Roak's War: A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

by Jake Bible

  With table legs in one hand and Kepler knives in the other, the two rushed at the oncoming controlled salvage mercs.

  "How much time is left?" Roak shouted as he ducked under a Gwreq's powerful double haymaker. He slashed quickly then dove and rolled out of the way of the three arms the Gwreq still had. The fourth was on the ground adding even more blood to the sizable pool that coated everything. "That drunken idiot better not have gotten himself killed!"

  "He should be here soon," Gerber replied. He blocked what would have been a killing blow from a rabid looking Halgon. The being's severed, stretched out forearm fell and immediately shrunk back to normal size. "He better. I'm too old to keep fighting like this!"

  A blinding flash of light filled the sanctuary and Roak missed the Urvein fist that was aimed for his head. He rocked back in his boots, but was able to stay upright. Not that upright was anything great. Roak's world swam before his eyes from the light flash and the headshot.

  The Urvein moved in closer and went to grab Roak up in its arms, but it stopped short and only stood there.

  "Get to your ship," Salvage Merc One said. He limped up to Roak and shoved a cylinder against Roak's chest. "Get off my station."

  Salvage Merc One did not look good. Half his face was a mass of burn blisters. The other half would be nothing but a purple bruise by morning. His armor was scorched and pocked with holes. His eyes were filled with horror.

  "Joe?" Boss Seven called from the dais.

  "I'm fine," Salvage Merc One replied. "Just going to take a nap for the next decade."

  He stumbled over to his table, sat down, then put his forehead on his arms and closed his eyes.

  "Do not wake me up for any reason," Salvage Merc One said then he was out and snoring.

  "Is he going to be alright?" Gerber asked.

  "We'll patch him up," Boss Seven said. He gestured at the still salvage mercs that filled the sanctuary. "You should do as he says and get to your ship. You have what you need."

  Roak held up the cylinder and studied it. It wasn't anything special. He'd held a thousand similar cylinders over the years. It was about as generic as could be. Yet he knew it wasn't generic at all. Something about it put him on edge.

  "This better work," Roak said mostly to himself.

  "They are going to awaken soon," Boss Seven said. "Hurry. Now."

  "Roak? We need to go," Gerber said.

  Roak continued to study the cylinder then nodded. "Sure. Hessa?"

  "The ship is ready, Roak," Hessa said. "You'll have to walk, though. I cannot moltrans you here."

  "On our way," Roak said.

  He took off running and was three corridors away before he bothered to look over his shoulder to see if Gerber was keeping up. To his surprise, the general was right on his heels.

  "Don't wait for me," Gerber said, his breathing labored, but his strides strong. "Move."

  "Take the next left," Hessa said. "But be careful, there's-"

  Roak found out what he needed to be careful about a split second before Hessa could finish.

  The plasma blasts sent Roak flying back about five meters. He hit the floor and skidded another five meters before he came to a painful stop against a wall.

  "You couldn't do it alone?" the red-skinned, red-eyed humanoid asked, a plasma rifle to his shoulder. "You had to hire a salvage merc? I am very disappointed in you, son."

  "Nice shooting," Roak said as he very slowly got to his feet. He looked down at his armor. He was a mess. A bloody mess. "And not your son."

  The red-skinned being snarled and took aim. Then he blinked a few times as his view was blocked by the hilt of a Kepler knife. The rest of the knife was embedded between the being's eyes. The red-skinned being crumpled to the floor.

  "So much for not killing anyone," Roak said. He jogged up to Gerber and slapped the general on the shoulder. "We'll need to move a little faster."

  They made it to the hangar before all the Hells broke loose.

  "We had a deal, Roak," the halfer from their arrival said. She stood at the bottom of Roak's ship's cargo ramp, a RX31 Plasma assault rifle held in each hand, both aimed directly at Roak. "You broke that deal."

  "I broke the deal," Gerber said, positioning himself between Roak and the halfer. "I killed that salvage merc to keep it from killing Roak."

  "Boss Seven, yeah?" Roak asked.

  The halfer nodded.

  "I'm sorry you lost one of your own," Roak said, "but there will be a ton more deaths before this war is over."

  "We know, Roak," the halfer said. "We know exactly how many will die. We also know that we will lose more of our own before the end. But that is not the point."

  "Then what is?" Roak asked.

  "Salvage Merc One's job ticket was based on the terms of our deal, Roak," the halfer said. "You broke those terms, so the ticket is null and void. You will need to return that cylinder. It is no longer yours to keep."

  Before Roak could respond, the cargo ramp lifted from the hangar deck, catching the halfer in the back. She stumbled forward a few steps before she could regain her balance. But those few steps were all Roak needed.

  He closed the distance between them and slammed a fist into the halfer's face, breaking her nose and sending blood squirting out in all directions. His other fist closed the deal by connecting with her right temple. The halfer dropped.

  Roak gasped as he felt one of his rib bones grind against itself.

  "Up the ramp," Gerber said and shoved Roak from behind.

  The two men scrambled into the cargo hold, helped a little by the fact Hessa was closing the ramp as they were clambering up it. They tumbled into a heap on the hold's deck as the ship took off.

  "Hold tight!" Hessa called. "They aren't opening the hangar doors for us!"

  The ship shuddered and Roak heard the plasma cannons open fire. Then he was lifted off the deck and flung against the closed cargo hatch.

  "Gravity dampeners!" Roak shouted. He hit the deck and groaned as he felt like his body was being forced to merge with the metal alloy. "Hessa…"

  The ship shuddered even harder, rocked to the side, flipped upside down, then dove.

  Roak watched Gerber struggle to maintain a grip on some cargo netting. The general was doing better than Roak was as he was once again lifted into the air and flung across the cargo hold.

  Roak hit a wall and slid up it. His body screamed bloody murder.

  "Lock your boots down!" Gerber shouted from his precarious position.

  Roak nodded and activated the mag locks in his boots. Roak found himself hanging upside down from the cargo hold's catwalk. Blood filled his skull and he grunted at the pressure.

  Then the chaos eased and Roak could feel normal ship's gravity kick in. Which made the pressure in his head even worse.

  "A little help," he gasped. "Now."

  Gerber untangled himself from the cargo netting and limped over to Roak. He glanced around, frowned, and climbed up onto the catwalk.

  "Here, take my hand," Gerber said as he hung over the edge of the catwalk.

  Roak grabbed Gerber's hand and disengaged his mag locks. His legs fell free and he let Gerber's grip slow his fall. But it still hurt like every Hell ever conceived when his boots landed on the cargo deck.

  "Hessa, how are we doing?" Roak asked.

  "They are not pursuing," Hessa said. "But that is to be expected. I doubt the bosses have much control outside of their headquarters. They have no one to pursue us."

  "And Salvage Merc One was out of commission when we left," Gerber said from up on the catwalk. "We might have some breathing room."

  "If only that were true," Hessa said. "We have no time for anything."

  Roak sat down on a crate and took a few deep breaths as the blood slowly retreated from his head. As soon as he didn't feel like his skull was going to pop like a balloon, he stood back up.

  "You want to tell me what Boss Seven said to you, Hessa?" Roak asked. He walked slowly, painfully to the wall by the lift
and knelt to pick up the cylinder. "It's not good, is it?"

  "No," Hessa replied. "But I need to save that for later. From this moment on you both need to do exactly what I say. No arguments. Even the slightest delay could mean death for everyone."

  "I wouldn't call the bosses our allies," Gerber said. "Not anymore. How can you trust what he said?"

  "Because he told me all of this would happen exactly as it did," Hessa said. "I trust that."

  "So, what comes next?" Roak asked.

  "I cannot say," Hessa replied. "Not yet. We need to stop talking."

  Roak and Gerber shared a look.

  Then Roak studied the cylinder once more.

  "The best laid plans," he mumbled.

  17.

  The ship docked on Pol's station, but Hessa did not power it down.

  "Stay where you are for the moment," Hessa said.

  Roak was seated in the pilot's seat and Gerber was in the co-pilot's seat. Neither looked like they could move even if they wanted to. Blood seeped from a crack in Roak's armor. He ignored it. The fact that Hessa was ignoring it too had him worried. But he trusted her so he shoved the worry aside.

  "I should comm my people," Gerber said.

  "No," Hessa said. "Roak?"

  "What?" Roak asked.

  His eyes were closed and he rested the back of his head against the seat. He realized Hessa was talking to him through his comm only. Roak opened his eyes and stared out the view screen which showed bots hurrying to and fro in the hangar.

  "You will take Pol the cylinder," Hessa stated. Her voice was all business. "He is waiting on the cloning deck."

  "No problem," Roak said. "Would you mind moltransing me there? Walking isn't on my schedule right now."

  "No," Hessa said. "You have to walk."

  Roak didn't argue and waved off Gerber when the general gave him a look of alarm. He slowly got to his feet, steadied himself, then walked off the bridge. It was the slowest descent he'd ever made from the bridge to the cargo hold and out into the hangar.

  Stopping every couple of corridors, Roak made his way painfully to the cloning deck where Pol was busy directing several dozen bots.

  "Roak! You have returned!" Pol exclaimed. The old man in a young man's body clapped his hands happily. "You never cease to amaze me with your ability to survive every trial and tribulation thrown at you."

  Pol's eyes shone with what Roak could only describe as…greed.

  "Is that the genetic material?" Pol asked, a hand out to receive the cylinder. "And not a moment too soon. We have a lot of work to do before we can build your little Roak army. But first we need to get you and your sister into better bodies."

  Roak gave Pol the cylinder. The dark tech grinned at Roak then held the cylinder to his chest. The grin faltered.

  "Are you alright, Roak?" Pol asked. "What is bothering you?"

  "I'm one hard cough from cracking wide open," Roak said. "How soon until you'll have a new body for me?"

  "Oh, of course," Pol said and the grin returned to its previous, greed-filled brilliance. "The way you look, you must be in agony. Unfortunately, it will take me most of the day to calibrate the machinery. Then about twenty hours to create your new body. I apologize for your discomfort, but that is as fast as I can work."

  "Then I'm going to my cabin on my ship to sleep until you're ready," Roak said. "Unless you need me here?"

  "Why would I need you here?" Pol asked, already turning from Roak. "This is an intellectual task, not one in need of brute force."

  Roak let the slight go and walked out of the clone deck without saying another word to Pol. The dark tech didn't even seem to notice, he was already hurrying through the maze of cloning pods to the main interface on the far wall.

  The journey back to his ship took about twelve eternities in Roak's opinion. Hessa had better have a good reason why he couldn't be moltransed to and from the ship. Sure, the stress on his body wouldn't have been pretty, but he'd take that stress if it meant he was sent straight to his cabin where he could strip off his armor, have a steam, tend to his wounds, and fall onto his bed.

  Roak had worked himself up into a full on grumpfest by the time he made his way up the cargo ramp and into his ship.

  "Hessa, now we talk," Roak snapped.

  "Hold on," Hessa said. "I have a couple of calibrations I need to make. We'll talk on the bridge."

  "Are you fucking kidding me?" Roak snarled.

  "The bridge, Roak," Hessa replied. "We don't want to upset Mother."

  All the anger in Roak was immediately replaced by a fear so strong that Roak almost didn't recognize the emotion. He'd never been afraid like that.

  But he'd been with Hessa long enough to know code when he heard it.

  We don't want to upset Mother.

  Roak knew Hessa was not referring to herself with that statement. Every fiber of his being knew she wasn't calling herself Mother. Which meant she was talking about someone different.

  "Eight Million Gods dammit," Roak muttered.

  He staggered to the lift, stepped inside, leaned back against the wall, and replayed every conversation he'd ever had with Pol Hammon in his head. The fear left him and anger returned. Then pure homicidal rage replaced the anger.

  Roak limped onto the bridge and dropped into the pilot's seat. He wasn't surprised to see Nimm was in the co-pilot's seat and Reck was at weapons. Both of the women were wide eyed and wary.

  "Gerber?" Roak asked.

  "In the mess," Nimm replied with a tone that said not to ask more questions.

  "I am sorry," Hessa said. "I truly, truly am sorry."

  "Is that apology to me?" Roak asked.

  "To all of you," Hessa said.

  Then there was only pain.

  Roak blacked out and when he came to the view screen was filled with the old familiar, and disorienting, streaming blur of trans-space. He turned his head, leaned over to the side, and threw up. Bots immediately sprang into action and cleaned up the mess.

  "Right there with you," Nimm said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Reck?"

  "Mmmm?" Reck asked, her eyes closed and hands gripping the arms of her seat. "How about we don't talk?"

  "Hessa?" Roak called.

  "Give me a minute," Hessa said. Her voice was suddenly echoing through the ship's PA. "In fact, it would be best if everyone made their way to the mess now while I try to keep us secure."

  Roak didn't argue. He got to his feet, took a few breaths, and walked to the lift. Nimm and Reck were right behind him. They silently entered the lift and rode down to the mess deck.

  The sight in the mess was confusing, but not surprising.

  Everyone was there.

  Drop Team Zero, Gerber, Agents Prime, Reign and Stand, Skabz, Vogga, Poq, Evil, Ally, and Yellow Eyes. The latter was shoveling gump stew into his mouth. The rest were seated at various tables, all eyes on Roak as he entered the mess. Except for Evil, who was standing in his big bucket. He was busy watching Yellow Eyes devour the stew.

  "I don't know shit," Roak stated and sat down at the closest table.

  "You look like all the Hells, man," Yellow Eyes said as he set a bowl of stew down in front of Roak then blurred back to his own stew.

  Roak didn't argue. He ate the stew as he waited for Hessa to report. The warmth of the food was a welcome feeling.

  "Hello, everyone," Hessa said. "My apologies for the discomfort you all feel. I was forced to take drastic action and transport us directly into trans-space."

  "You could have killed us all," Reck said.

  "Yes, true," Hessa agreed. "But I had no choice. I needed the cover of trans-space in order to dismantle the transport tech and eject it from the ship."

  "You opened the ship while in trans-space?" Motherboard asked with alarm. "Reck is correct, you could have killed us all."

  "Nah," Yellow Eyes said around a mouthful of stew. "She does crazy shit like that all the time. We survive."

  "Motherboard's worry is not unreas
onable," Hessa said. "But desperate times call for desperate measures."

  "That's from Galactic Steve," Yellow Eyes said.

  "I don't think so," Evil said. "Pretty sure that's from that Lipian porn musical that swept the awards last year."

  "How would you know?" Skabz asked. "You didn't exist last year."

  "Good question," Evil said. Then he melted into his bucket and was gone from sight.

  "I'll fill him in when he reassembles," Hessa said.

  "Considering how much time and labor I put into outfitting this ship with transport tech," Reck said, "you had better have an amazing reason for taking it all apart and jettisoning it from the ship."

  "I am not Mother," Hessa stated.

  No one said a word. Then Yellow Eyes started to open his mouth, but shut it as soon as Roak pointed his spoon at him.

  "Roak was right about Pol," Hessa continued. "Those files of Bishop's were compromised and the data in there was falsified. I am not Mother and I have never been Mother."

  "How do you know this?" Nimm asked.

  "Boss Seven," Gerber said.

  "Yes," Hessa said. "While under the protection of the SMC, we were able to converse without Pol hearing or knowing."

  "Why would he hear or know?" Motherboard asked.

  "He was monitoring the ship," Hessa said.

  "The ship was bugged?" Reck asked. "How? I've swept this ship a dozen times. So have you, Hessa."

  "It was all in the transport tech," Hessa said. "Extremely well hidden, but in there."

  "That's why you left our ship behind," Motherboard said. "You couldn't strip the tech out of there on your own without alerting Pol."

  "Exactly," Hessa said. "As of right now, this may be one of the few ships that is not infected by Pol's tech."

  "I was right," Roak said and pushed his empty bowl away. He pointed a finger at the entire room. "You thought I was wrong, but I was right. Pol was going to play us."

  "No need to be smug," Agent Prime said. "You weren't the only one with suspicions."

  "Look who's talking," Reck said. "You've been nothing but smug since Gerber brought you to us."

  "Not smug, resigned," Agent Prime said. "You forget that I had my own run in with Pol Hammon. I was never fine with this relationship of convenience. It felt more convenient for Pol than for us."