by Jake Bible
“Oh, I’ll know, Roak,” Hessa said. “You can’t get past Hessa implants—”
“Thank you, Hessa,” Roak said. “Same goes for any of you if you observe each other acting off. I hate to be clichéd, but if you see something, say something. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Sure.”
“You bet, man.”
“Good. We can move past that,” Roak said. “Let’s move on to Mother.”
“Which we do not know exists,” Reck said.
“We’ll find out,” Roak said and looked at Bishop. “He’s going to find out for us.”
“I am?” Bishop asked.
“You are,” Roak said. “You’ve been exposed to Father. Couple that with the files we’re going to steal and you’re our best option for sussing out if Mother exists or not.”
“Great,” Bishop said, not sounding like he thought it was great at all.
“Got a problem?”
“Nope. No problem,” Bishop said and gave Roak a salute. “Ready and willing to give the Mother hunt my all.”
“Fuck off,” Roak said.
“What about Father?” Reck asked. “Shouldn’t we track him down first and simply end this once and for all?”
Roak blinked at her. She grimaced and shrugged.
“Yeah, I heard it as soon as the words came out of my mouth,” Reck said. “Continue.”
“Father is the end game,” Roak said. “I want to make sure that all of you understand that. Whatever we do between now and then, Father is the last part of all of this. Finding Mother is so we figure out if she is real and also figure out if she is the key to stopping Father. I have no other reason to hunt for her.”
“Other than curiosity,” Yellow Eyes said then frowned. “Or not. Right. Find Mother to see if she is the key to stopping Father. Got it.”
“I’m happy for you that you got that,” Roak said. “Moving on. Protect ourselves from Father’s control and Bishop finds Mother. But there is something way more important that we need to do. Any guesses?”
“I’d raise a hand if I had one,” Hessa said. “We need chits.”
“We need chits,” Roak echoed in agreement. “We are going to need a lot of chits. None of what we are going to do will be cheap.”
“And how will we get chits?” Yellow Eyes asked. “We aren’t going to a bank, are we? I don’t think we’re loan material, man.”
“We work,” Roak said. “A lot. A lot of work for a lot of chits.”
“Work?” Reck leaned forward and eyed Roak. “Wait, you mean take jobs? Hunting jobs?”
“How else would we get chits?” Roak asked. “If we steal them, then we’ll bring even more heat down on us.”
“If we take hunting jobs, then we expose ourselves,” Reck argued.
“We’re already exposed,” Roak said. “That is how we play every move from this moment on. That we are exposed and can’t hide no matter how much we try. Bishop can get us hunting jobs that should pay well.”
“If we aren’t burned to a crisp already,” Bishop said. “We’ll find out when we get my files.”
“That is the second step in this, yeah,” Roak said. “We need to retrieve Bishop’s files.” He pointed at Yellow Eyes. “You will be key in accomplishing that.”
“I will? Cool,” Yellow Eyes said. “How?”
“You move really, really fast, remember?”
“That I do, man, that I do,” Yellow Eyes agreed. “So…?”
“So you’ll steal the quantum drives that Bishop’s files are on,” Roak said.
“Neat. I can do that. From…?”
“We’re still working that out,” Roak said. “But we have time.”
“You said that’s the second part? What’s the first part?” Bishop asked.
“We need to arm the shit out of ourselves and this ship,” Roak said.
“The armory is extensively stocked, Roak,” Hessa said.
“And I’ve got more than a couple weapons onboard,” Reck said.
“You think we need more than that?” Bishop asked.
“I need a Flott,” Roak said. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
“Oh, I snagged that, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “Didn’t I tell you? Yeah, I totally snagged it when I went back for soup and stew.” He looked at the others. “Have you guys had any of the soup and stew? Plenty in the mess.”
“You got my Flott?” Roak asked. “Where is it?”
“Yeah, that’s the not-so-great part,” Yellow Eyes said. “It’s broken. Very, very broken.”
“I can fix it,” Reck said.
“You sure?” Roak asked. Reck gave him a look of great, intense pity. “Right. Forgot.”
“Then no need to buy a bunch of weapons,” Bishop said. “That’ll cut down on some of the risk.”
“Oh, no, we’re still getting armed to the teeth,” Roak said. “I want this ship to be equal in offensive and defensive capabilities as any battle cruiser out there.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible,” Hessa said. “We may come close, but the ship isn’t large enough to support that kind of outfitting.”
“Which means we need someone that can make it capable,” Roak said. “Which is the first real stop we’ll make. I know a guy.”
“Bhangul Whorp,” Bishop stated.
“Oh, I know him,” Hessa said. “He doesn’t like me much. That’s why he traded me to Roak.”
“He likes you, Hessa, he just wasn’t too keen on your quirks,” Roak said.
“I don’t have quirks,” Hessa said. No one replied. “Fine. I have quirks.”
“It’ll be good to see that old Dornopheous,” Bishop said. “It’s been decades.”
“This Dornopheous, Bhangul Whorp, he can outfit the ship?” Reck asked.
“He can handle the defensive part,” Roak said. “I have no doubt about that. That’s why we’ll start with him.”
“What’s the second real stop?” Reck asked. “I’m sensing a two-parter here.”
“The offensive part,” Roak said. “And that is kind of our first job, too, although it doesn’t pay.”
“Hold on, how are we getting the chits to pay Bhangul Whorp?” Bishop asked. “He’s not going to do the work for free.”
“No, Bhangul doesn’t do anything for free,” Roak said. “But he’ll work with us. With him, sometimes trade is better than chits. He’ll let me know what he needs and we go from there. But, back to the offense.”
Roak took a deep breath.
“We’ll need to go to Skrang territory for that,” Roak said.
He sat back and patiently waited out the voluminous shouting that was the response to his announcement. It took a while.
“You all done?” he asked when the group lost their steam. “Get all that shit out of your systems? Because we’re still going to Skrang territory.”
“Why?” Bishop snapped.
“Because I need to find a Skrang,” Roak said. “He’s been banished from the Skrang Alliance, so I know that’s where he’s hiding. Or I think. It’s a hunch, I’ll admit, but it’s a strong hunch.”
“No way we go into Skrang Alliance territory on a hunch, Roak,” Reck said. “Even I’m not cool with that.”
“Yeah, we are,” Roak stated. “No arguments.”
“Got plenty of arguments,” Yellow Eyes said. “Skrang…” He shivered. “Yucky.”
“I’m with the fast guy,” Bishop said.
“It’s happening, so deal with it,” Roak snapped. “This ship has to be able to take on anything thrown at it. The Skrang are the best in the galaxy at taking a ship and turning it into a war machine. Half their fleet in the War were stolen vessels. And the guy we’re going to find knows his weapons.”
“Hold on,” Bishop said. “Sha Tog? You’re talking about Sha Tog. The Skrang guy on Ligston that you’re supposed to split that chit cache with. Roak, why would he help you when he obviously wants to get as far away from you as possible? If he did flee to Skrang Alliance t
erritory, then that should prove my point right there.”
“We’ll be his way out of Skrang Alliance territory and also, if he wants his cut of those chits, then he’s going to have to help us,” Roak said.
“If he doesn’t?” Reck asked. “Just being Seven Satans’ advocate here.”
“He will,” Roak said. “We have a relationship.”
“Speaking of, if we are looking for Sha Tog, will we also be looking for Ally?” Hessa asked.
All eyes fell on Roak. Reck and Bishop smirked. Yellow Eyes only blinked.
“Ally will be for when this is all over,” Roak said quietly. “That’s the last we’ll talk about that. Everyone clear on that?”
Everyone nodded.
“Then we are all on the same page,” Roak said. “Get us some serious shields then go find Sha Tog. Once we’re loaded for Urvein, then we go steal Bishop’s files. After that, we work. We take every job we can and build up a war chest of chits. After we have enough chits, we hunt for Mother. We find Mother and hunt down Father. Then all this shit is over and we can go our separate ways.”
Yellow Eyes raised a couple of nubs. “Why do we have to do that? I like it here.”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Roak said. “We have a good amount of work to do before then.”
“No shit,” Bishop said.
“We done?” Reck asked.
“We’re done,” Roak said. “Any questions?”
Roak received three “Are you fucking kidding me?” looks.
“Good,” he said and swiveled to face the view shield. “Dismissed.”
He grinned from ear to ear as most every curse known to the galaxy was thrown at him as everyone left the bridge.
“I like this,” Hessa said after a few minutes of silence. “This is nice.”
“What is?” Roak asked.
“Having a team,” Hessa said.
“A crew,” Roak corrected. “They work for me.”
“Sure, Roak, you keep telling yourself that,” Hessa said. “And we’ll be out of trans-space in three, two, one…”
The End
Read on for a free sample of Agent Prime
Author Bio:
Jake Bible, Bram Stoker Award nominated-novelist, short story writer, independent screenwriter, podcaster, and inventor of the Drabble Novel, has entertained thousands with his horror, sci/fi, thriller, and adventure tales. He reaches audiences of all ages with his uncanny ability to write a wide range of characters and genres.
Jake is the author of the bestselling Z-Burbia series set in Asheville, NC, the bestselling Salvage Merc One, the Apex Trilogy (DEAD MECH, The Americans, Metal and Ash) and the Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter series for Severed Press. He is also the author of the YA zombie novel, Little Dead Man, the Bram Stoker Award nominated Teen horror novel, Intentional Haunting, the ScareScapes series, and the Reign of Four series for Permuted Press, as well as Stone Cold Bastards and the Black Box, Inc. series for Bell Bridge Books.
Find Jake at jakebible.com. Join him on Twitter @jakebible and find him on Facebook.
1.
“Rylia Five?”
The words hung there, unanswered for several seconds before the man being addressed looked up from his holo vid and turned to regard the questioner.
“Excuse me?” the man asked.
Bright red eyes, beady and small. Bald head, wrinkled brow, teal-blue skin that sparkled in the dim light of the public transport car. Possibly human, but from a lineage that veered off from Earth-pure millennia earlier. Not that Earth was very pure anymore; a slagging orb of toxic waste and a billion poisons was all that planet held.
“Are you speaking to me?” the man asked when the stranger only smiled at the first question.
“Those boots,” the stranger continued. “That’s Hoocahna snake skin. Those snakes only live on Rylia Five. Just wondering if you were from Rylia Five. Not many people are.”
The man with the boots looked the stranger up and down. Average height, average size, above average looks. Sandy blond hair with deep brown eyes and light tan skin. A smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Just another basic human being in a galaxy many thought had been overrun by the species.
“I’m sorry, but I was in the middle of watching a holo. Do you mind?” the man with the boots responded. He looked up and down the transport car. They were the only ones riding that specific car. Every other seat was open and empty. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind sitting somewhere else? Lots of room.”
“Of course. Lots of room.” The stranger mimicked the man with the boots, looking up and down the transport car. “Except I like to have a chat with folks when I’m riding the transport. Makes the time fly by.”
“So do holo vids,” the man with the boots said, waving his wrist at the stranger. “See? You can watch whatever you want. Quietly. Over there.”
“Over there?” the stranger asked, pointing to one of the many empty seats. “Or how about over there?”
“Wherever you want,” the man with the boots said. “As long as you stop bothering me.”
“Bothering you? Apologies. Didn’t know I was bothering you.”
“You do now. Maybe leave me alone, please?”
“Since you said please.”
The stranger stood up from his seat, studied the transport car for a minute then moved off to one of the empty seats. He wiped it off with his hand and sat down, his eyes locked onto the man with the boots.
After a couple of minutes, the man with the boots glanced up from his holo vid and glared at the stranger.
“Are you going to stare at me the entire ride?” the man with the boots spat. “Do I need to call security?”
“Sorry.”
The stranger grinned then turned to look out the window by his seat at the dark and roiling skies of Egthak, a planet made up of mostly beaches and scrublands, all boxed in by tumultuous oceans. A massive storm system was on the horizon, moving quickly toward the small slice of continent where the truly brave decided to set up civilization.
“Primed,” the stranger said under his breath.
“What was that?” the man with the boots snapped. “I told you to leave me alone. I’m calling security now.”
“If that’s how you feel,” the stranger replied.
“What? You have done nothing but harass me since you stepped into this car,” the man with the boots almost snarled. “All I have done is try to watch my holo until we arrive at the station. Just a little bit of relaxation before a very important meeting.”
The man with the boots waved a hand over his clothes which were of a stylish cut, obviously business formal, but not expensive. If they’d been expensive, the man with the boots would have hired a private roller or hover car, not taken the public transport.
“So stop talking to me,” the man with the boots demanded.
“Interview?” the stranger asked.
The man with the boots gawped. He blinked those bright red eyes over and over then shook his head.
“You’re mental, you know that?” the man with the boots said. “Mental enough that I am calling security.”
He waved his hand across his wrist, banishing the holo, and brought up a glaring red display interface. The holo interface flashed twice then went green.
“There. Security is called,” the man with the boots said.
“Good. That means we have three minutes to talk before they arrive,” the stranger said and leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. The stranger was dressed in casual attire—sturdy pants, a basic long-sleeved shirt, nice, comfortable shoes. He plucked at a bit of fuzz on his pants then focused his entire being onto the man with the boots. “Listen carefully.”
“What? What are you on about?” the man with the boots exclaimed. “You had best get up and get—”
“Shut up and listen, Mr. Gor’bun,” the stranger said.
“How do you know—?”
“Roshall Gor’bun,” the stranger said with a s
igh. “Recently laid off by Tremmle Corp due to some irregularities in your filing of shift records. Why was that, Mr. Gor’bun?”
“Why was what?” Mr. Gor’bun asked. “How do you know that?”
“Hows are pointless topics,” the stranger said. “The topic at hand is whether you want to stay alive or not. When security gets here, you will tell them that I was behaving strangely—”
“You have been!”
“—and you will leave with one of them while the other questions me. Go willingly with the security officer, answer questions truthfully then wait with the person until the transport stops. Once we reach the station, wait until I exit this car then you exit. If I look directly at you, get back on the car. If I don’t look directly at you then wait for the transport to leave and walk over to me. I’ll get you away from the station and to safety.”
“You’re mad,” Mr. Gor’bun said. “I’m not doing any of that.”
“Less than a minute,” the stranger said. “I was told to say that Herra Mor’ta says hello, if you don’t want to listen to what I have to say.”
Mr. Gor’bun’s teal skin managed to almost turn white at the mention of the name Herra Mor’ta.
“That’s a name you know,” the stranger said. “A name you shouldn’t know unless you were doing much more than misfiling shift records. You accessed data in the Tremmle Corp mainframe that you were not supposed to access. We know all about that. What we don’t know is whether that little breach was an accident or deliberate.”
Mr. Gor’bun began to open his mouth, but shut it with a snap when the stranger pointed a finger at him.
“Not my place to ask or to hear,” the stranger said. “My place is to get you away from the station safely and into the hands of those that will make sure your knowledge doesn’t get you killed.”
Mr. Gor’bun was silent for a couple seconds then said, “Killed…?”
The stranger didn’t have time to answer as two security officers burst through the connecting airlock of the transport car. They glanced at Mr. Gor’bun, but dismissed him right away before stomping down the aisle towards the stranger.
