by Jake Bible
“Until I say stop,” Roak replied. “And do me a favor. Let Snorp know I’m around.”
“And you are…?”
“Just tell him I’m around,” Roak said. “He’ll know who it is.”
The waitress frowned, glanced at the chits in her palm, then shrugged and walked off. Roak watched her approach the bartender, lean forward, and say something to the eight-armed Groshnel, an invertebrate race that had to gulp air to stay solid, but made great bartenders, and hook a thumb over her shoulder at Roak’s table. The bartender looked past the waitress, stared at Roak, then shrugged his many shoulders before going back to washing and drying mugs while also pouring a couple of beers.
“Roak?” a voice croaked from a seat three tables over. “That you, man?”
Roak stiffened. He wasn’t unknown on Mapp Tadt Station, but he had picked a random bar in order to avoid any regulars that may have recognized him. Apparently, he’d failed. Roak sipped at his beer and pretended not to hear.
There was the distinct sound of chair legs scraping on metal then the even more distinct sound of footsteps from a drunken limp. A shadow fell across Roak’s already shadowed table.
“Roak! It is you,” the voice stated.
There was some phlegmy clearing of a harsh throat and the seat across from Roak was pulled away from the table. A one-eyed Halgon, a race that resembled a poison dart frog made of elastic, sat down and nodded at Roak several times before frowning at the bounty hunter.
“Roak? It’s me. It’s Gaibah Huup!” the Halgon said. “We worked on that job together in the Brgeete System. Almost didn’t make it out of there, remember?”
Roak uncrossed his arms and cocked his head. He studied the Halgon, looking the man over before saying, “You look like shit, Gaibah.”
“Ha!” Gaibah Huup replied. He laughed for a couple seconds then let it peter out into a pained sigh. “Yeah. I do. Past few years haven’t been too kind to me. Made a few bad choices, mostly involving some lovely, and less than lovely, Lipian ladies.”
He shrugged and it looked like it caused him considerable pain.
“What ya gonna do, right?”
“Not mess with Lipian prostitutes?” Roak replied.
“Ha!” Gaibah laughed again. “There’s the Roak I remember!”
Gaibah held up a hand and snapped his rubbery fingers at the waitress.
“A couple beers and a bottle!” he called.
“You paying?” Roak asked.
Gaibah scrunched his face up. “I, uh, saw you toss her some chits. Paternian gold, if I know my hues.”
Roak conceded the truth with a nod then gave another nod at the waitress as she stood at the bar with a bottle in her hand and a questioning look on her face. She put the bottle and two glasses on a tray as the bartender set down two beers.
The waitress dropped off the drinks and rolled her eyes at Gaibah so only Roak could see.
“Your message was delivered,” she said to Roak.
“Thanks,” Roak said and tossed her two more chits. “I’m only here for Snorp. Anyone else asks and you have no idea what they’re talking about.”
“I don’t know your name, bub,” the waitress replied. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She left and Roak focused back on Gaibah who was already pouring himself a hefty amount of liquor. The Halgon lifted the glass to Roak and downed it in one gulp then quickly refilled it. Roak watched him, not making a move to stop the man from downing a second glass before he refilled then switched to sipping at one of the beers.
“This one’s yours,” Gaibah said, pushing the second beer across the table to Roak.
“I have one,” Roak said. “And they’re all mine since I paid for them.”
“No, no, yeah, yeah, of course,” Gaibah said. “Thank you. I’m down on my luck right now.”
“Lipians,” Roak said then leaned forward and grasped Gaibah’s squishy left wrist. He squeezed and the old Halgon winced. “What do you want, Gaibah?”
“Still got that grip, I see,” Gaibah said, extracting his wrist from Roak. “Always one to get to the point.”
“Gaibah…”
“Yes, yes, right,” Gaibah said and downed the third glass of liquor.
“Talk before you pour,” Roak said as Gaibah reached for the bottle.
The Halgon pulled his hand back and nodded.
“No, no, sure,” Gaibah said. “You’re right. I came over for a reason.”
“Other than to drink on me,” Roak said.
“I got a job,” Gaibah said.
“Not interested,” Roak replied.
“Oh, come on, Roak,” Gaibah said. “You don’t know what it is. At least hear me out.”
“Gaibah, I didn’t survive this long doing what I do by listening to washed-up drunks. Even if the washed-up drunk used to be a decent hunter.”
“Decent? I was more than decent,” Gaibah said, looking hurt.
“You were decent,” Roak said. “Now? Just sad. You can drink on me, but I don’t want to hear about any job.”
“Pay is astronomical,” Gaibah said. “We’re talking eight figures. All chits. Maybe even nine figures.”
“I just did a job,” Roak said. “I’m flush at the moment.”
“No, no, yeah, I see, I see,” Gaibah said, lifting his beer and drinking most of it down. “But this job is something special, Roak. Not only is it lucrative–”
“Possibly nine figures,” Roak mocked.
“Ha! Yeah, possibly, possibly,” Gaibah continued. “Not just that, but it’s the hunt of a lifetime.” Gaibah looked over his shoulders at the empty bar then leaned forward. “You ever hunted a dead man before?”
“I’ve hunted plenty,” Roak said.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Gaibah said. “But, what I mean, is have you ever hunted a dead man that is truly dead? Like official Galactic records dead. We’re talking history books dead.”
“I don’t know what in the many Hells you’re talking about,” Roak said. “Tell you what. Take the bottle and a glass and limp back to your table. I’m going to finish my beer then take off. You drink on me until they cut you off or kick you out. It was good seeing you.”
It was Gaibah’s turn to reach across the table and grab a wrist. Roak looked down at the trembling hand and it was quickly withdrawn.
“No, no, sorry, yeah,” Gaibah said. “Just hear me out. Please?”
Roak seriously debated pulling the knife he had on his belt and giving Gaibah a reason to leave. But something in the man’s eyes held him back. He growled low then nodded.
“Talk,” Roak said.
“You’re the best, Roak,” Gaibah said. “I’ve always said that even when folks talked crap about you. Gruff, not so friendly, but the best. Always top notch.”
“Talk,” Roak snapped.
“Yes, yes, sure, I will,” Gaibah said and started to look over his shoulders again.
“There’s no one here,” Roak said.
“You’ve heard of the Orbs, yeah?” Gaibah asked.
“Heavy-grav fighting?” Roak asked.
“That’s it! Heavy-grav fighting,” Gaibah said. “The Orbs, man. Brutal way to live, but as long as you keep living, you make chits beyond your dreams.”
“Except there’s no way out that doesn’t mean death,” Roak said. “It’s a lifetime contract. Once you’re in, you’re in forever.”
“True, true, yeah. You know the sport,” Gaibah said. “But your family is set for generations if you’re any good.”
“Most aren’t,” Roak said. “And I don’t watch the sport. Why should I care about it?”
“No, no, not about the sport. You need to care about one of the fighters.”
Roak waited, but Gaibah was playing it out for effect. The knife was drawn.
“Whoa, cool, cool, man,” Gaibah said. “I’m getting to it.”
“Get to it faster,” Roak responded and set the knife on the table.
“Same old Roak,”
Gaibah said and rubbed his hands together. “You’ve heard of Jahpah L’Ex, right?”
“No,” Roak replied. “Like I said, I don’t watch the sport. All I know is what I’ve picked up here and there.”
“You gotta know Jahpah L’Ex,” Gaibah insisted. “He was the greatest Orb fighter of them all. No one touches his record. Seven hundred and forty-one wins.”
“And one loss,” Roak said. “His last fight.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s how the game goes, man,” Gaibah said. “The thing is…he ain’t dead.”
“So?”
“Man, you are not getting this,” Gaibah said. “Hold on! No, no, yeah, I know what the problem is. Jonny Nebula!”
“That name I know,” Roak said. “Lead with that next time.”
“There’ll be a next time?”
“Figure of speech,” Roak said. “You’re saying Jonny Nebula is alive?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Gaibah replied, nodding his head up and down. “Well…maybe.”
“Someone hired you to find out?”
“No, no, I don’t get job calls anymore,” Gaibah said. “But a hunter I know said someone was putting feelers out there. A job like this, Roak…”
“Possible nine figures,” Roak said and sighed. “Except there’s no job. Hunters are always talking about someone putting out feelers for something with a huge payout. It’s how half of you sad sacks keep from getting bored.”
“This one is real, man,” Gaibah said.
“Sure,” Roak replied.
He stood up, sheathed his knife, and patted Gaibah on the squishy shoulder.
“Take care, Gaibah,” Roak said. “Maybe think of–”
“Where are you going, Roak?” Gaibah asked, gripping at Roak’s arm. “This is real! I swear! If I have you on board, then I know the job will come our way! I put out a word and we’ll have an offer in a day or two!”
“I don’t want the job,” Roak said, yanking his arm away. “Right now, I’m flush, and this sounds like a drunk’s dream. We all know those turn into nightmares fast. Jonny Nebula is dead, Gaibah. I do remember that fight. It was vidcast to two trillion people across the galaxy. Had his head torn right off. If someone wants to find him, then they have a different reason. Don’t know what. Don’t really care. What I’m going to do now is go find some noodles and head back to my ship. Good luck with life.”
“Roak! Come on, man!” Gaibah pleaded.
But Roak was already leaving. He didn’t hurry, but he didn’t waste time either.
“Cut him off before he kills himself,” Roak said to the waitress as he passed her.
“I’ll cut him off now,” the waitress said. “Easier that way.”
“No, let the guy have a few drinks first on me,” Roak said. “But not enough for him to die.”
The waitress shrugged. “If you say so.”
“I say so,” Roak said and left.
5.
The noodles were so-so. Roak had had better on plenty of stations. But at least they were hot and weren’t synth. The worst bowl of noodles would be better than more synth food from his ship’s mess. Sure, he had some terpig stew for quick thaw, but a person could only live on terpig for so long before that gaminess started coming out of one’s pores.
So, Roak sat at a small table in an observation lounge and stared out into space. The Tadt System was a binary star system with four planets and over three hundred moons. The orbits of the planets and the moons were so complex that many people had anxiety attacks as they watched the celestial bodies dance in and out of each other’s paths.
“You care for some company?”
“Hey,” Roak replied without looking back at the source of the voice. “You didn’t have to come see me personally.”
An old Glettle sat down on the bench next to Roak. Tall, lithe, looking like sentient walking sticks, Glettles were an ancient race with very few of their kind left. Roak had never met any Glettles other than Snorp.
“Good to see you live,” Snorp said as he wove his extra long fingers together and placed his thin hands in his thin lap. He wore no clothes, his bark-like skin serving to protect him. “How are the noodles?”
“Bad,” Roak said.
“You should go to Observation Lounge Twelve,” Snorp said. “The noodle stand there is excellent.” A couple of air slits on Snorp’s face widened and he sniffed the air above Roak’s bowl. “Pah. You picked the worst stand on the station.”
“Get your face out of my noodles, Snorp,” Roak said.
“Apologies,” Snorp replied.
The two of them watched the system’s celestial dance for a couple of minutes; Roak eating his noodles while Snorp sat with his hands still clasped in his lap.
“You put out word for me,” Snorp eventually said.
“I did,” Roak replied. “You hear anything I need to know?”
“Anything in particular I should have heard?” Snorp asked.
Roak didn’t answer.
“Alright. Yes,” Snorp admitted. “I have heard chatter that you recently completed a job and perhaps the party paying for said job wasn’t thrilled about part of the job being unfinished.”
“It was finished,” Roak said. “The bonus was left on the table, though. Or deck. With her head blasted to shit.”
“Yes, that is the scuttlebutt,” Snorp said. “A dead wife and a mess on some mining station.”
“What else is the scuttlebutt scuttlebutting?” Roak asked. “Is the party looking to come at me?”
“Not that I know of,” Snorp said. “Too many people in the business are talking. If anything happened to you, now that would be bad for the party. You still have some powerful admirers, Roak.”
“I’ve managed not to piss everyone off,” Roak said as he finished his noodles with one loud, last slurp. He set the bowl on the table and looked at Snorp. “What do you know about Jonny Nebula?”
“The Orb fighter?” Snorp responded. “Dead. That and no one will ever touch his win record. Not much else to know.”
“Someone will beat that record at some point,” Roak said. “Records never stand forever.”
“Jonny Nebula was a genetic monster, Roak,” Snorp said. “He was nothing but DNA soup with four arms and two legs. They haven’t figured out how to replicate him since. He was a one and done accident of science. That record will stand.”
“Just saying,” Roak replied with a shrug. “Too much money in the Orbs for someone not to break that record.”
“Why are you asking about Jonny Nebula?” Snorp asked then held up a spindly hand. “Oh, please do not tell me you have been speaking with Gaibah Huup? Roak. You know better than to listen to a lush like Gaibah.”
“He used to be a decent hunter,” Roak said.
“And now he is not,” Snorp said.
“Is there any truth to Jonny Nebula being alive?” Roak asked.
“None,” Snorp said. “Listen, Roak, something you need to know about Gaibah is he fell down a reactor chute a couple years back. Took more radiation to his brain than any living being should. He lives in his own slowly deteriorating cerebral world. He’ll talk and talk about all kinds of things that only make sense to him.”
“Okay,” Roak said.
“You buy him some drinks?” Snorp asked.
“I bought him a lot,” Roak replied. “He’s probably passed out in one of the corridors right now.”
“Probably,” Snorp said. “Ignore the old loser. Do not even think of getting involved with him.”
“I already said no,” Roak responded. “Just wanted a second opinion about what I said no to.”
“Saying no and leaving was the best thing you could do,” Snorp said. “I’ll have my people keep an eye out for him. About time he was put away where he can’t harm himself or others.”
Roak grimaced. “Others?”
“He lives in his own cerebral world,” Snorp said. “He gets violent now and then.”
“Too bad,” Roak said. “He was alway
s straight with me back in the day. Kind of sad.”
“Kind of sad?” Snorp laughed. “Roak? Have you developed feelings?” Snorp tapped Roak’s chest. “Did someone give you a new heart?”
“You think you’re funny,” Roak said. “You’re not.”
“What’s her name?” Snorp asked.
Roak began to argue, but stopped himself.
“There are a few names,” Roak admitted. “One is dead. One is doing me a favor. And I’m living with one right now. She’s a pain in my ass.”
“Living with one? Well, Roak, how romantic,” Snorp said.
“AI,” Roak replied.
“I’d prefer not to know the details,” Snorp said.
“It’s a business arrangement only,” Roak said. “But she does insist on discussing topics that force me to…”
“Feel?” Snorp laughed some more.
“I know how to feel,” Roak said. “I feel a lot. Let’s say that Hessa digs under the surface more than I’m comfortable with at times.”
“You’re speaking of an AI?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting AI. She in your ship right now?”
“Yes, but stay away. Don’t let that Glettle curiosity get the better of you. She’s a private AI.”
“Interesting and private? You sure you don’t want to introduce me to her?”
“I’m sure,” Roak said.
Again they sat and watched the system outside the station.
“So, in your opinion, I’m clean?” Roak asked.
“The party isn’t happy, but no contract is on you and the scuttlebutt says no one would take one if it was posted,” Snorp said.
“Good,” Roak replied and picked up his empty bowl.
“Leave it,” Snorp said. “I’ll clean it up. If you’re still hungry, then go to Observation Lounge Twelve and get some fresh noodles at that stand. You’ll thank me.”
“I might,” Roak said. “Taking off in the morning so I should eat noodles while I can eat noodles.”
“You can get them vac-sealed to go,” Snorp said.
“Nah,” Roak replied. “I prefer them fresh. Vac-sealed ruins the enjoyment.”
“Suit yourself,” Snorp said and gave Roak a quick wave. “Until next visit.”
