by Jake Bible
4.
Wearing a rebreather was uncomfortable enough, but add in the moisture that dripped from the leaves and branches that hung over the jungle road and the thing was downright insufferable. Moderate climate, Roak’s ass.
The jungle road was barely two lanes. Not that it needed to be much wider. None of the locals used vehicles; they all rode some local fauna that had six legs, was the size of a grav roller, and looked like it could carry ten tons without breaking a sweat.
People passed him by with suspicious eyes and not a single nod of acknowledgement. Roak was used to it. It was the same on any of the backwater, agro planets. Folks didn’t like what they didn’t know. Different was dangerous. In Roak’s case, they were right.
“Where ya coming from, stranger?” a voice of authority asked from behind Roak.
He stopped and turned slowly, hands out and away from his sides. He knew law when he heard it.
“Friend’s place,” Roak said as he studied the man that sat upon one of the animals. Halfer of some kind. Maybe part Jesperian, maybe part Cervile. The feline whiskers that stuck out from behind the rebreather pointed to Cervile, but that was all Roak could figure out. Ligston didn’t have its own race of people, so you just never knew. “Heading into town for supplies.”
“Supplies?” the lawman asked. The rebreather shifted up, telling Roak the man was smiling or smirking. “On just your feet? Without a pack?”
“I don’t need a lot,” Roak said. “And I like to walk.”
“Who ya staying with?” the lawman asked.
“Bepa Tooh,” Roak answered immediately. “I’m a friend of her son. From the War.”
The lawman’s demeanor changed instantly. Mentioning the War usually had pull on planets like Ligston. A lot of young men and women had been recruited to fight for the Galactic Fleet against the Skrang Alliance from planets like the one they were on. Easy pickings from the lower class.
“Shame about that boy,” the lawman said. “He had a future. Probably could have been something.”
“Probably,” Roak said. “Damn GF.”
The lawman lifted his rebreather and spat onto the ground as he nodded. “Damn GF.”
They watched each other for a couple of seconds before the lawman tipped his chin at Roak.
“You want me to give you lift into town?” the lawman asked.
“I’d hate to trouble you,” Roak said.
“No trouble,” the lawman replied. “Always glad to help out someone that fought against the Skrang. I ain’t no fan of the GF, but we’d be a lot worse off if the Skrang had taken over the galaxy.”
“I hear that,” Roak said. “You sure?”
“Get on, son,” the lawman said.
Roak did, hopping up behind the lawman, and settling into an extra seat in the harness strapped to the riding animal.
“Where ya need to go first?” the lawman asked.
“Well, to be honest, sir, I was feeling a little thirsty,” Roak said. He laughed like he was embarrassed. “Maybe drop me off at a tavern?”
“Bepa Tooh does keep a dry house,” the lawman chuckled. “Sure thing, son. I’ll even buy the first round. It may be I was headed that direction myself.”
“How lucky for me,” Roak said.
He didn’t feel too lucky. He’d rather the lawman was out of his presence as soon as possible. But maybe he could turn it around.
The animal didn’t move much faster than Roak did on foot, but it felt good to be off his feet. Stretching his legs was a good idea. For the first five minutes of the walk. He still wasn’t up to par.
They arrived at the front of the tavern and the lawman hopped down to tie the animal up next to a water trough. He called out some pleasantries to a few of the locals that rode past him then motioned for Roak to follow.
The tavern’s airlock hissed loudly and all heads turned as Roak and the lawman stepped inside. Rebreathers came off and they hung them on the many empty hooks that lined the wall next to the airlock doors. With his face no longer covered, Roak confirmed that the lawman was most certainly part Cervile. He’d have to be careful. Cerviles had a nose for deception.
“Z? Set up a couple rounds for me and my new friend here,” the lawman announced, not even glancing at the multi-limbed creature that was behind the bar. “And is Ally here?”
“No, sir, Mr. Mott,” the bartender, Z, replied. “She stepped out for a minute. Back soon, though.”
“Good,” Mott said. “Have her come see me when she gets in, will ya?”
“I will,” Z replied.
Mott gestured to an empty table in the far corner of the tavern and Roak walked that way. He sat down, his back to the wall so he could watch the airlock. Mott hesitated then smiled before he took the seat across from Roak.
“I usually sit with my ass protected too,” Mott said. “Old habits are hard to break.”
“You serve?” Roak asked.
Z, a Groshnel, one of the invertebrate races that had eight leg-arms and a body that needed a constant gulping of air to stay solid and full, came over and set down two glasses and a bottle of bright pink liquid. Mott didn’t even go for his wrist to transfer credits. Roak took note of that.
“Serve? Me? Nah,” Mott said as he poured drinks for both of them. “I’ve just been in the law enforcement business for a long time. Going on thirty years now. Last few here on Ligston.” He held up his glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Roak said.
They clinked glasses, but neither of them drank. Not until Mott laughed and downed his in one gulp. He refilled and nodded at Roak.
“I’m on the level. Nothing funny in your drink,” Mott said.
Roak sniffed and drank. It burned in the best possible way.
“Now, I told you my name, how about you tell me yours,” Mott said.
“No, you didn’t,” Roak said. “The bartender told me your name. You never did.”
Mott smiled and nodded, sipping his second drink slowly.
“What part of the Fleet did you serve in?” Mott asked. “Navy? Infantry? Marines?”
“Infantry,” Roak said. He was stepping into dangerous waters. Bepa Tooh was a neighbor of Veha’s, that’s how Roak knew to drop that name. Veha had mentioned a dead son that had served the GF. But she hadn’t mentioned how he’d served. Or how he’d died. “At first. I was, uh, moved around a few times.”
“Moved around, eh?” Mott said. “Good moved or bad moved?”
Roak shrugged.
“I’d say from those scars on your face it was bad moved,” Mott said. “Maybe all your fighting wasn’t against the Skrang. Maybe you’re one of those fellas that has anger control issues and lets his fists get him into trouble.”
“Maybe,” Roak said.
“We’ve all been there,” Mott said. “Lost my first couple of jobs as lawman because of my hot temper. I hope you’ve learned to control yours. I don’t need any trouble around here. Got plenty of that without some visitor stirring shit up.”
“No trouble here,” Roak said. He downed his drink then raised his eyebrows at the bottle. Mott nodded. Roak refilled his glass.
He was about to take a sip when a woman walked through the airlock. Veha was attractive, but the alien that came walking into the tavern was several leagues above that. She was a full-blooded Tcherian, a reptile race that were chameleon-like, able to change their skin to match their environment completely. They could even go invisible if fully naked. The thought of seeing the woman naked entered Roak’s mind right away, but he shoved it back, not wanting to get distracted from what he needed to do.
Mott followed Roak’s gaze then turned back with a smirk.
“You and half the population of this town,” Mott said. “Male and female.”
The woman walked over to the bar where Z made a point of giving her Mott’s message. Her eyes turned to Roak’s and Mott’s table.
“She coming over?” Mott asked.
“Yeah,” Roak said.
“Good,” Mott replied.
“She bringing a glass?”
“No,” Roak said as the woman sauntered over, obviously putting some extra swing into her hips for Roak’s sake. She used her body to its advantage. Roak made note of that.
“No?” Mott asked and frowned. “Guess she’s not feeling hospitable today. Too bad for her.”
“Mott,” the woman said as she came to stop at the side of the table. “Strange guy. Z said you need to talk to me, Mott.”
“I sure do,” Mott said and stood up. “In private would be best.”
The woman didn’t move. She looked from Mott to Roak and back to Mott.
“Right. Where are my manners?” Mott said. “This here is my new friend, uh… Dammit. You still haven’t told me your name.”
“Bex,” Roak said. “Bex Klo.”
“Bex Klo?” the woman replied. “Really?”
“Really,” Roak said.
“Bex, this is Ally,” Mott said. “She is the owner of this establishment. I only need a quick word with her then I’ll be right back and we can talk about your time in the War.”
“Actually, I need to get going,” Roak said. “Thanks for the drink, but I better move on so I can get back to Bepa Tooh’s soon.”
“With supplies,” Mott said, a twinkle in his eye. “Of course. Good to meet you, son.”
He extended his hand and Roak shook it. Ally didn’t move a centimeter and Roak was forced to squeeze around her to get away from the table.
“Again, thanks for the drink,” Roak said.
“Anytime,” Mott replied.
Roak nodded to Z as he left the tavern, grabbing his rebreather before exiting out the airlock.
It didn’t take a genius to realize Mott was not on the up and up, and Ally was sick and tired of whatever business he had to discuss with her. Roak gave a quick glance over his shoulder and saw Mott steering her by the elbow to a set of stairs in the corner. Then the airlock closed and they were lost from sight.
5.
It wasn’t hard to gather a few extra chits.
A well-timed stumble, an embarrassed apology, a few steps later, Roak checks his hand and smiles at the few chits he was able to snag from the man’s pocket.
Point to something high up on the wall of the mercantile, wait until the shopkeeper turns his back, stuff a brand new moisture scanner into his shirt, nod thanks to the shopkeeper as he’s still up on the ladder, turn and leave the mercantile.
Walk two streets over to the pawnbroker, sell the moisture scanner, pocket several more chits.
Roak repeated the first move four times and the second move twice. He could only do the pawnbroker scam twice since there were only two pawnbrokers in the town. If he’d repeated the first scam more than four times then someone would have called the lawman about a stumbling drunk bumping into people out on the streets.
Moderation in everything, including larceny.
With a solid stack of chits in hand, Roak made his way to the military supply shop on the outskirts of town. Every town had one. The War had been too widespread across the galaxy for there not to be a wealth of military surplus just left to rot in jungles, deserts, airless vacuums, asteroid belts, and wherever else failed campaigns had fallen apart.
The airlock hissed and a warbling chime sounded behind the counter at the far end of the long, narrow building. Roak took a look around and realized he was standing in a modified shipping container. Good place to store military surplus. The building was designed to handle the rigors of space, so it should keep the extreme level of oxygen firmly outside where it belonged.
“Help you, sir?” a Skrang said as he came out from a back room.
Roak stopped in his tracks, his hand instantly going for the pistol that wasn’t on his hip. The Skrang smiled.
“I’m used to that reaction,” he said in that raspy, guttural voice that Skrang were known for.
He was a tall one, as tall as Roak, and his scales looked like they hadn’t seen sun in a very long time. The Skrang was missing several fangs, that being obvious as he continued to smile as Roak slowly made his way to the counter.
“Long way from the home world, aren’t you?” Roak asked when he reached the counter.
“I certainly hope so,” the Skrang said. He glanced down. “I’m not exactly considered worthy of life by my people.”
Roak leaned forward and saw that the Skrang was missing both legs. Instead, he was locked into a rollerball that allowed him ease of movement. By the look of the rollerball, it was held together by aftermarket parts. That explained why the Skrang looked pale. If he went outside with that thing, all it would take is a short circuit and the lizard man would be one crispy critter.
“Which conflict?” Roak asked.
“Does it matter?” the Skrang replied.
“Suppose not,” Roak said.
“What can I help you with today?” the Skrang asked.
“I need a couple of blades,” Roak said. “Maybe a few other things, but I’m interested in the blades first.”
“You want to see the quality of my display merch before you ask for what I got in the back room, that it?” The Skrang laughed and waved a clawed hand before Roak could reply. “I understand. Guy like you can’t be too careful.”
“Guy like me?” Roak asked, stiffening.
“Stranger,” the Skrang answered. “Haven’t seen you around here before. I don’t get out much, but I do know the faces of every being that lives within six kilometers of town. Helps me spot trouble.”
“This town seems to worry a lot about trouble,” Roak said.
“You must have run into Lawman Mott,” the Skrang chuckled. “He sees all strangers as trouble. He buy you a drink at the tavern?”
“He poured me a couple,” Roak said. “Not sure if he bought them or not.”
The Skrang laughed long and hard, having to lean a hand on the counter to keep from doubling over. Roak let the Skrang laugh, waiting him out until he got his breathing back under control.
“Oh, Mott must have loved talking to you,” the Skrang finally said. “He sees strangers as a personal challenge.”
“Challenge?” Roak asked.
“A puzzle to be solved,” the Skrang said as he extended his hand. “Sha. Sha Tog.”
“Bex Klo,” Roak replied, sticking with the name he gave Mott.
“Sure it is,” Sha chuckled. “Now, let’s see what we can rustle up in the way of knives. Exactly what do you need them for?”
“Cutting things,” Roak replied.
“Would these things be inanimate objects or perhaps a little more lively?” Sha asked.
“They could be lively,” Roak said. “I’m hoping to put a stop to that, if I need to.”
“Right. Okay,” Sha said as he rolled down to a display that made up the corner of the counter. “How good are you with a blade?”
“Better than most,” Roak replied.
“I’m sure you are,” Sha said. He slid the case opened and his claw hovered over a couple of choices. He finally settled on one and withdrew it, offering it on his palm to Roak. “Billion carbon blade. Folded more times than the bot that made it can count. Perfectly balanced. Grip-forming hilt. Have a try.”
Roak took the knife by its handle and the grip instantly morphed to fit perfectly in his hand. He held it for a few seconds, feeling its heft, then gave a quick jab in the air and a fast swipe. Sha didn’t even flinch at the movements.
“Nice,” Roak said and set it on the counter. “How much?”
“Eighty-five credits,” Sha replied.
“How about if I pay in chits?” Roak asked.
“Then I can make you a special deal of eighty-five chits,” Sha said and grinned.
“Seventy,” Roak said.
“Ninety,” Sha countered.
Roak smiled.
“Eighty-five, it is,” Roak said.
“You drive a hard bargain,” Sha laughed. He watched as Roak withdrew his stack of chits. “While you count out my eighty-five, let me see what else I
got for you. That one you’re buying is great for the hip. What you need now is a boot knife, am I right?”
“And some boots to go with it,” Roak said, setting eighty-five chits on the counter. He moved to take the knife, but Sha snatched it up first.
“You can have it when we conclude our business,” Sha said. “I’d hate for you to think you can get away with trying those better than most knife skills out on me as payment for whatever else it is you need.”
“Fair enough,” Roak said. “What do you have in the way of light body armor?”
“What are you looking for?” Sha asked, his attention on a row of small knives in the display case.
“I’d prefer Tillian quality,” Roak said.
“Wouldn’t we all,” Sha said as he pulled out a small knife and set it by the first one. “Don’t have anything of that quality. Closest I have is a cheap knock off I usually tell folks is Tillian. Not going to even try to pass it off as real to you.”
“I appreciate that,” Roak said.
“Still ain’t gonna be cheap, though,” Sha said. “I saw that stack you’re carrying. You ain’t got enough chits.”
“How do I fix that problem?” Roak asked.
“Get more chits,” Sha said.
“Not in the cards,” Roak replied.
“Then neither is that body armor,” Sha said. He placed his hands, palms down, on the counter and stared hard at Roak.
Roak sighed.
“What do you need me to do as trade for that body armor?” Roak asked.
“Trade? Now, isn’t that an interesting idea,” Sha said. “Let me see…”
“I’m on the clock, Sha,” Roak said. “Be straight with me and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Man in a hurry,” Sha said. “Being in a hurry can drive up prices, ya know.”
“I don’t doubt you’ve got a gas-powered slug chunker within arm’s reach back behind that counter,” Roak stated. “I would, if I were you. You might get one shot off. Maybe even hit me. But I’ve been shot with worse and still snapped the neck I was fixing to snap.”
“Well said,” Sha responded as he reached down and brought out the double-barreled slug chunker, its gas canister clunking loudly on the counter. “Instead of shooting you, how about I hire you?”