by Jake Bible
“How does that math work out?” Roak asked. “One month down to two weeks?”
“Shava Stemn Shava needs the body within two weeks,” Ple replied.
Roak rolled his eyes. “Two weeks. Great. We should get started. Let’s go take a look at the Orbs now so I can get a feel for what this job encompasses.”
“Let’s.”
13.
They left the way they came in, and Roak was extremely glad to be back in his light armor with a pistol strapped to his hip.
“Any chance you know of a dealer on this base that can get me a Flott Five-Six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread?” Roak asked.
“Hard gun to find,” Ple said and tapped at his eye again. “I’ll send messages around. I personally don’t know of a dealer that would have one, but there might be private sellers on the base with one in possession. A Flott would be an appropriate weapon for many of the visitors to Jafla.”
“Thanks,” Roak said. “I had a lead on one, but this detour means I lose my shot. It’s already sold by now. I’ll owe you one if you find it.”
“Owe me one?” Ple responded, perplexed. “You are a strange man, Roak. I get the distinct impression you do not like me yet you are willing to owe me one if I track down a pistol for you? Strange, indeed.”
“Not like I promised you my hand in marriage,” Roak said. “I’ll owe you a favor equal to the favor you are doing for me.”
“If I find a Flott,” Ple said.
“Yes,” Roak replied. “If you find a Flott.”
“The message has been sent,” Ple said. “This way. We can take a private lift down to the Orbs.”
“A different private lift?” Roak asked as they turned away from the one they rode in to the lounge.
“There are many,” Ple said. “This allows horizontal transport as well as vertical. The Orbs I have arranged for you to see are on the other side of the base, and I do not feel like traveling the thoroughfare today.”
“Understood,” Roak said and followed Ple down a long corridor until they reached a guarded door.
“M,” Ple said to the hulking Urvein that stood by the door.
Urveins were a bear-like race. Eight feet tall and almost as wide, they were ten times more dangerous than they were huge. Normally covered in thick, wiry fur, the Urvein that stood by the door was almost shaved bald except for a spiraling pattern that started at his navel and wound up to his scalp.
“Mr. R,” M said to Ple, his voice deep rumble, giving the man a slight nod. Then his eyes turned to Roak. “You’re that bounty hunter.”
Roak’s eyebrows raised.
“M has a gift for knowing what happens on Jafla,” Ple said. “I swear it is magic since I have never seen him leave his post here and he is like you, Roak. No implants.”
“Disgusting things,” M said. “No need.”
“One day I’ll learn your secret, M,” Ple said. “But today, I am taking the bounty hunter to see the Orbs.”
“Section Seven?” M asked.
“Section Seven,” Ple replied.
“Hmmm,” M said then stepped aside and opened the door to a small lift. “Good luck.”
Ple stepped onto the lift and moved aside to make room for Roak. Roak followed, but paused right next to M first.
“Why do you say good luck?” Roak asked.
“You’ll see,” M said and sneered.
One of his huge fangs was revealed, and Roak saw that it had been sharpened to a point that was certainly not natural.
“I guess I will,” Roak said and moved fully onto the lift.
M closed the door and Ple grabbed onto a brass handle set into the wall. Roak did the same just as the lift dropped fast. For a split second, there was a feeling of weightlessness then it was over, and Roak was nearly thrown into Ple as the lift switched directions and headed to the side.
The ride took close to twenty minutes and gave Roak an appreciation of the size and scope of Jafla Base. When the lift stopped, a second Urvein opened the door and gestured for them to exit.
“N,” Ple said to the Urvein, but didn’t stop to chat at all.
The Urvein was fully furred and glared at Roak with yellow-rimmed eyes as he tried to squeeze past. The Urvein snarled at Roak, but didn’t make a move.
“N hates everyone,” Ple said when they were several meters away and walking down a utilitarian corridor that was lined with what looked like a single piece of metal alloy that stretched from floor to ceiling and back down again. “We keep him on this side of the lift for that reason. You think twice about pulling anything if you know you will be facing him on your way out.”
“This is Section Seven?” Roak asked.
“No,” Ple said when they reached the end of the corridor and were faced with a blank wall.
Ple put his hand to the wall and it faded away as if it was made of plastiglass. Except Roak could instantly feel a cool breeze, smell sweat, blood, and rage, and hear dozens of voices in dozens of dialects and languages, come through the opening in a sensory assault that would have overloaded anyone.
“This is Section Seven,” Ple said and stepped from the corridor and into a huge, domed training facility. “Welcome to the heart of the Orbs.”
All throughout the massive domed space, huge Orbs floated. Some lowered to the floor to allow two fighters to enter while others were half a kilometer in the air, sparring matches already in full swing. All along the edge of the dome were fighters training on a myriad of specialized equipment. Some eyes strayed towards Roak and Ple, but most stayed focused on the work at hand.
The energy of the place felt to Roak like it could explode at any minute. All it would need was a catalyst to set it off. Roak could see he wasn’t the only one as a Shiv’erna came stomping over to them both, her hands planted on her hips, eyes filled with anger.
“Ple,” the Shiv’erna said. “What do you want?”
Shiv’ernas were generally a lithe race with elephantine proboscises. The woman certainly had the proboscis, but she was far from lithe. Her musculature was stacked. That was the only word Roak could think of. Stacked. Layer of muscle upon layer of muscle. She ignored Roak completely and focused entirely on Ple.
“You don’t come unannounced,” the Shiv’erna snapped. “Ever. It puts the fighters off, you know that. They start wondering why Shava Stemn Shava’s attaché is in Section Seven. That wondering turns to worry. Worry turns to doubt. Doubt turns to fear. Fear gets them killed. I cannot afford for even one of my fighters to get killed this season, Ple. Not one!”
“My apologies, Gespa Gess,” Ple said. “But I needed to show this man our facilities so he can get a sense of what we do here. Section Seven is the top training dome.”
“Flatter my ass later,” Gespa growled, her proboscis flicking out at Ple in irritation. She jabbed a finger into the man’s sternum. “You have ten minutes. Then you go so I can clean up the mess you’ve made.”
“What’re the Gs in those?” Roak asked, pointing at an Orb that had just touched down on the ground so two weary fighters could exit. One of them nearly floated off his feet when he exited. “Five Gs?”
“Why is it speaking to me?” Gespa nearly shouted. “Five Gs? FIVE GS? These are the Orbs, you fool! Five Gs is what I take my grandmother to for physical therapy!”
“So, more than five Gs,” Roak said.
“Roak, please,” Ple said.
“We start them at ten Gs,” Gespa snarled, getting her volume under control as fighters began to slow their movements and divert their attention from their training. “Then we move them up depending on ability. Top Orbs fighters don’t even touch anything under twenty Gs.”
“Twenty Gs? That’d kill me,” Roak said. “Even with modified armor. I’d need a full pressure suit to survive that. How do they do it?”
“They aren’t scrawny little pukes like you,” Gespa said. “They’re professionals. Or soon will be.”
“Thank you, Gespa,” Ple said. “We’ll let you g
et back to work. No need to take up anymore of your time.”
“Out within ten minutes,” Gespa said, jabbing her finger in Ple’s sternum once more before stomping off to yell at fighters that were looking her way.
Once Gespa was gone, Ple took a step back and rubbed at his chest.
“Now you see why M said good luck,” Ple said, wincing.
“That hard of a jab, huh?” Roak said.
“Yes,” Ple responded then shook it off and nodded at an empty Orb. “I’ll give you the rundown. Then we should be on our way.”
“Per’teen Kilk isn’t on Jafla Base, is he?” Roak asked.
Ple pointed to his eye and shook his head. “I just received confirmation. He’s at his home on Ballyway.”
“The gaming planet?” Roak asked. “He has a home there?”
“It’s one of many,” Ple said. “He cannot touch Shava Stemn Shava’s wealth, but he has done very well for himself.”
“I bet,” Roak said as he approached the Orb.
“Step inside,” Ple said.
“Nah. I’m good,” Roak said.
“Five Gs max,” Ple said. “Gives you an idea of what it’s like without the blacking out.”
“I’m good,” Roak repeated.
Ple gave him a sly smile and nodded.
“Fine. Care for me to explain how it all works?”
“I know some,” Roak said. “The Orbs levitate within the arena. Two fighters per Orb. They fight each other under heavy-grav conditions, twenty Gs apparently, until one of them is killed. Survivor wins.”
“Only in heavyweight bouts and only championship circuit,” Ple said. “Fighters in the lesser weights and those not fighting for a chance at the title get to keep their lives. The fight ends when one of them is incapacitated. Death for all losers would diminish the field too fast.”
“Then why kill any of them at all?” Roak asked. “Especially the upper tiers?”
“Stakes,” Ple said. “Higher the stakes, higher quality competitor. Higher quality competitor means higher wagers and higher income from sponsorships and advertising. Also, makes it impossible to fix a fight when someone dies.”
“Nothing is impossible or I wouldn’t be here hunting for a dead man,” Roak said. He caught the quick flicker in Ple’s eyes, but let it go. “You ever fight?”
“A few times,” Ple said. “But Spilflecks don’t make the best Orb fighters. We simply do not have the muscle mass to make it past the first weight class. Even with enhancements.”
“Do many of the fighters have enhancements?” Roak asked.
“Nothing mechanical or cybernetic,” Ple said. “Other than usual implants that everyone within society has.”
“Except me,” Roak said.
“I wasn’t going to say a word, but yes, except you,” Ple said. “Organic and chemical enhancements are allowed as long as there is full disclosure and opponents are offered a chance to match those enhancements before a fight. A fighter wants to juice up then his or her opponent must be offered the same or an equivalent cocktail.”
Roak nodded.
“What else can I show you?” Ple asked. “Are we done down here?”
“Down here, yeah,” Roak said. ‘“But I want to see a fight. A real fight, not any of this sparring. We see one of those then we leave and go chat with Per’teen Kilk.”
Ple eyed Roak for a second and sighed.
“No way to hurry this along, is there?” Ple asked.
“Is there a problem with seeing an Orb fight?” Roak responded. “None scheduled?”
“There are Orb fights all day and night,” Ple said. “This is Jafla Base.”
“Then what’s the problem?” Roak asked.
“At this time, there are only lower-level fights,” Ple said. “The more powerful weight classes happen during primetime. I fear you will not get the experience you crave.”
“No craving,” Roak said. “I just want to see one in action up close. I could care less what weight class.”
“Yes, well, it isn’t so much the weight class as the class class,” Ple said.
“Class class?” Roak asked with a smirk. “So we’ll have to slum it if we want to see a fight right now.”
“I am afraid so,” Ple said.
“Perfect,” Roak said.
“Hardly,” Ple said.
Ple smoothed his clothes then led Roak back to the lift corridor. They reached the irritated N and the Urvein raised one massive, bushy eyebrow.
“The Gas Chamber,” Ple said.
“You sure about that?” N growled. “This little pisser gonna be able to handle it?”
“I can handle it, furry,” Roak said.
Ple held up a hand before the Urvein could advance on Roak.
“The Gas Chamber,” Ple repeated.
“Whatever,” N said and opened the lift. He reached inside and mashed his paw against the very bottom button then snorted. “This should be great.”
Ple entered the lift followed by Roak. It was moving just as they each grabbed a brass handle and avoided being thrown into each other.
14.
“Welcome to the Gas Chamber, boys!” a naked Lipian whore cried as the two stepped from the lift. “Who wants a tug? A blow? A poke in the backside? It can be yours or it can be mine!”
“Move,” Ple snarled and gave the whore a shove.
She fell on her bare ass and glared up at the Spilfleck.
“You’ll pay for that, asshole!” she shouted. “My woman is gonna hunt you down and make a hat out of that neck skin of yours!”
“Tell your woman to look for Ple R,” Ple said. “I’ll be sitting in that booth over there. The one no one is sitting in.”
The Lipian blanched to a shade of white that made her skin almost translucent. Roak had never seen one so terrified before. Then she wet herself and turned to run, but Ple grabbed her upper arm and pulled her in close.
“Do you need me to spell my name for you?” he asked, his voice a mix between a hiss and a laugh.
“No, sir. I am so sorry, sir,” the Lipian whimpered. “Please. Let me go. I’ll give you and your friend a couple freebies if you let me go. Please!”
Her last word hit a register that caused a few passersby to wince. They shot looks at Ple, but none moved to help the whore.
“Despite your genetically engineered biome down…there,” Ple said. “I believe we will pass on that offer. But you can tell your woman that drinks are on her. If she has a problem with that, she can come talk to me. In that booth. Over there.”
“She’ll take those costs out of my end,” the Lipian cried. “I don’t mean my profits!”
“Would you like to know what I will do?” Ple asked.
“No, sir!” the Lipian said and looked down at her arm. “Please…”
“You’ll tell her?”
“I will! I will! Just please let me go. Please.”
Ple let her go. The whore ran off through the crowd. The crowd swallowed her up and she was gone. But Roak had zero doubt about whether or not she’d deliver that message to the woman that owned her.
“You didn’t step in,” Ple said to Roak as he moved towards the crowd which seemed to part as he approached, an avenue in the sea of unwashed bodies appearing with every step.
“Why would I?” Roak asked. “Not my place to play hero there. She’s a Lipian and born to be what she is despite her race’s emancipation from the sex trade centuries ago.”
“Genetics are hard to break,” Ple said and looked Roak up and down.
They reached the booth and Ple took a seat. Roak stood by the table, his hand on his KL09. He spun and drew the weapon just as the Tcherian attacked. A chameleon race with the ability to become invisible when they focused hard enough, the man had made it through the crowd only steps behind Roak without being noticed. It wasn’t until Roak stopped and caught the whiff of pheromones that Tcherians give off when fully invisible did he realize he was being stalked.
Roak’s pistol was knock
ed from his grip and he cried out as the back of his hand was split open by the tip of the Tcherian’s prehensile tail which appeared to be barbed. He went for his knife, but was whipped again by the tail. Roak stumbled against the table as the Tcherian kicked out, the long and deadly sharp toe talon it possessed missing Roak’s belly by a centimeter. He’d learned from experience that light armor or not, a Tcherian’s talon was not something to take for granted.
The reptilian assassin grabbed at Roak’s face, its thumbs going straight for the eyes, but Roak was able to get his balance and he sent two hard jabs into the being’s midsection. The attacker let out a whoosh of air then staggered back a step. That gave Roak just enough of an opening to feint a jab at the Tcherian’s right cheek then come up from below with a massive blow to the being’s chin.
The Tcherian’s eyes swam in its head then it crumpled to the ground. Its head hit hard and a piece of its long tongue came tumbling out from between its lips followed by an immense amount of blood. Roak lifted a boot and was ready to stomp the being’s skull in, but a hand grabbed him by the shoulder.
“No,” Ple said. “He will be dealt with.”
Roak, breathing heavy, nodded and lowered his boot to the floor. He backed off then looked about. Someone was picking up his pistol and immediately hurried over to give it to him. His knife was sticking straight up from the toe of a Gwreq’s boot. The huge stone being snarled at Roak then pulled the knife free and offered it to the bounty hunter, handle first. Roak nodded and took it.
“Thanks,” Roak said.
“Eat shit,” the Gwreq replied then shoved his way deeper into the crowd.
Armed once more, Roak took a seat at the booth while Ple spoke to a different Gwreq. The giant man nodded, glared over at Roak, then lifted the Tcherian up by its tail and threw it over a stone shoulder.
“Was he for me or you?” Roak asked.
“My people will find out,” Ple said.
“Either way, he was motivated,” Roak said. “Not easy for a Tcherian to go full invisible while moving through a crowd. Good thing they stink.”
