Nebula Risen

by Jake Bible

  Roak nodded and left the bridge, heading to the lift and down to the mess.

  He took his time, not really wanting to deal with Gett at all. But being a bounty hunter, Roak was always in need of information. He had a feeling that the kid would spill all kinds of intel about his father and the crime syndicate the man ran.

  “You just let your prisoners walk your ship free?” Gett asked, picking at a bowl of mush before pushing it away. “You aren’t afraid I’ll slit your throat?”

  “With a plastic spoon?” Roak asked, nodding at Gett’s rejected meal. “I think I can suppress my fear.”

  Roak made his way to the synth unit and punched in his order. In seconds, he had a steaming bowl of terpig stew with carb chips crumbled on top. He took it to Gett’s table and sat down, straddling the bench as he lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth.

  “My father will gut me when you hand me over to him,” Gett said.

  Roak’s spoon paused then he put it back in the bowl and sighed, pushing the stew to the side.

  “I doubt he’ll kill you,” Roak said. “Otherwise why hire me?”

  “Because he wants to watch me die,” Gett said. “He enjoys the spectacle.”

  “He’s that kind of boss?” Roak asked.

  “Boss? He’s my father, not my boss,” Gett replied.

  “Same thing,” Roak said and shrugged. “He make a spectacle of killing often?”

  “As often as he can,” Gett said. “He believes it’s a deterrent against betrayal.”

  “Yet you took off with his wife,” Roak responded. “Not much of a deterrent.”

  “Charcy was…” Gett trailed off.

  “Yeah. I know,” Roak said and chuckled. It was a bitter sound filled with experience. “I’ve met a few women like her. They are very was.”

  “What does that mean?” Gett asked.

  “Huh?”

  “What does very was mean?”

  “No, I was repeating what you said. You said Charcy was then trailed off. I was repeating the was.”

  “I don’t understand. How does that–?”

  “Shut up,” Roak snapped. “You ruined it.”

  Gett eyed Roak’s stew.

  “You going to eat that? I can’t stomach another bite of this mush,” Gett said.

  “Here,” Roak replied and pushed the stew to the young man. “Go for it.”

  Gett grabbed the bowl, sniffed the stew, then tore into it like he hadn’t eaten in years.

  “Don’t choke,” Roak said. He watched the kid eat for a minute then said, “When your father hired me, I didn’t see a single race other than human in his outfit. He a xenophobe or something? It’s rare to find a boss of a syndicate that doesn’t use other races, especially the ones that can break people in half with their hands.”

  “Jirks,” Gett answered around a mouthful of food.

  “All his people are Jirks?” Roak asked, his lip curling up in disgust.

  Jirks were a race that murdered others to take their skins so they could assume their victims’ identities. Their own physical makeup bonded with the skin and there was almost no way to tell a Jirk from the real person they’d assumed.

  Gett looked up from his bowl and frowned. “We’re all Jirks. You didn’t know that about the Willz Syndicate?”

  “No,” Roak growled. He automatically felt for his blaster on his hip, but he’d locked it up when they’d escaped the station. No need for security with Hessa running things. “Not a fan of Jirks.”

  “Join the club,” Gett said. “Who is? We kill and peel beings to survive. This is my third skin since I became fully mature.”

  “Huh,” was Roak’s response. “And Charcy?”

  “Oh, no, she was human,” Gett said. “Father only marries human women. Except for my mother. Jirks can’t breed with any other race, no matter what we look like.”

  “Yeah, I’d heard that,” Roak said and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What do you look like? Killed a few Jirks, but never peeled one back before.”

  “We don’t,” Gett said and shrugged. He ate a few more bites and burped. “We’re nothing underneath.”

  “Not making sense, kid,” Roak said. “You have to be something.”

  “Yeah, but it’s hard to explain,” Gett said. “We exist, but we don’t. We’re solid, but we aren’t. We have to move from skin to skin. If we’re left outside a new skin, then we sort of just…stop.”

  “Just stop?”

  “Just stop.”

  “Huh,” Roak said. “Good to know.”

  “Glad I could enlighten you,” Gett said. He finished the stew. “How long until we reach my home?”

  “One more day,” Roak said. “We’re taking the back way. Fewer poachers. Less GF traffic.”

  “What are you worried about? You have a Borgon stealth ship,” Gett said. “No one is going to see you.”

  “Can’t run stealth the entire time,” Roak said. “We’ll have to come out of it for at least an hour when we get to the other side of the next wormhole portal.”

  “This ship isn’t military grade?” Gett asked.

  Roak didn’t answer.

  “Roak? We will be entering trans-space in fifteen minutes,” Hessa called over the mess’s loudspeaker.

  “Thanks,” Roak said. He pointed at Gett’s empty bowl. “You’ll want to wait for a few seconds.”

  “Right,” Gett said.

  “You should head back to your cabin,” Roak said. “Get comfy. The next portal is a twitchy one.”

  “Twitchy?”

  “You’ll see,” Roak said as he got up and left. “Or stay here. Up to you.”

  Roak didn’t wait for an answer. He left the mess and made his way back to the bridge.

  “Did you know the Willz Syndicate is entirely made up of Jirks?” Roak asked.

  “There were suspicions in the database, but nothing confirmed. All rumors have been vehemently denied,” Hessa replied. “Did Gett Willz tell you this?”

  “He did.”

  “Strange. I do not see what his motivation to do that would be.”

  “My thoughts too,” Roak replied. He took his seat and strapped in. “He thinks his father will kill him after we return him. Maybe he doesn’t care about family secrets anymore.”

  “Maybe,” Hessa said. “I’ll process this information while we travel. Simple revenge does not add up.”

  “I agree,” Roak said and relaxed into his seat. He closed his eyes. “Wake me when we’re on the other side.”

  “I shall.”

  3.

  The Caboria Station was a chain of asteroids that were retrofitted at one point to be a luxury resort for those that wanted to watch the multi-colored light show of the Caboria Nebula. Unfortunately, the Caboria Nebula turned a dull rust color about thirty years later, killing the tourist trade. The station was abandoned until the Willz Syndicate took it over as their primary base.

  Roak watched the station grow closer out the view shield, the dull nebula swirling far behind it. He activated the comm and cleared his throat.

  “Roak,” was all he said then waited.

  “Proceed,” a voice replied after a few seconds. “Docking Bay Four.”

  “Got it,” Roak said and killed the comm.

  “Might I make a suggestion, Roak?” Hessa asked.

  “Can I stop you?”

  “Technically, no,” Hessa replied. “But, I am learning from social cues, so if you say no, I will not make the suggestion.”

  “You know I’m probably not the one to learn social cues from,” Roak said. “Not a fan of people, no matter what race.”

  “There are many sources of information regarding social cues, Roak,” Hessa said. “You are not one of them.”

  “Good for you.”

  “The suggestion?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Get the chits and leave,” Hessa said. “Do not dawdle.”

  “Dawdle. Good word. Don’t worry, Hessa. I don’t daw
dle. Not sure if I’ve ever dawdled in my life.”

  “Do you understand what I am saying, Roak?”

  “I do. My gut is saying the same thing. Get the chits, get out, get gone. Last thing I need is to end up some Jirk’s skin suit.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Hessa piloted the ship into Docking Bay Four while they conversed. Once the ship was settled, and the docking bay’s outside shields were in place, there was a loud beep from the comm. Roak ignored it.

  “You’ll keep the engines running?” Roak asked as he got up and walked to a locker set into the side of the wall. He opened it and pulled out a KL09 heavy pistol. He checked the charge then holstered it. “I may be back in a hurry if things get dicey.”

  “To the outside, the ship is in power conservation mode,” Hessa replied. “We can leave within seconds, if there is a need.”

  The comm beeped again.

  “Roak,” Roak said as he answered it.

  “Mr. Roak,” Yelt Willz said. “I am glad you have returned. Please bring me my son post haste.”

  “Roak,” Roak replied. “Just Roak.”

  “Ah, yes, my mistake,” Yelt Willz said. “I look forward to seeing you shortly.”

  The comm cut off and Roak patted the KL09.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll be back in a huge hurry,” he said.

  “Did you hear something in the man’s voice that my processors did not catch?” Hessa asked.

  “Yeah. He’s got a killing voice. Could be the voice is for his son, but I’d hate for today to be a package deal. Chits then gone.”

  “Chits then gone,” Hessa said. “Be safe.”

  Roak paused at the bridge doors. “Uh, yeah…thanks.”

  Then he was gone and making his way through the ship to Gett’s cabin. He knocked and the door slid aside.

  “Time to go,” Roak said.

  The young man stood up from his cot, studied Roak for a second, his eyes lingering on the KL09, then nodded and pushed past out into the corridor.

  “You speak to him?” Gett asked.

  “Briefly,” Roak replied.

  “And how did he sound?”

  “Like someone’s going to die,” Roak said. “But maybe not. I don’t know the man well enough to be certain of that.”

  “You know your job well enough,” Gett said. “I’m dead before the day is over.”

  Roak rolled his eyes and gave Gett a nudge in the back. “Maybe. Maybe not. Not my problem.”

  “I could fight you and force you to kill me now,” Gett said as they entered the lift and headed down to the cargo hold and rear ramp. “Then you’d lose your bounty.”

  “Kid, you’d only end up in a lot of pain with a stupid look on your face,” Roak said. “I’ve done this before. You wouldn’t be even close to the hundredth person to try to take me.”

  “I guess,” Gett said and his body tensed as the lift stopped.

  Roak had the KL09 out and the huge barrel pressed to Gett’s left kneecap.

  “Just in case you wondered what a lot of pain looks like,” Roak said.

  Gett held up his hands and nodded. “Whatever.”

  They left the lift and made their way through the cargo hold and down the rear ramp where a group of security guards waited, heavy rifles resting in their arms.

  “This way,” one of the guards said.

  “I’ve delivered the kid,” Roak said. “No need for me to stay. I’ll take my chits and go.”

  “Boss wants to give them to you personally,” the guard replied, waving his rifle at Gett. “Come on, asshole.”

  Gett walked past the guards and towards the docking bay’s exit, his head lowered in defeat. Half the guards followed while half waited for Roak.

  “You can leave that,” the guard said, nodding at Roak’s KL09.

  “I can, but I won’t,” Roak said.

  “Suit yourself,” the guard said with a smirk then motioned for Roak to follow Gett.

  He did, keeping as much distance between himself and the following guards as possible.

  The station was a maze of corridors and lifts, but Roak noted each twist and turn with focused interest. The guards were taking him the long way, intentionally trying to confuse him so he couldn’t get back to the docking bay in a hurry. Nice tactic if they were dealing with an amateur.

  For Roak, it was a simple numbers game. Count the lifts, make note of the corridor markers, ignore the extraneous crap that was designed to trick the mind into a false sense of direction.

  “Here,” the main guard said as they stopped in front of a set of heavy double doors. “Mr. Willz is waiting.”

  “I figured,” Roak said.

  The doors opened and Gett was shoved through into a huge room filled with a strikingly mismatched collection of expensive furniture and art pieces. Roak took stock of the space, figured out the best place to stand, then moved to that position.

  “Mr. Roak–”

  “Roak,” Roak said. “Just Roak.”

  “Yes, yes, just Roak,” Yelt responded with a hearty, false chuckle. “I had heard you are a man with one name. Such a strange affectation.”

  “Here is your kid,” Roak said. “I’ll take payment and go. You two have family issues to discuss.”

  “Of course,” Yelt said as he crossed the room, his hand out. The guards moved closer to Roak, but Yelt waved them off. “Your credits will be deposited into your account immediately.”

  “Chits,” Roak said, ignoring Yelt’s offered hand. “No credits. No account. Chits.”

  Yelt stood before Roak, his hand still out, an empty smile on his face. He was short, barely five and a half feet tall, with a protruding belly and floppy jowls. The man enjoyed his luxuries, especially food and drink. He looked Roak up and down.

  “Chits,” Yelt said as if he had just heard the word for the first time. “Chits. Gavni?”

  “Sir?” the main guard replied.

  “Fetch Roak his chits,” Yelt ordered, his eyes never leaving the bounty hunter.

  “Yes, sir,” Gavni responded and moved to a large painting on the right wall.

  Roak focused squarely on Yelt. The two men faced each other, eyes hard, as Gavni opened a safe and retrieved five trays of chits that would serve as currency in every corner of the galaxy.

  “Here,” Gavni said, walking the trays over to Roak and Yelt.

  “Will that suffice?” Yelt asked, not bothering to look at the trays.

  “Yes,” Roak said and slowly moved his hand to his belt. He withdrew a small box then held it out to Gavni. “Compression case.”

  Gavni looked to Yelt who nodded then took the box, set it down, and activated it. It grew to five times its size and opened wide so Gavni could set the trays of chits inside. Then he closed it and it shrunk back to its original size. The guard picked up the box and handed it to Roak.

  “Thanks,” Roak said.

  “Roak,” Yelt said, his voice low and smooth. “I would appreciate it if you did not speak of this job to others.”

  “I don’t speak of any jobs to anyone,” Roak said.

  “I have heard that about you,” Yelt said. “That is why I hired you. I am sure my son has informed you of our little secret?”

  Roak didn’t answer.

  “Yes, well, if he has then it would be wise of you to keep that to yourself,” Yelt continued. “For the rest of your life.”

  “I have my chits,” Roak said, patting the box on his belt. “Job is done. Secrets are forgotten and I’ll be on my way.”

  “Yes,” Yelt said.

  Roak sighed. “May I leave now?”

  “Yes,” Yelt said.

  Roak nodded and backed his way to the doors. Once outside in the corridor, the doors closed and Roak turned around to hurry towards the closest lift.

  “Hessa? Engines hot now,” Roak said, pulling his KL09.

  “You have payment?” Hessa asked.

  “I have payment,” Roak replied. “But not sure for how long. These guys sti
nk of a double cross.”

  “Engines are hot and the docking bay is clear,” Hessa said. “I have hacked the station’s systems and locked down all corridor access doors and lifts connecting your path to the docking bay. There should not be any surprises.”

  “Good,” Roak said.

  He made it to the lift and down several decks until he reached the docking bay level. Five connecting corridors later and he was back in Docking Bay Four. Steam issued from under his ship and he waved it aside as he walked up the rear ramp.

  “Too easy,” Roak said once the ramp was closed and he was in the lift up to the bridge.

  “Agreed,” Hessa said.

  The ship was already taking off and heading out of the docking bay by the time Roak was in the pilot’s seat.

  “Scans are clear,” Hessa said.

  “Punch it,” Roak ordered.

  The ship accelerated away from the station and sped across the system to the closest wormhole portal, leaving the Willz Syndicate far behind.

  4.

  Roak walked into a random bar and found a seat at a corner table, his back firmly protected by the back wall. It must have been a slow time for the establishment or that seat would have already been occupied by some other like-minded individual.

  After leaving the Willz family drama, Roak had Hessa take as circuitous a route as possible to shake any tails sent after them. Six wormhole portals later and the scanners were clear. Roak and Hessa proceeded to the closest station that was friendly to folks that worked outside the norm of galactic society.

  Mapp Tadt Station was a great place to drink and get lost after a job that felt unresolved.

  “Beer,” Roak said when a faux-perky waitress raised an eyebrow at him.

  She was a Slinghasp, a snakelike race that were known to be industrious, but also deadly if pushed. The waitress gave him a nod and walked to the bar to place his order.

  Roak relaxed back into his seat, his light armor creaking as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had a feeling he wouldn’t be taking that armor off anytime soon. Not unless he was on his ship and asleep. But even then…

  The waitress returned with his beer and he tossed her three chits. She blinked at the currency then smiled. A genuine smile.

  “You want me to keep bringing you beers?” she asked.