by Jake Bible
“You were able to detect the pheromones over the stench of this place?” Ple shook his head. “I’m impressed.”
“Wasn’t easy,” Roak said and smirked. “I’m getting the gas part of the Gas Chamber, that’s for sure.”
“I apologize,” Ple said.
“Why? You warned me,” Roak said then nodded his chin at the crowd that had decided the fun was over and were going back to drinking, shouting, and whatever else they felt like doing that didn’t involve Roak. “This is more my speed anyway.”
“This?” Ple asked. “You like to slum it?”
“It’s only slumming if you think you’re better than everyone else,” Roak said. “Hunters don’t get that luxury. We have to be like everyone else or we never find our targets.”
“Well said,” Ple responded. “I, however, am above all this and would prefer we not stay down here longer than needed. Personally, I’d–”
The lights on the level dimmed and a shriek of feedback drowned out whatever Ple said next.
“Ladies! Gentlemen! And liars that think they are either!” a voice boomed over the PA system. “Welcome to the Gas Chamber!”
The crowd roared and began to retreat from a painted circle in the middle of the huge room. Above that circle, a platform made from metal grating slowly lowered. An MC, human by his look, stood in the middle of the platform and slowly turned three hundred and sixty degrees so he could address the entire room.
“It has come to my attention that we have royalty in our midst!” the MC called out and pointed at the booth where Ple and Roak were seated. “A royal pain in the ass!”
The spotlight stayed on Ple for several seconds as the crowd booed and jeered. Ple smiled and clapped, going along with the joke, but Roak could see the rage bubbling up behind his eyes. The spotlight finally went away and the MC cackled like he’d told the greatest joke ever.
“We do not know what has brought his High Holiness, Mr. Ple R, down to our level,” the MC continued. “But we should thank him, for perhaps some of his class and status will rub off on us. Or perhaps some of us will rub off on him! Eight Million Gods knows there are enough open sores in this crowd for that to happen!”
“Cute,” Roak said and kicked his feet up onto the booth’s bench seat. “They really love you.”
“We’ll see,” Ple said, his eyes locked on the MC.
“But, my delightfully decadent denizens of the Gas Chamber, tonight is not about the upper crust,” the MC said. “It is about you! It is about what you are here for! Who wants to watch an Eight Million Godsdamned fucking fight!”
The crowd went insane. Roak almost pressed his hands to his ears it was so loud. Then the MC held up a hand and the quiet was instantaneous.
“Oh, you want to know who we have in the Orb, don’t you?” the MC asked.
Roak had to give the sound tech credit for adjusting the volume of the PA to fit each mood.
“Oh, my lovely lovelies, do we have a treat,” the MC said. “We have two fighters that should not be down here. We have two fighters that were on their way to the top of the sport, so close to making the cut into heavyweight class, but fell just short of the mark.”
Ple leaned forward and Roak gave him a quizzical look. The Spilfleck ignored the bounty hunter, his focus on the MC’s next words.
“Tonight, we have for your fighting pleasure,” the MC bellowed, “Von She and Heya Gotor!”
That sent the crowd into an insane frenzy. Fights broke out. Men grabbed women, women grabbed men, and Roak could have sworn that more than a few were getting it on right then and there.
“Damn,” Roak muttered.
“I hate to make you wait so I won’t!” the MC yelled and pointed up at the ceiling. “Here it is! Your Orb of cruelty! The reason they call this holy shrine of violence the Gas Chamber!”
An Orb that was only half the size of the one Roak saw up in Section Seven descended from the ceiling. The MC jumped down from his platform and was lost in the crowd. The Orb took his place on the platform, staying suspended far above the crowd so all could see.
Inside the Orb were two beings that looked like they had been eating stim sticks whole instead of just smoking them like most junkies.
“What a waste,” Ple said. “Both of them had promise. Von She is supposed to be in rehab right now in order to be healthy for his comeback fight in three months.”
“That’s not happening,” Roak said. “And the other guy?”
“I have no idea why he’s down here,” Ple said. “Last roster I read, he was training in Section Three. It’s a lightweight section, but still a path back up to the top. Not anymore. His career is over.”
“My guess is money or mates,” Roak said. “I can’t tell what race they are, but it doesn’t matter. Chits or chicks is how the galaxy works. By chicks I mean–”
“Yes, I caught the innuendo,” Ple said. “As overt as it was.”
“If it’s overt, then it’s not an innuendo,” Roak said. Roak studied the Orb. “Why’s it smaller? Less grav?”
“No, the opposite,” Ple said. “The tighter the Orb, the heavier the grav it can maintain. One of those fighters will die this evening. But such is the Gas Chamber.”
The crowd screamed and cheered, their energy building to a fever pitch, until the MC shouted over the PA loud enough to shatter eardrums, “FIGHT!”
15.
Von She, a strange mix of races with aspects of Leforian exoskeleton armor and Halgon elasticity, charged with both fists raised and aimed for Heya Gotor’s head. Heya Gotor, who looked human but with a very distinct reptilian scaling to his skin, dodged the fists by ducking low and sending a jab at Von She’s abdomen.
Von She’s midsection avoided the blow by stretching to the right. His knee came up and connected with Heya Gotor’s chin, cracking teeth and sending the fighter falling backwards onto his ass.
The Orb began to spin.
“They start in normal grav,” Ple explained. “1G. The Orb spins until it reaches maximum grav.”
Roak studied the Orb and nodded in appreciation.
“That’s not plastiglass,” Roak said. “It’s spinning without there being any visual distortion. How?”
“That is a trade secret,” Ple said. “Shava Stemn Shava makes almost as much off of patents from Orb tech as he does off the league itself.”
“Which means you have a lot to protect when a fighter goes rogue,” Roak said.
“Precisely,” Ple replied.
“We have peak grav!” the MC announced and the crowd cheered.
The two fighters inside the Orb moved considerably slower, but with no less ferocity.
Von She dropped an elbow into the back of Heya Gotor’s neck. Gotor fell, but grabbed Von She by the ankles and pulled. It didn’t take much to get Von She off his feet as the grav pressed in on the fighters. Both were on the bottom of the Orb and looked to already be struggling.
“This could make for a pitiful fight,” Ple said. “I should have had an exposition fight arranged up above. You would have been able to see much better skill than this.”
“Fight ain’t over,” Roak said.
A waitress came over, but Ple waved her off.
“Hey now,” Roak said.
“You do not want to drink what they serve down here,” Ple said. “Despite this crowd being more to your liking, the beverages will haunt you for weeks.”
“Good to know,” Roak said. “Thanks.”
Gotor was the first to get back to his feet. Von She tried, but received a fist in the temple for his efforts and dropped hard. Gotor grabbed the fighter by the seams in his exoskeleton and lifted him up. Veins strained and muscles bulged on the man as he bore the weight of his opponent.
Then there was green blood and screaming.
The inside surface of the Orb dripped with gore.
Ple sat straight up and snapped his fingers. A Gwreq rushed over to him and bent low so Ple could speak directly into the man’s ear. The Gwreq frowne
d, but nodded and moved off as soon as Ple was done talking.
Half the crowd was going wild at the gore, the other half was booing over the fight being done.
Roak looked at Ple. “That shouldn’t happen?”
“That should not happen,” Ple replied. “Gotor is not that strong. Even on stim sticks, he doesn’t have the muscle mass to crack Von She’s exoskeleton plating.”
“The fight was fixed?” Roak asked.
“That would be too obvious,” Ple said. “Something else is at work and I want to know what.”
“Then you should stay and figure that out,” Roak said. “It doesn’t concern me much. I’ve seen how an Orb works. I have a feel for it now. I have a bounty to complete.”
“We are not leaving quite yet,” Ple said.
“You may not be, but I am,” Roak said. “Time to get back to my ship and head off to Ballyway. Need to have a chat with Per’teen Kilk before he decides to move on.”
“He may not be there at all,” Ple said.
“Maybe,” Roak said and shrugged as he stood up. Two Gwreqs moved from the crowd to block his path. “Ple? I have a job to do. A job you want me to do. You can stay here and deal with this SNAFU or you can come with me on this bounty. You can’t do both.”
Roak turned and faced off with Ple. The Gwreqs moved closer, but Ple held up a hand without taking his eyes off Roak.
“Five minutes,” Ple said.
Before Roak could respond, there was some shouting then a horrified gasp loud enough to silence most of the crowd. The two men ended their staring contest and looked up at the Orb. The MC and four heavies were stepping away from the Orb. One of the heavies turned and puked down on the crowd while another sort of slumped down onto his knees.
Roak and Ple looked back at each other then started shoving through the crowd towards the Orb. When they reached the platform, Ple clapped his hands and the floor buzzed under his and Roak’s boots. Then they were levitated up to the platform and both staring into the contents of the Orb.
“Don’t need you to tell me that is a whole mess of wrong there,” Roak said as he stared in at the remains of the two fighters.
Two fighters.
Both looked as if they’d been ripped apart then dissolved from the inside out. There was more liquid than solid coating the sides and bottom of the Orb.
Ple grabbed the MC by his lapels and shook him. “This Orb is not to be touched,” he snarled in the frightened and confused man’s face. “Clear the Gas Chamber now. You are out of business until I have time to get to the bottom of this.”
“Clear the Gas Chamber?” the MC stuttered. “Out of business?”
“Would you care to test me, Chella Po?” Ple barked.
“No, sir, no,” the MC replied. “The Gas Chamber has been exposed to Earth Plague. It’ll stay clear until you say otherwise.”
“Excellent choice,” Ple said and shoved the MC away.
The MC cleared his throat and tapped his neck. Feedback shrieked through the huge room.
“The Gas Chamber has been declared a quarantine zone! Earth Plague has been detected!” the MC announced.
The crowd turned into a panicked mob before he said the word “detected.” Every possible way out was jammed with bodies. Roak scratched his head as he watched the chaos build then dwindle until the Gas Chamber was empty of everyone except the MC, the MC’s four heavies, Roak and Ple, and those that obviously worked for Ple.
Even the bartenders and waitresses had fled, someone forgetting to turn off a tap. Beer poured freely behind the bar and Roak frowned.
“Gonna grab a mug,” Roak said and jumped down from the platform. “You have three minutes, Ple.”
“Roak, this is going to take longer than–”
“Three minutes and I’m gone,” Roak said as he reached behind the bar and grabbed a less than clean mug. He put it under the stream of beer then shut off the tap. “I’m not waiting around.”
Ple began snapping at the Gwreqs that worked for him, shouting specific orders with deadly intent. Roak sat on a sticky barstool and sipped his beer. He shivered with disgust at the taste then finished his drink and pounded the mug down onto the bar.
“Time’s up,” Roak said and stifled a belch. “We’re going to Ballyway. Now.”
Ple growled, but didn’t argue as he jumped down from the platform.
“This way,” he said and led Roak to a different lift corridor that was hidden behind a set of faux barrels in the far corner of the Gas Chamber. “Direct hangar access.”
“Handy,” Roak said and nodded to the Gwreqs that remained behind to take care of the Orb mess and follow Ple’s orders. “Interesting day.”
Ple grunted, but didn’t say anything as they walked down the musty corridor to a set of ancient-looking lift doors. The doors slid open and the facade of decrepitude was broken as Ple stepped onto an almost new lift. Roak followed and the lift was moving the instant the doors closed. Roak couldn’t feel even a vibration within the lift.
“One day, I want to see the schematics for Jafla Base,” Roak said. “You have an eclectic assortment of lifts and tech in this place.”
“Centuries of additions and improvements coupled with the constant weight of time that all bases deal with,” Ple said. “The maintenance crew is a small army.”
“Good to know,” Roak said.
“Why?” Ple asked.
“Why what?”
“Why is it good to know that the maintenance crew is a small army? They would never rise up against Shava Stemn Shava.”
“It was something to say. I was being polite,” Roak said. “I’ll stop.”
Before Ple could reply, the lift doors opened and Roak was surprised to see that they were being let out into the corridor that connected with his ship’s hangar.
“Another moltrans?” Roak asked, looking back at the lift as they exited into the corridor. “That ride defied physics.”
“Patent pending,” Ple said and pointed at the hangar. “The Borgon. That is yours.”
“Thanks for pointing that out,” Roak said.
“You are enjoying my irritation too much, Roak,” Ple said, his voice hard and sharp. “I would try not to.”
Roak rolled his eyes and moved ahead of Ple as the side hatch of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight opened and the steps descended.
“Welcome back, Roak,” Hessa said over the loudspeaker once Roak and Ple were through the hatch. “Shall I begin launch procedures?”
“Please,” Roak said. “We’re heading to the bridge now. Be ready for take-off as soon as we are strapped in.”
“May I inquire as to the name of our guest?” Hessa asked.
“Ple R,” Ple said. “And think of me more as a supervisor than a guest.”
“Will there be an interview and performance review as I have seen done on other stations and bases? Shall we negotiate wages and benefits?” Hessa asked.
“Cut it,” Roak grumbled.
Ple sneered. “I look forward to conversing with you, Hessa.”
“You know my name,” Hessa said and the mocking tone was gone. Nothing but cold electronics remained. “Then, yes, Ple R, I look forward to conversing with you as well. I am sure we have much to discuss.”
“No,” Roak snapped. “No discussing. No more verbal chess. We strap in, we launch, we head to Ballyway and get this damned hunt started proper. Do you hear me?”
There was silence for a few seconds.
“Are you addressing me or Mr. R?” Hessa asked after a while.
“Both of you,” Roak said. “My ship. My job. My rules.”
Hessa laughed quietly while Ple’s sneer broadened.
“Eight Million Gods damnit,” Roak growled as he stepped into the lift and slammed a fist against the button that would take him and Ple up to the bridge. “No more one-of-a-kind jobs like this shit. After this one is done, I’m getting an office and doing spousal affair stakeouts and lost dog gigs only. Getting real sick of the complications.”
/>
“You did not choose the life, Roak,” Hessa said. “The life chose you. You have said that many times.”
“No, I have not!” Roak snapped. “That’s from Galactic Steve! You’re quoting a holo vid, Hessa!”
“Yes,” Ple said. “I very much look forward to conversing with Hessa on our journey.”
Roak balled a fist and almost punched the lift wall, but they reached the bridge level and the doors opened. So instead, he stomped his way across the bridge, sat down in the pilot’s seat, checked the readings, strapped in, and stared out the view shield.
“Ballyway,” Roak ordered. “Now.”
“Ballyway,” Hessa replied as Ple strapped into the co-pilot’s seat. “We are cleared for launch. We will reach our destination within eighteen hours. Might I suggest some rest between now and then?”
Roak already had his eyes closed as the ship took off and exited the hangar.
16.
Ballyway was the premier gaming planet within the galaxy. If it could be played, it could be found on Ballyway. That was the unofficial motto.
The official motto was “Fun for the whole family, even the members you don’t like!”
Roak never understood why they didn’t switch the mottos around. The official one always gave him the creeps. But then, so did Ballyway.
He never quite knew if it was the forced enjoyment that so many of the tourists had displayed across their features or if it was the obvious setups to part said tourists from their credits that the gaming establishments of Ballyway made zero attempt to hide. Whatever it was, Roak always felt like he needed eyes in the back of his head when he set foot on the planet. It was a level of paranoia that exceeded his usual norm.
But Roak kept it under control, as he did with most things, and made his way down the main avenue of Ballyway’s card game sector, Ple close by his side.
“I do have contacts that can make connecting with Kilk much easier,” Ple said.
“Those contacts will let him know we’re coming,” Roak said.
“They are discrete contacts,” Ple insisted.
“I bet,” Roak said. “Still not using them.”
