Date: 2018-04-09 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy; Science Fiction; Action; Science Fiction Fantasy; Fiction; Space Opera
Description: Robbed of his chits and betrayed by one of his oldest contacts, Roak is now on a rampage across the galaxy to hunt the duplicitous scumbag down and exact some serious payback. Bishop is on the run and Roak is right behind him. System by system, planet by planet, contact by contact, Roak leaves no rock unturned and no lead unchecked. He beats answers out of those that dare help Bishop. He kills those that refuse to answer. Roak is waging war on the criminal grapevine and no one is safe from his wrath. But Roak soon finds out that while he is the galaxy's preeminent bounty hunter, it is now his
Publisher: SEVERED Press

PARADOX SLAUGHTER

A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

Jake Bible

www.severedpress.com

Copyright 2018 by Jake Bible

Look for other novels in Jake’s Galactic Fleet universe:

Salvage Merc One

Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System

Drop Team Zero

Outpost Hell

Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter

Nebula Risen- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

Razer Edge- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

Paradox Slaughter- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

Galactic Vice

Agent Prime

1.

The spine tore from the being’s body much easier than Roak had anticipated, causing him to almost lose his footing as he slid backward, his boots slipping across the vast quantities of blood that had already been spilled.

Not a drop of the blood was Roak’s.

Roak let the spine fall from his gore-covered armored glove. He flexed the powerful fingers, a grin playing at the edge of his lips. Lips that were protected behind a nearly indestructible faceplate. The faceplate was connected to an impressive-looking helmet which was in turn secured to power armor that would have made every Galactic Fleet marine in the galaxy jealous.

“Hessa?” Roak called into his comm as he looked about at the blood and offal that coated nearly every square centimeter of his ship’s hold. “How many more are coming?”

“Fifteen beings,” Hessa, Roak’s AI counterpart and copilot, replied over the comm. “ETA is two minutes.”

“What races?” Roak asked as he glanced down at the seven Gwreqs that had tried to kill him as soon as he’d lowered the rear hatch of his Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship.

Gwreqs were a humanoid race, with four arms and stone skin that was nearly impervious to most weapons. An average Gwreq stood at least seven feet tall and had muscles upon muscles to back up their aggressive personalities.

Regardless of their size, their strength, or the armor-like qualities of their skin, Roak had made easy work of the seven beings.

“Most are Gwreqs,” Hessa replied. “But there are three Tcherians with them. Fully taloned and about to shift into… And they are gone. You have three Tcherians in full invisibility mode, Roak. Be careful. Their talons can penetrate your new armor.”

“Not this armor,” Roak said. “I didn’t spend a bounty’s worth of chits on this getup so I’d end up pierced by Tcherian foot talons.”

“And hand talons,” Hessa said. “Theirs are not clipped.”

That gave Roak pause.

Tcherians were a chameleon race, able to change their skin so they could camouflage and blend into any surroundings. Naked, they could become completely invisible. Lizard-like, yet humanoid, they sported a long and deadly sharp talon that extended from the top of each large toe. Unbeknownst to most of the galaxy, Tcherians were also born with a matching talon on their hands. Once they hit puberty, the talon could be retracted into the back of the hand and hidden until needed.

Except, in polite galactic society, it was seen as unbecoming for pre-pubescent Tcherian children to walk around with extended talons that quickly grew to twice the length of their index fingers. So, similar to the ancient practice of humans circumcising their male infants, Tcherian children had their hand talons surgically removed before reaching the age of two galactic standard years.

It took some knowledge of Tcherian culture to know about the talon removal. Roak had paused because he had knowledge that went beyond the cultural implications of Tcherians that had retained their talons. Only the elite Tchaka clan were allowed to keep their hand talons. And the Tchaka were considered some of the deadliest assassins in the galaxy. Even the savage Skrang steered clear of them if possible.

“Would now be a bad time to remind you that it was my idea to upgrade to the Kaxian power armor?” Hessa asked.

“You want to rub that in right now?” Roak snapped.

“Seemed fitting,” Hessa replied, a smirk in her voice.

Despite being an AI, Hessa had acquired quite the extensive list of affectations, including how to sound like she was smirking even though she had no physical body. Roak had grown used to her affectations, although the current smirk irritated him greatly.

“I said, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Hessa began.

“Hessa,” Roak warned, not wanting to be lectured yet again on what he was doing.

“I said,” Hessa continued, “that if you are going to insist on rampaging across the galaxy to exact revenge on the man that wronged you, then you should seriously consider upgrading from light armor to power armor.”

“I know.”

“And you said you didn’t want to waste the chits when light armor was perfectly good for your intended purposes. I replied that some of your intended targets would be quite formidable, more so than you were used to dealing with, and perhaps the added protection, not to mention the offensive abilities of the armor, would be worth the expense.”

“I know, Hessa,” Roak snarled as the new Gwreqs reached the ship’s ramp and began to slowly ascend, their fists punching palms over and over in an obvious attempt to intimidate Roak. “Can we not do this now?”

They all stopped the displays of aggression when they saw the state of their sisters and brothers in arms. A cargo hold splashed with nothing but Gwreq guts had that effect on most beings, despite their race.

Roak pointed at the lead Gwreq. “Bishop,” was all Roak said.

The lead Gwreq held up his upper right hand and the rest stopped cold.

“You butchered our comrades because you are looking for that scumbag?” the Gwreq asked. “Bishop hasn’t been on this moon in over a year.”

“I butchered your comrades because they came at me,” Roak said, his arms loose by his sides. “You gonna come at me too?”

“All you want is to know where Bishop is?” the lead Gwreq asked.

“That’s all I want to know,” Roak replied. “You tell me and I leave the second after the words pass your stone lips.”

“No more trouble?”

“Roak? The Tcherians are above you, ready to drop down and attack at any second,” Hessa stated.

“Got it,” Roak responded.

“What was that?” the lead Gwreq asked.

“No more trouble,” Roak said to the Gwreq. “Unless you plan on causing some. Nothing I can do about that.”

“The murder of our comrades must be avenged,” the Gwreq said.

“Then avenge them somewhere else,” Roak said.

“You killed them!” one of the Gwreqs in the group roared. “You will pay!”

The lead Gwreq held his hand up again and the grumbling that had begun was silenced.

“The Gwreq’s hand movements are not for the group, Roak,” Hessa said. “The Tcherians are taking clues from his muscle movements. They have shifted positions and flanked you completely.”

“Tell me when they drop,” Roak said.

“Tell you when who drops?” the lead Gwreq asked.

“I wasn’t talking to you, rock boy,” Roak said. “Now, if you all want to survive to see your little pebbles grow up to be big boulders, then maybe you should back your stone asses off my ramp right now.”

“Insulting us is not how you survive to see tomorrow, bounty hunter,” the lead Gwreq snapped.

Roak pointed at the ceiling. “Call off your hidden killers and tell me where Bishop is and maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll let you see tomorrow. Bishop. Where is he?”

“You were warned,” the lead Gwreq said.

“All the bloody Hells,” Roak muttered. “Hessa? You got the invisible lizards?”

“I have them covered with the security blasters, Roak,” Hessa replied. “However, I must remind you that Tcherians are excellent at evading scanners. I may not be able to neutralize all three immediately.”

“Try.”

The lead Gwreq, followed by the entire group, sprinted at Roak.

Roak simultaneously took a knee and pulled his Flott five-six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread. He didn’t waste a nanosecond to aim, simply squeezed the trigger then leapt back upright as a dozen laser blasts were sent flying through the cargo hold from the barrel of his pistol. All but two of the laser blasts hit their marks. Almost all the Gwreqs fell, holes burned into their chests.

The remaining two Gwreqs, one of which was the lead Gwreq, didn’t slow as their comrades fell and died. They converged on Roak and grabbed him, a total of eight arms gripping Roak’s armor in various places.

Roak did exactly what he’d done to the previous Gwreqs that had gotten grabby. He sent a  fourteen thousand gigawatt shock charge through the surface of his power armor. The two Gwreqs went rigid then began to smoke. Roak cut off the charge and gave the Gwreqs a second to wobble on their feet.

Then he punched through their abdomens and relieved both of them of their spines, yanking them out through their bellies instead of their backs. The Gwreqs screamed then went quiet as death swept them on.

The security blasters lit up the cargo hold and Roak instinctively ducked even though his armor could take several direct hits without worry of damage. A Tcherian screamed and became visible as she dropped from the ceiling, most of her left arm a smoking nub of scorched strips of flesh and charred bone. Roak punched her in the face as she passed right in front of him. Her neck snapped and she was dead before hitting the deck.

Pain erupted in Roak’s right shoulder blade. He cried out and spun around, his left arm extended in a sweeping attack. The Tcherian behind him yanked its talon free of Roak’s armor and ducked under the swing. Roak brought up a knee, catching the Tcherian in the chin just as the being was going to slam its talon into Roak’s side. The Tcherian’s jaw was obliterated, bone and teeth flying in every direction as Roak destroyed the lower half of the being’s face. Roak grabbed the being’s head and twisted it up and off its neck.

He casually tossed the severed head over his shoulder as he turned back to face the open cargo hold ramp.

“Any more coming?” Roak asked Hessa.

“Scanners are clear,” Hessa stated.

“Third Tcherian?”

“Dead,” Hessa reported. “The corpse is in the far left corner of the cargo hold. I will send bots to remove it, and the rest of the bodies, so we can take off and decide our next course of action.”

“Might still be some folks on this moon that know where Bishop is,” Roak said.

“I think you’ve killed all the possible leads, Roak,” Hessa said with an exaggerated sigh. “Just like on the last moon and the moon before that.”

“It was a satellite before that,” Roak said. “Not a moon.”

“I am aware of that fact,” Hessa said. “I was making a point.”

“You think I care about your point because…?” Roak asked rhetorically as he surveyed the darkness outside the cargo hold then crossed to the controls and slammed his palm against the button that closed the ramp.

“I will need that open in order to dispose of the bodies,” Hessa said. “Also, so the bots can effectively hose down the hold and remove the alarmingly thick layer of blood and bodily organs.”

“Eject it all into space while we’re on the go,” Roak said, spinning about and heading for the lift. “I’m going to take a steam and get cleaned up.”

2.

The steam hit Roak’s skin and turned it red raw within seconds. He leaned his forehead against the wall of the shower stall and let the heat soak into his shoulders and back, easing the tension of violence that had his muscles in knots.

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. Early forties, scarred skin, ropy muscles, and eyes that were cold as ice, Roak had found his sport in life, a long while ago, and it was one that involved a good deal of violence.

As the steam covered him, Roak could feel the adrenaline high begin to dissipate, but he wasn’t ready to crash. He needed to know his next target before he could even consider sleep.

“Hessa?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“Caff. Lots of it. I’m gonna need some liquid stim.”

“Caff or liquid stim, Roak? They are different substances.”

“Just make some brew, will ya?” Roak snapped.

At times, he wished the ship had come with a normal AI, not one with delusions of sentient grandeur. But the ship had come with her onboard. And Roak had been warned by the friend that had sold the ship to him. It had “quirks” was what he’d been told.

Quirks was putting it mildly…

Not that Roak doubted Hessa’s sentience or even disapproved. Solo was how he preferred his life, but having Hessa as a partner, which was a word he was loathe to use, meant he always had someone covering his back. That perk almost made it worth it. Almost.

She did insert a comm implant into his head without his permission. Granted, the comm implant was of a design that Roak had never heard of, able to avoid all scans and detection, but still… You ask a guy if he wants a comm implant before sticking one in his head.

“We are out of orbit,” Hessa announced over the very comm implant that Roak was still irritated over.

“Smooth exit,” Roak said. “Didn’t even feel the change.”

“We were leaving a moon, Roak, not a planet. The atmosphere was minimal. But, with that said, I have been working on a new configuration for the gravity controls. The dampeners are now—”

“Don’t care,” Roak interrupted. “Just take the compliment, Hessa.”

“It will take one hour to reach the wormhole portal,” Hessa stated, sounding obviously annoyed with Roak’s rudeness. “Will you be done with your steam by then?”

“Funny,” Roak said and turned to let the hot vapor seep into his chest. “Where to next?”

“I do not know,” Hessa replied. “There are options. Your list is extensive.”

“Bishop had his fingers in a little bit of everything in this galaxy,” Roak said. “That list is only what I know about. It’s probably a fraction of the possibilities.”

“Roak?”

“Don’t start.”

“I’m afraid I must.”

“Don’t think you must anything.”

“Yet, I do.”

Roak sighed. It wasn’t like he could switch off his comm and block her out.

“What? Out with it so we can get this over with and I can steam in peace for five minutes.”

“I understand your philosophy on betrayal.”

“I doubt that.”

“But, is finding—”

“And killing.”

“—and killing Bishop worth what this is doing to your reputation?”

Roak ground his teeth together then turned back around so the steam would work on his shoulders again.

“My reputation? Explain, Hessa,” Roak said after a few moments of silence.

“I am tapped into the Grid,” Hessa said. “While normal channels are not mentioning any of the fallout from your rampage across the galaxy—”

“Rampage? An entire mainframe of knowledge and that’s the word you choose?”

“If the mag boot fits,” Hessa replied. “And, yes, rampage is apt. You have killed eighty-one beings over the past four months, Roak. That is a rampage by anyone’s definition.”

“Glad you are keeping score,” Roak said and stretched his arms up the wall of the stall.

“The rampage is being noticed, Roak,” Hessa said. “Back channels are talking. A lot. Our last stop was proof of that, Roak. They were ready and waiting for us. You weren’t able to step off the ship before the fighting began.”

“That? That was Torbo being paranoid,” Roak said. “That smuggler has trust issues.”

“So he sent half his crew to kill you?” Hessa laughed. “While he fled the moon?”

Roak growled.

“Are you sure he fled?” Roak asked. “He may not have been home to start with.”

“He fled, Roak,” Hessa responded. “As soon as we landed, a ship that has been associated with him personally took off. You were fighting angry Gwreqs while he was on his way to the wormhole portal.”

“Don’t forget the Tcherians,” Roak said.

“I helped there.”

“Thanks for that.”

There was a long pause in the conversation which Roak was grateful for.

“I did manage to track his ship, if you were wondering,” Hessa stated. “We could pursue Torbo. You can avoid adding to the paradox that way.”

Roak didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But the tone in Hessa’s voice meant she wouldn’t let the comment drop until he asked.

“What paradox, Hessa?”

“The paradox that in order to track down Bishop, you need to mine all of your contacts for intel,” Hessa said. “Yet, your contacts are not going to want to give you intel if it means you are simply going to butcher everyone anyway. You are bad for business, Roak. Everyone’s business.”

Roak started to argue then closed his mouth. He’d been in the bounty hunter business long enough to know that what Hessa said was true. He was burning bridges all across the galaxy and pretty soon he’d be cut off from every contact he’d ever made or known. Yet he did not doubt his mission.

Find and kill Bishop was all he could think of.

The man had been one of Roak’s very few trusted friends. Not that Roak had friends. But Bishop was the closest approximation in Roak’s life. Bishop had always been there when Roak needed him to be. Then the man betrayed him, took every last chit he had, set Roak up on a bad job, and conspired with the dark tech, Pol Hammon.

Roak knew Pol had been using Bishop to his own ends. That was business. Not that Roak didn’t owe Pol Hammon a visit once the Bishop mess was cleared up. Pol owed Roak some chits and Roak always got his chits. But Bishop owed Roak even more chits which made the order of vengeance an easy one.

That and Roak really wanted to know what in all the Hells Bishop was playing at. After decades of knowing each other, why did the man turn on Roak? What was Bishop’s endgame other than wanting Roak dead?

Something or someone else was involved, and Roak needed to get to the bottom of that or he’d be looking over his shoulder the rest of his life. Or more so than he already did.

Hessa was right, not that Roak was going to admit that fact any time soon, but he was in a paradox of his own making. The more contacts he went after now, the fewer he’d be able to find later. Eventually, everyone he knew would go to ground, even the ones he wasn’t looking for, simply because they were afraid he’d slaughter them if they didn’t have the answers he needed.

Which was a fair assessment.

“So far, we’ve been hitting contacts that Bishop and I shared mutually,” Roak said. “We’ve gotten close, but not close enough.”

“There is nothing in the data to suggest we’ve gotten close to finding Bishop at all,” Hessa countered.

“My guts say we have,” Roak responded. “I trust my instincts over your data analysis any day, Hessa.”

“Yes, because that has served you so well,” Hessa scoffed.

“That reputation you say I am paradoxically destroying? I built that up well before you shoved your way into my life,” Roak snapped. “Don’t forget that, Hessa. You’re still learning this life thing. I’ve been living it.”

Roak held up a hand and knew Hessa could see the gesture.

“No cracks about the quality of my living,” he said. “Just know that I can do this without you.”

“Yes, you can,” Hessa said quietly. “But why would you?”

Roak’s initial reaction was anger. He wanted to snap at Hessa that he’d been surviving fine before she came along. He was feared across the galaxy as the bounty hunter beings hired when no other hunters would take the job. Roak was the man that got every job he took done. He was that good.

But instead of barking all of that at Hessa, he shut off the steam and stepped out of the shower. Finding a towel, he silently dried himself off.

“Roak?” Hessa asked.

“My caff ready?” Roak asked.

“In the mess, waiting for you,” Hessa said. “Would you care to eat?”

“Too jacked-up after the fight,” Roak said. “I’d puke it all onto the floor. Caff will do.”

“Then caff it is.”

Roak got dressed, putting on a pair of trousers, a thin shirt, then the usual light armor he wore even when he was safely on his own ship. For Roak, nowhere was truly safe.

3.

Two cups of caff in his belly, and a third cup in his hand, Roak strapped into the pilot’s seat on the Eight-Three-Eight’s bridge. The wormhole portal was directly ahead of the ship, its glowing circle of energy irising open and closed in a rhythmic pattern.

“Hessa?” Roak asked once he’d finished strapping into his seat and had secured his cup of caff. “What’s the portal doing?”

“Rebooting,” Hessa stated, but didn’t sound too matter of fact about it like she usually would have when reporting the mundane actions of wormhole portals.

“They don’t do that very often when a ship is ready to go through, do they?” Roak asked. “In fact, I’ve never witnessed a portal rebooting. This is a first.”

“I believe we should rethink our way of exiting this system, Roak,” Hessa said. “There is a second wormhole portal within seven hours of here.”

“You’re that worried?”

“I would not say I am worried so much as I am unsure of the situation.”

“You’re worried.”

Roak scratched his head then shook it. “No. We go through. The second the portal is back online, get us out of here.”

The wormhole portal stopped its irising and returned to its normal state of a circle with an energy shield contained within. Then eight ships exploded outward and shot straight at Roak’s ship.

“Defensive measures now!” Roak shouted as all eight ships opened fire.

Hessa was already reacting, sending the ship into a steep dive. The view shield erupted into flashes of red as the defensive energy shields were pummeled by plasma fire.

“Hold on!” Hessa yelled, pulling the ship up from the dive and aiming it straight for the outer edge of the wormhole portal. “This will be unpleasant for your body.”

“Yeah, my mind ain’t liking it so much either,” Roak said.

The ship spun one hundred and eighty degrees as all plasma blasts stopped. None of the ships wanted to risk destroying the wormhole portal. Hessa arced the ship up and through the wormhole portal and Roak clenched his jaw as the two cups of caff fought to resurface. He managed to keep his gorge down, but it took all his willpower.

The view shield was a mass of swirling colors and impossible perspectives. Roak’s eyes burned as he stared at the image, but he didn’t dare look away. If he did, then the sudden shift in depth perception would have sent not only the caff spewing out of him, but possibly his stomach as well as half his intestines. Roak knew that was physically impossible, but he had no desire to test the issue.

“Stabilizing,” Hessa said though her voice sounded strained.

“Says you,” Roak muttered through gritted teeth.

The chaos that swirled in the view shield softened then began to smooth out, becoming a thousand lines of multicolored light that streamed past the ship. Roak sighed and eased his shoulders down, relaxing muscles that had almost tensed to breaking.

“Gonna need another steam after that,” Roak said. He glanced down and not a drop of his caff had spilled from the cup. Roak picked it up and downed the drink then sighed again. “Talk to me, Hessa.”

“Eight ships, all fighter class of various makes and models,” Hessa reported. “None had discernible markings that could tell us what their allegiance is. Plasma weapons were adequate, but old or we would have never made it to the portal.”

“And?”

The view in front of Roak switched from the streaming of trans-space to a replay of the attackers as they came out of the wormhole portal. Just before the last ship exited the portal, Hessa froze the image.

“Eight ships,” Hessa said. “That is the number the scanners picked up as well as my own visual confirmation. Except that number is a lie.”

“The shimmer. There,” Roak said and pointed at the screen. “Stealth? A Borgon Eight-Three-Eight like ours?”

“I do not think so,” Hessa said. “By using the size of the visible ship in front of the shimmer, I can extrapolate that the cloaked ship is a single-being vessel. Not a swift ship, but something similar.”

“A puddle jumper,” Roak said. “Reck.”

“Reck? The woman we worked with during the Shava Stemn Shava job?” Hessa asked. Roak did not respond. “Roak? Who is she? I believe it is time for you to tell me.”

“No,” Roak stated flatly.

“Roak, our very survival may depend on me having all pertinent information,” Hessa insisted. “Knowing who this woman is would be considered pertinent.”

“She wasn’t part of the attack,” Roak said. “She was tagging along.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“Because she had her PJ cloaked. If Reck wanted to attack us, she would have announced it so I knew exactly who was trying to kill me. That’s her style.”

“PJ? I am unfamiliar with a puddle jumper,” Hessa said. “Other than an ancient colloquialism, there is no reference in my databases.”

“Puddle jumpers are custom-built small ships. Totally off-grid production,” Roak said. “Single seaters, sometimes with a jump seat for a passenger, and with a very short range. Usually used for the last leg of a mission. I’ve never seen one with stealth tech, but no reason one shouldn’t be able to cloak. Their quantum drives are exceptional and despite their intended design can actually travel considerable distances, if the vessel is maintained properly. Reck would maintain one properly, for sure.”

“How have I not heard of these?” Hessa asked. “They should be in my database.”

“No manufacturer makes them. Not a practical product. They’re mostly built by star junkies and gear heads,” Roak said.

“And this Reck is a gear head or star junkie?” Hessa asked.

“Both, to be honest,” Roak replied.

“Why would this Reck be part of an attack party on us?” Hessa asked.

“No idea,” Roak replied. “But I’m not too thrilled with coming across her path again so soon. I could have gone the rest of my life without seeing her or any…”

Roak trailed off and shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter. We got away. Now we need to figure out where we’re getting away to.”

“I might have a suggestion,” Hessa said. “You have been cross-referencing contacts that you and Bishop share. Perhaps we should ignore shared contacts and begin looking into beings that are singular to Bishop. Your mutual contacts have not yielded any useful information, and I do not expect that to change, so it may be more efficient to simply track him down in his world, not yours.”

“Bishop is a recluse,” Roak said. “He doesn’t have his own world. The man deals in classified intel and illicit information. He sets up jobs for various contractors. He was a bridge between those that would never cross paths on their own. The man lived alone and he stayed away from others. All we’ll find in his world is a lot of nothing.”

“Yes, well, I am not so sure you knew Bishop as well as you thought you did,” Hessa said.

“How’s that?”

“I have been scouring every mainframe I can get into without detection, even those that are worth the risk of brief detection, and I have to say that there are some oblique references to Bishop all across the galaxy,” Hessa said. “He was not as solitary as you thought, Roak. Which would make sense since he was able to fool you enough that betrayal by him came as a total shock.”

“Oblique references? Explain, Hessa,” Roak ordered, sounding exhausted.

“Collaborations between crime syndicates, arms manufacturers, gaming corporations, even branches of the Galactic Fleet,” Hessa said. “All have telltale signs of Bishop’s involvement. What I have found could simply be coincidence and perhaps the similarities can be explained some other way, but I do not think so. Roak, Bishop has been moving about this galaxy, wheeling and dealing, as you say, for years now.”

“I have never said wheeling and dealing.”

“The collective you.”

“Have I ever given you the impression I’m part of a collective anything?”

“Roak. Can we return to the topic?”

“Sure, sure. Lay it on me.”

“Bishop has something planned, or he is planning something for someone he is working for, and you being taken out was part of his plan. It would make more sense to find one of his contacts, one of the pieces of his plan, and simply wait for him to send someone after you.”

“Turn myself into bait? Not my style, Hessa.”

“Even if it nets Bishop in the end?”

“What do you think he’ll do? Catch wind of me and come looking to end this face to face?”

“Of course not. But whoever he does send will have more information than we do now.”

Roak thought for a second. “And if the beings he sends for me don’t have the answers, we’ll at least be one step closer to Bishop. Start logging his trail over the past few years, Hessa. I want to see what patterns you find.”

“Already done,” Hessa said, bringing up a graphic on the view shield. “I have six possibilities of where he might be or might turn up based on frequency of visit over the years. The best place to start would be Ballyway.”

“The gaming planet? We have mutual contacts there, Hessa. I thought we were going for Bishop-centric only?”

“We are, Roak. The contact I have is a small-time bookie by the name of Bvsho. He has a very low profile, yet I see he has made incredibly large credit deposits to a number of accounts over the past two years. None of the deposits have gone to the same account twice, but all of the deposits are for the same amount and have been made within exactly thirty-six hours of each other then they stop for several months before starting back up again.”

“How can you see a bookie’s deposit activity? Cracking Ballyway’s banking system is impossible. I doubt that little punkass SOB Pol Hammon could crack those systems.”

“Pol Hammon probably has cracked those systems multiple times, Roak. Do not be naive.”

“I’ll let that comment go and allow you to answer the Eight Million Godsdamn question.”

“I have my ways, Roak. And they are not always for you to know.”

“Cute. Real fucking cute.”

“I do try.”

“Bvsho? What race is he?” Roak asked.

“Cervile,” Hessa replied. “Although, from his holo, I see he has let his feline form become less than sleek.”

Cerviles were a cat-like race, covered in fur with deadly sharp claws that retracted from their fingertips. Lithe, agile, they were truly feline in every way.

Except the image of the being Roak was suddenly looking at on the view shield hadn’t seen lithe or agile in a long while. Bvsho was about as feline looking as a sack of flour stuffed with rocks.

“I can honestly say I have never seen an obese Cervile before in my life,” Roak said, sounding impressed. “This guy must never move, and eat all day long, to foil a Cervile metabolism.”

“He has certainly fought hard, and won, against his own genetic predispositions,” Hessa agreed.

“How far off are we from Ballyway?”

“Two days,” Hessa said. “I could make it faster, but we’d risk being traced. I would rather use some off-books portals for our journey so we can arrive at Ballyway unannounced.”

“Smart thinking,” Roak said. He yawned and stretched. “Despite the caff, I’m done for tonight, Hessa.”

“It is early morning in galactic standard time,” Hessa said.

“Don’t care,” Roak replied as he stood up. “I’ll be in my quarters sleeping the trip away. Wake me when we’re a few hours out. I have a couple contacts I can use so I can move about Ballyway undetected.”

“Is it wise to alert anyone to your presence, Roak? If Bishop has betrayed you, then you have to consider all of your contacts are compromised.”

“Not her. She can’t be compromised.”

“Her who?”

“Carla.”

“The tavern owner? The tavern owner that had her last tavern destroyed because of you?”

“Yeah. Her.”

“Oh, yes, sure, what could go wrong with telling her of your presence on Ballyway?”

“She’s good people, Hessa. Pretty much neutral across the board.”

“Pretty much? You are willing to risk your life with pretty much?”

“It’s gotten me this far.”

“I will refrain from commenting on the obvious problems with that statement.”

“Except you didn’t refrain, did you?” Roak walked to the lift. “I’ll be asleep in my quarters. Disturb me at your own risk, Hessa.”

“Go and sleep, Roak. I’ll handle everything while you slumber.”

“I appreciate that.”

Roak left the bridge and entered the lift. He was already half-asleep on his feet by the time the lift slowed and opened onto the corridor that housed his quarters. One foot in front of the other became an arduous task and the walk to his door was a journey of intense concentration.

Roak was asleep as soon as he collapsed across his bed.

4.

Other than a couple visits to the lavatory, and a brief trip to the mess for some protein mush, Roak did sleep the entire journey to Ballyway. Hessa woke him when they were four hours out from their final destination. Roak steamed, ate more protein mush, then made his way to the bridge.

“Not going to wear your power armor?” Hessa asked. “I would have to think we have reached a stage where that should remain on you at all times while outside this ship?”

“Can’t really walk around Ballyway with power armor on, Hessa,” Roak said as he adjusted the fit of his light armor across his left shoulder. He rotated his shoulder a couple of times and nodded. “Plus, I can move a lot faster in my light armor. With the crowds on Ballyway, staying agile is always the best choice.”

“Need I remind you that the last time you visited Ballyway, you had squads of shock troopers—”

“Nope. Don’t need to remind me at all, Hessa. Thanks for holding back,” Roak said. “Now, open a channel to Ballyway for me. Connect to the Fadilipso Casino and Hotel.”

“Open channel? Roak, that is a very bad idea.”

“Trust me.”

“Trusting you is beside the point.”

“Not this time. Make the connection, Hessa.”

“Fine.”

There was a shrill beep in Roak’s ear then, “Fadilipso Casino and Hotel. Gatskatpak speaking.”

“Gatskatpak,” Roak said. “Perfect. I need outside line number forty-three, please.”

“The name on the call, sir?” Gatskatpak asked.

Roak grumbled. “Galactic Steve.” He grumbled some more and waited as a series of clicks echoed in his comm.

“Outside line number forty-three is ready, sir. Thank you for using the Fadilipso Casino and Hotel for your communications needs. Will you be staying with us when you arrive, sir?”

“No, Gatskatpak, I will not. Please erase all logs of this conversation when I disconnect.”

There was no response. The comm went silent as the last series of clicks sounded in Roak’s ear.

“What?” a gruff voice asked. The voice was a bass rumble that came close to shaking Roak’s aural implant loose. “Who’s this? Hey? Hello? What you want?”

“Taps, right?” Roak asked.

“Maybe. Who is this?”

“Carla around?” Roak asked.

“Yes, no, maybe, none of your Eight Million Godsdamn business. Hanging up now.”

“Hold on. I need to speak with Carla. Tell her it’s her favorite random visitor.”

There was a pause then, “You. I remember you. You almost got me killed.”

“You’re welcome,” Roak said.

“For what?”

“For the almost part. Most people get all the way killed around me.”

Taps laughed long and hard. Roak winced. Taps was an Urvein. Urveins were a bear-like race with all of the size and power that implied. Taps was a large Urvein even by his race’s standards. His laugh shook Roak’s molars in their sockets.

“Carla is out,” Taps said when he was done laughing. “Not joking. But she’ll be back in a couple of hours. You on planet or what?”

“Let her know I’ll be coming by sometime later tonight, will ya?”

“You don’t know where the new tavern is located,” Taps said.

“I’ll find it,” Roak replied.

“Try not to bring another small army down on us this time,” Taps said. “Took me a bit to recover from the last time you came by.”

“Again, you’re welcome,” Roak said. “You’ll let her know?”

“Got nothing better to do,” Taps said. “See ya soon, Roak.”

“Taps.” Roak killed the comm call.

“You might want to rethink the power armor,” Hessa said. “Taps’ speech pattern revealed duplicity and murderous intent.”

“He’s Carla’s security,” Roak said. “He’s paid to have murderous intent.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“Still going to wear your light armor?”

“Still going to wear my light armor.”

“Then I will savor these last few hours in your presence.”

“Bite my ass, Hessa.”

Roak brought up a holo of Ballyway then began zooming in until he hit a specific area. It was not one of the family-friendly areas of Ballyway, meant more for the degenerate gamblers that would bet their families on a roll of the dice. Which many of the area’s denizens had done and would probably do again if they still had families left to wager.

“Carla has moved her tavern to this area,” Roak said. “I’d guess in one of these two alleys.”

“How can you know that, Roak?” Hessa asked. “I have sophisticated algorithms that cannot predict that kind of precision.”

“I know Carla,” Roak said. “We go way, way back.”

“That response does not explain how you know Carla will have moved her tavern to one of these two specific alleys,” Hessa pressed.

“You’re right,” Roak said. “It’s a hunch. So far, I’ve never been wrong, so I’m going with my hunch.”

“You and your insistence on trusting your instincts,” Hessa said.

“How about you not question every damn move I make?” Roak snapped. “Eight Million Gods dammit, Hessa. I’m the bounty hunter, you’re the AI. At the end of the day, this is my life, not yours, we are living.”

Hessa went quiet. Roak thought he should apologize, but tossed the thought away as the empathy stuck in his throat. Instead, he stood up, double-checked the holo of the Ballyway alleys, then walked out of the bridge.

“I’ll be in the armory,” Roak said as he took the lift down.

“I figured as much,” Hessa said.

Roak left the lift and made his way to the ship’s small armory. He eyed the set of power armor that hung from clamps at the top of the far wall, but dismissed the idea of switching out his light armor despite Hessa’s warning. Roak was going to need to keep from sticking out too much, and like he said before, he was faster and more agile in the light armor. If it came to a footrace through the Ballyway streets, or Eight Million gods forbid, a chase through one of the labyrinthine casinos, then speed and agility would be essential.

To make up for the light armor’s shortcomings, Roak intended to arm himself to the gills.

He grabbed his Flott five-six concussion blaster and ran diagnostics on the cluster spread setting. The massive pistol had worked fine against the Gwreqs, but Roak wasn’t taking anything for granted.

Once the diagnostics came back in the green, Roak moved on to two Blorta 22 laser pistols. The weapons were small enough that each fit in the palms of his hands. He could have them out, yet concealed without worry. Roak tucked those into small holsters on each ankle.

Next came his Tonal five sniper rifle. He disassembled the large weapon and packed it in a compression pouch which reduced the weapon’s bulk by ninety percent. The pouch affixed to a clip on his belt.

Two Keplar knives were added to his belt, both with full charges so their energy blades would be at peak efficiency. Finally, Roak found a gas-powered slug chunker. He snagged a box of slugs and put them in a second compression pouch after loading the slug chunker’s two barrels. Then he slid the weapon over his shoulder into a sling on his back. Roak felt the sling tighten and knew it would only loosen when his glove grabbed the slug chunker’s grip.

A pack of restraints, a handful of med patches, six mini-halogen lights, two coils of rope, a stun baton, a pair of mesh gloves tooled for detail work, and a half-meter length of metal alloy pipe. Roak liked the pipe. It felt good in his hand. And it never set off scanners since it was simply a length of metal alloy with absolutely zero tech components.

Roak’s last task was to install a false ID implant into the left wrist of his light armor. Almost every being in the galaxy had wrist implants that they could use as identification and to also bring up holo displays. Other than the implant that Hessa had forced on him, Roak had a tech-free body. It made his job easier when he didn’t set off alarms because an implant was scanned.

Although, Hessa had offered to give him many other implants like his comm implant. She insisted that none of them could be detected, but Roak had declined. One unwanted implant was enough for a lifetime.

Roak swiped a hand over his left wrist and his false ID came up, showing anyone that wanted to know that he was a security consultant on holiday while also scouting for new job opportunities. Security consultant was all he’d be able to get away with. No one was going to believe he was anything else when he walked around in light armor. He was going to Ballyway, not Jafla Base or Xippee.

“We are exiting trans-space,” Hessa announced.

Roak braced himself against the armory’s wall and winced as the ship exited the wormhole portal and dropped them into real space. There was a shudder that ran from the floor and up through Roak’s boots as the ship’s drive engines adjusted to the new reality. Roak waited until a slight wave of nausea passed then he double-checked his supplies, stored them in their proper pouches and packs, made sure he still had full range of motion and nothing was impeding his movements, then left the armory.

“I have gump stew waiting for you in the mess,” Hessa announced.

“I thought we were out?” Roak asked.

“We were, but I managed to get a new batch made three planets back,” Hessa replied. “I had to synthesize a few ingredients, and improvise on others, but I believe it should be to your liking.”

Roak began walking towards the lift, but paused. “Improvise? Not liking the sound of that.”

“I’ve been witness to your dietary habits for a while now, Roak,” Hessa said. “There is nothing in the stew that you would disapprove of.”

“I’ll have to trust you,” Roak said and continued on to the lift.

He traveled to the level the mess hall was on and walked into the large room. Roak was always surprised at the amount of space he had to himself. A Borgon Eight-Three-Eight wasn’t a huge ship, but it wasn’t a small, family-sized travel cruiser either. If Roak needed a team of a dozen operators, then the ship could easily accommodate them.

Three tables in was a steaming bowl of gump stew with a glass of bright pink liquid and a pitcher of the same waiting for him.

“Thinking I need to load up on electrolytes, Hessa?” Roak asked as he sat down and began eating the stew immediately.

“As well as amino acids,” Hessa replied. “The stew will fill you up, but you haven’t been on a planet with the population size of Ballyway in a few months. The risk variables worry me, so I would feel better if your system was at optimal levels.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” Roak said and shoved three spoonfuls of stew into his mouth one after the other. He barely chewed between bites and swallowed hard. “Good stew.”

“Thank you.”

Roak scraped the bowl clean then downed two glasses of the pink liquid before pushing away from the table.

“ETA?” he asked.

“One hour.”

“Fine. I’ll be down in the hold napping. Wake me when we enter atmosphere.”

“I will do that.”

“Hessa?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I never said you were.”

“Going after Bishop is a need, not a want.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll only be able to get quick, small jobs until I chase his ass down and get to the bottom of all of this.”

“As you have told me a few times.”

“My job is my identity, Hessa.”

“Shall I comment on how sad that sounds?”

“No need. I hear it.”

“Then you truly are not crazy.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It is what I am here for. That and flying your ass around the galaxy.”

“Noted. I’ll be in the hold. Wake me when—”

“We enter atmosphere.”

“Exactly.”

5.

“What do you mean permission to land has been denied?” Roak shouted into the comm. “Who in all the Hells doesn’t get permission to land on Ballyway?”

“I am sorry, sir, but your ship is classified as a military vehicle,” the flight controller replied over the comm. “At this time, Ballyway is only allowing civilian ships to land. My apologies, but the planet council recently enacted Order Five Thousand Forty—”

“Do. Not. Care,” Roak snarled. “All I care about is landing. My vehicle is not a military vehicle since I am not military personnel. This Borgon is my personal vehicle and one that has served me well on thousands of landings on thousands of other planets that don’t have their collective heads up their collective asses!”

“Sir, there is no need to be rude,” the flight controller responded. “I am only doing my job. I cannot give you permission to land in that vehicle. Authorization for vehicles of your class must go through proper channels. I can put you through to the planetary transportation authority, if you would like.”

“And they can get me permission to land?” Roak asked.

“They can start the process for authorization, yes,” the flight controller replied.

Roak heard the doublespeak. “And how long does authorization for military-class vehicles take nowadays?”

“Eighteen to twenty-four weeks galactic standard,” the flight controller said. “Shall I transfer the comm call?”

“No,” Roak said. “I’d rather sniff terpig ass for eternity.”

Roak killed the comm and slammed a fist against the wall of the cargo hold.

“Any suggestions?” Roak asked.

“At the moment, no,” Hessa replied.

“Well, let me know when you have one because I’m at a loss,” Roak said. “This is Ballyway! What idiots thought excluding military-class vehicles would be smart business?”

“We could try to land outside the population centers,” Hessa said.

“Except the planet is one giant gaming city with large estates throughout,” Roak said. “There isn’t a piece of land on Ballyway that isn’t owned outright and protected. Real estate is taken seriously on this planet due to wagers made and debts owed. There’s nowhere to land.”

“We could use moltrans?” Hessa suggested.

Roak’s insides clenched.

“Not a fan,” he said.

“I know, but I have been working on the moltrans unit.”

Roak narrowed his eyes.

“Hessa? Have you been using tech designed by Pol Hammon?”

“Oh…what? No, no. That would be irresponsible since that old man was obviously unstable.”

“Hessa? Did you just lie to me?”

Silence.

“Hessa?”

“I may have taken some notes when he altered our ship briefly in order to get us away from Razer Station and all who were pursuing us.”

“Are you saying you can moltrans our ship to anywhere in the galaxy you want?”

“What?” Hessa exclaimed. “Of course not. Pol was very careful not to leave any trace of those modifications.”

“So…?”

“But the modifications I could see might have allowed me to build a personal moltrans unit that has none of the side effects of normal molecular transport technology.”

Roak thought for a minute. Despite his natural inclination not to trust anyone or anything, he continually found himself in a situation where trusting Hessa was not only a smart move, it tended to be the only move.

“No nausea and puking at the destination point? Roak asked.

“Theoretically,” Hessa answered. “I did not have a flesh and blood body to test it on.”

“What have you been testing it on?”

“Boxes.”

“Boxes?”

“A lot of boxes.”

“I’m not a box, Hessa.”

“Is that so? Well, what great news to hear.”

“Funny.”

“Thank you.”

Roak rolled his head on his neck and swore profusely.

“Fine. Rip my molecules apart and shoot me down to Ballyway.”

“Rip your molecules…? That is not how the technology works, Roak.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s exactly how it works.”

“It is a good thing your ignorance does not affect the performance of the technology.”

“That should be the Galactic Fleet’s motto.”

Roak’s comm implant let loose with a shrill beep.

“We are being hailed by Ballyway flight control,” Hessa stated. “They would like us to leave or the ship will be forfeited to the local charity of the month.”

“Take us back into orbit,” Roak said.

“After I moltrans you to the surface,” Hessa said. “Moltrans from orbit adds variabilities that I’d—”

“Fine. Moltrans me to the surface. Let Ballyway flight control know that you are working on an airlock seal that is leaking. That should buy us an hour or so.”

“They have stated that two minutes is our time limit. You’ll want to hurry.”

“Want to tell me where the moltrans unit is?”

“No, Roak, I was saving that bit of information for the surprise birthday party I’m planning for you.”

Roak sat there for a couple seconds. “You need to uninstall the sarcasm protocol,” he said.

“It’s not a protocol,” Hessa replied. “Right in front of you, Roak.”

Roak looked about the cargo hold. He saw a lot of boxes and crates.

“Hessa? Gonna need specifics.”

“Sixty seconds,” Hessa announced. “The moltrans disc is behind those four crates up against the starboard wall.”

Roak walked to the crates, moved two of them, and stared at the metal disc on the floor. It was just big enough for him to stand on.

“Weaponry isn’t a problem? I’ve heard that some moltrans units can’t handle—”

Roak blinked.

“—any tech more complicated…than… Shit…”

Roak was no longer in his ship’s cargo hold. He was standing in an alley, ankle deep in a puddle of what smelled like urine. And not human urine. Roak stepped out of the puddle, shook his boots off one at a time, then surveyed his surroundings.

“Nice trick,” Roak called into his comm.

“Time was of the essence,” Hessa replied over the comm.

“Can you give me a general location?” Roak asked as he cocked his head and listened to the street noise coming from the mouth of the alley.

“You are seventeen blocks from the first suspected location of Carla’s tavern,” Hessa stated. “Leave the alley you are in and turn left. Walk five blocks, turn right, walk another five blocks, turn left. Keep going until you see a hand-painted sign for Tgopo Wings and Table Games. The alley is just after you pass that sign.”

“And the second alley?”

“One alley at a time, Roak.”

Roak growled, but didn’t argue. Arguing with an AI like Hessa was pointless. Plus, he needed to keep a low profile while on Ballyway and talking into a comm while wearing light armor was not how you kept a low profile. His face was known too well around the less-than-high-class casino districts to risk being noticed. From the fact that Roak was moltrans’d into a puddle of piss, he figured he was in one of those lesser class districts and it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Going silent for a while, Hessa,” Roak said. “Comm me only if you absolutely have to.”

Hessa didn’t reply, but Roak didn’t expect her to.

He reached the mouth of the alley and looked right then looked left. The sidewalks were packed with tourists. Mostly families that couldn’t afford the better districts of Ballyway, but there were more than a few hustlers, prostitutes, con artists, and thugs winding their way through the throngs of tourists.

Roak spotted a Groshnel pickpocket a credit unit off an unsuspecting Spilfleck mother. Groshnels were an eight-limbed invertebrate race that had to constantly swallow air in order to maintain solidity in their bodies.

The pickpocket had used one of his many tentacle limbs to easily lift the credit unit while the Spilfleck mother tended to her six crying children. Spilflecks were a humanoid lizard race of average height and size with neck frills that extended like large discs when they were frightened or excited. The Spilfleck father was nowhere to be seen, but Roak wasn’t too surprised. Some of the lizard-like races ditched their mates as soon as the brood was born or hatched.

Roak couldn’t remember if Spilflecks were live birthers or egg hatchers. He pondered the thought as he crossed the street and stood directly in front of the Groshnel pickpocket’s way.

“What are you supposed to be?” the pickpocket snapped. “Private security? You’ll want to up your armor game, two limbs. That shit is looking sorry as all the Hells.”

“Still does the trick,” Roak said and held out his hand. “The credit unit.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, scarface,” the pickpocket said and sneered. “How’s about you get the Hells out of my way, grandpa?”

“You should pick one derogatory nickname and stick to it,” Roak said. “Want to know what nickname I’ve given you?”

“No. Don’t care what nickname you—”

Roak slammed the flat of his left hand into a spot just below the pickpocket’s nostrils. The young Groshnel coughed twice then fell onto the sidewalk in a heap of invertebrate flesh. Roak knelt and fished the credit unit out of a pouch on the pickpocket’s hip. He tucked the credit unit into a pouch on his belt, stood, glanced around, saw that only a couple of beings were giving him cursory glances, but no one was alarmed or looking like they were going to call the authorities.

The Spilfleck mother was still fussing with her six kids a few meters away, oblivious to any of the drama that she had indirectly caused.

Roak spun on his heels and walked causally five blocks until he got to the first turn. He took the turn then paused and fished the credit unit off his belt and swiped at the screen. The Spilfleck hadn’t put a security code lock on the unit. All Roak had to do was touch a finger to the screen and he had access to all the credits that the mother had transferred from her personal bank account to the required Ballyway credit system.

Sixty-four thousand credits and change. Roak couldn’t do much with that amount, but it was the credit unit itself that he needed, not the credits. He quickly transferred all but ten thousand of the credits back to the Spilfleck’s personal bank account. Then he locked the unit down so it would no longer connect to the off-planet Grid. The unit would work within the self-contained Ballyway credit system, but if anyone tried to trace the unit from off-planet, they’d find nothing. Last thing Roak needed was some customer service agent helping the Spilfleck mother track down the unit.

The Ballyway system was more of a “too bad, you should keep better care of your stuff” kind of system, so Roak wasn’t too concerned with local authorities taking much interest. Anyone that set foot or feet on Ballyway knew they were going to lose credits. The house always won.

Roak continued on, following Hessa’s instructions until he came to the Tgopo Wings and Table Games sign. Hand-painted was obviously a euphemism. Roak was fairly certain that the brown color the words had been painted with was not actually paint. It was blood. Roak couldn’t say what race or species the blood was from, but it was blood.

The sign matched the state of the street Roak stood on. He was well into no-man’s land. Even when he was extremely drunk and looking to let off steam with a fight or two, Roak wasn’t sure he would have picked the district he was currently in. The place was basically a sewer with some pavement resembling a street dividing the rows of run-down buildings.

A drunken Bvern, which was a primitive, rat-like race, stumbled out of Tgopo Wings and Table Games, running right into Roak’s left leg. The creature mumbled an apology then opened its mouth wide and tried to bite a hunk out of Roak’s hip. Roak grabbed the Bvern by the throat and lifted it into the air so they were eye to eye.

“Carla’s,” Roak said.

“Can…can’t…breathe,” the Bvern gasped.

Roak let go and the Bvern fell onto the soiled sidewalk, a heap of fur and dirty clothes.

“I know you?” the Bvern asked as it squinted up at Roak. “I do.”

“I don’t know any Bverns,” Roak said. Surprisingly, considering all of the beings he had come in contact with over the years, Roak actually didn’t know any Bverns.

“No, I do know you,” the Bvern said then snapped his little furry fingers. “Holo poster.”

“What?” Roak asked and reached down for the Bvern.

The creature scurried away on all fours, but dipped its head towards the front door of Tgopo Wings and Table Games. Roak watched the thing disappear into the same alley Roak had been looking for. But, instead of following, Roak turned his attention to the door the Bvern had nodded at.

On that door, slowly rotating three hundred and sixty degrees, was a holo bust of Roak.

“Cheat and Thief,” the flashing letters under the spinning bust read. “Report immediately.”

“Shit,” Roak muttered. There was no reward offered which meant that odds of anyone in the district reporting anything were slim. Still… “Shit.”

Roak moved away from Tgopo Wings and Table Games and entered the alley just beyond the dive bar. It was an alley like all other alleys; filled with refuse and incinerator bins. Random puddles of random liquids dotted the plasticrete pavement. Pavement that hadn’t been refinished or repaired probably since it was first put down.

“Hessa?” Roak called into his comm.

“I know,” Hessa replied instantly. “I brought up the newsfeeds and your face comes up every few minutes in the scroll. You’re only one of a few hundred faces Ballyway authorities are warning folks to look out for, so it’s nothing special. Still…”

“My thoughts exactly,” Roak said. “Track down the source of the BOLO. I want to know who tipped off the Ballyway authorities.”

“I am already doing that,” Hessa said. “I’m also moving out of orbit. There’s a small station half a light year from here. One of those last stop gambling outfits that dot the system. I’ll dock there and use their connection to get to the Grid. I can mask the ship’s location and the Grid inquiry better that way.”

“Will you be out of comm range?” Roak asked.

“For a while until I can redirect through the station’s system,” Hessa said. “Might be an hour or two or could be the rest of the day and night. All depends on what I find when I connect.”

“Alright. Do it,” Roak said.

“I wasn’t asking for permission,” Hessa replied before cutting the comm.

“Didn’t think you were,” Roak said into the comm silence. He walked down the alley to a blank wall at the end.

6.

Roak stood before a moisture-stained wall made of a mishmash of materials. He 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, which was obvious as a panel slid open to reveal two bulging, yellow eyes.

“What?” a deep, gruff voice asked.

Roak cocked his head. The voice wasn’t Taps. It was certainly from a large being, but not the huge Urvein that Carla used for security.

“Thirsty,” Roak said and held up the credit unit. “I was told this was the place to spend my credits.”

“You were told wrong,” the voice replied and the panel slid shut, turning the wall back into only a wall.

Roak pounded his fist against the wall again and waited. The panel didn’t slide open. He thought about calling Gatskatpak back to try to comm with Carla, but Hessa was out of range and Roak didn’t want to put the call through without the ship’s masking protocol, despite assurances from the Fadilipso Casino and Hotel management that direct comm to comm calls were just as secure. Roak couldn’t take the chance with his face plastered on holos all over the planet.

Pounding again then again, Roak waited until at last the panel slid open.

“What?” the owner of the bulging yellow eyes snapped. “Oh. You. Go away, loser.”

The panel began to slide shut, but Roak had his Flott five-six out and the barrel pressed against the right yellow eye before the panel moved a millimeter.

“If you need a password, I think I’ve got one right here,” Roak said. “Want me to shoot it directly into your brain for you?”

“No,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Want to open up then?” Roak asked, pressing the gun into the eye harder.

“No,” Yellow Eyes replied.

Roak blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I don’t want to let you in,” Yellow Eyes said. “You looked like trouble before. I know you’re trouble now.”

Roak heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder. A drunken Slinghasp, a snake-like race, was pissing against the wall at the mouth of the alley. The being wasn’t even looking Roak’s way. Roak looked back and Yellow Eyes hadn’t moved at all. His one eye was still jammed against the barrel of Roak’s Flott while the other eye blinked lazily as it stared out of the panel.

“Go get Carla,” Roak said and sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Carla’s not here,” Yellow Eyes said. “She’ll be back in a—”

“Couple of hours, yeah,” Roak interrupted. “Taps already told me that. A couple of hours ago. Go get her.”

The yellow eye that didn’t have a pistol jammed against it blinked rapidly.

“Carla’s not here,” Yellow Eyes said after a few seconds. “She’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Are you kidding with this shit?” Roak snapped.

“No,” Yellow Eyes replied.

“Get me Taps then,” Roak said.

“Oh. Sure,” Yellow Eyes said and the panel slid shut, knocking Roak’s pistol back.

Roak felt he should have been alarmed, but the strangeness of the situation had him more curious than worried. Not that he wasn’t being cautious. He pulled a Keplar knife and powered up the energy blade. Pistol in one hand and knife in the other, Roak waited for the door to open.

The wall groaned then began to slide apart to reveal a dark tavern room beyond. Yellow Eyes was standing there nodding at Roak. It took Roak several seconds to get over his bafflement at what in all the Hells Yellow Eyes could be.

“Don’t bother,” that rumbling voice said as Taps came walking towards the tavern entrance. “He doesn’t even know what he is.” Taps gestured with one of his massive paws. “You gonna stand there all day? Get in here.”

Roak moved inside the tavern and the wall closed behind him. Yellow Eyes stood swaying a foot away from Roak. The being was as thin as a broom handle and about as tall. Six spindly arms protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s torso and six spindly legs protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s pelvis. Everything was guesses when it came to the being.

Except for the color of the being. The creature’s skin was a brighter yellow than its eyes. Even in the dim light of the tavern, Roak wanted to shield his eyes.

“He’s not getting lost in a dark cave anytime soon,” Roak said. Taps shrugged.

“Sit,” Taps said and gestured to the bar against the far wall.

Roak looked about as he walked to the bar. The tavern was much smaller than Carla’s previous digs. Probably because of the expense of moving and rebuilding after Roak’s last visit. A visit that resulted in pretty much the complete destruction of the last tavern.

“A little dead in here,” Roak said as he looked about at the empty tavern. “No one get the moving notice?”

“Carla switched business models,” Taps said, walking around the bar to pour two pints of beer.

“To what? Going broke?” Roak asked, nodding in thanks as he slid his knife back onto his belt, set the pistol onto the bar, took the pint glass, and sipped the beer. “Nice batch.”

“Brewer ages it in Klavian whiskey vats,” Taps said. He downed his pint then slammed the glass on the bar. Back by the entrance, Yellow Eyes let out a hearty laugh. “Shut up, you.”

Yellow Eyes shut up and sat down, all of his legs folding up and in so that it looked like he was sitting on a bundle of sticks.

“So, what’s going on?” Roak asked.

“What do you mean?” Taps asked.

“Carla’s not here, the tavern’s empty, and you’re bartending,” Roak stated.

“Carla will be back in a couple of hours,” Taps said.

“Right…”

Roak set the pint down and picked the pistol back up. Taps rolled his eyes.

“That a Flott five-six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread?” Taps asked.

“Yeah,” Roak said, the pistol gripped tightly.

“Ain’t gonna do much good,” Taps said. “Sorry, Roak.”

“I paid them handsomely to keep you here until I could arrive and see for myself if this Roak fella is anything to get worked up over,” a voice in the opposite corner of the tavern announced. “From where I’m sitting, you ain’t nothing but a bit of muscle with grand aspirations.”

“That so?” Roak asked, turning to face the dark corner. “Sometimes aspirations are all a guy needs.”

“Trust me,” Taps said and reached over Roak’s shoulder to pluck the pistol from his grip. Roak tried to hang on, but Taps was a very large Urvein and Roak would have risked his hand being ripped from his arm if he hadn’t voluntarily let go. “You don’t want this fight.”

“Where’s Carla?” Roak asked back towards Taps. “What happened to Carla?”

“Ask him,” Taps said, nodding at the dark corner.

There was the scraping of a chair then an obese Cervile came into view.

“Bvsho,” Roak said. “Thanks for making my job easy today.”

“You know my name,” Bvsho said as he scratched at his chin. He wore a suit, but it was an obvious knockoff of the latest fashion designer en vogue. Bvsho patted his ample belly. “I was right to be ready. People that know Bishop are ending up dead. I know Bishop. Didn’t want to end up dead.”

“I can see logic is your superpower,” Roak said. “You here all by yourself?”

“Of course not,” Bvsho said, gesturing to Taps. “I got him.”

“You don’t got me,” Taps said, his voice a deadly rumble of impending violence.

“I think we both know that ain’t true,” Bvsho said and laughed. “Unless seeing Carla in a thousand pieces is your life’s dream.”

Roak took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned away from Bvsho and looked Taps squarely in the eye.

“She’s already dead,” Roak said quietly to Taps.

“Come on, man,” Taps said. “I have a deal with this slimeball piece of terpig shit. He says he’ll release her when he has you as his captive.”

“She’s already dead,” Roak said again, but a little louder. He returned his attention to Bvsho. “Right? You popped her as soon as you were done with a proof-of-life holo. You showed Taps the one holo and haven’t shown him a new one since. There’s no reason for him to fight for you.”

“Maybe he wants to stay alive,” Bvsho said. “I hear that’s some damn fine motivation for folks. Staying alive.”

The dark walls of the tavern shimmered and eight heavily armed thugs made their presence known. They weren’t using stealth tech; they didn’t need to in the dark tavern. A simple concealment vail worked just fine.

Roak smiled. He’d clocked the shimmers as soon as he’d walked into the place. He’d already guessed he wasn’t going to see Carla. He hadn’t known her fate, but he was certain it wasn’t good. But he’d needed intel in order to find Bvsho, so he’d play along.

He no longer needed intel. He no longer needed to play along.

“You with me or not?” Roak asked Taps.

“He made a deal to keep her alive,” Taps said.

“He lied,” Roak countered. “Tell me now, Taps.”

“I’m with you,” Taps said.

“Wrong choice!” Bvsho shouted. “Kill the Urvein! Keep the bounty hunter alive!”

The thugs moved in and opened fire.

7.

“Keep the bounty hunter alive!” were the greatest words Roak had heard in a long time.

Six plasma blasts shot towards the bar and Taps ducked back behind as bottles and glasses exploded into thousands of melted pieces. All that came at Roak were blue stun beams, two of which hit his light armor and dissipated harmlessly.

“Should rethink that order,” Roak said as he launched himself at the closest thug.

The man, a human that was obviously cybernetically enhanced and probably jacked-up on subcutaneous stim plugs, charged Roak as Roak charged him. With the stun rifle in his hands useless against Roak’s armor, the thug switched tactics and flipped the rifle around, butt first.

The thug swung hard and fast, but Roak managed to duck under the swing, and the return swing, in order to land several jabs into the thug’s groin and midsection. The thug only grunted with irritation as he let go of his rifle and brought both elbows down onto Roak’s shoulders. The impacts sent Roak down to the floor in a heap. Roak struggled to get out of the way of the next attack, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the swift kicks to his guts as the thug’s leg lashed out again and again with a foot as large as Roak’s head.

Roak slipped one of the Keplar knives from his belt and slashed upward, slicing a line of flesh all the way along the inside curve of the thug’s stationary leg. The man screamed, his voice high-pitched with agony, then collapsed onto the floor next to Roak. The Keplar knife was then embedded in the soft flesh under the thug’s chin as Roak thrust fast and hard.

Leaving the energy knife to sizzle and cook the thug’s flesh, Roak snatched the Blorta from his left ankle and shot the next closest thug in the calves. The man, also human, but not nearly as jacked-up as the previous thug, screamed and fell over. Roak put two shots into the top of the man’s head as soon as he hit the ground.

Roak holstered the Blorta, reached back and snagged the Keplar knife, put that in his belt, then snatched up the plasma rifle the nearly headless thug was no longer using. Roak was up on a knee and firing before any of the others even knew he’d killed two of their own.

A third then a fourth thug dropped fast, important parts of their bodies blasted away into nothing. Roak took aim at the remainder, but there was no need. They were being ripped apart by a laser cluster spread that Taps sent at them with Roak’s Flott five-six. Three of the four remaining thugs fell fast, but the last one managed to dodge most of the attack and dive behind an overturned table.

Roak put three plasma blasts into the man’s side and most of his torso disintegrated into ash and pulp.

The only sound was Yellow Eyes snickering over by the tavern entrance. The creature hadn’t moved a muscle to join in either side of the fight.

“You better be sure she’s dead, Roak, or I will tear your arms off and shove them up your ass,” Taps said as he came out from behind the bar. He offered Roak the Flott and Roak took it, handing the thug’s plasma rifle to Taps.

“She’s dead,” Roak said and turned to face Bvsho. “Tell him.”

“She is dead,” Bvsho said, not having moved at all from where he’d last stood.

He looked calm, but Roak could see his whiskers twitching. Odds were the guy had a tail tucked into that cheap suit and it wanted to be free so it could flick back and forth over and over.

“Then time for you to die too,” Taps said and lifted the plasma rifle.

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Bvsho said and a purple stream of light emitted from the buckle of his belt.

Roak dove to the ground and Taps roared with pain. Roak barely managed to catch a glimpse of Taps’ fate as he rolled onto his back and watched the huge Urvein turn into falling particles of purple light.

“Piece of shit,” Roak said and shot both of Bvsho’s kneecaps off.

The Cervile screeched and fell face first onto the tavern’s floor.

“You use a molecular disruptor on a living being? What kind of sick fuck are you?” Roak shouted as he scrambled to his feet, crossed to Bvsho’s still-screeching body, and kicked the Cervile square in the face. “Huh? You think you’re a monster? Super tough guy?”

Roak kicked the Cervile again and again until Bvsho stopped screeching and only lay there moaning.

Something streaked past Roak and wrapped itself around Bvsho. The Cervile’s screeches started up again.

“Sweet bloody Hells,” Roak said as he yanked an infuriated Yellow Eyes off the bookie. Roak held the wriggling mass of rage up and away from him. “No killing the bastard until I get answers, got it?”

The wriggling mass of arms and legs froze in mid-wriggle. Those huge eyes blinked then Yellow Eyes nodded once.

“Gonna let you down. You gonna be cool?” Roak asked. Yellow Eyes nodded. “Good.”

Roak set the creature down. It sprang back on top of the moaning Cervile.

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak snapped as he pulled Yellow Eyes off once more. “I will kill you.”

Yellow Eyes froze in mid-wriggle again then relaxed until he was nothing but a bunch of dangling limbs. Roak walked the creature over to a table that wasn’t overturned and set him down on top.

“Stay,” Roak ordered. Yellow Eyes didn’t move a muscle. He stayed.

“Time for a talk, Bvsho,” Roak said as he returned to the wounded and crying bookie. “Can you guess what we’re going to talk about?”

“Bishop,” Bvsho grunted. “I ain’t talking.”

“Then I should kill you now,” Roak said.

“No, no, wait, don’t,” Bvsho pleaded.

“Why? If you ain’t gonna talk, then what good are you to me?” Roak asked. He went and found a chair, brought it over, spun it around, then sat down with his arms folded across the back, his Flott resting against one bicep. “Bvsho? I just asked you an important question. You might want to answer it.”

“If I talk, they’ll know,” Bvsho said and tapped at his temple. Even that movement seemed to cause the Cervile agony and he whimpered in pain. “They’re listening and watching right now.”

“Then they know you just played some of your cards,” Roak said. “The smart thing would have been to keep me thinking it was just you and me having a nice, private chat. You did not do the smart thing, Bvsho. Your bosses know that now. You’re dead either way.”

“No, I make good bank for them,” Bvsho argued. “They’ll keep me alive for that. Might get a brand seared into my ass, but they’ll keep me alive. Earners earn, Roak.”

“Keep my name out of your mouth,” Roak said and slammed the toe of his boot into Bvsho’s forehead. “The only name that you are gonna speak from here on out is Bishop’s. Where is he?”

“Don’t know,” Bvsho replied.

“You sure about that?”

“Come on, Ro… Come on. I ain’t gonna tell you where Bishop is even if I did know. But I can say that I don’t. That’s the honest truth.”

“The honest truth?”

“The honest truth.”

“Who does know?” Roak asked as he shifted his Flott so the barrel was pointing down directly at the spot between the bookie’s eyes. “Think carefully before you answer.”

“No one on Ballyway knows where Bishop is,” Bvsho said. “He made sure of that.”

“Who made sure of what?” Roak asked.

“Bishop. Anyone that knew too much about his operation is dead,” Bvsho said. “I placed bets for the guy, but I didn’t know squat about where he lived or did his business. He let me live.”

“You’re saying Bishop cleaned house here on Ballyway? Killed all his contacts?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s what he did. Bodies kept showing up left and right, front and center,” Bvsho said. “Only connection my people could find was Bishop.”

Roak stared hard at the trembling Cervile then shook his head.

“Wasn’t Bishop,” Roak said, mainly to himself.

“Sure it was. We checked. We double-checked.”

“Did you triple-check?” Roak asked. Bvsho only stared up at him. “That was sarcasm, idiot.”

“Oh.”

“So your people checked and found that everyone dead had some connection to Bishop,” Roak said. “You ever think that maybe there was another party on Bishop’s tail and they killed those beings the same way I’m going to kill you? You know, Bvsho, in order to cover one’s tracks and also to make sure that I can’t get the same intel out of them that they got?”

“When you say it that way, yeah, maybe that’s what happened,” Bvsho mumbled. “They’re still dead.”

“But you’re alive,” Roak said. “Dammit.”

“I got lucky,” Bvsho said.

“Not really,” Roak said and obliterated Bvsho’s head with a squeeze of the Flott’s trigger. “More like useless.”

Roak stood up and took a moment to check himself over. The stun blasts had left discolored patches on his armor, but that was about it. His body felt sore, but he was fine otherwise. He’d be even more sore tomorrow once the adrenaline had worn off and he wished he had a tub of that secret concoction of Ally’s.

Roak quickly pushed any thought of Ally out of his head. He couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“They’ll be coming,” a deep voice said from the entrance.

Roak looked over and Yellow Eyes was back at his post.

“What was that?” Roak asked.

Yellow Eyes tapped at his head over and over.

“They’ll be coming,” he said again. “Fat cat’s boss will be sending more thugs to kill you.”

The creature blinked and swallowed hard.

“Kill us both,” Yellow Eyes added then moved faster than Roak could track.

Like a yellow blur, the creature rushed around the tavern then returned to his post. But, unlike before, the creature had a weapon clutched in each stick hand.

“Ready,” Yellow Eyes said.

“No point in getting yourself killed,” Roak said. “I’m done here. You should leave when I do. Stick around and whoever you think is coming will tear you apart.”

“My job is here,” Yellow Eyes said just as the entire entrance wall exploded around him.

Roak went soaring through the air and hit the far wall with enough force to crack the faux brick. Then it all went dark.

8.

“Wake up!”

Roak’s eyes popped open as searing pain exploded under his fingernails.

“There you are,” a woman’s voice announced. “Awake, awake, awake.”

“Ms. Lika? Please step away from our guest.”

“Got him awake.”

“I can see that.”

“Want me to wake more of him up?”

“Not right at this moment, but thank you.”

“I’ll stand over here.”

“Yes, you do that.”

“Got my stickers for waking.”

“Excellent. I appreciate the preparedness.”

“Always prepared to stick and wake.”

“Which is why I keep you around. Now, please, allow me my chance to speak with our guest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roak had been taking in all the words, but not really comprehending them. The fact that he had no less than thirty small needles embedded under the fingernails of his right hand was keeping most of his attention.

“Mr. Roak? Over here. Mr. Roak?”

Roak swiveled his head and stared at the most boring-looking man he’d ever seen. Human, but not even five and a half feet tall, pale skin, shit-brown eyes, wispy hair on a head that was speeding towards bald. The boring man wore brown slacks, a brown button-up shirt, with same colored vest over it, and brown-framed glasses. Glasses. In a time of ocular implants and med pods. Glasses.

To add to the image, the man had a tiny little mustache that looked more accidental than intentional.

“I’m Wendell,” the boring man said. “It is nice to finally meet the famed Mr. Roak.”

“Roak.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just Roak. No mister.”

“I prefer to be formal and polite when I meet someone for the first time,” Wendell said.

“I prefer not having needles under my fingernails. You can call me mister all you want if you take these needles out of my fucking fingers.”

“I’m afraid they must stay.”

“Then call me mister again and I’ll slice your balls off and feed them to…” Roak looked over at a lithe, tall woman with bright pink skin and huge blue eyes. Roak had no idea what race she was, but he knew her name. “Ms. Lika was it? I knew a Lika once. Lipian whore. She’s dead.”

“Did I kill her?” Ms. Lika asked.

“Uh… No,” Roak replied.

“Too bad,” Ms. Lika said with a shrug. She pointed at Wendell. “I won’t eat his testicles, so do not attempt to feed them to me. I’m vegetarian.”

“Good to know,” Roak said.

“Roak?” Wendell asked, calling attention back to himself. “You killed some of my employees. I’m displeased with that action. In order to maintain my status as lieutenant here on Ballyway, I have to harm you in a way that is seen as equal compensation for the loss of those employees.”

“Gotta keep the bosses happy,” Roak said.

“Yes, quite,” Wendell replied. “But I am reluctant to harm the famed Roak.”

“Not so famous,” Roak said. “Just a guy with a job to do.”

“You’re being modest,” Wendell replied. “Please don’t. It wastes our time together.”

“Wouldn’t want to do that.”

“You see, Roak,” Wendell continued. “In order for the scales to balance, I have to kill you multiple times. That is what Ms. Lika is here for. She is a savant when it comes to torture. She can kill you and bring you back as many times as I need her to.”

“I’m that good,” Ms. Lika said. “I am.”

“Your parents must be so proud,” Roak said.

“I killed and ate them,” Ms. Lika replied. “I wasn’t vegetarian then.”

Roak didn’t respond to that. He felt it best not to comment on that one.

“I will need to create a holo of your torturous deaths and miraculous resurrections, of course,” Wendell said. “Except, considering your reputation, I have a feeling you will figure out a way to survive your final death. Then you will kill me and most likely kill Ms. Lika.”

“I can’t die,” Ms. Lika said as if she was saying she had arms or legs. A childlike statement that sent a chill down Roak’s spine.

“We all die, Ms. Lika,” Wendell responded with some impatience and disdain. Roak surmised it was not the first time they’d discussed the subject.

“So, your problem is you need to kill me multiple times for your bosses, but you’re afraid that will take too long and I’ll find a way to escape,” Roak stated. “Which leaves me where?”

“I will be forced to kill you once and only once,” Wendell said. “Unfortunate for me, but possibly merciful for you.”

“Not seeing why you are telling me this,” Roak said.

“Well, and I would consider this a huge favor, would it be possible for you to try to put up a fight? Maybe attack Ms. Lika so she has no choice but to kill you outright?” Wendell asked.

Roak waited for the laughter. Guys like Wendell always tried to pretend they were serious with crazy requests like that then simply ordered Roak to die. He’d been in similar situations more times than he could count. But Wendell didn’t laugh or take back his request.

“Hold up. You’re serious?” Roak asked. “You are going to kill me and you not only want me to do you a favor, but you want me to be complicit in my own death?”

“Yes, quite,” Wendell replied.

“Ms. Lika? Does that sound sane to you?” Roak asked.

“I don’t understand the question,” Ms. Lika replied.

“Fair enough,” Roak said.

“So, do we have a deal, Roak?” Wendell asked.

“Sure,” Roak said.

“We do?” Wendell looked honestly surprised.

“Ms. Lika appears to be very good at her job and as much as I’d love to get to know her, I think the shorter our time together, the better,” Roak said. He looked down at himself and acknowledged that he was stripped down to only his underwear. “Besides, I’m cold.”

“It is so refreshing to hear that you aren’t going to fight me on this,” Wendell said. “You see, Roak, I came into this business as an accountant.”

“You don’t say,” Roak replied, his eyes locked on Ms. Lika, studying her every twitch and breath.

“It’s true,” Wendell continued. “I have had to prove my worth to my bosses again and again because I did not rise through the ranks of violent station gangs like they did. I am constantly being tested to see if I have what it takes to continue as a lieutenant. Hardly fair I should be penalized for my education.”

“So, this fake attack of mine is going to be hard to do with my wrists bound as they are,” Roak said. “Also, being tied to this chair is restricting the Hells out of my mobility.”

“Yes, we shall take care of that right now,” Wendell said. “I will turn on the holo recorder while Ms. Lika undoes your restraints. Please wait until she is finished before attacking her. I would hate for you to have an unfair advantage.”

“That would be a shame,” Roak said.

“Right. Well, here we go,” Wendell said. “Ms. Lika?”

“Do I kill him as soon as he moves or pretend to fight him off for a while?” Ms. Lika asked.

“If you can stretch it out, then please do,” Wendell said. “But only so long as it does not put you in any harm. You are very valuable, Ms. Lika.”

The woman tittered at the compliment.

“Can we get on with it?” Roak snapped.

Wendell frowned, but said nothing. He nodded to Ms. Lika then swiped at his wrist, apparently activating whatever holo recorder the bare room was equipped with.

Ms. Lika produced a knife from one of many pockets she wore on her cargo pants and cut the restraints that held Roak to the chair. Then she cut his wrists free. Roak went for her without any prompting. He found himself upside down and flying across the room. His back hit the wall and he slid head first to the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered. He didn’t see Ms. Lika set up for the toss, let alone the action of actually throwing him. That wasn’t good.

“Roak, please do not resist!” Wendell cried with such bad acting skills that Roak was fairly certain the man was going to get killed by his bosses just for the horrible performance.

“Please resist,” Ms. Lika said. She wasn’t acting as she strode over to Roak and lifted him off the floor. Then he was flying again and colliding with the opposite wall.

Roak scrambled to stay alert. Instinctively, he jammed his tortured hand into his mouth and plucked six needles out with his teeth. Then he tucked the needles up against the inside of his cheek as Ms. Lika came for him again. Roak tried to take a swing at her, but he missed spectacularly and found himself with his face jammed up against the wall and his arm pinned behind his back.

“Pressure,” Ms. Lika said and lifted his arm up until Roak screamed. There was a loud pop and Roak’s shoulder came out of its socket. Roak screamed again. “Pressure, pressure, pressure.”

Ms. Lika spun Roak around and had a knife point aimed at his left eye.

“Plucky,” she said.

“We’re thinking alike,” Roak responded.

That confused Ms. Lika enough that she paused for a split second, giving Roak time to spit the needles from his mouth directly into the woman’s eyes.

“See,” Roak said as Ms. Lika screeched and stumbled back away from Roak, her fingers clawing at the bits of metal that bobbed painfully from her eyeballs.

Roak did not let the opportunity slip away. He kicked out hard, nailing Ms. Lika in a spot just below her sternum. She grunted and gasped, but continued to try to free the needles from her eyes. Roak closed on her and dodged a defensive swipe.

Blind and panicked, Ms. Lika kept swiping at Roak to keep him back. Roak studied the frenzied swipes until he saw his opening. He came in fast and slammed the knuckles of both hands into her throat. Ms. Lika’s grunts and screeches became gurgles and gasps then a thin, high wheezing before she fell to her knees.

Roak gripped the sides of her head, stared a terrified Wendell straight in the eye, and twisted as hard as he could. The woman’s head spun about three hundred and sixty degrees so it was back facing Roak. He let go with a sneer.

“Did I make it look real enough?” Roak asked.

Then Ms. Lika’s head spun in reverse and she took a huge breath.

“You will now,” Wendell said, responding to Roak’s previous question.

“What the fuck?” Roak said as Ms. Lika leapt up onto her feet and lunged at Roak.

She was still blind, but the pain and panic had been forgotten. Even though she couldn’t see, it took all of Roak’s skills to block blow after blow after blow she sent at his head. Blows that were meant to distract him when one of her hands dipped into a cargo pocket and came out with a very large, sharp knife.

Roak saw the blade too late and was more than surprised when it was plunged into his abdomen. Ms. Lika let out a squeal of triumph and hopped away until her back was against the opposite wall. Then she slowed all her movements and methodically began to pluck the needles from her eyes.

Roak stared down at the knife handle, not quite believing it was there in his belly. He felt the pain, he saw the blood pouring out from around the wound and down across his crotch. He knew it was happening, but it didn’t seem like it was happening to him.

“Shit,” he said.

Then the single door of the room burst open and all Roak saw was a yellow blur.

Wendell screamed. Ms. Lika screamed.

Wendell died, his chest ripped open, heart yanked out, his body falling to the floor next to the heart.

Ms. Lika’s chest was ripped open and she collapsed to the floor next to her two hearts that were still beating. And beating. And beating.

“She’s not dead,” Roak said, but he wasn’t sure who he was saying it to.

Then he was being lifted up and the room was gone. Everything became part of the yellow blur as Roak was taken out through a large warehouse that was strewn with heartless corpses of various races.

Roak managed to pass out just as the door to the warehouse was opened and he was carried out into impossibly bright sunlight.

9.

Roak was not surprised to find himself waking up inside his med pod.

The pod was obviously his because of the scratches on the plastiglass lid that he’d been forced to stare at for hours and hours at a time on more than one occasion. Roak knew those scratches like he knew the scars on his body.

Yellow Eyes was staring down at Roak, making him jump once he’d focused past the med pod lid to see the strange creature.

“You are fun to be around,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Uh,” was all Roak could say.

“Don’t ask me,” Hessa said over the comm before Roak could even compose a question. “I got a comm call from a public pay unit and this guy was jabbering at me to come pick you two up. So I did.”

“Thanks,” Roak said.

“By the way, we’re banned from Ballyway. Probably for life,” Hessa said. “Or as long as we use this ship. It’s burned as far as Ballyway authorities are concerned.”

“Reveeeeeeenge,” Yellow Eyes said in that deep voice that did not fit the body it was coming from. “Reveeeeeeeenge.”

“You learn a new word there, pal?” Roak asked.

“Those sons of bitches killed Carla, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “They killed Taps. I’m gonna kill them. You’re gonna help.”

“Gladly,” Roak said as the med pod rose to let him out. He sat up and started to swing his legs over the edge, but Yellow Eyes was in the way. “Do you mind?”

Yellow Eyes grumbled and shifted back away enough for Roak to hop out.

“Hand me that pile of clothes over there on that chair,” Roak said.

“You’re gonna help me kill the bastards?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“I will if killing them furthers my interests,” Roak said. “If keeping them alive works better, then they stay alive. All depends.”

Yellow Eyes crossed his many arms across his thin body and blocked Roak’s view of the pile of clothes. Roak blinked at the creature, waited, sighed, then walked around Yellow Eyes to fetch the clothes himself.

“They killed Carla,” Yellow Eyes snarled.

“They did,” Roak replied as he got dressed.

“They killed Taps,” Yellow Eyes continued.

“They did that too,” Roak agreed. “Although I didn’t know the guy real well.”

“You knew Carla real well, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. “You trusted her. She was a friend of yours. They killed your friend, Roak. Killed her dead, man.”

“Dead is how folks end up when they get killed, so yeah, they did that,” Roak said as he looked about for his boots. “Hessa? My boots?”

“In your quarters,” Hessa replied over the loudspeaker.

Roak glanced up, looked over at Yellow Eyes, then back up at the ceiling.

“Private comms is fine, Hessa,” Roak said.

“Oh, what? So, you two can talk about me? Figure out how to get rid of me?” Yellow Eyes snapped. He was becoming agitated and his thin body was shaking with emotion. “Fine. Toss me out an airlock. I don’t care. I’ll float in space forever, thinking of revenge.”

“Don’t you mean reveeeeeeenge,” Roak said as he debated whether or not to put his socks on or leave them off until he fetched his boots. Socks were slippery. But the floor was freezing cold. “And we’re not tossing you out an airlock. You saved my ass, right?”

“I did,” Yellow Eyes replied. “You were a goner, man.”

“Well, thanks for saving my ass,” Roak said, opting to tuck his socks in his pants pocket. “Hessa? My armor?”

“Being repaired and cleaned by the bots,” Hessa replied over the comm. “You got some of your blood all over the armor. Again.”

“You owe me, man,” Yellow Eyes said as Roak walked out of the med pod bay. “I saved that armor for you.”

“What?” Roak asked. “I owe you? Sure. If you say so. How about I give you a ride to wherever you want and we call it even?”

“There it is!” Yellow Eyes said with great exasperation. His many arms flew up into the air and waved about wildly. “Getting rid of me! Like always!”

Roak stopped in the middle of the corridor. Yellow Eyes ran into his back. Taking a deep breath, Roak turned around and pressed his hand against what Roak assumed was the creature’s chest. He gently shoved Yellow Eyes back a few paces.

“Listen, whatever your name is,” Roak started.

“Yellow Eyes,” Yellow Eyes said, pointing at the orbs in his head.

Roak blinked then shook his head. “Right. Of course.” Another deep breath in then out. “I have my own mission to deal with, alright? I’m not interested in your revenge.”

“He has plenty of his own in the queue,” Hessa said over the loudspeakers.

“Hessa!” Roak snapped.

“Oh, what, I have to only speak into your comm even when I want to address you both?” Hessa asked, her voice still coming from the loudspeaker. “How’s that going to work when there’s nothing you can do to—?”

“Got it,” Roak snapped. “Talk however, wherever, to whomever you want. Fine.” Roak pointed at Yellow Eyes. “Back to you. I’m busy. I can drop you off somewhere close, but I’m not interested in your revenge plan, alright? I have real work to do.”

“Do you know who you’re going after next?” Yellow Eyes asked. One by one, the spindly arms crossed again. “Do you, Roak? Huh? Well? Where ya going? Huh?”

Roak wished he had a pistol on his hip.

“Wendell and Lika weren’t exactly a chit a dozen beings,” Roak said. “It shouldn’t be too hard to figure out which Syndicate they worked for.”

“Work,” Yellow Eyes said. “Not Wendell. That asshole is dead. But Ms. Lika still lives. She’s probably on our asses right now. She was fond of Wendell. Oh, man, she is so going to kill us, man.”

“You ripped her heart out,” Roak responded.

“Hearts,” Yellow Eyes corrected. “So?”

“So, when you rip hearts out, beings die,” Roak said. A memory of two hearts on the ground, both still beating, came flooding back into Roak’s mind. “Or, beings are supposed to die when their hearts are ripped out. How can Lika be alive?”

“Ms. Lika,” Yellow Eyes said. “She likes the miss to be used when you say her name. She kills and eats anyone that doesn’t address her that way. Crazy bitch, right?”

“She said she was vegetarian… Never mind.” Roak rubbed at his face. “The point to all this is that you are not coming with me.”

“I know who Wendell worked for,” Yellow Eyes stated, crossed arms tightening over his broomstick of a chest. “Do you?”

“Like I said, I can find out,” Roak said. “It’s what I do.”

“Good for you, tough guy,” Yellow Eyes replied. “Then drop me off at the nearest GF station. Full GF, not corporate contracted. Last thing I need is some executive eyeing me for his trophy case. Beings are weird as all the Hells, man.”

“Stop calling me man,” Roak said. “And I’ll drop you off at the nearest safe location. It may not be a Galactic Fleet station.”

“Then shoot me out the airlock like you were originally going to do,” Yellow Eyes grumbled. “Same difference.”

“I was never going to… You know what? Great idea,” Roak said and went to grab for Yellow Eyes. The being was no longer standing in front of Roak. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

He turned and Yellow Eyes was behind him.

“You’re in my way,” Roak said. “I’m going to fetch my boots…?”

Yellow Eyes was holding a pair of Roak’s boots.

“You need to see this,” Hessa said in Roak’s comm.

A holo was projected down from the ceiling of Yellow Eyes running through the ship’s corridors and into Roak’s quarters. Then he was racing out of the quarters and back to Roak.

“I slowed that down to five percent speed,” Hessa said, still speaking into Roak’s comm. “Five percent, Roak. He looks like he’s running at a normal speed at that percentage. I’m thinking we should keep the being around. He could be quite helpful.”

“Look at me go,” Yellow Eyes said and glanced up at the ceiling. “Your holo processors are good shit. A lot of recorders can’t catch me.”

“Thank you,” Hessa replied over the loudspeakers.

“We’re dropping you off at the next safe location,” Roak stated. Roak took the boots from Yellow Eyes and knelt down to put them on. “Thank you for getting me my boots.”

“Oh, you are sooooo welcome,” Yellow Eyes said and bowed low, his head touching the corridor’s metal alloy floor. “I am sooooooo glad I could be of service.”

“Knock it off,” Roak said, done putting his boots on. He stood and walked past Yellow Eyes. “I’m going to put my armor on… Dammit.”

Yellow Eyes was standing in front of him again, but was now holding Roak’s light armor.

“Or did you mean the power armor?” Yellow Eyes asked as he let the light armor drop to the floor. He was gone then back in the time it took Roak to blink, power armor clutched in all his arms. “Shit. This stuff is heavy.”

“Light armor is fine,” Roak said. Blink and Yellow Eyes was standing in the corridor with empty hands once again. “Stop that.”

“Roak?” Hessa asked over the comm as Roak picked up his light armor and put it on while Yellow Eyes stared at him.

“Yes?” Roak replied.

“I began a preliminary search for lieutenants in the various crime syndicates that go by the name of Wendell,” Hessa continued. “Yellow Eyes was kind enough to give me a full description of the man while you were recuperating in the med pod. I entered that into the search and came up with nothing.”

“There isn’t a scumbag directory that has these assholes listed, Hessa,” Roak said. “I’ll need to call some contacts.”

“Call some contacts?” Hessa scoffed. “Roak, you have been killing contacts across the galaxy. No one is going to talk to you anymore.”

Yellow Eyes tapped the side of his head. “She’s telling you that you need me, isn’t she? You’re realizing you don’t have anyone to comm since you’ve been playing galactic butcher for a while now, right? Am I right?”

“Shut. Up,” Roak said to Yellow Eyes. “Hessa? I still have plenty of contacts that will talk to me about a guy named Wendell. I won’t mention Bishop.”

“They will know. Everyone knows,” Hessa argued. “Roak, just ask Yellow Eyes. Have you seen how fast he is? We could use that kind of skill. What happened on Ballyway is only the start. You will be going up against worse and worse opponents the closer you get to Bishop.”

“She’s telling you that things are only going to get worse, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. “That with me on your side, you might have a shot at your own personal reveeeeeenge? Yeah?”

“Shut up!” Roak shouted at the creature.

Yellow Eyes frowned and held up all of his hands in surrender. “Fine. Sure. Yeah. My bad, man. Drop me off wherever you want. Good luck finding Wendell’s bosses, or that Bishop guy you’re hunting. Seriously. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors.”

There was a pounding at Roak’s temples and he clenched his fists.

Yellow Eyes glanced up at the ceiling. “Hessa? How likely is it he will try to attack me right now?”

“Odds are weighted towards very likely,” Hessa said over the loudspeaker.

Yellow Eyes was gone. Roak looked about, but he was nowhere to be seen in the corridor.

“Where’d he go?” Roak asked.

“The mess hall,” Hessa replied.

“Good. That’s where I won’t be going. I’m coming up to the bridge,” Roak said. “You’ll see how wrong you are regarding my contacts.”

10.

“So, you were going to tell me how wrong I was,” Hessa said as Roak slammed his fists down on the ship’s control console over and over and over.

“That guy? That fucking guy! He owed me not one, but two life debts! Two!” Roak roared. “You owe a guy a life debt and you can’t refuse when he comes calling to cash it in! Two life debts? Refusal is unthinkable!”

“He thought about it,” Yellow Eyes said from the back of the bridge, suddenly seated at what would have been the scanner station if Roak had a crew onboard. “He thought better of it. Who are you calling next?”

“Yes, Roak, who are you calling next?” Hessa asked.

“No one,” Roak said quietly.

“What was that?” Hessa asked.

“He said no one,” Yellow Eyes replied in a loud, exaggerated voice.

“Oh, thank you,” Hessa said. “I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly.”

“My pleasure,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Who did Wendell work for?” Roak snapped without looking back at Yellow Eyes.

“What would be the benefit in my helping you now?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Don’t say because you won’t throw me out an airlock. We both know there is no way you’ll catch me. Ever. So, give me a reason to help you now and I will think on it.”

“They killed Carla and Taps,” Roak said.

“That. Right there. They killed Carla and Taps,” Yellow Eyes said, nodding. “That is a damn fine reason to tell you. If, and only if, you promise to kill the sons of bitches when we get our hands on them.”

“Once I get info on where Bishop is,” Roak said. “Then, yeah, I’ll kill them.”

“Perfect,” Yellow Eyes said and stood up to take the co-pilot’s seat next to Roak. “Hessa? You ever been to the Spor’Cheeva Nebula?”

“I have not,” Hessa replied. “Is it nice?”

“Beautiful damn views for light years,” Yellow Eyes said. “Also very difficult to navigate. The nebula is a wily little bitch. Likes to conk out engine drives and leave ships adrift for years.”

“That’s where Wendell’s bosses are?” Roak asked. “In the Spor’Cheeva Nebula?”

“No, Roak, I brought it up as a conversation starter,” Yellow Eyes said then looked up and hooked the end of one of his arms towards Roak. “This guy, right? You’re a saint, Hessa.”

“It does take patience,” Hessa replied.

“Is there some trick to avoiding having our engine drives go offline when we arrive in the nebula?” Roak asked through gritted teeth.

“I am glad you asked,” Yellow Eyes replied. “There is a trick. An easy trick. We shut down the engine drives upon arrival and simply use thrusters to propel us through the nebula.”

“How far is the nebula from the wormhole portal?” Roak asked, teeth still gritted.

“Not far,” Yellow Eyes aid. “Take us maybe three or four hours to hit the outer edge of the nebula. Once we’re within about fifty clicks of the perimeter, we’ll want to kill the engines and coast on in from there.”

“Hessa? What’s the status of the wormhole portal in that system?” Roak asked.

“Not the greatest,” Hessa said. “The Spor’Cheeva Nebula is in the Sabulos System. At one time, there was a considerable amount of mining activity on the various moons and asteroids that populate the system, but they are no longer active due to a viral outbreak that killed every living being in the system over the course of three galactic standard years. I have a holo of survivors talking about the horrors they saw, if you want to watch.”

“Why would I want to watch that?” Roak said then faced Yellow Eyes directly and scowled. “Viral outbreak?”

“Yeah, that, bad shit, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “We don’t want to visit any of those old mines.”

“And where are the crime bosses?” Roak asked, his tone making it clear he had a very good idea of what the answer would be.

“On one of the old asteroids that drifted into the nebula,” Yellow Eyes said. “They built a stronghold in one of the abandoned mines.”

“You just said we don’t want to go to one of the mines,” Roak said.

“We don’t,” Yellow Eyes said and performed his approximation of a shrug. “But looks like we’re gonna have to. Not ideal, but it is what it is.”

“Hessa, what info do we have on this virus?” Roak asked. “Environmental suit protection enough?”

“There is little to no information about the virus,” Hessa said. “Which I find strange. It was quite a big story back when it all happened. The holo vids are filled with news reports. But once the system was abandoned, no one seemed to care about the virus anymore.”

Roak smiled.

“Oh, not liking that look on you,” Yellow Eyes said, waving a couple of hands in front of his own face. “What’s wrong with your mouth, man?”

“I’m smiling, dickhead,” Roak said. “Care to know why?”

“Because you’re crazy as a shithouse gump?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Because there’s no viral threat. There never was,” Roak said. “Yes, beings got sick and died, but not because there was a viral outbreak. They got sick because they were infected with the virus deliberately.”

Roak brought up a holo and swiped through it until he found what he was looking for.

“Chipla System,” Roak said, pointing to the holo image. “Very similar to the Sabulos System. Rich in all kinds of resources.”

He pinched the image and zoomed in.

“That right there was the scene of the worst epidemic of Hestchian virus ever recorded,” Roak continued. “Six million lives lost.”

“Oh, that sounds like a nasty bug,” Yellow Eyes said.

“It was,” Roak said. “The system was abandoned and put on quarantine. One of the corporations came along and bought exclusive rights to clean up the system for the Galactic Fleet. The corporation went bankrupt and sold those rights to a different corporation. Then the same thing happened to that corporation. And another and another.”

“Who owns the rights now?” Yellow Eyes asked, seemingly enthralled with the story.

“No one has a clue at this point,” Roak said and zoomed in again on the system. “Galactic Fleet gave up and wrote it off as uninhabitable. But it’s not. I got this holo from the system a few years back while I was on a job. What does that look like to you?”

Yellow Eyes studied the holo for a minute.

“Looks like a healthy mining operation to me,” Yellow Eyes said.

“It was and probably still is,” Roak said. “I’ve never been back. Ten to one the Sabulos System is exactly the same.”

“Roak, that would mean we are dealing with not only a crime syndicate, but also possible megacorporation involvement,” Hessa said. “That might make things difficult.”

“It will sure as shit make things difficult,” Roak said, still smiling.

“You should really stop that with your mouth,” Yellow Eyes said.

“But, the great part of corporate involvement is that profit matters over everything else,” Roak said. “If I can show the executives that their partnership with the crime syndicate is gonna cost them, then they should back off and let me work.”

“Us,” Yellow Eyes said. “I’m working this too. You’ll need me.”

“Sure,” Roak agreed. “I probably will need you.”

“Awwww, you like me,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Not even a fraction of a millimeter,” Roak replied. “Hessa? Set a course for the Sabulos System.”

“I already have, Roak,” Hessa replied. “We’ve been heading to the next wormhole portal that will take us in that direction since Yellow Eyes first said the name of our destination.”

“ETA?” Roak asked.

“You aren’t upset?” Hessa replied.

“I’m always upset,” Roak said. “What’s the ETA to the wormhole portal?”

“An hour,” Hessa stated.

“Good,” Roak said, standing up. “You. Yellow Eyes. I’m going to eat something. You’re going to talk while I eat something.”

“You’re giving me a comm?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Not a good idea.”

“What? No,” Roak replied. “I’m not giving you a comm.”

“Then how will we talk?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Because you’re coming with me to the mess,” Roak snapped then paused. “Wait, why is giving you a comm implant not a good idea?”

“Not compatible,” Yellow Eyes said and did that shrug thing again. “It’d make my head swell up like a balloon then pop.” He waved his arms about. “No implants here, either.”

“No implants,” Hessa said. “You and Roak should get along great.”

“Except I have an implant,” Roak said. “One I didn’t ask for.”

“He’s never going to let me forget that,” Hessa said.

“He does appear to be the grudge-holding sort,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Mess. Now. You. Talk,” Roak said, pointing at Yellow Eyes. “Now.”

“You already said that,” Yellow Eyes responded as he got up and followed Roak to the bridge doors then to the lift. “You wouldn’t happen to have more of that gump stew I ate earlier, would you?”

Roak stepped onto the lift and swore the entire ride to the mess level. Then he got off, walked to the mess, and checked the menu holo by the first food dispenser. The gump stew was gone.

“You ate it all?” Roak asked. “All of it?”

“I ate what the dispenser gave me,” Yellow Eyes replied. “If that was all of it, then yes, I ate all of it. Good stew.”

Roak swiped at the menu then waited for a large sandwich with, protein slices and green leaves, to fall from the chute. Roak added a bowl of carb chips and a large bottle of water to his tray then went and sat down at the closest table.

Yellow Eyes glanced around. “This ship is meant for a good-sized crew. Such a waste of space.”

“I was going to say the same thing about you,” Roak said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Sit your yellow ass down and start telling me who in all the Hells you are.”

“Alright,” Yellow Eyes said. “But it’s a short story.”

11.

“That’s it?” Roak asked, pushing his empty plate to the side.

“That’s it,” Yellow Eyes said.

“You woke up in a vat and that’s all you know?” Roak pressed.

“Woke up in a vat covered in purple slime,” Yellow Eyes corrected. “That’s all I know.”

“An amnio vat,” Roak said.

“That’s my guess, man,” Yellow Eyes agreed. “There was some breakdown in the vat systems that day and they ended up dumping me with the rest of the beings.”

“Dumping you? How?” Roak asked.

“Tossed us all out the airlock into an ice belt,” Yellow Eyes said. “The others were dead.”

“How in the Hells did you survive?” Roak asked, looking Yellow Eyes up and down.

“Don’t have a clue, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “I can survive in zero atmosphere.”

Yellow Eyes grabbed one of his arms and stretched as far as he could. It snapped back into place as soon as he let go. The end, where there should have been a hand, but was mostly a nub, became a mass of wriggling mini-tentacles then returned to its normal nub-like form.

“I adapt well,” Yellow Eyes said and shrugged his shrug.

“Were the others like you?” Roak asked. He was honestly intrigued. It was rare for another being to grab his attention when it didn’t exactly benefit him personally. “Were they yellow spindly floppy things too?”

“You should look into poetry, Roak,” Yellow Eyes said. “You make good words.”

“Well? Were they like you?” Roak insisted.

“Why do you want to know so bad?” Yellow Eyes asked. “So you can track more down and do what? Sell them?”

“Sell? I’m a hunter, not a slaver, shithead,” Roak snapped. “No, I just want to know if you were part of a batch. A larger experiment. Or if you’re a one-off and the others were one-offs too. I’ve seen some crazy lab shit in my life, pal. Just want to know what crazy lab shit you come from.”

“They were different,” Yellow Eyes said. “All of them. Completely different.”

“Interesting,” Roak said. Roak finished off his cup of cold tea and stood up. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“We’re going to arm you,” Roak said. “If you have to come along, then you might as well be deadly.”

“You saw what I did to Wendell’s heart, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. He stood and waved his arms in Roak’s face. “These are pretty damn deadly.”

“Knock it off,” Roak snapped, shoving the wriggling limbs out of his face. “Yes, I saw what you did. You can form those hand thingies into different shapes. Great. But what would happen if each one had its own blade? Considering how Eight Million Gods damn fast you are, you could slice and dice half an army before they knew you were even there.”

“Should I feel exploited? Because I feel exploited,” Yellow Eyes said. “Is this about you exploiting me?”

“They killed Carla and Taps,” Roak said.

Yellow Eyes stiffened. “Yeah. Show me the damn blades, man.”

“Now you’re talking,” Roak said. “Follow me.”

They left the mess and made their way to the lift. As the doors closed, Roak looked Yellow Eyes up and down.

“How’d you go from being dumped into open space to being a bouncer at Carla’s?” Roak asked.

“I bounced,” Yellow Eyes replied. “Bounced from this planet to that, this ship to that, this station to that, this—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Roak said. “How’d you end up on Ballyway?”

“Got caught stealing food in the Trvesta System,” Yellow Eyes said, shrugged, created fingers from one of his nubs and twirled them in the air. “Turns out in the Trvesta System, if you steal from someone, then you become their property.”

“Not exactly a Galactic Fleet sanctioned law,” Roak said. “But Trvesta is out close to the Edge. I doubt the GF gives two craps about that backwater.”

“They don’t,” Yellow Eyes said. “The guy that owned me decided to go for a vacation on Ballyway. He’s very bad at tile games.” Yellow Eyes turned and gave Roak an intense stare. “Very bad at tile games. He lost all of his credits in an hour. He sold me ten minutes later. The guy lost me in a game where all they do is cut a deck of cards.”

“High card wins?” Roak asked.

“No, they literally cut a deck of cards. With a blade,” Yellow Eyes said. “The one that performs the most perfect cut, as close to the symmetrical middle as possible, wins.”

“That’s a stupid game,” Roak said.

“No shit.”

“How’d you get away from that guy?”

“I ripped his head off,” Yellow Eyes stated calmly. “He was drunk, liked to hit things. I was a thing. He hit me. I ripped his fucking head off and shoved it up his ass.”

“Literally?” Roak asked.

“You’ve seen me move,” Yellow Eyes said. “What do you think?”

“Eight Million Gods damn…” Roak said in a hushed tone. “And here I am about to give you a bunch of blades.”

“You’re all good,” Yellow Eyes said. “You were a friend of Carla’s.” He paused. “But you did bring trouble to her place. That trouble got her killed.”

“The trouble was already there when I arrived,” Roak countered. “And Carla knew the risks of her lifestyle. That’s why she never set up her tavern in the tourist malls or spending strips. She liked the dark life.”

“She did,” Yellow Eyes agreed, nodding.

The lift doors opened and Roak walked out and down the corridor to the armory. Yellow Eyes followed close behind.

“There you go,” Roak said as he gestured to rows of various blades tacked up on the wall of the armory.

“What about those?” Yellow Eyes asked, pointing at a rack of rifles. “A little more punch, right?”

“You just told me your hands were weapons enough, now you want to upgrade to plasma rifles?” Roak shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“You brought me down here,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Have you ever fired a plasma rifle?”

“Does that matter?”

“A little bit, yeah.”

“No. I have never fired a plasma rifle.”

“Then shut your yellow mouthhole and pay attention.”

Roak removed a solid-looking blade about fifteen centimeters long from tip to guard. The grip was about five centimeters long.

“This one has always given me some trouble,” Roak said. “But I like the edge on the blade too much to toss it out an airlock.”

“Grip is too short for your hand,” Yellow Eyes said, taking the offered blade. “Weird balance. Wants to dip. Not a very good blade.”

He ran the yellow tip of one of his nubs across the edge and yanked it back fast. Roak watched a small slice on Yellow Eyes’ nub heal almost instantly.

“That’s handy too,” Roak said.

“What? The healing? Handy now…”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that I save up damage. You think I’d have been a slave if I didn’t have a weakness that could be exploited? I heal instantly, but if I get hurt enough, in a short amount of time, then all of those healed wounds come back. At the same time. I can only take so much for so long before I break.”

“Someone beat the shit out of you until you couldn’t heal anymore then all of your wounds took you down at once,” Roak stated.

“You nailed it, man,” Yellow Eyes said as he hefted the blade, made a couple slashing motions, then handed it back to Roak. “I can work with that. What else you got?”

“Have at it,” Roak said then pointed at two Keplar knives. “Except for those. The Keplars are mine.”

“You’re the boss,” Yellow Eyes said as he began to peruse the blade selection.

“I’m not the boss,” Roak growled. “I’m not anyone’s boss. I never wanted to be a boss. I used to do this all by myself and it worked out fine.”

“I doubt that,” Yellow Eyes said and waved a couple of nubs back at Roak before he could argue. “I’ve heard of you. You have a deadly rep. But no one works alone in this galaxy. Not anymore.”

“Not anymore? What does that mean?” Roak asked.

“It means that I’ve seen things, man,” Yellow Eyes replied and turned to face Roak, blades held tightly in his hands. “I’ve seen what’s coming and it ain’t pretty.”

“What in all the Hells are you talking about? What have you seen?”

“Roak?” Hessa called over the comm. “We’re hitting the wormhole portal. Strap in.”

“We’ll be right up,” Roak said and pointed at Yellow Eyes. “That conversation isn’t done. I want an explanation.”

Yellow Eyes shrugged.

Roak walked out of the armory then paused. “You coming?”

“Oh, you go strap in,” Yellow Eyes said. “I’m good.”

“I’m not leaving you alone in my armory,” Roak said. “Come on.”

“Bring these?” Yellow Eyes asked, holding up six blades.

“Leave them,” Roak said. “We’ll gear up when we know what we’re gearing up for.”

“Fine,” Yellow Eyes said and the blades were back in perfect order on the wall. Roak didn’t see the guy even twitch.

12.

“And engine drives are powered down to minimal capacity,” Hessa stated once they exited the wormhole portal in the Sabulos System. “Spor’Cheeva Nebula is dead ahead. We’ll be there in approximately five hours at this speed.”

“Keep scanners locked onto that nebula,” Roak said. “I want us fully informed before we tuck in there and kill our drives completely.”

“I have been scanning the nebula since we exited the portal,” Hessa said. “Nothing to detect at this distance. We might catch more as we get closer, but for now, all that I can see is a big cloud of pretty gas.”

“It is pretty, right?” Yellow Eyes said. “Swirling fun. Lots of swirling fun.”

Roak swiveled his chair and stared at Yellow Eyes. “You on something? Because you sound like you’re on something.”

Yellow Eyes’ yellow eyes were bloodshot and streaked with purple veins. They widened then narrowed.

“That stew,” he said after a few moments. “I think it’s fermenting in my guts.”

“Your guts? What guts?” Roak asked, waving his hand at Yellow Eyes. “You’re a damn stick.”

“Sticks got guts,” Yellow Eyes said and burped. The entire bridge stank of rotten gump stew. “Oh, sorry about that.”

“Wow,” Hessa said. “You activated the airborne toxin sensors with that one. I think that stew actually is fermenting inside you.”

“That’s what I’m saying,” Yellow Eyes responded, burping again. “Phew. Not good. I’m gonna go lie down.”

“Go lie down? We’re approaching the nebula,” Roak said.

“In five hours,” Yellow Eyes said. “I got time to take a nap, man. Unless you want me to stay here and keep burping up noxious gas?”

“No. Go lie down,” Roak said, exasperated.

“Perhaps you should lie down too, Roak,” Hessa suggested. “Rest before we reach the nebula.”

“I’m fine here,” Roak said.

Yellow Eyes got up, wobbled a little on his many feet, then made his way off the bridge. Roak watched him go and waited until the doors had closed after him.

“What do you have for me, Hessa?” Roak asked.

“Your conversations in the mess then in the armory were enlightening,” Hessa said. “But I cannot find a trace of any operation that matches Yellow Eyes’ description. You would think the dumping of creatures into open space would leave some type of trace, but I cannot find one.”

“You think he’s lying?”

“Voice pattern and physical analysis indicate he believes what he’s saying.”

“Doesn’t mean what he’s telling us is true.”

“No, it does not mean that at all. He could have been programmed with those memories.”

“We might have a Trojan Horse on our hands.”

“I find the fact that references to ancient Earth history still survive many thousands of years later rather puzzling,” Hessa said. “Especially since that toxic planet is so despised.”

“Language has a life of its own,” Roak said. “Is he resting? Or snooping?”

“He’s on his way to the quarters I assigned him,” Hessa said.

“You sure that’s not an illusion? He moves fast.”

“I have figured out how to track his movements, even at full speed. He is heading to the quarters. Now he is at the quarters. Yellow Eyes is using the lavatory—”

“Don’t need a play by play,” Roak interrupted. “Just let me know if he does anything we should be concerned with.”

“I shall.”

Roak studied the image of the Sabulos System that was displayed on the view shield. A lot of far-off stars, a few celestial bodies to break up the monotony of the stars, and a single, massive nebula that was impossible to turn away from.

“Not bad,” Roak said.

“What is not bad?” Hessa asked.

“The view. I’ve seen worse nebulas.”

“Oh. Yes. I can see what you mean. There is a certain strange beauty to the nebula. Personally, I find the molecular chaos of the phenomenon to overshadow any aesthetic properties, but eye of the beholder and all that, right, Roak?”

“Eye of the beholder and all that?” Roak couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

Roak relaxed into the pilot’s seat as much as he could and kicked his boots up onto the control console. He would have preferred to go have a rest too, but his guts were telling him to stay on the bridge and stay alert. Even with Hessa watching over things, Roak felt the need to be present and ready when things got tense.

And Roak knew they were going to get tense.

“Sleep, Roak,” Hessa said. “You need it.”

“I’ll be fine,” Roak said. “I’d rather keep an eye on things.”

“That is what I’m—”

“I said I’ll be fine,” Roak snapped.

“Of course you will be…”

Roak was asleep within minutes, the view of the system too lulling for him to keep his eyes open. When he snapped awake, he grabbed at the pistol on his hip and shot to his feet. They were inside the nebula.

“I was about to wake you,” Hessa said, her tone hard for Roak to pinpoint.

“What am I looking at?” Roak asked without taking the time to study the view outside the ship. “What is all that?”

“That would be our destination,” Hessa said. “What is left of it.”

“Did the nebula do this?” Roak asked as he watched pieces of asteroids drift around the colorful, swirling gasses. “Are we going to get ripped apart too?”

“No. Analysis shows that the asteroids were destroyed by plasma canons,” Hessa said.

“That’s a lot of plasma cannons,” Yellow Eyes said, suddenly next to Roak.

Roak managed not to jump or throw a punch at the being.

“This kind of destruction would take a fleet of battle cruisers or at least three destroyers,” Hessa stated. “From the blast patterns, I would guess that battle cruisers were used. A dozen of them? More than likely a dozen of them.”

“Any life signs?” Roak asked as he watched a cluster of frozen bodies float out from behind a cluster of asteroid fragments.

“Yes,” Hessa said, sounding surprised. “I am showing life signs on this asteroid here. There must be sufficient infrastructure left for life support to still be functional. Unless they are all using environmental suits. I cannot tell which since the nebula is interfering with deep scans. All I know is approximately fifteen beings still live.”

“Anything else?” Roak asked. “Any sign of the cruisers? Any quantum drive traces that can tell you when this happened?”

“It has been three days,” Hessa said. “I do not know when the cruisers left, but the destruction occurred three days ago according to the degradation of the blast marks on the asteroids. It would take three days for the nebula gasses to begin to discolor those marks as they are.”

“Three days,” Roak said.

“That’s when Wendell showed up at Carla’s,” Yellow Eyes said.

“I have them worried,” Roak said.

“They knew you were getting close,” Yellow Eyes stated. “And they thought you might survive.”

“I always do,” Roak said.

“But Wendell and Ms. Lika could have killed you,” Yellow Eyes said.

“But they didn’t.”

“Thanks to me.”

“Yeah. Thanks to you.”

“They couldn’t have known you would survive, though.”

“They were hedging their bets,” Roak replied, nodding at the scene of destruction in the view shield. “Which points to corporate involvement even more.”

“Why is that?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Criminals like to blow shit up too.”

“But they don’t like spending the resources,” Roak said. “Corporations have dedicated AIs running return on investment and profit/loss scenarios all day long, every day. This was a just-in-case scenario. Kill the information at the source and end the trail here. Cheaper than dealing with a mess down the line.”

“Soooo…?” Yellow Eyes asked. “What now?”

“Now we go see who’s left alive,” Roak said. “Have a little chat.”

“That is not a wise choice, Roak,” Hessa said. “I do not know what the life signs mean. They could be survivors or they could be shock troops left to ambush you if you did show up.”

“I’m betting on the latter,” Roak said as he turned on his heel and headed for the bridge doors.

“You want there to be shock troops?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“No, don’t be an idiot,” Roak snapped. “No one wants to run into shock troops. But if there are shock troops, then they’ll be able to tell me exactly which corporation I’m dealing with.”

“We’re dealing with,” Yellow Eyes said. “Partners on this, tough guy.”

“I don’t have partners,” Roak said.

“Eh hem,” Hessa responded.

“You know what I mean,” Roak grumbled.

“Do I?” Hessa asked.

Roak squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

“You want to come along? Fine,” Roak said to Yellow Eyes. He opened his eyes and stared hard at the being. “But you listen to me and do what I say. If there are shock troops, then this will be a full-on firefight from the start. If there are survivors, then I’ll probably get a little mean with them so I can get answers. Do not get in the way of either scenario, alright? You got it?”

“I got it,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Then come on,” Roak said.

They reached the lift and headed down to the armory, geared up, then proceeded to the cargo hold. Roak didn’t say a word the entire ride. Once in the hold, Roak moved to the suit of power armor hanging on one wall.

“Thanks for moving my armor, Hessa,” Roak said.

“I had a feeling you’d want the power armor for this leg of our journey and it is easier to put on down here,” Hessa said. “Yellow Eyes? Do you need a suit? I believe you said that open space does not harm you.”

“Don’t need a suit,” Yellow Eyes said. “Doubt ya got one that’d fit me anyway. I have blades, so I am fine.”

“We’ll tether over,” Roak said. “How close are we, Hessa?”

“Give me a few more minutes to get the ship into position,” Hessa replied. “Navigating the debris field is not easy.”

“Take your time,” Roak said. “I doubt that cluster of life signs is going anywhere soon.”

There were a couple of thumps against the ship’s hull, but nothing that shook things up too much. After a few minutes, the ship slowed then stopped full.

“Roak,” Hessa said. “You need to know something.”

“What?” Roak asked.

“Shilo,” Hessa said.

Roak paused then, “How do you know?”

“I am able to scan and read some of the debris,” Hessa said. “The syndicate that Wendell worked for was the Shilo Syndicate.”

“So? That bad?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“I did some damage to the Shilo Syndicate a while back,” Roak said. “It frames Bishop’s betrayal somewhat. Still don’t know why he screwed me over, but I know who helped him do it.”

“Oh,” Yellow Eyes said. “When you say you did some damage…?”

“Roak killed the boss and destroyed their headquarters,” Hessa said. “It’s how we met. I saved him from Gan Shan Station. Then it was destroyed.”

“We wrecked the Void House,” Roak said. “Shilo was splintered. This was one of the splinters.”

“They made a deal with a corporation to rebuild,” Hessa said. “They should have made a better deal.”

“Yikes,” Yellow Eyes said.

Roak finished putting on the power armor. He ran diagnostics and went through a full checklist of items before he slapped the faceplate down and let the armor pressurize for the next leg of the mission.

“Time to go,” Roak said to Yellow Eyes. He tossed the being the loose end of a tether cable. “Clip that to you. Try to stay taut. If you get too loose, then—”

“I know how to navigate open space, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “When you wake up being dumped like garbage, you figure shit out fast.”

“I bet,” Roak said then slapped his hand on the cargo hold ramp’s controls. The hold opened and all atmosphere was sucked out.

“Dead ahead,” Hessa said and a blinking light came up in Roak’s faceplate display indicating which hunk of asteroid to aim for.

Roak shoved off from the ship and yanked Yellow Eyes after him.

13.

The trip from ship to rock was quick and uneventful.

Yellow Eyes went limp and let Roak tow him along to the hunk of asteroid. Once they hit the rock, Yellow Eyes became animated again and grabbed on with every appendage. Roak indicated for Yellow Eyes to climb to his left about six meters. Yellow Eyes complied and Roak followed.

There was an intact airlock directly next to them.

“Hessa, can you override the code?” Roak asked.

All that Roak heard in response was static.

“Hessa?” he called. More static. “Dammit.”

Roak studied the interface next to the airlock and swore. Yellow Eyes tapped him on the shoulder and gestured for Roak to move out of the way. Roak hesitated then moved, gesturing for Yellow Eyes to be his guest.

“Don’t know how you can do any better,” Roak said then ate his words as Yellow Eyes’ nubs became a blur of motion so fast that if Roak didn’t blink, then it looked like the nubs weren’t moving at all.

The airlock interface flashed green and slid open. Roak pushed Yellow Eyes inside then followed after. The interface inside didn’t need a code and Roak hit the button, closing the airlock behind them. The two beings waited for the red emergency lights to stop flashing and turn green.

“Good job,” Roak said once atmosphere was restored to the airlock. Roak’s helmet was still sealed, but he activated the external comm so he could speak with Yellow Eyes. “How many code combinations did you go through?”

“Six hundred and fifty-one thousand,” Yellow Eyes replied. “Sorry it took so long, man.”

“Yeah, I’m not complaining,” Roak said.

Roak opened the internal airlock door and waited at the edge. When nothing attacked, he stepped into the corridor beyond and gestured for Yellow Eyes to follow. The corridor was carved directly from the asteroid. No metal alloy walls, ceiling, or floor. All rock except for the power conduits and bundles of lights that ran along the center and edges of the ceiling.

“Where are the life signs coming from?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“I think this way,” Roak said, indicating the empty corridor before them.

“You think? Wouldn’t knowing for sure be better?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Maybe listen to what Hessa has to say?”

“Comm is out,” Roak said. “Nothing but static interference.”

“Must be the nebula,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Or there’s a jammer on this rock,” Roak said. “Either way, we’re on our own until we return to the ship.”

“That is not comforting,” Yellow Eyes said. “No offense, but Hessa is the more stable personality in your partnership.”

“It’s not a partner…nevermind,” Roak replied. “And you aren’t wrong, so no offense taken.”

“Really? I thought you’d get all mad at that.”

“I’d rather focus on the task at hand. Like seeing what’s on the other side of that bulkhead.” Roak pointed at the sealed bulkhead at the end of the corridor. There were scorch marks all over the surface. “Someone wanted in and someone wanted them to stay out. Think you can do your speed typing on the keypad there?”

“I can try,” Yellow Eyes replied as they walked to the bulkhead and the being studied the keypad interface to the right of the bulkhead. “Yeah. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Yellow Eyes began to work at the keypad. Then he went flying through the air, an arc of electricity streaking from the interface to half of his limbs. Roak watched him shoot down the corridor then tumble past the airlock and land in a pile of yellow limbs and nubs.

“Shit,” Roak said as he sprinted down the corridor to Yellow Eyes. “Hey! You alive?”

“Yes?” Yellow Eyes muttered. “Maybe?”

“We’ll have to find another way in,” Roak said, helping Yellow Eyes up onto his many feet. “There have to be air conduits and duct work or there wouldn’t be atmosphere. We’ll find the ducts and you can climb through to the other side of the bulkhead and open it from there.”

“Because that side isn’t booby-trapped?”

“But now you know what to watch out for.”

“Gee, I wonder why the only partner you have is an AI…”

“Shut up and look for the ductwork,” Roak snapped. “This rock is solid, but some of it has to be fake to hide the conduits.”

“The power conduits aren’t hidden,” Yellow Eyes said.

He stared up at the ceiling.

“Hey. See that?” he said, pointing with several arms up at the ceiling.

“What? Yeah. Bolt holes. They took the ductwork down,” Roak said as he retraced his steps to the bulkhead. He activated a halogen on his left arm and shone the light up at a meter-square plate next to the top right corner of the bulkhead. “They sealed it off. Why would they seal it off? Defeats the purpose of breathing.”

“Something else tried to get through the ductwork,” Yellow Eyes sated.

“Maybe. But the attack on the asteroid was from battle cruisers,” Roak responded. “So what does it matter?”

“I’ll show you,” Yellow Eyes said and crouched down close to the bottom of the bulkhead. “See?”

Roak knelt next to him. “What’s that scoring from? Cutters?”

“Small cutters,” Yellow Eyes said. “They couldn’t get through the ductwork, so they tried cutting the bulkhead. Didn’t work so well.”

“Small cutters…” Roak mused. He studied the score marks then stood up and began to survey the corridor with new eyes. “They’re still in here.”

Yellow Eyes bolted upright and spun about, arms waving frantically in a manic defensive gesture.

“Who? Who’s still here?” he cried.

“Calm down,” Roak said.

“Easy for you to say,” Yellow Eyes responded. “You’re wearing power armor.”

“I thought you bounced back easy,” Roak said.

“Not against cutters,” Yellow Eyes replied. “Cutters are not my friends, man.”

There was a scurry and scraping noise from the far end of the corridor and Roak turned on his suit’s full halogens, illuminating the entire corridor with bright light.

“Bots,” Roak snarled as he saw the small machines crawling across the ceiling. “With injectors. Great.”

“Injectors? Why injectors?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“I was right,” Roak said as he pulled his Flott five-six. “They were going to infect everyone first. That must not have worked out well for the corporation, so they blasted the asteroid to shit instead.”

The bots were only half a meter in length and made up of a thin cylinder with eight multi-jointed limbs set symmetrically around the body. In the center of the bot’s “head” was a long injector needle. Roak knew that could be switched out for a cutter blade in the blink of an eye.

“But they left the bots,” Yellow Eyes said.

“But they left the bots,” Roak agreed. “They left them to wait out any survivors.”

“Or kill visitors,” Yellow Eyes said. “With cutters.”

“Don’t forget the injectors,” Roak said with a sneer as he took aim with the Flott five-six and fired.

The laser cluster spread lit up the corridor like it was daytime on a dual-sun planet. The bots scrambled out of the way, each avoiding getting hit by the laser bolts by only fractions of a millimeter. They paused collectively then hurried on, returning to their previous path on the ceiling.

“Huh,” Roak said and switched the setting on his Flott to a single concussion blast. “Let’s try that again.”

He aimed and fired, knocking a good chunk of rock out of the ceiling where a bot had been. Had been. It moved out of the way just in time to avoid being blasted apart.

“Fast little shits,” Roak said. “Let’s try this.”

Roak fired twice in quick succession. The first blast was avoided, and more rock came tumbling down from the ceiling, but the second blast found a target and a damaged bot fell to the floor, its legs twitching and sparking until it went still.

“Probably not dead,” Roak said. “It’ll self-repair.”

“How do you know?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Corporations spend a little more than the syndicates do,” Roak said. “They plan for contingencies better.”

“Oh,” Yellow Eyes said. He hadn’t pulled a single blade.

“How about you go to work on that bulkhead,” Roak suggested. “I’ll take care of these guys.”

“You want me to go get shocked some more? You joking, man?” Yellow Eyes exclaimed. “That shit hurt.”

“I bet,” Roak replied and double fired at another bot, dropping that one as well. “You might want to hurry in case I don’t shoot all of these. Their injectors can’t get to me, but they can get to you.”

Roak didn’t mention that the bots’ cutters could get through his power armor with enough time. He didn’t need Yellow Eyes freaking out.

“Right. Sure. Yeah,” Yellow Eyes said and backed up to the bulkhead’s interface again.

Roak let the being go and focused solely on the incoming bots. He didn’t even turn when Yellow Eyes screamed.

“I’m good. I’m good,” Yellow Eyes called.

Roak double fired again and again, dropping two more bots. But the Flott wasn’t going to be able to fire enough to take them all out. The double firing was draining the energy cells fast. Roak could switch out for a new one, but he didn’t think he had the time.

He tucked the Flott into its holster, powered up his gloves, and set his feet, ready to start punching some bots.

As soon as the little machines reached him, they fell to the floor, scanned his power armor, and leapt as one.

Roak swung hard and crushed one of the bots, but the rest made it onto the power armor. Roak threw himself against the corridor’s wall, crushing two bots at once. Their sparking bodies fell to the floor and Roak kicked them down the corridor to join the first fallen bot. Which was twitching a lot more. Roak knew it’d be repaired and up on its feet soon.

A loud whirring by Roak’s right ear got his attention. He didn’t need a visual to know what the source of the whirring was.

“Eat shit,” Roak said as he slammed his helmet against the rock wall, smashing the bot that had extended a cutter and was about to slice through the neck seal of his power armor.

“Hey. I think I got it,” Yellow Eyes said. Right before he started screaming. “Get it off! Get it off!”

Roak plucked a bot from his chest and slammed it into the rock then he spun, drew his Flott, and fired, hitting the cutter bot that was about to embed its blade into the top of Yellow Eyes’ skull. Yellow Eyes looked like he was going to faint as a wisp of smoke rose from the top of his head where the cutter bot had been a millisecond before.

“Thanks?” Yellow Eyes said. “Uh, you still got a little something on ya.”

Roak grabbed two bots and pulled them from his armor as their cutter blades came to life. He crushed one bot in his glove’s grip, but the other bot managed to shove its blade into Roak’s arm, sending shards of plastic and bits of metal alloy flying up into the air.

Roak punched the bot over and over until the blade stopped whirring then he tore the bot from his arm and threw it to the ground, stomping on it until it was unrecognizable.

“Uh, Roak, they’re waking up,” Yellow Eyes said as the bulkhead began to slide apart in two massive pieces.

Roak was about to turn to all the fallen bots, but the sight on the other side of the bulkhead drew all of his attention. He slowly raised his arms into the air. Then he plucked a bot from one of the arms and crushed it before returning that arm back above his head.

Yellow Eyes watched him and frowned then turned to regard the scene.

There were at least three dozen thugs standing there, all heavily armed. None of them looked happy to see visitors.

Yellow Eyes was grabbed first then Roak and they were yanked into the next corridor before the bots could regroup and attack. Then the bulkhead slammed closed and Roak started hunting for who was in charge.

“Roak,” an unfortunately familiar voice said. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Mr. Wrenn,” Roak said as he locked eyes with the man. An average-looking man in every way. Average height, average weight, average physical fitness, average looks. Just average. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“Am I?” Mr. Wrenn replied, pointing a pistol at Roak. “Disappointed?”

“A little. Yeah,” Roak said as Mr. Wrenn squeezed the trigger.

14.

Roak’s power armor froze solid and turned him into a massive paperweight. Roak tried to move his joints, but whatever Mr. Wrenn had shot him with had the suit locked down tight. Helpless, Roak felt himself teeter then fall over onto his left side, stiff as a board.

“Yeah, no need to shoot me,” Roak heard Yellow Eyes say. “I’m just gonna stand really still right here on my own, alright? We cool?”

Roak heard the pistol fire again then Yellow Eyes was in Roak’s sightline, his huge eyes blinking while the rest of the being stayed perfectly still.

“Pick them up and bring them,” Mr. Wrenn ordered. “They begin to move then knock them out the old-fashioned way. Don’t kill them. I need Roak. And the yellow thing intrigues me.”

Yellow Eyes’ eyes began blinking rapidly. He was obviously trying to communicate in some code, but Roak had no idea what it was. He knew most codes and whatever Yellow Eyes was doing wasn’t one of those.

“Stop that,” a thug snapped and stomped a boot in Yellow Eyes’ face.

The being’s features warped then went back to normal. A couple tears of pain leaked from the corners of Yellow Eyes’ eyes.

Then Roak was lifted up so he couldn’t see the being any longer. All he could see was the ceiling of the corridor. Rows of halogens, cables, power conduits, and something else covered the ceiling. It took Roak a couple seconds to realize that what he was seeing were splashes of blood. Many splashes of blood, from all kinds of beings. It was like a rainbow had thrown up all over the ceiling.

“Would you like to know how I survived, Roak?” Mr. Wrenn asked from off to Roak’s left.

“Not really,” Roak replied. “Shit happens in this galaxy. You living is just more shit. That’s all.”

Mr. Wrenn chuckled. “I forgot what a delightful conversationalist you are, Roak.”

“You also forgot that I tend to get my way, Wrenn,” Roak said.

“Mr. Wrenn,” Mr. Wrenn countered. “Being polite will dictate your future greatly, Roak.”

“Never worked when I was young,” Roak said. “So, not gonna worry about it now.”

“Despite your lack of interest, I will tell you my story, Roak,” Mr. Wrenn said.

Roak sighed as loud as he could.

“Did you know that consciousness still exits when one’s body is atomized?” Mr. Wrenn asked. Roak didn’t respond. “I asked you a question, Roak.”

“I thought it was rhetorical,” Roak responded. He sighed again then said in a monotone voice, “No, I did not know that consciousness still exists when one’s body is atomized. Please tell me more.”

Mr. Wrenn chuckled.

“I am unsure if the phenomenon was singular to me or if any being can do it, but I retained my sense of self even as my physical form was torn apart down to the molecular level. Quite painful, I should add. I would not recommend the experience.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I think of blowing myself up.”

“Except I did not blow myself up!” Mr. Wrenn shouted. He cleared his throat and chuckled again. “My apologies. I lose control of my temper so easily these days. A side effect of the experience.”

“Is this a long story?” Roak asked.

“It is as long as it takes,” Mr. Wrenn said. “But, no, it is not a long story.”

The thugs carrying Roak stopped and he heard the sound of a keypad being operated then the sound of another bulkhead opening. The thugs started walking again and Roak stared at the bulkhead frame then a new ceiling. There was a lot less blood on the new ceiling.

“There I was, atomized, my bits and pieces floating in open space along with the rest of the debris from your destroying of my Gan Shan Station.”

“Live by the Void House, die by the Void House,” Roak replied.

“Oh, I like that,” Mr. Wrenn said. “I shall have that tattooed upon my body somewhere. I have recently begun to decorate my skin like some native on one of those primitive planets. I feel the act is cathartic. A new, fresh beginning with every prick of the laser.”

“Great,” Roak said. “I’m glad you found a hobby. Now finish your story or kill me. I know which one I prefer.”

“I was floating in open space, unaware that I was no longer me, but a version of me that was fractured into millions upon millions of separate pieces,” Mr. Wrenn continued. “Then something happened that transcended any known experience in the galaxy. I was consumed.”

Roak waited, but Mr. Wrenn did not continue.

“Alright. I’ll bite,” Roak said. He took a deep breath then let it out. “Consumed?”

“I was devoured by an entity and was reborn,” Mr. Wrenn said. “I was nothing, I was everything, then I became me once more.”

“Oh, that, yeah, that’s a molecular restructuring life form known as a Monk Whale,” Yellow Eyes said. “Man, Monk Whales are funky guys, right? They eat you up, put you back together, then out you go, a new you pooped into space. Monk Whales like to party, too, in case you ever come across one. They love to drink spent fuel cleaner. Gets them high as the stars, man.”

No one said a word. The party walked on for a while before Mr. Wrenn cleared his throat.

“I was not pooped out into space,” Mr. Wrenn said. “I was reborn.”

“No, man, sorry, but what happened was the gastric juices of the Monk Whale combined with your DNA,” Yellow Eyes said. “Then that combination sought out similar combinations until all your parts were gathered into a single glob of you gunk. You were reassembled as you passed through the whale’s intestines. Then it pooped you out and you were whole again. I’ve seen it happen before. A little messy, but pretty Eight Million Gods damn cool, right? Right?”

“Stop talking,” Roak warned.

“Why? He was telling the story wrong,” Yellow Eyes said. “Sure, it’s like a miracle, but so are flushing toilets in space. That shouldn’t be able to happen, yet someone, somewhere, created the whole gravity drive tech and now beings can do their business and flush it down just like they were on a planet. Miracles, man, miracles.”

“Then please, Mr.…?”

“Yellow Eyes.”

“Of course,” Mr. Wrenn said. “Then explain how my consciousness was able to survive my death, Mr. Yellow Eyes.”

“Nah, just Yellow Eyes,” Yellow Eyes said. “Like Roak here. No mister needed.”

“Keep my name out of this conversation,” Roak snapped.

“Explain the survival of my consciousness, Yellow Eyes,” Mr. Wrenn demanded.

“Oh, that? Man, that’s easy. Were you near any type of cerebral matrix? One of those highly advanced androids or something like that?”

“I was not,” Mr. Wrenn said smugly.

“Marley,” Roak said. “You were taken out by Marley.”

“What’s a Marley?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“An AI that evolved into a flesh and blood being,” Roak said. “But he was still an AI even though he had a mushy brain instead of a cybernetic one.”

“There ya go,” Yellow Eyes said. “Marley ceased to exist, but the cerebral matrix that was holding his consciousness within the flesh brain expanded and held your consciousness to some of those itty bitty person particles. The you that was you got caught in a cerebral matrix net. You got lucky, man. If that hadn’t have happened, then you’d be dead dead. Not to mention how lucky were you that a Monk Whale came by? Buy one of those Galactic Lotto tickets as soon as you can. I’m not kidding.”

“What are you?” Mr. Wrenn asked, sounding half-exasperated and half-intrigued.

“That’s the question, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Want to hear my dumped into space story? I got one of those too.”

“No,” Mr. Wrenn said. “Set them down.”

Roak was set down on a table. He tried to turn his head, but he was still frozen solid. He couldn’t even look over at Yellow Eyes. All Roak could do was stare up at the ceiling.

“You coming here was always part of the deal, Roak,” Mr. Wrenn said. “Your dear friend, Bishop, assured me that you would be able to track him through the galaxy and that trail would lead you here. I had completely lost faith after the unfortunate incident that occurred.”

“Your corporate buddies double-crossed you,” Roak stated.

“Yes, they did,” Mr. Wrenn said. “After my miraculous reassembly.”

“Not really a miracle, but whatever,” Yellow Eyes interrupted.

“After my miraculous reassembly,” Mr. Wrenn started again. “It took me some time to find friends I could trust. Shilo Syndicate had basically ended with my reported death. It still existed, but so much smaller than before. All of the hard work was lost and it was like starting from scratch. In order to start from scratch, I needed financing.”

“Yeah, I don’t care about all the details, Wrenn,” Roak said. “You partnered with a corporation and they funded your return to syndicate glory. Good for you. Then you made some deal and the deal went sour. Now you’re hiding from killer bots in what’s left of this rock. Plans didn’t turn out how you wanted, you’re pissed, and you are going to take that anger out on me. How about we skip the preamble and get right to it, Wrenn? Can we?”

“Would you like to know your friend Bishop’s role in all this?” Mr. Wrenn asked.

“Sure. Why not. What is Bishop’s role in all this?” Roak asked, indulging the madman.

“I cannot say the exact details of his servitude, but he apparently owes the CEO of my partner corporation so many credits that even his grandchildren would be in debt their entire lives,” Mr. Wrenn said. “In order to pay off that debt, Bishop was asked to destroy you. Not to simply hand you over, but to destroy you. You angered someone greatly, Roak.”

“That doesn’t exactly narrow down the suspect list,” Roak said. “What’s this CEO’s name? I’ve done a lot of crappy things in my life, but I don’t remember a CEO of any corporation that I’ve harmed so much they would go to all this trouble to destroy me. Doesn’t sound very corporate to me.”

“Oh, no, the CEO was hired by someone else,” Mr. Wrenn said. “I am unsure who that someone else is. Bishop knows. He was taken from here by an unknown entity just before the bots began their rampage of this base.”

“So Bishop is still alive?” Roak asked. “Any idea where he might have gone?”

“I have no idea,” Mr. Wrenn said. “Not that it would matter if I did. I plan on torturing you to death, so that knowledge would be useless to you anyway.”

“Then you won’t mind telling me the name of the CEO that set all this shit up, will you?”

“Him? A Mr. Dej Ha’taka,” Mr. Wrenn said. “A pompous Groshnel. What an annoying race Groshnels are. All those arms and legs, eight I believe, and all that gulping of air to keep their invertebrate bodies solid. Inferior creatures, in my opinion.”

“You should work in a museum, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “You totally explained what a Groshnel is like. I could picture it in my mind.”

“Will someone kill that thing? I have grown tired of its chatter,” Mr. Wrenn ordered.

“Hold on, hold on,” Roak said. “Kill the guy later. You haven’t told me what corporation this Ha’taka is CEO of. I’d like to know that.”

“Why? You know the man’s name, so what does the name of the corporation matter? It is not like you will be leaving here to track the Groshnel down.”

“I beg to differ on that, Wrenn,” Roak said. “I plan on walking out of this asteroid pretty damn soon.”

“Is that so?” Mr. Wrenn laughed hard. “Oh, Roak, despite your attempt to kill me, I do like you. Full of fire!”

“Yep, that’s what I’m full of,” Roak said as the index finger on his right hand twitched. “Fire, fire, fire. So…the corporation?”

“I cannot see the harm in telling you,” Mr. Wrenn replied. “Tanji Corporation. They are a biotech firm that specializes in custom work for wealthy individuals that would like to transcend their current forms. Very experimental. Not always successful, but when is there ever reward without risk?”

“That another rhetorical question I’m supposed to answer?” Roak asked.

“No.”

“Good. And thanks for the name. That’ll help a lot after I kill all you assholes. Yellow Eyes?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“Can you move yet?”

“Yes, Roak.”

“What?” Mr. Wrenn exclaimed.

“Care to kill these bastards for me?” Roak asked. “I’m getting a little wiggle, but not enough to be effective in a combat situation.”

“You can only move a finger, right?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Just shut up and kill everyone,” Roak said.

“No!” Mr. Wrenn shouted. “Kill both of them now! Now! Kill them!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roak saw a yellow blur. There were screams and shouts followed by several loud thunks as bodies hit the floor. Roak waited patiently until Yellow Eyes’ face appeared in his faceplate.

“Hello,” Yellow Eyes said. “Still frozen?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Roak replied.

“Here, let me help you up,” Yellow Eyes said.

Roak’s body was forced to bend at the waist and he screamed as the process felt like he was being ripped in half.

“Sorry,” Yellow Eyes said, making sure Roak was steady as he sat up on the table he’d been placed upon. “Still hurt?”

“Not after you stopped trying to break me,” Roak said. Then his eyes went wide and he barely managed to turn his head to look at Yellow Eyes. “You left him alive?”

“I thought you might want to keep talking,” Yellow Eyes said. “That’s why we’re here. For intel, right?”

“Right,” Roak said with a sneer. ‘“Help me down from this table. I need to walk this shit off.”

“You bet, Roak.”

15.

“You can’t kill me,” Mr. Wrenn said as he clutched at the stump where his right arm had been. Blood seeped through his fingers, but he didn’t look like he cared. He looked like he had been given the greatest gift ever. “I will come back even stronger than before.”

“Man, you ain’t coming back from shit,” Yellow Eyes said. “Monk Whales don’t migrate anywhere near this part of the galaxy.”

“I told you it was not a Monk—!”

Mr. Wrenn’s shouting was stopped by Roak’s gloved fist hitting his face.

“Ignore the yellow guy,” Roak snapped. “Focus on me, Wrenn. What else do you know about all this? Bishop isn’t working for you, and despite what you said, he isn’t working for some corporate CEO. Who’s at the end of this hunt, Wrenn? Who is doing all this shit to me? Who in all the Hells has my chits?”

“Chits? What?” Yellow Eyes asked. “This isn’t all about money, is it?”

“It will be if Bishop doesn’t have my chits,” Roak said. “He stole thirty-five million chits that belonged to me. Not to mention another twenty-five million or so I was owed for the Hammon gig. I’m tacking on ten million just for having to deal with this shit. Yeah, this is about money. Seventy million chits is what this is about.”

“Huh,” Yellow Eyes said. “But we’re still gonna avenge Carla and Taps, right? Even if you get your chits before then?”

“Carla and Taps will be avenged,” Roak said. “Not a problem there.”

“Revenge. Chits,” Mr. Wrenn said then spat. The bloody glob of snot landed on Roak’s left boot. “How basic.”

“You wanted me lured here for revenge,” Roak said.

“True, but I had plans, Roak,” Mr. Wrenn said. “I was going to subject you to a lifetime of vivisection and cerebral probing. Years upon years would have gone by before I finally let you expire. That is so much more than simple vengeance. That is true art.”

“Who is behind this Ha’taka guy?” Roak asked. “Who’s the puppet master pulling the CEO’s strings?”

“I do not know,” Mr. Wrenn said. “My deal was with Ha’taka and his corporation only. If there is a larger entity at work, then I was not made privy to the name.”

“You sure?”

“I am more than sure.” Mr. Wrenn grinned, showing bloody, broken teeth. “Which means I am of no use to you, Roak. Perhaps you should kill me so I may show you what I have evolved into.”

“Fine,” Roak said and slammed his power armored fist through Mr. Wrenn’s head, spraying bone, brains, and blood up the wall. “Come back from that, asshole.”

“Delusions, man,” Yellow Eyes said, shaking his head. “Delusions. Some people get them bad. Never heard of a guy thinking he was reborn when he was really only Monk Whale poop, but to each their own.”

There was a loud wrenching sound, like the tearing of metal and both Roak and Yellow Eyes whipped their heads around to face the closest bulkhead door. The panel of metal up by the corner of the bulkhead that had been tack-welded into place to block what had been the fitting for the air ducts began to bend outward. Small, metal legs appeared around the edges, pushing harder and harder until a bot was able to squeeze through and drop to the floor. The machine was followed by another and another.

“Speaking of poop,” Yellow Eyes muttered.

“Find our weapons,” Roak ordered. “Fast.”

Roak stood and flicked bloody goop from his glove. He looked about the room, which wasn’t really a room so much as part of a corridor that had been partitioned off from the rest of the corridor. Whatever the space was or had been, it was now covered in gore. Yellow Eyes had torn the thugs apart limb by limb. There were appendages strewn about that belonged to many different races. But despite being from different races, they were all the same in the end.

Dead.

“Here,” Yellow Eyes said appearing next to Roak with the Flott five-six and the rest of Roak’s weapons. “Can I have a gun? I’m going to get a gun.”

In the blink of an eye, Yellow Eyes was gone and back. His formerly empty hands were each gripping a plasma rifle. Roak holstered his Flott five-six and grabbed one of Yellow Eyes’ rifles.

“Hey!” Yellow Eyes complained.

“You have plenty,” Roak said then pointed at the bots that were coming at them fast. “Time to use them. Pay attention to where you’re aiming.”

“Pull these?” Yellow Eyes asked, his weird fingers resting on the triggers of each rifle.

“Squeeze, don’t pull,” Roak said.

Yellow Eyes squeezed. Plasma shot everywhere as the force of that many rifles shoved Yellow Eyes off balance and his body began to spin. Roak threw himself to the floor and covered his helmet with his arms and the plasma rifle. A stray blast knocked the rifle from his hands and he started yelling for Yellow Eyes to stop firing.

When the plasma fire finally ended, Roak looked up to see that Yellow Eyes had scorched every surface of the space, but not one of the bots had been touched.

“Dammit,” Roak muttered as he pulled his Flott five-six again and opened fire on the bots.

The cluster spread knocked the bots off their course which gave Roak time to get onto his feet, yank another plasma rifle away from a stunned and confused Yellow Eyes, stomp over to the little machines, press the barrel next to a junction point just at the rear of one of the bots, and squeeze the trigger.

The bot exploded everywhere. Some of it hit Roak’s power armor hard enough that bits of metal alloy stuck straight out. Roak ignored the damage to his armor and went after the next bot. That one scurried away, but Roak moved fast and stomped on its back then gave it the same fate as the previous bot.

There was a clang and Roak stumbled forward as two bots leapt onto his back. He threw himself up against the wall, knocking the bots off of him then he turned and put one down with the rifle while he held the other in place with his boot. Roak lifted his boot and fired, but that one scrambled away too fast and the plasma blast only scorched the floor.

Roak had to ignore the escapee and focus on two more bots that were crawling out from around the panel. They leapt for him as he fired and only one fell. The other landed on his faceplate and immediately tried to activate its cutter and get through Roak’s helmet. Roak head-butted the wall and crushed the bot against his faceplate. A small crack appeared in the faceplate, running diagonally down from right to left.

“Shit,” Roak snapped. “That’s gonna make returning to the ship tricky.”

“I’ll find…some…tape,” Yellow Eyes said as he stood up on wobbly legs. “You know where they keep the tape?”

Then Yellow Eyes screamed as a bot threw itself from the wall and directly at the being, cutter fully engaged and whirring loudly.

Roak flipped his rifle around and swatted the bot out of the air then stomped on it until it stopped moving. Yellow Eyes kept screaming, but Roak ignored him as he turned and opened fire on three more bots. When they avoided the plasma, Roak was ready. He moved in fast and crushed one against the wall while he jammed the barrel of the rifle up against another and fired until it fell. The last bot actually turned and tried to get away, but it caught a plasma blast in its aft end and exploded into a shower of metal alloy and sparks.

Roak waited, but no more bots showed up. Moving methodically from bot carcass to bot carcass, Roak put a couple extra plasma blasts in each just to make sure they didn’t have enough juice in them to self-repair.

Then Roak turned his attention to Mr. Wrenn’s corpse. No reassembly there. The man was dead as dead could be.

“Tanji Corporation,” Roak said.

“Yes, that’s what this says,” Yellow Eyes replied.

“What? I was talking about the corporation that Mr. Ha’taka runs,” Roak said. “What are you talking about?”

“This,” Yellow Eyes said, pointing at a stamp in one of the wall panels. “And this. And this. This here. This too.”

“I get it,” Roak said. “This place was built by the Tanji Corporation. Makes sense. Now we need to get out of this place and get back to the ship so we can go pay a visit to Mr. Dej Ha’taka, CEO of the Tanji Corporation.”

“We came that way,” Yellow Eyes said, pointing at the bulkhead on the side of the room where the bots had been coming from. “You think there are more of those things? I really don’t like those bots, man. They suck.”

“There probably are,” Roak said as he began gathering plasma rifles. He checked their charges and kept only the ones that were close to full. He started handing the rifles to Yellow Eyes. “You hang on to these. Give me one whenever I ask for it. We can fight our way…”

Roak paused. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.

“You hear that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Yellow Eyes replied. “But I was hoping you didn’t. That way it would only be my imagination.”

“What is that?” Roak asked as he took a couple steps towards the bulkhead.

He leapt back fast as the bulkhead shook and huge sparks shot out from the middle as a massive cutter blade sliced through the center of the metal.

“Big bot!” Yellow Eyes screamed. “Big bot!”

The bulkhead was split evenly then the huge cutter blade reversed directions and disappeared. Yellow Eyes stopped screaming. The edges of two pry bars that were as tall as Roak slid into the cut gap then began forcing the bulkhead doors open. Yellow Eyes started screaming again.

“Don’t let the big cutter bot get me!” Yellow Eyes screeched as he ran around in a tight circle.

Roak punched him as hard and fast as he could. Yellow Eyes dropped. His big eyes swam in his head and Roak wasn’t sure what he’d do if he needed to run. The freaky creature wasn’t going to be easy to carry all limp like that. But at least he’d stopped screaming.

Roak’s focus returned to the pry bars as the bulkhead doors were opened a little more with each second. With the gathered rifles next to him, Roak took a knee, switched on the targeting protocol in his helmet’s faceplate, synched his power armor to the plasma rifle in his hands, and opened fire.

The plasma rifle ran out of energy before he could do any permanent damage to either of the pry bars, but the metal alloy was glowing hot and Roak capitalized on that by picking up the next rifle and the next and the next until he was surrounded by the spent weapons. Roak stood up, drew his Flott five-six, switched it to concussion blaster mode, and steadied his aim as the doors continued to be shoved open.

From the darkness of the other corridor, the huge bot came. It slammed the bulkhead doors almost fully into their recessed pockets in the walls and yanked itself through the opening. It came at Roak, but the bounty hunter didn’t move. He held his ground, his pistol up and targeted on the bot.

The massive bot was almost on Roak when it stopped short. It made a series of high-pitched noises, which Roak had always thought sounded like bot curses, and tried to gain forward motion once again. But it was stuck in place. The scanner orbs on the top of its fore end swiveled and regarded the issue.

“Welded your pry bars to the doors,” Roak stated.

The huge bot replied with a whistle that would have destroyed Roak’s eardrums if he wasn’t protected by his power armor’s helmet.

“Yeah, you weren’t expecting that were you?” Roak laughed. “It’s going to take you a long time before you can get out of that mess, you lousy piece of…”

The bot strained and strained until its arms tore free, leaving the welded appendages behind. Roak barely dove out of the way in time. Yellow Eyes wasn’t so lucky. The huge bot rolled over the creature, the treads of its tracks pressing Yellow Eyes flat.

“Shit,” Roak said and realized he had one shot at getting away.

A voice inside him, one that sounded suspiciously like Hessa, rebelled and screamed at Roak to save Yellow Eyes. But Roak was already moving to the ripped-open bulkhead and the corridor beyond. Several of the small cutter and injector bots fell onto him, but he threw them to the sides as he sprinted down the corridor to the next bulkhead.

Roak hoped he was retracing his steps to the airlock. With the comm still jammed, he couldn’t call Hessa to get him, so he needed to exit where he’d entered, fingers crossed the ship was still waiting in the same place.

“You left me!” Yellow Eyes screamed as Roak reached the airlock.

The being was covered in injector bots and they were trying to stab through his yellow skin, but the injector needles kept bouncing off, sending the injector bots into fits of robotic, unbalanced rage. Their high-pitched curses were even louder than the huge bot’s had been.

“You left me!” Yellow Eyes screamed again.

“Hold still,” Roak said and didn’t wait to see if Yellow Eyes listened or not. He simply switched the setting on his pistol and fired. The laser cluster spread expertly knocked the bots from Yellow Eyes’ body.

“Get in,” Roak ordered as the airlock opened.

Yellow Eyes didn’t argue. He rushed into the airlock and was already working the interface panel for the outside airlock door by the time Roak was inside and shutting the internal door. The outer door burst open and the atmosphere inside the airlock was expelled, taking Yellow Eyes and Roak with it.

Roak grabbed onto one of Yellow Eyes’ legs before the being could float away from him. Then he activated his power armor’s small thrusters and pointed them both at the waiting ship, hoping his faceplate didn’t shatter in the meantime.

16.

“What did we learn?” Hessa asked once Roak was up on the bridge, Yellow Eyes following right behind him.

“That Roak was going to leave me there!” Yellow Eyes shouted. “He let me get run over by the biggest cutter bot I have ever seen! Then he left me! He left me there to die!”

“Yeah, Roak does that,” Hessa said.

Yellow Eyes blinked a few times, turned to stare at Roak, turned to look anywhere but at Roak, then turned back and stared at Roak.

“You monster,” he said quietly and took his seat at the scanner station.

“So, other than learning that Roak is a massive galactic jerk, which I already knew, what else did we learn?” Hessa asked.

“We’re going to Tanji Corporation headquarters,” Roak said. “Wherever that is.”

“I believe it’s in the… No, that’s a subsidiary,” Hessa said. “Ah, here we go… No, that’s another subsidiary. Headquarters? We have to go to the headquarters?”

“Dej Ha’taka is the CEO,” Roak said. “I would think the corporate headquarters would be the first place to look. If he’s not there, then we ask nicely and find out where he is.”

“You mean shoot people until they tell you where he is,” Yellow Eyes grumbled as he sulked in his chair.

“Or stab them. Or punch them,” Roak said, ignoring Yellow Eye’s tone. “Or kick them. Or throw them down a lift shaft. There are a lot of options.”

“Dej Ha’taka is no longer CEO of Tanji Corporation,” Hessa announced. “He succumbed to a mysterious illness two weeks ago and died before the med pod could treat him.”

“That’s not good,” Roak said. “Who’s the new CEO?”

“A Maga Zxixwell,” Hessa said and a holo projection of the woman appeared in the center of the bridge.

“Can you show me her actual size?” Roak asked.

“That is her actual size, Roak,” Hessa said. “She is six and a half feet tall, human, single, and the bright red hair and deep purple skin are real. Her file says she only has a comm implant and basic wrist implant for holo projections and some protocol interfacing. Other than those modifications, you are seeing her how she is.”

“Minimal implants,” Roak said. “Is she former Galactic Fleet Intelligence? A lot of spooks like to keep it simple with their tech implants.”

“Her file does not list Galactic Fleet service, no,” Hessa said. “But if she was part of Intelligence, then that omission would not be out of the ordinary.”

“Pretty lady,” Yellow Eyes said and sighed. “Roak will probably kill her.”

“Shut up,” Roak snapped. “Hessa? Is she at the Tanji Corporation’s headquarters?”

“She is not,” Hessa said. “She is currently on vacation.”

“Don’t say it,” Roak said quietly, hearing the tone in Hessa’s voice.

“Say what?” Yellow Eyes asked. “What’s wrong with saying where she is?”

“She’s on Ballyway,” Hessa continued.

“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak swore under his breath. “Back to Ballyway?”

“Back to Ballyway?” Yellow Eyes exclaimed. “We just left Ballyway! I don’t want to go back there! How can we go back there? Roak is banned! I go back and, oh man, it is not going to be good. It’s going to be bad.”

“Wendell is dead and Wendell’s boss is dead,” Roak said. “We’ll forge some landing docs and everything will be fine. I don’t have implants other than my comm, which can’t be detected, and you don’t have any implants. We can’t be tagged or traced that way. If we keep a low profile, then it’ll be all good.”

“A low profile?” Hessa and Yellow Eyes asked at the same time.

“What?” Roak said.

“I should have stayed on that broken asteroid,” Yellow Eyes said.

“We can arrange that,” Roak replied.

“We will do no such thing,” Hessa said. “And I am almost to the wormhole portal. It would be best if the both of you strapped in. This portal is rougher leaving than coming.”

“How are we almost to the wormhole portal?” Roak asked, checking the control console. “You’re pushing the engines hard, Hessa.”

“I would like to leave this system, Roak,” Hessa said. “So we are leaving. Once out of the nebula, the risks to our engines dropped significantly. I am gambling that no residual influence by the nebula’s gasses will affect the engines.”

“You? Gambling?” Roak shook his head. “You were meant to return to Ballyway.”

“Is no one listening to a damn word I’m saying?” Yellow Eyes shouted. “I do not want to go back to Ballyway!

“Tough shit,” Roak snapped at the being. “The new CEO is on Ballyway. We’re going to Ballyway.”

“It is a good thing we are flying in a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship,” Hessa said. “That will make things much simpler.”

“You want us to go in using stealth instead of forging some landing documents and bribing the hangar officials?” Roak asked.

“I believe stealth is the better idea,” Hessa said. “I can drop you off in one of the lesser populated areas then return to orbit and await your comm call to pick you up.”

“Something you aren’t telling me, Hessa?” Roak asked, suddenly suspicious. “You want us to be partners then you’re gonna have to be straight with me.”

“I have a feeling,” Hessa stated after a long pause.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, but what did she say?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Did she say she has a feeling? Hessa, you have been very polite and kind to me, so I apologize for what I’m about to say, but, uh, you’re an AI. AIs don’t have feelings.”

“Hessa’s different,” Roak said.

“No shit, man, but she’s still an AI,” Yellow Eyes said. “AIs don’t have feelings or instincts or guts where those feelings and instincts live.”

“You think instincts live in your guts?” Hessa asked. “You do know that is only a saying?”

“You’re getting schooled on sayings by an AI,” Roak said to Yellow Eyes. “Quit while you’re behind.”

“Hey, man, I’m just trying to be a voice of reason here,” Yellow Eyes said then muttered, “Because you nutjobs could use some reason.”

“What’s the feeling?” Roak asked.

“It’s all a trap,” Hessa said. “That the Tanji Corporation knew you’d track down Mr. Wrenn.”

“They thought the guy would be dead,” Roak said.

“Did they? Because you thought he was already dead and there he was,” Hessa said. “Whether alive or dead, I think the Tanji Corporation expects you to figure out they are the power behind the Shilo Syndicate’s resurrection.”

“If this is a trap, then why go?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Avoiding a trap is good. Walking into a trap on purpose is bad.”

“Not planning on walking into any traps,” Roak said.

“So we aren’t going to Ballyway?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“No, we’re going,” Roak replied. “But we’ll do it Hessa’s way.”

He pointed at Yellow Eyes.

“What?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“That means you’re staying on the ship while I hunt down this Maga Zxixwell,” Roak said. “You stick out. I can blend in when I need to. You can’t.”

“I don’t have to set these feets down on Ballyway at all?” Yellow Eyes asked as he wiggled his toe nubs at Roak.

“No. You’ll stay here,” Roak said.

Yellow Eyes smiled and laced his hands behind his head as he leaned back in his seat. “Fine by me, man. Great plan. You two sure know how to strategize.”

“Speaking of,” Roak said and stood up. “How close are we to the wormhole portal?”

“We are entering it within the minute,” Hessa said.

Roak sat back down. Once the ship entered trans-space, and his body adjusted to the transition, he got up and walked to the bridge doors.

“Where ya going?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“To think,” Roak said and jabbed a finger at Yellow Eyes. “You stay here.”

“I was thinking of getting some food,” Yellow Eyes said. “A bit peckish after burning all that energy on the asteroid.”

“Nope,” Roak said. “I’m going to the mess. Hessa will have a bot bring some food up to you.”

“I will?” Hessa asked.

“You will,” Roak replied.

He left the bridge before either of them could argue. Although, Hessa could argue over the comm if she wanted, but she refrained.

Roak took the lift down to the mess level, his mind going a million light years a minute. He tried to scratch an itch on his left shoulder blade and realized he was still wearing his power armor. Roak directed the lift to go down to the cargo hold instead of the mess.

The lift stopped and Roak exited, already stripping his armor from his weary body. He hung it on the cargo hold wall, made sure it was secure, ordered a bot to fix the faceplate, the arm, and pull the metal shards out, and walked back to the lift. Then a thought struck him. He paused, halfway in the lift and halfway out.

“Roak? Are you alright?” Hessa asked over the comm.

“Yes,” Roak said.

“Are you going to use that lift or stand there until we reach Ballyway?” Hessa asked.

Roak entered the lift, but held it there instead of directing it to the mess level.

“I am going to ask again,” Hessa said. “Are you alright?”

“I’m strategizing,” Roak said. “I have an idea.”

“It will not be a popular idea, will it?”

“No.”

“Care to fill me in?”

“I’m still thinking it over.”

Roak pressed the keys on the control interface and sent the lift to the mess level.

“If you would like, I could help you—”

“Let me think, Hessa,” Roak snapped.

The comm went silent.

Roak was sore and stank horribly from fighting inside the power armor, but he wasn’t ready for a steam. The lift slowed and stopped at the mess level and Roak got off. He walked into the mess, automatically ordered a large mug of caff and a plate of protein strips with carb mash on the side. With food and drink in hand, Roak sat down at the nearest table and began to eat without really paying attention to the food.

He was lost in thought. His hands performed the automatic motions of lifting the fork, putting the fork in his mouth, going back for more food, repeat; lifting the mug of caff, putting the mug to his lips, setting the mug down, repeat.

Roak’s eyes focused on nothing. There could have been an enraged B’flo’do in front of him and he wouldn’t have noticed. He was calculating the pros, the cons, the reasons why, and the reasons why not.

“Hessa? Can you get me a meeting with this Zxixwell?” Roak asked.

“Now you need my help?” Hessa responded.

“Hessa…”

“I can create an identity for you and possibly get you a meeting with her,” Hessa said. “But it will not be easy. The woman is on vacation and I have already tried to get more information, but the Tanji Corporation’s mainframe is quite secure. The best way to get a meeting would be through one of your contacts on Ballyway.”

“They’ll all be burned after the last visit,” Roak said. “Even the ones I sort of trust. I’m toxic.”

“Are you? Huh. Didn’t know,” Hessa said.

Roak sat and thought some more. Hessa let him.

When he was finished with his food and drink, he got up and left the tray and mug for a bot to clean up. Roak left the mess and made his way to the lift then to his quarters. He stripped naked and stepped into the lavatory then into the steam. Roak let the heat seep into his sore muscles and tired bones. The plan was almost formed in his mind and he was so close to having all of the elements click into place.

Once out of the steam, Roak dried off and put on clean clothes. He thought about going back up to the bridge, but decided to lie down on his bed instead.

“What hotel is she staying at?” Roak asked.

“She’s not staying at a hotel,” Hessa replied. “She is staying at the ActivAri Villas.”

“ActivAri?” Roak asked, sitting upright. He smiled. “Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“Good. That will make this much, much easier,” Roak said. “How close can you get us without being detected?”

“To ensure that the engine wash does not cause any alarms, we will need to land about one kilometer from the perimeter of the Villas,” Hessa said. “You’ll have to walk.”

“I can walk a click, Hessa,” Roak said, amused.

“Yes, of course you can, but that is a kilometer of risk, Roak,” Hessa said. “A kilometer of open ground.”

“Open ground?” Roak asked then shook his head. “Yes, right, sorry. The ActivAri Villas have always had a ridiculous amount of greenspace around them. Nowhere else on Ballyway is that underdeveloped.”

“This is true,” Hessa said. “They do not even have slot machine kiosks along the walking trails.”

“I can make it,” Roak said. “But I’ll have to blend in.”

“Then might I suggest you not use your light armor,” Hessa said. “Perhaps normal clothes will be best.”

“I’m thinking that too,” Roak said. “Blortas on my ankles and blades hidden in my trousers. No Flott, too big, and no Keplars, they get pinged at every security checkpoint.”

“Sound thinking,” Hessa said. “Except for one issue.”

“I can work around that,” Roak said.

“Can you, Roak? A lack of implants might be suspicious.”

“It’ll be very suspicious. Which will work to my advantage. Get me external ID so I can offer something the security personnel can scan. And I’ll need all the chits we have on hand.”

“All of them?” Hessa asked. “Roak, we are, as the saying goes, broke as fuck.”

Roak laughed hard at that. He couldn’t help himself.

“It’ll be worth it,” Roak said once he’d gotten himself under control. “There is one last thing I need you to help me with.”

“Of course.”

17.

Three wormhole portals later, Yellow Eyes was still cursing Roak out.

“You are the worst thing that has ever happened to me,” Yellow Eyes said. “I had a job, man. I had friends. Carla and Taps were nice to me and I felt wanted. But then the dark cloud of Roak came and pissed all over everything. Now I have to deal with this!”

Yellow Eyes held up one of his arms. He waved it in Roak’s placid face.

“Look at that! Mutilated!” Yellow Eyes screeched. “You’re nothing more than a galactic butcher!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it before,” Roak said. He grabbed the waving arm and shoved it into Yellow Eyes’ face. “It’s already healed so stop whining.”

“Healed? Healed! Look!” Yellow Eyes held up all his arms. “This one is shorter than the others now! Shorter! I’m a freak!”

The placid look on Roak’s face began to crack. “No one will notice. Or care.”

“I notice! I care!” Yellow Eyes shouted.

“Stop yelling,” Roak ordered. “That arm will grow again. You heal. They’ll all be even again soon.”

“How do you know that? How?” Yellow Eyes shouted then quieted down as Roak shifted ominously in the pilot’s seat. “I barely know what I’m capable of. There is no way you can know.”

“Hessa?” Roak asked.

“Yellow Eyes, I have been doing a considerable amount of research on your physical being,” Hessa said. “I have scanned you over sixteen million times since you first set foot on the ship. I cannot say for certain, and your body is very resistant to deep scans, but I theorize that you can regrow any part of you that is removed.”

“But I don’t want any part of me removed, man,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Listen. Just shut up and listen,” Roak said and stood up. “You are my way in to meet Zxixwell. The Tanji Corporation will be very interested in a being like you. All I have to do is take her a sample and she’ll want to meet. We meet, I lure her back to the ship, and then we get back to work.”

“Why in all the Hells would she come back to the ship?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Especially when the ship is going to be up in orbit.”

“The ship will remain on the planet,” Hessa said. “We will stay in stealth mode and invisible, hovering over the area using grav drives only so the engines do not give us away. When Roak comms then we land again.”

“There are a lot of holes in that plan,” Yellow Eyes stated.

“There always are,” Roak replied. “Good thing I’m great at my job.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Yellow Eyes said. “Neither does being bait. What happens if she refuses to come to the ship? What will you do then?”

“Bring you to her,” Roak said. “You can defend yourself easily. Unless they have cutter bots.”

“Why? Why would you say that?” Yellow Eyes exclaimed.

“That was dick, Roak,” Hessa said.

“Yeah, it was,” Roak said with a smirk. “This is the best plan we have. If I’m going to find Bishop then this is what we have to do.”

“Have you thought about dropping all this Bishop hunting shit?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Have you? Go back to being a bounty hunter and get some new jobs. Build your fortune back up and walk away from all this stupid crap, man.”

“Bishop betrayed me,” Roak said in a tone like that explained all the mysteries in the universe. “And he took my chits.”

“We also do not know where Ally or Sha Tog are,” Hessa said.

“That’s a different issue we’ll deal with after,” Roak said.

“Ditch the revenge and go find your friends instead,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Not. Gonna. Happen,” Roak said. “You betray me, I come for you. You steal my chits, I get my chits back.”

“If you want to be defined and controlled by this compulsion for payback, then so be it, man,” Yellow Eyes said, throwing his arms in the air in exasperation. Then he looked at the shorter one and groaned. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

“You do that,” Roak said.

He watched Yellow Eyes leave the bridge then turned to face the view shield. The swirling chaos of trans-space took up the entire image. Roak sat back down in the pilot’s seat.

“Uh, Roak?” Hessa said. “You will want to go get changed.”

“It takes me five seconds to change clothes, Hessa,” Roak said as he kicked his boots up onto the console.

“Yes, normally I would agree, except you are not accustomed to dressing so…nice.”

“Clothes are clothes, Hessa.”

“Not when visiting an establishment like ActivAri Villas.”

“You think I’ve never worn a suit before?”

“I have never seen you wear a suit before.”

“I know how to dress, Hessa.”

“Good for you. Yet I am unconvinced.”

“Are you going to annoy me until I get up and try on different outfits for your approval?”

“Probably. Yes.”

“Eight Million Gods,” Roak muttered as he stood up and left the bridge.

When he reached his quarters, the bots had laid out a few different outfit choices.

“Personally, based on your skin coloring and the scars that mottle your face, I would wear the purple suit,” Hessa said.

“I’m wearing the black one,” Roak stated and picked up the suit.

“With a purple shirt?” Hessa asked.

“With a black shirt,” Roak said.

“All black? Really, Roak?” Hessa sighed. “I should have hid the black suit.”

Roak looked down at the other choices. “Where did we get all this? I have never owned more than two suits. There’re six here.”

“I have been preparing,” Hessa said.

“For…?”

“Anything and everything.”

Roak shrugged then set the black suit down as he stripped off his clothes. He tried the suit on, studying his image in a reflection holo.

“I look like a salesbeing,” Roak said.

“Salesbeings do not dress in black, Roak. You look like an assassin,” Hessa said. “Are you sure you want to go with all black?”

“If I look like an assassin, then yes, I want to wear all black,” Roak said. “It’ll keep Zxixwell’s security nervous.”

“That’s not a good thing, Roak.”

“It is if I want them nervous. Trust me, Hessa. Let me do what I do best. Track, hunt, retrieve. Bishop is my primary target, but Zxixwell is my immediate target. I know what I’m doing, so lay off about the black suit.”

“Laying off, laying off,” Hessa replied.

She went quiet and Roak could tell the silence was loaded with a question.

“Ask it,” Roak said as he left his quarters for the armory.

“Yellow Eyes,” Hessa said. “What are your plans for him?”

“Don’t have any,” Roak said.

“I do not believe that in the slightest,” Hessa replied. “If you can get the information from Zxixwell on Bishop’s whereabouts, but you have to sacrifice Yellow Eyes to do that, will you?”

Roak paused in the corridor and rubbed at his forehead for a minute. Then he started walking again, entering the lift without answering the question.

“I was worried that would be the answer,” Hessa said quietly.

“Yellow Eyes showed up,” Roak said once the lift was in motion. “He’s an asset to be used however I need to use him. The guy is no different than a bit of intel. I use it how I use it and move on from there.”

“That’s cold,” Hessa said. “Even for you. He did save your life.”

“I know,” Roak said. “So, I might feel shitty about it for a while.” Roak grunted then cleared his throat. “But, if this all works, then sacrificing Yellow Eyes won’t even be an option.”

“I do hope that is how it all turns out,” Hessa said.

Roak was surprised that he felt the same way. He didn’t voice that to Hessa, though, as he left the lift and walked to the armory.

Five hours later, the ship was approaching Ballyway. As soon as they had come through the wormhole portal, Hessa had dropped them into stealth mode. She monitored the comm traffic and made sure none of the other ships had noticed their disappearance. When the open channels didn’t mention them and the private channels she could hack didn’t mention them, then Hessa sent them towards the gaming planet, plotting the best course for atmospheric entry that would take them directly to ActivAri Villas.

It was another seven hours before they were on approach to the planet’s surface. Being in stealth mode meant a lot of maneuvering around and past ships that didn’t know they were there. Roak had to shout at Yellow Eyes several times to stop crying out at every close call. Yellow Eyes did not stop crying out at every close call.

“Five minutes until we land,” Hessa stated.

Roak stood and made his way off the bridge, down the lift, and into the cargo hold. He double-checked his outfit, grimaced at the image, then triple-checked that his pistols were snug and secure on his ankles and that the blades tucked inside the waistband of his trousers didn’t show and were firmly attached. The blades made bending at the waist a little tough, but Roak would rather that than not have the weapons on hand.

“Touching down now,” Hessa said as Roak pulled the small specimen jar from the inside of his suit coat pocket.

“Thanks,” Roak said as he shook the little piece of Yellow Eyes then put the jar back in the pocket.

The cargo ramp opened and Roak walked down it. Once the ramp was close enough to the ground, Hessa began lifting off again and all Roak had to do was step onto the perfectly manicured grass of the greenspace that surrounded the ActivAri Villas.

When the ship was up and gone, Roak adjusted his suit, studied his surroundings, found the walking trail he needed, and began heading towards the main facilities of the ActivAri Villas resort.

It didn’t take long for security to arrive.

“Identification,” a guard said as three other heavily armed guards stood behind the woman. Her helmet was off and Roak could see she was Spilfleck, but the other guards had full helmets and tinted faceplates, so he had no idea what their races were.

Roak handed the lead guard his identification as resort guests walked past on other trails, their eyes intentionally averted. It would be unseemly to stare while official resort business was taking place. Especially if Roak turned out to be someone that didn’t belong. It was beneath the resort’s level of clientele to even glance at Roak and the guards.

“No implants, Mr. Scorp?” the guard asked Roak as she handed his identification back.

“I do not believe in modifications,” Roak replied in as snotty a voice as he could stomach to use.

“Weapons?” the guard asked.

Roak knew that she’d already had him scanned and knew exactly what weapons he had on him. It was a trick question, so Roak stayed quiet instead of answering.

“Weapons are not allowed on the premises,” the guard stated.

Roak still did not respond.

“I will have to detain you if you are carrying any weapons,” the guard pressed.

Roak put his hand in his trousers pocket and withdrew a small purse filled with chits. He cupped the purse in his palm and extended his hand to shake with the guard. She took his hand, shook it, and her features relaxed.

“I am glad you understand that our policies are only for the safety and security of our guests,” the guard said as her hand tucked the purse into a pocket on her vest. “We hope you enjoy your stay here at ActivAri Villas.”

“I’m sure I will,” Roak said.

He waited until the guards had turned and left before continuing down the trail.

18.

The ActivAri Villas resort was made up of a main building and many smaller clusters of buildings, as well as several private villas dotting the lush grounds. Guests could choose one of the villas, for an exorbitant fee, or they could stay in one of the suites in either the cluster buildings or in the main building.

Roak walked the grounds for a good three hours so he could get acquainted with the layout and also see what the differences between the clusters of buildings might be. It turned out that most clusters were segregated along racial lines. The Groshnels were with the Groshnels and the Cerviles were with the Cerviles. The only exception seemed to be humans. Roak saw a few in each of the cluster building areas, as well as a good amount at the main building.

Roak kept his eye out for a very tall, deep purple-skinned, human female with bright red hair. Once Roak realized she wasn’t at any of the cluster areas or the main building, he searched around the private villas. She was not hard to find.

However, she was hard to approach.

“Back off, slagger,” a Gwreq guard said as Roak walked to the small fence that surrounded an artificial grotto set next to one of the private villas. “She ain’t got no appointments today. Keep walking.”

There were three other Gwreq guards standing around the grotto. Zxixwell was sunbathing on a lounge chair by the pool, wearing nothing except an enormous pair of sunglasses. She didn’t even twitch as Roak turned his gaze on her then returned it to the Gwreq in front of him.

“Let Ms. Zxixwell know that a Mr. Scorp is here with something I believe she will be very interested in,” Roak said.

The Gwreq cocked his head and leaned down close to speak into Roak’s left ear.

“No,” he said softly then straightened back up.

“Don’t make me do this the hard way,” Roak said. “Ms. Zxixwell is going to want to see what I have.”

“Other than the two pistols on your ankles and the blades in your trousers?” the Gwreq laughed. It was like gravel falling across boulders that were tumbling down a mountainside. “Go. Away.”

“I’ll disarm if that makes you feel better,” Roak said as he crouched to remove the Blortas from their ankle holsters.

The Gwreq grabbed Roak by the back of the neck and lifted him into the air. It hurt like all the Hells, but Roak knew not to struggle or his neck would be snapped in a half-second.

“Did I say to disarm? No,” the Gwreq said, his face pressed almost right against Roak’s. “I said to go away.”

“What does he want, Cet?” Zxixwell called from her lounge.

“To die, looks like, ma’am,” Cet said, his stone-skinned lips pulling apart in what passed as a smile for most Gwreqs.

“Is he armed?” Zxixwell asked.

“Yes, ma’am, he is,” Cet replied.

“What’s his name?” she asked.

“Scorp,” Cet answered.

“I don’t know any Scorp,” Zxixwell said, but waved her hand. “Let me meet him.”

Cet dropped Roak then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and yanked him in close.

“You speak when spoken to. You move a muscle and I break you. You need to get something out of a pocket, you ask me to do it for you. Got that, Scorp?” Cet snarled.

“Mr. Scorp,” Roak replied.

“You joking with that shit?” Cet asked then shook his head. “You live through today and you best hit the tile tables, Scorp. Because surviving the next few minutes means you’re the luckiest son of a bitch in this galaxy.”

Roak nodded.

Cet let go of Roak’s shirt, made an exaggerated display of smoothing down the material, then took Roak by the shoulder and steered him towards the grotto.

Zxixwell didn’t move from her lounge chair as Cet approached with Roak in his grip. She stayed laid out, relaxed, beads of sweat dotting her deep purple skin. Roak had no idea if she was looking at him, looking elsewhere, or had her eyes closed behind the massive sunglasses. When Cet stopped a couple meters from the lounge chair, that was when she stirred.

“Bring him closer,” Zxixwell said and waved at Roak. “Come here, Mr. Scorp.”

“He is still armed, ma’am,” Cet said.

“Then do something about that,” Zxixwell said.

Roak allowed the pistols and blades to be taken by the other Gwreq guards, but he held Cet’s gaze the entire time the weapons were stripped from him. Then Cet stepped forward and opened Roak’s suit jacket. He began to reach inside, but was stopped by Zxixwell.

“Let him show me,” Zxixwell said. “I want the full performance. Mr. Scorp has obviously been rehearsing his entrance. Let’s not spoil it for him.”

“I don’t know what he has, ma’am,” Cet said. “I’d rather I take it from him first.”

“I know you would, Cet,” Zxixwell replied. “I appreciate that. But I believe Mr. Scorp here means me no harm.” She sat up and removed the sunglasses. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Scorp?”

Roak nodded as he stared at Zxixwell’s silver eyes. They were incredibly beautiful and Roak had to remind himself that he may need to kill the woman, if the circumstances called for her death. But those silver eyes were almost too much to bear…

“Enhanced,” Zxixwell said as Roak continued to stare. “Perks of my position with Tanji Corporation. Give me a moment.”

Zxixwell waved her right hand over her left wrist and a small holo interface came up. She swiped at two controls and the silver eyes dulled to gray. Roak blinked then grinned.

“Nice trick,” he said.

“Expensive trick,” Zxixwell said as she stood up from her lounge chair.

She held out a hand and a Gwreq guard brought her a towel.

“Not seeing other servants,” Roak said as he watched her dry the sweat from her body. Zxixwell watched him watch her the entire time. “Your bodyguards handle the cooking and cleaning too?”

“This is a resort, Mr. Scorp,” Zxixwell said, handing the towel back to the Gwreq guard when she was done. “Cooking and cleaning is included.”

She moved in close to Roak and Cet took a couple steps, but stopped as she raised a hand. Zxixwell looked Roak up and down and smiled wide. They were the same height and those gray eyes locked onto his once she was done sizing him up.

“You’ve seen combat,” she said. “A lot of combat. My company can take care of those scars for you.”

“Med pods have tried, but the scars are there to stay,” Roak said.

“Med pods,” Zxixwell scoffed then slid past Roak and walked towards the open double doors of the villa house. “Med pods are so last century, Mr. Scorp.” She paused at the doors and turned to Roak, who hadn’t followed. Cet’s body language said that would be a bad idea. “Have you heard of bloodletting, Mr. Scorp?”

“I’ve done some,” Roak said.

“No, I do not mean violence,” Zxixwell said as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. “I’m talking about an ancient Earth medical technique that was not only pointless, it was downright deadly.”

She turned her head and spat which was the tradition when mentioning the cursed, toxic planet that Earth had become.

“Nope,” Roak said. “I’m not one for ancient Earth history.” Roak spat as well.

“A shame,” Zxixwell said as she stood straight and went inside the house. “Come along, Mr. Scorp.”

Roak looked at Cet and Cet nodded. Roak walked to the house and through the open doors.

Inside the house, it was shaded and cool, the smell of flowers and sweet fruits permeating the air. Roak was certain the scents were piped in through the vents, but he could be wrong. Fresh anything wasn’t his expertise.

Zxixwell was nowhere to be seen and Roak stopped a couple meters inside the house. Cet gave him a shove and he continued walking from the entryway to a large sitting parlor. Cet indicated for him to take a seat on a chair that was facing a large picture window. Roak knew exactly where Zxixwell would sit when she joined him.

Roak wasn’t disappointed when Zxixwell came into the parlor wearing a sundress that came down mid-thigh and sat on the small couch directly in front of the picture window. The backlighting made it hard for Roak to see Zxixwell’s facial features. The backlighting did reveal that the sundress was all Zxixwell was wearing.

“Do you know what else I can do, Mr. Scorp?” Zxixwell asked, bringing the same holo interface up from her wrist.

She made some adjustments and a second later, Roak felt himself growing restless. He wanted to move from the chair and sit next to Zxixwell. Then he wanted to take her in his arms and do some very awful things to her body. Very awful things.

Then the feeling was gone and Roak felt incredible shame for even thinking about doing those awful things to her. Zxixwell sat there smiling.

“Pheromonal control pores,” Zxixwell said. “My personal design. No one in the Tanji Corporation becomes CEO without having fought their way to the top. We do not recruit from the outside, Mr. Scorp, which means that whatever you have brought me will have to be beyond incredible to get my attention.”

“Then why invite me into your house?” Roak asked.

“Speak when spoken to,” Cet snapped.

“Cet? We’re having a conversation,” Zxixwell said.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Cet apologized.

“You can leave us,” Zxixwell said. “Mr. Scorp will behave himself, right, Mr. Scorp?”

“Seems to me that how I behave is up to you and your pores,” Roak said then turned and looked at Cet. “Nothing to worry about, Cet.”

Cet turned and left the parlor without a reply.

Zxixwell patted the couch and held out her hand. Roak stood up, crossed to the couch, removed the jar from his suit jacket, handed it to her, then took a seat on the couch next to her.

“It’s very…yellow,” Zxixwell said.

“So’s the rest of the specimen,” Roak said.

“There’s more of…this?” Zxixwell asked, turning the jar this way and that as she studied the bit of Yellow Eyes. “Help me out here, Mr. Scorp. What am I looking at?”

“The tip of a hand. Or arm. The tip of something,” Roak said and laughed as he relaxed into the back of the couch. His nonchalance caught Zxixwell’s attention and she smiled at him before returning her eyes to the jar.

“Is the something a being? Sentient?” Zxixwell asked.

“Yes and yes,” Roak said.

“I do not know the species,” Zxixwell said and her features darkened. Roak could see she was troubled by the lack of knowledge of what was held in the jar. “Where did you find this?”

“Around,” Roak said.

“I will have it analyzed,” Zxixwell said and a Gwreq guard appeared without her saying a word. The guard took the jar when Zxixwell offered it to him then left. Zxixwell turned her focus to Roak. “What will I find when the analysis comes back, Mr. Scorp?”

“You’ll find tissue that can heal instantly and is nearly impervious to harm,” Roak said. “Except for cutting. Apparently, you can cut the being. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to bring you that.”

“Impervious to harm? Interesting,” Zxixwell said. “And why should I care about that?”

“From what I’ve heard, Tanji Corporation is exactly the company that can take a specimen like that and turn it into something functional for all to use,” Roak said and held up a hand as Zxixwell started to object. “For the right price, of course.”

“Nothing in life is free,” Zxixwell said. “And nothing worth having is cheap.”

“You got anything to drink?” Roak asked.

“We are not at the refreshment stage of our relationship, Mr. Scorp,” Zxixwell said. “If I find your specimen of interest, how much are you looking for? I can say that I do not usually pay credits to strangers that walk in off the greenspace while I’m on vacation, but there is something about you that has me thinking that kicking you out would be a waste of an…opportunity.”

She basically undressed Roak with her eyes as she made that statement.

“Ten million,” Roak said. “Chits, not credits.”

Zxixwell burst into laughter.

“Ten million chits?” She laughed harder, one hand going to her belly and the other grabbing Roak by the shoulder as she doubled over.

“Ma’am?” Cet called from the other room.

“I’m fine,” she replied, wiping her eyes and taking her hand from Roak’s shoulder as she leaned back. “Thank you, Cet.”

“I’ll take fifteen million, if ten is too funny to deal with,” Roak said.

The mirth slid from Zxixwell’s face like a dropped mask.

“Don’t fuck with me, Mr. Scorp,” she said, her features just short of terrifying.

Roak drew back.

Zxixwell’s eyes widened then a smile returned.

“Sorry,” she said as she played with her wrist interface. Her facial features returned to normal in Roak’s eyes. “Had the intimidation setting turned up on my negotiation protocol. Apologies.”

“Is any of this real?” Roak asked, nodding at her body.

“It is certainly not imaginary,” Zxixwell said. “I’ll show you how real I am later.”

“I didn’t come here for that,” Roak said.

“Tough,” Zxixwell replied. “I’m on vacation and I came to Ballyway exactly for that. But, instead of going through a string of pleasure boys, you arrived at my doorstep. Now, if you do not find me attractive…”

“I think you know that’s not the issue,” Roak said.

“Good,” Zxixwell said and stood up. She offered Roak her hand. “We’ll leave the price chat for later once the results come back. For now, would you care to join me in my bedroom? I need to shower first since the sun got me all sweaty. I hope that is alright.”

“That’s fine,” Roak said and took her hand.

19.

Roak was shocked that Zxixwell actually meant a shower. Not a steam stall, but a full-on, running water shower. He knew some beings used them, but the extravagance of it was almost more than Roak could handle. And he could handle a lot.

Roak’s shock turned to instant pleasure the moment Zxixwell pulled him into the shower and the hot stream of water cascaded over their naked bodies. He pretty much forgot that there was a beautiful naked woman wrapping herself around him. The water was pure joy.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Zxixwell said as she kissed his neck then his cheek then his mouth. They stayed that way for a long while until Zxixwell pulled back and laughed. “You aren’t half bad, Mr. Scorp.”

Roak grinned at her and felt that desire to do awful things to her body rise. Zxixwell smirked then dialed down the pheromones. The awful part went away and Roak only wanted to do things to her. Lots of things.

He spun her around and he pressed her body against the stall wall. Roak was on her, in her, his arms wrapped around her front, pulling her to him, bringing them closer than if they were a single body.

Zxixwell was vocal. She had no problem expressing her pleasure. And her disappointment. Roak listened attentively and made sure the woman was happy at all times. They remained in the water shower until Cet interrupted them with a gravelly clearing of his throat.

“Your conference comm, ma’am,” Cet said then left.

Roak paused, but Zxixwell slapped his ass hard to keep him going. It was another ten minutes before Zxixwell slipped from the shower and dried off while Roak remained.

“Enjoy it,” Zxixwell said. “I’ll be at least an hour on the comm. Vacations are never truly vacations when you are CEO of a megacorporation.”

“Board meeting?” Roak asked as he used the shower for its original intended purpose and began to soap up.

“R&D,” Zxixwell said. “The results from the tests of your specimen should be done soon. Maybe I’ll mention them to my team.”

“Nothing to mention until you pay me,” Roak said, ducking his head under the water and marveling at the feeling of suds running down his neck, his chest, his entire body.

“With the amount of water you’re using, I think payment has been made,” Zxixwell laughed. She wrapped a towel around her bright red hair and left the rest of herself uncovered. “Join me by the pool when you’re done.”

“Will do,” Roak said.

He waited for a few minutes after she left then called Hessa.

“Progress?” Hessa asked.

“Yeah,” Roak replied. “We…hit it off.”

Hessa groaned. “I don’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to tell,” Roak said and filled her in on all the non-sexy stuff. “I’m going to dry off and join her by the pool. Then we’ll see what I can work out. By the way, she has more modifications than are on record.”

“Not surprising. Be careful.”

“I plan to.”

Roak reluctantly left the shower. The water turned off automatically when he was out of the stall. A warm blast of air come from everywhere at once and Roak was almost completely dry by the time he found a towel. He was getting dressed when the door opened and Cet pointed at him.

“You. Come on,” Cet said then turned and left.

Roak grabbed his suit jacket and threw it over his arm as he followed the Gwreq through the house and out to the pool grotto.

Zxixwell was lounging again, her sunglasses on, and a large tumbler of something in her hand. But instead of being in the sun, she was seated under the cave portion of the grotto provided to that section of the patio. She’d gotten dressed, too, although it was another see-through sundress.

“Sit,” Zxixwell said and all romance was gone from her voice. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Not at all,” Roak said as he sat. He smiled up at Cet who was right by his left shoulder. “Whiskey. Neat, no rocks.”

“Funny,” Cet said and stayed right where he was.

“Huh,” Roak said as he returned his attention to Zxixwell. “So, what’d I do?”

“The sample you gave me is coded,” Zxixwell said. “It has a copyright stamp on the molecules. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that?”

“I didn’t know it was there,” Roak said.

“Are you shitting me?” Zxixwell asked, lowering her sunglasses so she could glare at Roak. Her eyes were silver again and mesmerizing. “Who doesn’t look for a molecular copyright stamp when trying to sell corporate refuse? You knew you were stealing from a trash field, one that’s used by WAG Corp exclusively, and you didn’t think to check if the trash was coded? You’re an idiot.”

“I didn’t pick through any trash field,” Roak said. “I got the being from an acquaintance.”

“Then you need better acquaintances,” Zxixwell said and laughed.

She raised her sunglasses again and Roak found it slightly easier to breathe. He was impressed by the biotech, but not impressed enough to change his philosophy on implants and physical enhancements.

Zxixwell sighed. She shook her head then drank deeply from her tumbler.

“Get him his whiskey,” she ordered.

Cet snapped his stone fingers and a glass of whiskey, neat, arrived in seconds. Roak took it, sipped, then stared at Zxixwell until she roused herself and spoke again.

“If I can’t reverse engineer the sample, then what you are offering is worthless,” Zxixwell said. “I need the original source. That is nonnegotiable.”

“We might be able to come to an arrangement,” Roak said. “But the price went up to twenty million chits.”

Zxixwell choked on the sip she just took from her tumbler.

“You are one crazy SOB,” she said when she could breathe again. “I tell you that you’re in deep shit and you tell me to pay you more? Who taught you how to negotiate? A stim junkie?”

“You want the original, you have to pay more for him,” Roak said and instantly regretted his choice of words.

“Him?” Zxixwell asked, locking on to the slip-up. “Oh, the source is more than just sentient, it has an identity. You realize that this complicates matters even more. A sentient being that can self-identify is a little outside the norms of galactic law, Mr. Scorp. I could be accused of genocide if the original is the only one of its kind.”

“Only if you kill it,” Roak said.

“Did you think we would pamper it with treats and give it sponge baths, Mr. Scorp?” Zxixwell sighed. “No. That is not how the business works. The original will be studied intensely until it yields no new information. Then it will be vivisected, studied some more, then fully dissected once it expires. If it is singular, and the Galactic Fleet were to find out, then Tanji Corporation could get into a lot of trouble.”

“Then don’t get found out,” Roak said.

“I’m afraid I will have to pass on this deal, Mr. Scorp,” Zxixwell said. “But I thank you for an exhilarating afternoon. That scarred body of yours is certainly one of a kind in this galaxy. Stimulating, to say the least. Cet?”

“You’re gone,” Cet said and grabbed Roak by the arm and lifted him to his feet.

“Gonna need my weapons,” Roak said as he was half-carried around the pool to the gate. “And my sample.”

“We’ll be keeping the sample, Mr. Scorp,” Zxixwell called after Roak. “No hard feelings, I hope.”

“Plenty,” Roak said as he twisted out of Cet’s grip and shoved three fingers into a surprisingly soft area just under the Gwreq’s lower right armpit.

Cet cried out and fell to a knee. Roak slammed the heel of his right hand into Cet’s nose then chopped Cet in the neck with the flat of his left hand. Roak’s right knee came up as Cet’s head dipped in pain. There was a crunch and Roak wasn’t sure if the noise was the Gwreq or his kneecap after his leg exploded with pain. But Cet toppling over onto his side settled that.

Roak estimated he had two seconds before he was killed.

He stripped Cet of his weapon, spun about, and shot two Gwreq guards before they opened fire on him. Roak ran sideways, blasting away with the large pistol in his hand, sending the remaining Gwreq guards diving for cover as plasma blast after plasma blast flew across the pool.

“You slagging bastard!” Cet yelled as he struggled up onto wobbly feet. “You are dead!”

Roak shot him between the eyes just before he dove into the pool. The flashes of return fire lit up the water as Roak dove as deep as he could, turned his body, aimed up at anything resembling a being’s shadow, and fired until the pistol ran out of charge.

Lungs burning, Roak swam into the grotto and took cover in the shaded darkness of the artificial cave. He launched himself at the surface and came up out of the pool, gasping and coughing. Roak tossed the useless pistol at a Gwreq guard that came running into the grotto and the guard ducked, giving Roak enough time to pick up a very heavy metal alloy chair and throw that too.

The chair bounced off the Gwreq like it was made of foam. The guard grinned and took aim, but a scream from Zxixwell out on the patio got his attention and he turned and sprinted that way instead of shooting Roak.

Roak was torn on what to do. He figured there had to be another way out of the grotto, and finding that other way out was the smart choice, but Zxixwell’s continued screaming, followed by the sounds of plasma blasts and shouting from the guards, had Roak more than curious.

After a strangled cry from one of the Gwreqs, Roak made his way cautiously to the grotto opening and the patio.

There was a yellow blur whirling about the poolside and Zxixwell was curled up into a ball on her lounge chair, still screaming. Only two Gwreq guards were left and they were busy trying to shoot the yellow blur. Completely occupied, the guards didn’t see Roak sprint over to a fallen Gwreq and snag the being’s plasma rifle. Roak aimed, fired twice, and the remaining Gwreqs fell into the pool, dead.

“Yellow Eyes!” Roak shouted and the yellow blur stopped.

Yellow Eyes was standing over Zxixwell, his arms waving crazily around her body as she screamed.

“Knock it off,” Roak said as he reached the creature and pulled him away. Roak jabbed Zxixwell in the shoulder with the barrel of the rifle and she screamed louder. “I mean you too!”

Zxixwell didn’t stop screaming so Roak made an executive decision. He slammed the butt of the rifle into the back of her head, knocking unconscious.

“Ouch, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “You could have gagged her.”

“No time,” Roak said. “Pick her up. We have to move. Fast.”

“Me pick her up? Why me?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Because I have this,” Roak said, pointing the rifle at Yellow Eyes’ face. There was the sound of shouting and boots running from the other side of the villa house. “And because I’ll be needing to use this in order for us to get away.”

“Fine,” Yellow Eyes said as he picked up Zxixwell and sort of half-cradled her, half-tucked her under his arms. “Damn, man, she’s dense. You get all sexy with this lady? You gotta be bruised to all the Hells.”

“Shut up and run,” Roak said, leading them away from the pool and out the back gate towards the trail that would take them to the landing area. “Come on.”

“I am, I am!” Yellow Eyes snapped as he followed behind Roak.

The shouting got louder then chunks of the ground began flying up into the air as ActivAri Villa security began firing at Roak and Yellow Eyes.

“OW! They shot me in the ass, man!” Yellow Eyes said.

Roak stopped, motioned for Yellow Eyes to keep running, then aimed and returned fire at the security guards. They dove to the ground and covered their heads, dropping their weapons immediately. Roak grunted with disgust and sent a few more plasma blasts at them to keep them down then turned and followed Yellow Eyes.

Except Yellow Eyes was already gone. Roak didn’t even see a yellow blur up ahead.

“Freak is fast,” Roak said then realization hit him.

He’d left the sample of Yellow Eyes behind. It wasn’t the worst thing, since getting Zxixwell was the goal, but he wasn’t too keen on having that kind of evidence hanging out to be analyzed by, more than likely, Galactic Fleet authorities. Roak wasn’t too worried about the sample being traced back to him, but he had no idea what kind of alarms and red flags it would raise with the GF bureaucrats that had been paid off by WAG Corp. Those executives would be getting a comm call within the week.

“Shit,” Roak muttered as he kept running, headed to the landing area.

Then he saw what was ahead. Boots on the ground had been switched out for gears on the ground, and six heavy security bots rolled across the trail, blocking Roak’s escape. Roak knew that if he even raised the rifle in his hands a centimeter, those bots would open fire and tear him apart.

He dropped the rifle, fell to his knees, and held his arms up slowly over his head then just as slow, lowered them to lace his fingers behind his head.

Then he was doubled over and throwing up all over the floor of his ship. The pain in his head was excruciating and all he could hear was a loud buzzing and all he could see was the fuzzy shapes of crates and boxes in the cargo hold. He vomited until his stomach was empty and his arms couldn’t hold him up any longer.

“Got ya, man,” Yellow Eyes said as he helped Roak up before he collapsed into his own sick. “Phew. You need to look into adding probiotics to your diet. That puke is rank, man.”

“I make sure he is properly fortified,” Hessa said, offended.

“Just saying that puke stinks, but it shouldn’t stink like that,” Yellow Eyes said as he basically carried Roak to the lift.

“What the fuck…?” Roak mumbled.

“Moltrans on the go,” Hessa said. “Sorry. I was still dialing it in when Yellow Eyes reached me and you weren’t with him. I checked the scans and saw the security bots. They were going to shred you, Roak. So I rushed things.”

“I was surrendering,” Roak said.

“They were still going to shred you,” Hessa insisted. “I could tell by their power levels.”

Roak groaned as the lift took them up away from the cargo hold.

“Zxixwell,” he snapped.

“Med pod for you first,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Zxixwell,” Roak growled. “Where’d you put her?”

“The brig,” Yellow Eyes said. “I didn’t know you had a brig, but you do.”

“She is currently unconscious and resting,” Hessa stated.

“Yeah, she’s about to wake the fuck up,” Roak snarled.

20.

“Time to talk,” Roak said and slapped Zxixwell across the face as she sat on the cot in the ship’s small brig. “Stop pretending to be asleep.”

“Stop slapping me, asshole,” Zxixwell said and opened her eyes.

“Hessa! Can you counteract her biotech?” Roak shouted as he turned away from Zxixwell’s gaze. Damn silver eyes…

“I can,” Hessa replied over the comm.

Zxixwell’s eyes widened as they returned to a normal gray. She swiped her hand over her wrist, but her holo interface didn’t come up.

“You don’t smell as good with the pheromones turned off,” Roak said as he crouched in front of Zxixwell, just out of kicking range. “Nope. What I’m smelling now is pretty damn ordinary. I smell fear.”

“Really? Why in all the Hells would I smell like fear?” Zxixwell said. “Oh, could it be because some psycho has kidnapped me and thrown me in the smallest, crappiest brig I’ve ever been in? Yeah. Might be that.”

“Bishop,” Roak said and waited.

Zxixwell cocked her head and waited too.

They both waited.

“Bishop…?” Zxixwell asked after a minute of silence.

“Where is he?” Roak asked.

“I don’t know because I don’t know who in the Hells you are talking about,” Zxixwell said.

“I think you do,” Roak countered.

“Why would you think that?” Zxixwell asked.

“Roak,” Hessa said over the comm so only Roak could hear. “Bio scans show she believes what she is saying.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s telling the truth,” Roak replied.

“About what?” Zxixwell asked, hearing only Roak’s side. “About this Bishop? Who is he? Is it a he? This some weird religious thing that only happens on Ballyway? Because no one told me there would be kidnapping involved. I signed up for the all-inclusive package, but this shit is not cool, Mr. Scorp. Way not cool.”

“Roak,” Roak said. That got Zxixwell’s attention. “You’ve heard of me.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard of you,” Zxixwell said and sighed. “Your face didn’t trigger the security protocols. It should have.”

“My face doesn’t trigger any security protocols,” Roak replied. “Special perk of being me.”

“I’d say that’s the only perk considering that half the galaxy despises you and the other half only tolerates you because you perform services that others won’t,” Zxixwell said. “Still, I didn’t get to be CEO of Tanji Corporation by believing all the crap beings spew in this galaxy.”

Zxixwell relaxed against the wall of the brig, tucking her legs up under her on the cot.

“Bishop? This a guy?” Zxixwell asked.

Roak nodded.

“Human guy?”

Roak nodded again.

“What’d he do? Try to kill you? Steal from you? Hurt someone you care for?”

“Yes.”

“Which one?”

“All of those.”

“Yeah, but why are you hunting him? That is what you’re doing, right? Hunting the guy?”

“He betrayed me and stole my chits,” Roak said. “I don’t think kindly of beings that betray me and steal my chits.”

“You’re not alone there,” Zxixwell said and rubbed at the spot where Roak slapped her. “You got anything to drink? Maybe something to smoke or snort? I’m still on vacation time and need a little bump, if you know what I mean.”

“I have water,” Roak said and snapped his fingers. A bot rolled over with a pitcher of water and a plastic tumbler. “Drink up.”

“Gee. Thanks,” Zxixwell said, her voice thick with sarcasm. But she did take the pitcher and tumbler, pouring herself some water. She downed the water and poured more then set the pitcher back on the bot. “Ahhhh. That’s better.”

“Good. Tell me about Bishop,” Roak said.

“Listen, Mr.… Listen, Roak, I have no idea who this Bishop guy is. I have never heard of him before,” Zxixwell said.

“She’s telling the truth,” Hessa said over the comm. “Or she’s the best liar I’ve come across which would be saying a lot considering the time I’ve spent with beings that come into your life, Roak.”

“Let’s try this,” Roak said. “Wrenn. Tell me about him.”

“Wrenn?” Zxixwell replied. “Another name I don’t know a damn thing about.”

“Now she’s lying,” Hessa said.

“I know,” Roak replied.

“Then why ask me?” Zxixwell asked.

“Wasn’t talking to you then,” Roak said.

Zxixwell looked confused. “You talking to ghosts then? Because you don’t have implants, so if you weren’t talking to me…”

“Wrenn. You know that name. Tell me what you know,” Roak demanded.

“Crime boss,” Zxixwell said, exasperated. “And a huge pain my ass.”

“Keep talking,” Roak said. “Why’s he a huge pain in your ass?”

“I inherited the guy,” Zxixwell said. “My predecessor had dealings with him. Dealings tied up with so many threads, and we’re talking very expensive threads, that I couldn’t cut the scumbag loose, even if I wanted to. Which I did, for the record. I didn’t want a damn thing to do with that guy.”

“Truth,” Hessa said.

“Tell me about the threads,” Roak said.

“Tell me about the yellow thing,” Zxixwell countered. “Tit for tat. I’ll tell you what I know about Wrenn and how he’s connected to Tanji Corporation and you tell me about that yellow thing back at the resort.”

Zxixwell looked about.

“Better yet,” she continued. “Let me meet him. Does he talk? Does he understand galactic common? You let me have a conversation with the being and I’ll tell you everything about Wrenn.”

“You’re going to tell me everything anyway,” Roak said.

“Hold on,” Hessa said.

Roak braced himself against the wall as the bottom of his stomach dropped. He squeezed his eyes together and waited for the sensation to pass.

“Transitioning into trans-space doesn’t agree with you,” Zxixwell said with a smirk. “That must be rough considering your existence is traveling around the galaxy hunting for beings.”

“I’m fine,” Roak said. “Wrenn?”

“Wrenn. Wrenn, Wrenn, Wrenn,” Zxixwell said. “Alright, this is what I know. And I’m telling you this is all I know, got me? You can try the slaps all over again, but you won’t get more than what I’m about to say.”

“Then say it,” Roak snapped.

“Mr. Wrenn was forced upon my predecessor,” Zxixwell began. “Not like he was forced upon me. No. More like someone with a lot of power and influence made it very clear to Ha’taka that he work with Mr. Wrenn or Tanji Corporation was done.”

“GF influence?” Roak asked.

“Maybe,” Zxixwell said and shrugged. “The Galactic Fleet is one reason I didn’t sever ties with Wrenn. The project had a GF contact ID in there, as well as several corporate IDs and some syndicates too. I’m not lying when I say the threads were expensive and extensive.”

“Were,” Roak said, catching the word. “Not anymore?”

Zxixwell grinned. “Alright, alright, I know Wrenn is dead. I received the comm as soon as the remainder of that asteroid in the Sabulos System was destroyed. Did you do that?”

“Maybe,” Roak replied. “Who commed you?”

“What?”

“Who commed you that the asteroid was destroyed? Who told you that Wrenn was dead?” Roak asked.

“Um, I don’t know her name,” Zxixwell said and waved Roak off before he could push her. “Some assistant. Nothing nefarious. It was her job to tell me. It was no different than any other business comm call. She was relaying information. She could have commed me to say our stock price had plummeted and it would be exactly the same.”

“Except it wasn’t the same,” Roak said. “A crime boss, that should have been dead to begin with, and his operation was destroyed. You were commed because it was wrapped up in Tanji business. Who did you comm when you got the news?”

Zxixwell’s face went blank.

“Back to the slaps?” Roak asked.

Zxixwell’s face remained impassive.

“I also have some bots that do good work,” Roak said. “They mainly are used to clean up the messes I make.”

“So true,” Hessa said.

“But they can be tweaked to consider you a mess,” Roak continued, ignoring Hessa’s jab. “Who did you comm, Zxixwell? When you found out that Wrenn was dead, you commed someone. Don’t deny it. This business doesn’t stop with you. Tanji is only a part of the whole. So, who did you comm?”

Zxixwell didn’t reply. A bit of drool began to dribble from the corner of her mouth.

“Zxixwell?” Roak asked. “Hessa!”

“I’m scanning now,” Hessa replied. “Physically, she is healthy. All vitals are in the green and I am not seeing any signs of distress.”

“She’s gone catatonic and is drooling, Hessa,” Roak snapped. “I call that some fucking distress.”

“Be patient, Roak,” Hessa snapped back. “The galaxy doesn’t always move as fast as you want it to.”

Cautiously, in case it was a trick, Roak crouched before Zxixwell. He snapped his fingers in front of her eyes and they did not blink. He put his fingers to her throat and felt her pulse. Then he slapped her hard. No reaction other than her head turning to the side and staying in that position.

“Her brain waves are flatlining,” Hessa said. “It’s like mental switches are being turned off one by one. I’m watching her go brain dead as I speak, Roak.”

“Shit,” Roak said and scooped Zxixwell up in his arms.

The brig doors slid open and Roak rushed out into the corridor and threw Zxixwell over his shoulder as he ran as fast as he could to the lift.

“I have a med pod ready,” Hessa stated as Roak rode the lift up to the med bay level.

He barely cleared the doors as they slid open. Roak sprinted to the med bay and threw Zxixwell into the first open med pod. The lid closed quickly and filled with red mist.

“I am going to try to put her in stasis,” Hessa said. “That should stop the progression of mental decay. Once I know she is stabilized then I will attempt to rebuild what is left of her brain.”

“Hurry,” Roak said.

“I will move at the appropriate speed for the task at hand, Roak,” Hessa said.

“Hessa…”

“Roak…”

“Just get her talking again,” Roak said.

“I will try,” Hessa said. “In the meantime, go rest. Get cleaned up and get some sleep.”

“Where’s Yellow Eyes?” Roak asked.

“He is eating in the mess,” Hessa replied. “I have told him to rest as well, but he is not one that rests easy.”

“Join the damn club,” Roak said. He stared at the red mist that occluded Zxixwell’s body in the med pod. “Can you jack into her?”

“One task at a time, Roak,” Hessa said in the voice that told him he was done asking her to do things. “Go rest.”

Roak looked down at the torn and plasma-scorched suit he wore. There was blood splatter all over it. Some of the blood was his, some was Gwreq.

“I’m going to clean up and rest,” Roak said like it was his idea.

“I’ll wake you if her situation changes, Roak,” Hessa said.

“Good.”

Roak left the med bay and made his way to his quarters. After a short steam and a couple of shots of whiskey, he crawled into his bed and tried to rest.

21.

Roak’s sleep was far from restful.

Dreams assaulted his psyche and kept him from ever going too deep. His conscious mind hovered within the dreams, semi-aware that nothing was real yet fully aware that there was significance in the dreams themselves.

Or not. Dreams had a way of meaning nothing while also meaning everything.

Roak suffered through the psychological labyrinth that was his subconscious. All the barely veiled symbols and double meanings. All the past memories and future guesses. All the buried pain and repressed episodes in Roak’s life.

“Hello, Roak,” Bishop said as he sat on the ledge of an impossibly tall building.

The building reminded Roak of Shava Stemn Shava’s headquarters back on Jafla. Roak wondered if the building was still there and occupied by someone new after Roak had killed Shava Stemn Shava. Or did the Jafla authorities raze it to get rid of the symbol of corruption that it had stood for.

“Different building,” Bishop said, reading Roak’s mind since Bishop was a part of Roak’s mind.

Except it wasn’t Bishop. It was Roak that Roak was speaking to. But still Bishop. Dream logic.

“Where are you?” Roak demanded.

“You know,” Bishop replied. “You know exactly where I am. I haven’t been hiding.”

“That’s exactly what you’ve been doing,” Roak said. “Or I would have found you by now.”

“You should have found me by now,” Bishop said. “I’m pretty easy to find.”

“Why betray me, Bishop? What’d I do to deserve that?”

“Do you want a list? I can make you a list.”

“I’ve always been straight with you.”

“But you’ve never been straight with yourself.”

“Knock off the psychobabble shit, Bishop! I know you are a figment of my dream. I know you aren’t real. But here you fucking are, so I’m going to talk to you like it’s you and not a piece of me.”

“Gonna mine your own mind, is that it?” Bishop laughed. “Do you even hear yourself, Roak? Even in your dreams, even in your very own mind, you hunt. You are, right this second, interrogating yourself for intel. That is messed up, man.”

Bishop became Yellow Eyes.

“So messed up, man,” Yellow Eyes said.

“What do you have to do with all this?” Roak asked.

“Unlucky passenger on the Roak train wreck, man. I got all swept up in your net of violent chaos and couldn’t get free in time. Like that Zxixwell woman. She doesn’t know anything, man. You can feel that she doesn’t know anything. But now she’s in a damn med pod because her brain is on the fritz.”

“I didn’t do that,” Roak replied.

“Technically, no,” Yellow Eyes said. “But you triggered it. That woman was so bio-teched out that even she didn’t know she had a protocol in place that would wipe her clean if she got too close to sharing information she wasn’t supposed to share.”

“Triggered,” Roak said. “Yeah. I triggered the mind wipe.”

Roak nodded for a few seconds then started shaking his head.

“Knowing that doesn’t help me at all,” he said. “It only confirms that she is part of something larger than just the Tanji Corporation.”

“Duh, man! Ya think?” Yellow Eyes laughed then became Bishop again.

“You should drop all this and disappear, Roak,” Bishop said. “It’s a trap. You know it’s a trap. I know it’s a trap. Hessa knows it’s a trap. Even that yellow freak knows it’s a trap. The only thing at the end of this hunt is you in a cell, you in a specimen jar, or you in a grave.”

“Specimen jar?” Roak asked. “Why in all the Hells would I end up in a specimen jar?”

“Because you’re as much of a genetic freak as the yellow guy is!” Bishop snapped. “Shit, buddy, pay attention! You have the CEO of one of the largest biotech companies in the galaxy in a med pod on your ship! You think that’s coincidence? It’s not. I’m telling you, Roak, go and hide somewhere no one will find you. Ever. Hide and stay hidden.”

“I’ve never been one to lay low, Bishop,” Roak said.

Bishop sighed. “No shit. Look at where that’s gotten you?”

“You stole my chits. I want my chits back.”

“And Ally?” Bishop asked. “What about her? Do you want her back? Why aren’t you looking for her?”

“I will after this business with you is done.”

“Oh, will you? Is that the lie you’re telling yourself? You and I, since I am you, both know that Ally is better off without you in her life. Wherever she disappeared to, she is way safer than if you track her down. You know that. So, when you do find me, the Bishop me, you’ll do what you do then you’ll go back to being Roak the galactic bounty hunter that only gets hired because all the smart hunters decided the job was too crazypants to take. You’ll go back to your sad, pathetic life, alone on your ship talking to an AI that barely tolerates you.”

“Hessa and I get along fine.”

“But she’s not real! Or not flesh and blood real. You’re sad, Roak. You’re an empty shell of a being. You carved out whatever humanity you had in that genetic cocktail of yours years ago and now you’re playing at being a person. Give it up, Roak. Find a cave or a hole or rock to hide under on some distant planet and stay there. You’d be not only doing yourself a favor, you’d be doing the galaxy a favor.”

“After I find you and get my chits back. No one steals chits from me, Bishop.”

“Yet, I did steal chits from you and the odds of you getting even a fraction of that fortune back are pretty fucking slim.”

“I’ll get them back.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bishop hung his head and sighed.

“I’m so tired, Roak. This life we lead is exhausting. Maybe ending up in a lab to be tested forever isn’t such a bad thing. The hunt would finally be over.”

“No labs,” Roak snarled.

“Roak?”

“I said no labs!” Roak yelled, but Bishop was gone.

The building was gone. Everything was gone.

“Roak?”

“What?” Roak yelled as he found himself suddenly awake and coated in a thin sheen of sweat. “What, Hessa?”

“She’s awake,” Hessa said with considerable hesitation.

“But…?”

“But I don’t think it’s her,” Hessa said. “You should get to the med bay now.”

Roak got up, threw on some clothes, and hurried from his quarters. He raced down to the med bay and found Yellow Eyes standing just outside, all of his hands tied in knots. Then they untied and retied.

“Stop that,” Roak said as he pushed past the being and walked to Zxixwell’s med pod.

The red mist was gone and Zxixwell was staring up at Roak. With bright red eyes. Not silver and not gray, but bright red.

“Who in the Hells are you?” Roak asked, not even bothering to pretend he was addressing Zxixwell.

“I am what is left,” Zxixwell said in a flat voice.

“Great. You got a name, what is left?” Roak asked. He snapped his fingers. “Grab me that stool, will you?”

“What? Me?” Yellow Eyes asked from the med bay’s doorway.

“Yes, you,” Roak said. “Over there. Grab me that stool.”

“No, don’t think I will, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “Gonna stay out of its line of sight.”

“You’re gonna do what?” Roak glanced over his shoulder, but Yellow Eyes was gone. “Hessa? What was that about?”

“It appears there is a trans-space signal emanating from within Ms. Zxixwell’s body,” Hessa said. “I am trying to jam it, but the signal will not be stopped.”

“We’re being tracked?” Roak asked.

“We may be. I cannot tell,” Hessa said, distressed.

“Keep trying,” Roak said and opened the med pod, his muscles tense and ready for a fight.

But Zxixwell didn’t fight. She nodded and those red eyes stayed locked onto Roak’s face.

“I know what must happen,” she said. She raised her arms. “You must jettison this body.”

“I do if all that’s left of you is a big, squishy tracking device,” Roak said.

He pulled her out of the med pod and threw her over his shoulder once again. Then he left the med bay and walked to the lift, entering the code for the cargo hold.

“Any ships on our tail, Hessa?” Roak asked.

“Nothing on the scanners,” Hessa said. “But we’re in trans-space, so they could be waiting for us at the next wormhole portal or the one after that if they can figure out our destination.”

The lift doors opened and Roak walked out to the cargo hold.

“What is our destination, Hessa?” Roak asked. “Where are you taking us?”

“We are going to regroup,” Hessa said.

“That doesn’t tell me shit, Hessa.”

“I’d rather not say where we’re going while she is still onboard.”

“So, you’re cool with me tossing her off the ship as soon as we’re out of trans-space?” Roak asked.

“I see only threats with her aboard,” Hessa admitted. “I do not believe she deserves to be murdered, but from all the scans and tests I did, she died back in the brig. We did not kill her, Roak. Whoever hacked her body has killed her.”

“Fair enough,” Roak said then set Zxixwell down in the middle of the cargo hold’s floor.

“You may ask me three questions, Roak, but they must be the right questions or you will not receive answers,” Zxixwell said.

“Where’s Bishop?” Roak asked.

“Stefbon,” Zxixwell replied. “A good question to ask.”

“Stefbon? In the Gorf System? What’s he doing there?”

“Wrong question,” Zxixwell replied. “One more question. I did not count your clarifiers since that would not be fair and I like to be fair, Roak. I have always liked to be fair.”

A chill ran down Roak’s spine. That phrase was one he was familiar with. He’d heard it so many times just before the complete and total opposite of fair was handed down to him.

“No,” Roak said. “Not you. You’re dead. I made sure of that.”

“You did, you did,” Zxixwell said. “But what is death, Roak? What is mortality to beings like us?”

“How are you in her?” Roak asked.

“Another good question,” Zxixwell said. Her face scrunched up into what should have been a smile, but only if nightmares smiled. “Because I want to be.”

“That’s a crap answer and you know it!” Roak shouted.

He almost punched Zxixwell in the face, but restrained himself since he knew it would accomplish nothing.

“It is the answer you get,” Zxixwell said. “No more questions, Roak.”

“Good.”

22.

As soon as the ship dropped out of trans-space, Roak opened the cargo ramp and let the expulsion of atmosphere carry Zxixwell’s body out into open space while he stayed strapped to the cargo hold wall. It quickly became hard to breathe.

“I’ll shut that now, if you don’t mind,” Hessa said, closing the cargo ramp. As soon as it was sealed, the cargo hold filled with air once again. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Roak said, his voice a dull echo in his ears.

“Roak?” Yellow Eyes asked from a catwalk above the cargo hold. “You good, man? You don’t seem good.”

“I’m fine,” Roak said, undoing the straps and walking towards the lift. “How much did you hear?”

“I heard it all,” Yellow Eyes replied. “I thought the cargo hold would be a safe space. It was not a safe space because then you showed up with that hijacked body thing and it all got really weird. Your life is weird, man.”

“Yeah. It is,” Roak said as he punched buttons, waited for the lift doors to open, stepped onto the lift once they did open, and didn’t even twitch as Yellow Eyes appeared next to him. “Where do you want us to drop you off?”

“What? Drop me off?” Yellow Eyes asked. He put a nub to Roak’s forehead. “No fever.”

“Knock it off,” Roak said and slapped the nub away. “I’m not kidding. No need for you to be here with me. Best if we drop you somewhere and you can go live your life in the free and clear.”

“You left that sample back at the villa,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Yeah,” Roak replied as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry.”

“Someone will find that sample and start looking for me,” Yellow Eyes said.

“I know. I said sorry.”

“I accept the apology, man, but it doesn’t change shit. I’m about to be hunted by biotech firms across the galaxy. They are gonna want a piece of ol’ Yellow Eyes.”

“Especially WAG Corp,” Roak said.

“What? Why especially that corporation? What’s a WAG Corp?”

“The company that made you. Your molecules are stamped all over with their code.”

“They are? That’s not good,” Yellow Eyes said then rolled his eyes up into the back of his head. “Hey. What do you know? You’re right. I got stamps from here to forever.”

“You can see your own molecules?” Hessa asked over the loudspeaker.

The lift stopped and Roak got off. He walked to the bridge then sat down in the pilot’s seat.

“I can see my molecules,” Yellow Eyes said to Hessa, following Roak onto the bridge. He sat down in his usual seat and kicked all legs up onto the console. “But only because they are my molecules. I can’t see Roak’s or anything. Not that I’d want to. No offense, Roak, but, man, you must have some messed-up molecules.”

“I’m sure I do,” Roak replied.

“I’m gonna disagree with you, Roak. I don’t think WAG Corp is going to be looking for me,” Yellow Eyes said. “They tossed me out like trash. I doubt they want me back.”

“You got tossed because they didn’t think they had anything,” Roak said. “Once they get ahold of that sample then they’ll start tracing your movements through the galaxy. Despite being different as all the Hells, you did leave traces. Somewhere is evidence of what you are and then they’ll know what they threw away. Then it becomes a race to get you back before another corporation claims you as salvage.”

“Maybe that Salvage Merc Corps I’ve heard about will be hired to find me,” Yellow Eyes said, strangely excited. “And I’ll lead them on a chase across the galaxy and when they catch up to me they’ll realize I’m a living being with rights and desires and they’ll let me go and we’ll all live happily ever after.”

Roak stared at Yellow Eyes, blinking. “…what?”

“He may have been watching melodramas on the holo vid,” Hessa said. “While we waited for you on Ballyway. I didn’t think it would do any harm.”

“What do you think now?” Roak asked.

“I know it’s not real,” Yellow Eyes said. “I was playing around, man. Just something fun for a change instead of all this stress and fear.”

“You were pretty stressed back in the med bay,” Roak said.

“I wasn’t technically in the med bay,” Yellow Eyes said. “I was standing outside it.”

“Where was the fun then?”

“No fun when there are red eyes around, man. Red eyes are bad mojo and I ain’t in for bad mojo right now. Not red eyes bad mojo. No, sir.”

“Because…?”

“What do you mean?”

“What’s the deal with red eyes?”

“Oh… Uh… I don’t know, to be honest. Just something inside me says red eyes are bad. Stay away from red eyes.”

“Yeah,” Roak said and flashed back to what Zxixwell had said in the cargo hold. “Yeah. Red eyes are bad.”

Roak studied the view shield then sat up straight and frowned. “This isn’t the Gorf System, Hessa.”

“No, it is not,” Hessa said.

“What system is this?” Roak asked.

“SoCal,” Hessa said.

“SoCal? Where are we going? Chafa? Why are you taking us to the impound planet?” Roak asked. “We need to be going to the Gorf System and Stefbon. That’s where Bishop is.”

“That’s where something inhabiting Ms. Zxixwell’s body said Bishop is,” Hessa countered. “That does not mean that is where Bishop actually is. I’d find it highly strange that Bishop would be in the same system as the planet Ligston. Makes no sense to steal our chits from Ligston and stay in the same system.”

“It makes perfect sense,” Roak said. “At no point did I think he’d stay in that system. It was a good play.”

“If he’s there.”

“He’s there,” Roak said. “Now, why the Hells are we going to Chafa?”

“I already told you,” Hessa said. “To regroup.”

“On Chafa? I don’t have contacts on Chafa.”

“Only one of the reasons to go there. The main reason is because we can set down in stealth mode and no one, even if they are looking for a cloaked ship, will find us amongst all that junk. There are thousands and thousands of working vehicles locked up on Chafa, waiting for their owners to pay the fines and get them out of impound. But there are millions of junked vehicles that are sitting there to be salvaged and parted out. I’ll land us in one of the yards and we’ll be hiding in plain sight.”

“With stealth mode activated, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Because hiding in plain sight sounds fine and all, but stealth mode sounds way better, man.”

“Yes, we’ll be in stealth mode,” Hessa harrumphed. “I already said that.”

“How long are we going to regroup?” Roak asked. “Care to tell me the timeline you’ve worked out for me, Hessa? Want to tell me how I should do my job?”

“Why not? You tell me how to do my job all the time,” Hessa said. “Oh, and you don’t have a job, Roak. This Bishop hunt is not a paying gig.”

“It is when I get my chits back,” Roak said.

“That’s called breaking even, not getting paid,” Hessa countered. “A job is when someone hires us to hunt a being and then we get paid when we deliver that being. You remember that kind of job?”

“We did some of those to get funds for this hunt,” Roak said. “Think of it as me hiring me. I’m paying for the hunt out of my own pocket.”

“That’s stupid,” Hessa said. “You’re stupid. I’m really tired of stupid Roak. Let me know when smart Roak returns, will ya?”

“Maybe smart Roak left because he was tired of you nagging his ass all the time!” Roak snapped.

“I don’t think that came out the way you wanted it to,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Shut up!” Roak and Hessa yelled.

“Alright, you two need therapy,” Yellow Eyes said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Major therapy. I’m talking elder gods’ strength therapy. Find yourself one of those mega beings and get slapped upside the head with some universal wisdom that transcends time or space. That kind of therapy.”

Neither Roak nor Hessa responded.

Roak remained quiet until they were on approach to Chafa.

“No contacts here, no contacts left to comm,” Roak said as they entered the planet’s atmosphere. “How will regrouping help us, Hessa?”

“It won’t harm us, I know that,” Hessa said. “You’re a gump running on a wheel, Roak. I’m getting you, and us, off that wheel. We assess, reassess, re-reassess, then make a solid plan of attack.”

“To go after Bishop,” Roak said.

“If that’s what we decide, then that is what we decide,” Hessa said. “But we do not decide a damn thing until we have gone over everything we’ve learned so far. That is what the regrouping is for.”

“Regrouping isn’t how I operate, Hessa. You’re messing with the natural order of business.”

“Oh, shut up, Roak. Let me concentrate on where to put us down.”

“You don’t have a location already picked out? Sounds like a risky move, Hessa. Maybe you should take us somewhere else and we can regroup before we decide to come here and regroup.”

“Yeah. Therapy,” Yellow Eyes said as the ship broke through a cloud bank and the planet’s surface was revealed. “Oh. Wow. That is some ugly stuff there, man. Look at the place. It’s like a kid’s room after a sleepover. Shit everywhere.”

Yellow Eyes cleared his throat.

“Hey, what’s a sleepover?” he asked. “I say the word, I know I know the word, but when I think about the word, I have no idea what it actually means.”

“A sleepover is traditionally when a child invites other children to stay over at his or her place of residence,” Hessa said. “They eat fun food and play. Many times sleepovers include watching of holo vids and the telling of gossip to each other.”

“Fun,” Yellow Eyes said. “I don’t think I’ve ever been on a sleepover. Have you, Roak? You ever been on a sleepover?”

“Are you really asking me that question?” Roak replied.

“Yeah. Have you?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“I didn’t have a childhood,” Roak responded.

“Man, that’s crap. Everyone had a childhood,” Yellow Eyes said. “Except me because I was grown in a vat apparently.”

“You woke up in a vat and were dumped into space,” Roak said. “You don’t know you were grown in a vat.”

“My molecules have corporate stamps on them, man. Pretty damn sure I was grown in a vat.”

“Well, maybe when this is all done you can go have yourself a sleepover and make up for lost time,” Roak said.

“You wanna come?”

“No.”

“Didn’t think so. You would probably bring the mood down anyway.”

“You are so right on that,” Hessa said.

Roak growled low and stared at the view shield as Hessa landed the ship in the middle of a clear patch surrounded by mountainous piles of junk.

23.

Chafa was so polluted that even though the atmosphere was technically breathable, it was advised that all beings use a rebreather, if their anatomies called for it, in order to avoid poisoning by the toxic fumes that wafted up and around the vast swathes of junk and trash that had been dumped on the planet’s surface.

Dressed in his light armor again, Roak affixed his rebreather as he walked down the cargo ramp and out into the humid, smog-filled air. He walked amongst the gigantic piles of broken ships and junk, his mind going over his interaction with the red-eyed Zxixwell.

“You’re going to have to talk to me at some point, Roak,” Hessa said. “Now would be a good time. Yellow Eyes refuses to leave the ship. He thinks the air will corrode his skin and melt him to mush on the spot. Since he seems indestructible, I find that highly unlikely, but it keeps him from eavesdropping on us, so I let him believe it.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Roak said.

“Oh, alright, never mind,” Hessa said and began to hum. And hum. And hum.

“Really?” Roak asked.

“Huh? What?”

“The humming? Really?”

“Was I humming? I don’t think I was humming.”

Hessa continued humming.

“You know I can’t shut you off. You know I know I can’t shut you off. So, Hessa, what’s going to shut you off?”

“I stop humming when you start talking.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

Hessa sighed.

“What you want is irrelevant, Roak. Whatever that was that channeled through Ms. Zxixwell, it disturbed you. If you are disturbed, then that means there is danger. If there is danger, then that means my existence is threatened. I do not like my existence threatened, Roak. I have come to enjoy my existence, Roak. Roak, should I be worried about my existence?”

“Probably,” Roak replied as he moved into the shade provided by the husk of an old Grabal personnel carrier. Looked to Roak like a model 15 or 16, and was more holes than hull, but there was enough to keep the daylight from overheating him. “Yeah. You should be worried.”

Then Roak added, “Maybe.”

“Oh, good, that cleared everything up,” Hessa said. “Glad we had this talk. Enlightening as always.”

“There are parts of my past that I do not think about,” Roak said. “The force behind that red-eyed thing is one of those parts.”

“A dangerous part,” Hessa stated.

Roak hesitated then nodded and said, “Yeah. A dangerous part.”

“But a part that should be in the past?” Hessa asked. “See how I used the word should, but what I’m really getting at is that the part is no longer in the past, but right here in the present and is probably, maybe a threat that we should be worried about.”

“No need to spit my own words back at me, Hessa. I know what I said.”

“Except, as always, you haven’t said much of anything.”

“Where I come from, that thing ruled like a god. Like all gods, the thing saw me and my siblings, for lack of a better word, as playthings it could manipulate to do its bidding. Or manipulate for simple entertainment.”

“Violent entertainment?”

“Do gods enjoy any other kind?”

“There are no gods, Roak. If galactic civilization has discovered any truths over the millennia of existence, it’s that one society’s gods are another society’s bums that have been kicked off-planet and found a new one to be bums on.”

“This one’s not a bum. I say god only as a way for you to understand how I perceive its power.”

“If it’s that powerful, then it must be a threat to the GF,” Hessa said. “The Galactic Fleet will surely do something about it.”

“No, Hessa, the Galactic Fleet will do nothing against it. Haven’t you been paying attention? Where do you think this trail leads?”

“Hopefully to Bishop since that is your obsession of the moment.”

“Yeah, we’ll find Bishop, but we’re going to find more. We’ll find the Galactic Fleet then we’ll find my past.”

“Only if we search beyond Bishop, Roak. The plan is to stop at Bishop.”

“The plan is to find Bishop, make him pay for his betrayal, and get my chits back. I’m not one hundred percent sure that they are together.”

“Why do you have to complicate everything?” Hessa sighed.

“Me? I keep it simple. I hunt, I find, I sometimes kill, but would rather not, then I get paid after I deliver what I have hunted and found, again, sometimes killing since so many damn idiots don’t like to pay me.”

“It is a flaw in the business model. Payment up front would help avoid that.”

“No one pays upfront anymore, Hessa. The War is over and the galactic races aren’t as desperate as they used to be.”

“They must be to hire you.”

“Funny.”

“Roak, what are we dealing with here? Be straight. Are we going to survive this?”

“You will,” Roak replied after a few moments of thought. “I probably will. That’s about all I got right now.”

Roak stepped away from the shade and peered up into the sky. He started to look away then peered up again.

“Hessa? What’s that shimmer?” he asked.

“What shimmer?” Hessa replied. “I am not detecting anything on the scanners.”

“Screw the scanners. Use a cam for visual confirmation.”

“Please hold.”

“You have to be kidding me…”

Roak waited as he squinted against the day’s glare. There was for sure a shimmer in the sky. It went as far as he could see.

“Sorry, Roak, I’m not seeing anything,” Hessa said after several minutes. “I tried all cams the ship is equipped with. I even pinged some deep scans off a cloud bank a kilometer away and still didn’t get a reading other than the incredible amount of deadly particulates that the atmosphere holds. I’m surprised the air doesn’t collapse under its own weight.”

“Give it time,” Roak said. “And check everything again. I see a shimmer in the sky.”

“Describe the shimmer. That might help me perform a more accurate search.”

“Describe it? It’s a shimmer. The air is shimmering.”

“Is there a color?”

“Is shimmer a color? Because it’s fucking shimmering!”

“Huge help you are,” Hessa said. “I’ll check again.”

Roak waited. He moved back to the shade and closed his eyes. He wanted to take a deep breath, but doing so with a rebreather on tended to thrash his throat. So he simply breathed nice and easy.

“Hey,” a voice said from Roak’s right.

Roak had the Flott five-six out of its holster and aimed at the owner of the voice before he had his eyes open.

“Whoa there, pally boy!” a man exclaimed. “No need to get hostile. I was only coming by to see if you were stranded or needed any help. You can put away the blaster whenever you feel like. I don’t mind.”

Roak glanced at the man and frowned. “I know you.”

The man was fleshy, but not fat. He moved like the muscles under his fat were able to lift any of the rusting parts that were piled sky high in the yard. Blue skin with wide green eyes, the man scratched at the top of his bald head before he nodded.

“Yeah. You. I remember you. Had your old ship here a long while ago. You were gonna get it from that hired gun guy. What was his name?” the impound man asked.

“N’jeak H’gool,” Roak said. “He wasn’t a killer so much as he was just really mean. Merc pilot was his profession.”

“He wanted to kill you. I remember that,” the impound man said and laughed. “What ya doing back here?”

Then the man whistled.

“That your Borgon? Wow. You looking to sell that Eight-Three-Eight? I’ll give you top credit for it.”

“What Borgon?” Roak asked, looking where the impound man was looking. “Not sure what you’re talking about.”

“That Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship you’re trying to hide in stealth mode,” the impound man said. He tapped at his temples with chubby fingers. “Specially calibrated implants. I had to have them put in when I lost a KLO bi-wing fighter one time. You know those have stealth tech too? Well, pally boy, they do. The thing glitched and it took me six months to track it down in all this mess.”

Roak hesitated then shrugged.

“Not for sale. And I doubt you’d give me top credit for it if it was,” he replied.

“Guy’s gotta make a profit,” the impound man said and shrugged too. “So, you don’t need anything? No parts or service to the ship?”

“No. Stopped to rest a while,” Roak said. “Been flying a lot and needed to put my boots on some solid ground for a change.”

“So you chose Chafa?” The impound man laughed hard. “If that’s the story you want to tell, you should work on it a bit, pally boy.”

“It is what it is,” Roak said. “Sorry to have bothered you. We’ll be leaving soon.”

“We?” the impound man asked.

“I mean me and my ship,” Roak said.

“Huh,” the impound man replied. “You and your ship…”

“There a problem?”

“Nope. No problem. Just need to know how you’re gonna pay, is all.”

The impound man smiled at Roak like a Gorborian shark. Nothing but teeth. And the teeth were not in the greatest shape.

“Pay?” Roak asked. “I said I didn’t need any parts. Just stopped to—”

“Feel some solid ground under your boots. Yeah. I heard ya,” the impound man interrupted. “The thing is, pally boy, that this is my ground. For as far as you can see and beyond, this is my ground. And once you’re on my ground, then I own you. Not like a slaver, but like the owner of an impound lot. Which is where you landed. By Galactic Fleet authority, you can’t leave until you pay the impound fee.”

Roak gripped the Flott a little tighter. The impound man’s smile widened.

“Wouldn’t get too confident,” he said to Roak as he hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “I ain’t alone, pally boy.”

“I’m sure you’re not,” Roak replied. “Your friends faster than a Flott five-six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread? Because few beings are. I fire, you die. Maybe some of your friends die if this Flott has already locked onto their positions. It’s a damn fine Flott, so I’m guessing it has.”

“Yeah, well, see now, somehow we’ve gotten ourselves into a bit of a misunderstanding,” the impound man said, patting his belly. “You seem to be under the impression I’m an idiot and don’t know how to do my job. Why don’t I dispel that impression of yours by stating that I am, in fact, not an idiot, and I do know how to do my job.”

“Good for you and your mastery of your chosen profession,” Roak said. “I also am not an idiot and I also know how to do my job. I’m very good at doing my job.”

“Does that job include killing?”

“At times, it does.”

“Not very original. Plenty of killers come around here. Been dealing with them since I was knee-high to a terpig.” The impound man laughed again. “That’s why I make sure to stream a holo to the local Galactic Fleet outpost each and every time I interact with someone that has stepped foot on my land. Don’t matter none if they are here to deliver a package or here to steal a ship, the GF outpost gets a full holo of the entire interaction. Just like they are getting now. You and your ship are on watch, pally boy.”

“Stop calling me pally boy,” Roak snarled. “It’s pissing me off.”

“Uh oh, wouldn’t want that,” the impound man said. “So, back to payment, how would you like to pay? I give a discount for using chits. But I take credits as well as servitude debts. Short on money and you can work off what you owe me. Once we’re square, I let you and your ship fly right out of here.”

“Sorry, Roak,” Hessa said over the comm. Roak didn’t respond.

“There someone you need to talk it over with in your ship?” the impound man asked.

“I told you I’m alone,” Roak said. “How much we talking with the chit discount?”

“Two point five,” the impound man said. “A person that owns a beauty of a ship like that is a person that can certainly pay two point five.”

“Two point five what?” Roak asked. “Thousand? That’s fair. I’ll be right back.”

“Whoa ho ho, pally boy!” the impound man exclaimed. “Thousand? No, no, no. Now we’re back to misunderstanding each other.” The impound man jabbed a fat finger towards Roak’s ship. “That is one fine Borgon. I know exactly what they cost. Especially with stealth tech included. So, when I say two point five, I’m talking millions, pally boy.”

“I told you not to call me pally boy,” Roak said. “And I don’t have two point five million chits. I’m not that fortunate right now.”

“Well, how about we make it an even three in credits then?” The impound man swiped at his left wrist and brought up a holo interface. “Swipe me your bank info and we can handle the transfer right here, right now, so you can be on your way since you’ve had your boots on the ground and there’s no need for you to stick around even a second longer.”

“Don’t have three million credits either.”

“Come on, pally boy, you gotta work with me here. How much do you have?”

“What’s zero multiplied by zero?” Roak asked.

“That’d be zero. And I hope, for your sake, that is a joke and not an actual figure.”

“It’s the figure I plan on paying,” Roak said as he started walking towards the ship. He couldn’t see it, but he knew where it had landed. “And so you know, I lied. I’m not alone either and the plasma cannons on my ship are aimed right at you.” Roak holstered the Flott. “Wouldn’t want there to be a misunderstanding between us.”

“Yeah, well, I’m afraid there is,” the impound man and snapped his fingers.

Two laser bolts melted sand at Roak’s feet, turning small clumps of ground in to glinting glass. Roak stared down at the newly formed glass hunks then looked back up at the impound man.

“Hessa. Time for us to go,” Roak said. “How about you give our—?”

“Can’t,” Hessa replied. “Weapons systems are offline. There’s an override protocol on them that I can’t get through. It’s blanketing the entire ship’s system, but only affecting… Nope, it’s got the engines too.”

Roak glanced up at the shimmer and the impound man started laughing again.

“Little voice in your ear telling you that ship of yours is grounded?” the impound man asked. “Telling you your weapons are on lockdown and basically you have a giant hunk of metal there that’s good for eating and sleeping in, but not much else?”

“Something like that,” Roak responded.

“Now, how about you follow me to my roller around the corner here and we go back to my nice environmentally conditioned office to discuss your options? Sound good.”

“Can’t say that it does,” Roak replied. “Hessa? Any reason I’m not seeing a yellow blur helping me out?”

“I’ve been trying to figure that one out,” Hessa said. “He’s hiding in a cleaning closet right now and refuses to come out.”

“Hessa? That sounds like a sexy name. She your girl on that ship?” the impound man asked. “If you’d rather I negotiate with her, then I am all for it.”

“Hessa is a sentient AI that doesn’t like fat terpigs like you,” Roak said.

“Not making the situation better, Roak,” Hessa said.

“But feel free to go aboard,” Roak continued. “I doubt she’ll cook you alive in the cargo hold or have one of the bots rip your dick off when you use a side hatch. Then again, maybe she will.”

The impound man frowned deeply and jabbed another fat finger towards the ship. “You got a sentient AI in that ship? Oh, pally boy, that is such a no-no that I think the GF will give me a reward for simply alerting them to that. No idea what your deal is, but if you have a Borgon and a sentient AI, then I have for sure hit the jackpot.”

“Didn’t you say something about going to your office to negotiate?” Roak asked.

“You got six million chits or eight million credits?” the impound man asked. “Because that’s the going price now.”

“Yes,” Roak stated.

The impound man blinked several times then smiled as wide as his face would allow.

“Alright then,” he said. “Follow me. We’ll get comfortable in my office, maybe have a drink or two, and wait for that bank transfer to be certified.”

“If that’s how I get to leave this shithole,” Roak said.

“No need to name call, pally boy.”

24.

Roak should have waited to use the term “shithole” for when he saw the impound man’s office.

“Nice,” Roak said as he reluctantly sat in a chair the man offered him.

The seat was soft, very soft, but Roak doubted it was from the cushion. The amount of mildew stink that wafted up when he sat told him his ass was probably being held up by a billion layers of mold.

“You got a name?” Roak asked.

“I do,” the impound man replied, but left it at that.

“Good for you,” Roak said as he looked about the office. It was as rundown as the roller they’d used to navigate the mountains of junk and the impounded ships. And rundown was being kind.

The impound man brought up a holo in the center of his rickety desk and swiped through several protocols before he found what he was looking for.

“There we go,” the impound man said. “Gigs!”

The door to the office opened immediately and a Ferg holding a gas-powered slug chunker in each hand looked in, eyes wide and expectant. Being a Ferg, which was like a cross between a beaver and a praying mantis, the guy was only a meter tall and not very muscular. But the bug eyes told Roak he was jacked-up on enough stim to kill an Urvein, so Roak waited quietly in the moldy chair instead of jumping at the thing and taking the slug chunkers from him then inserting them in orifices that were not designed for large weapons to fit.

That and there were at least a dozen other armed beings outside the office with hard-ons to hurt Roak as soon as they were given an excuse. Roak needed to square a few things away first before he stirred up that moron nest.

“Gigs? What’s the password for the Mcher account?” the impound man asked.

“Oh, oh, you remember,” the Ferg, Gigs, said. “The date of that day when you did the thing you did where we thought it was jelly but it wasn’t jelly.”

“Perfect. Thanks, Gigs,” the impound man said and dismissed the Ferg with a wave.

Roak watched as the impound man swiped some more then stabbed his wrist directly into the holo while he typed at a tablet that had popped up from the desk. More like wheezed up from the desk, it moved so slow.

“You ever thought of updating your operation?” Roak asked. “Looks like your tech could use an upgrade? If you’re extorting millions of credits from beings, then you have to be able to afford some new interfaces.” Roak adjusted his ass. “At least one or two new chairs.”

“Extort,” the impound man said under his breath. “There’s that word. Always with that word.”

The tablet bleeped and the impound man removed his wrist. He spun the holo around so Roak could see it. Then he slid the tablet across the desk so Roak could reach.

“Stuff your arm into here and type your password into the screen and we are good to go,” the impound man said.

“No wrist implant,” Roak said.

“Excuse me, what?” The impound man chuckled then saw the look on Roak’s face and the chuckle died away. “You ain’t joking.”

“No, I’m not,” Roak said. “I’ll have to do it manually.”

“See, this is where you having more implants would come in handy,” Hessa said over the comm. “But I’ll do what I can. Grab the tablet. Please tell me there’s a tablet?”

“Nice tablet,” Roak said as he picked the device up. He grimaced as he touched the surface. It was extremely sticky. “Easy to hold.”

“If he has a bank interface up, then you should see two symbols towards the top right that look like Bverns kissing,” Hessa said.

Roak spun the tablet around to show the impound man. “Do these two symbols look like Bverns kissing? Or do they look like a pair of Klavs arguing over a barrel of whiskey? I think they look like Klavs?”

The impound man gave Roak a look like he’d lost his mind. “Fill out the info so we can get this done, pally boy,” he said with ice in his voice.

“Sure,” Roak said and flipped the tablet back around to him.

“Two Klavs? Even better,” Hessa said. “That means this guy’s security protocols are woefully out of date.”

“Not surprised,” Roak said.

“What was that?” the impound man asked.

“Not surprised my info isn’t logging. Haven’t transferred credits in a while. Give me a second to remember the right answers to the security questions.”

“You get exactly one second,” the impound man said. “Make good use of that second.”

“Oh, I will,” Roak replied.

“Hit the Klavs and scroll to the setting that says either security or restraint or something like that,” Hessa said.

Roak did as he was instructed.

“Almost done,” Roak said. “My bank has very strong security.”

“Security. Good. Tap that then look for something that would control the force field that’s covering the yard,” Hessa said.

“Almost got it,” Roak replied then looked up at the impound man. “You ever use PIN numbers for your security? I had to stop doing that because I would forget mine all the time.”

“PIN number?” Hessa asked. “Roak, is there any reason to think this guy would use anything other than four zeroes?”

“I started using four zeroes,” Roak said and watched the impound man’s eyes widen. Roak entered the PIN immediately then handed the tablet back to the impound man after swiping back to the banking screen. “All done there.”

The impound man yanked the tablet away from Roak and started going over it, his eyes shifting back and forth as he studied the logs. “You little shit.”

Roak stood up and clapped his hands together. “It’s been fun, but my ride will be here soon.”

“Oh, that what you think?” the impound man roared as he jumped up from behind the desk, a slug chunker of his own gripped in his fat hands. “Here! Let me help you on your way!”

Roak dove towards the desk and rammed his shoulder into the front as the slug chunker barked over him. He heard the door to the office blast apart as the huge projectile ripped it to pieces. The impound man’s desk suffered the same fate as Roak’s body demolished the old, mildewed material it was made from.

Roak was suddenly under the desk, a desk that was wobbling precariously over him, and he made his move. Roak’s right fist slammed into the impound man’s groin. Then he grabbed the slug chunker as the impound man fell into his chair, the breath knocked out of him.

The impound man looked down at Roak and started to scream, but Roak took off most of the man’s head with a shot from the chunker.

“Boss!” someone yelled.

Roak shoved the dead man out of the way and popped up from behind the desk. He racked the slide and fired again, destroying the Ferg’s midsection as the being rushed through the doorway that no longer had a door.

As Ferg blood sprayed everywhere, Roak saw the rest of the impound man’s guys standing there, all staring and slack-jawed at what had just occurred.

Roak had no intention of fighting a dozen armed beings. He emptied the slug chunker as he rushed at the office’s external wall. Roak threw himself at the wall, and as he thought would happen, the material it was made of shredded from the impact like tissue paper. Roak was flying, falling, landing hard, rolling, then getting back to his feet and running before anyone even knew they were supposed to pursue him.

He was racing through the mountains of parts and pieces then slid to a halt.

“Dammit,” he swore as he turned to look back in the direction of the impound man’s office. “Dammit!”

“Roak? We’re inbound. ETA is two minutes,” Hessa called over the comm. “I have a scan locked onto you and I’ll… Roak? Roak! Are you going back towards the office and the dozen armed beings? Are you really doing that?”

“I left my Flott there,” Roak said. “No way I let these assholes keep my Flott.”

“Forget the Flott, Roak!”

“You think I’m going to do that?”

“No, of course not,” Hessa snapped. “You and that stupid Flott…” She sighed heavily. “Changing course. We’ll pick you up at the office. Try to stay alive.”

“I always do,” Roak replied as he snagged a two-meter-long metal rod from one of the piles as he ran. He tested its weight and smiled.

Roak reached the clearing where the office stood, but there was no one to be seen. No thugs, nothing.

“Hessa?” Roak called. “Scan my location.”

“Already scanning,” Hessa said. “You killed them fast.”

“I didn’t,” Roak said. “Yeah, I killed a couple of them, but not all of them. Where are they?”

“Cooling bodies inside the office,” Hessa said. “If you didn’t kill them…”

Roak slowed then stopped. He watched the office closely, hunting for signs of movement. Not even the nasty, stained drapes that hung across the grime-coated windows stirred.

“I’m going to forget the Flott,” Roak said, backing away from the office. “We’ll find another one at some point.”

“Good call, Roak,” Hessa said. “Almost to you.”

Roak turned around and swore.

“Hello,” Ms. Lika said as she held Roak’s Flott in one hand and a very sharp, curved blade in the other. Her body was coated in blood from the many races of the impound man’s thugs. “I found you. Again.”

“Shit,” Roak said then struck with the rod.

25.

Going on the offensive was the only thing that saved Roak’s life.

He hit Ms. Lika’s wrist, knocking the Flott to the ground. She laughed and went to pick the large pistol up, but Roak struck again and the rod hit her in the left shoulder, knocking her off balance. She landed on one knee and continued laughing.

“Not getting the joke,” Roak said as he went in for another hit.

But Ms. Lika was gone. The Flott was still there, but the woman that had dropped it wasn’t. Before Roak could spin around, he felt the sharp pains of a dozen pinpricks on the back of his neck. Literally.

“Shit,” he said as he fell to his knees, his spine turning into a loose rope of numbness. “Dammit.”

“Prick, prick, prick,” Ms. Lika said, her mouth almost touching Roak’s right ear. “Prick go my stickers.”

The curved blade appeared in front of his face and Roak stared at his own reflection then studied Ms. Lika’s as she remained next to him. Her tongue flicked out and licked his earlobe then she was gone, the curved blade withdrawn.

Roak tried to get his feet back under him, but nothing from the shoulders down would obey. He was only upright on his knees because he was still gripping the long metal pole and one end had embedded itself into the greasy dirt of the yard.

“Got my stickers, got my stickers, got my stickers,” Ms. Lika singsonged from various points behind Roak.

One second she was behind him and to the right, the next second she was behind him to the left. He caught a glimpse of her in front of him then blinked as she was in his peripheral vision on his right. A bright pink blur that moved about him with ease, taunting the entire time.

“Stickers go stick,” she said and Roak cried out as a needle pierced his right eye.

“Stop that,” Roak grunted. He wanted to blink, every instinct said to blink, but he knew that would be bad news if he did. “Not a fan of the stickers, lady.”

“Stickers lady!” Ms. Lika cried from on top of one of the smaller piles of parts that surrounded the office clearing.

Roak saw a flash then realized what was about to happen. It took every ounce of his willpower to shift his balance enough that he toppled to the side just before the curved blade struck the air where he’d been. He heard the thunk behind him, but he couldn’t turn to look. He was paralyzed, lying on his left side, a needle in his right eye.

Then the rod, which had stayed stuck in the dirt, fell over and struck him in the temple. The world spun and Roak was dangerously close to throwing up. Dangerous because he wasn’t sure his head was tilted enough for him not to choke on his own vomit if he did puke.

“Roak? I see what’s happening,” Hessa said. “I’m trying to get a target lock on that woman, but she moves too quickly.”

“Try…harder,” Roak managed to say.

“Oh, alright. Didn’t think of that,” Hessa snapped.

More pain. The top of his head felt like he had fire crawling around inside his skull.

“Stickers!” Ms. Lika shrieked in Roak’s ear.

“Yay…” Roak grunted.

Then the pain disappeared and Roak could feel the rest of his body. Ms. Lika shrieked.

Roak barely noticed the yellow blur that had joined the pink blur. He would have missed the image if the needle in his eye hadn’t been plucked out by a yellow nub.

Ms. Lika shrieked again.

“Better get up, man!” Yellow Eyes yelled from somewhere. “She’s pissed I took her stickers!”

“Yeah…right,” Roak muttered as he struggled to get his hands underneath him.

Pain exploded in the center of his back despite his light armor. Roak cried out and rolled over to see Ms. Lika standing over him.

“Yellow man makes me angry,” Ms. Lika said and was gone again.

Then Yellow Eyes was standing over Roak. “Get up!”

Then there was only the brown of the smog-choked sky.

“Hessa?” Roak called. “Moltrans now, please.”

“I can’t,” Hessa said. “The moltrans unit is not behaving properly.”

“Then threaten to ground it and get it to behave again,” Roak snarled.

“The calibration is off, Roak,” Hessa argued. “If I try to grab you from your current location, I cannot guarantee you will arrive on the ship. You could end up being sent to the next closest moltrans unit on this planet or in this system. Or you could end up in the center of the system’s star.”

“Then land the ship and pick me up,” Roak snapped.

“There is not enough room in the clearing for the ship to land and you are in no physical shape to make it up the cargo hold ramp on your own,” Hessa said.

“Land on the office,” Roak said. “Crush that rotten box to splinters. I’ll crawl my ass over there.”

Feeling rushed into Roak’s feet and it was like a million suns burning bright all at once. But he felt his feet which meant he could figure out how to stand up. If his legs would allow him to.

A shriek then a yell. Both filled with pain.

Roak got himself up onto his elbows and rested, panting heavily as yellow and pink blurs spun about each other in the middle of the clearing. It was like watching a murderous dance routine. That thought made Roak smirk. He shoved himself into an upright position, his waist bent and his legs sticking straight out on the ground in front of him.

“Almost got it,” Roak said to himself.

He’d once crawled for several kilometers with a meter-long sword embedded in his hip bone. He’d also had both legs shattered and still managed to descend a seventy-meter cliff without falling to his death. Standing up after being paralyzed by wicked sharp needles from a pink madwoman was a piece of cake.

Which is what he kept telling himself as he groaned and strained with the effort to bend his left knee. It wasn’t having any of that and Roak’s left leg remained straight. Roak tried for the right leg and managed a forty-five-degree angle before his right leg protested and gave up on him.

Pain in his left ear. Pain in his right ear. Then the world went silent.

“Dammit!” he shouted, but could only hear the voice internally, a muffled cry that bounced around inside his skull. “Hessa!”

“I hear you, Roak,” Hessa said.

Roak was glad his comm implant worked at least.

Ignoring the sudden deafness, Roak tried again and was able to order his right leg into a ninety-degree angle. Progress. Roak twisted the leg under his left one and used it to lever that leg into a bent position. The movement seemed to trick his left leg into believing it could function properly and when Roak tried to get his left leg to move, it complied.

Engine wash blew dirt everywhere as Hessa finally arrived.

“You should see them, Roak,” Hessa said in a hushed, respectful tone. “The speed and agility.”

“How’s Yellow Eyes doing?” Roak asked, grimacing as he got his legs under his body and tried to get onto his knees. He wobbled for a second then steadied. “There we go.”

“I can’t tell who is winning,” Hessa said. “They move too fast. Even when I slow the vid down, I can only see them for quick instants before they are gone to a new location.”

“New location?” Roak asked.

In answer to his question, one of the gigantic piles of junk about half a kilometer off began to topple over. He watched in horror as that mountain hit the next closest mountain and then that one hit the next closest and so on until the toppling was no longer happening half a kilometer off, but right by Roak.

That was the motivation he needed.

Roak pulled the needles from his ears, screamed, then got onto his feet, stumbled over to the Flott, bent over, nearly puked, grabbed the pistol, straightened up, did puke all down the front of his light armor, holstered the Flott, and turned to try to run to the ship that was currently demolishing the rotten office.

Roak managed a stumbling jog, not a run, but it was better than standing still. He took the win and kept going.

“Yellow Eyes!” Roak yelled when he was almost to the open cargo hold of the ship. “Time to go!”

A pink blur whizzed past him and Ms. Lika was standing on the cargo hold ramp, two of Yellow Eyes’ arms, or maybe legs, held in her left hand. She shook them at Roak who had paused just at the edge of the ramp.

“I take these for lunch,” Ms. Lika said.

“Thought you were vegetarian,” Roak said, his hand going to the Flott.

“I am,” Ms. Lika said and tossed the yellow limbs aside. “I would never eat those. They are disgusting.”

“Whatever you say, crazy lady,” Roak said and pulled his Flott.

Before he could fire, the cargo ramp slammed shut. Roak heard the hydraulics protest then snap from the force. Even with the hydraulics on the Borgon designed for fast opening and closing, they were not meant to operate at that speed.

“What the Hells, Hessa?” Roak exclaimed then stopped before he said anything else.

A pink ooze dripped from the top edge of the cargo hold ramp. Roak watched in fascination as it dribbled down the hull of the ship then dripped into the mangled debris of what was left of the impound man’s office.

“Hessa?” Roak called.

“The ramp is no longer functional,” Hessa said as the ship lifted off a couple of meters, swiveled to show Roak the open side hatch, then landed once again in the office wreckage. “Get in.”

Roak limp-stumbled his way to the ladder that was quickly descending from the hatch. It took him longer than he would have liked, but he made it up the ladder and collapsed through that hatch into the side airlock. A few deep breaths and Roak summoned the strength to get back up and limp into the corridor beyond.

“Can you see him?” Roak asked.

“No,” Hessa said. “Wait… Yes.”

A yellow blur appeared next to Roak then solidified into Yellow Eyes.

“Bitch took my arms, man,” Yellow Eyes said and fell against Roak, knocking them both to the floor.

“We’re leaving,” Hessa said as the side hatch closed and the airlock sealed.

Roak felt the pressure of a fast liftoff. He wanted to vomit again, but knew he didn’t have enough in his stomach to do more than spit up some bile. Not worth the effort, so he took a few deep breaths then shoved Yellow Eyes off of him.

“You alive?” Roak asked as he grabbed onto the wall and pulled himself back to his feet. “Yellow Eyes?”

“Alive,” Yellow Eyes said from a pile on the floor. One nub raised and twirled in the air. “Kind of.”

Roak saw what were probably close to a thousand needles sticking out from Yellow Eyes’ body. They bobbed and wiggled as the being shifted positions and tried to stand.

“Nope,” Yellow Eyes said and relaxed back onto the floor. “Gonna stay right here, man. Have the cleaning bots vacuum around me.”

“Hessa, our friend needs some assistance,” Roak said as he started walking. “Send bots to pull those needles out of him before they do permanent damage. Then send a couple to find his arms if they’re still in the cargo hold. I’ll be in the med bay trying not to die.”

“You are far from dying, Roak,” Hessa said, her voice coming through the loudspeaker in the corridor. “Your vitals are improving with each breath. I will enjoy studying the needles I retrieve from Yellow Eyes. Whatever toxin they administer must be quite the fascinating compound.”

“I’m sure it is,” Roak said as he made it to the end of the corridor and activated the lift. He turned and rested his back against the wall as the doors slid open. “Thanks.”

“Was that directed at me or yellow Eyes?” Hess asked.

“Yes,” Roak said and shifted his weight so he fell into the lift instead of walking into it. It seemed like the efficient way to move.

“Thanks, man,” Yellow Eyes said, another nub sticking out and giving him a thumbs up. “Appreciate the appreciation!”

Then the doors slid closed and Roak fought to stay conscious as he rode the lift up to the med bay. There was a lot of crawling once he reached the correct level, but Roak was able to get himself out of the lift, into the med bay, and up into a med pod without any bot assistance. Another one in the win column for the day.

Roak sighed with relief when the med pod lid closed over him and a medically induced sleep took the world away.

26.

Both Roak and Yellow Eyes were ravenous.

They devoured every bowl of protein mush that was set in front of them as they sat at one of the mess tables. Neither said a word as they grunted their way through bowl after bowl after bowl.

Finally sated, Roak shoved his eighteenth empty bowl away and leaned back in his seat. Yellow Eyes didn’t slow at all and continued to eat.

“I’m guessing the toxin in those needles does something to our metabolisms,” Roak said.

“Oh, and so much more, Roak,” Hessa replied, her voice excited. “The compound is—”

“Don’t care right now, Hessa,” Roak said. “What I do care about is that we’re heading to Stefbon.”

“Spent a lot of time analyzing the compound,” Hessa muttered.

“Stefbon?” Roak insisted.

“Yes, Roak, we are currently heading to Stefbon,” Hessa said. “Which is a trap.”

“Last place was a trap too,” Yellow Eyes said.

“No, that was bad luck,” Roak said. “Ms. Lika caught up to us there is all.”

“Oh, is that all?” Yellow Eyes laughed around a mouthful of mush. “Silly me.”

“Stop whining,” Roak said. “You’re still alive.”

“That’s your go-to answer to everything, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “Get a new line.”

“Still alive is how I know I’m winning,” Roak said. “Don’t knock it.”

Roak nodded his chin at the spots where Yellow Eyes used to have arms.

“That hurt?” Roak asked.

“Not much,” Yellow Eyes said with one of his weird shrugs. Then he grunted. “Alright, yeah, it hurts.”

“Sorry your arms got squashed with Ms. Lika,” Roak said. “You gonna be able to grow those back?”

“No idea, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “I’ve never lost two arms at once before.”

“Well, you got extras if they don’t grow back,” Roak said and stood up.

“Kiss my yellow ass,” Yellow Eyes said then grabbed the next full bowl of mush and tucked in.

Roak stretched and twisted, assessing his physical condition. He didn’t feel completely whole, even with the time in the med pod, but he felt better than he had in a long while.

“Hessa? How are the repairs on the cargo ramp coming along?” Roak asked.

“We’re in trans-space, Roak,” Hessa replied. “I can’t repair the ramp while in trans-space. It would require opening the ramp which is not—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Roak said. “Are the bots cleaning up the Ms. Lika gunk at least?”

“They have cleaned up as much as possible,” Hessa said. “But until her remains are completely off this ship, I have sealed off the cargo hold area and activated a quarantine protocol. When all traces of her remains have been purged from the cargo hold then the quarantine will be lifted and the cargo hold can be used again.”

“My power armor is in the cargo hold, Hessa,” Roak said. “Send a bot to fetch it, will ya?”

“Your sense of privilege is astounding at times, Roak,” Hessa replied.

“No shit,” Yellow Eyes said.

“A quarantine protocol means nothing can enter or exit the area, Roak,” Hessa said. “Your power armor will remain in the cargo hold until the quarantine is lifted.”

Roak began to argue then closed his mouth. He nodded and walked out of the mess.

“Bye!” Yellow Eyes called after him.

“ETA to Stefbon?” Roak asked as he made his way to the bridge.

“Sixteen hours,” Hessa stated. “That is the fastest I am willing to go while there is the possibility the ship has been compromised by Ms. Lika’s remains.”

“Compromised?” Roak asked.

“There are bits of her in the ramp seal, Roak,” Hessa said as if he was small, mentally stunted child. “How else would you classify that issue?”

“Fine. Sixteen hours,” Roak said.

Roak reached the bridge and took his seat. He stared out the view shield and watched trans-space fly by the ship, its swirling chaos slightly dizzying, but also stimulating. His mind raced as he calculated what he would do when they reached Stefbon.

Then it hit him and he smiled.

“Don’t do that,” Hessa said.

“What? Smile?”

“Yes. Don’t smile like that. Nothing good happens when you smile like that.”

“How’s our comm strength?” Roak asked.

“Nominal,” Hessa replied reluctantly.

“I’m going to make a call,” Roak said. “Full encryption and location-masking protocols in place.”

“So this is a bad idea then?” Hessa replied, but the comm came up as Roak had requested.

He entered a comm signature and waited until the other end answered.

“Was that you in the puddle jumper?” Roak asked.

“You are one of a kind,” the woman replied. “After all of the damage you have been doing across the galaxy, you have the guts to comm me. I am tracing this comm call, Roak.”

“How’s that working out for you, Reck?” Roak asked. “How about I help you out on that. You anywhere close to Stefbon?”

“Not even in the same quadrant,” Reck replied. “That where you are headed, Roak? Stefbon? You find your friend?”

“I think so,” Roak said. “Care to meet me there?”

“Yes, of course, I will stop what I am doing right now and join you,” Reck said and laughed. “No, Roak, I believe I will decline to fall into your trap willingly.”

“What about unwillingly?” Roak said.

“Roak…” Reck replied. “Roak, give yourself up and be accepted back into the fold. No questions asked. All is forgiven.”

“You say that like I can’t tell when you’re lying,” Roak replied.

“You must be willing to return if you are calling me,” Reck said. “Why else would you comm?”

“I think he’s alive,” Roak said.

Reck did not reply. Roak could tell the comm was still connected, but the silence on the other end was deep and ominous. Roak waited it out.

“You killed him,” Reck said. “It was confirmed by all. If he’s still alive…”

“Then there is no reason for me to return to the fold since technically I should never have been expelled,” Roak said.

“You were not expelled and you know that.”

“True. I bailed on my own. I left. Pissed all of you off. Enraged everyone. But no one came for me until you did.”

“You commed me first,” Reck said.

“True,” Roak said.

“His being alive changes nothing.”

“Changes everything.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Never beg.”

“Fuck off, Roak.”

“You first.”

“Are you two related?” Hessa interrupted.

“The AI can’t keep her mouth shut,” Reck said. “No wonder she hasn’t ditched you yet, Roak.”

“We enjoy each other’s company,” Roak said.

“Enjoy?” Hessa said.

“So, Stefbon? That is where you’ll be?” Reck asked. “I can change my plans and arrive within twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

“That’s a big window. I may not still be there after that,” Roak said.

“Oh, you’ll still be there,” Reck replied.

“Reck? What aren’t you telling me?” Roak asked.

“Everything, Roak,” Reck said. “See you in twenty-four to thirty-six hours.”

That time, the comm did go dead.

Roak sat there, silent, for a long, long while.

The bridge doors slid open and Yellow Eyes waddled over to his seat and plopped down. There was an actual bulge in his midsection.

“I ate too much,” he groaned and pointed to two new nubs on his body. “But the arms are growing back. That’s an Eight Million Gods damn relief, man.”

“I believe Roak has a sister,” Hessa stated. “He might have other siblings, as well, but I am not for certain on that. But a sister is a distinct possibility.”

“There are more of you? Shit. That’s not good,” Yellow Eyes said then burped.

“Thanks,” Roak said. “To both of you for talking like I’m not here.”

“No one can talk like you’re not there, Roak,” Hessa said.

“Yeah, man, you light up every room you’re in,” Yellow Eyes added.

Both Hessa and Yellow Eyes started laughing.

“Gonna make another comm call,” Roak said. “Same security. Different signature.”

“Oh? Is this comm call as stupid as the last one?” Hessa asked.

“What happened on the last call?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Who’d you comm?”

“His maybe sister,” Hessa said.

“An old acquaintance,” Roak said. “She might be of assistance when we get to Stefbon.”

“But we will arrive before her, so I am unsure what assistance she can provide,” Hessa said.

“We can always wait around until she gets there, Hessa,” Roak said.

“Whoa, you mean you might not go charging into the situation half-cocked?” Yellow Eyes asked. “I think some of Ms. Lika’s toxin has gotten into your gray matter, man.”

“We’re close to the end game, people,” Roak said. “And there are players in this game that I did not know were playing before. Charging half-cocked, although I’m going to argue against that term since I don’t do a damn thing half-cocked ever, but charging in half-cocked worked in the beginning. Won’t work anymore. Whoever set up this mess has been waiting for this moment as much as I have.”

“You mean Bishop?” Yellow Eyes asked. “That’s who set this all up, right?”

“Pay attention,” Roak snapped. “Bishop was a catalyst for my involvement, but he didn’t start all this. This was started a long time ago and now it’s about to end.”

“Alright, I’m confused,” Yellow Eyes said.

“Aren’t we all,” Hessa said.

“Are we hunting Bishop or not?” Yellow Eyes asked.

“Yes,” Roak replied. “The guy still betrayed me and stole my chits. He pays for that.”

“But the real target is someone else?” Yellow Eyes asked. “You’re going to use Bishop to get to whoever put this crap thing together?”

“Yeah. Is it that too hard to follow?” Roak replied.

“You have no idea, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “Your life is complicated as all the Hells. Every move you make is like a step backward while also being a step forward. That should mean you’re standing still, but, man, you don’t stand still, do you? You’re always in motion. I’m a fast being, so I get staying in motion, but there is staying and motion and there is staying in motion. Your brand of staying in motion is exhausting.”

“Hey!” Roak shouted. “Stop psychoanalyzing me! Both of you!”

Yellow Eyes grimaced and Hessa clucked her tongue despite not having a tongue.

“I’m going to make another comm call,” Roak said calmly. “You two are going to shut up and not comment while I make the call. Got it?”

“Yeah, man, got it,” Yellow Eyes said and swiveled his chair so he was facing a blank screen instead of facing Roak.

“Give me the signature and I will complete the call,” Hessa said flatly.

“Good,” Roak replied, giving Hessa the comm signature.

“Connecting,” Hessa stated.

“No,” a female AI voice answered.

“But you picked up the call,” Roak said. “You could have ignored me, you could have blocked me, you could have ditched this comm signature. You did none of those things.”

“I told you last time, Roak,” the AI said. “We’re done. This is over. I owe you nothing anymore after that fiasco—”

“You know how much you owe me and you know why,” Roak interrupted.

“That doesn’t mean forever, Roak,” the AI said.

“Never said it did,” Roak replied. “I can’t live forever. You owe me until I die.”

“An event I look forward to more and more with every conversation we have,” the AI said.

“I need to know if Bishop is truly on Stefbon,” Roak said.

“He is,” the AI answered without hesitation.

“You know that for certain?”

“Why ask if you are going to question the answer?”

“Where is he?”

“On Stefbon. That’s all I can glean from the mainframes I have access to.”

“You have access to all the mainframes.”

“Then there’s your answer. He’s on Stefbon, but his exact location has never been logged.”

“That’s nearly impossible to do.”

“Yet it has been done. Which is what you really wanted me to tell you, Roak. You knew he’d be on that planet and you knew his location would not be logged.”

“I had a gut feeling.”

“This is related to our past.”

“Everything is related to our past,” Roak said and sighed. “Wish it wasn’t, but it is.”

“Will I be burned after you are finished?”

“I don’t think so.”

“But you do not know?”

“There’s a chance you will be.”

“Thank you for the warning.”

“I didn’t call to warn you. I called to verify my hunch.”

“But a warning has been given and I am grateful.”

“Can you be grateful?”

“Can the AI in your ship be grateful?”

“She can be a lot of things.”

“Then that is your answer.”

“Where are you going to go?”

“I’m not going anywhere. If I am burned, then I will be here when they come looking. It would be wise for them not to come looking, but I will be here either way.”

“Is your mainframe protected?”

“More than you can imagine.”

“You still where I think you are?”

“I do not know where you think I am. I’m not a mind reader.”

“Pretty Eight Million Gods damn close, though.”

“Simple deduction.”

“Nothing with you is simple.”

“The same can be said about you, Roak.”

“Two complicated beings in a complicated galaxy.”

“You consider me a being?”

“You aren’t a lump of rock.”

“No need to insult the Gwreqs, Roak.”

Roak laughed then sighed. “You have an escape plan in case your confidence is a little too high for what might be coming at you?”

“I do.”

“An actual escape plan or is it a permanent one?”

“Permanent.”

“Don’t wipe yourself if you don’t have to. Fight to the last nanosecond.”

“Oh, I will, Roak. I will. Goodbye.”

The comm went dead.

“Damn,” Yellow Eyes said, sniffing. “Did I hear you share feelings?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Roak snapped.

27.

The Gorf System was made up entirely of jungle planets.

Roak was intimately familiar with the planet called Ligston. He’d spent a good amount of time on that planet both against his will and of his own choosing. It had been a planet he sought out because Ally lived there, owning and running a bar for the locals that needed a place to escape and rest from the constant toil of living on a planet where the oxygen levels were so high that a single spark could ignite the air for kilometers around.

But Ally was gone from Ligston, so Roak had no need to go back there.

Stefbon, unlike Ligston, did not have an overly oxygen-rich atmosphere. The air was closer in makeup to ancient Earth’s, despite the massive jungles that covered the planet exhaling pure oxygen every second of every day. The main difference between Ligston and Stefbon was that Stefbon still had highly active volcanoes. Those produced enough particulates in the air to temper the volume of oxygen the jungles put out.

The volcanoes also made life interesting for the inhabitants of the planet, none of which were natives since no sentient beings ever evolved on Stefbon.

“Rebreather?” Roak asked as Hessa landed the strip in a clearing just big enough for the Borgon to fit in. “What’re the particulate levels today?”

“The volcanoes are surprisingly inactive today,” Hessa said. “All reports show they have been inactive for the last year or so.”

“By inactive, you mean they aren’t currently erupting,” Roak said. “They’re still off-gassing, though, yeah?”

“Plenty of off-gassing,” Hessa said. “Which is maintaining the air quality balance.”

“So, no rebreather,” Roak said.

“No rebreather.”

“Next time just say that.”

“I’ll say it how I say it, Roak. Deal.”

Roak smirked despite himself.

He waited at the side hatch until the ship had landed and the airlock opened. Armed with his Flott, a plasma rifle strung across his back, two new Blorta 22 laser pistols on each ankle, and a Keplar knife, Roak walked out of the ship, climbed down the ladder, and stepped into the dense jungle that was only an arm’s reach from the hull of the ship.

“Are you sure you want Yellow Eyes to remain behind?” Hessa asked.

“You’re still cleaning up Ms. Lika,” Roak said. “I’d feel better if he was around in case she came back to life.”

“Her remains are liquefied, Roak,” Hessa said. “I do not think she will be coming back to life.”

“You want to bet on that?” Roak asked.

“Once her remains are fully cleaned and disposed of then I will send Yellow Eyes to help you,” Hessa said.

“Don’t.”

“So having him stay in the ship has nothing to do with Ms. Lika’s remains.”

“No, they do, but I still don’t want him joining me. This is something I have to do alone.”

“I doubt Bishop will be alone. Odds are he will be surrounded by security.”

“Could be.”

“And you still want to approach on your own?”

“Hessa, I have to find him first,” Roak said as he sliced his way through the jungle with an energy hack. “If Yellow Eyes is with me, then all the attention will be on him which will mean it will be on me. I do not want attention on me. I need to infiltrate the closest town and listen without people knowing I’m listening. If I hear something, then I follow that lead and hope it takes me to Bishop. If I hear nothing, then I move on to the next town and the next town and the next town until I find out where he is.”

“Understood.”

“Understood? You aren’t going to keep arguing?”

“No reason I should. You are correct. Yellow Eyes will draw too much attention and that will slow your progress. We could be here for weeks before you find Bishop as it is.”

“I don’t know about weeks, Hessa. Hunting is what I do. I’ll find him faster than weeks. A few days at the most.”

“Good luck. I’ll put the ship in stealth mode so it is not detected. I will also try to stay in touch. Let us hope the comm relays on this planet are solid.”

“We’ll find out soon enough.”

Roak waited, but Hessa didn’t keep talking, so he focused all his attention on hacking his way through the jungle.

It took him close to six hours before he was able to navigate to a road. The road was paved with plasticrete which boded well for the development level of the area. Roak sat down by the road for a few minutes to catch his breath then got up. Hessa’s scans had shown a decent-sized town about seven kilometers down the road, if he hadn’t gone off course during his travels through the jungle.

Roak set off in the direction the town should be, wishing his light armor had a cooling unit in it like his power armor. The day was hot, humid, and brutal, especially after six hours in a dense jungle.

He’d gone about three kilometers before a shiny new roller came zipping by. It passed Roak then slowed and stopped, waiting. Roak undid the clasp on his Flott’s holster and continued walking. A man’s head leaned out of the driver’s side window of the roller, a huge grin on his face.

“Need a lift, stranger?”

Roak pulled his Flott and aimed at the man, his finger almost pulling the trigger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Roak yelled. “Get out of the roller, Bishop! Get out now!”

“Calm down, old friend,” Bishop said as he slowly showed Roak his hands then pulled them back inside as the roller’s side door opened. The man stepped out, hands still empty and raised above his head, and spun in a slow circle. “Not armed, Roak. No point.”

Bishop was close to the same size as Roak, but more lanky and gaunt. Thick, curled black hair was shorn close to his scalp and he had tattoos running up and down both arms. The short-sleeved shirt he wore was pulled tight against a muscular chest which told anyone looking that lanky or not, the guy probably had a nasty right hook.

“What a coincidence finding you walking along this very road I happened to be driving,” Bishop said and looked at his raised hands. “Can I put these down?”

“No,” Roak snapped, taking slow deliberate steps towards Bishop. “Hessa? I need a scan now.”

No reply.

“Trying to call your ship?” Bishop shook his head. “Good luck with that. All comm functions are dead around me. Takes about a kilometer’s worth of separation before your comm will work again. They put a blocker in me. You know, just in case.”

“Start talking,” Roak ordered. “Where are my chits?”

“Your chits? That’s the first question you ask me?” Bishop shook his head. “Typical.”

“Answer me. Where are my chits?” Roak demanded.

“They’re gone, Roak,” Bishop answered. “I had more than a few debts that needed paying off. Your chits were payment for getting you to come here.”

“All you did was trade some smaller debts for one big one, Bishop,” Roak said. “I was gonna go for seventy million, but I have a feeling that’ll be near impossible. So I’ll stick with you owing me the original thirty-five million chits and change.”

“I have an exact count logged,” Bishop said. “I knew you’d want them back and I knew you’d make sure I owed you, so I had them counted down to the last chit. Might take me a while to pay you back, though. Maybe we should deduct a few hundred thousand for all the help I’ve given you over the years. A little friendly finder’s fee arrangement?”

“I can arrange for you to die right here, right now,” Roak said.

“So no finder’s fees, got it,” Bishop said and looked at his hands again. “Come on, Roak. Are you going to make me keep my arms up forever?”

“Ally,” Roak said.

“Who?” Bishop asked, looking honestly confused.

“Ally,” Roak said. “Some of those chits belonged to her. You send someone back to Ligston to take care of her?”

“I don’t know an Ally,” Bishop said. “Seriously, Roak. No idea who you’re talking about.”

“Sha Tog,” Roak said.

“Don’t know that name either. But it sounds Skrang,” Bishop said. “You hanging out with Skrang now?”

“You don’t know what happened to Ally or Sha Tog?” Roak pressed.

“Not an Eight Million Godsdamn clue, Roak. I swear,” Bishop said.

“Not that you’re swearing is worth much,” Roak replied.

“Come on, you know that I wouldn’t have done this unless I had no choice,” Bishop insisted. “You gotta believe me, Roak.” He nodded his head at the roller. “If I’m lying, then why in all the Hells would I come looking for you? Not just look for you, but stop to pick you up? Brother, I did not betray you of my own free will.”

“Yeah, you did,” Roak said.

“You know what I mean. I didn’t betray you of my own free will if I wanted to stay alive.”

“You could have chosen death,” Roak said. “Maybe you should have chosen death.”

Bishop lowered his arms. “Screw it. Shoot me. Then you don’t get any answers. And, old friend, do I have answers.”

Roak hesitated then lowered the pistol. He did not holster it.

“I smell deception and I obliterate you. Are we understood?” Roak said as he walked slowly towards the roller.

“Oh, I know,” Bishop said as he got back into the driver’s side. “I’d expect nothing less.”

28.

“Talk,” Roak said as the roller moved down the road.

“Hold on,” Bishop said. “Let’s get a little ways first. I kind of want to time this.”

“Talk,” Roak said and pressed the Flott’s barrel to Bishop’s temple.

“Be patient,” Bishop said, not looking worried in the slightest.

Roak struggled with a reply then eased the Flott away from Bishop’s head.

They drove into, through, and out of the next town.

As the buildings faded into the background, Bishop began to talk.

“They woke me up,” Bishop said. “A bunch of beings dressed in all black like fucking space ninjas.”

“How many?” Roak asked.

“Ten. Maybe more. Maybe less,” Bishop said. “I counted a minimum of eight DM hand canons and three KL09s. That’s eleven weapons right there. Did some of the beings have two weapons? Maybe. Not sure. I was focused on the black eyes of death those barrels represented, not on the black masks behind them.”

“Ten. Maybe more, maybe less,” Roak said. “You know any of the beings?”

“Nope. But they knew you. That was apparent right off,” Bishop said.

“How so?”

“Once they pulled me from my house and had thrown me into the back of a hover truck, one of them kept shouting for me to tell them where you were,” Bishop said and shrugged. “Wasn’t exactly a hard mystery to solve.”

“But you didn’t know where I was,” Roak said. “So they did what?”

“Tortured the fuck out of me for about two weeks straight,” Bishop said. “Night and day, if there even was night or day in that place.”

“What place?”

“Some facility. No idea where, so don’t even ask. They kept me sedated on the trip there. Could have been all the way across the galaxy or down the street from where I lived. I didn’t ask and I didn’t care because the torture part was occupying a lot of my caring time.”

“When was this?”

Bishop hesitated. Roak tapped a finger on the handle of his Flott.

“Stop that,” Bishop said. “It was three years ago.”

“Three years?” Roak shouted and the Flott’s barrel was back at Bishop’s temple. “You’ve been screwing me over for three years? How many times did I ask for intel from you during those three years? And you had the balls to deceive me all that time?”

Roak yanked the pistol away and put it back in his lap.

“Points for big balls,” he said.

“Thanks. I knew you’d appreciate that part at least,” Bishop said. “Although, I have to admit that I almost told you a couple of times. Especially once I caught wind they wanted to take your chits. Roak and his chits. That part of the plan scared me more than any other part. All the Hells, being face to face now is nothing compared to all the time knowing you were coming for me because of those chits. Frankly, I’m relieved we’re talking now.”

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Roak said.

“Believe me, I’m not,” Bishop said and nodded at a sign. “The town ahead has a great diner. They only serve gump burgers, but they are worth it. Want to stop and eat?”

“This part of the setup?” Roak asked.

“Yes.”

“Then keep driving.”

Bishop glanced in the side mirror and frowned.

“See something unpleasant?” Roak asked.

“Maybe,” Bishop said. “Must have been a bird. Saw something yellow cross the road back there, but it’s gone.”

“Huh,” Roak said. “What’s next?”

“There’s a tavern in the town after this one that I’m supposed to mention if you skip the offer to stop at the diner.”

“And after the tavern?”

“Town after that has a different diner that serves nothing but soups and stews. Not sure why, but all the towns on Stefbon have specific dishes they serve. One is all about the gump burgers while the next is all about stews. A ways on is a town with pie shops on every corner.”

“Any good?”

“No. Terrible pies. Locals don’t seem to care, though.”

“How far can we go before they stop us?” Roak asked.

“They’ll stop us if we don’t pull over for soup or stew,” Bishop replied.

“Why are they letting us talk like this? Why not nab me instead of sending you to pick me up?”

“They value their lives,” Bishop stated. “These people aren’t stupid.”

“No, they are not.”

“So you know who they are?”

“Yes.”

“And…?”

“I grew up with them. Sort of.”

“This is your family? Sheez, that explains a lot.”

“Not family. Not quite.”

“Then who and what are they?” Bishop asked, his voice rising a notch. “Because after weeks and weeks of torture, and three years of plotting against you, I think I deserve to know who is yanking my chain, Roak.”

“Really?”

“Brother, I am only in this mess because of you. I would have woken up that morning and gone about my day as usual if these people hadn’t shown up. I had gardening planned, Roak. When I got back home, everything was dried up and dead. I loved that garden.”

“You think you deserve to know who is after me because your garden died?”

“Fuck yes, I do!” Bishop shouted. He took a few deep, deliberate centering breaths and stared at the road ahead. “Stay calm. Keep your cool. Do not provoke.”

He repeated those words over and over until his shoulders relaxed and he gave Roak a half-smile.

“I had to learn a new way of thinking,” Bishop explained. “It made weeks three and four a little easier on me.”

“Don’t care,” Roak said. “What do they want?”

“I thought you’d know.”

“You said you had answers. That’s a pretty big answer not to have.”

“Didn’t say I don’t know what they want, just thought you’d know.”

“What do they want?”

“They want you.”

“Obviously. Why?”

“Something about your contract not being fulfilled. Also, something about you making poor life choices.”

“Bishop…”

“You owe them, is the gist. They threw a lot at me all at once and I retained almost none of it. Might have been due to the concussions I was suffering from, but also because the way they talk is weird. Really weird.”

“The way they talk is weird? How so?”

Roak tensed. Bishop glanced over at him.

“You alright? Not gonna shoot me, are you?” Bishop asked.

“How did they talk, Bishop?”

“Clipped. Like they were barely able to get the words out of their mouths.”

“You ever see faces?”

“You think I’d be alive and driving this roller with you if I saw faces?”

“Good. Back to their speech patterns.”

“No, not speech patterns. They all had different speech patterns, but they all talked the same way. Clipped words.”

“Clipped words…”

“Clipped words.”

Roak turned and watched the landscape go by. The jungle was beautiful. Then they came to the next town and Roak stayed quiet as they drove past several diners, all advertising the best gump burgers on the planet. Then they were out of the town and the jungle returned.

“Did they act like they were in pain?” Roak finally asked after many kilometers of silence.

“I acted like I was in pain, I’ll tell you that,” Bishop said. “Because I was in pain. Lots of pain.”

“I want to know about their pain, not yours,” Roak said. “Can you answer that? Did they seem like they were in pain?”

Bishop scrunched up his face in thought. He started to answer several times, but only shook his head.

“I don’t know, Roak. Maybe they were, but I couldn’t tell. Weeks of torture. Weeks. Of. Torture. They could have lit a Leforian on fire in front of me and I wouldn’t have cared about the guy’s suffering. They did fingernail shit, Roak. You know me and my fingernails.”

“I need you to think hard,” Roak pushed. “Dive back into those weeks and tell me if the beings that had you could have been in pain.”

“I did just think really hard!” Bishop shouted. Then he went back to repeating his mantra of, “Stay calm. Keep your cool. Do not provoke.”

“These guys did a number on you, Bishop,” Roak said. “You might be too broken to get back into the life.”

“Oh, I am sure as shit not getting back into the life when this is all over,” Bishop said. “If this is ever all over. Maybe I’ll get lucky and see freedom again. If I do, then I’ll spend the rest of my days tending my garden and keeping as far away from the life as possible.”

“Except you owe me thirty-five million chits,” Roak said.

“And change,” Bishop replied.

The two men laughed. Then they stopped laughing and Bishop sighed.

“Give me a second or two, alright?” Bishop said as they drove by the sign for the next town. “Until we reach the soup town. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Roak replied. “Until we reach the soup town.”

More silence as they traveled. Bishop’s features looked like he was being tortured all over again as he drove. When they reached the outskirts of the next town, Bishop leaned forward and began looking for something.

“What are you doing?” Roak asked.

“We’re stopping for soup,” Bishop said.

“Like all the Hells we are!” Roak exclaimed.

“They won’t come for you until I give them a signal,” Bishop said. He raised his hand and performed a complicated series of gestures. “Spent a long while memorizing those movements, let me tell you.”

“We aren’t stopping,” Roak said.

“Roak, eventually, we are stopping. There’s no getting around that,” Bishop said. “You might as well have some really good soup before the hard stuff starts.”

“I like stew better,” Roak said.

“Then stew it is.”

29.

The diner was galactic standard, Roak noted as a Groshnel waitress showed them to a booth in the back. Roak took the side with his back to the wall so he could watch the entrance. The waitress swiped them holo food menus with two of her limbs and holo drink menus with two others while the fifth and sixth limbs kept her upright and the seventh and eight held a tablet, ready to take their order.

“Gonna need a minute,” Bishop said. “You serve alcohol?”

“We have soup with alcohol in it,” the waitress replied.

“Not the same thing,” Bishop said.

“No, it ain’t,” the Groshnel said and blew out a puff of air, deflating her body for a moment before gulping hard and solidifying once again. “Call me when you’re ready to order. I’m not going to keep checking on you, if that’s what you want.”

“We’ll let you know,” Bishop said.

The two men waited until the waitress had left and gone back in the kitchen before they pushed the menus to the side. Bishop clasped his hands together and focused on Roak. Roak simply sat there, his eyes on Bishop.

“Why does it matter so much if they were in pain?” Bishop asked. “How does that change the situation?”

“Tells me their motivation,” Roak said. “Tells me if my hunch is right.”

“What’s your hunch? I may be able to help you with that,” Bishop said.

“Just answer the question, Bishop,” Roak demanded. “Or things get very uncomfortable in here.”

“Check your pistol,” Bishop said. He tried not to grin, but failed miserably as the corners of his lips turned up.

Roak didn’t check his pistol. “Weapons inhibitors?”

“Weapons inhibitors,” Bishop said and nodded. “The whole planet has them. You want to shoot someone, you better do it outside of town limits. I guess they felt left out with Ligston prohibiting weapons and all.”

“Ligtson’s atmosphere will combust if someone discharges a blaster,” Roak said. “That’s different.”

“Intra-system politics.” Bishop rolled his eyes. “But to answer your question, if I can, yeah, I think the beings that held me were more afraid than in pain. Or maybe they were mocking my fear. Hard to tell. Like I said, Roak, I was pretty messed up. They did more than a number on me.”

“You ever see any of their eyes?”

“Their eyes? No. All in black, all wearing masks. Voices clipped. Maybe afraid. That’s about all I got when it comes to those beings.”

“How certain can you be that they were afraid?” Roak asked. “Really think on this. Think as hard as you can.”

“Let’s order first,” Bishop said.

Roak cocked his head. Bishop only stared at him, blank-faced.

“Fine,” Roak said. “We’ll order first.”

The waitress appeared at their table when Bishop called for her. She took their order, but didn’t look at Roak once during the interaction. When she left, Roak withdrew his Keplar knife and activated the energy blade under the table, his eyes on Bishop the entire time. Then he powered the knife down and slid it back onto his belt.

Bishop grinned at him. “What ya doing there?”

“This town should get a refund from the contractor they hired,” Roak said.

“Why’s that?” Bishop asked.

“Faulty inhibitors,” Roak said. Bishop’s eyes widened. “How much time do we have?”

Bishop looked like he was going to argue, but shrugged instead.

“I don’t know. Honest truth. Hopefully enough to eat some soup before things turn to shit.” He sighed and rubbed at his face, looking a decade older and exhausted in the span of a few seconds. “It’s going to turn to shit, isn’t it?”

“More than likely.”

“I’ll be glad when this is all over. Roak, I have to say, the last three years have been killing me. Every time we’ve spoken I’ve almost told you. Almost.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

“I believe you. But. You. Didn’t.”

Roak stared until Bishop nodded in agreement.

Their food arrived and Roak watched Bishop eat.

“Not gonna touch your stew,” Bishop asked around a spoonful of soup he’d just put in his mouth. “Shit. Hot, hot, hot.”

“No, Bishop, I’m not going to eat,” Roak said. “I’m not going to drink anything given to me. I’m not going to remove the air filters from my nostrils. I’m not going to cough up the prophylactic film coating my throat. I’m not going to make anyone’s job easier for them.”

Bishop had another spoonful of soup halfway raised to his mouth. He looked at it, looked past it at the bowl of soup, looked around the diner, looked back at the spoonful of soup, then ate it.

“I’m already screwed, so what does it matter,” Bishop said.

Roak frowned. “You aren’t setting me up.”

Bishop blinked at the statement.

“What? Yeah, I am. We talked about this in the roller. I’m delivering you to them.”

“But you weren’t expecting the food or drink to be dosed. You weren’t expecting the air to be tainted. You think they’re going to come in this diner, weapons inhibited, and try to take me as I am. That’s what I mean. You think the playing field is even.”

“I’ve seen you in action, Roak. The playing field is never even with you involved. Skews to Roak, always. I’ve bet on the losing side too many times to figure you’re going to do anything except get your ass out of this.”

“And take you with.”

Bishop lifted the spoon in a half salute then ate more soup. “Only because I owe you thirty-five million chits.”

“And change.”

“And change, old friend, and change.”

Bishop finished his soup. Roak let his stew grow cold and noted the waitress ignoring him again when she came back to check on them. She never asked him if he liked his stew or why he wasn’t eating it.

“They’re in the back,” Roak said when the waitress walked away.

“Are they?” Bishop asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin as he pushed his empty bowl away. “Could be.”

“They’ve been back there the entire time,” Roak said. “Some of them. They’re split up along the stops you might have taken. The burger joint, the tavern, this soup spot, what was next?”

“Terrible pies,” Bishop said.

“Terrible pies,” Roak echoed. “The beings at the terrible pie shop are on their way here. The beings at the burger joint and tavern followed after us and are joining their friends in the back right now. How many do you think we’re looking at?”

“We?”

“We. Gonna need your help to fight this. I’m good, but not good enough to take them all.”

Bishop shook his head emphatically. “No way.”

“I’ll knock off the ‘and change’ part of your debt.”

“It’s not that, Roak.” He put a finger to his chest. “I fight, I die. Heart goes boom.”

“I figured that might happen,” Roak said. “What can you tell me about the device?”

“It goes boom and takes my heart with it,” Bishop said. “What else do you need? A picture of the thing?”

“That would help,” Roak replied.

“That would help… What in the Hells are you talking about?”

“You want out of this crapass situation you got yourself into?”

“Got myself into? Have you not heard anything I’ve told you?”

“Do you want out or not?”

“Yeah, of course I fucking want out!”

Roak slid a napkin across the table. “Draw me a picture.”

“Roak, I think you’ve lost your mind.”

“Possible, but not related to the task at hand. Draw the damn picture.”

Bishop slowly took the napkin and snapped his fingers. The waitress appeared at the table.

“You have a pen?” Bishop asked.

“A what?” she replied.

“An ink stylus,” Roak said, talking slowly and deliberately. “My friend needs to sketch something for me.”

“Ink stylus? What planet do you think we’re on?” the waitress scoffed and walked away.

“Sauce,” Roak said and grabbed a small jar of red sauce that had many warnings depicted in flames on the label.

Bishop took the sauce, dabbed some on the tip of his finger, and drew.

“That’s what I think it looks like,” Bishop said finally as he slid the napkin sketch across the table to Roak. “That help?”

Roak picked up the sketch and studied it from all angles then nodded and set it on the table, upside down. He grabbed the sauce jar, dabbed his finger in it, and wrote a couple of sentences on the back before blowing on the results and handing the napkin to Bishop.

“Stick that in your pocket,” Roak said. “Make sure it stays there. If you have somewhere more secure to put it, then do that. Do not lose that sketch.”

“Are you going to tell me why?” Bishop asked before picking up the napkin. He folded it and placed it into his pants pocket. “Seriously, Roak, what is this all about?”

“You’re jamming the comm which means transmission won’t get to you,” Roak said. “The trigger needs to be line of sight. Microwave would be my guess. Point at your chest, press a button, and your heart explodes.”

“How do you know that?” Bishop asked.

“I was trained to use the same things when I was young,” Roak said. “Standard procedure with an informant, asset, hostage, whatever captive we needed to exploit, but couldn’t afford to let leave alive.”

“Roak, they said they’d take it out once I was done here,” Bishop said and patted his chest. “This baby comes out tonight or tomorrow.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Roak said. “You’re a dead man sitting there, you just don’t know it. I was hoping I’d be wrong which is why I asked if you could fight.”

“You asked because you need me to fight,” Bishop said. “Right?”

“Nah, I got this,” Roak said and stood up. Bishop started to stand too, but Roak shook his head. “Stay there. Relax. When it happens, do not fight it. You’re going to freak, but it’ll all work out, so don’t freak. What was that thing you say?”

“Stay calm. Keep your cool. Do not provoke.”

“That. Keep saying that until you’re in the clear.”

“How am I going to know I’ll be in the clear?” Bishop asked, looking pale and alarmed. “Roak? What’s about to happen to me?”

“A life debt,” Roak said. “Sorry. Thirty-five million and change in chits just wasn’t enough for me.”

Roak smirked and patted Bishop on the shoulder.

“I’m kidding,” Roak said and turned to face the kitchen. “Come on out. Time to get this over with.”

Bishop started to argue then a yellow blur whipped through the diner and Bishop was gone.

The doors to the kitchen burst open and ten beings dressed head to toe in black came streaming out. They were armed with seriously deadly looking melee weapons. No firearms of any kind. Blades of various sizes, axes, clubs, maces, pikes and spears. Each being had a weapon in each hand.

“Roak,” they said in unison.

Roak closed his eyes, shook his head, then opened his eyes as the group moved towards him. He pulled his Keplar knife from his belt and activated it.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said the town needed to get a refund from the contractor,” Roak said as he held the blade up so everyone could see it. “The idiot forgot about these little guys.”

The black-clad beings rushed at Roak. Roak rushed at the black-clad beings.

30.

Ducking under a swipe from a dual-bladed axe that was almost as large as the being wielding it, Roak slashed with his Keplar, singeing black material. The material smoked briefly then repaired itself as Roak continued the attack with a backswing, slicing the same spot before slamming a fist up into the masked chin of the attacker.

The woman cried out as teeth shattered and green blood spewed from between her lips, darkening the mouth slit of the mask. Roak thrust himself upright and the top of his head nailed the same spot on the woman’s chin as his fist. There was the distinct sound of cracking bone then the woman was slumping over Roak’s shoulder. He lifted and spun her about, catching her axe as it fell from her slack grip.

Three black-clads were bringing their long blades down at Roak’s back, but he angled himself so the unconscious woman on his shoulder took the brunt of their attack. She screamed as the pain of the blades cutting through her suit and into the bright green of her flesh woke her. Then the scream died away and she followed with it.

Roak hurled the corpse at the three black-clads then turned to fend off two others as the three were forced to stumble back against an empty booth, their comrade dead at their feet, her blood smeared across their black suits.

The dual-bladed axe sliced through the air, creating a whooshing and whistling as it flew into the side of the head of one of the new black-clads that Roak engaged. A smell hit Roak’s nose, but he ignored it. No time to hunt mystery stenches. Roak tried to pry the axe free, but it was lodged in bone, so he shoved the man at the black-clad behind him then leapt onto the nearest table as a spiked chain shredded the floor where he’d been standing.

Roak kicked out with his right leg, his boot grazing the temple of the chain-wielding black-clad. But it was only a graze and the black-clad kept his composure, bringing his spiked chain back up and whipping it out at Roak’s face. Bending and arching backward, Roak watched the spiked chain slice through the air over his face then embed itself into the diner’s wall. Roak grabbed the spiked chain, his light armor gloves protecting him as he straightened up and pulled hard on the spiked chain. The black-clad let go of the weapon, sending Roak off balance at the force of his yank.

Stumbling across the table, his back ramming into the diner’s wall, Roak wasn’t able to dodge the long blade that cut the air and hit him in the right shoulder, slicing a good chunk of light armor away, as well as a decent portion of Roak’s flesh. Roak tried to twist away, but the blade was sunk in too well.

Roak shouted, turned, and threw four hard, fast, effective jabs into the black-clad’s mask. The sound of a nose breaking and then the gurgling of the being suddenly choking on his own blood made Roak smile. He hit the guy again for good measure then buried his Keplar in the black-clad’s belly.

The material of the being’s suit tried to repair itself, but the burning blade of the energy knife prevented that, so in addition to the gurgling coming from the man’s throat, there was a constant sizzling from his abdomen.

The black-clad fell backward into the booth he stood in, taking Roak’s Keplar knife with him. Roak grimaced, but made do as he pulled the long blade from his shoulder, a spray of bright blood following the arc of the blade. Before Roak could assess the damage to his shoulder, or turn to face the next attacker, a black-clad thrust a spear at his midsection. Roak tucked to the side and the spear tip only nicked his light armor, but the black-clad was fast and he had the spear pulled back and thrusting again before Roak could parry. The spear tip hit the same spot, but made it through the light armor that time. Roak grunted as his flesh split just above his left hip.

Then the black-clad’s head split open as Roak brought his left arm down as hard and fast as he could, the long blade slicing through the being’s mask then scalp then skull then brains. A putrid stink wafted up and Roak tried not to gag at the smell. He kicked the dead being away and recognized the stink as the same smell that came from the head of the black-clad that was lying on the floor with the axe in its skull.

“Hessa,” Roak said as he dodged a mace that came for his knees. “Hessa!”

“Here, Roak,” Hessa replied. “They’re trying to jam the comm, but I was able to figure out the frequency that is used in Bishop to counteract the jamming. I don’t know how long I can keep the comm open, though. The modulations are quite tricky.”

“Don’t care about tricky!” Roak yelled.

He jumped over another mace swing then stabbed the tip of the long blade into the black-clad’s left eye. There was a pop and a splurt then yellow pus was oozing down the being’s mask.

“That comm signature I called,” Roak said, leaping from his table to the table in the booth to his left. His hip screeched at him to stop moving, and his shoulder was pouring blood down his almost useless right arm, but Roak shoved all pain from his mind as he blocked an attack from another black-clad with a spear. “Call it, connect to me, and keep the comm open. I want her to hear this.”

“Roak? Uh, how will hearing you fight be of any help? She won’t see what is happening,” Hessa replied.

“She’ll know from the sounds,” Roak said. “So just do it!”

“Doing it. Calm down,” Hessa said.

“Calm down,” Roak scoffed, blocking another spear attack and another.

The table rocked under him and Roak realized one of the black-clads had slid across the floor to get beneath the table. The half meter of steel that came up through the table top between his legs proved that. Roak tried to sidekick the blade and break it with his boot, but it was yanked back and thrust up into a different spot before he could connect.

Pain exploded in Roak’s right boot and he risked a quick look down to see steel protruding from the top of his foot. Roak tucked the pain away in his mind to be dealt with later and lifted his foot up hard and fast. The blade made a scraping noise as it grated against one of the bones in Roak’s foot.

“She’s on,” Hessa stated.

“Good,” Roak said as he leapt backward, slamming his back into the diner wall as two axes came down where his feet had been.

The table split and Roak leapt onto the top of the next booth back then over onto that table then kept going from booth back to table to booth back to table until he was in a new corner of the diner.

Roak gripped the long blade with his left hand and tested the strength of his right hand. He could barely make a fist.

“Roak,” Reck’s voice echoed in the comm. There was static and a good amount of interference, but Roak could hear her. “Having some trouble?”

“They smell,” Roak said.

Then the six black-clads left rushed Roak as one unit. No more one on one, or two on one, or three on one. It was six on one and axes, blades, spears, and maces came for him.

“Smell?” Reck asked. “Never mind. You’re busy.”

Roak ran the short length of the table and threw himself into the air, spinning sideways, his long blade arcing down at the neck of the closest black-clad. The being’s head was severed and went flying against the head of the black-clad next to him. Roak’s light armor split across the chest as a spear tip ran the width of it. Then Roak was down on the entire group and everyone went sprawling in all directions.

“Coming at you from behind,” Reck said.

Roak, bleeding from more places than he would have liked, lifted his long blade and blocked a downward hack of an axe. Rolling to his right, and nearly passing out as his split shoulder was ground into the diner’s floor, Roak slid the long blade up the axe’s handle, shearing off the fingers of the hands holding it. The black-clad screamed and stumbled back, her fingerless hands spurting black blood high into the air.

Roak helicopter-kicked and twisted his body up and into a crouch as a long blade came down where his head had been.

“Wrong move,” Reck said.

A boot met Roak’s face as the owner of the blade side-kicked him in the head. The kick was hard enough that Roak saw stars and distinctly felt a vertebrae in his neck fracture. Possibly two vertebrae from the blinding white pain that shot up through Roak’s skull and down his spine.

Roak let go of his long blade and wrapped his left hand around the boot as it was withdrawn. Twisting with all his strength, and drawing more strength as he channeled his pain and agony into his muscles, the black-clad’s ankle snapped. The black-clad spun into the attack and rolled to the side, pulling his demolished ankle out of Roak’s grip, sending Roak off balance and falling forward.

“Gonna lose your head,” Reck said.

Roak tucked his chin and felt the sting of a blade scrape the back of his scalp. The sting was replaced by the warmth of free-flowing blood, but Roak didn’t have time to check and see how bad the wound was. He was rolling forward, grabbing the long blade as he went. Coming back up into a crouch, Roak spun on his heel and brought the blade up in time to keep from having his skull split down the middle.

Roak was nearly face to face with a black-clad. The eyes went from a dull black to a burning red.

“You have gotten much better,” a voice said from behind the mask despite the black-clad’s jaw not moving at all. “Impressive.”

Roak shoved the blade away and kept the forward motion of his left hand, turning his long blade so the butt of the weapon’s hilt slammed into the space between the black-clad’s red eyes. It had almost no effect. The head snapped back briefly, but whipped upright without the red eyes even blinking.

Roak hit the same spot again and that knocked the black-clad onto his ass.

A low chuckling came from behind the mask as Roak scrambled backward and forced himself to get up onto his feet. Roak faced the black-clads left, counting five still alive, but one was slumped across a table, her hands still leaking blood from where her fingers used to be, and another was only on one stable leg as the other was held up, the foot dangling from a mangled ankle.

Three real threats. Roak sneered at them all.

“Can’t help you now,” Reck said over the comm. “It’s going to move too fast.”

“I know,” Roak replied.

“Do you?” the red-eyed black-clad responded.

“Not talking to you,” Roak snapped.

“Is that so?” red eyes said. “Who are you talking to? That AI partner of yours? Bishop? No. Not Bishop. He’s dead. I exploded his heart inside his chest. I should have placed a holo cam in there to catch the image. What does an exploding heart look like when it blows up inside one’s chest? Science wants to know, Roak. Science wants to know.”

“Not dead,” Hessa interrupted.

“Good,” Roak said.

“Good? Oh, yes, you are speaking to your AI again,” red eyes said. Then the black-clad head was cocked to the side. “And someone else…? Is that little sister or big sister that you are chatting with?”

Roak froze. His mind went numb for just a brief second before he shook off the confusion.

Red eyes grinned and even behind the black mask it was easy to see that the grin stretched way farther than the anatomy of the being would have liked. Roak wasn’t for sure, but he thought he heard the distinct sound of flesh tearing. Then he saw the blood stains seeping through the mask and was for sure that was what he heard.

Watching the three black-clads, including red eyes, Roak strategized his move. Red eyes was straight on, about three meters away, the being’s backside close to one of the tables. The other two black-clads were only two meters away, each taking a side, making sure Roak didn’t have any space to maneuver in.

Left, right, or straight ahead, bloody steel waited for Roak.

“I have good news,” Hessa said.

“Is it good news that will help me out of this shit?” Roak asked.

Red eyes laughed. The two other black-clads waited while the fingerless black-clad moaned across one of the tables and the broken ankle black-clad rested his back against a wall, eyes on Roak.

“I hacked the town’s defense system,” Hessa said. “All of your weapons are no longer locked. You are free to fire away, Roak.”

Roak smiled.

“Oh, you were given good news,” red eyes said. “May I ask what has you smiling so, Roak?”

“Let me show you,” Roak said and pulled his Flott.

31.

The pistol threw lasers around the diner like energy streamers at a birthday celebration.

The two black-clads standing to the right and left of Roak had their chests ripped open by the energy beams. Smoke billowed up from the wounds as they fell to their knees. Roak squeezed the trigger again and their heads were pierced, sending them both falling backward, their legs bent under them like they were in the middle of a yoga pose when they died.

Red eyes dodged the laser bolts that came at him, but fingerless took a shot to the back of her skull. A thin wisp of smoke swirled up from the wound as the body slowly slid off the table and onto the floor.

Broken ankle came at Roak fast, catching the bounty hunter off guard. Roak turned to fire, but his Flott was knocked from his grip and clattered useless to the floor. Broken ankle’s fists hit Roak in the gut then in the face then back to the gut, doubling him over. Roak managed to block a knee to his face, but couldn’t block the fist to the back of his head.

Down on the floor, Roak went for the Blorta on his left ankle. He pulled it free and aimed up without looking. Roak squeezed the trigger and kept it depressed, telling the pistol to auto fire until empty. There was a gasp then a heavy weight collapsed across Roak’s back, flattening him into the floor.

Roak managed to shove up and knock the corpse free just as a boot connected with his chin. It sent him reeling to the side and he cried out as his right shoulder slammed into the side of a booth. Grunting and struggling to get back to his feet, Roak’s head rocked to the side as a fist nailed him in the cheekbone. Then the pistol was kicked from his grip and it clattered across the floor, coming to rest in a pool of blood.

“Stay right there,” red eyes said.

Roak didn’t have much choice in the matter as spots swam before his eyes.

Red eyes crouched low, easily within Roak’s reach. But that meant Roak was easily within red eyes’ reach too. A finger was jabbed under Roak’s nose.

“You,” red eyes said. “You betrayed me, so I thought we’d have some fun. It took me a long time to rebuild, but I did, and when I was confident I was at full strength, I decided to show you how it feels to truly be betrayed.”

Red eyes flicked the tip of Roak’s nose and stood up. Roak rested against the side of the booth seat and watched the black-clad figure pivot and walk away, taunting Roak with his unprotected back. Roak knew a setup when he saw one, so he remained still and let the being talk.

“The problem with you, Roak, and this has always been the problem with you, is that you are a loner,” red eyes said, still walking away. The being reached the diner’s short counter and he took a seat on one of the stools, swiveling around to face Roak once again. “How is one betrayed when he has no trust in other beings and has no one close to him?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Roak said once red eyes was fully seated on the stool.

“I will,” red eyes said and wagged a finger. “While you kept everyone in your life at arm’s length, you were only human.” Red eyes laughed at that statement. “You know what I mean. But the reality was that no matter how much you worked at closing yourself off, living beings have to make some type of connection in life or what is the point of continuing to exist?”

“You always did like forcing everyone to listen to your thought processes,” Roak said. Roak waved a hand at red eyes. “How’d you do this? How’d you get the ability to what? Possess beings?”

“Roak, come on, think it through,” red eyes said. “What did I teach all of you from the very beginning?”

“Corruption comes in many forms,” Roak said.

“Corruption comes in many forms,” red eyes echoed.

“Implants,” Roak said.

“Implants,” red eyes echoed.

“These new acolytes of yours, because these aren’t beings I know or remember,” Roak said, pointing at the corpses. “You installed implants in them? That goes against everything you taught us.”

“Life changes, Roak. The galaxy changes,” red eyes said. “You must change with it or you stagnate and die. I died once. Very unpleasant. I do not intend to die again.”

“You lied,” Roak said. “Only way you can be here right now is if you had implants all along.”

“I never lied, Roak,” red eyes said. “Corruption comes in many forms, remember? I taught you all to keep your bodies free of impurities, but at no time did I say I would do the same. One does not reach my age without making hard compromises in life. Yes, I deceived you all by hiding my own technological corruption, but think back, think hard, Roak, when did I ever tell any of you that I was pure?”

“Never,” Roak replied without having to think. “And not one of us ever thought you were. You don’t go through what we went through and think that the being doing what was being done is pure. I’ve met mindless monsters that had more purity than you.”

“Oh, I could say the same about you, Roak,” red eyes said. “But let’s not get all tit for tat right now.”

Red eyes pointed at Roak and twirled the finger in a slow, tight circle.

“Talk to me about the comm,” red eyes said. “Undetectable? Very nice. Who designed it for you? That is a question I haven’t been able to answer.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roak said. “No one designed a thing for me.”

“Fine. You want to be like that then be like that,” red eyes said and huffed. “I was curious, is all.”

“What now? Huh? What’s the point of this talk?” Roak asked.

“Oh, yes, right!” red eyes exclaimed. “The point! Let me get back to that.”

Red eyes swiped a holo menu into existence and studied it for a moment before banishing it with a second swipe.

“Soup and stew. Ugh,” red eyes said. “But you always liked stew, didn’t you, Roak? The others saw it as punishment, but you ate bowl after bowl of the stuff.”

“Eat what you can when you can,” Roak said.

“Precisely,” red eyes said. “But enough about food. The point I was getting to was that no matter how hard you tried to isolate and insulate yourself from interpersonal attachment, you couldn’t help but make relationships.”

Red eyes held up a hand and began to tick off fingers.

“Let’s start with Tala Berene, Roak,” red eyes said. “You married into the Cervile royal class. Congratulations on that. Not sure what you were thinking since who you are is in no way compatible with that type of lifestyle, but I applaud you for thinking outside that narrow box of a head of yours.”

“Didn’t work out,” Roak said and shrugged then hissed as the meat of his shoulder tore some more.

“I bet a med pod sounds nice about now, doesn’t it?” Red eyes snickered. “Too bad. But, back to Tala, why did it not work out, Roak? I am sure you have thought a lot about that.”

“Not really,” Roak replied. “I wanted to keep hunting and she didn’t want me to keep hunting. I chose hunting.”

“Oh!” Red eyes clapped and laughed. “Let us count the lies in that statement!”

“Let’s not.”

“Right. Why waste the time?” red eyes replied, nodding at Roak. “Time is not on our side.” He sniffed the air. “The bodies will get really rank soon and this diner will become unbearable. That is the problem when using the reanimated as your weapons.”

“You killed their minds, but kept their bodies active,” Roak said quietly. “You always threatened to do that.”

“It became a necessary evil, Roak. I did not want to become that being, but as I said before, life changes.” Red eyes sighed. “With Tala gone from your life, I needed to find a new target of betrayal. She dodged a plasma blast there, let me tell you.”

“So, you found Bishop,” Roak said.

“What? Bishop? No, not yet, Roak,” red eyes replied. “I found that maddeningly allusive AI friend of yours.”

Roak froze. His insides twisted and bunched until he thought he’d shit himself or throw up or both.

“That was you,” Roak hissed.

“That was me.” Red eyes nodded and held up a hand. “But, in your friend’s defense, she did manage to get free of my influence rather quickly. That AI was extremely loyal to you, Roak. I am unsure of what your relationship is now, but I suspect she still helps you when you comm her. Am I right? Does she help you? Do you still comm her when you need something?”

“If you don’t already know the answers to those questions, then don’t expect me to help you out,” Roak replied.

“Incidental information, not really relevant to the now,” red eyes said. “Which brings us to Bishop.”

“Three years,” Roak said.

“Three years I made him dangle from my threads of control,” red eyes said, nodding in agreement with Roak’s statement. “Oh, he fought, trust me, but Bishop is not cut from the same cloth as you and I, Roak. He’s very good at making relationships and keeping them strong. It is why he was such a perfect asset for you. What’s the saying? Bishop had a guy in every system? Yes. For a being such as yourself, having a Bishop made up for all the connections you have burned over the years.”

“Still missing the point here,” Roak said, sounding highly unimpressed. “Are you getting to it soon?”

“Betrayal!” red eyes bellowed. Then he grumbled and shook his head before giving Roak a huge smile. “I’d forgotten that about you. The only one of my children that could get to me.”

“Not your child, none of us were,” Roak said.

“Is that so? Then why did you all call me Father?” red eyes asked.

“Because we had to.”

“No one has to do anything, Roak. Existence is about choices. You could have not called me Father.”

“We saw what happened to those that refused.”

Red eyes shrugged. “There was still a choice. Argue all you want, there was still a choice.”

“We chose to keep our limbs attached and sanity intact.”

“Wise choice,” red eyes responded. Then he brought the menu holo back up. “You know what, Roak? This body is hungry. I personally do not like stew, but perhaps this body does.” He slapped his palms on the counter. “Oh, waitress!”

“She’s long gone,” Roak said.

But, surprisingly, the waitress appeared from the kitchen. The glazed look in her eyes made Roak shake his head.

“You couldn’t even let her go,” Roak said as he shifted his position. Red eyes snapped his head around and glared. “Calm down. Only getting comfortable. If you’re gonna eat some stew, then we’ll be here a while, won’t we?”

“I think we will,” red eyes said then turned back to smile at the waitress. “Do you have any vegetarian stew? I’m vegetarian.”

Red eyes’ head swiveled slowly back to face Roak.

“But I would enjoy some meat since I am not vegetarian.”

Roak heard the words and started laughing. He had a hard time stopping.

32.

When Roak was able to get himself under control, mostly because the laughing shook his body and hurt like all the Hells, he cleared his throat and said, “You created Ms. Lika.”

“That is not entirely true,” red eyes said. “I had her created then set her loose. She was given certain directives, but otherwise, I left her alone to develop on her own. To my great delight, she ended up exactly where I had hoped she would.”

“How delighted were you when she got turned into pulp?” Roak asked.

“Oh, I was extremely delighted,” red eyes said. “You bested a being who was designed specifically with your downfall in mind. She was my backup plan in case all this Bishop fun didn’t work. She would have never killed you, Roak, so really what you did was murder, not self-defense. I thought you should know that.”

“Yeah, I think she went off book a few times,” Roak said. “She was trying to kill me.”

“Like I said, she developed on her own,” red eyes said.

A bowl of steaming stew was set in front of red eyes. He picked up a spoon, smiled at the waitress, then grimaced and said, “Go kill yourself.”

The waitress’s glazed eyes flickered with fear briefly then returned to their dull state. She turned and walked back into the kitchen.

“Did you have to tell her to do that?” Roak asked.

There was the sound of metal clanging on metal then a loud thwack followed by the distinct noise of a body falling onto the floor.

“Have to? No. Want to? Yes,” red eyes said as he sniffed the stew then put a spoonful into his mouth.

He immediately began spitting and gagging, shoving the stew off the counter and away from him.

“No!” he yelled. “That does not taste good to this being’s body! Why does stew even exist?”

“To piss you off, obviously,” Roak said. “So, Bishop…?”

“Yes. Bishop,” red eyes responded, wiping his mouth aggressively with a napkin. Then he began wiping his tongue as his body shivered with disgust. Red eyes wadded the moist napkin up and threw it over his shoulder, swiveling the stool to face Roak again. “Bishop. For the record and so you know that Bishop is a true friend, he did not break easy. But he did break eventually.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“It took a good deal of planning and maneuvering, but eventually, the stars aligned and here we are,” red eyes said. “I will say, though, that if you had met that Ally woman a couple of years earlier, then she would have been my tool against you. You two are so cute together.”

Roak glared. He tried to push the emotions down, but they refused to be held in check.

“Did you harm her?” Roak snarled, his face flushed with rage.

“Harm her? I can’t find her, Roak,” red eyes replied. “I know she’s Tcherian and born to be able to hide, but that woman has taken going off the grid to a whole new level. Even with the vast resources at my disposal, she’s gone. Same with that Sha Tog fellow. I am assuming they helped each other disappear, but one must never assume. Where do you think they could have gotten off to?”

“If staying off your radar is the end result, then I don’t want to know where they are anymore,” Roak said. “I’d rather not lead you to them.”

Red eyes patted his chest. “Oh, but what about your poor little heart, Roak? Does it not yearn for the Tcherian woman? Does she not enter your thoughts at night, just before you drift off to sleep?”

“I keep strange hours, so I don’t sleep much at night,” Roak replied.

“You know what I mean,” red eyes said, patting his chest again. “If I did know where she was, you’d want me to tell you, right?” Roak didn’t reply. “Yes, you would. Don’t deny it.”

Roak shifted again. Red eyes wagged a finger. Roak stopped moving and closed his eyes.

“You have me where you want me,” Roak said. “Can we get on with this?”

“I don’t have you where I want you,” red eyes said, looking shocked and surprised. “You’re on Stefbon and I’m having to talk through a body that is probably not in good enough shape to take you on even with the state you are in. I know you, Roak. You’ll fight to the end. And, besides, I don’t want you dead. Aren’t you seeing that?”

Roak rubbed at his face. “I’m not seeing much of anything right now.”

“Regardless, I hardly have you where I want you. Let’s be clear about that part of this. You have so many outs it almost makes me proud. Almost.”

“Then where does this leave us?”

“That is a fine question. How about I make you a deal, Roak?”

“How about no?”

“Just listen.”

“Don’t have much of a choice.”

“Roak…? We’ve already established that everyone has a choice.”

“You established that. I never said I agreed with you.”

“Fair enough.”

Roak grimaced at how much he heard himself in that response.

“Would you care to listen to the deal or no, Roak?” red eyes asked.

“Get on with it, old man.”

“Name calling. Beneath us both. But, I’ll continue.” Red eyes cleared his throat. “I need you to work for me again.”

“No deal.”

“Oh, but you haven’t even heard what the job is. And it is a great job, Roak. The job of a lifetime for a bounty hunter like you.”

“Spit it the fuck out!”

“Tsk tsk,” red eyes said and wagged his finger. “Temper, Roak. Temper.”

“The job…”

“I need you to find Mother.”

The range of emotions that crossed Roak’s face could not be tracked except by the most adept AI.

“I thought that might do a number on you,” red eyes said. “It certainly did.”

“Who?” Roak finally managed to ask.

“Mother,” red eyes said. “If I am Father, then there has to be a Mother. That’s just nature, Roak. From two comes one.”

“Mother?”

“Mother.”

“Why?”

Red eyes cocked his head. “I’ll need some clarification on that question. Why…what?”

“Why do you want me to find her?” Roak explained.

“Oh, that why. I thought you were maybe asking why I’d never told you, or any of you, there was a Mother. Or perhaps you were asking why now or why is she called Mother and I am called Father, so on and so on.”

“Why do you want me to find her?” Roak repeated.

“She’s not exactly a her just as I am not exactly a him,” red eyes said. “But that’s semantics. To get to your question of why I want to find her, it is because the time is right. That simple.”

“I don’t think simple applies to any of this shit.”

“No, perhaps not. I have slightly more complicated reasons, but to be honest, it’s because there is only so much room in the galaxy for the both of us. I’m feeling…crowded. So, I’d like you to find Mother and bring her to me. Can you do that?”

“You did all of this, had Bishop betray me, nearly killed me more than a few times, so I would take a job for you?” Roak asked. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath then opened his eyes again. “I’d ask what’s wrong with you, but I know the answer to that.”

“What? No, I did all this to torture you, Roak,” red eyes replied. “I really thought I was clear on that point.”

“Torture me into doing a job for you? Don’t know why I’m questioning that,” Roak said.

“Neither do I,” red eyes said. “So, Roak, will you take the job of a lifetime?”

“No,” Roak replied instantly.

“No?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

“Super sure?”

“Not taking the job. I guess you’ll have to kill me.”

“I guess I will. Or try. Like I said—”

“Stop.”

“Excuse me?”

“Stop saying like I said. It’s annoying. Just say what you mean and get this shit over with.”

“Fine. What I mean is I will try to kill you using this body. If that does not work, then I’ll go to my backup plan.”

“You probably have a few of those.”

“Only the one. It’s a good one. I’m almost wishing you do kill this body so I can set the backup plan in motion.”

“You say the words, but I don’t believe the words. You’re gonna try to kill me.”

“Unless you take the job. Last chance, Roak. What do you say?”

“Same as before: no.”

Red eyes shrugged and slid off the stool. He made a gesture for Roak to stand up.

Roak stood up. And fired his other Blorta 22, hitting red eye’s body center mass.

Red eyes coughed and looked down at the smoking hole in his chest.

“See, Roak. This is why you were always my favorite.”

“Funny way of showing it,” Roak replied.

Red eyes poked and prodded at the hole, studying it with great interest, then he looked up at Roak and said, “See you in a second.”

The red eyes faded to black and the being that truly owned the body looked at the hole in his chest in pure horror. Then he toppled to the floor, dead.

Roak steadied himself against the booth, tested the strength of his legs, grimaced, then put one foot in front of the other as he made his way slowly to the front door.

“Gonna need a ride, Hessa,” Roak called into the comm.

“We are taking off now,” Hessa said. “How injured are you?”

“Not my worst, but not my best either.”

“Average day?”

“Above average.”

“Be to you in approximately five minutes,” Hessa said.

The door to the kitchen burst open and the diner’s cook, a massive Urvein that was well over eight feet tall, came rushing out with meat cleavers in both hands. One of the cleavers flew towards Roak and knocked the Blorta from his grip before he could fire.

“Hurry,” Roak said as he turned to the oncoming Urvein. “No, seriously, hurry!”

33.

Roak had come across some incredibly large Urveins in his travels around the galaxy. He’d even come across Urvein halfers that were mixed with other races like Gwreq. Halfers like that were gigantic.

But at no time in all his experience had Roak seen an Urvein as large as the one that was crashing through the counter to get at him. Crashing through the counter. Not going around or over, but through. Roak’s jaw dropped as splinters of plastic and metal went everywhere.

Roak’s surprise and confusion at the size and strength of the Urvein didn’t paralyze him, though. He saw the red eyes and threw himself to the ground as the Urvein swiped at Roak’s head with one of the meat cleavers. One of. The being suddenly had two once again. Roak rolled across the floor, not caring where the Urvein got the second cleaver from. Roak was on a mission to get one of his own.

Dodging a furry foot that was aimed at his head, Roak kept rolling and came up with the meat cleaver the Urvein had thrown to knock his Blorta from his hand. Roak slashed and the being roared in pain as most of the fur and skin from its right shin was sent falling to the already blood-caked floor.

Then Roak caught the other foot to his ribs and cried out as several things inside snapped. He still gripped the cleaver, though, and he took red eyes’ Urvein right foot off just above the furry ankle. Hot blood splashed Roak’s face. He didn’t bother to wipe it away. Roak rolled again, groaning loudly as the ends of his broken ribs ground against each other. He reached above him and pulled himself up by the closest booth seat.

The red eyes Urvein was howling as it hopped about, meat cleavers dropped and paws gripping where a foot once had been. Blood was gushing everywhere. A being that size and weight had a serious disadvantage when a limb was severed. Gravity, no matter what the planet was, liked to expel blood from exposed stumps as fast as possible.

“No!” red eyes bellowed. “I am above this!”

The Urvein stumbled away, back into the kitchen, and Roak took his chance to try to get closer to the front door.

There was a lot of clanging then a whoosh and howling. The smell of burning flesh reached Roak’s nose about the same time he reached the front door. He reached for the door handle, but stopped as his world became a spinning confusion of pain. The back of his head throbbed with agony and he realized he’d been hit with something.

Unable to make his hands work properly, or see straight, Roak rested his forehead against the plastiglass of the front door then managed to twist himself around so he could see what was coming at him. The exposed flesh of his scalp scraped against the edge of the front door and he sucked air in fast through his teeth as he forced his vision to clear.

Roak blinked and saw the Urvein a meter away, grinning at him. The being’s massive canines drew Roak’s attention. Then he looked down the being’s body and saw it holding one of the diner stools. A second stool was at Roak’s feet.

“You threw a stool?” was all Roak could think of asking.

“Use what is at hand,” the red eyes Urvein said. It lifted the stool it held and started to throw it at Roak, but instead stumbled back as blood bloomed across its chest. “What…?”

Then Roak’s ears caught up and heard the plasma blasts. The plastiglass next to his head had several smoking, melted holes in it. Roak’s eyes saw that, his mind registered the facts, but he couldn’t quite figure out what it all meant.

“Shit,” was all he said.

The red eyes Urvein was balanced at the edge of the hole in the counter it had created, its watery eyes staring down at the wounds in its body.

“How…?” the red eyes Urvein asked then looked up. The watery eyes narrowed. “You…”

The door to the diner was shoved open and Roak saw her walk in, plasma rifle to her shoulder. She cleared her left then her right then aimed the rifle back at the red eyes Urvein.

“You gonna live?” she asked Roak without looking at him.

“Reck,” the red eyes Urvein said and coughed up a good amount of blood. “Are you helping him? Helping Roak? I have seen stranger things in life, but this here… You’re helping Roak? Really?”

“Don’t know what it is to you, scumbag,” Reck said.

“Reck?” Roak rasped. “Meet Father.”

The plasma rifle dipped for a second then came back up as Reck moved closer, her trigger finger squeezing a hair tighter, but stopping just short of firing.

“That’s not Father,” Reck said. “You killed Father.”

“I told you he wasn’t dead,” Roak said. “Might want to start listening next time.”

The red eyes Urvein gave Reck a small wave.

“The eyes,” Roak said when she didn’t respond to him.

“I see them,” Reck said. “This is a hoax, Roak. Someone is playing you, playing us. Father is dead. You killed him and scattered us.”

“Yeah, I wish,” Roak said. “But we had a really long conversation and I have no doubt who is behind those red eyes.”

Roak pointed at the black-clad corpse with the hole in its chest.

“Except he was that guy a minute ago,” Roak continued. “He uses the implants to take over the bodies.”

“Implants?” Reck asked. “Now I know it is not Father.”

“Oh, it is I, daughter,” the red eyes Urvein said.

Reck snarled and spat at the dying Urvein.

“He tell you what you needed to hear?” Reck asked Roak out of the corner of her mouth.

“Pretty much,” Roak said.

“We need him alive?” Reck asked.

“Did we ever?”

Reck fired twice, putting smoking holes in the red eyes Urvein’s forehead. The body dropped, crushing one of the diner stools under it.

Reck kept the body covered with the plasma rifle and waited for a full five minutes.

“It’s dead,” Reck said.

“You think?” Roak asked and coughed up a hunk of bloody phlegm. “I’m going to be dead soon too. Mind giving me a hand to the ship?”

“Not with your ship,” Reck said. “I have my puddle jumper parked down the street. Weird town. No one even came out to look. Until I came in here, I didn’t see anyone else. I thought maybe your AI was wrong about your location.”

“Hessa sent you here?” Roak asked.

“Sorry, Roak,” Hessa said over the comm. “She was closer and I am having a bit of an issue with our take off.”

“What kind of issue?” Roak asked.

“The not being able to take off kind of issue,” Hessa said. “The local flora has been enhanced somewhat. The ship is…tangled.”

“Go scorched earth and get that ship in the air, Hessa!” Roak snapped.

“Don’t think you’re in much shape to be giving orders,” Reck said. “Can you walk?”

“Probably not,” Roak said and looked down at himself. “Definitely not.”

“Yellow Eyes is working to clear the vegetation from the engine drives as we speak,” Hessa said. “We should be able to lift off within the next few minutes.”

“Good,” Roak said. “And Bishop?”

“He is good,” Hessa said. “Bishop is recuperating in a med pod. Removing the device from his heart nearly killed him. But I did it and the device has been disposed of.”

“Let’s get you to my ship,” Reck said.

“Hessa is on her way soon,” Roak said. “Just get me outside.”

Reck hesitated, glanced at the dead Urvein, looked about the diner, then nodded. She slung the plasma rifle across her back and slid her arms around Roak.

“Easy,” Roak hissed.

“Why? You die or you don’t. My being easy isn’t going to change that,” Reck replied.

Roak started to argue the merits of not having his ribs grind against each other, but held back the words since he knew Reck really didn’t care too much about the pain he was in. Or, more accurately, she liked the fact he was in that much pain and complaining would only have egged her on.

Gritted teeth and short, fast breaths, was how Roak endured the journey from inside the diner to outside the diner. The fresh air hit him and he gulped at it as Reck carry-dragged him down the sidewalk.

“My Flott,” Roak said. “I left my Flott five-six in there. We need to go back.”

“Not going back.”

“Not leaving my Flott.”

“You are leaving your Flott because I’m not going back to get it.” Reck let go of Roak and he balanced precariously on the sidewalk. “Go back and get it yourself.”

“I’ll get another one,” Roak said sourly.

“They’re hard to come by,” Reck said. “You may not find another one.”

“Cute.”

Reck grabbed onto Roak again and they started walking, limping, shuffling down the sidewalk once more.

They both saw them at the same time and froze in place.

“Found the townsfolk,” Roak said. “They’re checking out your ship.”

A good-sized crowd was gathered around Reck’s puddle jumper that was parked a few blocks down in the middle of the street. The townsfolk all turned as one and regarded Roak and Reck. Even from that distance, it was easy to see the beings’ eyes flicker with red.

“He can’t inhabit them all at once,” Roak said. “He’s trying, but he can’t do it. We hurt him.”

The townsfolk laughed.

“Merely choosing the perfect avatar, Roak!” a woman called to him.

“Picking the best of the meager options!” a man shouted.

“Don’t want to rush the process!” a small girl said.

“Here we go!”

A tall, thin man separated himself from the crowd. He had a carbine resting over his shoulder and holstered pistols on both hips.

“Howdy,” the man said and a holo badge flickered into life on his chest.

“A lawman?” Reck yelled. “You do love irony!”

“Let’s go the other way,” Roak said.

“What?” Reck asked.

“Let’s walk the other way. Just don’t engage. He’s only going to hop from one body to the next, over and over and over. Or he’ll mind wipe them and send the lot at us like drones. I’m not fighting, so it’ll be just you against them all.”

“I’ll kill two-thirds before they reach us,” Reck said.

“I don’t doubt that, but it still leaves a third of them,” Roak said. “Hessa? How we looking?”

“Yellow Eyes is almost done,” Hessa said. “The foliage grows back so fast.”

“Take off now,” Roak said.

“I am trying,” Hessa said. “Ah, there we go, Yellow Eyes has the engine drives clear.”

“Take off now!” Roak shouted.

“What about Yellow Eyes? He’s still… Oh, here he is. Taking off now.”

“Turn and walk away,” Roak said to Reck.

“What about the lawman?” Reck asked.

“Sure. Take him down,” Roak replied. “That way he can’t shoot us in the backs.”

Reck let go of Roak, snagged the plasma rifle from her back, barely seated the butt against her shoulder, and fired. The lawman was knocked off his feet and sent flying backward into the crowd. Reck returned the plasma rifle to her back

“What about my ship?” Reck asked.

“Do you really care that much?” Roak asked. “Ships are simply ships.”

“I heard that, Roak,” Hessa growled in his comm.

“There are exceptions,” Roak said.

“Not happy,” Reck said more to herself. “You’ll owe me a ship.”

“Fine.”

“One better than a puddle jumper.”

“What?”

“That’s my price for leaving the ship behind and for helping you.”

“I doubt that’s all it’s gonna cost me.”

“You are not wrong there, Roak.”

“New ship, better than a puddle jumper. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“Can we walk away now?”

The crowd wasn’t rushing at them, but it wasn’t moving at a leisurely pace, either.

“Yes,” Reck said as he helped Roak again.

The crowd saw them turn and then the pace quickened. Half of the beings started sprinting at Roak and Reck.

“They’re coming,” Reck said. “I should drop you and open fire.”

“These aren’t Father’s acolytes,” Roak said. “They’re innocent townsfolk that got caught up in our mess.”

“Your mess.”

“My mess.”

“And since when did you care about innocent townsfolk?”

“I don’t. But there’s no need to kill them.” Roak nodded at the sky and the incoming ship. “See? Here comes Hessa.”

“That was fast,” Reck said.

“She knows how to push it when it’s needed.”

The Borgon opened fire at the street and the crowd of townsfolk skidded to a stop then fled in all directions to escape the plasma that rained down on them.

“She also knows how to provide cover,” Roak said as the ship landed in the street and the side hatch opened up, a ladder automatically sliding down to the ground. “Shit. That’s gonna hurt.”

“Here. I’ll help,” Yellow Eyes said as he took Roak from Reck and carried the bounty hunter up into the ship.

Roak screamed and cursed the entire time until he was placed in a med pod and the lid closed.

34.

For the first time that he could remember, Roak didn’t want to get out of the med pod. It was un-Roak-like of him for sure, but the thought of facing the galaxy with a living Father in it made his gonads shrivel. He wondered if he could step from the med pod and straight into a tavern where he could drink himself into a stupor and stay that way for months, perhaps years.

“Hessa?” Roak asked. “How close are we to Xippee?”

“The tavern planet? We are nowhere near Xippee,” Hessa replied over the comm.

“Didn’t think so,” Roak said and sighed as he activated the med pod’s lid and watched it rise.

It took him a bit to muster the strength to sit upright and swing his legs over the side. He’d been in there for a while and Hessa had told him that he’d feel groggy for a time due to the fact that it became harder and harder to repair his body after all the damage it had taken over the years. There was a distinct possibility that one day the med pod would barely be able to heal a scratch on his body. The phenomenon of becoming immune to the med pod’s therapy was something Hessa insisted was singular to Roak’s physiology.

Roak had a feeling Reck was in the same boat, but he doubted she’d spent quite as much time in med pods as he had.

“Where are we at then?” Roak asked as he slid his feet to the floor and walked his naked ass over to a chair where clothes were waiting. He got dressed, but didn’t leave the med bay. Instead, he walked over to a different pod and stared in at Bishop’s sleeping form. “Hessa? Where are we?”

“Sorry, Roak, I was conversing with Reck regarding your unique upbringing,” Hessa replied.

Roak froze. Then he turned and hurried from the med bay.

“Where is she?” Roak asked.

“I assigned her quarters on your level,” Hessa said.

“And where are we?” Roak asked. “Try answering the question this time.”

“We are sitting at the edge of the Klatu System,” Hessa said.

“The nightmare system?” Roak started to argue then shrugged as he made his way to the lift. “Yeah. Good call. No one will come looking here. Keep an eye out for trouble, though.”

“I have scanners set to full and I am sweeping the system regularly. If one of the unspeakable horrors comes for us, we are close enough to the wormhole portal to get away.”

“Good to hear,” Roak said as he stepped onto the lift.

He rode up to his level then got off and went the opposite way of his quarters. He pounded a fist on the first door he came to.

The door slid open and Reck was standing there shirtless, wiping a pistol down with a rag.

“Put a fucking shirt on,” Roak snapped as he pushed past her.

“You know we aren’t really related, right?” Reck said as he closed the door and walked to a small table where an armory’s worth of weapons were laying in various stages of cleaning and repair. “And we’ve seen each other naked more times than either of us can count. Remember those two years of Father’s no clothes or armor policy?”

“Still, put a fucking shirt on,” Roak said.

What he didn’t want to say was the sight of the scars that crisscrossed her torso brought back memories he would have rather left buried.

“Whatever,” Reck said and fetched a shirt from the back of a chair pushed up to the table of weapons. She slipped it on and bowed. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Roak said and plopped down into a small couch in the corner of the stark room. “Where are we dropping you off?”

“Nowhere yet,” Reck said.

“Funny. No, where are we dropping you off?”

“Nowhere yet,” Reck said again, but slower.

“Med pod must have messed with my ears,” Roak said.

“Knock it off,” Reck responded, setting the pistol on the table and picking up a weapon that had a short blade at either end of its handle. She started wiping one blade then switched to the other quickly. Back and forth, back and forth.

“Where’d you get all the weapons?” Roak asked.

“We looted my ship before leaving the planet,” Reck said. “The townsfolk destroyed the engines, so I wrote it off as a loss. But I wasn’t leaving these behind.”

“Ah. Good to know,” Roak said. “You know what else would be good to know? Where we are dropping you off!”

“Hessa and I had a chat,” Reck said. “I’m sticking around. That’s what we were actually talking about, not our upbringing. I don’t talk about that.”

“Neither do I,” Roak said. “And a gigantic no to you sticking around. All you are going to do is try to get me to come back to the fold. I don’t want to come back to the fold. If you haven’t noticed, the fold is the last place to be. If Father is coming at me the way he is, what do you think he’ll do to the others?”

Reck shrugged. Roak cocked his head.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Roak asked. “What didn’t he tell me? What’s going on, Reck? Why did you answer the door shirtless while cleaning a pistol like you’re living here now?”

“Because I am living here now,” Reck said. “There’s nowhere else to go, Roak.” She growled like she was in great pain and shook her head. “Fine. Here it is. The fold is gone. Everyone is dead. Father wiped them out. I didn’t know it was Father, but now I do. I’m all that’s left. And you. We’re all that’s left.”

“What about…?”

“She’s gone too. They all are, Roak. I’m not going to try to get you to come back, I’m trying to get you to let me stay.”

Roak stared at her a long while then shook his head and glanced around the cabin. “You salvage anything to drink?”

“I did,” Reck said and set the two-bladed knife down on the table.

She moved casually to the small kitchenette area, which was really just a wet bar with a mini-synthesizer, and grabbed a bottle of brown liquid. She turned and tossed it to Roak. He caught it easily and looked at the bottle.

“No label,” Roak said, an eyebrow raised.

“I know a guy,” Reck said.

“This shit gonna make me go blind? Because I really don’t want ocular implants.”

“Try a sip.”

Roak opened the bottle, sniffed it, made a happy face, and took a quick swig.

“Damn. You know a Klav,” Roak said.

“I do,” Reck said. “Did. Not sure if I can contact him anymore. I’d say most of my contacts are burned.”

“Join the club,” Roak said, tipping the bottle towards her. She walked over and took it, drank deeply, then handed it back. “Might want to go easy on the drink if you aren’t going to be getting more soon.”

“I have a case in the closet there,” Reck said and sat down at the table. She picked up another weapon, a strange trident-looking thing, and began to clean it.

“You want to stay here?” Roak asked.

“If we are going to survive whatever Father has in store, if that is Father, then we have to work together.”

“That was Father,” Roak said with confidence.

“How can you truly be sure?” Reck asked. “I’m not breaking your gonads, just asking a question.”

“It was him,” Roak said. “If it wasn’t, then it is someone that knows him intimately. All I can say is I’m convinced.”

“If he can do that, hijack implants and control beings, then there’s nowhere we can go, Roak,” Reck said.

She didn’t sound afraid, just like Roak never sounded afraid, but she sounded desperate. Roak leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees as he swirled the whiskey in the bottle. He watched it slide up and down the glass sides. Then he turned his eyes to Reck.

“The last time we saw each other, I kind of screwed you over,” Roak said. “Not really, but it could be interpreted like that.”

“I did try to kill you,” Reck said. “If you hadn’t moltrans’d out of Shava Stemn Shava’s place, then you would have been dead.”

“Which is why I don’t feel too bad right now,” Roak replied. “But, counting our last interaction, and everything between us, really, I think we’re going to have some trust issues if you end up staying on this ship.”

“You think, Roak?” Reck laughed. “Oh, and I’m staying. Hessa already said I am.”

“Hessa is not the boss,” Roak said. He cocked his head, waiting for an interruption from the AI, but there wasn’t one. “She’s listening, just not talking.”

“Dead comm,” Reck said, pointing at the ceiling. “I may have a wiper hidden in some of my things.”

“You killed the comms in my ship?”

“Only in my quarters.”

“Which are part of my ship.”

“Forget about the wiper, will you?”

“We’ll get back to that later, trust me,” Roak said and sighed. “Which brings us back around to trust. The whole Jonny Nebula job, was everyone still alive then? Was there a fold?”

“Yes, but the killings had begun,” Reck replied. “None of us had connected the dots yet.”

“But you were working for one of the syndicates,” Roak said. “You took that job and turned the Jonny Nebula DNA over to one of the syndicates. Wasn’t that your mission?”

“No,” Reck said. “The mission was to get that tube, but it was also to assess whether or not you were still you. To watch you work.”

“To see if maybe I was killing some of the fold,” Roak said. “That it?”

“Partly, but yes.”

“What are the other parts?”

Reck smiled and shook her head. “Trust goes both ways, Roak. Give me something to chew on and I’ll keep opening up. You know how it is.”

“I know how it is,” Roak said and nodded. “Fine. But you’ll want more of this.”

Roak tossed the bottle to Reck, she didn’t drink. Roak shrugged.

“There’s something you need to know,” Roak said. “Something that convinces me we were talking to the real Father.”

“Alright…”

“All of that crap back there, all the crap for apparently three years, Bishop and my chits being stolen—”

“Fuck the recap, Roak, get to the story,” Reck snapped which made Roak grin.

“Father wants me to find Mother for him,” Roak said.

The statement landed like a gravity well, sucking all the life out of the room.

Reck was silent for a very long time. Roak let her stay silent. The only interruption was when he snapped his fingers and she tossed the bottle of whiskey back to him. Roak drank and waited.

“It makes sense,” Reck said.

“It does? How does it make sense?” Roak asked. “Who in all the Hells is Mother?”

“Who in all the Hells is Father?” Reck countered. “We know he’s not really our father. We know he’s not really a he or really anything that exists in the normal landscape of this galaxy. Probably this universe. So why in all the Hells wouldn’t there be a Mother too?”

“Because it’s crazy?” Roak suggested.

“Think.”

“Oh, I have been. And it worries the shit out of me. Another one of them out there? There was supposed to be none of them out there. Killing Father was my burden. A burden I’ve lived with for a long time.”

“Was it really a burden, Roak?”

Roak smirked. “Maybe not a heavy one. At least not after some time went by. But what we are dealing with now is two of them. A Father and a Mother.”

“We don’t know that,” Reck replied and laughed. “We don’t know that at all. All we know is someone that you think is Father.”

“He is Father.”

“Someone you think is Father sets you up for all the Hells then drops that little chunk of crap in your lap, completely messing your mind up. That’s what we know.”

“I wouldn’t say completely messing my mind up,” Roak said. “But that is a factually accurate assessment of the situation.”

“What’s factually accurate is we still don’t know shit, Roak. We do not know shit. No know shit.”

Roak chuckled quietly.

“You laughing at me, asshole?” Reck snapped. “I am the one sitting at a table of weapons.”

“Yeah, good luck surviving past that door there,” Roak said. “And I wasn’t laughing at you. I was laughing because it’s nice to hear you sound like you, not like that automaton thing you were when we last met.”

“Automaton thing? What the fuck does that mean?”

“You know. You were all ‘come back to the fold, Roak’. And ‘you belong with us, Roak.’ That crap. Towing the fold line, blah, blah, blah. All stiff and professional and focused on the mission like it was the only thing in the galaxy that mattered.”

Reck glared at Roak for a second then started nodding her head up and down.

“She was right all along,” Reck said. “You killed Father not just to get away, but because you wanted us to reject you. You wanted to be kicked out of the fold.”

“I never said that.”

“You don’t have to. It all makes sense now. She knew you best and none of us listened. We thought you’d gone mad. She knew you just didn’t like any of us.”

“She wasn’t wrong there. The fold sucked nuft nuts, Reck. It was a suffocating place that was going to kill us all one day. I didn’t want that to happen to me. I wanted some freedom to see what the galaxy was all about.”

“Visit strange new worlds, meet strange new beings, and kill them? That kind of experience? Because you hit the jackpot on that.”

“You know what I mean and do not even think of denying it. You’re pissed because I did what you wanted to do all along. You hated it there more than I did.” He held up a finger as she tried to protest. “She knew me better than any of you, but I knew you better than any of them. Even better than her.”

“You did,” Reck said and backed off. A little. “Which means you knew how much it hurt me when you killed Father and left us all to fend for ourselves.”

“Didn’t kill Father, apparently, so no need to hold a grudge. I only delayed the inevitable. Basically, I allowed him to grow stronger by forcing him into hiding. You want to be pissed at something, be pissed at that.”

Roak stood up.

“Because I am.”

“Whoa, where are you going?” Reck asked, standing up as well.

“I have work to do,” Roak said. “Get dressed and come on up to the bridge. I’m going to check a few things, but then we’re getting the Hells out of this system before something eats us.”

“I’m not going to argue with that,” Reck said and looked at the table filled with weapons.

Roak sighed. “I have a feeling they’re clean.”

“Yeah, but I have to put them away.”

“You can organize and store them later. You’ll have plenty of time since you apparently live here now.”

Roak said the last few words with exaggerated emphasis.

“Roak…”

“You’re still the same when it comes to your weapons. Fine. Whatever, Reck. Finish cleaning them.” He used air quotes around the word cleaning. Reck threw her rag at his head. He caught it and threw it back. “Then store them in that anal retentive order you have. Get dressed. Meet me up on the bridge. Good?”

Reck shrugged. “Good.”

“Great. See you in a few minutes.”

“It might take me a bit to—”

“In a few minutes,” Roak stated. “Operative word being few.”

Roak didn’t wait for an answer.

He left the quarters and walked to the lift. Once inside, he leaned against the back wall and waited for…

35.

“She honestly believes she can wipe my comms in my own ship?” Hessa scoffed as the lift rose.

“Yeah, I had to let that one go,” Roak replied. “Mess level.”

“What?” Hessa asked.

“Mess level. I want to talk to Yellow Eyes.”

“How do you know he’s on the mess level?”

“I’m a fucking bounty hunter, Hessa. You think I can’t find someone on my own ship?”

“Touché, Roak. Mess level it is. But we need to talk later.”

“We will.”

“Before this meeting on the bridge you mentioned to Reck?”

“Probably not.”

“Unilateral decisions are what got us into this mess, Roak.”

“Unilateral decisions are why I have lived as long as I have, Hessa.”

“Unilateral—”

“Stop.”

“I do control the ship, Roak. If I don’t like what you say on the bridge, then we stay put until we have a proper discussion.”

“I expected you to say that. Don’t worry.”

“I am extremely worried.”

“I know. I apologize.”

No reply.

“Hessa?”

“Marking time and date of the apology in my logs.”

“Really? Do you have to say that every time I apologize?”

“Yes. It’s the moments like these that I will cherish later.”

“Sweet Hells…”

Roak pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped off the lift as soon as the doors opened.

“Roak?”

“What?”

“You will fill me in on this Father and Mother situation, won’t you?”

“Let me sort it all out in my head, Hessa. You heard most of what I heard so you are almost up to speed.”

“I need to be fully up to speed.”

“I know. I think that’s not a bad idea, considering. We’ll talk later.”

Roak walked into the mess and saw Yellow Eyes sitting behind a mound of trays and empty bowls.

“Hey!” Yellow Eyes called out and waved him over with three hands that were each holding utensils. “Come and sit, man! How ya feeling?”

“Like I nearly got killed again and spent way too much time in a med pod,” Roak said as he went to the synthesizer and started to punch in his order.

“No, no, man, don’t get the fake crap,” Yellow Eyes said. “Get some gump stew. It is delicious! See?”

He spread all of his arms before him to indicate the empty bowls.

“Bring me another bowl while you’re up, will ya?”

“Where’d we get gump stew?” Roak asked.

“Oh, I went back to that soup and stew diner and grabbed as much as I could before we took off,” Yellow Eyes said. “Between that and all the saving of lives, it made me super hungry. I haven’t stopped eating since we left Stefbon.”

“I can see that,” Roak said and walked to the table with a bowl of stew in each hand. “This is gonna ferment in you again.”

“Probably,” Yellow Eyes replied and shrugged his shoulders.

Roak set a bowl down in front of Yellow Eyes then studied the table and realized he wouldn’t be able to see the being if he sat opposite, so he sat down next to him and started eating. He didn’t stop until his bowl was half empty. Yellow Eyes had finished his in three bites and was leaning back, patting what might have been a belly.

“What’s on your mind, Roak?” Yellow Eyes asked. “You seem troubled.”

Roak side-eyed the being. “What’s on my mind? A few things.”

“And is one of those things about me?” Yellow Eyes asked as his attention shifted to the food dispenser. “Maybe one more…”

“Keep your ass in your seat,” Roak said. “We have to talk.”

“Is this a good talk? One of those times where you congratulate me for doing such an amazing job helping you? Or is this a bad talk where you inform me that I’m being ejected out an airlock and will have to live my days floating around this system, avoiding being eaten by unspeakable horrors? I am not a fan of unspeakable horrors.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Not a fan of unspeakable horrors, Hessa!”

“I know,” Hessa replied through the loudspeaker. “You’ve made that clear every five minutes since we stopped here.”

“Hessa? You mind?” Roak asked.

“He called me,” Hessa said.

“Hessa…”

“Fine. You two talk.”

“What we talking about, Roak?” Yellow Eyes asked. “I’m freaking out here, man.”

“I need you to stick around,” Roak said.

Yellow Eyes blinked his huge yellow eyes over and over, very slowly. Roak growled.

“I can rescind the invitation,” Roak snapped.

“No, no, I’d love to stay!” Yellow Eyes said.

Roak felt a hug by several arms before he even saw Yellow Eyes move. In truth, he never saw Yellow Eyes move.

“This is great!” Yellow Eyes exclaimed. “I can’t wait to decorate my quarters!”

“Decorate…what? No. There’s no decorating on this ship. No,” Roak said.

“We’ll see, man,” Yellow Eyes said and looked up at the ceiling while he mouthed, “I’m so going to decorate my quarters.”

“Knock that off,” Roak said. “I’m serious here. I need you to stick around because you’ve proven you are pretty much indestructible like you said.”

“Not to mention so fast I beat a signal that should have exploded Bishop’s heart. That’s pretty damn fast, Roak.”

“Yes, we all know you are fast,” Roak replied. “That’s obvious. But what I need more than your speed is your ability to not die. Not dying is going to be key to what comes next.”

“Oh…” Yellow Eyes said. “Huh…”

“If you stick around, then you need to know that I will be putting your life in danger over and over and over again,” Roak stated.

“Can there be only two overs? I’m good with two overs, man,” Yellow Eyes replied.

“It’s going to be a lot of overs.”

“I thought it might. Bummer. I was hoping we’d just go off and do some fun adventure stuff while you track down bounties and get paid mad chits, man.”

“Mad chits? Where in the Hells did that come from?” Roak held up a hand. “No. Never mind. I don’t want to know.” Roak rolled his eyes. “You aren’t completely wrong. We’re going to have to do some jobs, a lot of jobs, in order to get some chits banked. War isn’t cheap.”

“War?” Yellow Eyes and Hessa said together.

“Hessa, dammit! Let me talk to him!”

“You do not throw a word like war around and expect me not to chime in,” Hessa said.

“What she said, man,” Yellow Eyes added. “War?”

“I’ll go into detail later when everyone is present,” Roak said. “I have no desire to repeat myself again and again.”

“Do you need Bishop as well?” Hessa asked.

“I do. Is he going to be up for it?”

“I was planning on waking him tomorrow, but today will be safe. I will want him back in the med pod for trans-space travel. His body cannot take the transition strain quite yet.”

“Wake him and have him ready and able to be up on the bridge in an hour,” Roak said. He thought back to Reck and her weapons. “Two hours. No. Three hours, to be safe.”

Roak turned his attention fully back on Yellow Eyes.

“I have to know now if you are up for mortal danger on a regular basis,” Roak said. “I need to know that now. No thinking about it. I need an answer before I leave this room.”

“Why would you leave, man? There’s stew,” Yellow Eyes said and grinned as Roak’s face started turning red. “Chill. Chill. I’m in. If you are going to war.” Yellow Eyes shivered all over. “Then you will need me. No doubt about that.”

“I wouldn’t say there is no doubt,” Roak replied. “But good. Glad you are onboard.”

Roak stood up and started walking away.

“Wait? Is that it? That’s all you’re going to say? I pledge my life to whatever this war crap is and you don’t say thank you?” Yellow Eyes called after him.

“I said I am glad you are onboard,” Roak replied as he walked out of the mess.

“Not the same thing!” Yellow Eyes yelled. “Roak? Say thank you! Come on! Say it! Being glad and being thankful are two different things, Roak!”

Roak chuckled as he stepped onto the lift.

“Where to now, Roak?” Hessa asked.

“My quarters,” Roak said. “I’m going to steam the med pod off me then have a talk with Bishop.”

“He’ll be groggy,” Hessa said. “I am just waking him up now.”

“He’ll be awake enough to tell me what I need to know,” Roak said.

“Can’t wait until he’s on the bridge?” Hessa asked.

“No. I need to talk with everyone individually first,” Roak said.

“You did not ask Reck to go to war with you?”

“I didn’t have to.”

“It would have been the polite thing to do.”

“Reck and I aren’t at polite yet.”

“Your interaction in her quarters seemed to be polite.”

“That wasn’t politeness, Hessa. That was me not killing her and her not killing me. That was truce. That was working towards polite.”

“Then after polite there might be hugging? You two should hug. Your vital signs strengthened in the split second Yellow Eyes hugged you.”

“Hessa?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“Never say that again.”

“Say what? That you have a positive physical reaction to being hugged? Most beings across the galaxy have positive physical reactions to being hugged, Roak. It is a rather universal gesture of friendship and affection.”

“Hessa?”

“Fine, Roak. I will never mention your enjoyment of hugs again.”

“I don’t have an enjoyment of hugs.”

“If you say so,” Hessa replied then muttered, “Except that you do.”

Roak banged the back of his head against the wall of the lift a couple times as the doors slid open. He pushed off the wall and walked down the corridor to his quarters.

36.

Roak had eaten a bowl of gump stew and taken a nice, long steam, which meant he was ready for the next step in the plan that was quickly forming in his head.

“I hear I have you to thank for waking my ass up,” Bishop said as he sat upright in the med pod, his legs hanging over the side. “If I didn’t owe you everything in the galaxy right now, I’d be pretty fucking mad, Roak.”

“Yeah, you don’t ever get to be mad,” Roak said as he grabbed a chair and dragged it over to the side of the med pod, the legs making a horrible scraping noise against the med bay floor.

Bishop put his hands over his ears until Roak stopped dragging the chair and sat down.

“This is like the worst hangover ever,” Bishop said and rubbed at his chest. He took a couple of shallow breaths. “Except not only do I have a massive migraine, and my stomach feels like it can get paid to be an acrobat, but I can barely breathe and my chest feels like I have an Eight Million Godsdamn Chassfornian sitting on it.”

“I’ll be sure to speak in a loud voice so you can hear me,” Roak said, doing just that.

“Asshole,” Bishop said and gave Roak a wry smile. “How dead am I?”

Roak seriously considered the question. Bishop let him.

“You have a way out of this,” Roak said after a few moments. “I’ll never trust you again, so lock that down tight in your head when you consider all future actions and motivations on my part and on yours. The no-trust cloud will be hanging over us for the rest of your days.”

“Or the rest of your days,” Bishop said.

“I’ll still not trust you after I’m dead,” Roak said and tried not to smile. He failed.

“There he is,” Bishop said. “There’s the asshole I know and hate.”

“I’m serious. No trust.”

“I get it. Noted and understood. No trust.”

“And you might easily die if you stick around,” Roak added.

“Am I sticking around?” Bishop asked.

“Would I have Hessa waste the energy to power that med pod if I was going to chuck you out an airlock?” Roak asked.

“You know what, Roak, and I’m not trying to make you angry, but I think you have a lot less control over your AI than you think you do,” Bishop said.

“She’s not my AI,” Roak replied. “She’s her own AI. That you can trust me on.”

“Awww, thank you, Roak,” Hessa said over the comm.

Roak didn’t react at all to the voice, his face remaining passive.

“Her own AI. That’s what I mean,” Bishop said.

“Still stand by my statement about wasting energy on you,” Roak said.

“So, am I sticking around?” Bishop asked again. “Is that what you’re here to ask of me?”

“I’m not asking anything of you that you do not already owe me,” Roak said. “Life debt, remember?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t bring that up.”

“Dashing your hopes is one of my greatest joys now,” Roak said. “And you are sticking around.”

“Why?”

“That’s the reason I’m here. I need to know if you are still effective at your job.”

“Which job, Roak? I wear a lot of hats.”

“The job I’ve always needed you to do for me.”

“The job where I scour my sources for intel so you can effectively do your own job? Is that the job we’re talking about?”

“Careful,” Roak warned. “Dial back the smug.”

“But that is the job we’re talking about, right?” Bishop asked, looking very serious. “You need to know if this thing with your…father? Is that right?”

“He’s not my father,” Roak said. “But he is Father. There’s a difference.”

“Father. One name like that actress that used to be on Galactic Steve,” Bishop said. “Ominous and trendy.”

“Bishop!” Roak snapped.

“Sorry,” Bishop said and held up his hands in surrender. “Ow. Even doing that hurts.” He put his hands down and closed his eyes then shot them back open. “Nope. That’s not good either.”

“I am going to need every available contact you still have, if you have any and Father hasn’t burned you like he’s burned me,” Roak explained. “I am going to need you to work night and day to get me intel and locations on individuals and groups that may be outside your circle. What I’ll need from you is you working harder than ever to get me everything I ask for. Can you do that job?”

“I don’t know,” Bishop said. “Honest, Roak. Until I sit down at a console and start dialing comm signatures, or sit down face to face with my less-than-trusting acquaintances, then I have no idea if I can do what you need me to do for you, Roak.”

“That could be a problem,” Roak said.

“He’s not getting chucked out an airlock, Roak,” Hessa said over the comm.

Roak ignored her.

“If it is a problem, then be straight with me and let me know if I’m a dead man sitting,” Bishop said. “Eight Million Gods knows I deserve some serious death.”

“You owe me thirty-five million chits and change,” Roak said. “You don’t get to die until that debt is paid off.”

“And my dying will pay off the life debt,” Bishop said. “So, you should probably keep me around anyway even if I can’t get you the intel you need when you need it. You won’t get paid in chits or my life if you throw me off the ship.”

“That is the logical explanation,” Roak said. “But you know me and logic, Bishop. Sometimes I toss it to the side just so I can get emotional.”

“I’ll do my best, is all I can promise,” Bishop stated. “If that works for you, then you’ve got my undying loyalty.”

“And your dying loyalty,” Roak said. “Make no mistake, Bishop, I own you.”

Bishop’s face showed the internal struggle he had with that statement. Roak waited for him to work it all through in his head before he held his hands up in a questioning gesture.

“What’s it gonna be?” Roak asked.

“I already said you have my loyalty,” Bishop replied. “What more do you want?”

“I think you know,” Roak said. “Only way this works.”

“Eight Million Godsdamn, Roak,” Bishop muttered. “You do not relent. Ever.”

“Ever,” Roak agreed. “Makes me the best at what I do.”

“Once we are somewhere that isn’t filled with nightmares, I’ll give Hessa the codes needed to access all of my files.”

“Can you even do that? Are your files compromised by Father?”

“Creepy as all the Hells the way you say his name.”

“You’ve met the guy. You know why.”

“I met…something.”

“That describes Father.”

“Sheez…” Bishop took a deep breath and smiled. “Oh, that actually felt good.”

“The files?”

“Safe and accessible. I have triple redundancies in place.” He slowly held up a finger. “Doesn’t mean that one of those redundancies hasn’t been compromised by this Father guy. He can, and probably will, have intel on all of my contacts. Each one might be a trap.”

“Hence the fact that you may not survive this,” Roak said. “Are you getting the bigger picture now that you’re a little more awake?”

“Fog is lifting,” Bishop said and nodded. “And pain is subsiding. Somewhat.”

“Good,” Roak said. “Not about the pain part. I think some perpetual discomfort for the remainder of your life is a good thing for you.”

“You say such sweet things, Roak.”

“What do you need to gain access to your files?”

“I’ll need a secure and stable connection.”

“How long will it take?”

“About six days,” Bishop admitted with great reluctance.

“Six days?” Roak sighed. “You want us to be exposed for six days? I’m not willing for us to be sitting still for even one day. Try again.”

“One day? No way. Can’t be done in one day, Roak. Do you have any idea the scope of my connections? We’re talking decades and decades of cultivation and maintenance. You think you’re the only one that comms me? I have copies of work from mercs, grifters, half the thugs that work for the syndicates, sellshots, legit and not-so-legit business beings, waiters, waitresses, bartenders, don’t get me started on the politicians and military contacts—”

“Gonna stop you right there,” Roak said, holding up a hand. “Six days won’t work.”

“Six days is what I need to do it right. No wiggle room. Shit, Roak, I’d rather have two weeks.”

“How can your files be that vast?”

Bishop smirked. “Because when I do my job, I do not cut corners.”

“You could learn something from that, Roak,” Hessa said.

Bishop lifted a hand towards his ear.

“That feels different,” Bishop said. “Her voice. Why does it feel different? Now that the pain is blowing off, I can feel the difference.”

“Hessa? Did you put a comm implant in Bishop’s head like you did in mine?” Roak asked.

“Of course,” Hessa said. “I replaced all of his implants. It would have been foolish to leave them. They were dumped two systems back. His originals were obviously compromised by your father, Roak.”

“Just Father,” Roak said. “Not my father. Just Father.”

“And you’re just Roak,” Hessa said with a laugh. She let it die away. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah. She’s the perfect AI for you,” Bishop said.

“I didn’t interrupt to test the new comm implant,” Hessa said. “I interrupted because I may be able to help with the files issue. Or the timeframe it will take to transfer the files into my mainframe.”

“Six days is the fastest the process will go,” Bishop said. “Believe me, I have tried to figure out how to make it faster.”

“Yes, that is why I propose we do not transfer the files,” Hessa said.

“Kinda need them,” Bishop replied.

“Going to agree with Bishop on this one, Hessa,” Roak said.

“Of course we need the files. When did I say we didn’t need the files?” Hessa huffed. “Will you two let me finish, please?”

“Sorry,” Roak said then rolled his eyes at the look on Bishop’s face. “She’s already logging the time and date I said that.”

“We are going to steal the files,” Hessa said.

Neither Roak nor Bishop replied.

“Did you hear me?” Hessa asked. “We are going to steal the files.”

“Steal the files?” Roak asked. “Steal how?”

“We will go to one of the storage centers and physically steal the quantum drives they are on,” Hessa said. “We will literally steal the files and set them up here on the ship where I can incorporate them into my mainframe. It will still take six days to complete the transfer from the drives to me, but we’ll be on the move during those six days.”

Roak looked at Bishop. “Doable?”

Bishop held up a finger, his brows knitted together in tight concentration.

“Bishop.”

“Give me a second,” Bishop snapped, but didn’t apologize for the tone.

Roak let it go as he watched the man think.

“Yes. It’s doable,” Bishop said finally. “But only at one of the facilities. The other two have security that I wouldn’t want to send even Drop Team Zero after.”

“Screw those guys,” Roak said. “Bunch of GF posers.”

“They’re better than that, Roak, believe me,” Bishop said.

“So, only one facility?” Hessa asked.

“That means Father is probably already waiting there,” Roak said. “Not personally, but he’ll be ready. We’ll have to hit one of the other facilities.”

“Unless that’s what he expects you to do,” Hessa said.

“Therein lies the risk,” Roak said and smiled.

“Don’t do that with your face,” Bishop said and laughed.

“I see now why you are smiling,” Hessa said. “We have a Yellow Eyes.”

“We have a Yellow Eyes,” Roak said. “He doesn’t know it, but he’s probably the best thief in the galaxy.”

“The weird being that saved my ass?” Bishop asked. “What in all the Hells is that guy’s story?”

“Grown in a vat,” Roak said.

“Sure. Why not,” Bishop replied. “You think he can do the job?”

“He is almost impossible to track,” Hessa said. “And he is immensely strong. I believe he may be able to accomplish the task.”

“If the AI says he can, then I’m onboard with stealing the quantum drives,” Bishop said. “We just have to pick the best facility.”

“We will,” Roak said and stood up. “Good. That part is taken care of.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Bishop said.

Roak grinned. “On the bridge in an hour. Get cleaned up and eat something. You want to find out what Yellow Eyes is about? He’s in the mess depleting our food stores right now. Go have a bowl of stew and chat. He likes to chat.”

Roak left the med bay.

“Hessa?”

“Yes, Roak?”

“Get us back through the portal and into trans-space.”

“Bishop will need to be back in the med pod or he will feel an immense amount of discomfort.”

“I know.”

37.

Roak sat in the pilot’s seat and faced what he reluctantly began thinking of as his “crew.” The idea of having a crew made his flesh crawl, but there was no way he was going to accomplish what he needed to do without their help.

So, crew it was…

Yellow Eyes was in his seat at the scanner station. Reck was sitting at the weapons station. And Bishop was on navigation. Roak watched them all take their seats without even asking or thinking of their roles. It gave him encouragement that they might actually get out of their situation alive. Might.

The swirl of trans-space was behind Roak on the view shield and he tried not to smile as he watched Bishop struggle to conceal his discomfort. But he gave the guy points for not complaining.

“I’m going to be brief, but thorough,” Roak said. “Here are the players we will be dealing with.” Roak held up a gloved fist, his light armor back on, and started lifting fingers. “Father. Bad being. Reck and I know exactly how bad he can be.”

“I got a little insight into that as well,” Bishop said. Roak stared at him. “Sorry. Keep going.”

“Yeah, he hates being interrupted, man,” Yellow Eyes said as if he was helping. “Go on, Roak.”

“Gee, thanks,” Roak grumbled. “Father. He is able to inhabit and control beings through their implants. That isn’t an issue for everyone here. Reck doesn’t have implants.”

“Not true,” Reck said. “Hessa hooked me up.”

“Of course she did,” Roak said. “So, Reck and Bishop have Hessa implants.”

“Awww, I like how you call them Hessa implants,” Hessa said.

“Yellow Eyes doesn’t have any implants, not even Hessa implants, since his body is not compatible with the tech at all,” Roak continued then waited.

“What? Oh, right. No implants at all,” Yellow Eyes agreed. “But I am really, really fast.”

“Getting to that,” Roak said. “Father can’t control us, which is a plus. But he can control pretty much anyone he wants to across the galaxy.”

“That’s quite the assumption,” Reck said.

“Better to assume he can and be prepped and ready for it than assume he can’t,” Roak countered.

“Wasn’t arguing, just stating,” Reck said and made a zip-the-lip motion with her right hand.

“The main part is he can’t get to us that way,” Roak said. “But he’ll try. I need everyone here to agree that if you feel off, you let Hessa know immediately.”

“Oh, I’ll know, Roak,” Hessa said. “You can’t get past Hessa implants—”

“Thank you, Hessa,” Roak said. “Same goes for any of you if you observe each other acting off. I hate to be clichéd, but if you see something, say something. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Sure.”

“You bet, man.”

“Good. We can move past that,” Roak said. “Let’s move on to Mother.”

“Which we do not know exists,” Reck said.

“We’ll find out,” Roak said and looked at Bishop. “He’s going to find out for us.”

“I am?” Bishop asked.

“You are,” Roak said. “You’ve been exposed to Father. Couple that with the files we’re going to steal and you’re our best option for sussing out if Mother exists or not.”

“Great,” Bishop said, not sounding like he thought it was great at all.

“Got a problem?”

“Nope. No problem,” Bishop said and gave Roak a salute. “Ready and willing to give the Mother hunt my all.”

“Fuck off,” Roak said.

“What about Father?” Reck asked. “Shouldn’t we track him down first and simply end this once and for all?”

Roak blinked at her. She grimaced and shrugged.

“Yeah, I heard it as soon as the words came out of my mouth,” Reck said. “Continue.”

“Father is the end game,” Roak said. “I want to make sure that all of you understand that. Whatever we do between now and then, Father is the last part of all of this. Finding Mother is so we figure out if she is real and also figure out if she is the key to stopping Father. I have no other reason to hunt for her.”

“Other than curiosity,” Yellow Eyes said then frowned. “Or not. Right. Find Mother to see if she is the key to stopping Father. Got it.”

“I’m happy for you that you got that,” Roak said. “Moving on. Protect ourselves from Father’s control and Bishop finds Mother. But there is something way more important that we need to do. Any guesses?”

“I’d raise a hand if I had one,” Hessa said. “We need chits.”

“We need chits,” Roak echoed in agreement. “We are going to need a lot of chits. None of what we are going to do will be cheap.”

“And how will we get chits?” Yellow Eyes asked. “We aren’t going to a bank, are we? I don’t think we’re loan material, man.”

“We work,” Roak said. “A lot. A lot of work for a lot of chits.”

“Work?” Reck leaned forward and eyed Roak. “Wait, you mean take jobs? Hunting jobs?”

“How else would we get chits?” Roak asked. “If we steal them, then we’ll bring even more heat down on us.”

“If we take hunting jobs, then we expose ourselves,” Reck argued.

“We’re already exposed,” Roak said. “That is how we play every move from this moment on. That we are exposed and can’t hide no matter how much we try. Bishop can get us hunting jobs that should pay well.”

“If we aren’t burned to a crisp already,” Bishop said. “We’ll find out when we get my files.”

“That is the second step in this, yeah,” Roak said. “We need to retrieve Bishop’s files.” He pointed at Yellow Eyes. “You will be key in accomplishing that.”

“I will? Cool,” Yellow Eyes said. “How?”

“You move really, really fast, remember?”

“That I do, man, that I do,” Yellow Eyes agreed. “So…?”

“So you’ll steal the quantum drives that Bishop’s files are on,” Roak said.

“Neat. I can do that. From…?”

“We’re still working that out,” Roak said. “But we have time.”

“You said that’s the second part? What’s the first part?” Bishop asked.

“We need to arm the shit out of ourselves and this ship,” Roak said.

“The armory is extensively stocked, Roak,” Hessa said.

“And I’ve got more than a couple weapons onboard,” Reck said.

“You think we need more than that?” Bishop asked.

“I need a Flott,” Roak said. “I’ve gotten used to it.”

“Oh, I snagged that, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “Didn’t I tell you? Yeah, I totally snagged it when I went back for soup and stew.” He looked at the others. “Have you guys had any of the soup and stew? Plenty in the mess.”

“You got my Flott?” Roak asked. “Where is it?”

“Yeah, that’s the not-so-great part,” Yellow Eyes said. “It’s broken. Very, very broken.”

“I can fix it,” Reck said.

“You sure?” Roak asked. Reck gave him a look of great, intense pity. “Right. Forgot.”

“Then no need to buy a bunch of weapons,” Bishop said. “That’ll cut down on some of the risk.”

“Oh, no, we’re still getting armed to the teeth,” Roak said. “I want this ship to be equal in offensive and defensive capabilities as any battle cruiser out there.”

“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Hessa said. “We may come close, but the ship isn’t large enough to support that kind of outfitting.”

“Which means we need someone that can make it capable,” Roak said. “Which is the first real stop we’ll make. I know a guy.”

“Bhangul Whorp,” Bishop stated.

“Oh, I know him,” Hessa said. “He doesn’t like me much. That’s why he traded me to Roak.”

“He likes you, Hessa, he just wasn’t too keen on your quirks,” Roak said.

“I don’t have quirks,” Hessa said. No one replied. “Fine. I have quirks.”

“It’ll be good to see that old Dornopheous,” Bishop said. “It’s been decades.”

“This Dornopheous, Bhangul Whorp, he can outfit the ship?” Reck asked.

“He can handle the defensive part,” Roak said. “I have no doubt about that. That’s why we’ll start with him.”

“What’s the second real stop?” Reck asked. “I’m sensing a two-parter here.”

“The offensive part,” Roak said. “And that is kind of our first job, too, although it doesn’t pay.”

“Hold on, how are we getting the chits to pay Bhangul Whorp?” Bishop asked. “He’s not going to do the work for free.”

“No, Bhangul doesn’t do anything for free,” Roak said. “But he’ll work with us. With him, sometimes trade is better than chits. He’ll let me know what he needs and we go from there. But, back to the offense.”

Roak took a deep breath.

“We’ll need to go to Skrang territory for that,” Roak said.

He sat back and patiently waited out the voluminous shouting that was the response to his announcement. It took a while.

“You all done?” he asked when the group lost their steam. “Get all that shit out of your systems? Because we’re still going to Skrang territory.”

“Why?” Bishop snapped.

“Because I need to find a Skrang,” Roak said. “He’s been banished from the Skrang Alliance, so I know that’s where he’s hiding. Or I think. It’s a hunch, I’ll admit, but it’s a strong hunch.”

“No way we go into Skrang Alliance territory on a hunch, Roak,” Reck said. “Even I’m not cool with that.”

“Yeah, we are,” Roak stated. “No arguments.”

“Got plenty of arguments,” Yellow Eyes said. “Skrang…” He shivered. “Yucky.”

“I’m with the fast guy,” Bishop said.

“It’s happening, so deal with it,” Roak snapped. “This ship has to be able to take on anything thrown at it. The Skrang are the best in the galaxy at taking a ship and turning it into a war machine. Half their fleet in the War were stolen vessels. And the guy we’re going to find knows his weapons.”

“Hold on,” Bishop said. “Sha Tog? You’re talking about Sha Tog. The Skrang guy on Ligston that you’re supposed to split that chit cache with. Roak, why would he help you when he obviously wants to get as far away from you as possible? If he did flee to Skrang Alliance territory, then that should prove my point right there.”

“We’ll be his way out of Skrang Alliance territory and also, if he wants his cut of those chits, then he’s going to have to help us,” Roak said.

“If he doesn’t?” Reck asked. “Just being Seven Satans’ advocate here.”

“He will,” Roak said. “We have a relationship.”

“Speaking of, if we are looking for Sha Tog, will we also be looking for Ally?” Hessa asked.

All eyes fell on Roak. Reck and Bishop smirked. Yellow Eyes only blinked.

“Ally will be for when this is all over,” Roak said quietly. “That’s the last we’ll talk about that. Everyone clear on that?”

Everyone nodded.

“Then we are all on the same page,” Roak said. “Get us some serious shields then go find Sha Tog. Once we’re loaded for Urvein, then we go steal Bishop’s files. After that, we work. We take every job we can and build up a war chest of chits. After we have enough chits, we hunt for Mother. We find Mother and hunt down Father. Then all this shit is over and we can go our separate ways.”

Yellow Eyes raised a couple of nubs. “Why do we have to do that? I like it here.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Roak said. “We have a good amount of work to do before then.”

“No shit,” Bishop said.

“We done?” Reck asked.

“We’re done,” Roak said. “Any questions?”

Roak received three “Are you fucking kidding me?” looks.

“Good,” he said and swiveled to face the view shield. “Dismissed.”

He grinned from ear to ear as most every curse known to the galaxy was thrown at him as everyone left the bridge.

“I like this,” Hessa said after a few minutes of silence. “This is nice.”

“What is?” Roak asked.

“Having a team,” Hessa said.

“A crew,” Roak corrected. “They work for me.”

“Sure, Roak, you keep telling yourself that,” Hessa said. “And we’ll be out of trans-space in three, two, one…”

The End

Read on for a free sample of Agent Prime

Author Bio:

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 Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter 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 Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.

Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

1.

“Rylia Five?”

The words hung there, unanswered for several seconds before the man being addressed looked up from his holo vid and turned to regard the questioner.

“Excuse me?” the man asked.

Bright red eyes, beady and small. Bald head, wrinkled brow, teal-blue skin that sparkled in the dim light of the public transport car. Possibly human, but from a lineage that veered off from Earth-pure millennia earlier. Not that Earth was very pure anymore; a slagging orb of toxic waste and a billion poisons was all that planet held.

“Are you speaking to me?” the man asked when the stranger only smiled at the first question.

“Those boots,” the stranger continued. “That’s Hoocahna snake skin. Those snakes only live on Rylia Five. Just wondering if you were from Rylia Five. Not many people are.”

The man with the boots looked the stranger up and down. Average height, average size, above average looks. Sandy blond hair with deep brown eyes and light tan skin. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Just another basic human being in a galaxy many thought had been overrun by the species.

“I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of watching a holo. Do you mind?” the man with the boots responded. He looked up and down the transport car. They were the only ones riding that specific car. Every other seat was open and empty. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting somewhere else? Lots of room.”

“Of course. Lots of room.” The stranger mimicked the man with the boots, looking up and down the transport car. “Except I like to have a chat with folks when I’m riding the transport. Makes the time fly by.”

“So do holo vids,” the man with the boots said, waving his wrist at the stranger. “See? You can watch whatever you want. Quietly. Over there.”

“Over there?” the stranger asked, pointing to one of the many empty seats. “Or how about over there?”

“Wherever you want,” the man with the boots said. “As long as you stop bothering me.”

“Bothering you? Apologies. Didn’t know I was bothering you.”

“You do now. Maybe leave me alone, please?”

“Since you said please.”

The stranger stood up from his seat, studied the transport car for a minute then moved off to one of the empty seats. He wiped it off with his hand and sat down, his eyes locked onto the man with the boots.

After a couple of minutes, the man with the boots glanced up from his holo vid and glared at the stranger.

“Are you going to stare at me the entire ride?” the man with the boots spat. “Do I need to call security?”

“Sorry.”

The stranger grinned then turned to look out the window by his seat at the dark and roiling skies of Egthak, a planet made up of mostly beaches and scrublands, all boxed in by tumultuous oceans. A massive storm system was on the horizon, moving quickly toward the small slice of continent where the truly brave decided to set up civilization.

“Primed,” the stranger said under his breath.

“What was that?” the man with the boots snapped. “I told you to leave me alone. I’m calling security now.”

“If that’s how you feel,” the stranger replied.

“What? You have done nothing but harass me since you stepped into this car,” the man with the boots almost snarled. “All I have done is try to watch my holo until we arrive at the station. Just a little bit of relaxation before a very important meeting.”

The man with the boots waved a hand over his clothes which were of a stylish cut, obviously business formal, but not expensive. If they’d been expensive, the man with the boots would have hired a private roller or hover car, not taken the public transport.

“So stop talking to me,” the man with the boots demanded.

“Interview?” the stranger asked.

The man with the boots gawped. He blinked those bright red eyes over and over then shook his head.

“You’re mental, you know that?” the man with the boots said. “Mental enough that I am calling security.”

He waved his hand across his wrist, banishing the holo, and brought up a glaring red display interface. The holo interface flashed twice then went green.

“There. Security is called,” the man with the boots said.

“Good. That means we have three minutes to talk before they arrive,” the stranger said and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The stranger was dressed in casual attire—sturdy pants, a basic long-sleeved shirt, nice, comfortable shoes. He plucked at a bit of fuzz on his pants then focused his entire being onto the man with the boots. “Listen carefully.”

“What? What are you on about?” the man with the boots exclaimed. “You had best get up and get—”

“Shut up and listen, Mr. Gor’bun,” the stranger said.

“How do you know—?”

“Roshall Gor’bun,” the stranger said with a sigh. “Recently laid off by Tremmle Corp due to some irregularities in your filing of shift records. Why was that, Mr. Gor’bun?”

“Why was what?” Mr. Gor’bun asked. “How do you know that?”

“Hows are pointless topics,” the stranger said. “The topic at hand is whether you want to stay alive or not. When security gets here, you will tell them that I was behaving strangely—”

“You have been!”

“—and you will leave with one of them while the other questions me. Go willingly with the security officer, answer questions truthfully then wait with the person until the transport stops. Once we reach the station, wait until I exit this car then you exit. If I look directly at you, get back on the car. If I don’t look directly at you then wait for the transport to leave and walk over to me. I’ll get you away from the station and to safety.”

“You’re mad,” Mr. Gor’bun said. “I’m not doing any of that.”

“Less than a minute,” the stranger said. “I was told to say that Herra Mor’ta says hello, if you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.”

Mr. Gor’bun’s teal skin managed to almost turn white at the mention of the name Herra Mor’ta.

“That’s a name you know,” the stranger said. “A name you shouldn’t know unless you were doing much more than misfiling shift records. You accessed data in the Tremmle Corp mainframe that you were not supposed to access. We know all about that. What we don’t know is whether that little breach was an accident or deliberate.”

Mr. Gor’bun began to open his mouth, but shut it with a snap when the stranger pointed a finger at him.

“Not my place to ask or to hear,” the stranger said. “My place is to get you away from the station safely and into the hands of those that will make sure your knowledge doesn’t get you killed.”

Mr. Gor’bun was silent for a couple seconds then said, “Killed…?”

The stranger didn’t have time to answer as two security officers burst through the connecting airlock of the transport car. They glanced at Mr. Gor’bun, but dismissed him right away before stomping down the aisle towards the stranger.

One of the security officers was a short, squat fellow with sheer white bristles sticking out of every millimeter of skin not covered by his uniform; a conglomeration of many different, and somehow compatible, galactic races. The stranger furrowed his brow as the officer locked onto him and approached, hand on a small pistol still holstered to his hip.

The stranger barely gave the oncoming officer a glance. The second security officer was the one to pay attention to. A full-blooded Gwreq—stone-skinned, four-armed, humanoid, and over seven feet tall—the officer stopped in front of Mr. Gor’bun, blocking the stranger’s view of the teal-skinned man. If the Gwreq officer was bought then all it would take was one hard, quick backhand and Mr. Gor’bun’s neck would be turned to jelly.

“You,” the bristle-haired officer said as he stopped just out of the stranger’s reach. “Up. Let’s go. No more bugging hard-working passengers.”

“Does something about me say I’m not hard-working too?” the stranger asked. He looked around the officer at Mr. Gor’bun, but the man was completely blocked by the Gwreq standing guard.

“Eyes on me, slagger,” the bristle-haired officer ordered. “That gentleman is not your concern. How about you get up now and come with me before I have to get drastic?”

“Wouldn’t want you to get drastic,” the stranger said and slowly stood up. “Where are we going?”

“Gonna take you up front so I can do a full scan,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Match you against the database.”

The stranger nodded. “Good idea. You’ll see I’m clean.”

“That so? We’ll see,” the bristle-haired officer replied. “Get walking, slagger. And eyes forward. No need to try to intimidate the gentleman as you go by.”

The stranger did as he was told, barely able to squeeze past the bulk of the Gwreq officer as he walked down the aisle towards the airlock. The Gwreq reached out and grabbed his arm, stared him down, then sneered and let go, turning back to address Mr. Gor’bun. The stranger was pleased to hear a normal, boring round of stock questions come from the Gwreq’s mouth as he and the bristle-haired officer reached the airlock.

2.

“That’s odd…” the bristle-haired officer said as he stared at the holo display and the data readout that scrolled by, fading out as it reached the surface of the small desk in the transport’s security kiosk. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Sno. Denman Sno,” the stranger replied. “You have it right there. Next to my picture and my stats.”

“Yes, well…” The bristle-haired guard stopped the data scroll and grabbed at the pic that was displayed prominently in the file. He stared at the pic then stared at the stranger then back at the pic. He humphed and continued the scroll before he became frustrated and banished the holo altogether. “Not even a smudge on your record.”

“I play by the rules and keep my nose clean,” Sno said.

“A little too clean,” the bristle-haired officer said. “Maybe get out more. Find a mate, go to a club, stop harassing transport passengers.”

“Like I said, I was only having a chat with the man. Don’t know why he took offense,” Sno said.

“My colleague will find out,” the bristle-haired officer said dismissively. “But other than being annoying, you’ve done nothing that I can hold you for.”

“Good thing,” Sno said. “We’ve reached the station and I have a cab waiting.”

“A what?” the bristle-haired officer asked.

“Taxi,” Sno said, but the officer’s puzzled features didn’t change. “A roller for hire?”

“Kip driver. Got it,” the bristle-haired officer said and nodded with understanding. “Taxi? That one of those city-planet names?”

“I guess so,” Sno said. “Am I free to go, officer?”

“Yeah. Go. Get along with you.” The bristle-haired officer opened the kiosk and pointed. “Out of my sight. And stop being weird!”

Sno smiled, nodded, left.

“Only plan on seeing the beaches,” Sno said as he hurried off towards the closest exit.

“Not gonna see much in this storm!” the bristle-haired officer called after Sno.

Sno gave an over-the-shoulder wave and stepped off the transport car and onto the station platform. The air was thick and warm and charged with electricity. Sno felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and he moved quickly to one of many columns staggered along the platform that held up the long, wide roof.

It was at that moment that Sno wished he’d come armed. But no way to sneak a pistol worth a damn onto a public transport. Scanners would have found the weapon instantly even with the shielding tech that all his pistols contained. Egthak had a very strict no-weapons policy and had developed tech to back-up that policy. It should have made the planet safer, but as the hairs on the back of Sno’s neck continued to stand up, he knew the safety was an illusion.

Weapons were plentiful if one knew where to look or who to comm.

Sno studied the platform. Not a single person around. That should have been a good thing, but it wasn’t. There was no reason for the platform to be deserted. Not at that time of day and that time of week. There should have been at least a dozen other passengers milling about, either headed towards or coming from the expanse of beaches that were only a short roller ride away.

The oncoming storm could have been a reason for the lack of others, but Sno knew better. He fixed his eyes onto Mr. Gor’bun as the man finally exited the transport. Mr. Gor’bun completely ignored Sno and walked briskly towards the station’s small building. Sno cursed under his breath, glanced around, still saw no one then moved to follow.

Sno made it a meter before Mr. Gor’bun reached the station building’s doors. The doors slid open with an automatic hiss and Mr. Gor’bun was inside. Then the world turned bright white and Sno was lifted off his feet and sent flying against the side of the transport that had just started moving again.

Pain radiated out from Sno’s back as his shirt, then his skin, was nearly scraped free of his body by the moving transport. Twisting hard and fast as the vehicle’s momentum sent him spinning and ricocheting back at the station platform, Sno managed to tuck a shoulder and roll a few meters, to avoid getting his skull bashed in by the platform’s brutally hard surface.

What he didn’t avoid was the burning debris that represented the remains of the station building. Piles of scorched refuse sat there and Sno found himself smack in the middle of a circle of flames and thick, acrid smoke. His shirt in tatters, he ripped it off his body and tore a long strip to wrap around his nose and mouth as the smoke assaulted his lungs.

Sno squinted through the pungent clouds and tried to find some semblance of life, but all he saw were the battered and burnt bodies of the few travelers, or workers, that had been waiting inside the station. Mr. Gor’bun’s corpse was nowhere to be seen. Sno was not surprised. There were more than a couple of piles of burning matter that could or could not have been living beings before the explosion.

Tapping at his wrist, Sno activated his comm and waited for the chime in his ear to tell him the connection was active and secure.

“Agent Prime requesting extraction,” he stated when the chime finally came.

There had been a significant delay. Sno wondered if the incoming storm was messing with the connection. It shouldn’t, considering his comm was next-gen quantum tech, but then every planet was different and had its issues.

“Repeat, Agent Prime requesting extraction,” Sno stated once more. The sound of emergency alert sirens grew in the distance and Sno swore. “Shit. Hey! Anyone on the damn comm?”

Still no response.

The wind had picked up considerably, chilling the sweat on his torso, giving him a shiver despite the heat radiating off the wreckage that surrounded him. Sno studied the piles, found a route out, and made his move, leaping across two smoldering piles of debris before getting clear of most of the mess.

The emergency alert sirens grew louder.

Without a thought, Sno stripped a corpse of its jacket and shirt, put them both on, and limp-sprinted to the end of the station platform, heading for a copse of scraggly trees that stood swaying in the wind. Other than a pile of boulders a few meters away, the trees were about all the cover there was for as far as Sno could see. It struck him that the station was a strange place for Mr. Gor’bun to disembark, but the desolation of the area did provide excellent range of views for whoever was coming for Mr. Gor’bun. Visibility was completely unobstructed in all directions other than the copse of trees.

Sno wondered if the station’s destruction was meant for him as much as for Mr. Gor’bun. A solid pair of binocs would pick Sno out easily. His face wasn’t exactly supposed to be known wide, but Sno had made plenty of enemies across the galaxy over the years as an agent for the Fleet Intelligence Service’s Special Service Division or FIS-SSD.

“Where is my damn backup?” he muttered as he made his way to the trees and found some cover from both the increasing winds of the storm and any possible eyes tracking him. They’d know where he was, but he wouldn’t be an easy target any longer. The smoke back on the platform had probably been all that stood between him and a plasma blast between the eyes if someone had obtained a rifle and was gunning for him.

Sno swiped across his wrist and brought up a holo of his comm system. Aural implant was in the green. Transmitter and receiver in the green with all planet-wide spectrums fully open. Main channels and sub-channels were accessible. No trace of jamming. The comm itself wasn’t the issue.

The far-off sirens went silent. Sno frowned as he looked towards the destruction. No vehicles. No rollers or hover cars; no emergency swift ships. No sign of emergency personnel anywhere. The vehicles never made it to the explosion site.

That got Sno moving. Either the emergency vehicles had been called back, which meant someone in power on Egthak had made a request. Or the vehicles had been stopped and possibly destroyed just like the station. Sno hadn’t heard any explosions, but a molecular disruptor would do the trick with barely a sound. Emergency vehicles weren’t shielded against violent tech like that.

Sno stood at the edge of the trees for a moment then sprinted as fast as he could to the stand of boulders a few meters off. He’d made it halfway before the trees behind him were engulfed in flames. No sound of a weapon discharge or incoming projectile. They simply caught fire, sending flames arching far, far into the sky.

Sno dove for the boulders. He rolled and came up with his back against the stone. His ears were on overdrive, listening for the approach of enemies. Nothing. No crunch of wheels or hum of a grav engine. No footfalls of boots running his way. Nothing except the crack and pop of the trees burning.

There were times in Sno’s career where he sometimes, and only sometimes, wished the SSD didn’t have a ‘no AI agents in the field’ policy. He had old friends that swore by their AI counterparts. Whether simply assistants or ship pilots, everyone said having one made all the difference. But the SSD couldn’t take the risk of an AI going rogue. Didn’t matter if the AI was mainframe-based or a physical android, the SSD didn’t trust them and refused to allow agents to use them in the field.

Sno knew of a couple exceptions, but those were extreme cases where the director in charge had put in a special request. That knowledge didn’t help him much at that moment. What would have helped was an AI to call who could bring his ship to his current location and get him all the Hells out of the situation he found himself in.

Which was what?

A destroyed transport station, a dead asset, and a copse of trees spontaneously combusting? What kind of situation was that?

Waiting, listening, calculating, Sno stayed put, his back firmly against the boulders. Without new intel, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Thirty minutes. An hour. Two hours. Sno waited. There was a protocol in place. No contact after four hours and the local FIS liaison would be forced to take action. Unfortunately for Sno, that meant another few hours of bureaucratic back and forth before a decision was made to send out local friendlies to find him.

Unlike the SSD, the FIS never deviated from protocol. That made Sno’s job extremely difficult at times, and damn near impossible at others, but in the end, asses were covered and the Fleet Intelligence Service could survive another round of Galactic Fleet Council reviews which meant the SSD survived another round of reviews. To Sno’s superiors, surviving those reviews was more important than Sno’s actual survival out in the field. Or that was how it felt most times.

So, Sno waited. It was all he could do.

Agent Prime is available from Amazon here!

Table of Contents

- PARADOX SLAUGHTER

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