by Jake Bible
Roak couldn’t remember if Spilflecks were live birthers or egg hatchers. He pondered the thought as he crossed the street and stood directly in front of the Groshnel pickpocket’s way.
“What are you supposed to be?” the pickpocket snapped. “Private security? You’ll want to up your armor game, two limbs. That shit is looking sorry as all the Hells.”
“Still does the trick,” Roak said and held out his hand. “The credit unit.”
“Don’t know what you’re talking about, scarface,” the pickpocket said and sneered. “How’s about you get the Hells out of my way, grandpa?”
“You should pick one derogatory nickname and stick to it,” Roak said. “Want to know what nickname I’ve given you?”
“No. Don’t care what nickname you—”
Roak slammed the flat of his left hand into a spot just below the pickpocket’s nostrils. The young Groshnel coughed twice then fell onto the sidewalk in a heap of invertebrate flesh. Roak knelt and fished the credit unit out of a pouch on the pickpocket’s hip. He tucked the credit unit into a pouch on his belt, stood, glanced around, saw that only a couple of beings were giving him cursory glances, but no one was alarmed or looking like they were going to call the authorities.
The Spilfleck mother was still fussing with her six kids a few meters away, oblivious to any of the drama that she had indirectly caused.
Roak spun on his heels and walked causally five blocks until he got to the first turn. He took the turn then paused and fished the credit unit off his belt and swiped at the screen. The Spilfleck hadn’t put a security code lock on the unit. All Roak had to do was touch a finger to the screen and he had access to all the credits that the mother had transferred from her personal bank account to the required Ballyway credit system.
Sixty-four thousand credits and change. Roak couldn’t do much with that amount, but it was the credit unit itself that he needed, not the credits. He quickly transferred all but ten thousand of the credits back to the Spilfleck’s personal bank account. Then he locked the unit down so it would no longer connect to the off-planet Grid. The unit would work within the self-contained Ballyway credit system, but if anyone tried to trace the unit from off-planet, they’d find nothing. Last thing Roak needed was some customer service agent helping the Spilfleck mother track down the unit.
The Ballyway system was more of a “too bad, you should keep better care of your stuff” kind of system, so Roak wasn’t too concerned with local authorities taking much interest. Anyone that set foot or feet on Ballyway knew they were going to lose credits. The house always won.
Roak continued on, following Hessa’s instructions until he came to the Tgopo Wings and Table Games sign. Hand-painted was obviously a euphemism. Roak was fairly certain that the brown color the words had been painted with was not actually paint. It was blood. Roak couldn’t say what race or species the blood was from, but it was blood.
The sign matched the state of the street Roak stood on. He was well into no-man’s land. Even when he was extremely drunk and looking to let off steam with a fight or two, Roak wasn’t sure he would have picked the district he was currently in. The place was basically a sewer with some pavement resembling a street dividing the rows of run-down buildings.
A drunken Bvern, which was a primitive, rat-like race, stumbled out of Tgopo Wings and Table Games, running right into Roak’s left leg. The creature mumbled an apology then opened its mouth wide and tried to bite a hunk out of Roak’s hip. Roak grabbed the Bvern by the throat and lifted it into the air so they were eye to eye.
“Carla’s,” Roak said.
“Can…can’t…breathe,” the Bvern gasped.
Roak let go and the Bvern fell onto the soiled sidewalk, a heap of fur and dirty clothes.
“I know you?” the Bvern asked as it squinted up at Roak. “I do.”
“I don’t know any Bverns,” Roak said. Surprisingly, considering all of the beings he had come in contact with over the years, Roak actually didn’t know any Bverns.
“No, I do know you,” the Bvern said then snapped his little furry fingers. “Holo poster.”
“What?” Roak asked and reached down for the Bvern.
The creature scurried away on all fours, but dipped its head towards the front door of Tgopo Wings and Table Games. Roak watched the thing disappear into the same alley Roak had been looking for. But, instead of following, Roak turned his attention to the door the Bvern had nodded at.
On that door, slowly rotating three hundred and sixty degrees, was a holo bust of Roak.
“Cheat and Thief,” the flashing letters under the spinning bust read. “Report immediately.”
“Shit,” Roak muttered. There was no reward offered which meant that odds of anyone in the district reporting anything were slim. Still… “Shit.”
Roak moved away from Tgopo Wings and Table Games and entered the alley just beyond the dive bar. It was an alley like all other alleys; filled with refuse and incinerator bins. Random puddles of random liquids dotted the plasticrete pavement. Pavement that hadn’t been refinished or repaired probably since it was first put down.
“Hessa?” Roak called into his comm.
“I know,” Hessa replied instantly. “I brought up the newsfeeds and your face comes up every few minutes in the scroll. You’re only one of a few hundred faces Ballyway authorities are warning folks to look out for, so it’s nothing special. Still…”
“My thoughts exactly,” Roak said. “Track down the source of the BOLO. I want to know who tipped off the Ballyway authorities.”
“I am already doing that,” Hessa said. “I’m also moving out of orbit. There’s a small station half a light year from here. One of those last stop gambling outfits that dot the system. I’ll dock there and use their connection to get to the Grid. I can mask the ship’s location and the Grid inquiry better that way.”
“Will you be out of comm range?” Roak asked.
“For a while until I can redirect through the station’s system,” Hessa said. “Might be an hour or two or could be the rest of the day and night. All depends on what I find when I connect.”
“Alright. Do it,” Roak said.
“I wasn’t asking for permission,” Hessa replied before cutting the comm.
“Didn’t think you were,” Roak said into the comm silence. He walked down the alley to a blank wall at the end.
6.
Roak stood before a moisture-stained wall made of a mishmash of materials. He pounded a fist on the wall, producing a dull thud that told anyone snooping around that the space behind was solid. Except it wasn’t, which was obvious as a panel slid open to reveal two bulging, yellow eyes.
“What?” a deep, gruff voice asked.
Roak cocked his head. The voice wasn’t Taps. It was certainly from a large being, but not the huge Urvein that Carla used for security.
“Thirsty,” Roak said and held up the credit unit. “I was told this was the place to spend my credits.”
“You were told wrong,” the voice replied and the panel slid shut, turning the wall back into only a wall.
Roak pounded his fist against the wall again and waited. The panel didn’t slide open. He thought about calling Gatskatpak back to try to comm with Carla, but Hessa was out of range and Roak didn’t want to put the call through without the ship’s masking protocol, despite assurances from the Fadilipso Casino and Hotel management that direct comm to comm calls were just as secure. Roak couldn’t take the chance with his face plastered on holos all over the planet.
Pounding again then again, Roak waited until at last the panel slid open.
“What?” the owner of the bulging yellow eyes snapped. “Oh. You. Go away, loser.”
The panel began to slide shut, but Roak had his Flott five-six out and the barrel pressed against the right yellow eye before the panel moved a millimeter.
“If you need a password, I think I’ve got one right here,” Roak said. “Want me to shoot it directly into your brain for you?”<
br />
“No,” Yellow Eyes said.
“Want to open up then?” Roak asked, pressing the gun into the eye harder.
“No,” Yellow Eyes replied.
Roak blinked a few times. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I don’t want to let you in,” Yellow Eyes said. “You looked like trouble before. I know you’re trouble now.”
Roak heard footsteps behind him and glanced over his shoulder. A drunken Slinghasp, a snake-like race, was pissing against the wall at the mouth of the alley. The being wasn’t even looking Roak’s way. Roak looked back and Yellow Eyes hadn’t moved at all. His one eye was still jammed against the barrel of Roak’s Flott while the other eye blinked lazily as it stared out of the panel.
“Go get Carla,” Roak said and sighed. “I don’t have time for this.”
“Carla’s not here,” Yellow Eyes said. “She’ll be back in a—”
“Couple of hours, yeah,” Roak interrupted. “Taps already told me that. A couple of hours ago. Go get her.”
The yellow eye that didn’t have a pistol jammed against it blinked rapidly.
“Carla’s not here,” Yellow Eyes said after a few seconds. “She’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“Are you kidding with this shit?” Roak snapped.
“No,” Yellow Eyes replied.
“Get me Taps then,” Roak said.
“Oh. Sure,” Yellow Eyes said and the panel slid shut, knocking Roak’s pistol back.
Roak felt he should have been alarmed, but the strangeness of the situation had him more curious than worried. Not that he wasn’t being cautious. He pulled a Keplar knife and powered up the energy blade. Pistol in one hand and knife in the other, Roak waited for the door to open.
The wall groaned then began to slide apart to reveal a dark tavern room beyond. Yellow Eyes was standing there nodding at Roak. It took Roak several seconds to get over his bafflement at what in all the Hells Yellow Eyes could be.
“Don’t bother,” that rumbling voice said as Taps came walking towards the tavern entrance. “He doesn’t even know what he is.” Taps gestured with one of his massive paws. “You gonna stand there all day? Get in here.”
Roak moved inside the tavern and the wall closed behind him. Yellow Eyes stood swaying a foot away from Roak. The being was as thin as a broom handle and about as tall. Six spindly arms protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s torso and six spindly legs protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s pelvis. Everything was guesses when it came to the being.
Except for the color of the being. The creature’s skin was a brighter yellow than its eyes. Even in the dim light of the tavern, Roak wanted to shield his eyes.
“He’s not getting lost in a dark cave anytime soon,” Roak said. Taps shrugged.
“Sit,” Taps said and gestured to the bar against the far wall.
Roak looked about as he walked to the bar. The tavern was much smaller than Carla’s previous digs. Probably because of the expense of moving and rebuilding after Roak’s last visit. A visit that resulted in pretty much the complete destruction of the last tavern.
“A little dead in here,” Roak said as he looked about at the empty tavern. “No one get the moving notice?”
“Carla switched business models,” Taps said, walking around the bar to pour two pints of beer.
“To what? Going broke?” Roak asked, nodding in thanks as he slid his knife back onto his belt, set the pistol onto the bar, took the pint glass, and sipped the beer. “Nice batch.”
“Brewer ages it in Klavian whiskey vats,” Taps said. He downed his pint then slammed the glass on the bar. Back by the entrance, Yellow Eyes let out a hearty laugh. “Shut up, you.”
Yellow Eyes shut up and sat down, all of his legs folding up and in so that it looked like he was sitting on a bundle of sticks.
“So, what’s going on?” Roak asked.
“What do you mean?” Taps asked.
“Carla’s not here, the tavern’s empty, and you’re bartending,” Roak stated.
“Carla will be back in a couple of hours,” Taps said.
“Right…”
Roak set the pint down and picked the pistol back up. Taps rolled his eyes.
“That a Flott five-six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread?” Taps asked.
“Yeah,” Roak said, the pistol gripped tightly.
“Ain’t gonna do much good,” Taps said. “Sorry, Roak.”
“I paid them handsomely to keep you here until I could arrive and see for myself if this Roak fella is anything to get worked up over,” a voice in the opposite corner of the tavern announced. “From where I’m sitting, you ain’t nothing but a bit of muscle with grand aspirations.”
“That so?” Roak asked, turning to face the dark corner. “Sometimes aspirations are all a guy needs.”
“Trust me,” Taps said and reached over Roak’s shoulder to pluck the pistol from his grip. Roak tried to hang on, but Taps was a very large Urvein and Roak would have risked his hand being ripped from his arm if he hadn’t voluntarily let go. “You don’t want this fight.”
“Where’s Carla?” Roak asked back towards Taps. “What happened to Carla?”
“Ask him,” Taps said, nodding at the dark corner.
There was the scraping of a chair then an obese Cervile came into view.
“Bvsho,” Roak said. “Thanks for making my job easy today.”
“You know my name,” Bvsho said as he scratched at his chin. He wore a suit, but it was an obvious knockoff of the latest fashion designer en vogue. Bvsho patted his ample belly. “I was right to be ready. People that know Bishop are ending up dead. I know Bishop. Didn’t want to end up dead.”
“I can see logic is your superpower,” Roak said. “You here all by yourself?”
“Of course not,” Bvsho said, gesturing to Taps. “I got him.”
“You don’t got me,” Taps said, his voice a deadly rumble of impending violence.
“I think we both know that ain’t true,” Bvsho said and laughed. “Unless seeing Carla in a thousand pieces is your life’s dream.”
Roak took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He turned away from Bvsho and looked Taps squarely in the eye.
“She’s already dead,” Roak said quietly to Taps.
“Come on, man,” Taps said. “I have a deal with this slimeball piece of terpig shit. He says he’ll release her when he has you as his captive.”
“She’s already dead,” Roak said again, but a little louder. He returned his attention to Bvsho. “Right? You popped her as soon as you were done with a proof-of-life holo. You showed Taps the one holo and haven’t shown him a new one since. There’s no reason for him to fight for you.”
“Maybe he wants to stay alive,” Bvsho said. “I hear that’s some damn fine motivation for folks. Staying alive.”
The dark walls of the tavern shimmered and eight heavily armed thugs made their presence known. They weren’t using stealth tech; they didn’t need to in the dark tavern. A simple concealment vail worked just fine.
Roak smiled. He’d clocked the shimmers as soon as he’d walked into the place. He’d already guessed he wasn’t going to see Carla. He hadn’t known her fate, but he was certain it wasn’t good. But he’d needed intel in order to find Bvsho, so he’d play along.
He no longer needed intel. He no longer needed to play along.
“You with me or not?” Roak asked Taps.
“He made a deal to keep her alive,” Taps said.
“He lied,” Roak countered. “Tell me now, Taps.”
“I’m with you,” Taps said.
“Wrong choice!” Bvsho shouted. “Kill the Urvein! Keep the bounty hunter alive!”
The thugs moved in and opened fire.
7.
“Keep the bounty hunter alive!” were the greatest words Roak had heard in a long time.
Six plasma blasts shot towards the bar and Taps ducked back behind as bottles and glasses exploded into thou
sands of melted pieces. All that came at Roak were blue stun beams, two of which hit his light armor and dissipated harmlessly.
“Should rethink that order,” Roak said as he launched himself at the closest thug.
The man, a human that was obviously cybernetically enhanced and probably jacked-up on subcutaneous stim plugs, charged Roak as Roak charged him. With the stun rifle in his hands useless against Roak’s armor, the thug switched tactics and flipped the rifle around, butt first.
The thug swung hard and fast, but Roak managed to duck under the swing, and the return swing, in order to land several jabs into the thug’s groin and midsection. The thug only grunted with irritation as he let go of his rifle and brought both elbows down onto Roak’s shoulders. The impacts sent Roak down to the floor in a heap. Roak struggled to get out of the way of the next attack, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the swift kicks to his guts as the thug’s leg lashed out again and again with a foot as large as Roak’s head.
Roak slipped one of the Keplar knives from his belt and slashed upward, slicing a line of flesh all the way along the inside curve of the thug’s stationary leg. The man screamed, his voice high-pitched with agony, then collapsed onto the floor next to Roak. The Keplar knife was then embedded in the soft flesh under the thug’s chin as Roak thrust fast and hard.
Leaving the energy knife to sizzle and cook the thug’s flesh, Roak snatched the Blorta from his left ankle and shot the next closest thug in the calves. The man, also human, but not nearly as jacked-up as the previous thug, screamed and fell over. Roak put two shots into the top of the man’s head as soon as he hit the ground.
Roak holstered the Blorta, reached back and snagged the Keplar knife, put that in his belt, then snatched up the plasma rifle the nearly headless thug was no longer using. Roak was up on a knee and firing before any of the others even knew he’d killed two of their own.
A third then a fourth thug dropped fast, important parts of their bodies blasted away into nothing. Roak took aim at the remainder, but there was no need. They were being ripped apart by a laser cluster spread that Taps sent at them with Roak’s Flott five-six. Three of the four remaining thugs fell fast, but the last one managed to dodge most of the attack and dive behind an overturned table.
