by Jake Bible
“Good. There you are,” Binter said. “All my tech being offline makes it hard to find who I’m looking for.”
The Ferg gestured for the two dozen security guards to move forward. Roak killed the first seven before Binter’s shouting for him to stop even registered.
“You moron!” the Ferg yelled. “I’m here to help you!”
Roak lowered his weapon when he realized that not one of Binter’s guards had returned fire. He locked eyes with the Ferg.
“Okay, you found me,” Roak said. “What do you want?”
“I want you to help me get my station back,” Binter said. “None of this went down how it was supposed to.”
Roak rolled his eyes. “Start telling me something I don’t already know. Edgers working for a syndicate. Syndicate working with a colleague…ex-colleague of mine. The GF planting assassins to root out that ex-colleague and do… I have no idea there.”
Binter blinked a few times.
“I don’t know what you are babbling about,” Binter said. “But I need to get control of this station again before the Edgers get us all killed.” Binter looked past Roak. “Hello, Hail. I should have known you’d latch onto the best chance at survival.”
Roak scratched his chin.
“You got a med pod?” Roak asked.
“Not on me,” Binter replied and laughed.
“Is there one close by?” Roak pushed. “You get me fixed up then I’ll listen to whatever you have to say.”
“No time to fix you up,” Binter said. “The trouble is going to be here within a few hours.”
“Two hours of med pod time and we talk,” Roak said.
“Why do you think this is a negotiation?”
“Because everything is a negotiation with corrupt pieces of terpigshit like you.”
Binter glared but didn’t argue with the assessment.
“One hour,” the Ferg said.
“Two. I gotta be able to fight,” Roak said.
Binter’s eyes widened and he looked down at the corpses by his feet.
“They don’t count,” Roak said. “This passageway doesn’t count. The real fight will be in the sector where my ship is docked. The Edgers have to deliver my ship to someone and they aren’t going to just give up because I tell them to leave.”
“Your ship?” Binter snickered. “Roak, your ship is gone. Long gone. It took off as soon as the station tech was jammed. Blasted through the hangar doors. Killed some good men of mine. Killed more Edgers, too, so I can’t exactly be mad. Sorry. If you were going for your ship, then you’re too late. Someone already stole it.”
“That’s it,” Roak said. “I quit.”
Roak climbed out of the bin then leaned against it for a minute before he started walking towards Binter. The Ferg and his posse of security guards kept their weapons trained on him, but didn’t fire.
“What ya doing, Roak?” Binter asked.
“Leaving,” Roak said. “It’ll be easier on my own.”
“With that wound?” Binter asked as Roak got closer. “You won’t make it far.”
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Roak!” Hail called. “Are you seriously leaving me here?”
“Not how I see it,” Roak replied.
“Oh? And how do you see it, asshole?” Hail snarled.
“I see it as coming to my senses and taking care of me,” Roak said. “Solo is the only way I’ll get off this station.”
Roak pushed through the security guards, grimacing as his shoulder was nudged by a warty-skinned Shiv’erna’s proboscis.
“You’re gonna let him leave?” Hail asked. “Binter? You said you needed him.”
“I do,” Binter said. “And he can’t leave. Edgers have all the ships. That’s why I need to take back the station.”
“Don’t care,” Roak called over his shoulder. He reached the corner and started to turn it.
“Do you care about the Skrang?” Binter asked.
Roak stopped at the corner. He paused, his chin drooping to his chest. Roak stood there for about ten seconds before he spun about and looked Binter in the eye.
“Skrang.” It was a statement, not a question. Binter nodded. Roak sighed. “Sure. Why not? Everyone else in this craphole of a galaxy is involved. Might as well add the Skrang to the equation. They coming to take the station from the Edgers?”
“They’re coming to destroy the station,” Binter said. “I may have had a deal with them on the side and possibly that deal meant that if I ever become compromised, such as Razer getting taken over by Edgers, then they would be obligated to obliterate the entire station in order to keep the details of our arrangement from falling into the Galactic Fleet’s hands.”
“Details…?” Roak let the question hang there.
“There might, and I ain’t saying for sure, but there might be a level of this station that is dedicated to Skrang R & D.”
“What are they researching and developing?” Roak asked.
“I can’t say,” Binter replied.
Roak smirked.
“I can’t. You ever been on the angry end of a Skrang?”
“More than a few times.”
“Then you understand. I tell and I’m on the angry end of the whole Skrang Alliance.”
“Too bad.” Roak started walking away.
“Something better than moltrans!” Binter shouted as Roak rounded the corner.
Roak backed up and stared at the Ferg again.
“Last chance,” Roak said.
“It could make wormhole portals obsolete,” Binter said. “It could mean that ships have the ability to launch into trans-space on their own from wherever they are. No need to find a portal to go through. Blip and they are in trans-space.”
And there it was. The motivations for all became clear. Why there were so many elements to the mess Roak had found himself wrapped up in. His eyes went from Binter’s to Hail’s.
“Pol,” Roak stated.
“Pol,” Hail agreed.
“Pol,” Binter said. “Right. The old tech that’s been playing everyone. I need him.”
“Because he has copies of the Skrang tech?” Roak asked. Binter didn’t answer. “Ninety minutes in the med pod or I don’t help.”
“He needs at least that to heal,” Hail said. Roak raised his eyebrows at her. She pursed her lips, but nodded. “You’re gonna need me.”
“Binter?” Roak asked the Ferg.
“I need Roak, not a Lipian whore,” Binter snapped.
“You need her because she can get close to the people that are with Pol,” Roak said. “Maybe he doesn’t have copies of the Skrang tech. But you really want to risk that? Maybe I still help find a way to get rid of the Edgers. Saves my ass too. But if that tech gets off this station, then the Skrang will skin you alive and feed you to their young. That has nothing to do with my ass.”
“Ninety minutes,” Binter said after a couple seconds of thinking it through. “Then you help us get to the control room. If I don’t have station defenses online by the time the Skrang get here, then we’re all nothing but atoms. Lipian whores, old techs, terpig-headed bounty hunters be damned. I have to hold them off long enough to talk them down. We don’t need to get rid of all the Edgers, just the ones controlling the station. I’ll deal with cleanup later while you get me Pol Hammon.”
“How much?” Roak asked.
“And I’m the whore,” Hail muttered.
“How much you want?” Binter asked.
“Pol’s bounty was twenty-five million chits. Match that and we’re good.”
“Twenty-five million chits?” Binter coughed. “I don’t have that kind of cash on hand.”
“Bummer.” Roak began to turn away again.
“I can get it!” Binter exclaimed. “But why do you need it? I’ll let you have Pol once I know whether or not he has the tech. Take the old man and you have your bounty.”
Roak met Hail’s gaze and she shook her head.
“It’s complicated,” Roak replied. �
�Twenty-five million chits, and I’ll get you to your control room and get you your old tech.”
Binter glared and Roak could see the skin under the Ferg’s pelt turn slightly green. But the head of security finally nodded.
“I’ll get it. Twenty-five million chits. It’ll be hard, but I can cobble that together.”
“Good. Lead the way,” Roak said. “And I’ll try not to shoot any more of your people now that we’re on the same side.”
Roak smirked.
“Try.”
26.
Roak’s distaste for being cooped up in med pods grew exponentially as he waited for the ninety minutes to be up. Each minute crept by, second by second ticking off his mental clock. When the med pod lid finally opened and he was free, he nearly threw himself into the small room where the pod was housed, a tense flurry of newly healed muscles.
“Ow,” he growled as he rolled his shoulder then lifted his arm to inspect the repairs.
A deep scar ran the length of his armpit with several smaller scars shooting from it like the remnants of blood poisoning. Hail came in as he ran two fingers along the scar and its tributaries.
“Here,” Hail said as she tossed him some new clothes. “Your old clothes were too mold damaged to be salvaged.”
Roak shrugged, but didn’t reply as he caught the bundle of clothes and began to get dressed. “Boots?”
“There,” Hail said, pointing to a large pile of discarded boots and shoes that filled a corner of the room. “Take your pick.”
“I liked my boots,” Roak said, but didn’t argue further as he picked out a pair that resembled his previous ones. “Armor?”
“You can use the same set you had before,” Hail said. “Minus the arm that had to be removed.”
“An Achilles arm. Great,” Roak said. He finished putting his boots on and looked up at Hail. “And the armor is where…?”
“Come on, you ungrateful prick,” Hail said and left the room.
Roak followed her out and went directly to where his damaged armor sat, a pile of scorched Tillinian material that should have been stronger than the best titanium alloy. Roak had to wonder if he hadn’t been swindled when he purchased the armor. It was getting its protective ass kicked by plasma blast after plasma blast. Roak made a note to deal with the being that had sold it to him. But that was for later.
“Anyone have a Flott?” Roak asked as he looked around the room, his eyes meeting every being’s gaze. And there were a lot of beings. “Anyone?”
“No Flotts,” Binter said from a spot by the wall where a long table had been set up. “Got almost everything else.”
“Two KL09s and that Tonal Eight shock rifle,” Roak ordered. “Three magazines each. Six plasma grenades and as many concussion grenades. Is that a Kepler knife? Yeah, that too. Is it fully charged? I want a hot blade when I need it.”
Binter scratched his furry chin and laughed. “Anything else, your highness?”
“Not in the mood, Ferg,” Roak said. “Give me the weapons.”
Binter nodded to a Groshnel that was busy helping outfit the security guards. The invertebrate snatched up the requested items in his many arms and presented them to Roak.
“The KL09s are a bit banged up,” Roak said as he took the pistols, one by one, and inspected them before sliding both back into their holsters and belting them to his waist. “Not gonna jam up on me and explode are they?”
“Banged up and still able to bang are two different things, Roak,” Binter said then looked past the bounty hunter at Hail. “Right, sweetheart?”
“Suck a B’clo’no’s sex vent, Binter,” Hail said. “I’m not yours anymore.”
“That so?” Binter asked. “Who’s are you? Roak’s? He gonna keep a special place warm for you in his bunk? You do remember that he doesn’t have a bunk anymore, right? His ship is gone. How ya gonna leave Razer now?”
“He’ll figure something out,” Hail said.
Roak ignored the exchange as he checked the Tonal Eight shock rifle. The weapon was about the size of an H16 plasma carbine, but with a much wider barrel. That way it could send out several shock pulses per second, incapacitating targets at the least or liquefying their insides, making death a long, painful process at the most. It had settings between the two extremes. Roak made sure each setting dialed up correctly before slinging the weapon over his back, locking it to the mag bolts on his armor.
“Piece of crap,” Roak said as he activated the heat blade of the Kepler knife. “You use this to cut butter? Because that’s all it’s good for.”
“Give the man a new knife,” Binter ordered the Groshnel. The Groshnel complied. “Most folks would consider that first knife more than adequate.”
Roak sighed and took the new knife. He powered it up and nodded. “This’ll do.”
Heavy pistols and heat blade on his waist, shock rifle on his back, Roak waited as two pouches of grenades were put together and handed to him.
“I’ll have to trust that none of these are duds,” Roak said as he affixed the pouches to his belt.
“I appreciate that,” Binter said, finished with his own choosing of armaments. He held an RX31 Plasma assault rifle across his diminutive chest. “All set, your highness?”
“Call me that again and I use your ass as a testing ground for the grenades,” Roak said. “Roak. That’s it. Nothing else. No nicknames. Roak.”
“Or asshole,” Hail said. “He responds to that.”
“Show me schematics and let’s block this out,” Roak said, ignoring Hail.
“Over here,” Binter said as he handed his rifle to a guard and walked to a holo table that stood in the center of the room.
Roak checked his surroundings again, making sure he didn’t miscount the number of guards present as well as making sure he didn’t miss anything important, like where all the exits and entrances were. It was a good-sized room, able to fit the dozens of guards and their equipment easily.
The holo table came to life and a holo vid of Razer Station began to rotate slowly above the surface. Binter pointed to a spot on the holo and it zoomed in.
“This is us,” Binter explained. He swiped his hand and the holo returned to full size then zoomed in on a different sector. “This is the control room. Two sectors away.”
“That last sector is where my ship was,” Roak stated. “Which you say is gone.”
Binter eyed Roak then nodded. “Yeah. The Edgers are all over that sector. No one on or off unless they want them to be.”
“But my ship is gone,” Roak said.
“Yeah, Roak, your ship is gone,” Binter replied, exasperated. “Is there some reason you don’t believe me?”
“I didn’t say that,” Roak responded. “What’s the best route from here to the control room?”
“Glad you’re ready to get down to business instead of making paranoid accusations,” Binter said.
“He’ll keep making those,” Hail stated.
A red line began to snake from their position on the holo and across the station to the control room’s position.
“We make our way to the air processors,” Binter continued.
A dot appeared at the edge of their current sector.
“From there, we can use the climate shafts to get across to the next sector.”
The first dot connected to a second dot in the next sector over.
“After that, we ditch the shafts and utilize the delivery tunnels directly below the main passageways.”
More dots, more connections.
“The tunnels should get us across the sector.”
“Unmolested?” Roak asked.
“I wouldn’t need you if that was the case,” Binter said. He nodded to his guards. “We’ll be losing numbers the whole way. Your job is to stay alive so you can be there at the end.”
“What about me?” Hail asked Roak. “I’m here because of Pol. Where do I fit into this scenario?”
“Pol’ll be close to the control room. Only way he can
arrange a ride off this station,” Binter said. “He’s been spotted and I’ve heard he’s almost there already.”
“Heard?” Roak asked. “You have comms?”
“I have a grapevine,” Binter said and smiled. “Never rely too much on tech to get the intel you need.”
“Agreed,” Roak said. “Pol does have comms, though. You should know that.”
Binter blinked, looked about at his men and women, then glared at Roak.
“You’re only telling me now because why?” Binter snarled. “How does he have comms? The Edgers aren’t using comms.”
“The Edgers are using comms,” Roak said. “Single channel, hidden and thin. Only signal able to slip through their total jamming. You wouldn’t notice it unless you know exactly where to look.”
“How’d Pol get access?”
“He knew where to look.”
Binter shook his head. “Comms. Great. No wonder he’s making progress around the Edgers.”
“Don’t forget the Maglors,” one of the guards said.
“Yes. Them,” Binter said and made a sound of disgust. “Little pains in my ass. I should have jettisoned those two monkeys the second they stepped paws on this station. I smelled trouble on them.”
“They are capable for Maglors,” Roak said.
“That was a huge compliment,” Hail explained. “Trust me. He hates those guys.”
“Hate would be too much trouble,” Roak said and pointed at the holo. “Climate shafts then delivery tunnels. What about the last sector?”
The last sector became a grid of red lines.
“That’s the entire sector,” Roak said. “No play?”
“No play to make,” Binter said. “This is the main sector of the station. I locked it down from the first day I took over security. No tunnels or shafts to sneak around in. We fight step by step, passageway by passageway, until we reach the control room. Then you and I go in there and get my station back while the rest of us that are left hold our position from Edger counter attacks. You make sure I have time to put the defense systems back online and then I start the hard part of trying to talk the Skrang down before they atomize us all.”
Roak nodded. “Two thousand Edgers between us and that control room.”
“Give or take. Yeah.”