Infinite Mayhem

by Jake Bible

  “Yes, I know that,” Roak replied. “Doesn’t mean those files aren’t useful.”

  “Father would have purged any trace of himself from them,” Reck insisted. “Hold on.”

  Roak moved quickly down the corridor and turned a corner. He came face to face with a squad of troopers. None of them even glanced his way as they marched past to complete whatever duty they were ordered to complete.

  “I’m back,” Reck said.

  “I can tell,” Roak replied. “Trouble?”

  “Always, but I took care of it without being detected,” Reck replied. “I could use some help. How am I supposed to get Nimm and Yellow Eyes free and back to our ship without getting caught?”

  “Hessa will help,” Roak said. “Now go.”

  “I can only do so much from within this ship’s systems, Roak, before I am detected and it is a race to return to the ship,” Hessa said.

  “Understood. Focus on that. All I need from you is to point me to an interface that can handle what I need it to handle.”

  “Fine. Two corridors over and one up. There’s a small set of office cubicles with interfaces that should fit your needs.”

  “Great. And where’s the ship?”

  “It is…Hangar Four, landing pad Eight.”

  “Four and eight. Got it. I’ll meet you all there ASAP.”

  “Roak, this is a bad idea. You should go straight to the ship now.”

  “Nah, this is a good idea. Trust me. Now, help Reck and the others. I got my part under control.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Doubt away, Hessa, but you’re gonna love what I have in store.”

  24.

  There were a few close calls, but Roak was able to follow the directions Hessa had given him mostly without incident. Mostly. Unfortunately for a trooper, he recognized Roak and tried to raise an alarm. Roak didn’t ask the man if he had a family before putting a plasma bolt between the man’s eyes. He hid the corpse in a maintenance space, waited to hear if anyone had been alerted to the violence, then proceeded on his way.

  Luck was on his side when Roak arrived in the section of the ship set aside for traveling bureaucrats that needed to keep working so the Galactic Fleet gears never slowed. The whole area was empty. Beem’s mission to pursue Roak must not have included any need for file pushers.

  The doors to the area would not lock, which wasn’t ideal, so Roak chose the least conspicuous cubicle he could find. Hessa must have been monitoring him because the holo interface was up and running when he sat down. He didn’t need to try to break into it at all.

  “Thanks,” Roak muttered as he got to work.

  Roak searched through the database until he found reference to the locations where Bishop had said his contact files were backed up. The locations were spread across the galaxy and not in the most accessible systems, but they weren’t going to be hard to reach which made Roak smile.

  For what he had in mind, he needed to first make sure Bishop/Father hadn’t been lying about their locations, which he hadn’t since there was never any intention of retrieving the files, and to second make sure the storage facilities were not only at the locations, but intact and accessible.

  Two out of the three were. One had been destroyed in what looked like a local skirmish between warring clans of the indigenous race that inhabited that particular planet. Nothing to be done about that and it crossed one destination off the list, leaving only two choices. Things were simpler sometimes with a coin flip.

  “Can you wipe my presence from this interface?” Roak asked.

  Hessa didn’t respond, but the holo warbled then disappeared and the cubicle began to hum then smoke slightly.

  “Not as low profile as I’d like, but they won’t track what I was looking at so I guess it does the job,” Roak said as he got up and walked to the doors.

  They slid open as he approached and five very surprised-looking troopers stared at Roak. It was a stare off for about a nanosecond.

  “We’ve located Roak!” one of the troopers called.

  Roak opened fire and dropped two of the five before diving behind a cubicle. The walls of the cubicle were obliterated by return plasma fire and Roak found himself crawling on his hands and knees from cubicle to cubicle as the three remaining troopers emptied their rifles at him.

  It was poor coordination on the troopers’ part not to stagger their fire, but Roak had to cut them some slack since he doubted any of them expected to find him in one of the most boring areas of the ship. There were probably a hundred troopers protecting the armory and another hundred guarding the ship hangars.

  That last thought irked Roak because he was eventually going to have to get to Hangar Four. But that was an issue for after.

  After he killed some GF troopers.

  When the plasma rifles stopped firing, Roak stood and took aim. Three squeezes of the trigger and three troopers fell dead. Roak ejected the magazine from the rifle and slapped in a fresh one then charged the weapon and walked to the room’s exit.

  A dozen troopers were sprinting down the corridor to the area. Roak sprinted in the opposite direction with his rifle held out one-handed behind him as he fired until the magazine was out of power. He made it around the corridor’s corner before the return fire could turn him to shreds.

  Roak replaced the spent magazine and kept running until he saw markers denoting where he was on the ship. The destroyer was like all GF destroyers, which Roak was plenty familiar with, so he knew he had close to twenty decks to descend before he reached the hangar level.

  That was a lot of decks to travel when the entire ship was hunting for him.

  Which made the explosions that rocked the ship very fortunate.

  “Thank you, Reck,” Roak said, assuming the explosions were the result of her actions. He wasn’t a fan of assuming, but he probably would have gotten great odds on Ballyway if he was betting on who the culprit was.

  Klaxons blared and the corridors were bathed in red emergency lighting. The ship shook over and over as chain explosions ripped through the decks.

  “Okay. Maybe a little bit of overkill,” Roak said when he reached a lift.

  The lift wouldn’t respond to his call. Roak waited as long as he could then ran down the corridor to the access panel for one of the many maintenance shafts that crisscrossed the destroyer.

  Roak popped off the panel and was about to climb in when a plasma bolt knocked him off his feet. His side burned and he glanced at the scorch mark that had done a little more than graze him, but a little less than penetrate his body. There was a long smoking gouge in his side that was filled with angry red flesh combined with melted uniform. The med pod was going to work overtime to separate the uniform from his flesh as it healed his body.

  Roak scrambled to grab his rifle, but a second plasma blast sent the weapon skittering across the floor and down the corridor.

  “You’re Roak,” a Tcherian dressed in a Drop Team uniform said. “The boogeyman bounty hunter that has half the galaxy pissing their enviro suits.”

  “I wouldn’t say half,” Roak responded. He started to slowly get up, but the Tcherian waved his RX31 plasma assault rifle in Roak’s direction. Roak paused and settled back against the floor. “I’ll just hang out right here.”

  “Good choice,” the Tcherian said. “Geist to Zero, I have the target. Waiting for backup.” The Tcherian cocked his head, obviously listening to a response then nodded. “Copy that. Geist out.”

  “Drop Team outfit,” Roak said. “The rest of your team on its way?”

  “Yeah,” the Tcherian said. “And they aren’t going to be happy when they get here. We were simply catching a ride when Beem detoured us on this wild Roak chase. We’re losing valuable prep time and my team leader does not like losing valuable prep time.”

  The ship shook again from more explosions.

  “Yeah, and that too is kind of irritating,” the Tcherian said.

  He casually leaned a shoulder against the w
all, but Roak wasn’t fooled into thinking the being could be taken.

  “Sorry for all the booms,” Roak said. “My friends can get enthusiastic.”

  “So you admit you’re working with the Skrang,” the Tcherian said.

  “I…what? No, I’m not working with the Skrang,” Roak replied. “Don’t listen to Beem. That guy can’t see the truth when it’s in front of his quad-mandibles.”

  The Tcherian looked very confused. He lowered his brow and squinted at Roak.

  “You do know that we are under attack from two Skrang warships, right?” the Tcherian asked. “I don’t know what friends you’re talking about, but Beem scrambled half the fighters and we’re in a full-on battle.”

  That caught Roak off guard and his face must have shown it because the Tcherian laughed.

  “Eight Million Gods damn. Look at you,” the Tcherian said. He cleared his throat. “Hey, Zero? This Roak guy didn’t know the Skrang were here. I don’t think he’s involved with them. At least he didn’t call them.” The Tcherian nodded. “No, I’m not foing crapping you. You could scan his brain forever and you’ll see what I’m seeing on the guy’s face right now. This little skirmish is a total surprise.”

  “Father,” Roak said and shook his head. “Leave us alive then send Skrang to take out the GF ship and wipe all trace of him away. And send the galaxy back into chaos as the GF and Skrang figure out who broke the treaty and if the War is back on.”

  “What are you babbling about?” the Tcherian asked. “The Skrang are here because we have three Skrang onboard and they insist we took them illegally. But you’re the one that nabbed them, so maybe we should hand you over to the Skrang?”

  “Every Eight Million Gods damn step of the way,” Roak said and slowly stood up, his hands held out and away from his body. “You’re Drop Team?”

  “I am.”

  “You’re going to want to get your teammates off this ship.”

  “That a threat?”

  “Just a suggestion. The Skrang are pretty mad. The Skrang on this ship were supposed to return over three hundred million chits. They don’t have those chits. This is going to get ugly.”

  “It’s already ugly. I mentioned that half the fighters have been scrambled, right? Well, they have so I’m not sure what your definition of…”

  The Tcherian whirled around, but was too late. Reck slammed the butt of an H16 Plasma Carbine Multi-Weapon into his face and he dropped like a ton of rocks.

  “You’re supposed to be with Nimm and Yellow Eyes,” Roak said. “But thanks.”

  “Nimm is getting Yellow Eyes to the ship on her own. They didn’t hurt her as bad this time,” Reck said. “I came to give you a hand. Hessa told me where you are.” She eyed the open shaft panel. “Good idea. This ship is going to be ripped apart and fast. Best to hurry.”

  Then she saw Roak’s wound.

  “That going to be a problem?”

  “Not even close,” Roak replied and climbed into the shaft.

  It took them a long while to make the climb down to the hangar deck. The explosions worsened and the ship lurched sideways, forcing Roak and Reck to stop and hang on until the ship stabilized again. Over and over, the pattern repeated itself until Reck finally kicked open the panel on the hangar deck.

  “Hangar Four,” Roak said.

  “Landing pad Eight,” Reck added.

  They jogged to the correct hangar without being stopped or questioned by any of the GF personnel. No one cared about them. Half the hangar deck was on fire and the other half was crammed with fighters taking off and landing.

  “Hessa! Get the engines going!” Roak yelled when they reached the ship and climbed up through the side hatch. “Do not wait for us to get to the bridge!”

  Reck and Roak were sent falling to the floor as the ship took off.

  “I don’t think she was planning on waiting,” Reck said.

  “I figured that out,” Roak replied.

  They both stumbled to the lift and fell inside as the ship angled at an upward trajectory. Then they were shoved against the lift’s back wall as the engines fully engaged and g-forces nearly flattened them against the metal.

  They fell back out of the lift once it reached the bridge. Roak was thrown across the bridge as Hessa sent the ship into a steep dive. He collided with the view shield then crumpled upside down into the pilot’s seat. Reck was a little more graceful and pulled herself hand over hand across the control consoles until she was in the co-pilot’s seat. Roak managed to right himself and get strapped in.

  “Where are Nimm and Yellow Eyes?” Roak asked.

  “Yellow Eyes is in a med pod and Nimm is watching over him,” Hessa responded. “She’s secured, so no need to worry there.”

  “Eight Million Gods, will you look at this shit?” Reck said as she stared at the view shield.

  Outside the ship, war raged. Galactic Fleet fighters were engaged in dogfights with Skrang fighters. Skrang fighters were getting through the GF’s defenses and putting a beating on the GF destroyer. Massive plasma cannons were turning Skrang fighters into space dust. The Skrang warships were fighting off what looked like almost suicidal attacks from GF fighters.

  And Hessa was piloting the ship through it all.

  “Shit! Watch the—!” Roak yelled.

  “DO NOT TELL ME HOW TO FLY MY SHIP RIGHT NOW!” Hessa boomed from both the comms and the bridge’s speakers.

  Roak held his hands up in defeat.

  “Might want to shut up and let the AI fly,” Reck said.

  “I caught that,” Roak said.

  The ship dove under a barrage of missiles. Three GF fighters exploded in the view shield and Hessa flew straight through the debris. Pieces and parts slammed into the ship’s shields, but no alarms rang out.

  “And that’s why I’m the best when it comes to defensive mods,” Reck said with a smirk.

  “DON’T DISTRACT ME!” Hessa shouted.

  “Better take your own shutting up advice,” Roak said.

  The two watched as Hessa threaded them through the massive battle until they were finally clear and staring at the system’s wormhole portal.

  “That’s on lockdown,” Reck said. “Hessa? You’ll have to find a different portal.”

  “I’m working on the codes now,” Hessa said.

  “What? No, there isn’t time,” Reck responded.

  “I’m making time!”

  “She’s making time,” Roak said as he gripped the seat’s armrest so hard his knuckles cracked like small explosions.

  “I heard,” Reck said, her skin pale and her eyes wide with what passed as terror for a being like her.

  The wormhole portal grew closer and closer, the shimmering entrance a static field of unmoving energy instead of the undulating mass it should have been. Roak and Reck didn’t dare let their eyes waver from the view shield. They watched as the portal encompassed their entire range of vision.

  “We’re dead,” Reck said quietly.

  The wormhole portal swirled and they were through. Trans-space surrounded them and Roak was too jacked-up on adrenaline to throw up.

  He doubted that would last and expected a good puke in the next hour or so once his body crashed from the endocrine high.

  “That’s what you call flying, Eight Million Gods damnit!” Hessa whooped. “Bring it on, bitches!”

  “I’m going to check on Yellow Eyes,” Roak said once he was done laughing. He undid his straps and stood then sat right back down. “In a minute. I’ll check in a minute.”

  “I’m never leaving this seat,” Reck said, eyes still locked on the view shield. “Holy shit.”

  25.

  Yellow Eyes was finally out of the med pod and finishing off the ship’s entire inventory of gump stew. Roak, Reck, and Nimm watched him down bowl after bowl before he finished and belched loud enough to take the paint off the walls.

  “They should outlaw all acids,” Yellow Eyes said as he wiped his mouth. “No acids allowed in the galaxy. Not
a fan, man. Not a fan.”

  “No one is a fan of acids,” Roak said. “You get enough to eat?”

  “Yep,” Yellow Eyes said and nodded.

  “Good because we have to talk about what we’re doing next,” Roak said. “We are going to get Bishop’s files.”

  “Why? Bishop isn’t Bishop,” Reck said. “He’s Father.”

  “But Bishop’s files are still Bishop’s files,” Roak said. “They have every one of his contacts. That is a resource we need.”

  “Explain,” Nimm said.

  “Let me just say it’ll be crucial for what I have planned,” Roak replied.

  “That’s not an explanation,” Nimm said. “You’re asking us to risk our lives to go get Bishop’s files when Bishop is, for all intents and purposes, dead. What could we possibly do with those files that will help our situation? Find bounties? You see what is happening in the galaxy, yes? That will spread. All-out war is going to come back and files are the last thing that will help us.”

  “Gonna disagree,” Roak said. “You’re welcome to leave, Nimm. You have all your limbs and I doubt Beem is going to be looking for you anytime soon. If his destroyer survives, it’ll be reassigned to protect major hubs of the Galactic Fleet while the Skrang and GF flex their war muscles.”

  Nimm glared. “You do know that this possible war is your fault, yes?”

  “Not my fault,” Roak said. “I didn’t start shit. Father started the ball rolling on his little plan to… Do whatever it is he wants to do. Find Mother? Kill her? Subjugate her? Reunite? I have given up figuring out what his motivations are. Right now, I’m focusing on getting Bishop’s files.”

  “For reasons you refuse to tell us about!” Nimm exploded.

  She slammed her fist down on the table and a couple of Yellow Eyes’ bowls fell off the edge and clattered around the floor noisily.

  “I’ll get those,” Yellow Eyes said. A blur and the table and floor were cleaned up. Yellow Eyes was back in his seat as if he never left. He raised all his nubs. “May I ask a question?”

  “Just ask the question,” Roak said. “Don’t ask to ask a question. Waste of time.”