by Jake Bible
“No, not for the poor,” Roak said. “I think they’ll have one in the back that they use for themselves and those that visit them. How many people do you know go to chapel?”
Hail didn’t answer.
“Exactly,” Roak said. “I’ve never been in a chapel on a station that wasn’t a front. The trick is finding out who they are fronting for. We walk into the wrong chapel and we’re dead before we can say hallelujah.”
“The trick, Roak, is how we get you from here to there without every Edger outside this store shooting us dead,” Hail said.
“Well, that too,” Roak said. He shivered as it came to him. “We’re gonna need a small grav sled. And a tarp. Get us those things and we can make it.”
“How?”
“Trust me. I have an idea. It’ll work.”
Hail took several deep breaths, coughed from the dank mildew, then nodded and moved to the store’s front door. She forced it open slightly, peeked outside, then moved the door some more, slid out, closed the door, and was gone.
That left Roak to snoop about the store and see what he could scavenge.
24.
“You got a grav sled?” Roak asked when Hail returned. She was smiling. “You did. Good.”
“Nope,” she said. “I didn’t. No grav sleds to be found. Not ones that weren’t being used by heavily armed Edgers busy looting stores and cabins.”
“So, you were gone nearly an hour and failed? Great,” Roak grumbled.
“I’m sorry, did I say I failed? No, I did not, asshole. In fact, and you can thank me later when we’re safely off this station. I found something better.”
She shoved open the door and Roak ducked behind a plastiglass counter that no longer resembled plastiglass in any way, shape, or form. Unless that way, shape, or form was a pile of mold.
“The area is clear,” Hail said. “Most of the Edgers have moved on to other levels. There’re only maybe ten out and about and they look like they’re higher than solar kites. Didn’t take long for the stim to get passed around.”
“Residents?” Roak asked.
“Still hiding or pretending nothing is happening,” Hail replied. “Plenty of denial on Razer to begin with.”
“Enough for the residents of Razer to shrug off the shock of the coup and get back to life? People…” Roak stood and raised his eyebrows. “Let’s see what you brought me.”
Standing in the doorway was a bin. A large bin on wheels. Actual wheels, not a grav plate. Roak studied it and laughed.
“Cute,” he said as he realized he was about to climb into a trash bin. “I bet you think this is hilarious.”
“I do. I also think it’s brilliant,” Hail said. “I assume you were going to have me pile some of this nasty furniture on top of you. Cover that with a tarp and if anyone wanted to inspect it, they’d get a nose full of mold for their troubles. Right?”
“Right.”
“Makes more sense to put you directly into the trash then. Cover you with some of this furniture, let the furniture stick out the top, then no one will want to see what’s in the bin. They spot that mold, or smell it, and they’ll keep a wide berth.”
“Yeah, they will.”
“This also gives us a shot at getting a few levels away and into the next sector of the station without anyone questioning us. This furniture is too big to fit in the incinerator chutes. I need to wheel this to the closest accessible incinerator room, which is next sector over.”
“What about the chapel?”
“Torched. Either by Edgers or by the former occupants on their way out. No med pod there, is the point. That’s when I started looking for the bin.”
“You thought this through. Thanks.”
“I did think it through. Only problem is whether this black stuff is going to kill you or not before we get you into a med pod. Don’t happen to have a rebreather on you?”
“No.”
“Then you’ll want to take shallow breaths.”
Hail looked like she was enjoying herself way too much. She waited until Roak nodded then she pulled the bin inside the store and over to where Roak was leaning on the plastiglass counter.
“In ya go,” she ordered. “I’m going to find some pillows. Nice, squishy, nasty, wet and mildewed pillows to put down as the first layer over you. Then I’ll pile on the junk. If I hit your shoulder, know I’m honestly sorry for that. But, also, tough shit.”
Roak would have shrugged at the comment, but he didn’t feel like passing out from the pain that would cause. He simply nodded and climbed into the bin.
“At least the stink of crap and rotten meat will help with the mold smell,” Roak said as he twisted himself into a tight ball, his wounded shoulder facing up since it couldn’t take his body weight. “You couldn’t find one that had dirty diapers in it, too?”
“I looked,” Hail said as she dropped several rotten pillows on top of Roak before she proceeded to grab the closest pieces of furniture that would fit in the bin.
“Hold up,” Roak said.
“What?” Hail asked.
“Give me your Blorta,” Roak said.
“What for? I may need it.”
“Trust me,” Roak said and tapped the side of the bin. “It’ll be better in my hands.”
“I don’t see how,” Hail argued. She sighed and handed him the small pistol. “But you’re the professional killer.”
“Not a killer. Just an Eight Million Godsdamn good shot.”
“From inside a bin?”
“From inside a bin. Tap the side you see a threat on and I’ll take aim. Tap again and I’ll fire.”
“You really think you’ll do any damage with a Blorta through the wall of a trash bin?”
“Yeah. I do. Trust me.”
“Fine. You’re the killer.”
“Not a killer,” Roak snapped as he took the pistol and returned to his tight position. “Hunter.”
“Uh huh, yeah,” Hail said as she replaced the pillows and was lost from Roak’s sight. “Who’s in denial now?”
Roak didn’t reply. He couldn’t afford to use the fresh air in his lungs. The stink of the mixture of mold and the former contents of the trash bin was nauseating. He’d smelled worse. Been in worse environs. But, everything about Razer Station put him off and that feeling only compounded the discomfort of the olfactory assault he was being subjected to.
Add in the torture of his shoulder wound, which was not exactly in a physical position conducive to rest and recovery, and Roak’s patience grew thinner and thinner by the microsecond. He gripped the Blorta 22 close to his chest and tried to steady his nerves by telling himself that if it all went to shit, at least he’d get to shoot some sons of bitches.
Which brought back the comment Hail had made about him being a killer in denial. Roak truly didn’t like to kill if he didn’t have to. Through simple life experience, he’d realized that killing always had consequences. Someone, somewhere, would be pissed off and want revenge. Even the death of the most loner of loners created a domino effect that would lead to some idiot crying for vengeance.
That was the galaxy Roak lived in.
Everyday people probably didn’t have that problem. Roak wasn’t too fond of everyday people. He avoided them more than he avoided killing. Which was good for everyday people. Kept them healthy and happy in their galactic lives. Healthy and happy tended to disappear fast around Roak.
All those thoughts rushed through his mind as he felt the trash bin roll out of the store. Hail had done a good job of piling on the old furniture in a way that the weight wasn’t crushing him. Not that he didn’t feel it; he did. His shoulder kept him informed of each and every kilogram that was stacked on top of his body.
Roak shifted and he heard a faint hiss from Hail then a slight thumping on the outside of the bin.
“Don’t wiggle,” Hail whispered through the bin’s thick wall. Roak had to strain his hearing to make out the words. “It’s obvious when you do.”
Roak da
red to take a deep breath, regretted it instantly, but held the air in and centered himself as Hail moved the bin away from the store and into the thoroughfare. It was incredibly frustrating to Roak that he couldn’t be out in the open. He wanted to face the Edgers head on and blast his way back to his ship. Stupid plan, but a satisfying one for a man of action.
Roak heard Hessa’s disapproving voice in his head. Not literally, since the implant was still being jammed, but what his mind thought Hessa would say.
“Action is only one way to approach a problem, Roak,” Hessa said in Roak’s thoughts. “Perhaps you should look at a different way to handle your current situation?”
“The different way is happening,” he mentally replied to the faux Hessa. “Not enjoying it.”
His mental invention of Hessa didn’t respond, proving the voice was a figment of his imagination. The real Hessa would have kept arguing.
Roak dropped the invented conversation and let his mind drift. Nothing else he could do. He was along for the ride and waiting was his part in the plan. That and shooting through the bin at any threat that Hail alerted him to.
The bin rolled on and Roak gritted his teeth as it took a few jarring thumps and bumps. There were voices outside, a couple of people calling to Hail, but she replied quickly and the bin kept moving unmolested. Roak could only imagine the crude things being shouted at the Lipian woman. Despite his condescending tone, he did admire her courage. Walking the thoroughfare with a bunch of stimmed-up Edgers coming off adrenaline crashes was not the safest place for a woman like Hail.
A shout. Two shouts.
The bin slowly rolled to a stop.
Roak waited for the tap. He hoped it came from the side he was already curled up and facing. He dreaded what turning over would do to his shoulder. That and the fact the movement would be detected. If he had to act, he’d have to do it fast and with precision or the bin would be a perfect target. Literally like shooting Roak in a barrel.
Roak waited.
He heard voices then a laugh. Another laugh. A shout and a laugh. More laughing. Another shout followed by even more laughing. Louder laughing.
Was that a muffled scream?
Silence.
The bin began rolling again, but faster than before. A lot faster. Then it came to a hard stop as it slammed into something solid followed by a slight rebound. Roak growled low. He knew what was up. Either Hail, or someone else, had shoved the bin and it rolled until it collided with a wall.
Roak strained his hearing, desperate to parse what was happening outside the bin. If he waited too long, then Hail could be hurt. He wasn’t one hundred percent loyal to her, but he didn’t want to see the woman injured after she tried to help him.
But, if he popped up to see what was going on, he’d reveal himself and possibly take a plasma blast straight to the face.
The silence continued. Then faintly, very faintly, he heard a cry.
“Eight Million Godsdammit,” Roak swore as he sucked in moldy air, gritted his teeth against the pain he was about to experience, and pushed up from the bottom of the bin, sending the nasty furniture flying.
He came out of the bin with the Blorta ready and his eyes scanning for a target. No one paid any attention to the bin and the falling furniture. They were otherwise occupied.
Hail was shoved up with her back against a wall and a group of Edgers were having a good time taunting her. She was still clothed and was keeping them at bay with a broken chair leg, swinging it back and forth to provide a little distance between her and the Edgers’ obvious intent.
“A Lipian not wanting to put out?” one of the Edgers, a scarred human, chuckled.
“Not for free, asshole,” Hail snarled at the guy and the chair leg came close to colliding with his chin as he leaned in and made kissing noises.
“Baby, we own this station now,” another Edger said. Roak had no idea what race the woman was. Probably a mix of many, by the look of her mottled skin and the strange lengths of her limbs. “We don’t pay for shit no more.”
Roak cleared his throat as he counted the opposition’s numbers. Eight.
Four of the eight looked his way. They hit the ground dead before their eyes registered what they saw. That got the other four’s attention. They were dead before they could fully turn in Roak’s direction.
Getting out of the bin was not a graceful endeavor. Roak basically fell out, hissed like a tea kettle as his shoulder was jarred, shoved up to his feet, and swept the area for other threats. No Edgers were visible, but Roak knew that was going to change.
“We made it twenty meters,” Hail snapped as she gathered up as many weapons as she could carry and hurried over to Roak. “Twenty meters!”
She kicked one of the corpses in its head, sending bits of brain skittering across the ground out of the pistol wound.
“Own the station? Own Razer? How’s that working out for you?”
She reached Roak and dumped the weapons in the empty bin then ran back and grabbed the rest, stripping the bodies of everything she could find of use. Roak almost saw the fury coming off her in heat waves, she was so pissed off.
Hail finished putting the remaining weapons, plus knives, restraints, mini-halogens, plenty of extra magazines, and a few random pouches, into the bin then turned and eyed Roak who was busy watching her while also keeping an eye out for Edger reinforcements.
“What are you waiting for?” Hail snapped.
“What do you mean?” Roak replied.
“Get in the stupid bin, grab one of those carbines, and get ready,” Hail said. “We still have to get you to a med pod and I doubt you’re gonna walk the whole way. You look like shit.”
Roak started to argue, but realized the futility in the action, and did what he was told.
It was a good plan.
25.
Three passageways were as far as they got before a new group of Edgers discovered them.
Roak dropped three of the Edgers immediately, turning their chests into scorched meat, but the other three were able to duck back around the corner they’d come from. Roak felt he could have taken all six, except for the fact that the carbine he was using was not even close to sighted in properly.
He ejected the magazine into the bin and threw the carbine to the side, picking a new one from the pile at his feet. Roak racked the slide, powered up the weapon, and had it to his good shoulder when one of the Edgers decided to have a peek around the corner. That Edger’s face was obliterated. Roak smiled, happy to know he found a carbine that hit what he aimed at.
“Hold on,” Hail said as she began to run, shoving the bin before her as she gained more and more speed.
Roak braced his legs against the side of the bin and adjusted his aim as they got closer and closer to the corner. Hail gave a last push and Roak went speeding by the side passageway, his carbine barking plasma at the two Edgers that appeared to be bracing for a head-on attack. Both were Slinghasps and they lost those snake fangs of theirs in a flash of fire and blood.
“They hired some weak ones,” Roak said when Hail caught back up to him and took control of the bin once again. “Edgers must have been desperate to take Razer if they are using idiots like that.”
“Edgers sign up,” Hail said. “They believe in what they’re doing.”
“You believe that?” Roak laughed as he switched out magazines. “You’re not that dumb.”
Roak racked the slide then grunted and slumped against the side of the bin.
“Careful,” Hail said as the bin rocked precariously. “And you call me dumb again, I leave you here.”
“Didn’t call you dumb,” Roak said as he took several deep breaths. “I said you weren’t that dumb to think the Edgers all believe in their cause or mission or whatever they think they’re accomplishing.”
“Sounds like you’re still calling me dumb.”
“I’m not. Listen, when it comes to groups of beings, there will always be those that hang around simply because it’s easy to
do. They act like they believe, but really the only reason they’re there at all is that they don’t feel like doing anything else.”
Hail glanced back over her shoulder at the corpses Roak had left in the passageway.
“Looks like they felt like dying,” Hail said. “That’s about as easy as it gets.”
Roak laughed. “Those guys? Nah. They were paid to die. No one is going to hang with the Edgers just because.”
“But you said—”
“Wasn’t done talking,” Roak interrupted. “Then there are those that will do anything, go anywhere, even if it means they’d be in danger of dying, only because someone met the price they consider high enough to take the risk. That’s what I killed back there. The first ones? The hangers on? I won’t kill them when we find them. They are useful.”
“You expect we’ll find them?”
“In your line of work, you know how people are better than probably most professions. You tell me.”
Hail shook her head. “They’ll find us.”
Roak studied Hail for a second and nodded. “See. Not dumb at all.”
The two continued down that passageway then the next and the next. Until they reached a lift that looked like it had been pried open by a span-hammer. Hail growled and swore under her breath.
“We find a different lift,” Roak said.
“Not going to be so easy,” Hail replied. “Closest lift is twenty passageways off. That’s a lot of station to cover.”
“Better get back to pushing then,” Roak said.
“Are you kidding me? Maybe you should hop out and walk.”
“You’d still have to push. The bin has the weapons.”
“How have you not been shot in the face by now?”
“Who says I haven’t been?” Roak pointed at one of the jagged scars on his face. “This didn’t happen by accident.”
“You’re not getting any sympathy for that.”
“Don’t want any.”
They made it another five passageways before encountering a single person. Killed that single person.
