Nebula Risen: A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

by Jake Bible

  From the opposite side of the room, a door opened and the woman in black was escorted in. Roak knew she was smiling as she was shoved along to the Orb platform. He could tell by the way she moved that she had just put down several guards before she was forced to enter the room. No way she wouldn’t be smiling.

  The door to the waiting room behind Roak slammed shut and locked as a portal in the Orb opened.

  “Hello, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava’s voice echoed around the space. “And woman in black or whatever your name is. I see confusion on your face, Roak. Yes, the main event Orb is in a blank space so that we can control every aspect of the fight. We project the image of the Orb into an arena for all to see. No one has any idea it is a holo. This way, the fighters are not distracted and we get the absolute best performances out of them. A little innovation of mine for the heavyweight class.”

  “You must be so proud,” Roak said as he was led up to the portal and shoved inside the Orb.

  “I am,” Shava Stemn Shava replied.

  The woman in black was shoved in via a second portal then the Orb sealed and lifted up off the platform.

  “A bell will sound when it is time to start the fight,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “And you will fight. Refusing to do so will result in the termination of both of you immediately. Do not test me on this rule.”

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Roak said. He nodded to the woman in black. “You set?”

  “What was that? What did you say to her?” Shava Stemn Shava asked. “Please do not collude. The only way that Orb opens is for one of you to be dead.”

  “I am set,” the woman in black said.

  Her body was taught with sinewy muscle and racing adrenaline. Roak knew that if she applied even a fraction too much pressure that he was dead. He had to trust that she wanted him alive too much to make that mistake. He also had to trust that she simply still wasn’t a woman that made many mistakes.

  “I have one question before we begin,” she said. “Why did you really call me?”

  “I had a question,” Roak said and shrugged. “And I felt like it. I didn’t think you’d get so weird about it and come after me.”

  “That weakness of yours,” the woman in black said and shook her head. “It will kill you.”

  “It certainly will,” Roak said and held up his fists. “Okay, Shava! Let’s start this damn fight!”

  “Hold on,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “We are waiting for the pre-show to finish. The announcers have to get the crowd fired up. Stay tuned.”

  Roak kept his fists up as the woman in black began to bounce back and forth from foot to foot. Then the bell went off and they both dropped to their knees as the heavy-grav kicked in.

  “Son of a bitch!” Roak cried.

  The woman in black was first to her feet and she threw a hard punch down at Roak’s face. But Roak managed to roll out of the way and force himself to stand. The pressure was intense.

  The woman in black came at him way faster than she should have been able to under the force of the gravity and Roak barely got his forearm up in time to block the chop to his neck. If it had connected, he would have had his spinal cord snapped in two.

  “Play nice,” Roak hissed.

  “I am,” the woman in black replied.

  She landed two shots to Roak’s gut then a wicked uppercut to his chin. He fell back on his ass and kicked out with his right leg, connecting with the woman’s left knee. She stumbled but didn’t go down.

  “Have you been training in heavy-grav?” Roak asked as he got back to his feet, dodged a jab to his face, threw a haymaker that was easily blocked, then took two steps back as the woman in black executed an impressive roundhouse kick that would have shattered his cheekbone if he hadn’t moved. “Dammit, you have.”

  “You should be too,” the woman in black said. “There are many planets that have gravity similar to this. You have grown lazy in your training.”

  “Yeah,” Roak agreed. “I’m seeing that. We ready?”

  “You do not want to stretch it out longer?” the woman in black asked.

  “Not really,” Roak said.

  “Stop talking!” Shava Stemn Shava shouted. “You are forcing my techs to create dialogue and that costs extra!”

  “Now,” Roak said and went in for the attack.

  The woman in black dodged every swing then grabbed Roak by the back of the neck and yanked him down as she brought a knee up into his groin. He coughed hard and fell to his knees. She pressed her thumbs to his temples and her pinky fingers to either side of his neck. Then she pressed hard.

  Roak screamed. The pain was excruciating.

  “What is happening? No, no!” Shava Stemn Shava yelled. “Too soon! Eight Million Gods dammit!”

  Then everything went dark as Roak died.

  36.

  “Get up!” the woman in black snarled into Roak’s ear.

  He jolted awake, the feeling of a couple thousand volts of electricity still coursing through his body.

  Roak fell off the table, looked at his body, smiled at the light body armor, then pushed up onto his feet and stood there for a second, blinking.

  “Here,” the woman in black said, slapping a pistol into Roak’s chest. “Take it and follow me. We only have a few minutes.”

  “Did they buy it?” Roak asked.

  “There was no reason they shouldn’t have,” the woman in black said. “You were dead. Shava Stemn Shava fulfilled his end of his deal and let me go. Now you fulfill your end of our deal and show me where the tube is.”

  “Where are we?” Roak asked as the woman in black pulled him over to a door.

  “Maintenance room,” she replied, opening the door. “Incinerator level.”

  “Right. Incinerator,” Roak said as he checked the charge on the pistol. “Where is that in relation to Shava Stemn Shava’s tower?”

  “Directly below,” the woman in black said then threw open the door and dragged Roak out into the hallway. “We should be able to take the lift all the way up.”

  Roak nodded then seriously thought about putting the pistol to the back of the woman’s head and pulling the trigger. Except she would be expecting it and he wasn’t at full strength yet. He’d be dead before he raised his arm.

  They hurried down the corridor to the first set of lift doors. The woman in black pulled a key card from her belt and slid it into a box. The box beeped and the lift doors slid aside. She shoved Roak in then looked both ways down the hallway before following.

  The doors shut and Roak had to steady himself as the lift began to move.

  “If you are tricking me, then you die,” the woman in black said.

  “That’s why I’m not tricking you,” Roak said. “I don’t have to trick you. Shava’s an idiot.”

  “Most like him are,” the woman in black replied.

  The lift rose and rose then slowed to a stop. The doors opened and six guards stared in at the two bounty hunters, their mouths agape and carbines still aimed at the deck.

  “Morons,” the woman in black said and killed them all before the first carbine could be raised.

  Roak tucked his pistol into his belt and picked up a carbine. The woman in black kept only her pistol and stepped past the dead guards and into what looked like a laundry room.

  Several domestic workers turned to look at the two, glanced at the fallen guards, then went back to their tasks. None were paid to care enough about who lived and who died.

  The woman in black led them out of the laundry room, down a narrow corridor, into a huge kitchen, through the kitchen and around the many unfazed cooks, then out into a small dining room.

  Shava Stemn Shava was sitting at the head of the table, his glass raised as he was about to give a toast.

  “You’re sure?” the woman in black asked Roak.

  “I’m sure,” Roak replied.

  The woman in black put four bolts into Shava Stemn Shava’s head, obliterating the man’s skull. The diners all screamed and jumped up,
but Roak put them down fast. They probably didn’t deserve to die, but he had a plan and witnesses did not fit into the plan.

  Roak then knelt next to Shava Stemn Shava’s corpse, held out a hand, took the knife that the woman in black offered, and sliced off the man’s hand in one efficient swipe.

  “Nice blade,” Roak said as he gave both the knife and the hand to the woman in black. “Custom made?”

  “Of course,” the woman in black said and tucked both blade and hand into her belt.

  “I’ll have to get the name of your–”

  “No.”

  “Well, okay…”

  “This way,” the woman in black said as she walked around the table and pushed open the dining room doors.

  Porfoy was standing there, a stain on his crotch.

  “Hold up,” Roak said as the woman in black was about to kill him. “I need the guy.”

  “Make it quick,” the woman in black said then ran off towards Shava Stemn Shava’s office.

  “You do what I asked?” Roak asked.

  “I, uh, yes?” Porfoy replied.

  “You don’t sound sure,” Roak said and aimed the carbine at the guy. “You sure it all got done?”

  “I am, sir,” Porfoy said.

  “Good,” Roak said. “Send the message then meet me in the office immediately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Porfoy said and hurried away.

  Roak followed the woman in black into Shava Stemn Shava’s office. She was waiting for him by the desk, the severed hand gripped tightly in her own hand.

  “Show me,” she ordered.

  Roak nodded and crossed to the desk. He shoved a small statue of Shava Stemn Shava to the side and pointed at the black panel underneath.

  “Idiot,” the woman in black said as he pressed the severed hand to the black panel.

  There was shimmer then the tube appeared suspended above the surface of the desk. The woman in black snatched it and tucked it into her belt then she turned on Roak.

  “Deal done,” she said.

  “I’m not going with you,” Roak said. “And I’m not dying for real.”

  “Those are your only options,” the woman in black said. “Make your choice now.”

  Roak had the carbine gripped tightly, but he knew he couldn’t fire it before she cut him down with her pistol. He was fast, she was faster. Simple fact of galactic life.

  He looked down at his feet and smiled at what he was standing on then looked back up at the woman in black.

  “I made my choice a while ago,” Roak said as Porfoy came running back into the office. “I’m sticking with it. See ya, Reck.”

  Roak began to shimmer just like the tube had.

  “No!” the woman in black yelled as she fired. Porfoy screamed.

  That was all Roak heard before he was standing on a small platform in his ship’s hull.

  “Yes,” he said and pumped a fist in the air. “Hessa? Where are we?”

  “Taking off from Jafla Base now,” Hessa said. “You will want to get secured.”

  “On my way up,” Roak said as he raced to the lift.

  Once on the bridge, he had to brace himself against anything he could hold onto as Hessa got their ship off of Jafla and out into space.

  “Is he dead?” Hessa asked.

  “Shava Stemn Shava? Oh, yeah, he’s dead,” Roak said.

  “What of the woman?” Hessa asked.

  “No,” Roak said. “But I am.”

  “You are?” Hessa replied. “You look very alive to me.”

  “You didn’t watch?”

  “I was busy.”

  “I died.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore.’

  Roak shook his head.

  “Anyway, the whole galaxy saw me die,” Roak said. “And I killed the only witnesses that saw me alive after. Except for some folks doing laundry and cooking, but I doubt I have to worry about them.”

  “And this Porfoy gentleman that you paid to place the transmitter disc and lower the shields of the onyx tower so our new moltrans unit would work? What of him?” Hessa asked. “Oh, hold on.”

  The ship raced ahead of three other ships into the wormhole portal queue and the general comm began to buzz with angry messages.

  “I don’t think he made it,” Roak said.

  “Roak…”

  “I didn’t kill him, so calm down,” Roak said. “Although I was probably going to. He was a loose end.”

  It was their turn to enter the portal and Hessa piloted them in.

  “I will take us to the first bolthole then we will drift across the galaxy for a couple of weeks as we scan the back channel talk,” Hessa said as trans-space streamed by the view shield. “Unless you have a specific destination in mind?”

  “No, we need to get lost,” Roak said. “We also need to establish a new identity for the ship.”

  “It is already done,” Hessa said. “I did that as the moltrans unit was finishing its calibrations. If anyone checks our ID, the ship was sold on Jafla Base after your death to a dealer who turned it into some eccentric heir’s personal transport. Unusual for a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight, but not too unusual for the super-rich. The blast marks upped the purchase price.”

  “Well done,” Roak said and clapped. “You were meant for a life of crime.”

  “Is it really crime? I consider it simple survival,” Hessa said.

  “Whatever you want to call it,” Roak said. He eased into his seat and put his hands behind his head. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Roak? About calling someone something,” Hessa said. “I was able to connect with your implant once the moltrans unit engaged. I happened to hear you call that woman a name.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Roak said.

  “Yes, I did, and you will not bully me into forgetting about it,” Hessa said. “Or I will suck the air out of the bridge right now and show you who has control on this ship.”

  “I’m not going to talk about it,” Roak said.

  “Roak? Who is Reck?” Hess continued. “That name is awfully close to yours. Is she a relative?”

  “Goodnight, Hessa,” Roak said and closed his eyes. “Wake me when we get to the bolthole, will ya?”

  “You are being very rude, Roak,” Hessa said. “I deserve to know the truth. You would still be on Jafla Base if it was not for me. Roak? Roak!”

  Roak smiled then drifted off, content to sleep as Hessa continued yelling at him. Despite the annoyance of the noise in his implant, he felt like he could sleep for a couple of decades.

  Or, at the very least, sleep like the dead.

  The End

  Read on for a free sample of War Of The Worlds: Retaliation

  Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.

  Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Mega series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the upcoming Black Box, Inc series for Bell Bridge Books.

  Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.

  PROLOGUE

  THE SUDAN, 1898

  Lieutenant David Beatty had a bullet rip through his helmet and nearly had a ship’s magazine explode right under him at Hafir. Neither of those near-death experiences filled him with the sort of horror the enormous, alien machines did.

  A shudder went through him as he stood on Fateh’s gun deck, watching the three-legged meta
l monstrosities stomp across the desert. They had to be a hundred feet tall. He pressed his hand against the boat’s rectangular, wooden bridge to keep it from shaking as he recalled the dispatches from London that spoke of the devastating heat rays. A stab of nausea plunged into his stomach, imagining the agony of his body being set afire.

  How about killing them before they kill you.

  Beatty turned away from the advancing Martian machines. “Sergeant,” he called to the burly man standing by the six-pounder. “Bring all guns to bear on the enemy. Wait for my command to fire.”

  “Sir,” blurted Sergeant Ellison, the royal marine in charge of gunnery. He barked out orders to the Egyptian gun crew, who swung around the big cannon in quick order. His next shouts carried across Fateh’s deck to the other gun crews, who quickly brought their weapons to bear on the Martians.

  Beatty smiled. Ellison had drilled the men well.

  “Morrison!” Beatty shouted up to the signalman atop the bridge.

  “Sir.”

  “Signal the Nasir and Metemma.” He gave Morrison the same order he’d given Sergeant Ellison.

  “Aye, sir.”

  Beatty leaned toward the railing, staring past Fateh’s length to the other gunboats trailing him up the Nile. Beyond them was a lump of a ship laden with crates and dozens of refugees from upriver. The transport steamer Blackwood, making all of three knots.

  He thumped a fist against the bridge, cursing the slower ship’s presence. Now wasn’t the time to crawl through the river. He needed all the speed his gunboats could muster. But he wasn’t about to abandon an unarmed transport with terrified civilians.

  Beatty turned back to the tripods. They had to be a half kilometer away. Still out of the range of his guns. What he wouldn’t give to be back on the battleship Trafalgar, with its big guns and thick armor. Certainly, it would be more than a match for the Martians.

  We’re not exactly helpless. He looked at the Fateh’s guns, then at the enemy machines. He pushed down his fear, his anxiousness. It wouldn’t be long before the Martians were in firing range, then he’d show the monsters what—