by Jake Bible
“Precisely,” Hessa said. “Please get settled in the med pod. I will start the procedure as soon as you are sedated.”
“Great,” Roak said and rolled his eyes as the lift descended to the med bay deck.
When he awoke, he hurried out of the med pod and checked their status. The ship was out of trans-space and landing at the space port in the Zuus Colony. It was an agricultural planet that specialized in seed farming.
Roak knew the local vehicle dealer and had bargained for use of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight that he currently rode in. The bargain turned into ownership when Hessa’s nature was revealed. Roak’s dealer contact, a Dornopheous gentleman that went by the name of Khaga Whaga, but was actually named Bhangul Whorp, had warned Roak that the ship’s AI was glitchy. That had been the understatement of the century.
“We attract much attention?” Roak asked as he stepped onto the bridge and checked the scene through the view shield.
“We are in stealth mode,” Hessa replied. “No one saw us land and the port’s traffic control did not detect us on their scanners.”
The view outside the ship showed several parked lines of farm rollers and ships as well as some luxury cruisers that the more affluent of seed brokers would rent to travel by instead of using the dusty and decrepit public transport system or having to rent a battered old roller.
There was a central building among the lines of vehicles and a confused-looking Bhangul Whorp came from inside and raised an arm to his head. The Dornopheous were a putty-like species that could mold and melt into almost any shape. Bhangul Whorp adjusted the shape of his hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun overhead.
“We must have triggered some alarm he has on his lot,” Roak said as he checked his KL09’s charge. He doubted he’d need it since he and Bhangul Whorp go way back, but it was better safe than sorry considering who he had after him. “I’ll go have a chat and see if we can get your repairs done by the end of the day.”
“It will probably take longer, but we shall see,” Hessa replied.
Roak went to the lift then descended to the cargo hold. He walked to the rear ramp and activated it which he knew would give the ship’s position away, but he had zero doubt that Bhangul Whorp didn’t already know who had come to visit.
“Well, well, well,” Bhangul said as he approached the ramp. “Aren’t you the popular fella.”
“Good to see you, Bhangul,” Roak responded, his hand going to his pistol. “And what does that mean?”
“You’re safe here,” Bhangul said as he looked about. “But hurry out of there before someone notices. You landed during the slow time of the day. Everyone is busy taking their afternoon naps, waiting for the heat to lessen before they continue on with their exciting lives of seeding.”
Roak did hurry and the ramp closed as soon as he was down on the vehicle lot’s pavement.
“Can you do some quick repairs?” Roak asked, the ship completely disappearing behind him.
“Do you mean the repairs are quick or you need repairs done in a quick manner?” Bhangul asked.
“The latter,” Roak said.
Bhangul sighed then pulled a small box from his pocket and tapped at it. There was a shimmer and whoosh behind Roak.
“Your ship is below and I’ll have my bots start in on the repairs right away,” Bhangul said. “Of course, it will cost you.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Roak said. “We’ll work out payment.”
“You do have chits on you, yes?” Bhangul asked.
“This time, I do,” Roak said. “But not many, so don’t even think of gouging me on the repair costs.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Bhangul said then waved a floppy hand in front of his face. “Whoo, let’s get inside where it’s cool before this putty person melts right through one of these cracks in the pavement I keep meaning to fix.”
“Don’t. The cracks give the place character,” Roak said as he followed Bhangul to the small building and inside into a cool, but cramped space.
Roak took a seat in front of a cluttered desk and kicked his boots up onto the corner.
“Talk to me,” Roak said.
“About what specifically?” Bhangul asked as he sat behind the desk and opened a bottom drawer. He brought out a bottle and two glasses. “Klav whiskey?”
“Normally, I’d say yes, but today I’m a little burned out on Klav anything,” Roak replied.
“It’s okay,” Bhangul said as he poured two drinks. “It’s not real.”
“In that case,” Roak said and held out a hand. He took a sip as soon as he had the glass and smiled. “Liar.”
“I’m not,” Bhangul replied. “It’s fake Klav. I know a local seed farmer that has a way with a still. I can get you a case to take with you, if you want.”
“I may take you up on that. I also may know a bar owner that would go for a steady supply of this,” Roak said. “But, first let’s talk about what you mean by how popular I am.”
“Your name is the talk of all the back channels right now, Roak,” Bhangul said. “Something about killing one of Shava Stemn Shava’s most trusted men? That true?”
“No,” Roak said. “I didn’t kill the guy. But I know who did. Or who is responsible, at least.”
Roak pulled out the small tablet and set it on the desk.
“What am I looking at here?” Bhangul asked as he studied the screen.
“You know any of these names?” Roak asked.
“Yeah, sure, I know these two,” Bhangul said and tapped the screen to indicate which two names. “You do too.”
“What about the third name? My usual sources aren’t picking up,” Roak said. “Thought maybe you could help out.”
“The third name is familiar, yes,” Bhangul said. “I don’t think she runs in our circles.”
“She? It’s a woman?” Roak asked.
“Oh, most certainly,” Bhangul said. “That’s a Lipian name. Pechu Magafa. You should know that name, Roak. You put her in power.”
“A Lipian? She obviously overrode her genetic programming,” Roak said.
“That race hasn’t been sex slaves for centuries, Roak,” Bhangul said. “While many keep the occupation out of some sense of heritage, most have moved on to other, more acceptable careers. Like, say, running the Shilo Syndicate.”
Roak’s feet fell from the desk and he sat straight up.
“This Pechu Magafa is in charge of the Shilo Syndicate?” Roak asked. “That explains so much now.”
“Does it? Good,” Bhangul said. “Glad I could help. Of course, with Shilo heat on you, I may have to tack on a surcharge to your repair total. Gotta cover my putty ass.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Bhangul,” Roak said. “You said I’m safe here.”
“For now, you are,” Bhangul said. “But it won’t be long before they find your trail. Which will lead to poor old Bhangul Whorp. Puts me in a tight space.”
“You can talk yourself out of it,” Roak said. “You always do.”
“Roak, you killed the last head of Shilo,” Bhangul said. “And that was only a few months ago. That outfit is not happy with you. They will not be happy with anyone helping you.”
Roak eyed Bhangul for a second then nodded. “Tack on whatever surcharge you see as fair. Within reason.”
“I wouldn’t dare think of going outside reason,” Bhangul said. He tapped his putty fingers on the desk then poured another drink. “Tell me about this other bounty hunter.”
Roak shrugged. “What’s to know? She’s a bounty hunter. A good one. Like me. How did you hear about her?”
“I told you that you are all the talk of the back channels,” Bhangul said. “Killing Shava Stemn Shava’s man. Causing some sort of ruckus in the Cortch System, although why you would be in that asteroid-filled Hell, I cannot say. But there are enough rumors to make it true.”
“Funny how it’s the quantity of rumors that counts, not the quality,” Roak said.
“That is funny,” Bhangul said
and finished his second drink before pouring a third. He held up the bottle. “Another?”
“I better not,” Roak said. “This is potent. I need to keep my wits about me.”
“This other bounty hunter,” Bhangul said. “I haven’t heard of her before. I haven’t heard of her now either since no one can say what her name is. They simply know she is working against you and trying to undercut your bounty. How’s she doing so far?”
“She’s responsible for Ple R’s death,” Roak replied. Bhangul looked confused. “Shava Stemn Shava’s Spilfleck attaché. The guy everyone thinks I killed.”
“Oh, is that his name? I didn’t bother with that detail,” Bhangul said. “One flunky is the same as any other.”
Roak shrugged.
“Or maybe not,” Bhangul said. “I would say by the look on your face you did not completely loath this Ple R.”
“Not completely,” Roak said.
“Roak, are you becoming a human being all of a sudden?” Bhangul asked.
“According to the Klav, that isn’t possible.”
“You lost me again.”
“Never mind,” Roak said. “And, no, I’m not becoming a human being. Still the cold calculator you’ve always known.”
“If you say so,” Bhangul replied. “So, who is she?”
“Someone,” Roak said.
“Someone that has stayed off the radar of every organization either of us has dealt with and now is causing quite a ripple of fear across the galaxy,” Bhangul said. “Yes, that is certainly a someone.”
Roak didn’t respond.
“She wears a full head to toe shroud or cloak or something?” Bhangul pressed. “No one has seen her face? Or is this the grapevine blowing a facial tattoo out of proportion again like it did with that Jesperian fella a few years back?”
“She wears a protective skin that covers every inch of her body,” Roak said.
“That’s a very specific piece of information to have,” Bhangul said and laughed. “Especially when she’s only someone.”
“We’re going to drop this now,” Roak said. “Forget about the woman. It’s in your best interest.”
“That threat coming from you or is it coming from her?” Bhangul asked.
“It’s not a threat from me, but some advice,” Roak said. “If she enters your circle, then the best thing you can do is play dead until she goes away. She makes me look reasonable.”
“Eight Million Godsdamn,” Bhangul said. He laughed again, but it was forced. “I almost want to meet her to see what the fuss is about. Almost.”
“What else is being said?” Roak asked. “I killed Ple R. The Shilo Syndicate is on my ass. What are the bookmakers laying down as far as odds I’ll complete this bounty?”
“You want to know the odds? Well, we’ve certainly entered–”
Bhangul was cut off by a shrill beep from a panel on his desk. He glanced down then looked up at Roak before looking out the window of the office to the vehicle lot.
“You remember those Skrang punks I had you help me with last time you were here?” Bhangul asked.
“How could I forget,” Roak said. “Why?”
“Because they’re outside on my lot and loaded for war,” Bhangul said. “Any chance we could make a new arrangement?”
“I’ll deal with the punks if you cover the cost of my repairs,” Roak said.
“Not sure it’s worth that much to me,” Bhangul said. “I tell you what. Let me go talk to them and then I’ll know if I want to lose that kind of income or not.”
Roak shrugged as Bhangul got up and left the office. The Dornopheous made it halfway to the gang of Skrang punks before they opened fire. Bhangul hit the ground and Roak jumped up from his chair.
“Damnit,” he growled as he pulled his pistol.
27.
He was firing his KL09 as soon as he cleared the office door. Two Skrang went down with gut shots, the rest scattered to hide behind various vehicles.
“Bhangul?” Roak called, trying to keep his voice down since the Dornopheous was known by a different name in the Zuus Colony. “Talk to me.”
“Alive,” Bhangul replied from his spot on the pavement. His body looked deflated and dead, a classic defense posture taken by his race. “Not feeling so great, I must admit, but I’m still breathing.”
“Stay where you are,” Roak said as he jumped over the steps leading to the office and behind a good-sized field roller.
“Wouldn’t even dream of moving,” Bhangul responded.
“Hey there!” one of the Skrang yelled. “You that Roak guy everyone is talking about?”
Roak didn’t respond. He moved to the end of the roller, ducked his head around, saw it was clear, then sprinted to a different vehicle, gaining some ground and position on the Skrang.
“Hey there!” the Skrang called again. “If you’re that Roak guy, then I am supposed to give you a message! Shilo knows you deal with Khaga Whaga! No need lying! All I been paid to do is deliver a message if some Roak guy showed up here!”
“I ain’t Roak,” Roak replied as he took off to a different vehicle. He caught sight of two of the Skrang and both were still looking towards the office. Roak almost felt sorry for the idiots.
“I think you are!” the Skrang yelled. “I saw you in that office talking with Khaga Whaga. You got that scarred face and ugly armor that they said you’d be wearing. You should do something about that face and ditch the armor!”
The other Skrang cackled like their leader had made the funniest joke ever told in the history of Skrang humor. For Skrang, it probably was.
“I ain’t Roak,” Roak shouted then switched positions again. He had managed to flank the whole group without any of them seeing him or realizing his voice wasn’t coming from up by the office. “You shot Khaga Whaga for nothing.”
“Ain’t for nothing,” the Skrang replied. “I saw him in there talking with you and I said to myself that you got to be that Roak guy. Got to be. So I come to have a chat and Khaga Whaga steps to me. Said I need to leave. No one steps to me and says for me to leave. This is my territory.”
“Khaga’s an old friend,” Roak said. “I thought he had someone run your scrawny lizard asses away from here. Probably not a smart move to start trouble again.”
“Pay is worth it,” the Skrang replied. “Hey? Where you get off to?”
Roak stepped from his hiding spot and shot three of the Skrang, leaving two standing there with their pistols shaking in their grips.
“Which one of you assholes has been doing the talking?” Roak asked.
One of the Skrang pointed at the other one, his eyes on Roak’s KL09 the entire time.
“You weak bitch,” the other Skrang snarled. “Stupid bitch. I kill you later.”
Roak shot the one that had given his leader up.
“Damn!” the Skrang still standing shouted. “Why you shoot him down like that?”
“Simplifies things,” Roak said. “And he’ll live. Only grazed his temple. Knocked him cold, and he may have a few less brain cells after this, but I don’t think that’s going to exactly affect his mental performance much.”
“That’s cold,” the Skrang said. “You gonna shoot me too?”
“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Roak said. “Whether or not you get shot is up to you.”
“Don’t want to get shot,” the Skrang said. “I’ll answer the questions. Just don’t shoot me if I don’t know the answers.”
“We’ll see,” Roak replied. “First question, did the Shilo Syndicate hire you directly or are you responding to a general lookout call?”
The Skrang stared back at Roak, a blank look on his face. Roak sighed and wanted to rub the spot between his eyes where a headache was forming, but he couldn’t afford to let his guard down.
“What I’m asking is did someone from the Shilo Syndicate hire you personally?” Roak explained.
“No,” the Skrang replied.
“So there’s a general lookou
t call for me?” Roak asked.
“Thought you said you weren’t Roak,” the Skrang replied, his lizard eyes narrowing. “Are you or aren’t you?”
“Won’t matter much to you,” Roak said. “You won’t be getting paid for this.”
“If you’re Roak, then I’m getting paid,” the Skrang said.
Roak sighed. “You’re the new leader of this gang of punks. You know what happened to your former leader, right?”
The Skrang shifted uncomfortably and the muscles by his eyes started to twitch.
“So what?” he replied defiantly. “It’s a rough business.”
“I’m the guy that shot his eyes out,” Roak said. “I could do the same to you or I could let you keep those peepers. Totally up to you.”
“How’s it up to me?” the Skrang asked.
“Eight Million Gods, you’re dumb,” Roak muttered then cleared his throat. “How’d the message get to you to be looking out for Roak?”
“You’re Roak,” the Skrang said.
“Needle in your eye, punk,” Roak said.
“Hey there, hey there,” the Skrang said. “I like my eyes. Gonna keep my eyes.”
“Gonna answer my questions?”
“Gonna answer your questions,” the Skrang said. “There’s a general lookout for you. Find you and report back and a ton of chits go into my pocket.”
“You’ve already reported back?” Roak asked.
“No, no, thought I’d come see you for myself,” the Skrang said. “Bring the boys and take you down. That way I get way more chits than I’d get for a report.”
“How’d that work out for you?” Roak replied. “Don’t answer. It’s a rhetorical question.”
“I’ve heard of those,” the Skrang said.
“Who are you supposed to report to?” Roak asked. “The Shilo Syndicate?”
“Shilo? Nah. I just got a comm signature that I send a message to,” the Skrang said. “Don’t know who it belongs to. Maybe it’s Shilo. But I don’t know. Everyone got the same signature. Orders say to contact the signature if we see you then leave our info so we can get paid. Easy as that.”
“I’ll bet,” Roak said. There was no way some punk, or any like him across the galaxy, was getting paid any decent chits to report his whereabouts. So, Roak made a play. “How about you do me a favor and report you saw Roak?”