Heretic

by Philip C. Quaintrell

  Roland felt as if he were wearing a second skin, and technically he was, when he entered the Rackham’s hold in his usual floor length coat - made from an unknown animal with a brown hide. He enjoyed the weight of his dual Tri-rollers, nestled comfortably on either side of his thighs. Not one belt but two were wrapped around his waist, each stuffed with his favourite toys. He even had grav bombs strapped to his left arm, over the coat’s sleeve in case things got a little out of control. Roland really hoped things got out of control. There was nothing funnier than watching a group of mercenaries being flung around by fluctuating gravity fields.

  Using the flexi-screen, built into the sleeve on his right arm, Roland accessed the floor panel in the centre of the hold. The horizontal doors parted, hiding the dark stains of Shay blood, as the contents within rose up to meet the bounty hunter.

  “I can’t believe you’re actually going to go out on that deathtrap…” Ch’len had waddled up beside him, frowning at the machine before them.

  “I love the Hog!” Roland declared defensively. “You’re just jealous because you can’t ride it, on account of those teeny tiny legs of yours.”

  “It’s essentially an engine with a seat attached to it,” Ch’len observed, as he always did when the hoverbike came out.

  “Isn’t that the same as every ship in the galaxy?” Roland replied, checking the newest build-up of grime around the handlebars.

  “No!” Ch’len said in a condescending tone. “This is just where stupid meets moronic.” The Ch’kara held his hands out to encompass the bike. “There’s a reason they’re illegal. No sentient brain in the galaxy has the reflexes to successfully ride one of these things.”

  Roland stood back to take it all in, while ignoring every word that came out of Ch’len’s mouth. The Hog was yellow, or at least it had been when he acquired it, with a wide leather seat towards the back end. The front of the bike was all engine and a chunky one at that, with multiple exhausts and vents designed to keep the bike cool at high temperatures. There were no wheels to speak of, as the bike could hover above the ground up to thirty feet. Today he would be going no more than ten feet, in order to avoid detection.

  The bounty hunter lifted his leg and flicked his coat over the seat, getting comfy, since the ride to Gor-van’s safe house was several miles away. After a moment of searching, he found the dirty goggles hiding under the carriage and put them over his head. The adrenaline was already pumping in anticipation of the ride and the inevitable fight on the other end.

  Ch’len reached up on his tiptoes and depressed the button, activating the ramp. The sun was rising again, with Byzantial’s days only being thirteen hours long. Brilliant white light poured into the hold, creating silhouettes of everything. Beyond the ramp lay the sprawling desert of the Qelt Wastes, a flat, open land dotted with the tallest stalagmites Roland had ever seen.

  “If I’m not back by nightfall, I’m probably dead. So…” Roland met Ch’len’s tiny eyes, “you’ll probably die as well in the next few days.”

  Ch’len dashed to the Hog’s side. “Then why don’t you just give me the ignition codes for the Rackham and I can save myself.”

  Roland looked as if he were considering it. “Nah. I think I’ll hang onto those.” The bounty hunter tapped his temple with a smug smile on his face. “You should probably think about rationing. It’s a long walk back to civilisation.”

  Ch’len dropped his head, exhausted with the topic they had fought over many times before.

  Roland keyed the Hog’s ignition three or four times, before it finally came to life with a roar loud enough to knock Ch’len back a few steps. The bounty hunter laughed and removed a small hip flask from the inside pocket of his coat. The swig was warm and spicy, its alcoholic kick quick to set in.

  “Oh, that’ll help…” Ch’len rolled his eyes.

  “See you later, dipshit!” Roland pulled on the throttle and shot out of the Rackham’s hold.

  The journey was exhilarating, for about twenty minutes. After which, Roland lost all feeling in his ass and the goggles pressing into his eye sockets were beginning to hurt. The landscape didn’t get any more interesting either, with every rounded stalagmite giving way to more desert. He nearly killed himself evading the towering rocks, as his brain struggled to keep up with the rapidly approaching terrain. There were times in the flat areas where he was forced to slow down just so he could breathe.

  Roland dared to glance at the screen, situated under his chin. The coordinates for the safe house was coming up, nestled in a canyon a half mile wide. The Hog chuddered to a stop, as Roland was aware of the dust cloud the bike spewed out of the back, visible from afar. It took several minutes for the feeling to return to his hands and for his legs to stop shaking.

  He rounded the last mound of stalagmites on foot and dropped to his knees behind a rock large enough to conceal him. Using a small pair of binoculars, the bounty hunter scouted the terrain. The building wasn’t much more than a two-storey shack. From this range, the binoculars were unable to probe the walls and highlight those within.

  “Time to set you little buggers free…” Roland retrieved the tracking spheres from his belt and poured them into the dusty ground. Using the flexi-screen on his forearm, the spheres were given the coordinates.

  Roland continued to scan the terrain for possible snipers, while the trackers crossed the distance to the shack. If there was anyone waiting for him out there, they were well hidden. A quiet alert notified him when the spheres were at the house, each separating and finding different ways inside. Once the building was breached, the trackers ran up walls and round objects until they had a collective view of both floors. A three-dimensional hologram rose above the flexi-screen and showed Roland what was going on inside.

  There were four armed beings inside, Shay by the looks of their artificial arms and legs, all with various attachments that clung to their faces. The one on the first floor was packing a larger weapon than the three downstairs. Sniper, then. The other three appeared to be playing some kind of game around a table, their weapons propped against the table legs. None of them were Gor-van.

  Roland had to think about his approach. If he went on foot the sniper would easily spot him and take the shot. If he commanded the trackers to find a target and self-destruct he would lose any element of surprise, since Gor-van had to be in the installation underneath the house.

  “Hard and fast it is…”

  The bounty hunter returned to the Hog and dropped the goggles over his eyes. He set a timer on the tracking spheres, commanding them to ‘search and destroy’ in twenty seconds.

  “Let’s skip to the good bit, boys.” The Hog exploded into flight, launching Roland into the open desert between the stalagmites and the shack.

  The Hog was too loud not to be heard. The gunfire would begin in moments, starting with the sniper no doubt. The flexi-screen showed the trackers redeploying around the building, seeking out the four beings inside and sticking to them.

  A round of intrinium careened off the Hog’s engine, creating sparks that flew into Roland’s face. The sniper was good to have even hit the bike at these speeds.

  That same sniper was blown out of the top window a second later. As Roland drew closer, he could see the robotic leg and an organic arm tear from the Shay’s body, before every part of it hit the desert floor. A series of small explosions erupted downstairs, shredding doors and shattering windows. Smoke drifted out from every crack in the old shack, when Roland came to a skidding stop that forced a wave of sand into the air.

  The bounty hunter was off the bike and striding through the door before the Hog’s engine fully cut out. A swift kick took the door off its hinges and snapped the framework. The moaning to his right caught his attention and he didn’t hesitate to step into the next room. All three of the Shay were prone on the floor, all in different states of dismemberment. One of them was dead for sure, with his head hanging onto his body by a few strands of tissue. The other two had fared bet
ter, if missing limbs counted as better.

  Roland crouched down, blocking the only one, with both of his arms remaining, from crawling away. “How do I get downstairs?”

  The Shay were dazed and could only look at the bounty hunter in confusion. They needed a little wake-up call, or at least one of them did. Roland pulled one of his Tri-rollers from its holster and shot the Shay that had lost an arm and a leg. The alien blood splattered across the other Shay’s face, startling him.

  “How do I get downstairs?” Roland repeated.

  The alien mercenary blinked several times before answering, “The room… in the back. Translift…”

  Roland looked over his shoulder at the adjoining room. “Thanks.” An intrinium round put the Shay out of his misery.

  The Translift was clearly the most sophisticated piece of technology in the whole shack. The square floor panel and matching controls on the wall stood out in the room like a sore thumb. Within seconds, Roland was below ground and inside the real safe house. The corridors were sleek and befitting of Conclave architecture. There was even a good chance that his antics upstairs had gone unnoticed, due to the bunker-style walls and ceiling.

  There was only one corridor with several doors leading off of it, all closed. It was easy to guess what was going on behind the furthest door on the right. Gor-van was entertaining at least two women, courtesy of Hon Valorga.

  It was tempting to just burst in, dismiss the prostitutes and drag Gor-van out by the scruff of his neck. Thankfully, he hadn’t had nearly enough to drink to see that plan through. Instead, Roland checked out the other rooms, stopping to listen with his ear to the door. Nothing. After a quick peek inside the rooms, it became clear that the remaining mercenaries were all together at the far end of the corridor. Luckily, this door had a small window at eye-level. There was six other Shay inside, along with a ship. The hangar must have been directly in front of the shack, though Roland had never seen any evidence above ground to support this. He had been too quick to get off the Hog and breach the building.

  With the mercenaries overseeing repairs and maintenance of the ship, Roland returned to Gor-van’s room. The door slid apart in the blink of an eye, revealing two naked Laronians and a third person, who Roland couldn’t identify through their entangled limbs.

  The bounty hunter levelled both of his Tri-rollers and spoke quietly. “You two out, now.” The Laronians whimpered and fled without another word, heading straight for the Translift. “Get up you sack a’ shit!” Roland found it hard to identify one Shay from another, but this was definitely Gor-van Tanar.

  The Shay laughed to himself. “Very good Mr. North. Very good…”

  “Get up.” Roland flicked his gun to direct him out of the bed.

  “And why would I do that?” Gor-van relaxed back, exposing his pale white chest and dark veins.

  Before Roland could answer, two guns were levelled at his head from either side. The naked Laronians had returned, quiet on their bare feet.

  “Perhaps in your line of work as a bounty hunter, you may have heard of the Bolo Twins…” Gor-van held his hands out, as if displaying the smug Laronians.

  “Where were you hiding those, ladies?” Roland eyed their hand-cannons.

  Their slender, blue arms rose to meet his and relieved him of both Tri-rollers. It was incredibly frustrating to be annoyed and aroused at the same time. He had indeed heard of the Bolo Twins during his short time as a bounty hunter. They were notorious for only taking bounties that were wanted dead, so they could ‘play’ with their catch. Roland looked them up and down and wouldn’t mind ‘playing’ with them for a while - at least he would die with a smile on his face.

  Gor-van slowly stepped out of the bed and placed a large red cloak over his body. “I have seen the things you have done to get this far. The blood. The pain. The brutality. Had you worked for me we could have accomplished a great deal.”

  “You’re not the one I want.” Roland felt one of the cool barrels press into his temple. “Give me Kel-var and you won’t have to see my brutality up close.”

  “Kel-var and I serve a higher purpose. Something your primitive mind cannot comprehend. It’s a shame you won’t get to see the fruits of our labour, human. Our transcendence is going to be quite glorious.”

  “Can we play with him now?” the Laronian to his right asked, pleadingly.

  “Why not? Just don’t play with him for too long. I want him dead by nightfall.” Gor-van flashed a wicked smile at the bounty hunter and left the room, heading for the hangar.

  The twins pushed Roland into the next room, not bothering to put any clothes on. They were gorgeous, murderous and identical - any other day and they would have been his idea of a perfect night or day, or anytime really. It didn’t help that they were naked.

  “Now girls,” Roland said with all the charm he could muster, “there’s enough of me to go around…”

  “When we’re finished, there’s going to be enough of you to go everywhere.”

  As it turned out, there really was enough of Roland to go around. After stripping him down to his underwear and chaining his wrists to the ceiling - why this room even existed he had no idea, but there were probably a few unlucky prostitutes who did - the Bolo Twins went to work on him. As he so often did, the agent turned bounty hunter fell back on his training, or at least he tried to. Roland had been trained to keep any and all secrets in his head, and right now the Bolo Twins had no intention of asking Roland anything. There was just pain, which was a very hard thing to build any kind of resistance to.

  At least they remained naked, though Roland’s vision was beginning to blur somewhat. A particularly nasty cut in his left eyebrow was dripping blood onto his eyelashes and the right eye was completely closed off from the swelling. Some kind of vicious, alien eel had been wrapped around his left thigh, where it proceeded to cling to his skin with hundreds of spikes. The blood dripped down his leg and formed a small pool around his foot.

  At some point, they had bothered to introduce themselves, but their names escaped him now. He only knew that one of them preferred to use her bare fists, while the other loved to use implements. Between them, they had turned his body into a canvas of blacks and purples with streaks of red throughout. Roland lost all sense of time, unaware of whether he had been in this room all day or for just a few hours.

  “I wonder how long humans can hold their breath for…” the implements twin pondered out loud.

  Had Roland been able to muster any saliva, he would have spat on her. As it was, he could only hang there, wondering if he had the strength to lift his feet and break one of their necks.

  “Let’s find out,” the other twin replied happily.

  The Laronian gripped Roland’s throat and squeezed as hard as she could. The bounty hunter struggled and tried to escape her grip, but he had nowhere to go and the more he moved the tighter the eel constricted around his leg. He could feel his face fill with blood at the same moment his vision got even worse.

  The entire underground installation shook when a loud boom resounded from somewhere above them. The lights flickered as more shockwaves ran through the safe house. By now the Laronian had released Roland and turned back to her sister in alarm. The bounty hunter gasped for air, with just enough of his mind to wonder if Ch’len was attacking them. The Rackham certainly had the firepower to bring the whole place down. Of course, Ch’len had no way to power the ship without Roland, and he couldn’t connect to the ship in his current, fuzzy state.

  The sound of metal twisting and girders snapping echoed throughout the installation. Gunfire erupted outside the door. It sounded like chaos to Roland, with intrinium rounds striking every surface, as if the shooters couldn’t find their target in a narrow corridor. Roland laughed to himself, somewhat hysterically, at the thought of how universally shit mercenaries were.

  The gunfire was quickly followed by screams of agony, not terror. The walls shook at the same moment they all heard a Shay body slam into the rein
forced panel.

  Are they fighting a gorilla?

  After a few more screams and the familiar sound of blood splattering against the walls, the corridor fell silent. The Bolo Twins had each picked up a curved blade and stood in front of the door in fighting stances. They really were as insane as everyone says they are. Roland tried to blink the blood out of his only good eye, intent on seeing the twins die. What happened next was almost too quick for the bounty hunter to register, however, or at least that’s how it felt to his battered head.

  The doors were ripped open, as if they were no stronger than tissue paper, folding into the room and cracking the walls. Everything was blurry to Roland, but he could make out the figure in the doorway, clad in black, their frame almost filling the gap. The Bolo Twins lunged forward with the blades held high, but they froze mid-step, before suddenly being cast aside, into the reinforced walls like ragdolls. Their screams were silenced immediately, when they were flung up into the air with enough force to break their necks upon slamming into the ceiling. Their limp forms dropped back to the floor in a heap, lifeless.

  “Kalian..?” Roland managed. The twins had been dispatched without the mysterious figure ever moving, and there was only one person who could do that.

  The blurry figure in black stood aside, giving way to an angel with red hair. Roland’s vision narrowed as the woman approached, until finally, she was standing right in front of him. The words escaped him, as doubt crept into Roland’s mind about the apparition standing before him.

  “You look like hell,” the angel said.

  Her breath on his skin was undeniable; the person standing in front of him was real. All the head injuries in the world couldn’t produce a hallucination as real as this one. A small tear broke free of Roland's bloody eye and streaked a clean line down his face.

  “Li’ara…”

  Li’ara Ducarté smiled, a sight he would deny he missed and turned back to the mystery figure. Roland tried to better his vision and make out Kalian’s face in the doorway.