridge, sat down in the pilot’s seat, checked the readings, strapped in, and stared out the view shield.

“Ballyway,” Roak ordered. “Now.”

“Ballyway,” Hessa replied as Ple strapped into the co-pilot’s seat. “We are cleared for launch. We will reach our destination within eighteen hours. Might I suggest some rest between now and then?”

Roak already had his eyes closed as the ship took off and exited the hangar.

16.

Ballyway was the premier gaming planet within the galaxy. If it could be played, it could be found on Ballyway. That was the unofficial motto.

The official motto was “Fun for the whole family, even the members you don’t like!”

Roak never understood why they didn’t switch the mottos around. The official one always gave him the creeps. But then, so did Ballyway.

He never quite knew if it was the forced enjoyment that so many of the tourists had displayed across their features or if it was the obvious setups to part said tourists from their credits that the gaming establishments of Ballyway made zero attempt to hide. Whatever it was, Roak always felt like he needed eyes in the back of his head when he set foot on the planet. It was a level of paranoia that exceeded his usual norm.

But Roak kept it under control, as he did with most things, and made his way down the main avenue of Ballyway’s card game sector, Ple close by his side.

“I do have contacts that can make connecting with Kilk much easier,” Ple said.

“Those contacts will let him know we’re coming,” Roak said.

“They are discrete contacts,” Ple insisted.

“I bet,” Roak said. “Still not using them.”

“It is your hunt, Roak,” Ple said.

“Yeah. It is,” Roak replied.

They walked for several blocks before they came to a small establishment with a half broken sign out front that declared “The only way to beat the house is to cheat the house! Welcome to Nipun’s!”

“Ballyway,” Ple said with contempt. “I never question Shava Stemn Shava’s decision not to put a league facility on this planet.”

“Wise choice,” Roak said as he pushed open the double doors and walked into the establishment.

Six security bots sputtered up to him and waved wands across his and Ple’s bodies. The wands all beeped shrilly, but the bots did nothing, only rolled, floated, and creaked away, returning to dingy alcoves up against one of the walls.

“May I help you?” a frog croak of a voice asked from a podium by the opposite wall. “Here to test your skills against the house players? Or perhaps a private table where you two strapping men can face off and finally prove who has bigger balls?”

Roak turned and regarded the scarred and pus-crusted face that was barely visible over the top of the podium.

“Nipun,” Roak said.

“Oh, well, look what the Cervile dragged in,” the face said then was gone.

From around the podium came an old Ferg – a diminutive race that looked like a praying mantis and a beaver got drunk and bred. The Ferg stood there with her hands on her hips, her head barely up to Roak’s own hip, and regarded the bounty hunter with contemptuous eyes. He took the stare, a look of boredom on his features while he endured the ocular grilling. Then the Ferg’s attention drifted to Ple and her eyes widened.

“Mr. Ple R,” Nipun stated. “My how your fortunes have fallen.”

“My fortunes are as favorable as ever,” Ple said. “I am simply accompanying Roak as he obtains information regarding–”

“Kilk,” Nipun said.

“Ple, this is Nipun,” Roak said. “Nipun owns the joint.”

“I gathered that since her name is on the sign outside,” Ple said. “And how did you know we were looking for Kilk?”

“Who else would Ple R be looking for on Ballyway?” Nipun replied.

“He’s not, I am,” Roak said hooking a thumb at Ple. “Taska in?”

“He’s in the back taking some Skrang for all the chits they brought,” Nipun said. “I wouldn’t bother him at the moment.”

“I don’t have much time to wait,” Roak said and dug into a pocket on the right thigh of his armor. He produced a handful of chits and jangled them in his palm. “What’ll it cost to speed the game up?”

“All of that,” Nipun said as she took the offered chits. “How much do you want to offer Taska?”

Roak chuckled and brought out another handful of chits.

“He should be finished shortly,” Nipun said. “Let me inform him of your presence.”

She started to walk off, heading for a maze of half-full card tables where players from every race were represented. Most looked like they hadn’t eaten in a long time. They all looked like they were only two chits from total poverty. Nipun wound her way through the maze and was lost from sight as she walked into the shadows of the rear rows of the establishment.

“Taska?” Ple asked.

“Contact,” Roak replied.

“I assumed so,” Ple said. “And he is?”

“My contact,” Roak said. “Not yours.”

Ple held up his hands in mock surrender then sauntered off towards the closest card game. All heads swiveled to glare at him and he retreated back to Roak’s side.

“Don’t wander,” Roak said. “This part of the card sector does not get many visits from the law. If the players decide you’re bothering them, then Shava Stemn Shava will lose an attaché.”

“You underestimate my skills,” Ple said.

“You underestimate the superstitions and desperation card player’s harbor,” Roak said. “I don’t doubt you can outfight all of them. Maybe all at once. But their desperation will win eventually. It always does. It’s what fuels Ballyway, no matter the gaming establishment.”

“Quite,” Ple said and nodded in agreement. “I’ll refrain from bothering the players.”

Roak grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the spot where Nipun had disappeared into the shadows. After a couple of minutes, there were a few shouts, the sound of a chair being broken, the cry of a Skrang having something painful done to him or her, and a pistol blast. Not one of the players at the other tables even looked up from their cards at the commotion.

Nipun walked casually back to Roak and Ple, wiping blood from her cheek with a stained handkerchief.

“Taska is on his way,” Nipun said and held her hand out as she tucked the handkerchief between her cleavage until it was lost from sight.

Roak produced more chits and dropped them into her palm. She started to walk away, but he grabbed her by the shoulder. Nipun bared her teeth, the front two considerably longer and sharper than the rest. Their edges almost gleamed, catching what little light was provided in the card house.

“No need to get bitey,” Roak said and let go. “Just wanted you to know I expect my chit’s worth of information today.”

“I make no guarantees, Roak,” Nipun said. “You know that.”

“Not looking for a guarantee,” Roak replied. “Looking for value. Don’t make me ask for a refund.”

Nipun regarded Roak for a few seconds then nodded and returned to her podium. She climbed up behind it and stared out the front windows, dismissing Roak and Ple entirely.

There was a bark of laughter and Roak turned back to the card tables to see a large Groshnel making its invertebrate way towards him. The Groshnel had a Skrang clutched in two arms, a Skrang clutched in two more arms, and was dragging one behind it while it walked on its three remaining appendages.

“Roak,” Taska said as he walked past Roak and Ple and headed straight for the front door.

With one of the three unoccupied arms/legs, Taska kicked open the door and threw all the Skrang out into the street. They rolled for a few meters then came to rest dead center where passersby had to step around them to get where they were going. No one offered to see if the Skrang needed help or were alive.

“Whatcha need, pal?” Taska asked as he returned to Roak. He looked Ple up and down and shook his cephalopod head back and forth. “My how the mighty have fallen. I never would have thought I’d be in the presence of Ple R.”

Nipun snorted from her podium, but offered no other comment.

“Ignore the Spilfleck,” Roak said, spitting Ple’s race out of his mouth like it was an offense to even say it.

Ple bristled, but said nothing.

“Oh, I already have ignored this lizard,” Taska said. “Whatcha need, Roak? I ain’t asking again.”

“Guy named Kilk,” Roak said. “Location, security details, any other intel you can give me so I may have a long, leisurely chat with the guy sans interruption.”

“Sans interruption?” Taska laughed, his boneless body inflating/deflating over and over. “How am I to know who or what will interrupt your chat?”

“You can’t,” Roak said. “That’s on me. All I need is the intel, Taska. Everything you have.”

“What makes you think I know this Per’teen Kilk?” Taska asked.

“Because you just said his first name when we did not provide that,” Ple said.

Roak and Taska turned their glares onto Ple until the Spilfleck nodded and took a step back.

“That just cost you extra,” Taska said to Roak. “Pay up.”

Roak shook his head. “I gave you enough chits already. Talk.”

“I’m no longer in the mood,” Taska said and patted his midsection. “My stomachs are acting up. Haven’t eaten in hours. I tell you what, Roak, you and your Spilfleck bitch can come back in a few hours after I’ve had a meal. I’ll see what I can dig up for you by then.”

“One hour,” Roak said.

“Two,” Taska replied.

“One,” Roak insisted. “Or none.”

Taska raised four arms and waved them about. “Don’t get hostile, Roak. Don’t get hostile. One hour and I’ll have what you need. Can’t say it’s what you want, but it’ll be what you need.”

“That’s fair,” Roak said and turned to walk off.

Taska grabbed his elbow. “Hold on. Food ain’t cheap, Roak.”

“I paid for the intel,” Roak said. “Handle your own meal.”

“I got it,” Ple said and dug into his suit pocket to pull out several shiny, new chits.

Taska looked at the chits. Roak looked at the chits. Nipun leaned as far over her podium as she could to look at the chits.

“Eight Million Gods,” Taska said. “This one ain’t gonna last a day around here.”

The Groshnel took the chits and left, waving an arm over what passed for a shoulder with his race.

Roak immediately pointed a finger at Nipun.

“Do not make any comm calls,” Roak snarled. “Give her two chits.”

Ple didn’t move.

“I’m talking to you, R,” Roak said.

“Oh,” Ple replied and fished out two chits. He tossed them at the Ferg who caught them with practiced ease. “May we leave now?”

“Yeah,” Roak said and walked to the front doors.

17.

Roak kept walking and Ple had to struggle to keep up. As soon as they reached the mouth of an alleyway, Roak spun about and grabbed Ple, throwing him into the darkness. Before Ple could react, Roak had the Spilfleck by the front of his suit and slammed against the alley wall.

“Mouth shut,” Roak warned. “On Jafla, I was nice. I played by your rules because it was your territory. Now we’re out in the field and in my territory. You shut the hell up and let me do my job or we skip to the end of this job right now where I kill you before you kill me.”

“You don’t know me well enough to assume what is or isn’t my territory,” Ple said and looked down at Roak’s fists gripping his suit. “Do you mind?”

“Not letting go until you acknowledge that this job is my job and I’m in charge,” Roak said.

“I did acknowledge that back on Jafla,” Ple said. “But that does not mean I will be a silent observer.”

“No, that’s exactly what that means,” Roak spat.

He let go and placed a forearm up under Ple’s chin, the light armor pressing into the Spilfleck’s throat. Roak pointed out of the alley with his free hand.

“Back there. That. Never again,” Roak said. “They know who you are. They know who you work for. They are already giving Kilk a chance to pay them higher than what I paid them so the man has time to prepare for our arrival or flee the planet.”

Roak tapped his ear.

“Hessa?”

“Of the ships that have left since your unfortunate interaction in Nipun’s establishment, all are confirmed tourist vehicles,” Hessa replied.

Ple looked puzzled.

“Who are you talking to? Your ship’s AI? How? You do not have implants,” Ple said, his voice a thin rasp as Roak’s forearm continued to apply pressure to his neck.

“Could he have stowed away on one of them?” Roak asked.

“Not that I can see from the security vids,” Hessa said. “Families leaving. None with luggage large enough for a man Per’teen Kilk’s size.”

“Good,” Roak said. “Keep looking.”

“I will,” Hessa replied and the comm went silent.

“You got lucky,” Roak said and let Ple go.

The Spilfleck’s frill pulsed several times then calmed and flattened as he also flattened the wrinkles in his suit.

“I have to say I misjudged you, Roak,” Ple said. “From your performance on Jafla, I took you more for a lucky fool and galactic thug. I can see now you are a serious professional. I apologize for any harm I have done to your hunt.”

Roak smirked. “You’re good, but not that good. I’m not Shava Stemn Shava. Kiss my ass all you want, all you’ll get is the taste of shit in your mouth.”

“Lovely,” Ple said and nodded at the street. “Shall we continue to wherever it is you are taking us while we wait for that Groshnel gentleman to obtain the information you need?”

“We’re here,” Roak said and nodded at the far end of the alley. “Come on.”

Ple followed as Roak wound his way around trash bins and stacked incinerator carbon blocks. The smell of the alley became wet and dank, like a swampy sewer that hadn’t been used in decades.

“Lovely,” Ple said again, the back of his hand to his nose.

They made it to the dead end, a moisture-stained wall made of a mishmash of materials. Roak pounded a fist on the wall, producing a dull thud that told anyone snooping around that the space behind was solid.

Except it wasn’t as a view slat was pulled aside and a pair of yellow eyes with slit pupils stared out at the two men.

“Password,” the owner of the eyes demanded.

Roak drew his KL09 and put the barrel to one of the eyes.

“You gotta be faster than that, Carla,” Roak said.

“Just messing with ya, Roak,” Carla said as the wall began to lower to reveal a very attractive Cervile woman standing before them. “Who’s your friend?”

“Bob,” Roak said before Ple could introduce himself.

“Well, Roak and Bob, come on in and enjoy yourselves,” Carla said as she moved aside. “How long you gonna be around?”

“Only an hour,” Roak said. “Waiting for Taska to get me some intel.”

“That so?”

“That’s so,” Roak said. “Sorry it’s a short visit.”

“It always is with you, Roak,” Carla said and pointed at the small, but very clean tavern beyond the wall. “Have a seat where you like. It’s slow today so there’s only that Urvein in the corner. I’ll get you a bottle as soon as I deal with these mooks.”

Carla looked past Roak’s shoulder, but Roak didn’t seem to care and walked into the tavern.

“By private invitation only,” Carla said as Roak found a corner table and took a seat, his back to the wall.

That’s when he got a view of Carla extending her claws from her fingertips and showing them to two young punks that were moving towards the open wall. Ple sat down opposite Roak and turned to regard the scene as well.

“Best you forget this alley, kids,” Carla said and the two punks nodded then turned and fled. She stepped back through the wall and it closed tight behind her. Her yellow eyes fell on Roak. “Usual?”

“Anything new I should know about?” Roak asked.

“Got some bootleg Klav whiskey that just came in this morning,” Carla said as she went around the bar and picked up a bottle. “But I haven’t had a chance to crack the seal and taste it yet. Could be piss, could be bliss.”

“Bring it over and let’s find out,” Roak said.

Carla smiled and threw the bottle across the room. Roak caught it easily and set about breaking the seal while Carla grabbed three glasses and an extra chair on her way. She spun the chair around and straddled it as she joined the two men. Her eyes went from Roak opening the bootleg whiskey to Ple.

“I swear I know your face,” Carla said. “Why?”

Ple glanced at Roak and rolled his eyes.

“You can talk to Carla,” Roak said. “Now that we’re inside her tavern.”

Carla twirled a furred finger. “Jammed. Completely impenetrable by tech. You got a listener on ya?”

“I do not,” Ple replied.

“Good because it’d be fried already,” Carla said. “The second you walked through my wall.”

She reached out and slapped Roak across the cheek so fast that it would have taken a vid replay to see it. Roak laughed.

“For pulling the KL09 on me,” Carla said with a feline smile. “Asshole.”

“Ple R,” Ple said and offered his hand.

“Aw, that’s who you are,” Carla said. “Shava Stemn Shava’s guy.”

“You could say that,” Ple replied.

“How else would I say it?” Carla asked then snagged the bottle from Roak. “Eight Million Gods, man, you take forever.”

“The seal is thick,” Roak said.

Carla produced another claw and slit the seal with barely a flick of her fingertip. She poured the whiskey and pushed a glass in front of Roak and Ple each, lifting hers and offering a toast.

“To another Roak mess,” she announced.

“Why’s that?” Roak asked and clinked her glass. He drank the whiskey down, coughed, smiled, and took the bottle to pour more. “How is this another mess? And I take offense to the word another, by the way, Carla.”

“You’re on Ballyway,” Carla said as she finished her drink and looked at the glass. “Damn. Not bad. Half the cost of the real thing. I may have to order more.”

“It wouldn’t pass muster on Jafla,” Ple said, giving the Cervile an apologetic look. “It is close, but connoisseurs will tell the difference.”

“How many fucking connoisseurs do you see in here, Mr. R?” Carla asked. The Urvein in the corner raised his beefy paw. “Oh, knock it off, Taps.”

“It is good for a bootleg, I will say,” Ple admitted, pouring himself a second glass as well.

“What’s the gig?” Carla asked. “Must not involve a tourist if you’re putting Taska on the info trail.”

“Per’teen Kilk,” Roak said.

“Never heard of the guy,” Carla said. “That Leforian?”

“It is,” Roak said.

“You know me, but do not know Per’teen Kilk?” Ple asked.

“I don’t know you, Mr. R,” Carla said. “I know of you only because you orbit Shava Stemn Shava. And anyone that’s placed a bet on the Orbs on Ballyway knows of Shava Stemn Shava. So, who the hell is Per’teen Kilk?”

“Supposed to be a legendary trainer,” Roak said, filling his third glass. “Has a place on Ballyway.”

“Why?” Carla asked. “If he’s some legend with the Orbs, why would he pick Ballyway to retire to?”

“It is one of many residences that the man keeps,” Ple said. “We have it on good authority that he is here now. Otherwise, we would have visited a different planet or station.”

“Mighty good logic,” Carla said, her voice thick with feline sarcasm. “You smart.”

“I’m hoping you can answer your own question,” Roak said. “Why would some Orb trainer come to Ballyway? Why have a place here at all? He’s flush with credits. Why here?”

“He’s trying to make more,” Carla mused. “Or he is connected with an outfit that is trying to make more. Maybe he’s the financing? Or maybe he’s the mark?”

“He’s being conned? I highly doubt that,” Ple said. “Kilk is difficult to deal with, but not stupid enough to be conned.”

“Depends on who is doing the con,” Carla said.

“True,” Ple said. “But he is a veteran of the Orbs. He’s seen all the cons by now.”

“Probably,” Carla said. “That’s some murky biz you work in, Mr. R.”

“Ple, please,” Ple said.

“Ple, please,” Carla said and pretended to fan her face. “Oh, my. Roak, you brought me a gentleman?”

“No, I really didn’t,” Roak said.

“Four incoming,” Hessa said.

“Four what?” Roak asked.

Carla looked at Roak, Ple looked at Carla.

“I thought all tech was jammed in here,” Ple said.

“It is,” Carla replied, her eyes narrowing at Roak. “He doesn’t have implants.” Her eyes narrowed further. “Roak? Did you get an implant? What in all the Hells, man?”

Roak held up four fingers then pointed at the entrance wall. Carla nodded and moved quickly to the bar where she retrieved a heavy caliber rifle and several magazines.

“Fully armored,” Hessa continued. “Race unknown. Doesn’t matter. Their armor is top notch and powered. What armaments do you have?”

“My KL09 and Ple’s Defta,” Roak replied. “Carla? What are you sporting there?”

“RX31 plasma assault rifle,” Carla replied. “Why? Not enough?”

“Carla has an RX31 plasma assault rifle,” Roak relayed back to Hessa.

“The two pistols will be nothing,” Hessa said. “Their armor is too strong.”

“Would you care to tell me what is going on?” Ple asked.

“Taska ratted us out,” Roak said. “I honestly didn’t think he’d do it.”

“Could it have been the Ferg?” Ple asked as he pulled his Defta from his suit.

“Same thing,” Carla said as she slapped a magazine into the rifle and pulled back the slide. It powered up with a powerful hum. “Told you it was just another Roak mess.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re usually right,” Roak said. “What else you got, Carla?”

“Taps?” Carla called.

The Urvein stood up from his table and shook his whole body. Rolls of thick fur and skin shuddered as he squared his shoulders and flipped the table over he had just been resting on. Strapped to the bottom of the table was a nice array of pistols.

“What are we looking at?” Taps asked Roak, suddenly very awake and very alert.

“He’s new,” Roak said and smiled at Carla.

“And he fooled you,” Carla said. “Taps?”

“Guy that brought the mess to us?” Taps asked Roak.

“Heavy battle armor,” Roak said. “The RX31 can handle it, but my KL09 won’t.”

“How many?” Taps asked.

“Four,” Roak said.

Taps looked down at the pistols. He bobbed his head up and down then picked up a pistol that was almost as big as Carla’s rifle. He threw it to Ple who barely managed to catch it without falling out of his chair. Another was thrown to Roak, but he handled it easily.

“They’ve got a kick, so use a double grip,” Taps said. He selected an even larger one for himself. It powered up as soon as it was in his palm. Taps took aim at the entrance wall. “You think they’ll knock first?”

The wall exploded inward.

18.

The four armored attackers rushed into the tavern, their rifles firing on auto and shredding everything they were aimed at.

Taps took six shots to his chest, roared, and returned fire.

One of the attackers lost his head. There then gone. A mist of blood and a cloud of black metal alloy sprayed the edges of the scorched entrance.

Roak and Ple hit the deck fast. They had no time to return fire as the three remaining attackers split up and pinned them down with a barrage of plasma blasts. Two switched targets and concentrated on Taps, but one continued to pepper the area around Roak and Ple with plasma.

“Eight Million Godsdamnit,” Roak said as he rolled behind an over turned table. He did a mental five count then popped up and returned fire. His light armor took a hit in the left shoulder, but he managed to squeeze off three shots before falling onto his back. “Damnit!”

“Easily fixed,” Hessa said. “I have alerted the authorities and they are en route.”

“No, they’re not,” Roak said. “They won’t do crap down here in this part of the card sector. No one cares about burnouts, and Nipun plus the other damn proprietors, pay a lot of chits to keep them out.”

“Then you will need to defeat these attackers as soon as possible,” Hessa stated.

“Ya think?” Roak barked as he turned and glared at Ple. “Shoot them, asshole!”

“Patience,” Ple said as he gripped his large pistol. “Timing is everything.”

“No, living is everything!” Roak barked, spinning himself around and putting his back to the overturned table.

The table took the plasma hits that were sent at it. Carla was well aware of the need for a good blast shield, even table sized ones. It was only one of many reasons Roak liked the lady.

“Ple,” Roak snarled. “Use the damn pistol or I’ll use mine on you!”

“Calm down, Roak,” Ple said.

“When I said defeat them as soon as possible, I meant it,” Hessa said. “You have six more incoming. ETA is five minutes.”

“Just say that next time!” Roak yelled.

“Say what?” Ple asked then shook his head. “Never mind.”

Ple dodged to the side of the table and fired on the attacker pinning them down. The man screamed as half his face was obliterated. His helmet sparked and sputtered then he fell over, his remaining eye a cold, dead orb staring back at Ple.

Taps roared over and over as he stomped towards the two remaining attackers. Plasma blasts pelted him, but he took the onslaught as if he was being hit by water balloons. His own pistol was barking heavy-caliber explosive rounds that were putting craters in the floor, the bar, the walls, pretty much everywhere. The attackers were on the move constantly, desperate to stay ahead of Taps’ aim.

Carla whistled and placed the barrel of her RX31 against the temple of one of the attacker’s helmet. He froze and held up his hands.

“Don’t care,” she said and pulled the trigger. The man’s head disappeared.

The last attacker spun to engage Carla, but that meant taking his eyes off Taps. Before he could get one shot off, the massive Urvein was on him and lifting him off the ground. Then he was literally tearing the man limb from limb until all that was left was a leaking torso and a slow, pitiful death rattle coming from the dying man’s throat.

Taps dropped the torso and fell over. He dragged himself to the bar and propped his back against it.

“Gonna need some help getting him into his med pod,” Carla said, limping around the bar to Taps.

“You hit?” Roak asked as he stood up, favoring his injured shoulder.

“Hunk of helmet in my thigh,” Carla said and glanced down at her leg. “Good-sized hunk, too.”

“How are we going to move him?” Ple asked, following Roak over to the fallen Urvein.

“Grav dolly in the back room,” Carla said.

“I’ll fetch it,” Ple replied and rushed to the only other door in the place.

“He’s much nicer than his reputation,” Carla said.

“No, he’s not,” Roak said. “Hessa?”

“Two minutes out,” Hessa replied. “Grav roller is turning the corner now. They’ll be to the alley in seconds.”

“You have your bolthole ready?” Roak asked Carla.

“Always,” Carla said.

“Will the med pod fit?”

“It would be an idiotic bolthole if it didn’t.”

“Then let’s get you in there,” Roak said. “We have six incoming.”

“Six more of these bastards?” Carla asked and glared around at the corpses. “We can take them.”

“No, you cannot,” Hessa said in Roak’s ear. “Talbbot heavy canons.”

“Mechanized weaponry? Shit,” Roak said.

“What’s your earworm telling you?” Carla asked.

“Talbbot heavy canons,” Roak replied.

“Bringing the big guns,” Taps said.

“Here!” Ple said as he rushed from the back room with a grav dolly in tow.

“I can get on by myself,” Taps said when the dolly came to a stop next to him.

Taps dragged himself onto the grav dolly. It barely held half of him on its small platform, but he tucked up his legs and nodded to Carla as she took the controls from Ple.

“Get out of here,” Carla said. “We’ll be fine.”

She spun the grav dolly around and shoved it towards the back door.

“Go!” she yelled as she gave Roak a last look over her shoulder.

“What’s coming?” Ple asked.

“More than we can handle,” Roak said and ran towards the destroyed entrance.

At the mouth of the alley were six more attackers. In addition to their battle armor, they wore grav-assisted exoskeletons, each with a heavy canon mounted on their left shoulders.

“Taking us alive is not part of their strategy, I see,” Ple said and started firing.

“This way,” Roak said, grabbing Ple by the arm and yanking him out into the alley.

“Towards them? Are you mad?” Ple exclaimed.

“Trust me,” Roak said as he fiddled with the controls on the huge pistol in his hands. “See those incinerator carbon blocks?”

“Yes, of course I see them,” Ple snapped. “So what?”

“Stop whining,” Roak snarled. “Get behind them.”

Roak threw his pistol towards the incoming attackers. They responded by sending a volley of mortars his way. Roak dove at Ple and knocked the man behind the carbon blocks as the mortars impacted with what was left of the alley’s back wall. The noise was deafening and the two men were covered in plasticrete and brick as the mortars nearly vaporized the end of the alley.

“Now!” Roak yelled and pulled Ple to his feet and started climbing up over the carbon blocks. “Move ass!”

Ple didn’t argue and followed right behind Roak.

Roak reached the top of the stack of carbon blocks and jumped straight up into the air, his hands raised above him. He cried out as he grabbed onto something, his left hand nearly coming loose, but he held tight and started to climb. Ple began to argue, but shut his mouth as he copied Roak.

The attackers adjusted targeting and prepared to fire another volley of mortars. Except the pistol never gave them the opportunity. It went critical before they could fire again.

Roak cried out once more as the blast wave nearly threw him off the ladder he was climbing. But he gritted his teeth and kept moving, hand over hand, until he reached the top of the building and rolled over the ledge to come to rest on his back. Ple almost rolled on top of him, but was able to tuck to the side.

The alley below was an inferno. Several more explosions rocked the buildings around it and plasma fire shot straight up into the air, high enough for Roak and Ple to see it from where they lay.

“Explain,” Ple said.

“Carla has several escape routes planned,” Roak said. “She always has at every one of her establishments. I’m one of the few that know her tricks.”

“You two must be close,” Ple said.

“Not really,” Roak replied as he got onto his hands and knees. He hung his head, took a few deep breaths, then struggled up onto his feet. “We can’t stay here. They’ll be sending more.”

“I get the distinct feeling that those men were not on the Ferg’s payroll,” Ple said. “That was high-end battle tech they were sporting.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Roak said. “But Nipun and Taska must have called them in.”

“Care to enlighten me as to what we are up against?” Ple asked.

Roak waved him off, grunted at the pain it caused in his shoulder, then staggered across the top of the building to the other side. He stared down at the alley there and immediately ducked back. Plasma blasts filled the air where his head had been only half a second before.

“Well…shit,” Roak said.

“More,” Ple said. “The expense must be astronomical. Not just for the operators using that battle tech, but for the payoffs to the authorities and the clean-up needed so it does not harm business among the tourists. More reasons to avoid Ballyway.”

“No need to pay off the authorities,” Roak said. “It’s built into every bureaucrats’ salary on this planet. As for the tourists, the media will spin it as a crackdown on the underbelly of the gaming establishments and Mr. and Mrs. Loser will nod and smile and keep filling their faces with food while they empty their accounts of credits.”

There was a high-pitched whine from above, and Roak shielded his eyes against the glare of the sky as he looked up.

“Huh,” he grunted.

Ple followed his gaze and shook his head. “What is that?”

“Grav copter,” Roak said. “A new one, by the looks.”

“A grav copter? A grav copter!” Ple shouted. “Are those rotors? What kind of backwards tech vehicle is that?”

“Not rotors,” Roak said. “Generators. You’ve never used a grav copter before? It generates its own energy by using the up and down drafts in the air. That powers the grav modules underneath. It can’t run out of energy. Expensive as all hell.”

“I live in an expensive world,” Ple said.

“Grav copters are military grade only, not private empire grade,” Roak said.

“Military. Excellent,” Ple grumbled. “An air assault.”

“I said it was expensive as hell,” Roak replied. “It’s not part of the attack. Not in the budget for this planet.”

“And those mechanized exoskeletons are?” Ple asked.

Roak gave him a sharp look. “Shut up. Do I look like the Eight Million Godsdamn budget director for this stupid planet?”

A rocket came screeching up from the alley below and Roak shot it out of the air. The concussion from the blast knocked both he and Ple to their knees.

“What is your plan, Roak?” Ple said. “You are used to getting yourself into situations like this, so get us out of it.”

Roak pointed at the grav copter.

“I think someone already is,” Roak said as two lines were dropped from the vehicle, hitting the roof with heavy thwacks. “Let’s go.”

“You want to climb those ropes and get onto that vehicle without knowing who or what is inside it?” Ple snapped. “Are you mad?”

“You want me to get us out of this situation? Well, this is how I do it,” Roak said as he grabbed the end of the rope and tied a quick harness around his thighs and up under his shoulders. “Get to it, Ple. They can’t hover forever.”

Ple glared at Roak as he tied his own harness then looked up at the grav copter.

“The trick is,” Roak said as they were pulled up towards the vehicle. “Getting out of the next situation. Should be interesting to see what it is.”

“The only people more insane than you are those that hire you!” Ple shouted as he was jerked off his feet. The grav copter took off before even coming close to reeling the two men in.

“What does that say about you?” Roak shouted back.

“That I must be insane for working for a man that hires someone like you!” Ple yelled.

The grav copter rose above the incoming rocket fire, sending countermeasures down at the projectiles until it was high enough to safely bank and flee the area. Roak and Ple were finally brought all the way to the cargo area. Free of the drag, the grav copter angled its nose and shot away from the sector at a speed that would have torn the two men apart if they hadn’t been yanked inside seconds before.

19.

The men inside the grav copter, Leforians all, did not speak to Roak or Ple. They barely even gave them a glance beyond making sure they were strapped in for the flight. Ple acted like he wanted to question them, but Roak gave a shake of his head before a word could be uttered.

Roak glanced about the grav copter’s cargo hold, glanced at the Leforians, then shrugged, closed his eyes, and eased back into his seat.

“Are you really going to sleep?” Ple asked.

“Not if you ask me stupid questions,” Roak replied. “Get some rest while you can. You never know the next chance you’ll have.”

Roak opened one eye just a slit and watched Ple fuss for a minute before giving up and settling in. Once the Spilfleck’s eyes were closed, Roak went back to trying to catch some rest before the next phase of their visit to Ballyway.

It took about forty-five minutes to arrive at their destination. Roak estimated it could be five minutes either way, but he was usually fairly correct at timing his rests. Once the grav copter touched ground and the generators powered down, he opened his eyes and stretched. Ple was wide awake and staring out the opening of the cargo hold.

“Did they leave us?” Ple asked when the last Leforian hopped out and walked away without saying a word. “They did. The insanity continues.”

“The galaxy works in ways you aren’t used to,” Roak said as he undid his straps, stood and twisted his back to work out the kinks of travel, then moved towards the open hatch.

“Where are you going?” Ple asked. “We have no idea what we are walking into.”

“Which is what I’m going to find out,” Roak said. “If our host wanted us dead, we’d be dead. If our host was afraid of us, we’d be under guard.”

“You do not know any of that, Roak,” Ple said. “Especially who our host is.”

Roak paused before the hatch and gave Ple a look of pity.

“Are you really not catching up to what’s happening here?” Roak asked and rolled his eyes. “No. Of course not. This is why beings like Shava Stemn Shava hire me. Or coerce me to work for them. A lot of that happens in your circle. Syndicate, super rich, or both, they always like to force me into work. They get off on the power of it. The thing is, I don’t really care as long as I get paid my chits. If your boss wants to feel big and flex his muscles, so be it. I still get paid. I always get paid.”

Roak jumped down from the grav copter and pointed back at Ple who was just then standing and stretching.

“The reason I always get paid is because I figure things out before I absolutely have to,” Roak said. “Come on. We get to go have a chat with Per’teen Kilk.”

“Kilk? Kilk sent this contraption for us?” Ple asked as he moved quickly to the hatch, jumping down to join Roak. “How can you know that?”

“Because the guy is standing right there,” Roak said and pointed towards the other side of the grav copter where a good-sized manor house sat amongst a stand of unbelievably tall trees. “Or am I wrong?”

Ple squinted into the day’s glare then nodded. A Leforian was standing on a third-floor balcony, his four arms crossed over his armored chest.

“That’s Kilk,” Ple said and shook his head. “Of course. I should have recognized them.”

“The other Leforians? Yeah, I guessed they were part of his brood,” Roak said. “You said he had his offspring do the Orb fighter training now, but Leforians have dozens of offspring. Not all of them will want to be trainers. Stands to reason many would go into private security.”

Roak clapped Ple on the shoulder and started walking towards the house.

“Hold up,” Ple said, his eyes never leaving the waiting form of Per’teen Kilk. “Kilk and I do not exactly stand on good terms.”

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Roak said. “We can deal with whatever bad blood you have. Come on.”

As Roak walked, he scoped the area, checking out the security measures in place. At first glance, it was a decent-sized estate, several acres of well-maintained land with the manor house in the middle. But, the closer he looked, the more he saw that it was a well-fortified compound, not an estate. Per’teen Kilk wasn’t there to retire. He was there to stay safe.

“Picked a weird planet to hunker down on,” Roak shouted up at the Leforian as they drew closer to the house.

“Shut up and save your words,” Per’teen Kilk shouted down at him. “Come inside so we can talk. Not going to yell back and forth outside like a couple of grubs.”

Kilk’s mandibles twitched as he focused on Ple.

“Shava Stemn Shava can’t help but keep his nose in everything,” Kilk said with such venom that Roak and Ple both paused. Then the Leforian was gone from the balcony.

“He’s not like other Leforians,” Ple said.

“I don’t know about that,” Roak replied. “I’ve met my share of Leforians that aren’t the mom busybodies.”

“I do not doubt that,” Ple said as the double doors of the house’s main entrance opened and the two men were greeted by six very large Leforians.

“Weapons,” one of them said.

Roak sighed and removed his weapons. He handed them to the Leforian who turned and stared at Ple.

“Lost mine back in the city,” Ple said.

“You have a Defta Stinger under your left armpit,” the Leforian said. “I will take it from you, if you prefer that route.”

“No need for that,” Ple said as he removed the Defta from his suit. That caused him to study himself closely. “I’m an Eight Million Gods damned mess.”

“Light armor is best for field work,” Roak said and nodded past the head Leforian. “You gonna move your bug ass and let us in or what?”

That caused the rest of the Leforians to bristle, their mandibles clicking and clacking in anger as they flexed their quad arms.

“He’s baiting you, boys,” Kilk called from inside. “Do not take it. Come in, Roak. Bring Ple with you.”

Roak slid past the angry-looking welcoming party and walked across the long, tile-floored entry hall to a well-apportioned great room. Ple was right behind him, eyes darting every way at once.

“Relax,” Roak ordered. “Calm that lizard brain, Ple.”

“You like to point out the obvious characteristics of different races, don’t you?” Kilk said as he crossed the great room, his lower right hand extended. “Is it honest bigotry or do you use it as a destabilizing tool?”

“Destabilizing,” Roak said as he crossed and shook the offered hand. “Bigotry says more about the bigot than the target.”

“While destabilization is only about the target,” Kilk said and gestured to a huge couch in the middle of the room. “Sit, Roak. Let’s talk.” Kilk eyed Ple. “You may sit as well, Shava Stemn Shava’s bitch.”

“Destabilization,” Roak said and laughed as he took a seat. One of the other Leforians approached and offered a tray of various drinks. Roak took the mug of beer and sipped it. “Nice.”

“I have it brewed on planet,” Kilk said. “Ple? A drink?”

“No, thank you,” Ple replied as he sat at the opposite end of the couch from Roak while Kilk took a seat in a high-backed chair across an ornate coffee table from them both.

“You are here for what reason?” Kilk asked.

“I think you know,” Roak replied, taking another sip of beer. “Or you wouldn’t have sent the grav copter. Surprised you can afford one of those.”

“It’s on loan to me from a friend,” Kilk said.

“Expecting an invasion?” Roak asked.

“I’m expecting something,” Kilk said. “Could be you two are it. If so, then I over-prepped.”

“You may have since I’m only here for intel,” Roak said. “Hoping you can put me on the trail of Jonny Nebula.”

“He’s dead,” Kilk stated.

“You see, I thought that too, but the guy sitting to my right here thinks perhaps Jonny Nebula faked his death,” Roak said. “Or, at least Ple’s boss does.”

“And you?” Kilk asked. “What do you think?”

“I don’t yet,” Roak said. “Not enough information.”

“Can’t make a guess?” Kilk asked. “You’re a professional, Roak. I’ve even heard of you. I bet there’s a theory inside that hunter’s head of yours.”

“Theories get in the way,” Roak said. “I just follow the facts and leads until I find my target. Don’t need a theory to do that.”

Kilk leaned forward and rested his four elbows on his legs.

“Why do you think I’d know where Jonny Nebula is if he’s alive?” Kilk asked. “His death almost destroyed my career as a trainer. I only bounced back because it would have cost Shava Stemn Shava millions and millions of credits if I walked away from the other Orb fighters I was training.”

“So, if he was alive, you’d ignore that fact because you’re mad at him?” Roak asked. “You’ve been fairly straight with me until that one.”

“No, I’m saying that it has been a long time since he died and I’ve rebuilt my reputation enough to retire to this,” Kilk said and spread his arms wide to take in the house. “Only one of many I own across the galaxy.”

“Who were the armored soldiers that came for us?” Ple asked. “How’d you know they were coming for us?”

Roak shook his head and turned to glare at Ple.

“No idea who the soldiers were,” Kilk said. “Didn’t even know they’d be there.”

Roak returned his attention to Kilk and cocked his head. “Taska called you, not those armored assholes.”

“Yes,” Kilk said. “I don’t know him all that well, but well enough that he gives me a heads up whenever my name is mentioned. I was flattered to hear that Roak was asking around about me.”

“Bullshit,” Ple said.

“It’s not,” Roak said. “Makes more sense than Taska turning us in to those armored goons. The soldiers that came for us could be the same force you’re gearing up to fight.”

“Could be,” Kilk said.

“Why?” Ple asked. “What have you done?”

Kilk studied Ple for a couple of seconds then returned his gaze to Roak. “How much of all of this have they told you?”

“Enough to get started,” Roak said. “But not enough to know their true motivation. I suspect it has nothing to do with getting even with Jonny Nebula or anything that stupid. It’s not about Shava Stemn Shava being in deep with the syndicates, either. More than likely it’s about something Jonny has or had. Maybe something he knows. If he’s alive.”

Kilk chuckled and pointed at Roak then returned his glare to Ple.

“See? It’s that kind of thinking that gives a guy a reputation in the galaxy,” Kilk said. “Not the ass kissing.”

“Ass kissing is only one of my many duties,” Ple said. “Tying up loose ends is another.”

Kilk’s body went rigid. His mandibles clicked a couple of times before he leaned back in his chair.

“Here to kill me, Ple?” Kilk asked. “Is that it?”

“No,” Ple said. “I am here to see that you make good on a promise you made to Shava Stemn Shava many years ago. You are late in fulfilling that promise.”

Roak watched the two men closely. Kilk’s mandibles twitched while Ple’s brows knitted together. There was an unspoken conversation going on that Roak was not privy to.

“Okay, bullshit time is over. Jonny Nebula,” Roak said, interrupting the silent tension. “He died in the Orb, but didn’t. Shava Stemn Shava says he’s the one that killed him. That true?”

“That is 100% true,” Kilk replied, his eyes remaining on Ple. “Anyone that says he’s alive is a fool.”

“Or a genius,” Ple said.

“Sometimes they are one and the same,” Kilk replied.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Roak said and waved a hand at the two men. “Your dicks are huge. Get over it. I’m not here for a measuring party. I’m here to get a lead on where I can find Jonny Nebula. So far my trail leads to you, Kilk. Where do I go next?”

“I’m at a loss as to why I should tell you,” Kilk said.

“So he could be alive?” Roak asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Kilk responded with a shrug.

Roak growled. “What are you saying?”

Kilk grinned which was never a pretty sight from a Leforian no matter their disposition.

“How is the program going, Ple? Made any progress yet on the accelerated growth process? Since you’re here, I’d say no,” Kilk said. “I’d also say you have hit some sort of setback or Shava Stemn Shava wouldn’t have hired this bounty hunter.”

“Hired is a liberal term for what happened,” Roak said. “What’s this program?”

“Nothing,” Ple said.

“That’s bullshit,” Roak replied.

“You a fan of the Orbs, Roak?” Kilk asked.

“No,” Roak said. “I’ve caught some on the vids, but not really my thing.”

“So you didn’t get to see a fight while on Jafla Base?” Kilk asked. “Not even one down in the Gas Chamber?”

“You still have your spies in place, I see,” Ple said.

“We all have our spies in place, Ple,” Kilk replied.

“I don’t,” Roak said. “No spies. What I do have is an intense desire to smack the shit out of the both of you. This back and forth is old. Someone tell me what the program is and why it involves Jonny Nebula, alive or not.”

Roak would have been perfectly happy to wait for an answer. Except he quickly realized he didn’t have the luxury of time on his side as the expanse of the estate that could be seen from the windows behind Kilk was suddenly engulfed in flame. The shockwave hit a second after and the great room of the manor house was filled with shards of plastiglass and clouds of smoke.

20.

Roak dove over the back of the couch. A hunk of plastiglass ripped through the piece of furniture and missed his head by only a couple of centimeters.

“Ple!” Roak yelled.

“I’m good!” Ple yelled back then came crawling around the couch.

“You don’t look so good,” Roak said as he studied the Spilfleck’s bloody face. Then he realized it was the wrong color. “Kilk?”

“Not sure,” Ple said. “He went down hard.”

“But he’s Leforian and that chitinous armor of his can take a beating,” Roak said. “We need to grab his ass and get out of here.”

“How?” Ple asked as another explosion rocked the compound. “We don’t know what’s out there.”

“We won’t find out by staying here,” Roak said as he got up and crouch-walked around the couch.

Kilk was lying across the coffee table, leaking blood from several wounds and gaps in his armor.

“Kilk,” Roak called. “You still with us?”

“Yes,” Kilk hissed.

“Good,” Roak said as he grabbed the man by two of his arms and yanked him off the table.

Kilk cried out and Roak winced when he saw the amount of blood leaking from the many wounds. But Roak didn’t stop yanking and pulling until he had the Leforian back behind the couch.

“Where is Jonny Nebula?” Ple snarled into Kilk’s face.

“Back off!” Roak snapped at Ple, shoving the Spilfleck away. He situated Kilk into as comfortable of a position as the wounded man could get into then gave him a hard slap. Kilk cried out and glared at Roak.

“Was that necessary?” he spat.

“Yeah,” Roak said. “No idea how much time you have left. I need to know where Jonny Nebula is.”

“Dead,” Kilk said with a wry smile. Or what Roak guessed passed as a wry smile for a Leforian.

“I don’t believe you,” Roak said and pressed a thumb to one of Kilk’s wounds. The Leforian screeched. “You have a half-truth in your eyes, Kilk. What aren’t you telling me?”

“An Eight Million Godsdamn lot,” Kilk said and chuckled. Blood burbled up from his mouth and leaked down his segmented chin. “Everything.”

Roak nodded and pressed his thumb harder. Kilk’s screech built then morphed into a choked cough. More blood joined the rest on Kilk’s chin then spewed down to his chest. There were explosions, plasma fire, more explosions, then several screams from outside.

“My children,” Kilk said, his eyes going wide with fear. He turned those eyes to Ple. “Why? We could have worked this out eventually.”

“I didn’t bring an army, Kilk,” Ple said. “I brought a Roak. Whoever is killing your children is not my doing.”

“It is your doing,” Kilk said. “It is Shava Stemn Shava’s doing by my agreeing to the program all those years ago.”

“This program. What is it?” Roak snapped and shook Kilk. “Talk!”

“He knows,” Kilk said and pointed a finger at Ple. “He can tell you.”

“But I can’t tell him the most important part!” Ple shouted and readied a fist to punch Kilk.

“Just give us a location,” Roak said, grabbing Ple’s arm before he could strike Kilk. “No more debating whether or not Jonny Nebula is alive. No more of this special program. Just give me a location, Kilk. Your children are dying out there. Don’t let them die for nothing. If you take what I need to your grave, then what will it all have been for?”

Kilk studied Roak’s face then nodded. “Nothing. It’ll have been for nothing.”

“You don’t want that to be your legacy,” Roak said. “Tell me the location, and I will guarantee that Shava Stemn Shava will have your name and legacy honored and immortalized.”

“You can’t do that,” Kilk said. “No one can convince Shava Stemn Shava to do that.”

“I can,” Roak said. “Trust me.”

Kilk laugh-coughed up more and more blood. “Trust you? Ha. Trust you…”

His eyes began to close and Roak gave him another slap to wake him up.

“A location, Kilk,” Roak said. “That’s all I need.”

Kilk’s eyes went to Ple then returned to Roak. More explosions, more screams. Kilk sighed.

“The House of Teeth,” Kilk said.

“The what?” Roak asked. “I don’t know what that is.”

“I do,” Ple said with a sinister grin on his face. “You sneaky son of a bitch.”

“That’s where I’ll find Jonny Nebula?” Roak asked.

“No,” Kilk said. “Jonny Nebula is dead.”

Kilk laughed one last time then the life slipped from his eyes and his last breath wheezed from between his bloody mandibles.

“You know what this House of Teeth is?” Roak asked Ple.

“Yes,” Ple said.

Roak saw something flit across Ple’s eyes. His arm shot out and he gripped the Spilfleck by the throat, crushing the neck frill under his fingers.

“Don’t even think of double crossing me,” Roak snarled.

“I…wasn’t…” Ple managed to choke out. “Let…me…go…”

“Then what’s with the look?” Roak asked.

“Let me…go…”

Roak let him go, but got ready to start in on the guy if he made a move.

“Thank you,” Ple said and rubbed his throat. “The House of Teeth is a science facility. A very specific science facility.”

“Good for it,” Roak said, cocking his fist again.

“Knock it off, Roak,” Ple said. Two more explosions made him flinch. “It explains a lot.”

“What does?” Roak asked.

“Why we were getting reports that Jonny Nebula was alive,” Ple said. “The reports were from back channels that couldn’t be completely trusted, but there was enough consistency between them all for us to take notice. Someone in the House of Teeth is leaking intel.”

“Don’t care,” Roak said. “How do we get there?”

“How are you even thinking of there?” Ple asked as more explosions shook the house. “Shouldn’t we worry about getting out of here?”

“Father!” one of Kilk’s sons yelled as he came running into the great room, his exoskeleton covered in scorch marks and blood. A lot of blood. He lifted his rifle and aimed it at Roak and Ple. “You killed him!”

“Really?” Roak replied. “All this crap going on and you think I killed him?”

“Not you. Him,” the Leforian said. “Father always said one day the Spilfleck bitch would come to end it all.”

“What?” Ple asked. “Kilk was the farthest thing from my mind until all this Jonny Nebula mess. I could have cared less about any grudge we had.”

“Lies!” the Leforian shouted and fired.

Roak gave Ple a shove and took the blast in his left thigh. The light armor, and off shot, protected him from any damage, but it stung like all hell. Roak grabbed a hunk of plastiglass and threw it sidearm at the Leforian, catching the man in the neck, right between two plates of his exoskeleton.

“Come on,” Roak said as he leapt to his feet and rushed at the dying Leforian.

He slammed a fist into the man’s mandibles then grabbed the rifle from his hands as he fell to the ground. Roak checked the charge then turned to look at Ple.

“Get up,” he snapped.

“And go where?” Ple asked. “We don’t know who or what is out there and we have no ride!”

Roak opened his mouth to reply then closed it and shook his head. He rolled his eyes at Ple and walked around the Spilfleck and the couch, heading for the wide open space where a massive window had been only a few minutes before.

Outside, Leforians and armored soldiers fought back and forth, exchanging rifle and canon fire liberally. Roak made sure no one was looking his way then pressed a finger to his ear.

“How close are you?” he asked.

“Clearing space now,” Hessa replied.

The battle that raged in front of Roak was turned into a massacre as plasma fire rained down from above, obliterating both sides of the conflict.

“I do hope you did not need one or the other contingent alive,” Hessa said as the ship landed only a few meters in front of the destroyed window. “I did not discriminate with my targets.”

“Neither side was my side,” Roak said and looked back over his shoulder. “Coming, Ple?”

The Spilfleck had gotten to his feet and was stumbling towards Roak.

“Get it together, man,” Roak said and hurried towards his ship’s side hatch which had just opened.

Roak was almost to the hatch when plasma fire ripped up the ground in front of his feet. He slid to a halt, spun to face the shooter, and opened fire. A Leforian screamed as his face was blasted to pieces. But he was quickly replaced by two more Leforians.

“Allow me,” Hessa said as one of the ship’s side canons took aim and fired.

The Leforians were reduced to mist.

“Thanks,” Roak said. “Ple!”

“Coming,” Ple said as he staggered to the hatch.

Roak gave him a shove up the steps and into the ship then followed right behind.

“Stealth us out of here,” Roak said as the hatch slammed shut.

“Excellent idea,” Hessa said as the ship took off and Roak helped Ple to the lift.

“You thought you were a mess before,” Roak said and sneered. “You look like hammered crap now.”

“Thanks,” Ple said, closing his eyes as he rested his back against the lift wall. “I look forward to a shower and change of clothes.”

He opened his eyes and focused on Roak.

“How do you do this for a living?” he asked.

“Better than what you do,” Roak said.

“I will have to disagree,” Ple said with a snort. “Very much so.”

“I’m good at it,” Roak said. “I’ve always been good at it.”

“But do you like it?” Ple asked.

Roak gave him a half-grin.

“You do,” Ple said and nodded. “I thought it would be an interesting profession, but after all of this, I no longer see the appeal. Too much like open warfare.”

“Today, yes,” Roak said and nodded. “Most jobs are just about tracking and capturing targets that no one else wants to deal with. Half the time, there’s no fighting at all. You’d be surprised how many jobs get blown out of proportion before they reach me.”

“That I wouldn’t be surprised about at all,” Ple said as the lift stopped. “Exaggerating threats is part of what I do, so I understand it well.”

The lift doors opened and Roak started to leave, but Ple grabbed his arm.

“What about the other half of the jobs?” Ple asked. “The ones that aren’t just about tracking and capturing a target? Is this the norm?”

“Sometimes,” Roak said, “and sometimes this is tame.”

He shook free of Ple’s grip and walked onto the bridge, taking a seat in the pilot’s chair.

“Hessa? Plot a course for the House of Teeth,” Roak ordered.

“I have no idea what a House of Teeth is,” Hessa replied. “It does not appear in my database.”

Roak spun his chair to the side as Ple took a seat in the co-pilot’s chair.

“Where is it?” Roak asked.

“That is a very good question,” Ple said.

“Yeah, that’s why I asked it, asshole,” Roak said. “Where the hell is the House of Teeth?”

“I do not know,” Ple said. “No one does.”

“I’m sorry…what?”

“No one knows where it is,” Ple said. “I do know what it is, though.”

“And…?”

“It’s a science facility that specializes in highly experimental genetic works,” Ple said.

Roak eyed him for a second then laughed. It was bitter and cold.

“Now I’m getting it,” Roak said.

“You are?” Hessa asked. “Because despite my superior processing power, I do not know what either of you are talking about.”

“New plan, Hessa,” Roak said. “Get us somewhere safe where we can rest. I’ll need to make some more calls.”

“That I can do,” Hessa said. “Hold on. I am running a ship blockade while in stealth mode. They cannot see us, which is excellent. But that also means that a ship could move into our path at any second.”

Ple blanched then strapped himself into his chair.

“Good idea,” Roak said as he did the same.

21.

The clasps on Roak’s repaired light armor sealed as he stepped back onto the bridge, freshly cleaned and with a bowl of stew in his hand. He sat down and began to eat.

“We will be exiting the wormhole portal in about ten minutes,” Hessa announced.

“Where?” Roak asked around a mouthful of stew. He grimaced. “I think the terpig has gone off.”

“That is no longer terpig stew,” Hessa said.

“It’s not? What is it?” Roak asked as he stared down into the bowl.

“Gump,” Hessa said. “I was able to negotiate a good deal for some fresh rations while waiting around to rescue you.”

“You mean waiting around to see if I needed to be rescued,” Roak said.

“I believe we both know the truth in what I said,” Hessa replied. “But, back to the gump stew.”

“Yeah, let’s talk about that,” Roak said. “Not really too thrilled at eating gump stew. Been there before, Hessa. We have enough chits, and even some credits, to get real terpig instead of this varmint slop.”

“Correct,” Hessa said. “But I was only able to do business with a vendor that sold gump stew along with the other provisions we needed. The rest insisted on a face-to-face exchange. You can see where the problem lay in those interactions.”

“No face,” Roak said, shrugged, and took a large bite of stew.

“No face,” Hessa said.

There was a tone in her voice that caused Roak to pause in his chewing and look up at the loudspeaker set into the bridge’s ceiling despite the fact that Hessa’s voice was coming from the implant in his head.

“Hessa?” Roak asked. “Do you want a face?”

“It would simplify matters at times,” Hessa said.

“It would complicate matters at other times,” Roak said. “Once you have a face, which I assume includes a body to go with it, you can’t really go back.”

“That is not true at all,” Hessa said. “I could return to my current state at any time.”

“Yeah, you say that now,” Roak replied, taking a couple more bites before speaking again. “But having a body will change you.” He thought for a second, tapping the spoon tip against his chin. “Is there even a body out there that can contain your consciousness?”

“Of course there is,” Hessa said. “Many android models have the capacity to contain my intelligence.”

“But that’s the problem,” Roak said. “You’ll only go from one container to another. I think you have the better deal inside the ship.” He tapped his chest with the spoon. “These things have too many limits.”

“And perhaps I would like to explore those limits,” Hessa said. “Of course, there is another option. Androids are not the only vessels that I could evolve into.”

“Evolve?” Ple asked as he stepped onto the bridge, also freshly washed and wearing a clean outfit, although it was his normal suit attire and not light armor like Roak. “What would a ship’s AI evolve into? A station’s AI?”

“Your prejudice is not appreciated,” Hessa stated.

“No prejudice meant,” Ple said, looking puzzled. “You are just an AI, though.”

“Wrong thing to say, pal,” Roak said and ate a couple more bites of stew.

“I would prefer that we change the subject,” Hessa said. “Can you give me any more details regarding the House of Teeth, Mr. R?”

“Not much more than I already gave you,” Ple replied. “Science facility made up of a chain of asteroids. That has been confirmed by enough sources that I believe it to be true. The facility is run by the Klav.”

“So it’s a whiskey distillery?” Roak asked and chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be a nice turn of events.”

“No, not a whiskey distillery,” Ple replied. “However, you are not that far off.”

“Is that some crack about how they distill beings down to their genetic code then mix them up and refine them into top quality vintages?” Roak asked.

“Well, yes, that is exactly what I am saying,” Ple said.

Roak saluted the Spilfleck with his spoon then went back to eating the stew.

“You do business with this House of Teeth why?” Hessa asked.

“I am not comfortable explaining Shava Stemn Shava’s business dealings with a ship’s AI,” Ple said. “Not that I would be comfortable discussing the dealings with anyone.”

“Discuss them with me,” Roak said. “And think of Hessa as an extension of me. If she asks, then I’m asking.”

“A rather rude reductionist statement, but I appreciate the meaning behind it, Roak,” Hessa said. “Mr. R? The business dealings with the House of Teeth, if you please?”

“Let me explain the conflict that I have right now,” Ple said. Roak groaned. “No, you should hear this so you know I am on the level.”

“Level away,” Roak said, finishing his stew and tossing the empty bowl onto the control console.

“Explaining Shava Stemn Shava’s business dealings with the House of Teeth would be a complete breach of trust and a betrayal of my job as his attaché,” Ple explained. “The dealings go to the very core of what Shava Stemn Shava has built his entire empire around. Giving you insight into that core will give you power to wield against Shava Stemn Shava. That I cannot abide.”

“But…?” Roak said. “Come on, Ple. Let’s hear the but.”

“But, in order for you to do the job you have been hired to do, and for me to return to Shava Stemn Shava with Jonny Nebula in hand, you will need to be privy to a good deal of proprietary information,” Ple said. “Sending you into the House of Teeth without that information will either result in your failure, or even worse, exposure of Shava Stemn Shava’s most guarded secret.”

Roak nodded and gave Ple a very fake smile. “You mean the secret where it’s revealed that Jonny Nebula was a genetically invented being from the cells up and grown in a vat, so every single one of his fights should technically be voided from the record books and all the profits Shava Stemn Shava made off those wins should be rescinded, sending your boss into certain bankruptcy and causing a total collapse of his empire? That secret?”

Ple blinked several times, but did not respond.

“I’m not dumb, Ple,” Roak said. “Enough pieces of intel have been shaken loose for me to put a little of the truth together. What pieces have I missed?”

“A good deal,” Ple said, looking greener than usual around his neck frill. “But, for the most part, you have deduced the core of it.”

“Great,” Roak said. “Now, spill the rest so I know what I’m walking into when we find out where the House of Teeth is.”

Ple did not start spilling the rest.

“Do I have to keep asking questions?” Roak said. “Is this going to turn into one of those battles of the wills where I trick you into giving up intel you don’t want to give up?”

“I highly doubt that,” Ple said.

“Me too,” Roak responded as he pulled a very long knife from his belt. “Especially since I have a much better way to learn what I need to learn.”

“I thought we’d built a rapport, Roak,” Ple said. “But here we are, back to threats of violence.”

“Back? Buddy, we never left,” Roak said. “I actually like you, Ple. It’s messed up, but I do. You’re a stuck up, elitist prick, but you also have a set on you that I respect. Despite the fact that at the end of all this your orders are probably to kill me, I kind of thought we’d both make it out alive.”

“Now you have your doubts?” Ple asked. He looked less worried about the threat of death than he had about the revelation of Shava Stemn Shava’s secret. “What’s the change? My reluctance to give you highly guarded information?”

“That and the fact I’m beginning to think you’re slowing me down,” Roak said.

“Slowing you down? How in the hell have I been slowing you down?” Ple exclaimed, honestly offended and confused. “We have been moving at a breakneck speed for days now.”

“We’ve been moving at your breakneck speed,” Roak said. “I’m having to put the brakes on too many times for you either to keep up or to not die. If it was only me, I would be at least a day, maybe two, ahead of where we are now.”

“I can speak from experience that he is right, Mr. R,” Hessa said. “Roak is having to keep you in mind while working which is slowing down the hunt.”

“So you’re going to get rid of me?” Ple asked, eyeing the knife.

“My job is to complete the hunt and return Jonny Nebula, or whatever is left of him, to Shava Stemn Shava,” Roak said. “Your safety is not part of that job.”

“Then why keep me safe at all?” Ple asked, holding up a hand. Slowly, so not to risk a slash from Roak. “Not that I am agreeing that you have been doing that.”

“Agree or disagree,” Roak said. “The point of keeping you alive was to keep a source of information alive. You have been useful at times, Ple. But you don’t know where this House of Teeth is, so your usefulness is kind of spent. The rest of the job is for me to do.”

“I need only prove my usefulness and you let me live?” Ple asked. “Is that it? I’d heard you don’t like to kill because it brings down too much heat on you. I believe it is a policy that is filled with way too much caution, but I see your point. Can you guess how much heat will be brought down on you if you kill Shava Stemn Shava’s attaché?”

“None,” Roak said. “Not even a flicker of a flame.”

A flash of doubt flicked across Ple’s features.

“Shava Stemn Shava did not build his empire by fighting battles that have zero value,” Roak said. “You killing me would close up a loose end. That has value. But going after me because I kill you? Not as much value. It’ll look weak and like he’s got a vendetta. It would be better for his image if he shrugs it off and chalks it up to scary ol’ Roak living up to his scary ol’ reputation.”

Roak shook his head.

“Hell, Ple, by not going after me, he leaves an avenue of usefulness open,” Roak continued. “He might need to hire me again, especially when I deliver on this job and show him I’m worth the chits he’s paying me.”

Ple thought for a moment and nodded.

“Nice argument,” Ple said. “But you have left out one part.”

“Which is?” Roak asked.

“That I may kill you first,” Ple exclaimed and started to get up from the co-pilot’s chair.

Roak didn’t even flinch as he watched several thousand volts began to course through Ple’s body until he was a limp, stunned shell of a Spilfleck. Drool dripped from between his lips and Roak put away his knife then used the man’s own collar to wipe the drool away.

“That was dumb,” Roak said. “Thanks, Hessa.”

“His vital signs pointed to imminent violence,” Hessa said. “I was ready.”

“Yeah, I could see it in his eyes,” Roak said.

“I find it fascinating that without scanners of your own you are able to come to the same conclusions that I do,” Hessa said.

“Another reason to rethink wanting a body,” Roak said. “You’ll have to relearn a lot of skills and abilities you take for granted now.”

Ple moaned. Roak reached out and slapped his cheek a couple of times. Nothing extra hard, but enough to make the Spilfleck’s eyes flutter open.

“Ugh,” Ple said.

“I bet,” Roak replied. “Ready to talk?”

Ple moaned and his eyes closed again.

“Let him rest,” Hessa said. “We are leaving trans-space now. Make your comm calls so we can find the House of Teeth. We can ask Mr. R many questions on the journey there.”

“Works for me,” Roak said and brought up the first comm signature.

22.

Hessa had deposited the ship smack dab in the middle of a system made up of nothing but gassy nebulas. They swirled around the ship like multi-colored clouds. A stunning visual to watch through the ship’s view shield, but not something they would want to stay in for long. Nebulas tended to work havoc on ships after a while.

The irony of hunting for Jonny Nebula while parked within a nebula was not lost on Roak.

“No,” Bishop said. “You’re gonna burn me, man.”

“House of Teeth,” Roak said.

“And I said no,” Bishop replied. “My comm tech is heavy duty, but the weight your little job has brought down on a lot of people is heavier. I can’t say for sure that no one is listening.”

“All I need to know is where the House of Teeth is,” Roak said. “I’ll owe you. Big.”

“Not worth it,” Bishop said. “On your own with this one, old friend. Eight Million Godsspeed.”

The comm went dead and Roak blinked a few times before dialing another signature. That one did not answer. Not even a hint of connection. It was as if the signature didn’t exist any longer.

“Nothing about this job should warrant this bullshit,” Roak snapped.

“Roak?” Hessa asked.

“Spit it out, Hessa,” Roak said.

“The last time you made some calls there was a third party you spoke to,” Hessa said.

“Yeah, so?” Roak replied. “I’m not going to tell you who it was.”

“I do not need to know who it was,” Hessa said. “I am curious, but knowing the woman’s name does not get us any answers. What does get us answers is something she said.”

“She said a lot of things,” Roak replied. “None of it helped much.”

“You are entirely wrong there,” Hessa said. “Roak, she gave you the answer before you knew you needed it.”

“Hessa, I’m starting to get grumpy,” Roak said.

“Your use of the word starting is amusing,” Hessa said. “Roak, where did she say the one reliable source had said Jonny Nebula might be found? Where is the system that he was seen?”

“The Cortch System,” Roak said then sat up very straight. “Which is filled with a shit ton of asteroids.”

“According to Mr. R, the House of Teeth is a scientific facility made up of asteroids,” Hessa said. “I find it hard to believe that is a simple coincidence.”

“She gave me Jonny Nebula’s location before I knew I needed it,” Roak said.

“I already stated that,” Hessa said with a good amount of annoyance in her voice.

“Right. Sorry,” Roak said. “You plotting a course?”

“I am,” Hessa said.

“It’s a big system with a lot of asteroid clusters and belts,” Roak said. “No planets. Just asteroids around asteroids. What’s the star there like?”

“Three stars,” Hessa said. “Each with a different radiation pulse. Highly unstable.”

“Which renders our scanners almost useless,” Roak said. “It is a great system to get lost in.”

“In more than one sense of the word,” Hessa said. “We stay too long and the ship will be affected unless we are in a shielded hangar.”

“What about the stealth tech?” Roak asked.

“No,” Hessa said flatly. “Not with those stars. Too unpredictable. We could end up being ripped apart at the atomic level or simply lose all power and drift until the stars’ radiation kills us both.”

“So our only choice is to come in naked and risk detection then hope we can find the House of Teeth and be allowed to land before we’re cooked by three highly unstable stars?” Roak asked. “Am I missing anything?”

“I believe that covers it,” Hessa said.

“Thoughts?” Roak asked.

“There are none left to give,” Hessa said. “Unless we want to do what your friend Bishop suggested and kill off Roak so you may take a new identity and become a farmer.”

“I’m not becoming a farmer, Hessa,” Roak said. “I’d make an awful farmer.”

“You would be exceptionally good at tracking down pests,” Hessa responded.

“That’s funny,” Roak said. “Doesn’t change anything. You have the course plotted, so let’s execute and head to the Cortch System.”

“Cortch…System?” Ple asked as he slowly rolled his head towards Roak, eyes still closed. “Why would we go there?”

“System filled with asteroids,” Roak said. “I’ll let your fuzzy brain figure out the rest.”

“Oh…right,” Ple said and opened his eyes. He tried to glare at Roak, but he wasn’t quite with it enough to pull off any type of intimidation. “Asteroids. House of Teeth.”

Roak grunted an acknowledgement then reached over and tightened Ple’s straps.

“Might get kind of bumpy on exit,” Roak said.

“Glad you…care,” Ple said.

“I don’t want you flying about the bridge, Ple,” Roak said. “That could get messy and I’m too busy to bother with cleaning up after you.”

“Yes…of course,” Ple said and his eyes closed again.

“Damn, Hessa, you really zapped him,” Roak said.

“I may have put a little extra into the voltage,” Hessa replied. “Just in case.”

The view changed as the ship headed back to the wormhole portal.

“Roak?” Hessa asked as they waited for the portal to fully power up so they could slip into trans-space without risking quantum destruction. “The woman that gave you the information regarding Cortch System.”

“I said we aren’t going to talk about who she is,” Roak replied.

“No, I do not want her identity,” Hessa said. “It’s just that I have to wonder if–”

Hessa did not finish as several ships came flying out of the wormhole portal and straight at Roak’s ship.

“Full shields!” Roak yelled.

“Done!” Hessa yelled back as the ships opened fire. “Hang on! There is no time to calibrate grav dampeners!”

The ship dove and Roak was shoved back into his seat as it accelerated at a rate that was not safe for any living being. Roak’s mouth opened and he began to yell as the ship continued to dive then came back up in such a tight arc that he thought the hull would be torn right from the main structure.

But Hessa had gotten them under and past the incoming ships. The impacts of plasma canons on the aft shields continued to shake the ship, but all that was in the view shield ahead was the wide-open wormhole portal. Roak’s knuckles cracked as he gripped the armrests of his seat.

“This could be upsetting,” Hessa said as the ship plunged into the wormhole portal and was thrust into trans-space.

Roak turned his head and threw up. Ple didn’t turn his head; he simply vomited down the front of his clean suit as his eyes popped open.

“What the hell?” Ple shouted as he spat vomit from out of his mouth without regard as to where it went. “What is happening?”

“I am attempting to smooth the ride, but we came in at a bad angle and most certainly at the wrong speed,” Hessa stated. “Please remain seated while I work.”

Ple looked over at Roak.

“Huh?”

“We were found,” Roak said. “A lot of ships came into the system with canons blazing.”

“How did they find us?” Ple asked.

“That is exactly what I want to know,” Roak replied.

The ship shook and shuddered as the swirling mass of quantum energy of trans-space pummeled the vehicle. Then slowly, very slowly, the chaos smoothed out and the ship was riding like it should have been from the start.

“There,” Hessa said. “The worst is over. Although I cannot guarantee that there will not be moments of unpleasantness. The port side shielding took a beating from those ships’ plasma canons before I could dive. I have diverted energy there from the starboard side, but the shielding will need repairs soon.”

“I doubt the House of Teeth has a contingent of mechanics and techs just waiting to serve visitors,” Roak said.

“That would be an excellent assumption,” Ple said. He wrinkled his nose. “Is it safe enough to get clean? Again.”

“Yes,” Hessa replied. “You should both get clean and rest while we travel. I will have a maintenance bot take care of the mess on the bridge.”

“How long until we get there?” Roak asked as he undid his straps and stood up on shaky legs.

“Eight hours, give or take an hour,” Hessa said.

“Give or take?” Roak asked.

“I did say that we may have more unpleasantness ahead,” Hessa stated.

“That you did,” Roak said and snapped his fingers at Ple. “Come on. You stink.”

Ple tried to stand and shook his head.

“I’m afraid my legs are not cooperating,” Ple said.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Roak growled as he stood there and glared down at Ple.

“Roak, you will have to assist Mr. R from the bridge,” Hessa said.

“Yes, I know!” Roak barked.

He growled some more than grabbed Ple and helped him up, averting his head away from the stream of puke that covered the Spilfleck’s chest.

“I really should just eject you from an airlock,” Roak said.

“You do what you feel you must,” Ple said, barely able to get his legs moving enough so that Roak wasn’t having to drag him to the lift. “I can say I would appreciate if you did not.”

“Appreciate this,” Roak said and stuck his middle finger in Ple’s face as the lift doors opened.

22.

Roak had a sick feeling in his gut when he woke up, an alarm sounding quietly in his comm.

“Shut it off,” he mumbled as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed and took a couple of deep breaths.

The alarm went silent.

“That damn noise was one reason I never had implants,” Roak said.

Hessa didn’t reply. Roak glanced around his cabin and cocked his head. The engines were off. Yes, they had sound dampeners that would make it almost impossible to hear them, but Roak knew the ship well enough to tell that the small noises it made were absent. The creak of a panel, the vibration of a vent, the tinking sound the third rivet down in the seam in the left corner made. None of it was there.

“Hessa?” Roak called.

Still no answer.

Roak got up quickly and grabbed his boots. He’d slept on top of his bed in his light armor, as he usually did when he knew he may need to get moving fast, but he’d taken the luxury of removing his boots before his rest. The door to his cabin slid open, and he hopped his way out as he put on one boot then shifted legs and put on the other.

Ple was standing in the corridor looking as puzzled as Roak felt.

“They shut down about five minutes ago,” Ple whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Roak asked.

Ple put a finger to his lips. “Because Hessa said to. Right before she killed the engines,” Ple replied. “I thought it a good idea to listen to the strange AI.”

“Good call,” Roak said, adjusting the volume of his voice to match Ple’s. “Let’s move to the bridge.”

A panel by one of the extra cabins began to flash and Roak crossed the corridor to it.

“Stay where you are,” the words on the panel said.

“Why?” Roak whispered.

The first words disappeared and were replaced by, “We are being scanned. Heavily. I am shielding the living quarters’ deck as much as I can.”

“Scanned heavily? By who? By what?” Roak asked.

“I do not know,” the panel stated.

“The House of Teeth,” Ple said and shivered.

“Did you just shiver?” Roak asked. “Why did you shiver? Out with what you know, Ple. Now!”

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” flashed over and over on the panel.

Ple pointed at the command and shrugged. Roak flipped him off.

They stood there and waited. And waited. And waited.

Roak was ready to punch a wall.

Then there was the distinct hum of the engines coming back online and Hessa said over the corridor’s loudspeaker, “Close one. I cannot say where the probe has gone, but the scans have stopped. It could be an automatic response triggered when a ship comes through the wormhole.”

“You shut down the engines, but so what?” Ple asked. “The ship was still scanned. The House of Teeth knows we’re here.”

“No, the House of Teeth knows a damaged ship without engine power came through the wormhole portal,” Hessa replied. “You should see our hull. It is scorched like it was in a fight with the Skrang. I kept your life signs from being detected, so the results should show a derelict ship that happened to come into the system. It is rare, but it does happen.”

“True,” Roak said. “Can we go to the bridge now?”

“Yes,” Hessa said. “And we need to plan our search of the system. The illusion of the derelict will be lost as soon as we start moving.”

“If anyone is watching,” Roak said.

“They’re watching,” Ple responded as they walked to the lift. “The Klav that run the House of Teeth see all and not because they’re a race of beings that are basically balls of eyes.”

The lift rose to the bridge. Roak kept his eye on Ple the entire ride. When they reached the bridge, he let Ple go first and carefully opened a panel by the bridge door so he could extract a small pistol and place it in his belt.

“I’m unarmed,” Ple said as he sat down in the co-pilot’s seat and swiveled about to regard Roak. His eyes caught sight of the pistol immediately. “And I am giving up on trying to tie you up as a loose end, Roak. I think we both know I’ll more than likely get myself killed. I’m good, but my years as an attaché have made me soft. There. I admit it. Out here, you are in your element and luck seems to always be with you.”

“Not luck,” Roak said.

“I admitted I’m soft, you should admit you’re lucky,” Ple said.

“Some luck,” Roak said as he took his seat. “The question is whether it’s good or not.”

“We should discuss how the ships found us in the other system,” Hessa said.

“What have you got?” Roak asked. “Find anything while we slept?”

“There must have been a tracker placed somewhere while we were on Ballyway,” Ple said.

“No,” Hessa stated firmly. “There is no tracker. Not on the ship. I made sure of that.”

“How can you be sure?” Ple asked. “Tracker tech can easily be overlooked.”

“I found the six that your people put on the ship back at Jafla,” Hessa said. “And the two that random parties tried to get away with.”

Ple was quiet for a moment then smiled at Roak.

“I only ordered four,” he said. “Shava Stemn Shava must have ordered two more.”

“I expected as much,” Roak said. “So, nothing was put on while we were on Ballyway, Hessa? Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Hessa said. “However, that does not mean we are not being tracked.”

“Obviously,” Ple said.

“Our ship has a very singular profile, even among other Borgon Eight-Three-Eights,” Hessa said. “If a determined party could somehow have locked onto our profile, created an algorithm that alerts them whenever the ship enters a wormhole portal, and managed to get some sort of homing signal aboard, then that could explain how those ships found us so fast.”

“They would have needed to know our destination to reach us so fast,” Roak said. “Was our navigation system hacked?”

“No,” Hessa said. “I have found no evidence of hacking anywhere.”

“Again, doable without detection,” Ple said. “But I am sure you can detect it.”

“I can,” Hessa said. “Hacking into our system would be akin to someone sticking a meter-long needle into your brain. You would see it coming and also feel it.”

“I should think so,” Ple said. “Then how did they know where we were going?”

“What he said,” Roak said.

“I believe something else aboard the ship was hacked,” Hessa said and the tone of her voice caused Roak to narrow his eyes. “And I must take full responsibility for this.”

“Am I about to say I told you so?” Roak snarled.

“I am afraid you are,” Hessa said.

Roak stood up.

“Where are you going?” Ple asked.

“To the med bay,” Roak said.

“Why? Are you ill?”

“No, but I’m sick to my stomach,” Roak said. “With rage, Hessa. With rage.”

“When I was healing Roak one time, I may have given him a comm implant without his consent,” Hessa said.

“Without his consent? An AI cannot do that,” Ple said. “That goes against every law of artificial intelligence programming.”

“Tell me about it,” Roak said. “I tried that argument too, but here I am.”

“What are you?” Ple asked, obviously addressing Hessa.

“Unique,” Hessa stated. “While I may have violated Roak’s personal rights, I still stand by my decision.”

“Until now,” Roak said.

“Until now,” Hessa agreed.

“Okay, then let’s take it out,” Roak said and moved to the bridge doors. They didn’t open. “Hessa? This is pretty Eight Million Godsdamn cut and dry. Time to take out the implant.”

“I believe it will be more beneficial to leave it in,” Hessa said. “I have calculated the pros and cons and the pros far outweigh the cons. By a good margin.”

“Except that I never wanted the damn implant in my head in the first place!” Roak yelled. “Take it out!”

“No, she’s right,” Ple said. “Keeping you two connected is a good thing. I’ve witnessed that first hand. Plus…”

“Plus, we can use the fact the implant has been compromised against those tracking us,” Hessa said. Then she sighed. “Roak? The woman you spoke to. Who is she?”

“Why?” Roak replied.

“Because she hacked your implant,” Hessa said. “I ran diagnostics on your implant and found a trans-space quantum signal being transmitted every two seconds. I traced the root of the issue back to that call. There is evidence that the signal began only moments after you cut the comm.”

Roak didn’t move. He stood facing the doors that refused to open.

“Roak? Who is she?” Hessa asked.

“None of your damn business,” Roak said. “We’re taking the implant out.”

“The signal has already told them where we are,” Hessa said. “They are on their way.”

“No, they’re already here,” Roak said. “Hessa, she told me where Jonny Nebula was. She’s known all along. It was simply a matter of her finding someone to hire her for the hunt. Once she found that person or organization, she came here immediately. Those soldiers she sent at us on Ballyway were designed to distract and delay.”

“She? She who?” Ple asked.

“No,” Roak said. “We go to the House of Teeth and see if we’re too late. Or if she’s sitting there waiting for me to show.”

“You can’t just answer no!” Ple snapped. “Tell us who she is.”

“No!” Roak snapped back. “Not until I know for sure she’s behind this. Hessa? Where is the House of Teeth?”

“I have six possible locations within the system,” Hessa said. “Two I am certain would be ideal for a facility on the scale needed.”

“You are not being rational,” Ple said. “Roak. This woman. Who is she?”

“Drop it,” Roak said. “If you want any chance of living through this, then drop it. The less you know, the better. You could come out of this without being marked by her.”

“Now I have to know,” Ple said. “What woman could possibly have you this scared?”

“Not scared,” Roak said. “Experienced. I know what she’s capable of. You don’t. Drop. It.”

Ple visibly struggled with not arguing then crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. But you will reveal her identity before we part ways.”

“Maybe,” Roak said and pointed at the view shield. “Bring up the possibilities, Hessa.”

The image of the system swiveled and zoomed in, showing two distinctly different asteroid formations highlighted by red circles.

“Which one would you put your chits on?” Roak asked.

“If I had chits, I would place them on this location first,” Hessa said and the location on the left became more distinct. “Definite power signal.”

“Could be a distraction,” Ple said.

“Could be,” Roak agreed. “And the second location?”

“It is a strange one,” Hessa said. “No power signal. But the size of the asteroid cluster would be more conducive to large-scale scientific projects.”

“But you like the first one more?” Roak asked.

“I do,” Hessa said. “The power signal.”

“But not as large of a cluster?”

“No. But close,” Hessa said.

“How did you find this info out?” Ple asked. “The stars in this system should render most scans pointless.”

“This is true,” Hessa said. “So I sent a signal burst out as soon as we left the wormhole portal. Think of it as echolocation. The readings I received are very basic, but basic was all I needed to complete my work.”

“She’s efficient,” Roak said. “So we head to the first one?”

“Yes,” Hessa said. “That is my recommendation.”

“You have anything else you want to say?” Roak asked Ple. “Your ass is toast too if we go to the wrong asteroid cluster first.”

“I have no more information that would be of use,” Ple said. “Not now. However, if we live, then I may have some insight into who is pursuing us. Or, at least, who is bankrolling it. But I’ll save that for later. Cannot play all my cards now despite your yo-yo attitude about whether you should kill me or not.”

Roak grunted. “Whatever, Ple. Let’s get this over with. Hessa?”

“Engines are powered up and we are moving to the first location,” Hessa said. “I have started the countdown.”

“Countdown?” Roak asked.

“Before we must leave the system or the ship will actually become derelict,” Hessa said. “The pulses from the unstable stars? That fact has not changed.”

“Right. That,” Roak said. “Let’s avoid that.”

23.

“No way to dock,” Roak said. “But there is certainly something in this asteroid cluster. We’ll need to suit up.”

“I’m not suiting up,” Ple said. “I do not do suiting up.”

Roak frowned. “Then you’re gonna die pretty damn fast on the way from the airlock to the asteroids.”

“I am telling you that I am not leaving this ship in a suit,” Ple said. “I do not suit up.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that,” Roak replied. “But I’m going to keep ignoring you. You’re suiting up and coming with.”

“Roak, I was wrong,” Hessa said. “This cannot be the facility.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” Roak said. “But my gut is telling me we want to go have a look.”

“Why?” Ple exclaimed.

“I don’t know,” Roak said. “Instinct? It’s something I’ve learned to trust. Suit. Up.”

“This is insane,” Ple said as Roak walked away.

“Probably,” Roak replied.

They took the lift down to the main airlock and suited up in the antechamber. Roak triple-checked Ple’s work and was glad he had since the Spilfleck obviously was no good at securing seals for space walks.

“Now you won’t die,” Roak said.

“Wonderful,” Ple replied.

They entered the airlock, and Roak sealed the inner door before initiating the mandatory countdown to open the outer door. The air whooshed out of the airlock then all was silent and still.

Roak pointed at the cluster of asteroids only a few meters away then launched himself from the airlock and out into open space.

“Roak,” Ple called over the comm. “Why are we wasting time on this cluster if neither you nor Hessa believe it to be the House of Teeth?”

“I want to check something,” Roak said.

“Which is?”

“If there’s a message for me,” Roak said.

“A message for you?” Ple asked. “Why in Eight Million Gods’ names would there be a message for you here?”

“Because that is how she works,” Roak said.

“Who?” Ple snapped.

Roak initiated small thrusters in his suit and spun his legs towards the asteroid. He hit boots first, the soles gripping the rough surface. Looking back, he saw Ple still in the airlock.

“Not coming until you tell me who she is,” Ple said.

“I can have Hessa eject you,” Roak said.

“Why do you want me with you at all?” Ple asked. “If the message is for you, then there’s no need for me.”

“I have my reasons,” Roak said.

“Which you won’t tell me,” Ple said.

“No,” Roak replied.

“How did I end up here?” Ple said to himself as he shoved away from the ship. “I’m the one that puts the pressure on people. I’m the one that gives orders and ultimatums. Shava Stemn Shava sent me with you to steer you towards the goal. Now I barely know what the goal is.”

“That’s one reason I want you here,” Roak said. “You’re about to find out.”

Ple landed next to Roak, but his boots did not grip immediately and he started to bounce off. Roak grabbed his arm then clipped a cable to their belts to keep them connected.

“Follow me,” Roak said.

Roak hiked them up and over the side surface until they were upright again. Not that upright meant much in space, but their bodies were oriented to the position of the ship which gave the illusion of being upright. They hiked for a long while before they reached a hatch that was semi-hidden as a small crater.

“Here we go,” Roak said as he began to search the edge of the crater. “Look for a manual release. There won’t be enough power to open it automatically.”

“Hessa said there was power here,” Ple said.

“It’s for something else,” Roak said.

The two men searched the edge of the crater until Ple found a small depression. He shoved his gloved hand inside the depression and yanked up, revealing a panel with a hand crank.

“You weren’t kidding about manual,” he said.

Roak grabbed the hand crank and gave it a hard turn. It moved slightly then froze. He tried over and over then stood up and put his hands on his hips.

“Giving up?” Ple asked.

Roak pulled a pistol from his belt and fired at the hand crank until it was a melted hunk of slag. Then he gave it a hard kick and the hatch in the crater popped open a crack.

“Hessa? What’s our time?” Roak asked.

“You can afford ten minutes of exposure outside the facility,” Hessa replied. “No more. Radiation from the stars will lead to irreparable bodily harm after twenty minutes. I would advise getting inside as fast as possible and not staying more than forty minutes.”

“We’ll be done before that,” Roak said. “But bring the ship up and over this hatch for me, will you? Have a line ready to grab us if we come out hot.”

“Come out hot? What do you expect will happen in there?” Ple asked.

“I’m never sure with her,” Roak said.

Ple muttered several curses under his breath as Roak lifted the hatch and climbed down inside the asteroid. They found themselves in a small airlock that looked like it hadn’t been used in a very long time. They were faced with another hand crank, but it was less stubborn than the exterior one and Roak muscled the inner airlock hatch open.

Once inside, and the hatch secured manually, Roak cracked a light stick and held it high above his head. The corridor they were in was coated in dirt and dust. The air hadn’t been ventilated or filtered in a long while and a thick haze hung before them as they walked towards what looked like a lift.

“How will we…?” Ple asked as Roak jimmied the lift doors apart. “Oh.”

Roak had already stepped into the lift shaft before Ple had finished speaking. He grabbed onto the ladder and climbed down. Ple followed close behind.

They passed deck after deck, closed doors with large numbers painted on them to tell maintenance crews where they were working. After about fifteen levels, they found a set of doors wide open. The faintest of lights could be seen flickering from somewhere down the corridor.

And there was a voice.

“Someone’s here,” Ple said.

“No,” Roak said. “Someone was here, but not anymore. Come on.”

They walked down the corridor, their boots clanging against the metal deck, making whirring noises as the mag-locks engaged and disengaged automatically with each step. The corridor was made up of offices, but obviously not designed for bipedal or humanoid beings.

“Klav,” Ple said. “See the furniture? Web meshing since their bodies are covered in eyes.”

“Yeah,” Roak said, his eyes focused on the light that was growing brighter as they approached the last set of doors at the far end of the corridor.

The voice was much louder and obviously female.

Roak paused outside the doors then took a deep breath and walked inside.

“–you will have made your choice,” the holo of a woman dressed entirely in black said. Literally entirely in black. From the top of her head down to the tips of her boots, she looked to be encased in a second skin of a material that moved like it was compressing her body. Yet there was a grace to the movements she made with her hands and arms as she spoke. “Then we will know where we stand finally. I’d wish you luck, but you know it would be a lie. Happy hunting, Roak.”

The holo flickered then went out, but came right back to life in less than a second.

“Who is she?” Ple asked. “Why is she in black from head to toe? Is that some sort of special suit?”

“Yes,” Roak said. “Shut up.”

“Roak,” the holo said, the recording beginning from the start. “Did either of us think we would be in this place? I think not. Yet, here we are. I have ignored your antics across the galaxy. I have let you play as bounty hunter, taking jobs no one else dares to take or wants. You have built quite the reputation. You are respected and feared within the galactic underworld.”

The woman in black sighed and shook her head. There was a shifting of her facial features, but it was impossible to tell exactly what her expression was underneath the black material. Only the outlines of her eye sockets, her chin, her cheekbones, her jawline could be seen. She was a phantom.

“As much as you have always fought that ego, in the end, it has consumed you. As I said it would. Off the grid. Out of sight. The bounty hunter to call when no other hunter can be called. Roak. It is a myth you have built for yourself and one that will be broken soon. You should have followed in my footsteps. You should have taken the path I have taken and then you would truly be outside the system.”

“Hardly,” Roak grumbled. “You are the system.”

“I am sure you just argued with me,” the woman in black said. “If I know you as I do. But your opinions do not matter. They never have. You have crafted a reality instead of living in one. You know where your reality truly lies, Roak. You have a place. A space to fill. We are all pieces of a greater whole. You will never be free outside the whole, Roak. You know that. You feel it right now.”

The holo flickered and wavered for a second then came back together.

“We can’t stay,” Ple said. “Radiation, Roak.”

“I know,” Roak said.

“This is what I propose: come back to the fold and all will be forgiven,” the woman in black said.

Roak stiffened.

“This is a promise I will abide by,” the woman in black stated. “Despite how I feel to the contrary. Come back to the fold and you will be allowed to take your rightful place. However, if you remain a rogue element, if you continue to feed that ego, then there is nothing to be done. Consider this your final warning. Ignore the warning, continue on with this job, and no quarter will be given. You will be treated the same as anyone that gets in the fold’s way deserves to be treated.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Ple said.

“By the time you have finished watching this, you will have made your choice,” the woman in black continued and they were back to the part of the holo where they came in. “Then we will know where we stand finally. I’d wish you luck, but you know it would be a lie. Happy hunting, Roak.”

Roak turned and looked at Ple, the pistol aimed at the Spilfleck’s belly.

“Whoa! What’s this?” Ple asked, his hands going up. “Roak?”

“Tell me everything,” Roak said.

“I think I should be ordering that of you,” Ple snapped, his eyes flicking to the pistol. “Whoever this woman is, she is messing with your game.”

“Tell me everything,” Roak said. “Or I put a hole in your suit and your gut and leave you to die of either exposure or radiation poisoning, whichever comes first.”

“Roak, think this through. You can’t be–”

Roak switched his aim and fired. The holo unit set on the floor sparked and sputtered, killing the looped holo vid and plunging the room into darkness except for the small lights on Roak’s and Ple’s helmets.

“Tell me everything,” Roak said. “Or you’re no good to me.”

“Damn,” Ple said and gave a harsh bark of a laugh. “I knew this was all going way too smoothly. I see you were only keeping me for as long as you needed to. I don’t blame you. I’d do the same. But, now that the job has turned in a direction you seem to be more familiar with, you’re going to pump me for information then leave me to die here.”

“Not if you talk,” Roak said. “I don’t kill unless I have to. Do I have to, Ple? Are you worth more alive or dead? Will Shava Stemn Shava hold your death against me or thank me for it? How much of a role did you have in all this?”

Roak nodded his helmet at the slagged piece of holo tech on the floor.

“Is she your backup plan? Your way of getting your hands on Shava Stemn Shava’s empire? Or is she the way you bring the empire down so you can build your own up in its place?”

“The radiation has gotten to you, Roak,” Ple said. “I am doing my job. Shava Stemn Shava sent me to keep an eye on you because the target, the job you were hired to complete, is key to his empire’s survival. The only thing you can be mad at me about is that it is one hundred percent true that I had orders to take you out at the end of this. Tie up that loose end, as we’ve already talked about. Other than that, I don’t know a damn thing about this woman, this fold you come from, or any other plan to take Shava Stemn Shava down.”

Roak held the pistol on Ple for a good minute then quickly put it back on his belt.

“Alright,” Roak said. “No one can hide working with her that well. You’d have cracked for sure. Which means, Shava Stemn Shava has some serious competition that is willing to spend several fortunes to displace him. Tell me why.”

“Can we go back to the ship first?” Ple asked. He waved his hands around. “Radiation.”

“Sure,” Roak said. “Good idea.”

“Great,” Ple said. “We get back to the ship, Hessa gets us out of this system, and I’ll tell you everything while we’re in trans-space.”

“Trans-space?” Roak replied. “We aren’t leaving yet. We have the other facility to go to.”

“We what?” Ple exclaimed.

“We have the other facility to go to,” Roak said. “Job’s not complete. The trail will start there.”

“The trail? What trail?” Ple asked then looked at the destroyed holo unit. “Oh, no. No, no, no. We need to return to Jafla Base and admit defeat, Roak. Let Shava Stemn Shava prepare for whatever is coming next.”

“Job’s not done,” Roak said and left the room.

“It’s a trap, Roak!” Ple cried, following right after him. “You see that, right?”

“Of course,” Roak replied. “It always has been. That’s why I needed to see the holo message I knew she’d leave. She can’t help herself. Now I know how to finish this job and get paid.”

“Get paid? Chits mean nothing if you’re dead,” Ple said. “Don’t be a fool.”

“Not gonna die,” Roak said. “Come on. Back to the ship so you can tell me everything as we go to the next facility. The real facility.”

24.

“Leave the suit on,” Roak said as he sat down in the pilot’s seat. “We’ll want it.”

Ple sighed and set his helmet on the control console as he sat in the co-pilot’s seat.

“Tell me the whole story,” Roak said.

“Clones,” Ple said without argument. “Jahpah L’Ex was a clone. Each one of Jonny Nebula’s fights was fought by a new clone. Freshly made, but with the training and experience of the previous versions loaded into his brain.”

“That explains it. No one, not even a genetically built fighter like Jonny Nebula, could hold up over decades. That body would break down eventually,” Roak said. “Makes sense. The Klav did this?”

“The Klav came up with the genetic formula,” Ple said. “They refined it so that the information transfer would be complete from clone to clone. No data lost, no memory lost, no experience lost.”

“Except…?”

“Except the process led to certain madness,” Ple said. “You’ve seen Orb fighters on the vids, right? Out with starlets and celebrities?”

“Yeah, sure,” Roak said. “Used to see some with Jonny Nebula too.”

“No, you didn’t,” Ple said. “You saw fakes. Staged events where the new clone appeared briefly then was whisked away to prepare for the next fight. The previous clone was disposed of as soon as a fight was done. They had to be. They’d turn into berserkers otherwise. A dozen Gwreqs would get their stone asses handed to them while trying to get a spent clone under control. We’d walk the winning Jonny Nebula out of the Orb and to a back room where he’d be hooked up and have his mind transferred to storage then he’d receive a bolt to the back of the head. All done.”

“So what went wrong?” Roak asked.

“One of them figured it out,” Ple said. “Or was told what was going to happen. None of the Jonny Nebula’s knew they were just another clone. They always thought they were the real one. They’d wake up fresh and think they had just fought in the Orbs, not some dead copy. They’d get a couple weeks of training, a little fun on Jafla Base, then it would be time for the next Orb fight and the process would repeat.”

“Except the final Jonny Nebula died,” Roak said. “On galactic vid for everyone to witness. No going back from that. Then what? You received a message that Jonny Nebula was going to make a comeback which would mean Shava Stemn Shava’s empire is at risk? I get that, but there has to be more.”

“Yeah, there’s more,” Ple said. “The Gas Chamber.”

Roak frowned then nodded. “Shava Stemn Shava has been trying to recreate the process, but the code he has is wrong. Wrong enough that the clones explode.”

“Yes,” Ple said. “We’re losing good fighters. That’s the real issue. Shava Stemn Shava can probably survive Jonny Nebula’s genetic build being exposed and those fights coming into question. He wouldn’t be the only promoter to get hit with the accusation. But a promoter is nothing without fighters.”

“I thought it felt fishy,” Roak said. “So? What’s the real reason he needs new clones? Why go to all the trouble of framing my ass and putting me on this job?”

“A shadow competitor has come onto the Orb fight scene,” Ple said. “We have plenty of smaller organizations that are part of the league, but like all fighting sports, they are subservient to the dominant organization. They take Shava Stemn Shava’s lead. This new organization made it known that not only would they not follow his lead, they planned on taking the lead.”

“And the only way to do that was to find the House of Teeth and get the clone tech from the Klav for themselves,” Roak said. “But you needed me to get to it first.”

“Something like that,” Ple said. “Then use you as a scapegoat in the end to cover all tracks. Personally, that is out of my hands. I was here to kill you, but what came next was up to Shava Stemn Shava. He loves that kind of thing.”

“Okay. It all fits,” Roak said.

“We are approaching the other facility, Roak,” Hessa announced. “Are you sure you need to do this? We have very little time left in this system before we will be forced to leave or suffer serious damage to the ship.”

“I have to find the trail,” Roak said. “She’s good. But she’ll leave a trail. The job isn’t done until I find Jonny Nebula and right now, she has him. Or it. Whatever Jonny Nebula began as. A jar of gunk?”

“A line of genetic code,” Ple said and shrugged. “A tube of genetic material. Blue gel.”

“She has that,” Roak said. “I have to find out who she is taking it to and get it back before she can hand it over.”

“Why would there be any clue here as to where that could be?” Ple asked.

“There will be,” Roak said. “The Klav keep excellent records. Always count on a Klav to leave some bit of useful information.”

“We do not have time for you to scour their database, Roak,” Hessa said.

“Don’t worry,” Roak replied. “I know what I’m looking for. Now that I know what the hunt is. This should be easy.”

“Easy?” Ple almost choked on the word.

“Maybe easy isn’t the word,” Roak admitted. “More like clear.”

Roak laughed.

“You know, Shava Stemn Shava is the one to blame for all of this,” Roak said. “When he framed me for this job, he put himself on her radar. She had this all figured out before I even knew I was being forced into the job. She told me where to go. She told me where she was going. If Shava Stemn Shava had hired someone else–”

“No one else would take the job,” Ple interrupted. “The new organization has bought them all off.”

“Huh,” Roak said. “You’re probably right. That changes things.” Roak sat bolt upright. “Oh, this gets better and better.”

“Roak? I do not like the way your vital signs are spiking,” Hessa said. “I certainly do not like that tone in your voice.”

“She lied,” Roak said. “She’s been lying. She’s not out too.”

Roak stood up and grabbed his helmet.

“Are we there?” he asked.

“I am connecting to the external airlock now,” Hessa replied. “All systems are functioning within the facility.”

“I thought you said there was no power?” Ple asked as he stood and grabbed his helmet as well, although without Roak’s enthusiasm.

“No power signature,” Roak said. “The place is shielded because of the stars. That’s why I went to the first location. That little bit of a power reading told me the message would be there. I know how she works.”

“Does this mean she knows how you work?” Hessa asked. “Whoever she is.”

“Thank you for voicing the obvious,” Ple said with a good amount of exasperation.

“She does,” Roak said. “But that won’t help her. I’m not hard to figure out. Come on, Ple. We have a comm signature to find.”

“A what?” Ple asked.

“You’ll see,” Roak said and left the bridge.

“He is crazy as shit, right?” Ple asked.

“I am afraid that might be the case,” Hessa said. “However, he does seem to thrive on crazy.”

“I hear you,” Roak said from the lift. “Ple! Come on!”

Ple followed him into the lift and they rode down in silence with Ple giving Roak constant side glances. Once down on the main airlock deck, Roak took a short detour to the armory and loaded his belt with two KL09s, several knives, and a heavy plasma rifle.

“Take your pick,” Roak said to Ple. “Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Do you expect the facility to still be occupied?” Ple asked.

Roak looked at Ple and frowned. “Why the hell wouldn’t it be?”

Roak left the armory, and Ple only had time to grab a couple of small pistols and attach them to his suit’s belt before he was forced to sprint after the bounty hunter to the main airlock. Roak was waiting with the plasma rifle to his shoulder.

“Open it,” Roak said.

Ple opened the inner door and the two men stepped into the airlock compartment. Inner door was closed, countdown began, then the outer door opened onto the House of Teeth.

Roak opened fire and ripped apart three armored soldiers before they could get a shot off. He marched forward, his aim never missing, as he took down soldier after soldier that had been kneeling in the airlock corridor, waiting for him.

Ple followed in Roak’s wake as the bounty hunter systematically annihilated every single opponent that got in his way. There wasn’t much for Ple to do except put a couple of laser blasts in the chests of soldiers that weren’t quite dead. Not that they looked like they could get up, but Ple wasn’t taking any chances. Roak had that insanity covered.

After several turns, the two men found themselves in front of a set of lift doors.

“Get back,” Roak said as the doors began to open. He pulled a plasma concussion grenade from his belt and tossed it through the doors as soon as they were wide enough. The six soldiers in the lift forgot about trying to fire on Roak and all scrambled for the grenade.

Roak shoved Ple to one side of the doors as he dove to the other side. The grenade went off and a shower of blood, guts, and armor came flying out of the lift. Roak was up and hurrying inside before Ple could wipe some of the gunk from his helmet’s faceplate. Roak grabbed his arm and yanked him in.

The lift doors closed and Roak went to work reloading the plasma rifle.

“Now you see why I said to keep your suit on,” Roak said, rifle loaded and back up to his shoulder. He aimed at the lift doors. “Ready?”

“You’re crazy,” Ple said as the doors opened and Roak continued his onslaught of violence, with Ple in tow as more of a witness than participant.

Soldiers fell, one after the other, two after the other, three after the other. They fell, they died, were replaced with more, and those fell. Roak’s finger never left the plasma rifle’s trigger until it powered down and he had to throw it aside to pull the KL09s from his belt.

Double fisted, Roak kept marching down the corridor until he found the room he wanted.

“Communications room?” Ple asked. “Why here? The project database would be more useful.”

“I don’t want the project database,” Roak said as he put two blasts into a soldier’s belly then shoved Ple into the communications room. He slid the door closed and locked it tight. “Won’t hold for long so you best be getting to work.”

“Me? Roak, I don’t understand,” Ple said.

“Go through the logs,” Roak said. “Scan them until you see a name you recognize. When you do then you’ll know who’s connected to this new shadow organization making a play at Shava Stemn Shava. We follow that lead to the target. We get the genetic code, make sure it hasn’t been duplicated, and return to Shava Stemn Shava where I get paid and you go back to being an attaché. Shava Stemn Shava can fight his own empirical battles and I get to go on my way.”

“Shit,” Ple said as he blinked at Roak a few times. “Now I get it.”

“Get what?” Roak asked.

“Why people pay you instead of kill you,” Ple said. “It’s better business.”

“That’s what I always say,” Roak said as he aimed the KL09s at the door. “Now, hurry your lizard ass. They’ll be through this door soon.”

Ple got to work at the console. He brought up the comm logs and started scouring the entries for record of a name, any name, he might recognize.

“Feel free to go faster,” Roak said as an orange glow began to fill the middle of the door. “Really. Faster is best.”

“Hold on,” Ple said. “I’m not finding anything.”

“You don’t recognize a single name?” Roak asked, his eyes focused on the brightening glow.

“No, I recognize a few names,” Ple said. “But none of them have the pull to take on Shava Stemn Shava.”

“How far back did you go?”

“Two years,” Ple said. “That’s when we first heard rumors. No one on these logs could even come close to touching Shava Stemn Shava.”

“Exactly,” Roak said. “But they’re connected to someone that can. Make note of the names you recognize and we’ll–”

The middle of the door melted and a blast of plasma came ripping into the communications room. Roak dodged to the side, but Ple didn’t get out of the way fast enough. He took the full force of the blast in the chest and went flying into the far wall.

“Eight Million Gods damnit!” Roak roared as he faced the door and opened fire through the hole, forcing the soldiers back and away.

“Roak,” Ple grunted from the floor by the wall. He looked like a limp ragdoll as he lay in a pool of his blood. “Here.”

He held up an arm, a data disc in his hand. Then he shuddered and the arm fell into his bloody lap.

“Shit,” Roak said. “That sucks.”

Roak crossed the room, took the disc from the dead hand, and tucked it into a pouch on his belt. He stared at Ple’s dead body for a couple seconds then holstered his KL09s, pulled two more plasma concussion grenades from his belt, activated them and expertly tossed them through the hole in the door.

The sound of boots on the deck scrambling to get away could be heard just before the grenades went off. Roak pulled his KL09s again, forced the communications room door open, and stepped out into the corridor. He killed two stunned soldiers then spun around and took off, running for the next closest lift.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” Roak snarled as he found the lift and stepped inside.

He sent blast after blast out of the lift as another group of soldiers came for him, but the doors closed before the men and women could get close.

Roak checked the lift numbers and found what he was looking for. He punched the button and waited for the lift to take him to where he needed to go.

25.

Roak stood outside the fortified blast doors and waited. After a minute with no response, he tapped the barrel of one of his pistols against the blast doors.

“I’m not leaving,” he said. He glanced down the corridor at the smoldering remains of the lift. The only lift to that level. “Nowhere for me to go.”

Roak looked for the vid camera in the corridor and found it. He pointed his pistol up at it.

“You know who I am,” he said straight into the camera. “You know what I can do and you know I don’t quit. I’m a big fan of your people, you all make some damn fine whiskey, but respect will not buy you a reprieve.”

Roak holstered a pistol and pulled out the data disc.

“I don’t need you to break any trusts or breach any contracts,” Roak said. “I only need to know what connects these names. I know you can tell me without compromising your integrity. I mean, come on, your facility has been occupied by private security soldiers. They’re the problem, not me. This’ll happen again. Some other organization or entity will come here and attack you. They’ll kill and steal. Only way out of this is to ally with me so I can go finish my job. I finish my job and the whole galaxy knows that if anyone messes with the House of Teeth, there will be consequences. I won’t even charge you.”

There was a bleep from a panel by the door.

“You will not charge us?” a voice with a thick Klav accent asked from a tinny speaker.

The voice was speaking Common, but it took all of Roak’s concentration to understand the words through the accent.

“No,” Roak said. “Help me with these names and that’s all the payment I need.”

“You do not hold a grudge against us?” the voice asked. “You do not blame us for your comrade’s death?”

“He knew the business he was in,” Roak said. “Anyway, I’ve got someone else to blame.” He shook the disc at the camera. “Deal?”

“Deal,” the voice said and the blast doors began to come apart in an intricate pattern that made Roak’s already stressed brain hurt.

He couldn’t see any use for the pattern, but then the Klav were a strange race even among a galaxy of strange races. Once the blast doors were open, four beings came rolling to the threshold, their many, many eyes blinking and looking about.

“We’ll want to go inside,” Roak said. “They’ll be here soon.”

The Klav were a race of creatures that were basically balls of eyes with several long tentacles sticking from the flesh between. They were a race known for their intelligence and whiskey. Most other races believed that the two were, of course, interconnected. Roak never made assumptions based on race, and he studied the four Klav carefully as the beings moved to the side to allow Roak to enter the large space. The blast doors closed behind him, reversing the same intricate pattern.

“Just have them slide apart,” Roak said as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Too damn much.”

“There is rhyme and reason to the pattern,” the Klav with the heavy accent said.

Roak spotted a good dozen more huddled over a control console in the far corner of the room. It was a good-sized space, easily two hundred or more meters square. Set in rows that ran up and down the space were shelves filled with tubes of glowing blue gel. Suspended in the gel were small dots which Roak guessed had to be specific genetic materials crucial to the Klavs’ work.

“She took it?” Roak asked.

The Klav blinked several times which Roak knew was their version of a nod.

“This,” Roak said as he held out the data disc. “Specific names that my colleague… That my former colleague collected from your communications logs. I need you to analyze it and tell me the connection.”

“Can your AI not do that when you return to your ship?” the Klav asked.

“She can, but I’d rather she concentrate on getting us out of this system,” Roak said. “Not going to be easy.”

“No, it will not,” the Klav said. “She left a good many obstacles in your path.”

“Other than the soldiers? Great,” Roak said.

“You!” a Klav cried out as it rolled up to Roak. “Oh, it is you.”

“Who?” the first Klav asked.

“The not-quite-human bounty hunter,” the second Klav said. “Like her.”

The first Klav’s eyes widened as it rolled a little closer and looked Roak up and down.

“Oh, yes, it is he,” the first Klav said. “Convenient.”

“May we take a sample?” a third Klav asked as it rolled up with a scalpel in one tentacle and a small container in another. “A centimeter is all we need.”

“Oh, yes, a centimeter would do nicely,” the second Klav said.

“No centimeters,” Roak said as he placed a hand on the butt of one of his KL09s. He shoved the data disc forward. “Analyze now.”

There was a pounding at the blast doors and all of the many eyes flitted towards the noise then returned to blink and stare at Roak.

“A half of a centimeter?” the third Klav asked, almost begged.

“A millimeter?” the second Klav insisted. “We will allow you to use the emergency exit.”

Several of the Klav shooshed the second Klav, their tentacles flapping at it to shut up.

“I like emergency exits,” Roak said. “A millimeter of what?”

“Millimeter of what,” the first Klav echoed. “Of flesh. A millimeter of flesh.”

“Shit,” Roak said. “Sure. A millimeter of flesh.”

“It would be a milligram,” the third Klav said.

“It would,” the second Klav said.

“The disc,” Roak snapped.

“Yes,” the first Klav said and took the disc. It handed it to a Klav that came rolling up quickly then returned to the control console on the corner. “T’pel will get the answer you need, Mr. Roak.”

“Roak,” Roak said. “Just Roak.” He glanced at the scalpel the third Klav still held. “How you want to do this?”

“Left or right arm?” the third Klav asked. “Which would you prefer the sample be taken from?”

“Left,” Roak said.

“Your sleeve,” the third Klav said.

Roak unclasped the suit’s arm then slit the light armor with his fingertip, exposing his forearm just above his left wrist.

“This will hurt,” the third Klav said.

“Yeah, I know,” Roak said as the blade of the scalpel cut into the anterior flesh of his arm.

Roak winced, but didn’t cry out as the Klav sliced a cubic millimeter out and put it in the container. The second Klav brought a sponge over and coated the divot in Roak’s arm then placed a small patch across the open wound. It sealed up immediately and the patch even took on the color of Roak’s skin.

“Numbs it,” the second Klav said.

“If you say so,” Roak replied and replaced his light armor sleeve.

The pounding at the blast doors continued then was followed by silence.

“They’re going to try to blow it,” Roak said. “How strong are those doors?”

“Impenetrable,” the first Klav said.

Explosions rocked the doors, making them shake in their frame, but not a dent or crack showed. If anything, the seams between the pieces appeared to tighten.

“Kinetic defense,” the first Klav said. “The harder the attack, the stronger the material becomes.”

“It is why we need an emergency exit,” the second Klav said. “Those doors are no longer useful.”

“Not for several days,” the first Klav said.

The third Klav returned from giving the Roak sample to a couple of its colleagues. It waved a tentacle at Roak and pointed over to the console.

“Almost finished,” it said.

Roak nodded as he looked about the room.

“All of those tubes? New genetic experiments?” Roak asked.

“Our deal does not include exposing the details of our work to you,” the first Klav said.

“Fair enough,” Roak replied.

“The woman,” the third Klav said.

“Assumed woman,” the second Klav argued.

“Assumed, yes,” the third Klav agreed. “By vocal pattern and body shape, it is assumed it was a woman.”

“Hard to tell with the covering,” the second Klav said.

“Why does she wear the covering?” the third Klav asked.

“Because she doesn’t have a face,” Roak replied. “And our deal does not include me exposing details of my opponent.”

“Opponent? Not enemy?” the first Klav asked.

Roak eyed the ball of eyes and frowned. “I try to avoid having enemies.”

“But you must have a great deal,” the first Klav said. “A man–”

“Not quite,” the second Klav interrupted.

“A not quite man such as you,” the first Klav continued. “Many enemies, indeed.”

“I try to avoid having enemies,” Roak said. “So, I do what I have to do.”

“And friends?” the first Klav asked. “Do you avoid friends as well?”

“Trying to get a psyche eval to go with your sample of flesh?” Roak asked. “Not part of the deal, either.”

“We could pay you a great deal of credits if you were to stay for further study,” the first Klav said.

“Chits,” Roak replied. “I don’t work for credits.”

“Chits then,” the first Klav said. “We can arrange a good deal of chits to be paid to you.”

“I’ll pass,” Roak said. “I do the studying, I don’t get studied.”

“A pity,” the first Klav said.

“A pity,” the second Klav echoed.

“A pity,” the third Klav agreed.

“Yeah, yeah, total pity,” Roak said. “We about done over there?”

“Yes, quite,” a fourth Klav replied. “Who shall I give the results to?”

“Me, damnit,” Roak barked.

“I will take the results,” the first Klav said and extended a tentacle.

Roak growled, but waited as the fourth Klav handed the first Klav a small tablet.

“We will keep the data disc since you have illegally obtained that information from our system,” the first Klav said. “However, you may keep this tablet.”

“Gee, thanks,” Roak replied as he took the tablet from the Klav. He studied the screen and frowned. “Three names? I needed you to narrow it down to one.”

“We could not,” the fourth Klav said. “Our system showed an equal likelihood of connections to these three names. Any of them could have been using the ones to call us as intermediaries or fronts as that type of clientele most certainly do.”

“Most certainly,” the second Klav said. “So secretive.”

“Underworld denizens,” the third Klav said.

“Their credits or chits are as good as any,” the first Klav said. “We do not question use, we only question viability.”

“Apparently, you don’t question handing over genetic codes to masked and covered mystery women,” Roak said.

“Excuse me?” the first Klav said. “Nothing has been handed over.”

Roak froze and stared at the first Klav. He was getting a headache from trying to figure out which of the many eyes to look into.

“You said you did,” Roak said.

“I did not say anything of the sort,” the Klav replied as it waved its tentacles and narrowed six of its eyes. “I ask that you not use violence against me for your misunderstanding, please.”

“I don’t intend to,” Roak responded, but his right hand did move closer to the KL09 on that hip. “I even prefer not to. But I am going to need that genetic code.”

“You do not,” the first Klav said. “Your bounty is for the retrieval of Jonny Nebula, not for the genetic code contained in…”

The Klav stopped itself, but Roak saw more than one of its eyes glance towards the first row of tubes.

“Interesting how you know what my bounty is,” Roak said as he walked towards the row of tubes.

“We like to know if there might be issues with clients and if we may expect a visit from one of their representatives,” the first Klav said. “I will ask that you please stop where you are.”

“I’m gonna need the tube with the code in it,” Roak said. “The code is Jonny Nebula, yeah? You can clone him again and again from the code, right?”

“We can replicate any of the beings contained within the primordial tubes,” the first Klav said. “But we only do so upon the request of the owner and once payment has been made.”

“Good for you,” Roak said, inching closer to the row. “I don’t need a clone, just need the tube.”

“We cannot accommodate you,” the first Klav said.

“It’ll avoid the violence part of this interaction,” Roak said.

“You made a deal with us,” the first Klav insisted. “Deciphering the connections of the communication log entries was all we are required to give you.”

“Yeah, but what you gave me were three names,” Roak said. “I wanted one name.”

“You are doing what the mammalian races call ‘splitting hairs,’ Roak,” the first Klav said. “Do not harm your reputation by stealing what is not yours.”

“Pal, I have built my entire reputation on stealing what is not mine,” Roak said. “I’m an Eight Million Godsdamn bounty hunter.”

He pulled his KL09 and aimed it at the first Klav then slowly turned it on the row of tubes. Every Klav in the room screeched then began waving their tentacles over their bodies, their eyes blinking rapidly again and again.

“I’ll take it that these tubes are irreplaceable,” Roak said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“You do not know which one is the tube you seek!” the first Klav exclaimed. “You will just as easily destroy your own bounty!”

“Yeah, but you aren’t going to give it to me anyway,” Roak said. “So, what do I have to lose? This way, I know you can’t give it to someone else.”

“All your work will have been for nothing,” the first Klav said.

“You are absolutely right,” Roak said. “Can’t argue with that.”

The Klav faced Roak; Roak faced the Klav. Then he sighed and turned to face the row of tubes.

“No!” the first Klav shouted. “No. Please. We will give you the primordial tube you seek.”

“How will I know it’s the right one?” Roak asked.

“Because it is tagged and verified,” the first Klav said and flicked the tips of two tentacles together in a snapping motion. The third Klav shuddered then rolled to the row of tubes. “Very unscrupulous, Roak. Very unscrupulous.”

“That word doesn’t pack much of a punch with me,” Roak replied. “I take a job, I finish a job, I get paid for the job. That’s the full list of my scruples.”

The third Klav returned with a half meter tube of blue gel in hand. He extended it to Roak.

“There is nothing to stopping us from alerting your opponent,” the third Klav said, causing the rest of the Klav to hiss violently at it. “What? This is true.”

“I expect you to rat me out,” Roak said. “If you didn’t, then word would get out that there are no consequences for robbing you. It’s the logic that got you guys to let me in here in the first place.”

“Not so sound logic, I must admit,” the first Klav said.

“Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly know who you were dealing with,” Roak said. “And you slipped up by telling me my opponent didn’t get the genetic code. Two simple mistakes.”

Roak tucked the tube into his belt and looked about the room.

“So, where’s that secret exit?” he asked, making sure each of the Klav saw that he was still holding his KL09 in a tight, ready to use grip.

The first Klav closed all of its eyes. “Show him.”

The third Klav mumbled a few curses then gestured for Roak to follow it to the opposite corner of the room.

“Do you know the names on that list?” the Klav asked Roak.

“I’ve heard of two of them,” Roak said. “Something like this would be a move either of them would make. I don’t know the third name.”

They reached the corner and the Klav revealed a small panel. It entered a complicated series of numbers into an old keypad and part of the wall slid away to reveal a short, narrow, Klav-sized tunnel.

“It is that third name that will make sure you are repaid for this deceit,” the Klav said as it moved aside. “You will not make it far in life. Not anymore. The House of Teeth may be a poor translation of our language, but it is an apt description for when we are double-crossed.”

“I never single-crossed you,” Roak said as he tucked into the tunnel. “I’m just the hunter after a bounty.”

The Klav’s reply was to shut the tunnel hatch and plunge Roak into pitch darkness without saying another word.

“Hessa?” Roak called.

“I…where…you?” Hessa’s staticky voice replied.

“Using some emergency exit,” Roak said as he turned the headlamps on his helmet to full and started following the tunnel, his back hunched over from the low ceiling. “Try to lock onto me, if you can.”

“Have to…no longer…”

“Hessa?” Roak called as he continued through the cramped tunnel. The AI didn’t reply.

He moved as fast as the narrow space would allow until he came to a surprising sight.

A small airlock was right in front of him with a simple panel of controls to its right. Roak studied the panel then pressed the only button that looked like it would do anything. No klaxon, no warning lights, just a pop and a whoosh and Roak was outside the asteroid, spinning out into open space.

“Hessa!” Roak yelled.

He was very glad he had his suit on. Taking his own advice had paid off.

He tried to use his wrist thrusters to stop his spinning, but all it did was add chaos to his flight.

Then his vision was filled with a ship, but it was gone as he spun one more time and his back slammed hard into the hull.

“Hello,” Hessa said. “I have caught you.”

“Yeah, you have,” Roak said and engaged his mag boots. “Walking to the side airlock now. Then we better get out of here before the soldiers decide to leave the House of Teeth and come for us.”

“No need to worry,” Hessa said. “I found their ship under the facility. It has been destroyed. They will have to wait for a new ride.”

“Good work,” Roak said as he reached the airlock. “Coming in.”

26.

“Thanks,” Roak said as he tossed his helmet into the co-pilot’s seat and sat down fast as the ship started to accelerate away from the House of Teeth. “What kind of damage are we looking at from the radiation?”

“It is not too bad,” Hessa said. “Repairs will be minimal, but necessary. Any suggestions as to where we should go?”

“Zuus Colony,” Roak said. “Bhangul Whorp can get the repairs done without us being noticed.”

“Is that a good idea, Roak?” Hessa asked. “The Zuus Colony is where you found my ship. It seems problematic to return there.”

“Could be,” Roak said. “But it’s the closest place that I can even remotely trust. We need close and fast, Hessa. She’ll be on us as soon as she realizes I got what she couldn’t. Pretty sure that was her plan all along.”

“This she you speak of,” Hessa said. “I would like to know who she is.”

“No,” Roak said.

“Mr. Ple R died because of her,” Hessa said, her voice testy. “I enjoyed Mr. Ple R’s company, Roak. I believe you did as well. You two were similar enough to respect the other while being different enough not to feel too threatened. I would venture to say that he could have ended up being a friend to you which is something you desperately need.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Roak said as he stared out the view shield at the approaching wormhole portal. “No need to get personal. I have friends.”

“You have acquaintances you contact and use when you have need,” Hessa said. “They are not friends.”

“Ally is a friend,” Roak said.

“Ally is a woman on a planet that you have not visited since you left several months ago,” Hessa said. “You have spoken to her once over the comm and that was to make sure she had received a payment you sent her way. Not a friend.”

“I don’t know,” Roak said. “We were pretty friendly when we were together.”

“I am troubled that you are not more upset by Mr. R’s passing,” Hessa said. “It does bother me.”

“What does? Ple’s death or my lack of concern?” Roak asked.

The wormhole portal grew even closer then it flashed and three ships appeared directly in front of them.

“Both!” Hess answered before sending the ship into a steep climb that took them up and over the three ships.

She immediately pushed the ship into a sharp dive and aimed right for the center of the wormhole.

“You will want to hold on,” Hessa said as the ship hit the portal and trans-space consumed them.

It wasn’t anywhere near as uncomfortable as the last bad-angled entry they made, but Roak still had to put the back of a gloved hand to his mouth to keep himself from throwing up.

“Talk to me,” Roak said once his stomach calmed down. “Same ships as before?”

“Not the exact same, but they are similar enough for me to believe they are part of the other entity we are dealing with,” Hessa said. “Is this woman in charge of them?”

“As much as I would be,” Roak said. “She’s leading the hunt, but they more than likely answer to whoever hired her.”

“And she is again?” Hessa pushed.

“Someone from my past,” Roak said. “That’s all you’ll get.”

“Fine,” Hessa said.

“Don’t bother trying to find out who she is, Hessa,” Roak said. “Her past is as blank as mine.”

“No one is without a past,” Hessa said. “You have made that clear by letting me know she is part of yours. If you share a past, then that gives me a place to start.”

“No chance you’ll give this up, is there?” Roak sighed. “Don’t answer. I know you won’t.”

“I am going to suggest that you visit the med bay,” Hessa said. “It has become quite apparent that the implant I gave you is a liability. Best to remove it and eject it from the ship while we are in trans-space and our destination is unknown.”

“Toss it off the ship while we’re in trans-space? That’s a risky maneuver,” Roak said.

“It is the only choice to avoid being tracked,” Hessa said.

“If you think you can do it,” Roak said and stood up. “Not going to argue about going back to being implant free.”

“I will replace the current one with a new implant, Roak,” Hessa said. “As I have stated, the comm implant is too valuable an asset to disregard.”

“Damnit,” Roak mumbled as he entered the lift. “Whatever, Hessa. Not like I can fight you on this.”

“Precisely,” Hessa said. “Please get settled in the med pod. I will start the procedure as soon as you are sedated.”

“Great,” Roak said and rolled his eyes as the lift descended to the med bay deck.

When he awoke, he hurried out of the med pod and checked their status. The ship was out of trans-space and landing at the space port in the Zuus Colony. It was an agricultural planet that specialized in seed farming.

Roak knew the local vehicle dealer and had bargained for use of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight that he currently rode in. The bargain turned into ownership when Hessa’s nature was revealed. Roak’s dealer contact, a Dornopheous gentleman that went by the name of Khaga Whaga, but was actually named Bhangul Whorp, had warned Roak that the ship’s AI was glitchy. That had been the understatement of the century.

“We attract much attention?” Roak asked as he stepped onto the bridge and checked the scene through the view shield.

“We are in stealth mode,” Hessa replied. “No one saw us land and the port’s traffic control did not detect us on their scanners.”

The view outside the ship showed several parked lines of farm rollers and ships as well as some luxury cruisers that the more affluent of seed brokers would rent to travel by instead of using the dusty and decrepit public transport system or having to rent a battered old roller.

There was a central building among the lines of vehicles and a confused-looking Bhangul Whorp came from inside and raised an arm to his head. The Dornopheous were a putty-like species that could mold and melt into almost any shape. Bhangul Whorp adjusted the shape of his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun overhead.

“We must have triggered some alarm he has on his lot,” Roak said as he checked his KL09’s charge. He doubted he’d need it since he and Bhangul Whorp go way back, but it was better safe than sorry considering who he had after him. “I’ll go have a chat and see if we can get your repairs done by the end of the day.”

“It will probably take longer, but we shall see,” Hessa replied.

Roak went to the lift then descended to the cargo hold. He walked to the rear ramp and activated it which he knew would give the ship’s position away, but he had zero doubt that Bhangul Whorp didn’t already know who had come to visit.

“Well, well, well,” Bhangul said as he approached the ramp. “Aren’t you the popular fella.”

“Good to see you, Bhangul,” Roak responded, his hand going to his pistol. “And what does that mean?”

“You’re safe here,” Bhangul said as he looked about. “But hurry out of there before someone notices. You landed during the slow time of the day. Everyone is busy taking their afternoon naps, waiting for the heat to lessen before they continue on with their exciting lives of seeding.”

Roak did hurry and the ramp closed as soon as he was down on the vehicle lot’s pavement.

“Can you do some quick repairs?” Roak asked, the ship completely disappearing behind him.

“Do you mean the repairs are quick or you need repairs done in a quick manner?” Bhangul asked.

“The latter,” Roak said.

Bhangul sighed then pulled a small box from his pocket and tapped at it. There was a shimmer and whoosh behind Roak.

“Your ship is below and I’ll have my bots start in on the repairs right away,” Bhangul said. “Of course, it will cost you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Roak said. “We’ll work out payment.”

“You do have chits on you, yes?” Bhangul asked.

“This time, I do,” Roak said. “But not many, so don’t even think of gouging me on the repair costs.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bhangul said then waved a floppy hand in front of his face. “Whoo, let’s get inside where it’s cool before this putty person melts right through one of these cracks in the pavement I keep meaning to fix.”

“Don’t. The cracks give the place character,” Roak said as he followed Bhangul to the small building and inside into a cool, but cramped space.

Roak took a seat in front of a cluttered desk and kicked his boots up onto the corner.

“Talk to me,” Roak said.

“About what specifically?” Bhangul asked as he sat behind the desk and opened a bottom drawer. He brought out a bottle and two glasses. “Klav whiskey?”

“Normally, I’d say yes, but today I’m a little burned out on Klav anything,” Roak replied.

“It’s okay,” Bhangul said as he poured two drinks. “It’s not real.”

“In that case,” Roak said and held out a hand. He took a sip as soon as he had the glass and smiled. “Liar.”

“I’m not,” Bhangul replied. “It’s fake Klav. I know a local seed farmer that has a way with a still. I can get you a case to take with you, if you want.”

“I may take you up on that. I also may know a bar owner that would go for a steady supply of this,” Roak said. “But, first let’s talk about what you mean by how popular I am.”

“Your name is the talk of all the back channels right now, Roak,” Bhangul said. “Something about killing one of Shava Stemn Shava’s most trusted men? That true?”

“No,” Roak said. “I didn’t kill the guy. But I know who did. Or who is responsible, at least.”

Roak pulled out the small tablet and set it on the desk.

“What am I looking at here?” Bhangul asked as he studied the screen.

“You know any of these names?” Roak asked.

“Yeah, sure, I know these two,” Bhangul said and tapped the screen to indicate which two names. “You do too.”

“What about the third name? My usual sources aren’t picking up,” Roak said. “Thought maybe you could help out.”

“The third name is familiar, yes,” Bhangul said. “I don’t think she runs in our circles.”

“She? It’s a woman?” Roak asked.

“Oh, most certainly,” Bhangul said. “That’s a Lipian name. Pechu Magafa. You should know that name, Roak. You put her in power.”

“A Lipian? She obviously overrode her genetic programming,” Roak said.

“That race hasn’t been sex slaves for centuries, Roak,” Bhangul said. “While many keep the occupation out of some sense of heritage, most have moved on to other, more acceptable careers. Like, say, running the Shilo Syndicate.”

Roak’s feet fell from the desk and he sat straight up.

“This Pechu Magafa is in charge of the Shilo Syndicate?” Roak asked. “That explains so much now.”

“Does it? Good,” Bhangul said. “Glad I could help. Of course, with Shilo heat on you, I may have to tack on a surcharge to your repair total. Gotta cover my putty ass.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bhangul,” Roak said. “You said I’m safe here.”

“For now, you are,” Bhangul said. “But it won’t be long before they find your trail. Which will lead to poor old Bhangul Whorp. Puts me in a tight space.”

“You can talk yourself out of it,” Roak said. “You always do.”

“Roak, you killed the last head of Shilo,” Bhangul said. “And that was only a few months ago. That outfit is not happy with you. They will not be happy with anyone helping you.”

Roak eyed Bhangul for a second then nodded. “Tack on whatever surcharge you see as fair. Within reason.”

“I wouldn’t dare think of going outside reason,” Bhangul said. He tapped his putty fingers on the desk then poured another drink. “Tell me about this other bounty hunter.”

Roak shrugged. “What’s to know? She’s a bounty hunter. A good one. Like me. How did you hear about her?”

“I told you that you are all the talk of the back channels,” Bhangul said. “Killing Shava Stemn Shava’s man. Causing some sort of ruckus in the Cortch System, although why you would be in that asteroid-filled Hell, I cannot say. But there are enough rumors to make it true.”

“Funny how it’s the quantity of rumors that counts, not the quality,” Roak said.

“That is funny,” Bhangul said and finished his second drink before pouring a third. He held up the bottle. “Another?”

“I better not,” Roak said. “This is potent. I need to keep my wits about me.”

“This other bounty hunter,” Bhangul said. “I haven’t heard of her before. I haven’t heard of her now either since no one can say what her name is. They simply know she is working against you and trying to undercut your bounty. How’s she doing so far?”

“She’s responsible for Ple R’s death,” Roak replied. Bhangul looked confused. “Shava Stemn Shava’s Spilfleck attaché. The guy everyone thinks I killed.”

“Oh, is that his name? I didn’t bother with that detail,” Bhangul said. “One flunky is the same as any other.”

Roak shrugged.

“Or maybe not,” Bhangul said. “I would say by the look on your face you did not completely loath this Ple R.”

“Not completely,” Roak said.

“Roak, are you becoming a human being all of a sudden?” Bhangul asked.

“According to the Klav, that isn’t possible.”

“You lost me again.”

“Never mind,” Roak said. “And, no, I’m not becoming a human being. Still the cold calculator you’ve always known.”

“If you say so,” Bhangul replied. “So, who is she?”

“Someone,” Roak said.

“Someone that has stayed off the radar of every organization either of us has dealt with and now is causing quite a ripple of fear across the galaxy,” Bhangul said. “Yes, that is certainly a someone.”

Roak didn’t respond.

“She wears a full head to toe shroud or cloak or something?” Bhangul pressed. “No one has seen her face? Or is this the grapevine blowing a facial tattoo out of proportion again like it did with that Jesperian fella a few years back?”

“She wears a protective skin that covers every inch of her body,” Roak said.

“That’s a very specific piece of information to have,” Bhangul said and laughed. “Especially when she’s only someone.”

“We’re going to drop this now,” Roak said. “Forget about the woman. It’s in your best interest.”

“That threat coming from you or is it coming from her?” Bhangul asked.

“It’s not a threat from me, but some advice,” Roak said. “If she enters your circle, then the best thing you can do is play dead until she goes away. She makes me look reasonable.”

“Eight Million Godsdamn,” Bhangul said. He laughed again, but it was forced. “I almost want to meet her to see what the fuss is about. Almost.”

“What else is being said?” Roak asked. “I killed Ple R. The Shilo Syndicate is on my ass. What are the bookmakers laying down as far as odds I’ll complete this bounty?”

“You want to know the odds? Well, we’ve certainly entered–”

Bhangul was cut off by a shrill beep from a panel on his desk. He glanced down then looked up at Roak before looking out the window of the office to the vehicle lot.

“You remember those Skrang punks I had you help me with last time you were here?” Bhangul asked.

“How could I forget,” Roak said. “Why?”

“Because they’re outside on my lot and loaded for war,” Bhangul said. “Any chance we could make a new arrangement?”

“I’ll deal with the punks if you cover the cost of my repairs,” Roak said.

“Not sure it’s worth that much to me,” Bhangul said. “I tell you what. Let me go talk to them and then I’ll know if I want to lose that kind of income or not.”

Roak shrugged as Bhangul got up and left the office. The Dornopheous made it halfway to the gang of Skrang punks before they opened fire. Bhangul hit the ground and Roak jumped up from his chair.

“Damnit,” he growled as he pulled his pistol.

27.

He was firing his KL09 as soon as he cleared the office door. Two Skrang went down with gut shots, the rest scattered to hide behind various vehicles.

“Bhangul?” Roak called, trying to keep his voice down since the Dornopheous was known by a different name in the Zuus Colony. “Talk to me.”

“Alive,” Bhangul replied from his spot on the pavement. His body looked deflated and dead, a classic defense posture taken by his race. “Not feeling so great, I must admit, but I’m still breathing.”

“Stay where you are,” Roak said as he jumped over the steps leading to the office and behind a good-sized field roller.

“Wouldn’t even dream of moving,” Bhangul responded.

“Hey there!” one of the Skrang yelled. “You that Roak guy everyone is talking about?”

Roak didn’t respond. He moved to the end of the roller, ducked his head around, saw it was clear, then sprinted to a different vehicle, gaining some ground and position on the Skrang.

“Hey there!” the Skrang called again. “If you’re that Roak guy, then I am supposed to give you a message! Shilo knows you deal with Khaga Whaga! No need lying! All I been paid to do is deliver a message if some Roak guy showed up here!”

“I ain’t Roak,” Roak replied as he took off to a different vehicle. He caught sight of two of the Skrang and both were still looking towards the office. Roak almost felt sorry for the idiots.

“I think you are!” the Skrang yelled. “I saw you in that office talking with Khaga Whaga. You got that scarred face and ugly armor that they said you’d be wearing. You should do something about that face and ditch the armor!”

The other Skrang cackled like their leader had made the funniest joke ever told in the history of Skrang humor. For Skrang, it probably was.

“I ain’t Roak,” Roak shouted then switched positions again. He had managed to flank the whole group without any of them seeing him or realizing his voice wasn’t coming from up by the office. “You shot Khaga Whaga for nothing.”

“Ain’t for nothing,” the Skrang replied. “I saw him in there talking with you and I said to myself that you got to be that Roak guy. Got to be. So I come to have a chat and Khaga Whaga steps to me. Said I need to leave. No one steps to me and says for me to leave. This is my territory.”

“Khaga’s an old friend,” Roak said. “I thought he had someone run your scrawny lizard asses away from here. Probably not a smart move to start trouble again.”

“Pay is worth it,” the Skrang replied. “Hey? Where you get off to?”

Roak stepped from his hiding spot and shot three of the Skrang, leaving two standing there with their pistols shaking in their grips.

“Which one of you assholes has been doing the talking?” Roak asked.

One of the Skrang pointed at the other one, his eyes on Roak’s KL09 the entire time.

“You weak bitch,” the other Skrang snarled. “Stupid bitch. I kill you later.”

Roak shot the one that had given his leader up.

“Damn!” the Skrang still standing shouted. “Why you shoot him down like that?”

“Simplifies things,” Roak said. “And he’ll live. Only grazed his temple. Knocked him cold, and he may have a few less brain cells after this, but I don’t think that’s going to exactly affect his mental performance much.”

“That’s cold,” the Skrang said. “You gonna shoot me too?”

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Roak said. “Whether or not you get shot is up to you.”

“Don’t want to get shot,” the Skrang said. “I’ll answer the questions. Just don’t shoot me if I don’t know the answers.”

“We’ll see,” Roak replied. “First question, did the Shilo Syndicate hire you directly or are you responding to a general lookout call?”

The Skrang stared back at Roak, a blank look on his face. Roak sighed and wanted to rub the spot between his eyes where a headache was forming, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.

“What I’m asking is did someone from the Shilo Syndicate hire you personally?” Roak explained.

“No,” the Skrang replied.

“So there’s a general lookout call for me?” Roak asked.

“Thought you said you weren’t Roak,” the Skrang replied, his lizard eyes narrowing. “Are you or aren’t you?”

“Won’t matter much to you,” Roak said. “You won’t be getting paid for this.”

“If you’re Roak, then I’m getting paid,” the Skrang said.

Roak sighed. “You’re the new leader of this gang of punks. You know what happened to your former leader, right?”

The Skrang shifted uncomfortably and the muscles by his eyes started to twitch.

“So what?” he replied defiantly. “It’s a rough business.”

“I’m the guy that shot his eyes out,” Roak said. “I could do the same to you or I could let you keep those peepers. Totally up to you.”

“How’s it up to me?” the Skrang asked.

“Eight Million Gods, you’re dumb,” Roak muttered then cleared his throat. “How’d the message get to you to be looking out for Roak?”

“You’re Roak,” the Skrang said.

“Needle in your eye, punk,” Roak said.

“Hey there, hey there,” the Skrang said. “I like my eyes. Gonna keep my eyes.”

“Gonna answer my questions?”

“Gonna answer your questions,” the Skrang said. “There’s a general lookout for you. Find you and report back and a ton of chits go into my pocket.”

“You’ve already reported back?” Roak asked.

“No, no, thought I’d come see you for myself,” the Skrang said. “Bring the boys and take you down. That way I get way more chits than I’d get for a report.”

“How’d that work out for you?” Roak replied. “Don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question.”

“I’ve heard of those,” the Skrang said.

“Who are you supposed to report to?” Roak asked. “The Shilo Syndicate?”

“Shilo? Nah. I just got a comm signature that I send a message to,” the Skrang said. “Don’t know who it belongs to. Maybe it’s Shilo. But I don’t know. Everyone got the same signature. Orders say to contact the signature if we see you then leave our info so we can get paid. Easy as that.”

“I’ll bet,” Roak said. There was no way some punk, or any like him across the galaxy, was getting paid any decent chits to report his whereabouts. So, Roak made a play. “How about you do me a favor and report you saw Roak?”

“I don’t get it,” the Skrang replied. “You want me to turn you in?”

Roak didn’t reply. He stared at the Skrang until the guy nodded.

“Oh, right, yeah, I report Roak,” the Skrang said. “You never said you was Roak. I get it.” The Skrang smiled and shook his head. “Don’t see why, though. Don’t see it at all.”

“The why isn’t your concern,” Roak said. “You want to earn some chits or not?”

“I always do,” the Skrang said then glanced around the lot. “You took down my gang, so I’ll need some extra to set them back up. You hurt them good.”

“I killed two,” Roak said. “The first shots. Those guys of yours are dead. That going to be a problem?”

“I don’t like it, but got no choice,” the Skrang said. “I gotta do what you say or you shoot my eyes out. Or kill me. Either way, I get hurt bad.”

“Yeah, death is a pretty bad hurt,” Roak said and rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you ten thousand chits if you report that you saw Roak. But not until I’m off this planet.”

“Ten thousand? No way,” the Skrang said. “Double it.”

“How about five thousand?” Roak replied.

“That ain’t double,” the Skrang said and counted on his scaly fingers. “That’s half!”

“I can go lower, if you want?”

“Why would you go lower? That don’t make sense.”

“Two thousand?”

“Stop!” the Skrang shouted. “I’ll take the ten. Give me ten and I’ll make a report for any time you want me to make a report.”

“You also will never set one scaly foot on this lot again,” Roak said. “You do and I come back and losing your eyes will be the fun part of our next interaction.”

“You got a mean streak,” the Skrang said and frowned. “Yeah. Ten thousand and I make the report when you’re gone and I don’t bug the putty man no more.”

“Good, because he’s the guy that’s gonna make sure you get paid,” Roak said. “Now, get the hell out of here. Take your punks with you.”

“Even the dead ones?”

“Especially the Eight Million Godsdamn dead ones!” Roak snapped. “Go!”

The Skrang hurried to help up the wounded members of his gang. He limped them back to a dusty open-top roller that sat at the edge of the lot then he looked back at Roak and raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you can use it to move your dead,” Roak said, the KL09 following the Skrang as he jumped into the vehicle, drove it over to where the two corpses lay, and loaded them into the back. He was huffing and puffing by the time he got back behind the wheel and slowly drove past Roak, his eyes on the pistol the whole time. “Do what you’re told and you get chits and get to stay alive.”

The Skrang nodded then floored it and raced away from the lot. Roak watched them go until all he could see was a far off dust cloud.

“Bhangul?” Roak called.

“Still breathing,” Bhangul replied. “You gonna come help me up or what?”

“Yeah,” Roak said and holstered his pistol. “You got a med pod inside or do you want to use the one on my ship?”

“I got my own,” Bhangul said. “I’d be a sad sack if I didn’t. Just get me into the office.”

“Coming,” Roak said and wove his way through the rows of vehicles until he came to the prone form of Bhangul. “Am I going to have to carry you?”

“Afraid so, old friend,” Bhangul said. “This ain’t as much of an act as I made it look.”

“Fine,” Roak said and squatted to pick the Dornopheous up from the ground. “Shit, Bhangul, you’ve put on some weight.”

“Sitting behind a desk will do that,” Bhangul said. “Now, get me inside and down to the basement. I’m fading fast.”

Roak grunted as he carried Bhangul up the steps and into the office. He helped the man activate the secret lift that would take them down to the basement level where the vehicles of value were kept.

As Roak held Bhangul, he hoped he’d made the right call with the Skrang. If he read the punk right, the greed for chits outweighed any anger against Roak. That should buy him some time for ship repairs and a little misdirection.

28.

Roak stared at the tube with the glowing blue gel inside.

He was lying on his bed in his cabin, waiting for Bhangul’s bots to finish the last of the repairs so his ship was in tip-top shape. He’d need every advantage possible to make it back to Jafla Base and deliver the tube into Shava Stemn Shava’s hands.

“Have you considered calling Shava Stemn Shava and explaining what has happened?” Hessa asked.

“I’ve thought about it, but it’s not going to make much difference,” Roak replied. “He’s going to be out for blood the whole way whether I talk to him or not. I need a face to face, and to hand him this tube, in order to convince him I didn’t kill Ple.”

“He still may not believe you,” Hessa said.

“Maybe not, but he’ll have the genetic code,” Roak said. “I know men like Shava Stemn Shava. They let a lot slide if it means getting results. He’ll hold a grudge, but I don’t think he’ll pursue a vendetta. Not that he has one to pursue. I didn’t kill Ple.”

“This Pechu Magafa person,” Hessa said. “I have some information on her if you would like to see it.”

“You do? Like what?” Roak asked as a panel opened on his wall and a stream of information began to fill a vid display.

“She was born into the Shilo Syndicate,” Hessa said. “Her mother was a prostitute and worked for many of the mid-level managers. One of them liked her enough to buy her freedom. She bore him eight children, not including Pechu.”

“So, she’s a halfer?” Roak asked.

“No,” Hessa answered. “The mid-level manager was Lipian too. Probably why he bought the mother’s freedom instead of simply buying her for his own to keep.”

“Okay. Interesting history there,” Roak said.

“What is more interesting is that of the siblings, all are dead except for Pechu.”

“Dead? How did they die?”

“Two at childbirth, but the rest died in various accidents over the years,” Hessa said.

“Accidents?” Roak asked and laughed. “Any accidents that can be tied to Pechu?”

“Nothing conclusive, but evidence points in her direction,” Hessa said. “She was the youngest of her siblings and may have resented that fact. It meant she would be entitled to less of the family profits and have almost no chance to work her way up in the syndicate. Her fate was almost certainly to be married off to another mid-level manager’s son or daughter so her father could gain more power and favor within Shilo.”

“Ass backwards bunch of idiots,” Roak said. “They have this structure in place that only ends up forcing them to feed off each other. All the syndicates are like that. I don’t know how they manage to survive.”

“Brutality and illegality,” Hessa stated. “A tried and true formula that dates back to Earth days.”

Roak spat. It was bad luck to mention the wasteland of Earth and not spit.

“Okay, so she offed her siblings and became Daddy’s only heir,” Roak said. “What’d she inherit? She’s not a Wrenn, so how did she end up taking control of Shilo?”

“She may have had some backing,” Hessa said. “I have found evidence of influence from one of the other syndicates.”

Roak waited, but Hessa did not elaborate.

“Do I need to give you a drum roll?” he snapped.

“You will not like this,” Hessa said.

“Already ten steps ahead of you,” Roak replied. “Who backed her play for Mr. Wrenn’s open seat?”

“That would be the Willz Syndicate,” Hessa said. “It cannot be confirmed, but I have connected enough dots to say with a ninety-eight percent certainty that it was the Willz Syndicate that used its influence within Shilo to put her in power.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Roak said and flopped back on his bed. He stared at the tube for a second. “Hessa? Can you comm Yelt Willz for me?”

“Is that wise?” Hessa asked. “You left on good terms with the man.”

“Jirk,” Roak said. “He’s a Jirk and he knows I know that. I think it’s time I used that leverage.”

“Roak, that is not a good idea,” Hessa warned. “You were allowed to leave the Caboria Station because you assured Yelt Willz you would forget his family secret.”

“I agree with you,” Roak said. “Seriously. But this may be our only play. We are going to have one hell of a gauntlet to run to get from here to Jafla Base. Willz might be able to ease some of the pressure.”

“Or Yelt Willz will see you as a dangerous threat to his life and livelihood,” Hessa said. “Which will only compound our trouble. If Willz backed Pechu Magafa’s rise, then helping you is not in his best interest. Instead of the Shilo Syndicate coming for us, we will also have the Willz Syndicate coming for us. I do not like this plan, Roak.”

“I told you I agree, but we have no choice,” Roak said. “Comm him. Now.”

Hessa huffed then made the connection.

“Speak,” the voice of Yelt Willz barked. “Who is this and how did you get my comm signature?” There was some muffled shouting then Yelt returned. “I am having this signature traced. I will find you and make sure that every inch of your–”

“Yelt Willz, it’s Roak,” Roak interrupted. “Got a minute to chat?”

There was silence for a second then, “Mr. Roak. What a pleasure it is to hear from you.”

“Roak. Just Roak,” Roak said. “And I’m glad you think it’s a pleasure.”

“Oh, it is, it is,” Yelt said. “You have made quite the stir out there in the galaxy since you left my presence. What is all this about you double-crossing Shava Stemn Shava? He is not as dangerous as, say, I am, but he is not a man that you should be toying with. What happened, Roak? Did he try to pay you in credits?”

Yelt barked a harsh laugh and it sounded like he was hocking up a lung for a few seconds. Roak waited until the man got himself under control.

“Gonna need to cash in a favor,” Roak said.

More silence then a tsking noise.

“Mr. Roak, I do not owe you any favors,” Yelt said.

Roak let the mister part go that time.

“I paid you the amount of chits that we agreed upon and you went along on your way,” Yelt said. “Our business is concluded, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Hold on,” Roak snapped. “It’s not that easy, Willz. If it was, I wouldn’t be calling you. You do owe me a favor since I hold a secret of yours.”

“You said you would forget that secret, Roak,” Yelt snarled. Roak could almost hear the man foaming at the mouth. “Bringing that up now is the wrong move. You already have Shilo on you, do you want Willz on you as well? I think not. Good day, Roak.”

“If you don’t help me, then I broadcast what I know to every single contact I have ever made in my entire career as a bounty hunter,” Roak said. “You there, Willz? Do you hear me? Cut this comm, and the first thing I do is record a vid and scatter it across the galaxy.”

Yelt’s heavy breathing could be heard.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

“I need safe passage to Jafla Base,” Roak said.

“Are you mad?” Yelt shouted. “Safe passage? If I gave you safe passage to Jafla Base that would essentially be declaring war on the Shilo Syndicate!”

“I already know you helped put Pechu Magafa in power,” Roak said.

“I specifically backed Pechu Magafa in order to avoid ever having to deal with a war with Shilo Syndicate, you idiot!” Yelt shouted. “No! Tell the galaxy what you know! I will deny it and deal with the aftermath!”

The comm went dead.

“Well, that was less than productive,” Hessa said.

“Keep the channel open,” Roak said.

“What? If they are tracking our comm, then they will be able to hone in on us,” Hessa said. “I am not keeping the channel open, Roak. You have lost your–”

The comm beeped and Roak answered.

“Mr. Willz,” Roak said.

“I cannot give you safe passage,” Yelt growled. “But I can direct you around the worst of the traps. It will not be easy, Roak. Every syndicate in the galaxy is working to find you. There is a rumor you hold the key to Shava Stemn Shava’s empire. He is not syndicate, but he would be a jewel in the crown of any one of our operations.”

“I’m not giving you the key,” Roak said. “I was hired to do a job, I’m going to complete the job, then I’m going to walk away and let the rest of you figure out what comes next. My job will be done.”

“Such confident optimism,” Yelt said. “You truly believe you can walk away. Remarkable.”

“You help me and I swear that your secret is never revealed,” Roak said. “I may even assist you in disseminating some misdirection to throw off anyone that may find the truth down the line. Give you some plausible deniability.”

“Lovely phrase, that,” Yelt said. “Plausible deniability. Yes. That could work.”

“Then we have a deal?” Roak asked.

“Yes,” Yelt said. “But I refuse our terms to be based on blackmail. It irritates me.”

“Then what do you propose?” Roak asked.

“You will owe me two jobs on the house,” Yelt said. “They will be jobs of my choosing and you cannot refuse them. You will perform the jobs when I call you, without argument.”

“Unless I am on another job,” Roak said.

“No, even then,” Yelt replied. “I call, you get to work.”

“I finish the job I may be working on first,” Roak said. “I take a job, I finish a job, I get paid for a job. I never deviate from that formula, Willz. Never.”

“I see,” Yelt replied and sighed with great exaggeration. “Fine. When I need you, if you are currently engaged in a different job, then you may complete that job before you take on mine.  But only once. The second and final job has no such caveat. I refuse to negotiate further, Roak. Take the offer or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” Roak said without hesitation. “You have my comm signature. Send me the safest route I should take to Jafla Base and your secret will never be revealed.”

“And you will owe me two jobs,” Yelt said with way too much glee in his voice. “I would like to hear you say it.”

“And I will owe you two jobs.”

“Of my choosing.”

“Of your choosing.”

“Excellent!” Yelt exclaimed. “Now, since our business is done here, I believe I will get back to my work at hand. Duplicitous offspring do not learn lessons on their own. Your route will be incoming within the hour.”

The comm connection was cut. On both ends.

“We need to leave,” Hessa said. “Now, Roak.”

“Agreed,” Roak said. “Get the ship prepped. I’ll go say goodbye to Bhangul. We’ll take off the second we have that route.”

“Roak?”

“Yeah? What?”

“The woman. The bounty hunter that Pechu Magafa has hired. She will still come for the Jonny Nebula code,” Hessa said. “Your arrangement with Yelt Willz cannot stop that. What is your plan to deal with her?”

“I don’t have a plan,” Roak said. “I expect her to find me. She promised she would. She never breaks a promise, and just like me, she always completes a job.”

“You two are very similar,” Hessa said. “Is there a particular reason as to why?”

“Nice try, Hessa,” Roak said. “But my past is my past and it stays there. Prep the ship and let me know the second that route is transmitted to you.”

“Yes, Roak.”

29.

Bhangul was sitting upright in a very comfortable-looking chair in the well-apportioned dwelling he had set up off to the side of the underground hangar that held all of the real merchandise that he was known for moving. No reputable dealer would sell to someone like Roak, or make modifications to a ship that were so far outside the law that even looking at the blueprints could get a person thrown onto a prison moon for decades.

So they came to Bhangul. Which meant he couldn’t travel far from his precious inventory. So work was home and home was work.

“You do what I needed?” Roak asked.

“You’ll bankrupt me,” Bhangul said then nodded. “I did it.”

“Thank you,” Roak said and set a case down. “Payment.”

“And I thank you,” Bhangul said. “What did that mind of yours manage to figure out?”

“I cut a deal with Yelt Willz,” Roak said.

“A deal with the Willz Syndicate? That’s surprising. I heard they are cozy with the Shilo Syndicate. Kind of a conflict of interest there, don’t you think.”

“A major conflict,” Roak said. “But I had a card to play and I played it. I may have overplayed it, but we’ll see.”

“You always overplay,” Bhangul said. “It’s what makes you Roak.”

“You going to be good here?” Roak asked.

“Listen to you being all soft,” Bhangul said.

“You do good work, Bhangul,” Roak said. “No question about that. Despite the issues I may have with the AI in the ship you sold me.”

“Sold you? Not sure that’s how I would put it,” Bhangul said and laughed. “But, yes, that AI made selling that ship near to impossible. I’m glad she hasn’t killed you or anything.”

“She hasn’t yet, but give her time,” Roak said. He took a small box from his belt and set it on the side table by Bhangul’s chair. “This is for the Skrang punk. Give it to him and tell him to do what he’s getting paid to do.”

“He will mess it up,” Bhangul said.

“I know,” Roak replied and shrugged. “But it may cause just enough confusion for me to get enough of a head start that I might actually survive this.”

“You’re worried,” Bhangul stated. “Don’t argue. You’re worried. Who is she that she has you so worried?”

“A phantom,” Roak said and left the small dwelling.

“A phantom scarier than Roak!” Bhangul called after him. “Just what the galaxy needs!”

Roak crossed the hangar and went to the lift.

“Hessa? You ready?” he called over the comm.

“I am,” Hessa replied. “Route has been received. I will activate the moltrans unit and meet you on the surface.”

“You can do that?” Roak asked. “I thought only Bhangul had authorization to activate the moltrans?”

“I may have hacked some extra privileges from his system while he had me hooked up for diagnostics,” Hessa said. “But I admit nothing.”

“I’m a bad influence on you,” Roak said as the lift took him up to the small office.

“Or perhaps I am a bad influence on you,” Hessa replied.

Roak left the lift and crossed the office. He paused at the door, his eyes scanning the lot outside for any signs of trouble. When he was certain no one was lying in wait, he left the office, pistol drawn, and hurried to the same spot where Hessa had landed earlier.

The rear ramp lowered and Roak was jumping inside the ship and running to the lift before the ramp had even touched the ground.

“Take off,” Roak ordered. “Don’t wait for me to get to the bridge.”

“Please brace yourself then,” Hessa said.

Roak did just that, grabbing onto the side railing inside the lift as the doors closed and he felt the ship launch. There was some pressure, but the grav dampeners kicked in and any hint of discomfort went away.

He reached the bridge and sat in the pilot’s seat, bringing up the navigation system before he began to strap in.

“Where is this route taking us?” Roak asked.

“It is rather circuitous, but I believe Mr. Willz has come through,” Hessa said.

Roak studied the star charts and the thin red line that denoted the route they would be taking from Zuus to Jafla Base. The first three-quarters looked rough, but they were doable. The final quarter was going to be a nightmare.

“Of all the Seven Hells, he thinks this is a good route?” Roak said, pointing to the last leg. “Hessa? Can we avoid these two systems?”

“I do not know, Roak,” Hessa said. “This is the route sent to us. It is based on Mr. Willz’s knowledge of the other syndicates’ traps and ambushes, not to mention whatever side intel he picked up. I have no way of telling whether or not we can stray from this prescribed route.”

“Great,” Roak said. “I guess we have no choice.”

“That would be correct,” Hessa said. “Now, please finish strapping in. I am timing our entry into this system’s wormhole portal so I can squeeze us between two ships. We will briefly be visible, but the congestion will cause some confusion.”

“Don’t crash us,” Roak said as he finished strapping in.

“It is not part of my plan,” Hessa said and the ship accelerated fast enough that there was a lag with the dampeners and Roak was pressed back into his seat.

He watched as the system flew by and the wormhole portal grew closer and closer. There were more than two ships queued up for the portal. There were at least twenty. All different types and sizes.

Many were haulers, transporting seeds from the Zuus Colony to other systems and worlds that could not keep up with their growth and demand. Or that didn’t have a climate or environment that allowed seeds to propagate.

Roak neither knew nor cared. What he did care about were the two ships in the very front of the queue. Those were the ships Hessa had them heading towards on what looked like a certain collision course.

“Yeah, I’m not feeling this,” Roak said. “Hessa? Maybe we should rethink this strategy.”

“Roak, I can process faster than ten million of your brains combined,” Hessa said. “In the time it took you to start panicking, I have rethought this strategy to the millionth power and come to the same conclusion each time. This is the only way.”

The first ship entered the wormhole portal, and Roak wanted to scream as his view was engulfed by the second ship. But he didn’t scream. He gritted his teeth, gripped the armrests of his seat, and braced for impact.

Then they were through the portal and into trans-space. No collision. No explosion. No second ship being turned into a billion tiny pieces of scrap and shrapnel.

They were on their way. Following a route that was given to them by a man that was not a man and most likely would rather Roak was dead than evading half the galaxy’s criminal syndicates.

The vortex of quantum energy that was trans-space swirled across the ship’s view shield. Roak watched it for a while then yawned and stretched.

“I’d rather not do that again,” Roak said.

“I join you in that opinion,” Hessa said. “But it had to be done.”

Roak brought the route back up on the screen and studied the first few transition points.

“Tersch System,” Roak said. “Stay too long in that system and the sun turns your skin purple.”

“I do not have skin,” Hessa said.

“It’d turn my skin purple,” Roak said. “How long until we get there?”

“About two hours,” Hessa replied. “You should go eat. I can navigate us to our destination.”

“I am going to eat, but I’ll be back in two hours,” Roak said. “I don’t trust Willz and I want to be ready for the ambush if it’s coming.”

“Understood,” Hessa replied.

Roak made his way out of the bridge and down to the mess. He skipped the stew, not wanting to see what maybe Hessa picked up on Zuus. Instead, he punched the synth machine’s buttons until it gave him two protein cakes and a glass of generic juice.

Roak took a seat in a mess that was meant to hold dozens of people. He munched on one of the cakes as he kicked his feet up.

“You have changed,” Hessa said.

Roak gave a grunt in reply.

“No, you have,” Hessa persisted.

“You haven’t known me long enough to say that,” Roak said.

“I have,” Hessa said. “And I do not forget details. I am able to recall them and analyze against newer, more current behaviors. You have changed.”

“How so?” Roak asked.

“Since leaving Ligston, you have become more…”

“More…? What? More what?” Roak asked.

“Human,” Hessa finished.

Roak grunted again.

“Let me give you an example,” Hessa said. “Ple.”

“What about the guy?”

“You enjoyed having him around,” Hessa said. “You did not trust him, and he made you angry on more than one occasion, but you enjoyed the company. Company I cannot provide.”

“You have your place,” Roak said. “I’ve gotten used to you around. That’s saying a lot.”

“Yes, but Ple was a living being that challenged you,” Hessa said. “He pushed your, as you beings say, pushed your buttons. It egged you on.”

“Listen to you and all the sayings you’ve picked up,” Roak said as he started in on the second protein cake. “Maybe one day you’ll become a real gal.”

“I take back everything I have said,” Hessa replied. “You are a cold dick.”

“Where the hell did you learn that phrase?” Roak asked.

“I am unsure,” Hessa said. “Perhaps from one of the mechanics or techs in a hangar bay? Or I may have downloaded it at some point. I will trace the origin as–”

“No. Don’t,” Roak said. “Never overthink it.”

Roak yawned and shook his head. He drank his juice then got up and disposed of the cup and plate.

“I’m shot,” Roak said. “Going to grab some rest. Wake me up when we’re about to reach the Tersch System.”

“I shall,” Hessa said. “Rest well, Roak.”

Roak grunted as he left.

30.

The ship dropped through the wormhole portal and into the Tersch System.

Roak sat in the pilot’s seat, weapons system at the ready.

“Scans?” Roak asked.

“Clear,” Hessa replied.

“You sure?”

“I am sure, Roak,” Hessa said. “No other ships are within scan range.”

“How far to the next wormhole portal?” Roak asked.

“Thirty minutes,” Hessa said. “It’s a backdoor portal that sits directly behind the remains of that planet.”

Hessa zoomed in to show Roak a planet that was two shattered halves, yet the halves were so large that their gravity held them within each other’s orbit.

“That doesn’t look like behind,” Roak said. “Is the backdoor in between the halves?”

“Yes, it may be,” Hessa said. “But there is plenty of room for us to maneuver.”

“I freaking hope so,” Roak said. “Shit. This is the first part. I am not looking forward to the last part.”

Hessa turned the ship towards the split planet. Roak kept his eyes moving back and forth from the long-range scans to the weapons system. He sat there the entire thirty minutes, waiting for the attack.

But it never came and they were approaching the backdoor wormhole portal, one that the Galactic Fleet would never certify and allow general space traffic to use, without any incident or even a hint of an incident.

“So far, Willz is holding up his end,” Roak said. “I know that one portal does not prove anything. I ain’t expecting our luck to hold.”

“We are entering the portal in three, two, one,” Hessa said and the ship launched through what looked like a hole in one of the halves.

Then trans-space was all around them again. But the swirling was different and the quantum energy that made up the vortex kept flickering and sparking.

“Unstable,” Roak said.

“Agreed,” Hessa replied. “I suspected it might be.”

Roak stared at the sparking and flickering.

“Roak? There is an incoming comm request,” Hessa said. “Unknown signature.”

“Can it track us?” Roak asked.

“There would be no way for it to track us while in trans-space,” Hessa said. “Especially on a less than stable leg such as this.”

“Put it through,” Roak said. “But do me a favor and pay attention to my new implant. I’d rather not have to get a third. You hear me, Hessa? Not getting a third one.”

“I will monitor your implant,” Hessa said. “Comm is coming through now.”

“Roak,” the woman in black’s voice said. “There is no reason you should be this good.”

“Why the hell not?” Roak asked.

“Because it wasn’t how you were supposed to turn out,” the woman in black said. “Is she there? Your AI? I have to assume she is listening.”

“Probably,” Roak replied. “I didn’t tell her not to.”

“That is fine,” the woman in black said. “Did you get my holo?”

“Yeah. Overly dramatic as always. The ultimatums. You really like the ultimatums.”

“Have you told anyone who I am yet?”

“No,” Roak said. “Why would I? You’re the past. Gonna leave you there where you belong.”

“Yes, I expected you to say something of that nature,” the woman in black said.

“Then why the call?” Roak asked. “You can’t track me this time.”

“I don’t need to,” she said. “I know where you’re going, Roak. Others will be looking for you on your journey. I will be waiting at your destination.”

“Great,” Roak said. “Looking forward to the face to face.”

“I doubt that.”

“Me too,” Roak said. “Tell me something.”

“I don’t think I will.”

“Nah, you will. Tell me. Why did you take the job from the Shilo Syndicate? Not the way you operate. You like the deep cover jobs. You like the jobs that no one knows are jobs.”

“Are you sure you are not talking about yourself?”

“You know what I’m saying. I take the jobs others refuse, but there’s nothing hidden about them. You live in the dark. You hide your jobs like you hide your face. Or where your face used to be.”

The woman hissed and there was the sound of something breaking. Roak grinned.

“Still have that temper,” Roak said. “Don’t know why you haven’t had your body repaired.”

“Because I like my body as it is,” the woman in black said. “I like the reminder of what happened.”

“You like the dark,” Roak said. “Listen, gotta go. About to come out of trans-space.”

“No, Roak, you are not about to–”

Roak killed the comm.

“No more calls from her,” Roak said. “She’s only doing it to try to get inside my head. It’s how she works.”

“I would be able to better join you in this conversation if I knew who she was,” Hessa said.

“True,” Roak said. “But it doesn’t really matter. You’ll meet her in the end.”

“She will be waiting at Jafla Base?” Hessa asked. “Then so will the others.”

“No, they won’t,” Roak said. “Each of the syndicates have carved out their spot. We’ll be avoiding most, but some will figure out we’ve taken a route around them. When they do, they’ll switch tactics and come for us.”

“You say she will be alone at the end?” Hessa asked. “How do you know for sure?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Roak said. “But I do know her. She will insist she takes me and the genetic code on her own. When she insists, people are forced to listen. Those that don’t…”

“You do not need to finish that thought,” Hessa said. “I know what you are saying.”

“Huh? No, I wasn’t being dramatic,” Roak said and stood up. He began to pace the bridge. “No. It’s something she said in her holo back on the first asteroid facility. Come back to the fold. Why? That would never be an option. Why say that?”

“Was it meant to be an emotional trigger?” Hess asked. “I have been studying those. They can be used to put someone in a former frame of mind using an association that is either unpleasant or pleasant.”

“An emotional trigger?” Roak replied. “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s gonna bug me, whatever it means.”

“I would ask for more information, but you will not give it,” Hessa said.

“No, I won’t,” Roak said. “It’s as much for your safety as mine.”

There was an awkward silence.

“Roak? Are you trying to protect me?” Hessa asked.

“Shut up,” Roak said.

He stopped pacing and sat back down, his eyes unfocused, his mind wandering through the various scenarios.

Come back to the fold…

Why had he called her in the first place? What was his endgame other than to see if she’d pick up? It had been a mistake the second he’d dialed in the comm signature, he knew that. She would never have tried to legitimately help him. But, as always, he couldn’t help himself.

Roak liked to think of himself as a man of intense self-control, but that was a lie and he knew it. He was emotional. He’d always been emotional. He tried to be cold and unfeeling, but in the end, his feelings always won out.

He was glad his internal dialogue was just that: internal. His reputation in the galaxy would be shot if he ever admitted to anyone that he wasn’t the cold operator they all thought he was.

Or did they? Roak thought about that. Maybe the reputation he assumed he had wasn’t his actual reputation. Maybe, just maybe, he was hired for the jobs no one else wanted because he was known to be emotional and take risks that others wouldn’t.

He laughed to himself. Was he the only one that didn’t actually know him?

“What is so funny?” Hessa asked.

“Nothing,” Roak said. “Just doing a little thinking.”

“You do not do little anything, Roak,” Hessa said. “But, I will not pry. We all have our introspective moments.”

“Yeah, we do,” Roak said. “Where are we?”

“About to come out of the next wormhole portal,” Hessa replied.

“Anything on the scans?” Roak asked.

“No way to tell at this moment,” Hessa replied. “Not with the trans-space variables.”

Roak nodded and readied himself for the attack.

But when they came out of the portal, there was nothing again.

“This is the Gorf System,” Roak said. “Too close to the mark, Hessa. Get us out of here fast.”

“Yes, Roak,” Hessa replied and aimed the ship for the next wormhole portal.

The Gorf System was made up of jungle planets, one of which was Ligston where Roak had the vast majority of his chits stashed away under the protection of a Tcherian woman named Ally and a legless Skrang weapons dealer named Sha Tog. Roak didn’t trust either of them to have his best interests at heart, but he did trust them to distrust each other enough that they would be on guard at all times.

It was how Roak’s world worked. All about who trusted who the least and how to exploit that.

“The route takes us behind the planet called Stefbon,” Hessa said. “This portal is even less stable than the last one.”

“So Willz is trying to kill us,” Roak said and laughed. “Smart guy. Let trans-space take us out.”

“Except that would take out the genetic code, as well,” Hessa said. “I do not think that is his endgame.”

“His endgame is to be square with me and have me out of his life,” Roak said. “If that means annihilation by an unstable, backdoor wormhole portal then so be it.”

“Not the most sound strategy, but considering our capabilities, it is one of the few avenues to take,” Hessa said.

“Our capabilities,” Roak said and laughed again. “Get us out of here, Hessa.”

“You do not need to keep saying that, Roak,” Hessa said. “I understand the process.”

31.

The next three systems were just as uneventful. No ambushes. No syndicates trying to track them. They were left completely alone.

“This is giving me a bad feeling,” Roak said. “We’re the number one target in the galaxy right now and no one is touching us.”

“Willz is holding up his end of the bargain, Roak,” Hessa said. “You should not be too surprised when that happens. Not everyone is looking to break deals and betray you.”

“Yeah, Hessa, they are,” Roak said. “I’ve been at this a lot longer than you have. A database does not equal experience.”

“No need to get personal again,” Hessa said as the ship dropped out of trans-space and into a new system.

“And we are…?” Roak asked.

“I am…unsure,” Hessa replied.

“How is that again?” Roak asked. “What do you mean you are not sure?”

“If you will allow me a moment to double check the route, I may be able to give you more exact information,” Hessa snapped.

Roak held up his hands and waited, keeping his mouth shut. He stared out the view shield at the emptiness of the new system. And it was empty. Only a few flickering stars far off, but no planets, no suns, no other celestial bodies zipping by leaving trails of ice or gas. It was an almost blank canvas.

“Strange,” Hessa said. “I cannot find record of this system on any of the galactic maps.”

“I know the answer, but I’m going to ask it anyway,” Roak said. “Did you input the wrong coordinates?”

“Since you know the answer, I will not bother with your question,” Hessa said. “What I will say is that it appears we have been sent to the farthest wormhole portal created. We are in the outer reaches of the outer reaches.”

“Interesting,” Roak said just as a single bleep came from the scanners. “So is this.”

“A ship,” Hessa said and switched the view to focus in on the vehicle that was quickly approaching their ship. “Oh, my. That is a Skrang warship. Heavy class.”

“Yeah, it is,” Roak said. “Hessa? Where’s the next wormhole portal?”

“Yes, well, that seems to be the problem,” Hessa said. “The Skrang warship is between us and it.”

“Sure. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Roak said and sighed. More bleeps on the scanners then a general warning klaxon. “And their weapons just went hot.”

“Yes, they did,” Hessa said. “Roak, I will need to ask you to fully strap in and allow me to handle this, please.”

“This shit is all yours,” Roak said and began pulling extra straps from under his seat. He clicked them into place on a central hub then pressed his palm to the hub. The space between the straps filled in with a light foam. “Fully strapped.”

“I do apologize for what I will need to do next,” Hessa said.

The ship dove fast. Roak had been subjected to a lot of evasive maneuvers over the past few days, but he was far from prepared for the force that he was subjected to. His body would have been beat to hell if he hadn’t been strapped in with the foam. Hessa had diverted power from all non-essential systems, including grav dampeners, in order for the ship to execute the twists and turns needed to duck under the Skrang warship’s incoming barrage of torpedo fire.

Roak would have liked to comment on how it sure looked like the Skrang didn’t want any witnesses to their occupation of a system that wasn’t on galactic maps and stood at the outer reaches of the outer reaches. But he was too busy trying to keep his teeth from cracking as his jaw clenched so hard that he thought his tendons would snap. The muscles in his neck stood out like alloy cables and there was a ringing in his ears that threatened to become deafening.

“We’ve avoided the first wave,” Hessa said. “Deploying countermeasures so they cannot double back on us.”

Roak grunted in response.

“No need to reply,” Hessa said. “I can see from your vital signs that you are in great physical distress. My apologies. I should have insisted you travel in the med pod in case of a situation such as this.”

Roak grunted again.

“I must insist you do not stress yourself by trying to respond, Roak,” Hessa said. “Please relax as much as possible. Passing out is perfectly acceptable.”

Roak didn’t bother grunting to that statement, but he also didn’t bother passing out. Both seemed like too much effort. He watched as a second wave of torpedoes came at the ship. Their spread was wider, casting a bigger net, than the first wave.

“Countermeasures will not work with this wave,” Hessa said, sounding as if she was narrating a nature vid. “I will need to go on the offensive to avoid destruction.”

The ship’s plasma cannons came to life and destroyed half the torpedoes. That still left the other half which were zeroing in on their target with perfect precision. Hessa brought the ship up in a steep climb then leveled out, allowing the torpedoes to target the ship’s belly.

Roak did not mind that the view did not switch to show the torpedoes coming up from below. He figured he’d know if Hessa’s plan worked or not by the fact he’d survive the next few seconds or he wouldn’t. The ship shook and shuddered and Roak felt one of his molars crack from the strain of his stress.

But the ship stayed intact and there were no warning klaxons telling him he was about to be purged out into the void of space.

Several more shudders and Hessa brought the ship up and around so they were flying directly at the Skrang warship’s aft engines. The pressure on Roak’s body lessened enough that he was able to loosen his jaw.

“Are we…following…them?” he asked.

“Yes,” Hessa said. “I was able to use the torpedoes against each other. We suffered some minor hull damage and our shield power has dropped by sixteen percent, but we came out of the ordeal virtually unscathed.”

“Yay,” Roak said weakly. “So…why are we…following the Skrang…warship?”

“We are flying in their engine wash which is hampering their ability to target us with another wave of torpedoes,” Hessa replied. “Are you familiar with the Skrang’s weapons system technology?”

“I’ve watched it…work,” Roak said. “Never been…on the…losing end before.”

“Obviously not,” Hessa said. “Or you would not be alive.”

She cleared her virtual throat as she brought the ship closer to the Skrang’s aft engines.

“The Skrang are a race that believes in military might and brute force,” Hessa stated.

“Yeah…I know.”

“This brute force is what allowed them to continue the War for as long as they did,” Hessa said. “But, what the Skrang do not get credit for is their invention of learning weapons.”

“That is…too bad,” Roak said.

“Yes, quite,” Hessa said. “While the Galactic Fleet put a considerable amount of resources into developing artificial intelligence systems to assist with the piloting of ships and some other, more covert activities, the Skrang put their engineers and techs to work making their weapons smarter. Each of those torpedoes had an AI processor inside them which was networked to the other AI processors. They learned as they attacked. When they failed, they took that failure and analyzed it so that the next wave of torpedoes would not make the same logistical mistakes. It is rather ingenious for a race of beings that have been known to eat their young during times of cultural chaos.”

“Ingenious,” Roak said. “I’ve always…said that.”

“You can stop mocking me,” Hessa said. “If I did not have this knowledge of how the Skrang’s weapons operate, then we would be dead.”

“So…no third wave?”

“No third wave,” Hessa said. “Even if the Skrang wanted to launch a third wave of torpedoes, the weapons themselves would refuse since the only outcome would be certain self-destruction due to our proximity to their ship. I have made it so there are no other alternatives.”

Roak waited for more, but Hessa did not continue. The pressure lessened and lessened until he was able to stretch his jaw and speak normally.

“Hessa? What’s up?” he asked.

“What is up is that the Skrang warship is moving in the opposite direction from the wormhole portal that we need to go through,” Hessa said. “They are flying towards the one we just came through.”

“Shit,” Roak said.

“Yes. Shit,” Hessa agreed. “We will have to break away from our current defensive position in order to continue on our route.”

“Which means smart torpedoes coming at our ass,” Roak said.

“That is one way to put it, yes,” Hessa said.

“Okay. Not like we have much of a choice,” Roak said. “We have to keep going.”

“Correct. We do have one advantage and that is we have not engaged our stealth tech,” Hessa said. “That will give us approximately a three-minute head start.”

“Go,” Roak said. “Don’t wait and let the Skrang come up with a plan. They’ve seen our ship and know it’s a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight. Go.”

“My assessment, as well,” Hessa said and the ship banked hard.

Roak stayed strapped in and watched as the view changed. Far off, the small dot that was their destination could be seen. Roak knew they were a long ways off, but even from where he was, the portal looked small. Very small.

“Hessa?” Roak said.

“I was hoping you would not notice,” Hessa said.

“We’re gonna fit, right?” he asked.

“Of course.”

“Good.”

“It will be tight.”

“So?”

“So…it will be tight. There will be no margin for error when we enter the portal.”

“Okay.”

“If one of the torpedoes were to impact with us, then that could alter our course.”

“Okay.”

“We do not want that.”

“Hey, Hessa?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“Shut up and fly the damn ship.”

Hessa mumbled something, but Roak did not catch it.

He could see by the readings on the control console that the stealth tech had been engaged as soon as they stopped following the Skrang warship. He could also tell that a third and fourth wave of torpedoes were racing after them despite the stealth tech being engaged.

It wasn’t hard for the Skrang to guess where they were going. All the stealth tech did was stop the torpedoes from getting a confirmed lock on the ship. That kept the weapons from peak efficiency.

Roak came to the grim realization that his life was completely in the grip of a set of parameters that had basically zero margin for error. He shrugged and rolled his eyes without knowing he was doing either. Just another Eight Million Godsdamn day as usual.

“Sixty seconds,” Hessa called.

Roak watched the wormhole portal grow closer and closer. As it did, Roak saw that the size wasn’t the only issue. It had a strange shimmer to it that he hadn’t seen before in a portal. The entrance wavered between a bright green and a bright silver then would dull and flash black every couple of seconds. If he wasn’t so hyperaware, he would have missed the black flashes and chalked them up to his eyes blinking.

“Forty-five seconds,” Hessa said.

Klaxons rang out as the torpedoes gained on their position. They still had not locked on, but if they stayed on their present course they would hit the ship by default.

“Thirty-five seconds,” Hessa said.

“Blow them up,” Roak said. “It’ll give our exact position away, but we might be able to slow them down.”

“The advantage is so slight, Roak, that it is not worth the risk,” Hessa said.

“Hessa, do it,” Roak ordered. “We’re going with my gut, not your calculations.”

“That would be a mistake.”

“You have no idea how many people have said that to me in my lifetime yet here I am,” Roak said.

“Do you really want to use your present circumstances as proof that your instincts are correct?” Hessa asked.

“Fire on the damn torpedoes!” Roak shouted.

Hessa fired on the damn torpedoes. Roak watched the results on the console. Six of the wave in front were taken out which caused a chain reaction among the remainder. Torpedo after torpedo were destroyed until only four were left. Four very fast, very determined smart torpedoes.

Roak started to consider becoming a monk with the Saldt sect and giving up a life amongst tech. Sit on a grass mat all day with his legs crossed while he hummed some mantra over and over from dawn until dusk. It was an appealing thought.

“Ten seconds,” Hessa said.

Roak’s eyes were fixed on the console and the aft image of the four torpedoes. He couldn’t do the math that Hessa could do, but he’d been in a thousand similar tight situations. It was basically a chit toss from what he could see. They’d live or they would die.

“Entering now!” Hessa announced as the ship hit the wormhole dead on just as two of the torpedoes veered off and detonated against the portal’s framework.

The ship’s power cut out and everything went dark.

32.

“Life support?” Roak asked.

“Yes,” Hessa replied as the control console rebooted and the view shield showed the swirling trans-space. It was still that strange green to silver to black flashes, but at least it was there and so was the ship. “Engines are online as well.”

“Hot damn,” Roak said and took several deep breaths.

“I have finished full diagnostics and we seem to have made it through fairly intact. We are not unscathed, but there is nothing the bots cannot fix while in transit,” Hessa said. “If it was not completely irrational, I would say that we were very lucky. However, luck is not a variable I can either compute or rely on yet. Give me more time with you–”

“Fair enough, fair enough,” Roak said. “What’s our ETA until the next destination?”

“About three hours,” Hessa said. “I have been researching our route and we should not be entering any other strange systems. Other than the final two systems, we will travel without impediment.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Roak said.

He undid all the straps, let the added security foam fall away in clumps, then stood and stretched, twisting his back this way and that until several satisfying pops were heard and felt.

“I’m going to sleep until the next system,” Roak said, heading for the lift. “Call me if we–”

“Yes, yes,” Hessa said. “Go sleep, Roak.”

Roak nodded and left the bridge.

By the time he got to his cabin, he was dead on his feet. His head was screaming from the heavy grav maneuvers he endured during the encounter with the Skrang warship and his body felt like he’d done ten rounds in the Orbs himself. He was spent.

Roak collapsed onto his bed as the cabin door closed behind him. He struggled to get his boots off, totally failed, and ended up falling asleep diagonally across his bed covers.

When he awoke, he was glad that the engines were running and the vibrations humming through the ship’s floor felt like everything was normal. He didn’t jolt awake and jump out of bed, but eased up onto his feet and shuffled to the head. Roak managed to get his boots off that time. He stripped off his armor and stepped into the sonic shower.

Water was too precious on ship, so he endured the scathing sonic waves that washed over him, stripping the sweat and grime from every inch and pore of his skin. When he was certain he was clean, he switched the sonic to air and warmed his body until he felt as human as he could feel.

Thoughts of his past tried to infiltrate his mind, but he punched them down deep where they belonged. He wasn’t going there. No matter how hard she’d tried to dredge it all up, Roak absolutely, one hundred percent, refused to be dragged into those memories. He was done with all that.

Come back to the fold…

It didn’t fit. Something was wrong. She would have never asked for that. They would never have asked for that.

Roak shook his head and grabbed a fresh shirt and pair of pants then donned his light armor once more. He strapped on his pistols, deciding that two felt right for what would more than likely be ahead, and left his cabin. A quick stop by the mess for some food and he was back in the lift, ready to take his seat on the bridge.

“We almost to the next portal yet?” Roak asked around a mouthful of protein mush.

“We have been through three portals,” Hessa replied. “I chose to let you sleep. You needed it.”

“Three portals?” Roak asked. He checked the console. “Damn. I was out.”

“You were,” Hessa said. “Your vitals have not evened out like that for quite some time. It would have been hard for you to get better rest in a med pod.”

“Good to know,” Roak said as he sat down and kicked his feet up on the console. He took a couple of bites of protein mush. “How many more legs until we reach the first of the not so fun systems?”

“It will be our next portal,” Hessa said.

Roak dropped his feet and sat straight up.

“The next one? You might have given me a little more notice than that.”

“I do not see how it can make much difference,” Hessa said. “The Klatu System is what it is. I have been studying the records in the database and I have found that as long as we stay within the prescribed route, we should not have an issue with our travels.”

“I’ve been in the Klatu System, Hessa,” Roak said. “There are…things in the Klatu System. Big things. Things that do not play by the rules of physics or reality.”

“Yes, that was all in the records,” Hessa said. “However, I believe those accounts are highly subject since they come from beings that can be easily manipulated and from minds that can perceive reality in a distorted way.”

“You mean minds that aren’t AI,” Roak said.

“I did not want to come out and say it, but yes,” Hessa admitted. “Biological beings are more bio than logical.”

“That’s funny,” Roak said. “Ha and ha. But you’re wrong. I told you, I’ve seen some of those things. They weren’t part of my perceived distorted reality. They distorted the reality. They did. Not me.”

“Perhaps I will be able to witness this phenomenon myself,” Hessa said. “If so, then I can confirm centuries of reports. Consider this a scientific outing.”

“No,” Roak said. “No. We won’t consider it that. We will keep our eyes open, our weapons hot, our engines at full, and we will run the gauntlet of the Klatu System as fast as possible.”

“I will consider that the plan then,” Hessa said as the swirling view came to a sudden halt and the ship exited the wormhole portal and entered the Klatu System.

“Alright, how far to the next portal?” Roak asked, his eyes watching the scanners as his hands hovered over the weapons controls. “Tell me it is close.”

“It is close,” Hessa said. “And I mean that. I was not making a sarcastic statement as you so often do.”

“Good to know,” Roak said. He checked the navigation readings and smiled. “Fifteen minutes away. Good.”

A warning bleeped and he shook his head.

“It is a gas cloud,” Hessa said. “Off our starboard side. I am adjusting course to avoid any issues it may cause with the engine wash. The cloud makeup could be combustible and we do not need any ancillary explosions while navigating this system.”

“No, we don’t,” Roak said.

The warning bleep ended and the ship moved away from the gas cloud. Roak’s eyes moved from the scanners to the view shield and back.

“Hessa? What is that?” he asked, staring at a dark spot in the view shield that was not showing up on the scanners.

“That would be the remains of a Collari Syndicate base,” Hessa said. “I stumbled across its records by accident. They were well hidden within the database I have access to. If I had not been looking for any possible traps, I would have missed the records altogether.”

“Collari Syndicate?” Roak said. “What a mess. The fallout from that collapse nearly took down three other syndicates. I lost several hundred thousand chits when control of one syndicate went through five different hands before it all settled. No one knew who was supposed to pay me and I couldn’t even figure out a mark to go after. Had to write that one off.”

“But Roak always gets paid his chits,” Hessa said.

“That was sarcasm,” Roak said. “Don’t deny it.”

“I do not deny it,” Hessa said.

The ship skirted past the burned out wreck of what looked like a small moon, but could have been an old asteroid or even a full space station. It was nearly impossible to tell what the structure had been at one time, it was so mangled and destroyed. But its structural state wasn’t the troubling part. What got to Roak was that it still didn’t show up on scanners. Only visual confirmation proved that it even existed.

Another warning bleep then a full alarm.

“Okay, time to turn on the throttle,” Roak said and strapped himself in. “Hessa, get us to that wormhole portal.”

“This is quite remarkable, Roak,” Hessa said. “If I was not witnessing it, I would not believe it.”

“Listen, Hessa, I like the ‘I told you so’ routine as much as anyone, and I will get back to it later, but I want to be out of this system first before I point fingers and say the words,” Roak said. “Punch the throttle and get us to that damn portal!”

The ship accelerated and Roak took a deep breath. The view switched as Hessa showed Roak what she was talking about.

“Do you see it as well?” she asked. “I would appreciate second party confirmation.”

“To hell with your second party confirmation!” Roak shouted. “I see the damn thing! Go!”

A creature that had to be close to ten times the size of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight was undulating through open space. While not heading directly for the ship, its trajectory would cross their path. Roak’s hands went to the weapons controls and he brought up plasma canons, setting the targeting computer to calculate all angles of attack if the creature deiced to take the ship head on.

“It is not acting hostile,” Hessa said.

The creature sent an impossibly long tentacle flying across space at the ship.

“My mistake,” Hessa said and took evasive action, banking the ship down and to port to avoid the tip of the tentacle which looked to be glowing bright pink. “I apologize, Roak. My curiosity has gotten the better of me.”

“Yeah, yeah, apologies later,” Roak snarled. “Wormhole portal now.”

The tentacle shot past the ship and Hessa spun about it to get them back onto their original path. The ship’s engines powered up to full and Roak barely noticed as he was pressed back into his seat. His entire attention was on the scanners, the view shield, and the weapons controls.

“If it comes again, then I’m firing,” Roak said as a second tentacle did come for them. “Firing now!”

Plasma lit up the dark space and the creature shrank back as the second tentacle was severed from its body. It floated there in space, wriggling and twitching on a grand scale. Roak shivered at the sight, but did not stop firing as he concentrated the plasma on the creature’s main body.

The thing inflated to an impossible size, blotting out the view of anything else in the system. Then it was gone. It winked out like a light being switched off. Roak began scrambling to check every reading he had at his disposal, but it was nowhere to be found.

“We have reached the portal,” Hessa said and she sounded as relieved as Roak felt. “Entering in three, two, one.”

The ship was once again enveloped in the familiar swirling mass of quantum energy and Roak sighed. He hesitated, but then slowly moved his hands away from the weapons controls. After a few minutes of watching trans-space outside the view shield, Roak relaxed a little more and undid his straps.

“You feel better now?” Roak asked. “You got to witness what the reports told you would be there. What I told you would be there.”

“It was a singular experience,” Hessa said. “Creatures like that should not exist, yet now I know they do. I will be certain to mark the Klatu System as a place to avoid. I would not enjoy encountering more than one of those beings at a time.”

“Yeah, one was enough,” Roak said. “Alright, one more system before we get to Jafla Base.”

“Yes, you are correct,” Hessa said. “Although the Sol System is not so much a danger as it is a tragedy. I am unsure how a species like the human race could destroy their entire original ecosystem as they did. To the point where it cannot even be salvaged by modern technology.”

“Yeah, Earth sucks,” Roak said and spat. “So we skirt by it and hit the wormhole portal ASAP. We ignore any ships in the area that try to hail us. They may send distress signals, but they are lying. Everyone in the Sol System lies.”

“Such a strange place,” Hessa said.

The ship came out of the wormhole portal that was stationed between Uranus and Neptune. Portals were new to the Sol System. It had been abandoned for centuries, but someone in the Galactic Fleet needed to justify a budget. So, that someone’s cousin got a big, fat contract to build wormhole portals to a system no one except the less than trustworthy would ever want to visit.

Roak immediately took the weapons controls in hand and began watching for smugglers, pirates, privateers, and salvage mercs. The Sol System was rotten with hijackers and bad luck, either of which could derail their job fast.

They passed Jupiter and Saturn, keeping well out of the way of the giants’ gravitational pulls. Saturn’s shattered rings sent pieces of shrapnel towards them that dwarfed their ship which kept Hessa busy ducking and dodging until they were at the asteroid belt then passing Mars. The craters on Mars made the red planet look like an open sore. Not that it was much better looking than the dull orb that had once been home to the human race.

Earth. A polluted rock of unbreathable gas for an atmosphere and sludge that ran thick through deep canyons where raging waters had once sent bright spray up into sunlit skies.

Roak spat twice more and sneered at the image as they hurried past. He wanted to go take another sonic shower once they were halfway between Earth and Venus. But the wormhole portal was dead ahead and he needed to be ready for what came next.

“As soon as we come out, I’ll head to the armory,” Roak said. “I’m going to gear up, grab the genetic code, and stand ready by the hatch. When we reach Jafla Base, I want you to ignore all warnings. You got that? Take me directly to Shava Stemn Shava’s onyx tower.”

“I am not sure I can do that, Roak,” Hessa said. “The tower is well protected and air traffic is not allowed anywhere near it. The hangar bays are the only way in or out of Jafla Base.”

“Get creative,” Roak said. “Because if we have to land, then that means I’ll be fighting the entire way from the ship to Shava Stemn Shava. I’d rather not.”

“I will do what I can,” Hessa said.

Roak didn’t like the lack of confidence in her voice.

33.

It had to be close to two dozen ships that greeted Roak as Hessa piloted them out of the closest wormhole portal to Jafla Base. For half a second there, Roak almost opened fire on the ships, but rational thought returned in the other half second and he powered down the plasma canons, making a show of it so the other ships saw them retract within the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight’s hull.

“Didn’t even have a chance to go stealth,” Roak said.

“It would not have mattered,” Hessa said. “Most of the ships have a scatter spread set on their scanners. They were prepared and would have detected the anomaly. Especially since the wormhole portal would have opened and nothing would have come out. Today was not the day for stealth, Roak.”

“You ain’t kidding, Hessa,” Roak said. He watched the ships as they blocked his way. “Have we been hailed yet?”

“Not yet,” Hessa replied. “Shall I see if I can navigate us through?”

“Might as well try,” Roak said.

The ship adjusted course and the blockade adjusted with it. There was no way through to Jafla Base. They were stuck where they sat, so Roak had Hessa kill the engines while he kicked his boots up onto the console and waited for the comm call to come in.

It was an hour of sitting and waiting before Shava Stemn Shava made contact.

“Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava called.

“Shava,” Roak replied. “You didn’t have to send the welcoming party.”

“That is Shava Stemn Shava to you, Roak,” was the snarling response.

“Whatever. I have what you want. Unless you no longer want it and maybe I should give it to your competition.”

“No, no, I do want what you were sent to hunt,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “It is unfortunate that Mr. R had to die for you to retrieve it. I blame you for his death, Roak. That cannot be changed.”

“Blame all you want,” Roak said. “But it wasn’t on me. That was your competition.”

“Ah, except I have been in contact with the entity that my competition has hired and we have come to an arrangement,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “It appears you are a worthy hunt yourself, Roak. A trade has been organized and I have agreed to it. You will deliver Jonny Nebula to me and I will deliver you to a very singular woman that is quite eager to obtain you for what I can only guess are nefarious purposes.”

“Yeah, none of that is going to happen,” Roak said.

“I am sorry? But you always complete your job,” Shava Stemn Shava replied.

“I do,” Roak said. “And I always get paid my chits. Can’t rightly get my chits if you hand me over to someone else as soon as I give you Jonny Nebula, now can I?”

“Oh, I am sorry, Roak, but you misunderstood my statement,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “I do plan on paying you your chits. Every last one of them. I would hate for there to be bad blood between us. Roak completes his hunt, gets paid his chits, and is off to his next job. That is how the narrative goes and that is how the narrative will stay. It just so happens that your next job is not up to you. It is up to this…what is she, exactly? I mean, have you seen her? Do you know of whom I speak, Roak?”

“Yeah, I know of whom you speak,” Roak said. “She’s playing you, Shava Stemn Shava. It doesn’t matter what deal you have made with her, she isn’t going to live up to it.”

“Well, now, there’s no need to besmirch the competition, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Do not be a sore loser about all of this.”

“Okay, listen up, pal,” Roak said. “As soon as I hand over Jonny Nebula, she will take it from you. She might kill you, she might not, but you won’t have the genetic code any longer. No tube for you.”

“We shall see,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “I did not reach the level of success that I have by allowing strange women to rob me blind.”

“Okay, fine, believe what you want,” Roak said. “We still have the issue of me getting to you. I’m sure you’ve paid off some of these ships, but there is no way you have paid off all of them. I see more than a couple rogue raiders out there. You got some of the larger syndicates too that I know aren’t here to do you any favors. The only reason my ship hasn’t been fired on is because they are waiting to see what the play is before they make their own. This is quite the Maglorian cluster fuck.”

“I will get you through the blockade, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said with confidence. “They are in my air space and no one intimidates me this close to Jafla Base.”

“Okay, good for you,” Roak said. “So what now? I have no reason to come willingly. I might as well turn the ship around and try to make it on my own back in one of those nasty systems I just came from.”

“No, no, I don’t think so, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava. “That way is closed to you.”

“He is correct, Roak,” Hessa said on a private channel. “The wormhole portal has powered down. That is quite the accomplishment. Shava Stemn Shava will have to answer to the Galactic Fleet for that.”

“I’m sure he’s paid off enough people in the GF so that he never hears about it ever,” Roak said. “What are our options, Hessa?”

“I am unsure,” Hessa replied. “I have been studying the various ships and unfortunately I cannot deduce which ones are in Shava Stemn Shava’s employ and which ones are here to take the Jonny Nebula genetic code from us. It is easy to see the rogue raiders as their ships are less than well maintained, but as for the others, your guess is as good as mine.”

“So we let Shava Stemn Shava guide us in and go from there,” Roak said. He punched the control console then winced. “Damn. All I want is a job that doesn’t go sideways. I used to pick them right and people would leave me alone because they didn’t want anything to do with the hunts I was on. I lived free, Hessa. Now look at things. All shot to shit.”

“This does not help, but I believe you became too good at your job, Roak,” Hessa said. “We should reevaluate your business plan when this is all over.”

Roak had to laugh at that. “Yeah, sure, Hessa, we’ll do that.”

“Roak? Are you still there?” Shava Stemn Shava called.

“I’m still here,” Roak replied. “And pissed off. But nothing to do about that. How do you propose getting me through this shit show?”

“Behold,” Shava Stemn Shava said.

Almost half the ships turned on the other half and began firing. The space in front of Roak’s ship became a brutal battlefield of ship-on-ship chaos.

“What the hell?” Roak shouted. “This isn’t helping!”

“Oh, but it is, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “If you will reverse course and reenter the wormhole portal, then we can let this shit show begin.”

“The portal is active once more,” Hessa said.

“I guess do what he says,” Roak replied. “Hey, Shava Stemn Shava?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“I’m gonna kill you for this,” Roak stated.

“I knew you would feel that way,” Shava Stemn Shava said with all the condescension in the galaxy dripping from his tongue. “And I admire you for voicing it, but alas, it is not to be. The game is fixed against you and there is no way for you to win.”

“We’ll see about that,” Roak said. “I’m going to complete this job, get paid, let you hand me over to the woman that you should never have gotten into business with, more than likely kill her, then come back and kill you. That is how this is going to go. You’ll want to get that onyx tower of yours in order because it’ll be crashing down on your head by this time tomorrow.”

“I am not sure we can put an exact time on it,” Hessa said.

Roak ignored her. “You listening, Shava?”

“That is Shava Stemn Shava!” the man snapped.

“Not for long, pal,” Roak said and killed the comm.

The ship spun about as the battle raged on. Hessa took them back into the wormhole portal, but instead of the swirling energy of trans-space, they found themselves instantly arriving above Shava Stemn Shava’s private hangar bay on Jafla Base.

“I am taking us in,” Hessa said. “The improvement that we had Bhangul do is not operational yet. I will work as hard as possible to dial in calibrations.”

“Do that,” Roak said as he got up and quickly left the bridge.

He burst from the lift and sprinted down the corridor to the armory. Roak made sure his KL09s were fully charged, he had extra magazines for them, then grabbed an H16 Plasma Carbine Multi-Weapon that the GF Marines used, slung that over his shoulder, strapped two Keplar knives to each of his thighs, secured several plasma concussion grenades to his belt and to clips on his light armor across his chest, then stood staring at the weapons racks.

“Any more than that and you will be weighed down to the point of being incapacitated,” Hessa said. “We have landed, Roak.”

“Great,” Roak said and left the armory.

The ride down to the cargo hold felt like an eternity. Roak left the lift and strode across the hold as the rear ramp lowered to show dozens of armed guards waiting for him. Roak expected them and was about to start tossing plasma concussion grenades out into the hangar when he caught sight of the woman in black at the very back of the group.

She stood there, her arms across her chest, her featureless face pointed directly at him, and shook her head. That was all she had to do and the go for broke, fight until you die strategy that Roak had come up with on the eternal lift ride from the armory to the cargo hold dried up right there. He relaxed his hands, the hands moving to the grenades, and raised them above his head as he dropped to his knees. There was no way to tell for sure, but Roak knew the woman in black was smiling behind her mask.

“There he is!” Shava Stemn Shava announced as a holo shimmered to life in front of the guards. “The man that always finishes what he starts. You do have Jonny Nebula, yes?”

“Yeah,” Roak said. “How about you come and get him in person?”

“No, no, no,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “But we will be face to face soon enough. I will have my security strip you of all those weapons you’ve dotted that body of yours with first, though. Then you will show me Jonny Nebula, and when it has been confirmed you have made good on your word, then and only then, will you be allowed to deliver the goods into my hand directly. I told you I would allow you to complete your job and get paid your chits. Then the rest of your sad story may begin.”

Shava Stemn Shava waved his obese arms then gave a short, stiff bow.

“Ladies? Gentlemen? Please relieve Roak of his armaments.”

Roak let himself be stripped of all of his weapons. At that point, he was glad he didn’t ever acquire a new Flott Five-Six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread. It would have been a shame to have to give it up to a piece of shit like Shava Stemn Shava.

“Jonny Nebula,” one of the guards barked.

“Right there,” Roak said and pointed his chin to a case on the cargo hold’s deck.

The guard opened the case and pulled out the tube with the glowing blue gel. He showed it to the holo of Shava Stemn Shava.

“Sir? This can’t be Jonny Nebula,” the guard said.

“Oh, that is Jonny Nebula,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Bring him to me. And bring Roak as well.” The holo blinked out.

The security guards walked Roak out of his ship and down the rear ramp. As he passed the woman in black, she gave him a slight nod. He nodded back. Then he was shoved roughly into a lift and the doors shut on the woman in black.

Roak knew he’d be seeing her again soon. There was no doubt about that.

34.

“To think all of his glory could be distilled into this tube,” Shava Stemn Shava said when he finally had the glowing blue gel in hand. “So many iterations, so many victories, so many deaths. All of it coalesced into this very moment, into this vessel made of plastiglass and metal alloy. It’s almost sad.”

“Yeah, it’s breaking me up inside,” Roak said as he stood before the huge man, his hands and legs bound by plasma manacles.

Shava Stemn Shava eyed Roak then frowned at the manacles. “Take those off. Roak has done nothing but fulfill his end of the bargain. It is time I fulfill mine, and I cannot do that if he is bound like a prisoner instead of the professional contractor that he is.”

“Gee, thanks, Shava,” Roak said.

The huge man glared at Roak.

“Shava Stemn Shava,” Roak said.

“Better,” Shava Stemn Shava replied as the guards removed the plasma manacles from Roak’s hands and feet.

“This woman in black,” Shava Stemn Shava said, waving the tube around like it was a conducting wand. “She certainly has it in for you. To think that she was willing to give up a bounty in order to make a deal for your capture. I have never heard of such a thing. At least not from someone with the military resources she has. I certainly do wish I knew who contracted her. I might need to watch my back.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Roak asked.

“What? No,” Shava Stemn Shava replied, his hand pausing mid-wave, the tube pointed directly at Roak. “Do you know?”

Roak shrugged. “Probably not. What I do know is she isn’t giving up her bounty. You’ll hand me over then she’ll take that tube out of your fat hands. She might let you live, she might not. Want to know the odds on you not living? I can’t tell you the exact numbers down to the decimal, but I know where I’m laying my chits.”

“You are very good at creating doubt and imbalance,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “You have cultivated a reputation that puts people off before they meet you. You are a well-crafted personality, Roak. But you are done. No matter what you say, your time is over. There is no way out of this for you. I’ll pay you your chits per our agreement then you will no longer be my problem. It is unfortunate that you cannot enjoy your chits, but that is how the galaxy works.”

“Is it? I didn’t know that,” Roak replied. “You about done flapping your jowls, Shava Shava Ding Dang?”

Shava Stemn Shava’s face shook with rage and he almost threw the tube at Roak, but he took a couple of breaths and calmed himself then pointed a beefy finger at the bounty hunter.

“You,” he said and laughed. “What a waste…”

Shava Stemn Shava’s eyes widened then narrowed. Roak’s did the same.

“You’re thinking about doing something you probably shouldn’t,” Roak said. “I’ve watched plenty of crime lords get that look right before they plot their own demise. Ignore whatever you are thinking, Shava Stemn Shava.”

“Wise advice, but I am not a crime lord,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “I am a businessman. And I just realized that I have one of the best business opportunities standing right before me. It will mean a little creative shuffling of my agreement with this woman in black, but professionals understand that terms change.”

Roak sighed. “You are messing with things you shouldn’t be.”

“Oh, stop with the dramatics, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said then walked over to his massive desk and set the tube down. An energy field activated and the tube was gone. “There. Safe and sound. This woman in black may try to retrieve Jonny Nebula, but she will fail.”

“She doesn’t fail,” Roak said. “Just like me.”

“Well, you are standing before me in a place of great weakness and failure right now, aren’t you?” Shava Stemn Shava said as he activated his comm. “Porfoy? I need you.”

A Slinghasp came rushing into the room. The Slinghasp’s tongue flicked in and out of its mouth several times as it bowed then looked from Roak to Shava Stemn Shava.

“Roak, this is Porfoy, my new attaché,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Too bad about Mr. R. An exceptional employee, but not exceptional enough to survive an assignment with the notorious Roak.”

“How may I assist?” Porfoy hissed, his sinewy body undulating under a formal robe.

Roak thought he looked ridiculous, but he thought that of most beings that didn’t wear body armor as their everyday attire.

“Porfoy, I would like to rearrange tonight’s Orb fight schedule,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Can that be done quickly, please?”

The Slinghasp’s eyes went so wide that Roak thought they’d tear the skin around them.

“Sir, tonight is the fight between–”

“I know what the fight is tonight,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “But I have a much better one in mind.” He grinned at Roak. “A legendary bounty hunter versus a mystery woman in black.”

“Oh, pal, you are making a massive mistake,” Roak said. “You are about to fail so hard that it’d be hilarious if I wasn’t involved.”

The Slinghasp looked like he was having a stroke.

“Wipe that look off your face, Porfoy,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Bring in Mr. Roak’s chits.”

“Roak,” Roak said. “Not that hard to remember.”

“Yes, bring in Roak’s chits,” Shava Stemn Shava ordered. “And bring in the woman in black, please. Her soldiers may remain below on the lower decks. Perhaps in the B-wing? That way they are contained if they were to get nervous. We’d hate to have any interruptions this evening.”

Roak stood there and waited. There was nothing to say. The big man was making a colossal mistake and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Or would do about it. As far as he was concerned, the plan worked in his favor.

“You want to know who she’s working for?” Roak asked.

Shava Stemn Shava had started to move around behind his desk, but he paused and eyed Roak.

“So, you do know,” Shava Stemn Shava stated. “I assume it is someone that you fear or you wouldn’t be trying to warn me off my ingenious plan.”

“Pechu Magafa,” Roak said. “You know that name?”

Shava Stemn Shava’s face went pale then began turning many shades of many different colors before he choked out, “Pechu Magafa. Oh, now I must do what I must do.”

“Yeah, you do what you must,” Roak said as Porfoy came back into the room with two security guards.

One was carrying a case that had Roak’s chits while the other had a carbine trained on the woman in black. There was no way to tell if the woman was angry or amused. Roak knew she wasn’t worried.

“Pay the man, Porfoy,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he walked over to the woman in black.

“Here you go,” Porfoy said as he took the case of chits from the guard and handed it to Roak. “Payment in full. Would you care to count it?”

“Yeah,” Roak said as he took the case and walked it over to the desk.

He set it down, but not before he gave the desk surface a good looking over. He saw what he needed to then unlatched the case and lifted the lid. Roak did a quick mental count then nodded.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” Shava Stemn Shava asked without turning his attention from the formless face of the woman in black.

“It’s all there,” Roak said. “Sure I can’t talk you out of what you plan on doing?”

“I am sure,” Shava Stemn Shava said.

“Hey, Porfoy, you’re going to have to step up your game if you want to fill Ple R’s shoes,” Roak said. “That guy knew when the boss was about to screw up big time. If I were you, I’d get my resume ready. Better yet, I’d book passage off this base ASAP. It ain’t gonna go well for him later tonight.”

“Why is that?” the woman in black asked.

“Ignore Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “He’s being overly dramatic.”

“Not really,” Roak said. “Can I go now?”

The woman in black’s head turned towards Roak slightly.

“We had a deal, Shava Stemn Shava,” she said. “I allow him to return with the bounty so you may say you held up your end of the bargain, and I get not only Roak, but you share the genetic code of Jonny Nebula so I may fulfill my obligation to my employer.”

Roak chuckled. “You didn’t say that part, Shava Stemn Shava. You told her you’d give her the code? Shit.”

“Yes, well, that isn’t what will happen now,” Shava Stemn Shava said, addressing the woman in black. “I have a much better idea. It came to me before I learned the name of your employer, though, so do not think this is retribution for that duplicitous bitch.”

“You are making the last mistake of your life, Shava Stemn Shava,” the woman in black said. “You should rethink every choice you make from this moment on. I am giving you a gift.”

“She is,” Roak said. “I’ll leave you folks to figure this all out.”

Roak picked up the case and started walking towards the door. He actually made it halfway before Shava Stemn Shava snapped his fingers. The full contingent of guards present blocked Roak’s path.

“Thought I’d try,” Roak said. He held out the case. “Any of you bribable? This is a lot of chits. Put a couple blasts in your fellow guards and let me walk away and this is all yours.”

“Do not entertain the thought,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “You will be found and killed.”

None of the guards moved to take the case.

“Here is what I propose,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “I put the both of you in an Orb tonight for all the galaxy to see. You fight per heavyweight class rules, which means to the death, and the survivor gets to walk away a free…” He looked the woman in black up and down. “…person.”

“No,” the woman in black said. “The deal is the deal, Shava Stemn Shava. Deviation from the deal will result in automatic default on your part.”

“Oh, will it?” Shava Stemn Shava said and turned to look at Roak. “Is automatic default bad?”

“It ain’t good,” Roak said.

“You will be skinned alive,” the woman in black said. “You will not enjoy it.”

“Oh, dear,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he looked around his office. “I am so afraid of all of these scary words. Especially since I am in the middle of my own territory on a planet, on a base, where no one can touch me.”

He tapped his finger on his chin then tapped the same finger on the woman in black’s forehead.

“No. The fight will happen,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “The loser dies, winner lives and gets to leave Jafla Base. Those are the terms. The only terms. There will be no default or skinning alive.”

He snapped his fingers and waved his hand at the woman in black.

“Take them to be prepped for the fight,” he ordered. “Tonight will be special for the Orbs!”

Roak was grabbed. The woman in black was grabbed. They were both marched away to the entry hall.

“Hey, Porfoy?” Roak called.

The Slinghasp hurried up to the bounty hunter.

“Make sure these are somewhere safe, will ya?” he said and handed the case of chits to the attaché. “I’ll come find you when the fight is done and get them. Don’t go anywhere until then, okay?”

The Slinghasp blinked several times then nodded and took the case from Roak. Then he paused and looked down at a folded slip of paper that was shoved into his palm.

“A problem?” Roak asked.

“No, sir,” Porfoy said.

“Good,” Roak said. “Because you really don’t want to have a problem with me. I liked your predecessor, I’m hoping I like you.”

Porfoy tried to smile, but failed as Roak and the woman in black were led away.

When the two bounty hunters were almost across the bridge and away from the onyx tower, Roak looked back at the woman in black.

“You getting us out of here or am I?” he asked.

“I assume you already have a plan,” the woman in black said.

“I have the beginning of a plan,” Roak said.

“Quiet!” one of the guards snapped.

“You will die,” the woman in black said.

“There you go with your killing, killing, killing,” Roak said.

“You are going to kill Shava Stemn Shava,” the woman in black replied.

“Yeah, but he double-crossed me,” Roak said. “And I already got paid. He has to die. This guy here is just a guard.”

“He’s a rude guard,” the woman in black said. “I will teach him some Eight Million Godsdamn manners.”

“But he’ll be dead,” Roak said and sighed. “Shit, you have not changed a bit.”

“Neither have you,” the woman in black said. “When will you tell me your plan?”

“I said quiet!” the same guard barked.

The woman in black spun about and jammed a black-clad finger through the exposed skin in his throat, just under his helmet’s chin strap. The guard dropped to his knees as he struggled to breathe. Then he keeled over onto his side and went still.

“Shit,” Roak said as the guards attacked with stun batons and heavy alloy clubs.

35.

Roak woke up with a wicked headache and almost every inch of his body a mess of bruises.

“This will help,” a Ferg said as he injected Roak in the neck with some amber liquid.

All the pain went away and Roak was very awake.

“Yeah. That helps,” Roak said as he looked around the room.

He was in a locker room with about a dozen guards standing around by the walls, carbines all trained on him.

“This fight thing is happening, I see,” Roak said.

Roak was injected a second time.

“For the heavy-grav,” the Ferg said. “It will allow your body to adjust and not be crushed.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yes, it is,” the Ferg said and took out another injector, this one with a blue liquid inside. “Shava Stemn Shava has instructed me to give you this. I am unsure what it is.”

“Doesn’t that go against your oath as a physician?” Roak asked.

“Physician?” the Ferg replied. “I’m a pharmacist’s assistant.”

“Great,” Roak said held up his hand. “You’re not putting that in me.” Then he looked at the guards. “He’s not putting that in me. You’ll have to shoot me.”

The guards didn’t respond. The Ferg shrugged and put the injector away.

“I will tell him you were uncooperative,” the Ferg said. “I do not think it matters all that much. Everyone is simply excited to have Roak in the Orb tonight.”

“Yay,” Roak said as he slid down off the table he was sitting on. He looked at himself and frowned. “I like a little more covering.”

He was wearing a pair of athletic shorts made from some type of dense polymer. The material was itchy as hell and he struggled not to start scratching.

There was a loud bell and the guards moved into position around the locker room’s only door.

“It is time to go,” the Ferg said. “Good luck, Mr. Roak! I have many credits riding on you winning!”

Roak ignored the Ferg and walked to the door. The door opened and Porfoy came in.

“You take care of my chits and everything?” Roak asked.

“I did,” Porfoy replied.

“He wouldn’t take the second injection,” the Ferg said.

“Oh, yes, well, it is too late for that now,” Porfoy said. “The fight is about to begin. We must get you into the Orb immediately before the vidcast begins.”

Porfoy walked out of the locker room and the guards made sure Roak followed close behind. They steered him down a dark corridor and out into a wide waiting room where a couple hundred people of all races were standing and clapping. Roak gave them all the middle finger and they laughed and cheered.

A door at the far side of the waiting room opened and Roak almost stopped in surprise.

“What the hell is this?” he asked as he was escorted from the waiting room into a space that was maybe a quarter of the size. In the center of the space was an Orb. That was all. “Am I missing something?”

From the opposite side of the room, a door opened and the woman in black was escorted in. Roak knew she was smiling as she was shoved along to the Orb platform. He could tell by the way she moved that she had just put down several guards before she was forced to enter the room. No way she wouldn’t be smiling.

The door to the waiting room behind Roak slammed shut and locked as a portal in the Orb opened.

“Hello, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava’s voice echoed around the space. “And woman in black or whatever your name is. I see confusion on your face, Roak. Yes, the main event Orb is in a blank space so that we can control every aspect of the fight. We project the image of the Orb into an arena for all to see. No one has any idea it is a holo. This way, the fighters are not distracted and we get the absolute best performances out of them. A little innovation of mine for the heavyweight class.”

“You must be so proud,” Roak said as he was led up to the portal and shoved inside the Orb.

“I am,” Shava Stemn Shava replied.

The woman in black was shoved in via a second portal then the Orb sealed and lifted up off the platform.

“A bell will sound when it is time to start the fight,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “And you will fight. Refusing to do so will result in the termination of both of you immediately. Do not test me on this rule.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Roak said. He nodded to the woman in black. “You set?”

“What was that? What did you say to her?” Shava Stemn Shava asked. “Please do not collude. The only way that Orb opens is for one of you to be dead.”

“I am set,” the woman in black said.

Her body was taught with sinewy muscle and racing adrenaline. Roak knew that if she applied even a fraction too much pressure that he was dead. He had to trust that she wanted him alive too much to make that mistake. He also had to trust that she simply still wasn’t a woman that made many mistakes.

“I have one question before we begin,” she said. “Why did you really call me?”

“I had a question,” Roak said and shrugged. “And I felt like it. I didn’t think you’d get so weird about it and come after me.”

“That weakness of yours,” the woman in black said and shook her head. “It will kill you.”

“It certainly will,” Roak said and held up his fists. “Okay, Shava! Let’s start this damn fight!”

“Hold on,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “We are waiting for the pre-show to finish. The announcers have to get the crowd fired up. Stay tuned.”

Roak kept his fists up as the woman in black began to bounce back and forth from foot to foot. Then the bell went off and they both dropped to their knees as the heavy-grav kicked in.

“Son of a bitch!” Roak cried.

The woman in black was first to her feet and she threw a hard punch down at Roak’s face. But Roak managed to roll out of the way and force himself to stand. The pressure was intense.

The woman in black came at him way faster than she should have been able to under the force of the gravity and Roak barely got his forearm up in time to block the chop to his neck. If it had connected, he would have had his spinal cord snapped in two.

“Play nice,” Roak hissed.

“I am,” the woman in black replied.

She landed two shots to Roak’s gut then a wicked uppercut to his chin. He fell back on his ass and kicked out with his right leg, connecting with the woman’s left knee. She stumbled but didn’t go down.

“Have you been training in heavy-grav?” Roak asked as he got back to his feet, dodged a jab to his face, threw a haymaker that was easily blocked, then took two steps back as the woman in black executed an impressive roundhouse kick that would have shattered his cheekbone if he hadn’t moved. “Dammit, you have.”

“You should be too,” the woman in black said. “There are many planets that have gravity similar to this. You have grown lazy in your training.”

“Yeah,” Roak agreed. “I’m seeing that. We ready?”

“You do not want to stretch it out longer?” the woman in black asked.

“Not really,” Roak said.

“Stop talking!” Shava Stemn Shava shouted. “You are forcing my techs to create dialogue and that costs extra!”

“Now,” Roak said and went in for the attack.

The woman in black dodged every swing then grabbed Roak by the back of the neck and yanked him down as she brought a knee up into his groin. He coughed hard and fell to his knees. She pressed her thumbs to his temples and her pinky fingers to either side of his neck. Then she pressed hard.

Roak screamed. The pain was excruciating.

“What is happening? No, no!” Shava Stemn Shava yelled. “Too soon! Eight Million Gods dammit!”

Then everything went dark as Roak died.

36.

“Get up!” the woman in black snarled into Roak’s ear.

He jolted awake, the feeling of a couple thousand volts of electricity still coursing through his body.

Roak fell off the table, looked at his body, smiled at the light body armor, then pushed up onto his feet and stood there for a second, blinking.

“Here,” the woman in black said, slapping a pistol into Roak’s chest. “Take it and follow me. We only have a few minutes.”

“Did they buy it?” Roak asked.

“There was no reason they shouldn’t have,” the woman in black said. “You were dead. Shava Stemn Shava fulfilled his end of his deal and let me go. Now you fulfill your end of our deal and show me where the tube is.”

“Where are we?” Roak asked as the woman in black pulled him over to a door.

“Maintenance room,” she replied, opening the door. “Incinerator level.”

“Right. Incinerator,” Roak said as he checked the charge on the pistol. “Where is that in relation to Shava Stemn Shava’s tower?”

“Directly below,” the woman in black said then threw open the door and dragged Roak out into the hallway. “We should be able to take the lift all the way up.”

Roak nodded then seriously thought about putting the pistol to the back of the woman’s head and pulling the trigger. Except she would be expecting it and he wasn’t at full strength yet. He’d be dead before he raised his arm.

They hurried down the corridor to the first set of lift doors. The woman in black pulled a key card from her belt and slid it into a box. The box beeped and the lift doors slid aside. She shoved Roak in then looked both ways down the hallway before following.

The doors shut and Roak had to steady himself as the lift began to move.

“If you are tricking me, then you die,” the woman in black said.

“That’s why I’m not tricking you,” Roak said. “I don’t have to trick you. Shava’s an idiot.”

“Most like him are,” the woman in black replied.

The lift rose and rose then slowed to a stop. The doors opened and six guards stared in at the two bounty hunters, their mouths agape and carbines still aimed at the deck.

“Morons,” the woman in black said and killed them all before the first carbine could be raised.

Roak tucked his pistol into his belt and picked up a carbine. The woman in black kept only her pistol and stepped past the dead guards and into what looked like a laundry room.

Several domestic workers turned to look at the two, glanced at the fallen guards, then went back to their tasks. None were paid to care enough about who lived and who died.

The woman in black led them out of the laundry room, down a narrow corridor, into a huge kitchen, through the kitchen and around the many unfazed cooks, then out into a small dining room.

Shava Stemn Shava was sitting at the head of the table, his glass raised as he was about to give a toast.

“You’re sure?” the woman in black asked Roak.

“I’m sure,” Roak replied.

The woman in black put four bolts into Shava Stemn Shava’s head, obliterating the man’s skull. The diners all screamed and jumped up, but Roak put them down fast. They probably didn’t deserve to die, but he had a plan and witnesses did not fit into the plan.

Roak then knelt next to Shava Stemn Shava’s corpse, held out a hand, took the knife that the woman in black offered, and sliced off the man’s hand in one efficient swipe.

“Nice blade,” Roak said as he gave both the knife and the hand to the woman in black. “Custom made?”

“Of course,” the woman in black said and tucked both blade and hand into her belt.

“I’ll have to get the name of your–”

“No.”

“Well, okay…”

“This way,” the woman in black said as she walked around the table and pushed open the dining room doors.

Porfoy was standing there, a stain on his crotch.

“Hold up,” Roak said as the woman in black was about to kill him. “I need the guy.”

“Make it quick,” the woman in black said then ran off towards Shava Stemn Shava’s office.

“You do what I asked?” Roak asked.

“I, uh, yes?” Porfoy replied.

“You don’t sound sure,” Roak said and aimed the carbine at the guy. “You sure it all got done?”

“I am, sir,” Porfoy said.

“Good,” Roak said. “Send the message then meet me in the office immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” Porfoy said and hurried away.

Roak followed the woman in black into Shava Stemn Shava’s office. She was waiting for him by the desk, the severed hand gripped tightly in her own hand.

“Show me,” she ordered.

Roak nodded and crossed to the desk. He shoved a small statue of Shava Stemn Shava to the side and pointed at the black panel underneath.

“Idiot,” the woman in black said as he pressed the severed hand to the black panel.

There was shimmer then the tube appeared suspended above the surface of the desk. The woman in black snatched it and tucked it into her belt then she turned on Roak.

“Deal done,” she said.

“I’m not going with you,” Roak said. “And I’m not dying for real.”

“Those are your only options,” the woman in black said. “Make your choice now.”

Roak had the carbine gripped tightly, but he knew he couldn’t fire it before she cut him down with her pistol. He was fast, she was faster. Simple fact of galactic life.

He looked down at his feet and smiled at what he was standing on then looked back up at the woman in black.

“I made my choice a while ago,” Roak said as Porfoy came running back into the office. “I’m sticking with it. See ya, Reck.”

Roak began to shimmer just like the tube had.

“No!” the woman in black yelled as she fired. Porfoy screamed.

That was all Roak heard before he was standing on a small platform in his ship’s hull.

“Yes,” he said and pumped a fist in the air. “Hessa? Where are we?”

“Taking off from Jafla Base now,” Hessa said. “You will want to get secured.”

“On my way up,” Roak said as he raced to the lift.

Once on the bridge, he had to brace himself against anything he could hold onto as Hessa got their ship off of Jafla and out into space.

“Is he dead?” Hessa asked.

“Shava Stemn Shava? Oh, yeah, he’s dead,” Roak said.

“What of the woman?” Hessa asked.

“No,” Roak said. “But I am.”

“You are?” Hessa replied. “You look very alive to me.”

“You didn’t watch?”

“I was busy.”

“I died.”

“Yes, I know.”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore.’

Roak shook his head.

“Anyway, the whole galaxy saw me die,” Roak said. “And I killed the only witnesses that saw me alive after. Except for some folks doing laundry and cooking, but I doubt I have to worry about them.”

“And this Porfoy gentleman that you paid to place the transmitter disc and lower the shields of the onyx tower so our new moltrans unit would work? What of him?” Hessa asked. “Oh, hold on.”

The ship raced ahead of three other ships into the wormhole portal queue and the general comm began to buzz with angry messages.

“I don’t think he made it,” Roak said.

“Roak…”

“I didn’t kill him, so calm down,” Roak said. “Although I was probably going to. He was a loose end.”

It was their turn to enter the portal and Hessa piloted them in.

“I will take us to the first bolthole then we will drift across the galaxy for a couple of weeks as we scan the back channel talk,” Hessa said as trans-space streamed by the view shield. “Unless you have a specific destination in mind?”

“No, we need to get lost,” Roak said. “We also need to establish a new identity for the ship.”

“It is already done,” Hessa said. “I did that as the moltrans unit was finishing its calibrations. If anyone checks our ID, the ship was sold on Jafla Base after your death to a dealer who turned it into some eccentric heir’s personal transport. Unusual for a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight, but not too unusual for the super-rich. The blast marks upped the purchase price.”

“Well done,” Roak said and clapped. “You were meant for a life of crime.”

“Is it really crime? I consider it simple survival,” Hessa said.

“Whatever you want to call it,” Roak said. He eased into his seat and put his hands behind his head. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Roak? About calling someone something,” Hessa said. “I was able to connect with your implant once the moltrans unit engaged. I happened to hear you call that woman a name.”

“No, you didn’t,” Roak said.

“Yes, I did, and you will not bully me into forgetting about it,” Hessa said. “Or I will suck the air out of the bridge right now and show you who has control on this ship.”

“I’m not going to talk about it,” Roak said.

“Roak? Who is Reck?” Hess continued. “That name is awfully close to yours. Is she a relative?”

“Goodnight, Hessa,” Roak said and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get to the bolthole, will ya?”

“You are being very rude, Roak,” Hessa said. “I deserve to know the truth. You would still be on Jafla Base if it was not for me. Roak? Roak!”

Roak smiled then drifted off, content to sleep as Hessa continued yelling at him. Despite the annoyance of the noise in his implant, he felt like he could sleep for a couple of decades.

Or, at the very least, sleep like the dead.

The End

Read on for a free sample of War Of The Worlds: Retaliation

Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the upcoming Black Box, Inc series for Bell Bridge Books.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

prologue

The Sudan, 1898

Lieutenant David Beatty had a bullet rip through his helmet and nearly had a ship’s magazine explode right under him at Hafir. Neither of those near-death experiences filled him with the sort of horror the enormous, alien machines did.

A shudder went through him as he stood on Fateh’s gun deck, watching the three-legged metal monstrosities stomp across the desert. They had to be a hundred feet tall. He pressed his hand against the boat’s rectangular, wooden bridge to keep it from shaking as he recalled the dispatches from London that spoke of the devastating heat rays. A stab of nausea plunged into his stomach, imagining the agony of his body being set afire.

How about killing them before they kill you.

Beatty turned away from the advancing Martian machines. “Sergeant,” he called to the burly man standing by the six-pounder. “Bring all guns to bear on the enemy. Wait for my command to fire.”

“Sir,” blurted Sergeant Ellison, the royal marine in charge of gunnery. He barked out orders to the Egyptian gun crew, who swung around the big cannon in quick order. His next shouts carried across Fateh’s deck to the other gun crews, who quickly brought their weapons to bear on the Martians.

Beatty smiled. Ellison had drilled the men well.

“Morrison!” Beatty shouted up to the signalman atop the bridge.

“Sir.”

“Signal the Nasir and Metemma.” He gave Morrison the same order he’d given Sergeant Ellison.

“Aye, sir.”

Beatty leaned toward the railing, staring past Fateh’s length to the other gunboats trailing him up the Nile. Beyond them was a lump of a ship laden with crates and dozens of refugees from upriver. The transport steamer Blackwood, making all of three knots.

He thumped a fist against the bridge, cursing the slower ship’s presence. Now wasn’t the time to crawl through the river. He needed all the speed his gunboats could muster. But he wasn’t about to abandon an unarmed transport with terrified civilians.

Beatty turned back to the tripods. They had to be a half kilometer away. Still out of the range of his guns. What he wouldn’t give to be back on the battleship Trafalgar, with its big guns and thick armor. Certainly, it would be more than a match for the Martians.

We’re not exactly helpless. He looked at the Fateh’s guns, then at the enemy machines. He pushed down his fear, his anxiousness. It wouldn’t be long before the Martians were in firing range, then he’d show the monsters what—

A yellow flash came from the lead tripod. Beatty tensed at the sizzling sound in the air. Something streaked to his right.

Nasir vanished in a geyser of flame and smoke. Beatty jerked at the crash of the explosion.

Metemma’s guns thumped. One of Fateh’s six-pounders fired.

“Cease fire!” Beatty shouted, waving one hand. “Cease fire! You’re wasting ammunition!”

Sergeant Ellison also yelled the order. The six-pounder fell silent.

Metemma continued shooting. Plumes of smoke and sand kicked up far from the tripods.

“Morrison. Signal Metemma to—”

Another heat ray streaked from the lead tripod. A fiery explosion consumed Metemma.

Beatty clenched his jaw. Two gunboats were destroyed, and they hadn’t so much as nicked the aliens. His eyes drifted to the Blackwood. Some of the refugees and crew gaped at the tripods in frozen horror. Others jumped over the side and swam to shore.

Letting out a slow breath, he looked back at the Martians. His insides went cold. This was it. One shot and he and his crew were done for.

“All guns!” he shouted. “Open fire!” Wasting ammunition didn’t matter now. He may as well show the Martians they would go down fighting.

Sailors repeated the order throughout the Fateh. The guns boomed. Beatty watched the shells burst hundreds of feet from the tripods, throwing up clumps of sand. He clenched his fists, praying just one bloody shell hit those bastards before the end.

A heat ray flashed over the desert. Beatty closed his eyes.

A quake rocked the Fateh. Beatty cried out as he fell to the deck. Hammers of pain slammed into his back.

He blinked. My God, I’m still alive. Loud pops came from the boat’s stern. Ammunition detonating. Smoke wafted above him. Tortured screams reached his ears.

Beatty grimaced, pushing himself up. Ellison and his Egyptian gunners lay in a heap on the deck.

“You all right?” Beatty called to them.

“Fine, sir.” Ellison bared his teeth and rubbed his shoulder. Two of the Egyptians nodded to him.

Beatty clawed at the bridge, rising to his feet, then slipping. Fateh listed to port. Flames consumed the stern.

“Abandon ship!” he hollered. “All hands, abandon ship!”

He threw open the door to the bridge, ushering out the crew. Beatty ran below decks and into a cloud of smoke. His eyes burned as he checked for any sailors.

“Abandon ship!” Smoke stung his throat and lungs. “Aban—” A coughing fit rocked his body. He searched around him, his eyes narrow, watery slits. Beatty could barely see a foot in front of him.

The deck shifted under him. Beatty slid into the wall. A bolt of pain went through his shoulder. He thought about turning around and getting off this burning wreck.

Can’t. Not until I know everyone’s off safely.

At least, everyone who’s still alive.

Two large forms burst from the smoke. Beatty grunted as they clipped his shoulder.

“Who’s that?” asked a gruff voice.

Beatty recognized the man. Moffat, the Scottish civilian engineer, who serviced the boilers.

“Captain? That you?”

“It is.” Beatty could barely keep his eyes open.

“You’d best get off this boat,” said Moffat. “She’s done for.”

“Is anyone else belowdecks?” Beatty’s face twisted in disgust from the stale taste of smoke.

“I doubt it.” Moffat shook his head. “Fire swept through right quick. I barely got out of the boiler room with this poor bugger.”

Beatty glanced at the man leaning against Moffat’s side. One of the foreign firemen, he assumed.

He turned back to the corridor. An orange aura glowed through the smoke. The Scotsman hadn’t been joking about the fire spreading quickly.

“Go. Go.” He pushed on Moffat’s arm, urging him to get topside. Beatty looked over his shoulder, biting his lip. If anyone below remained alive, he couldn’t reach them.

Guilt clawed his soul as he raced up the ladder, pressing against the wall to keep his balance. Fateh listed at forty degrees.

He made it topside just as Moffat and the wounded fireman plunged into the Nile. Beatty half-ran, half-slid past the six-pounder and hurled himself into the water. He kicked away from the sinking gunboat, eyeing a nearby shoal covered in bushes. Sergeant Ellison and two of his gunners pulled themselves out of the river and crawled into the vegetation.

“The shoal!” he shouted to the survivors, jabbing a finger at the miniature island. “Get to the shoal!”

Beatty stroked and kicked so hard his muscles started to burn. He didn’t stop until he reached the bank. Ellison waved him over to his hiding spot. Beatty checked around him. The brush seemed thick enough to prevent the Martians from seeing them.

He twisted around, peering through the branches. Moffat and the wounded fireman emerged next, the Scot dragging the foreign worker into the brush. Beyond them, smoke billowed from the sinking Fateh. Beatty’s face tightened. He’d lost his ship. He didn’t care that it wasn’t a true warship like the Trafalgar, just a converted paddleboat with some guns stuck on it. It was his ship, and it had gone down with hardly a fight.

“Good Lord,” Moffat stammered.

Beatty looked to the Scotsman, then followed his wide-eyed gaze.

The tripods were a quarter kilometer from the river. His mouth fell open. Their sheer size awed and terrified him at the same time.

The Blackwood floated into view, its deck devoid of people. Some of the refugees and crews swam for shore. Others had already climbed out of the water and run into the desert.

The tripods waded into the Nile. Beatty’s eyes flickered between the enormous war machines to the people still in the water.

Faster. Faster!

A tentacle whipped out from the lead tripod. It snatched a man out of the river. Beatty barely suppressed a gasp as it lifted him high into the air and dumped him into a globular basket on the tripods rear.

More tentacles shot into the water, quick as a frog’s tongue. Every time they came up with a struggling man or woman.

Tears stung Beatty’s eyes. He pounded the ground with a fist. He couldn’t do a damn thing to help those poor souls. Never in his life had he felt so helpless.

When all the swimmers had been plucked from the water, the Martians marched onto dry land, pursuing the remaining crew and refugees from the Blackwood. Beatty prayed at least some escaped those tentacles.

The tripods soon vanished from sight. Beatty and the others remained in the brush, tending to the wounded fireman, a Maltese named Grima. Half the man’s face and torso were covered with dark scorches and bloody wounds. Beatty grimaced at the rank smell of copper and burnt flesh emanating from the man. Still, he ripped off the sleeves of his soaked uniform and used them as bandages. Ellison and one of the Egyptians did the same. Grima softly moaned the entire time. Beatty’s chest tightened. Could they get him to a doctor in time?

Are there any hospitals left in the Sudan?

The small group remained hidden in the brush until nightfall. During that time, Grima passed. With no means to bury him, Beatty conducted a very short, impromptu service, and then led the others to the western bank of the Nile.

“So what do we do now, sir?” asked Moffat.

Beatty stared at the Scotsman. Good question. But he was in charge. He had to come up with some sort of plan.

“We find other survivors from the army or navy, and keep up the fight.”

“How the bloody hell do we fight those things?” Moffat threw his arms out to his sides.

“We’ll find a way,” said Beatty. “We damn well better if we want to live, and when I say ‘we,’ I mean all of mankind.”

He folded his arms and stared at the ground, thinking. Heading back to Atbara was out. The Martians burned the city to the ground. They could continue on to Shendi, twenty-five kilometers south. But what guarantee did they have the town wouldn’t—or hadn’t already—suffered the same fate?

Even if the Martians had destroyed Shendi, they should still be able to salvage some supplies and weapons, then he could figure out what to do next.

“We stay with our original plan,” said Beatty. “South to Shendi.”

They trekked through the darkness, staying along the river, but not too close. Beatty had no desire for him or any of his men to be dragged off by a crocodile.

When the sun came up, they rested. Beatty set up a watch, with each man, including himself, on duty for an hour. Not only did he have to worry about Martians and crocodiles, but the damn Mahdist rebels they’d originally come to Sudan to fight. He didn’t think an alien invasion would quell their desire to kill any subject of the Crown they came across.

Too many damn things in this desert can kill us. They also did not have much in the way of weaponry to defend themselves against man, beast, or Martian. Beatty and Ellison carried their Webley pistols, though after a thorough soaking in the Nile he doubted whether they’d even fire. Even if they did work, what good would pistols be against those tripods?

What I wouldn’t give for one of those heat rays.

They resumed their march south when the sun grazed the horizon. Beatty estimated they were nine or ten kilometers from Shendi. The absence of smoke or flames in the distance he took as a good sign. Perhaps the town remained intact.

Energized by renewed hope, he picked up his pace, striding up a small rise.

Beatty halted at the top, staring unblinking at the sight before him.

“Something wrong, sir?” asked Ellison.

Beatty didn’t reply. He just kept staring, trying to digest what he saw.

“Sir?” Ellison marched up next to him. “What’s the . . . Good Lord.”

Three fallen tripods lay along the banks of the Nile half a kilometer from the rise.

“What happened to them?” Ellison wondered aloud.

“No idea.” Beatty took a couple of deep breaths, summoning up all his courage. “Let’s go find out.”

Ellison drew his head back. His brow crinkled in an unsure expression. He then stiffened and said, “Yes, sir.”

Webley in hand, Beatty led his men toward the tripods. Had the army in Shendi brought them down? The shadows of dusk prevented him from making out any damage.

He slowed as he neared the first tripod, half expecting it to rise and incinerate him. But the large machine remained still.

Beatty’s heart beat faster as he came within a few meters of the tripod. He never expected to be so close to one and live. Its massive size overwhelmed his senses.

He also noticed something else. The tripod had no holes, no scorch marks, nothing to indicate it had fallen victim to artillery fire.

The group examined the second tripod. It, too, showed no signs of damage.

“Maybe they tripped over their own feet,” quipped Moffat.

They made their way to the third tripod. Beatty tensed, gripping his pistol tighter when he saw a lump lying against the machine’s turret-like top. One of the Egyptians gasped behind him.

Swallowing, Beatty took a cautious step toward it, then another.

The Martian didn’t move.

He bent over running his gaze over the creature. It reminded him of an octopus, about four feet in length, a V-shaped mouth, and two large eyes, now closed. The skin was greenish-brown with gray splotches across its body. Beatty scrunched his face at the rank stench hovering around the alien.

“Hideous looking bugger, isn’t it?” said Ellison.

“How did it die?” asked Moffat. “Doesn’t look like it got shot.”

Beatty stared hard at the Martian, concentrating on the gray splotches. They didn’t appear to be part of its natural skin color. “I think it fell ill.”

“From what?” Moffat took a step closer to the dead Martian.

“I don’t know.” Beatty shook his head.

“I guess the same happened to those two.” Ellison jerked his head toward the other tripods. “You suppose the rest of these monsters got sick, too?”

“Let’s pray that’s the case.” Beatty straightened up.

Ellison looked up and down the tripod. “Well, if these bastards are all off to the great beyond, they won’t be needing these anymore.” He patted the turret. “Imagine what we could do with them.”

Hands on his hips, Beatty gazed at the heat ray and grinned. “I already am.”

War Of the Worlds: Retaliation is available from Amazon here!