by Jake Bible
“Always,” Sath said.
“We run,” Spickle said, looking at Sath.
The Maglors nodded to each other and were gone, running their monkey legs off across the wide ledge faster than Roak had ever seen them move.
“We run,” Roak agreed and grabbed Hail up.
Hail pulled Pol and the three of them ran, following in the wake of the panicked Maglors.
The ledge was wide enough that they could comfortably run without worrying about a foot slipping off the edge. Roak took advantage of the space and pumped his legs as hard as he could. His arms were exhausted from swimming in crap, but his legs still had some energy left. He drew from that energy as a third then fourth screech and scream bellowed from below.
The Papa Kweet was getting closer and it was following them, moving parallel with the ledge.
Up ahead, barely visible in the dim halogen lighting, Roak watched the Maglors leap high into the air then come down into tight, tumbling bundles of furry muscle. He squinted to see what they were jumping over then slid to a stop, his boots sending dirt and dried-up Kweet droppings falling into the open chasm before him.
Part of the ledge was broken. Gone. Missing. No longer there.
Roak swore so loud it almost drowned out the pursuing screech and scream.
He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Hail and Pol were way back. They had barely made it over half the distance that Roak and the Maglors had. Roak couldn’t quite see Hail’s features from that distance, but he would have laid money there was panic on her face.
Roak swore again, but under his breath, as he turned and ran back to them.
“Go,” Roak told Hail when he reached the two. “There’s a gap in the ledge up ahead. Get as much speed as you can and jump. Don’t hesitate. Don’t look down. Keep your eyes locked on the other side. When you get there, wait for me. I’ll need you.”
“How will Pol get across?” Hail asked. “He can’t make that jump.”
“That’s why I need you,” Roak said. “I’m going to make the jump for him.”
“How? With him on your back? That’s too much weight!” Hail protested.
The screech and scream roared closer and louder. Papa Kweet had changed directions and was coming back for them instead of moving forward after the Maglors.
“No arguing!” Roak shouted. “Go!”
Hail hesitated, eyed Pol, glared at Roak, eyed Pol again, flinched at the next screech and scream, then turned and ran.
“You cannot carry me and make that jump,” Pol said as Roak began helping the old man along the ledge. “I know physics. You cannot defy them. We will plummet.”
“Not going to carry you,” Roak said.
He holstered his Flott, grabbed Pol by the back of his collar and by his belt, lifted the old man, and ran.
Roak ignored the strain and the stress the extra weight was putting on his legs and back. No time to think about pain and discomfort. Roak had a goal. That was all he thought about. Get Pol across the chasm.
Pol verbally protested the entire time, but did not struggle. Roak figured the old man had calculated exactly what Roak was planning and wasn’t going to make the task any more difficult than it already was.
Hail leapt. Roak watched her arms pinwheel and her legs scamper in the open air. Then she hit the other side and fell face first onto the ledge. She cried out and slowly pushed herself to her feet. When she turned around, her nose was smashed to her face and blood was pouring over her mouth and chin.
Roak swore again. That blood was going to bring the Kweets faster than ever.
Hail’s eyes widened as she saw what Roak was doing.
“Good luck, old man,” Roak said when he reached the edge of the chasm.
Roak flung Pol across with all his might. He chucked that old tech like he was a sack of Mosca fruit being unloaded at a Jafla Base market.
Pol shrieked the entire flight. Then he collided with Hail who desperately tried to catch the old man. They both fell hard onto the ledge.
Roak didn’t wait around to see if they got back up or not. He hoped they did so they’d be out of the way, but he didn’t have time to confirm. Roak ran back on the ledge until he thought he had enough space to get the head of steam he needed to clear the chasm. That extra energy he’d had in his legs was spent, so he hoped he could trick physics into allowing him a little cheat when he jumped.
Screw what Pol had said; Roak lived to defy anyone and everything, including physics.
The screech and scream were closer than ever and had moved ahead. Roak could see that Hail and Pol were up, but neither of them were running. They were standing there, close to the edge of the chasm, waiting for Roak.
“Go!” Roak yelled, using precious air to warn the idiots.
The idiots didn’t move.
Another screech and scream and another. Closer, louder, more urgent. Papa Kweet was going for Hail and Pol and Roak didn’t blame the thing. If food was going to stand still, then food deserved to get eaten.
Roak pulled his Flott again as he saw what was about to happen. The movement messed with his center of gravity, but Roak adjusted and didn’t stumble, his focus so keen he probably could have run a perfectly straight line in a hurricane.
Papa Kweet came up from below, appearing in the chasm, spider-cat body filling the space easily. It reached for Hail and Pol at the same time Roak fired the Flott.
The entire cluster spread hit the back of the giant Kweet, but only a few of the lasers pierced the thing’s exoskeleton. It screeched, it screamed, it roared in pain, but it did not waiver from its hunt. Massive claws reached for Hail and Pol.
Roak jumped.
He pushed off from the edge and launched high into the air, his Flott firing again. Then his boots hit the back of Papa Kweet and Roak was clambering up the monster. That got the thing’s attention. Claws reached back for Roak, but he wasn’t having any of that.
Roak dodged the claw attacks and fired again and again into the exposed back of the giant monster. Kweet blood geysered into the air, coating Roak as he ran, making the thing’s exoskeleton a slippery death surface. Ignoring the treacherous terrain, Roak continued his attack. The Flott was aimed down, lasers blasting away, as Roak focused his attention ahead.
“Go!” he yelled one last time right as he reached what passed for Papa Kweet’s head.
Roak dialed the Flott in, concentrating the cluster spread into as tight a beam as he could. Then he jumped, spinning in the air as he did, his back aimed at Hail and Pol while his front turned to face the massive Kweet. Roak squeezed the trigger and Papa Kweet’s face, or whatever it was, disappeared in an explosive spray of shell and blood that washed over Roak.
There was no last screech and scream as the giant Kweet fell back through the chasm and was lost from sight.
Roak’s back hit the edge and he felt his legs kick in open air. Then hands grabbed him and yanked him up onto the ledge. Far below, there was the sound of Papa Kweet’s corpse hitting the ground. Roak sneered as he was helped to his feet by Hail.
“You did it,” Hail said. “I—”
“Save it,” Roak snapped. “We still have little ones everywhere.”
And that was true.
The smaller Kweets regrouped and came at the three of them hard and fast.
Roak dialed his Flott back to a wide spread and pulled the trigger again and again until the blaster powered down.
Smoking Kweet husks covered the ledge as the three of them ran. Hail was back to helping Pol, but she did more dragging than assisting. The old tech was gasping for air as he was yanked along. Roak holstered the dead Flott and began punching the Kweets that leapt at them from the gloom.
There was light up ahead and two short shapes outlined by that light. Roak focused on the sight of those shapes and kept moving, kept punching, kept fighting for every last meter.
Hail and Pol reached the light and were gone. The two shapes came at Roak and jumped on him, ripping the Kweets from his arms,
his back, his shoulders before the things could tear into his flesh. Roak threw himself into the light and rolled across a passageway, a tumble of armor and Maglors.
“Thanks,” Roak grunted as Spickle hopped off him and slammed the doors closed before a wave of Kweets could pursue them into the passageway. The hollow sound of Kweets colliding with metal filled their ears and Roak stared at the small dents the little monsters made. “I mean that.”
Once more, Hail helped Roak to his feet. He smiled and nodded at her then looked around.
“Where are we?” Roak asked.
“Last sector,” Pol said weakly from where he was leaning against the wall. “But we still have so far to go.”
Then the old man’s eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed.
33.
With Pol’s unconscious body thrown over his shoulder, Roak followed the Maglors as they led the way. Hail was close behind Roak, her hand keeping the old man’s head from bouncing up and down too much against Roak’s light armor.
“You do know where you’re going, right?” Roak asked the Maglors.
“We know,” Spickle replied.
“We know,” Sath echoed.
“You better,” Roak said.
“Do you always have to default to the threat, Roak?” Hail asked.
“Not always,” Roak said.
“Then why do it?”
“Being nice doesn’t get shit done when I need shit to get done.”
“You are unbelievably disagreeable.”
“Not unbelievably.”
The party reached a set of doors and the Maglors pressed their ears to the doors. They waited a few seconds then activated the controls and the doors slid open.
“Come,” Spickle said.
“We close,” Sath added.
“Wasn’t planning on waiting here,” Roak grumbled. “And how close are we talking?”
“One level up and five passageways across,” Sath said.
“Four passageways,” Spickle argued.
“Five.”
“Four.”
“Shut. Up,” Roak barked as they moved through the doors and into the next passageway.
The station was quiet.
“Where is everyone?” Hail whispered. “This sector should have the most people in it. There’s no one around.”
“And you’re complaining?” Roak asked. He shifted and repositioned Pol. “No people is good.”
They hurried as fast as they could down the passageway to the lift at the end.
“One level up?” Roak asked the Maglors. Their heads bobbed up and down. “Then four or five passageways over and that’s where my ship is?”
The Maglors blinked at him.
“Our destination is four or five passageways over?” Roak asked again.
Heads bobbed.
“But you don’t know if my ship is there or not?”
Heads bobbed.
“Pol think so,” Spickle said.
“Pol know,” Sath said.
“Pol unconscious,” Roak replied. “Pol useless.”
The Maglors cringed at the statement. The lift doors closed and Roak watched the level indicator increase by one number.
The lift doors opened and Roak laughed.
“Sure. Why not,” Roak said on the heels of his laugh.
A large party of what Roak guessed were Edgers stood in front of the lift doors, all eyes wide with surprise. Then weapons came up and voices were shouting.
“Freeze!”
“Move and die!”
“It’s the bounty hunter scum!”
A hundred epithets were flung at Roak and he shrugged them off.
What he couldn’t shrug off were the dozens of hands that reached in and yanked him, with Pol still across his shoulder, Hail, and the Maglors from the lift. The group was thrown against the wall and pistol barrels began to glow red hot as fingers slowly squeezed triggers.
“Roak,” a woman’s voice said, cutting through the aggression instantly.
Pistol barrels were lowered and the Edgers moved aside so an insanely tall woman with ebony hair and dark, dark blue skin could get by. Her grey eyes looked Roak up and down. She did not seem impressed.
“You’re tall,” Roak said. “And from the indigo skin and black hair, I’d say you’re Midnight. Am I right? You’re the leader of this bunch of punks?”
There were grumbles from the Edgers, but none made a move towards Roak. He gave the tall woman a wink and received a punch to the nose for his effort. The punch was controlled. Perfectly controlled. Intended to sting, a lot, which it did, but not break the nose. Roak licked his upper lip and was surprised not to taste blood.
“Nice trick,” Roak said.
“I wanted you to know that I can make our interaction hurt as much as I want or don’t want,” the woman said.
“Midnight?” Roak asked. “Is that your name or what? Only want to know who I’m talking to.”
“Yes, my name is Midnight,” the woman replied. “I’m in charge.”
“Obviously,” Roak said. “Now, if you don’t mind, my uncle isn’t feeling well. If you’ll let us pass, we can be out of your hair and off this station right away. You’re busy, I know. No need for me to add to that workload.”
“Where’s your ship, Roak?” Midnight asked. “I kind of need your ship.”
“That is a great question,” Roak replied. “I wish I knew where my ship was. Grapevine says it left the station right about when you all decided to jam up the comms and station surveillance. Thanks for leaving the rest of the tech going. Gravity is a nice thing to have.”
Midnight smiled then shifted her gaze to Hail.
“You with him?” Midnight asked.
“Nope,” Roak replied for Hail. “Found her wandering around. I think one of yours likes punching Lipian whores. Look at her nose. She’s kind of dazed sp—”
Midnight took a pistol from one of the Edgers, put it to Hail’s forehead, and pulled the trigger.
Roak roared and lunged at the woman, but he was held back by a dozen different pistol and carbine barrels pressed to his chest and face.
“You’re pretty upset over a Lipian whore you just found,” Midnight said and turned the pistol onto the Maglors who were cowering next to Roak’s right leg. “You just find these two as well?”
“You’re a dead bitch,” Roak said.
“Probably,” Midnight said and took a single step closer, the pistol still aimed at the Maglors. “But answer the question. You just find these Maglors too? They wandering the passageways and out of the goodness of your heart you told them to come along?”
“I know them,” Roak said. “Knock off the terpigshit.”
“Which one do you like the best?” Midnight asked. “Choose.”
The Maglors squeaked with fear.
“What’s the point?” Roak asked. “Why kill them?”
“Not them, only one,” Midnight said. “Choose.”
“You’re into torture? That it? You want me to suffer some before you put a blast between my eyes? That part of the Edger manifesto? Be as cruel as you can be?”
“Cruel? This coming from a man that once wiped out an entire village of innocents to get to a target. A man that killed a Halgon nursery to flush out his prey.”
“Legends don’t make fact,” Roak said.
“Oh, but fact hides in legend,” Midnight said.
She leaned forward, her nose pressing into Roak’s bruised one. The two were close to equal in height, so it was nose to nose, eye to eye, as they faced off.
“Choose,” she whispered, her breath a hot breeze on Roak’s lips.
“Me,” Spickle said.
“Me,” Sath said.
“You letting the Maglors volunteer? You that much of a coward, Roak?” Midnight smirked. “I guess you are.”
There was a grunt and thunk from the back of the group of Edgers. Midnight’s eyes narrowed. Another grunt and thunk. Without turning from Roak, she said, “What is going
on?”
Then shouts, grunts, yells, and many more thunks.
Midnight spun about and Roak let Pol fall. He didn’t have time to gently put the old man down. His moment had come and he needed to take it.
Roak grabbed for Midnight’s pistol as the indigo woman was distracted by the chaos unfolding behind her. Midnight wasn’t giving up that easily. She yanked the pistol back as Roak’s hand tried to pry it from her grasp. She spun back around and her forehead collided with Roak’s, stunning him for a split second.
Roak shook off the blow as he swung his right fist into Midnight’s cheek. The woman staggered and brought the pistol up, but Roak was already on the move. He wrapped his arms around her, clasping his hands behind her back, then shoved with both feet and sent them falling to the floor.
Right before impact, Roak let go of Midnight, and all the air in the woman’s lungs came out in a violent whoosh. Crouched astride her, Roak began to pummel the woman in the face over and over with both fists, a back and forth piston-drive of brutal hammer blows. Midnight tried to fight back, but Roak’s attack was so violent that the struggle was over before it began.
Roak didn’t stop until the woman’s face was nothing but gooey pulp. Getting to his feet, Midnight blood dripping from his knuckles, Roak was surprised to see air bubbles popping up from the woman’s mess of a face. The Edger was still alive. Roak didn’t think that would last long.
His body shaking with revenge rage, Roak looked at the rest of the Edgers. Or what was left of them. Midnight got the easy part of the fight compared to the others.
The passageway was filled with blood. From wall to wall, blood was everywhere. Bodies littered the floor. Not one of the Edgers was left alive.
And standing in the middle of it all was a diminutive thing. A woman that had been playing at whore. The woman stared at Roak with dead eyes and multi-species blood dripping from the good-sized blades she held in each hand.
“Pasha,” Roak said.
“Roak.”
34.
“Him,” Pasha said, nodding her chin at the small pile of clothing that was Pol. “I’ll take him. You can keep the Maglors.”
