by Jake Bible
“Until next visit,” Roak said and walked out of the observation lounge.
He found a lift, hit the Twelve button, and hummed to himself as he wondered what flavor of noodles he’d get next.
6.
“You got a nice ship there, mister,” a mechanic said as Roak walked into the hangar bay the next morning, having spent the night going from bar to bar and noodle stand to noodle stand before moving on to a special sector of the station. The bar hopping was to pick up more info on what was happening in the many circles that collided with Roak’s profession. The noodle stands were because he liked noodles. The special sector was because he was a man.
The mechanic pointed a wrench at Roak’s ship. “But that AI of yours needs some diagnostics tests. It’s a bitch. I couldn’t do half my checklist.”
“No one asked you to do any of your checklist,” Roak said.
“It’s a courtesy,” the mechanic said. “Part of the station protocol.”
“That so?” Roak asked.
“That’s so,” the mechanic said with a smile as he adjusted his grip on the wrench. “You want to let me in so I can finish up?”
“No, I’m good,” Roak said. “Heading out right now.”
“Won’t take any time at all,” the mechanic said.
“More time than I want you to take,” Roak replied. “Move. I’m tired.”
“Let the man check the ship,” a voice said from the doors to the corridor. “He’s just doing his job.”
Roak thought about looking over his shoulder, but he could tell the voice was far enough away not to be the immediate threat. Unless the voice had a pistol or rifle. But Roak was going to ruin that plan fast.
His hand went to his knife and he had it out and thrown before the mechanic could react. The blade hit the man just under the sternum and the wrench fell from his hands with a loud clatter. Roak was already diving to the deck when the carbine fire started. He tucked and rolled, coming up next to the mechanic as the man fell. Roak grabbed him and used his body as a shield against the carbine rounds being sent at him.
Propping the dead mechanic up with one hand, Roak pulled his KL09 with his other and returned fire. The second man, the one by the corridor doors, screamed as half his right leg was obliterated. Roak started to shove the dead mechanic away so he had a better angle to finish off the other man, but three more attackers came rushing into the hangar bay, plasma rifles up and hot.
Roak tossed the mechanic’s body aside and shot up onto his feet, sprinting towards his ship and the side hatch that was opening up for him.
“Start her up!” Roak shouted as plasma blasts scorched the deck by his feet. “Hessa!”
“I can’t, Roak,” Hessa said. “They have muting tech on this station. If the hangar bay doors are closed, then engines stay cold.”
“Override that shit!’ Roak yelled as he grabbed onto the lower edge of the side hatch and pulled himself up inside the ship. “Or blow the hangar doors open!”
“Are you sure you want to cause that much damage to the station?” Hessa asked.
“I’m sure I want to get out of here!” Roak yelled as a plasma blast singed his right shoulder before he could get the hatch closed. “Yes! I am sure I want to cause that much damage!”
“Attention owner of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight!” an angry voice called over all comm channels. “You will power down immediately and prepare for detainment!”
“No,” Roak said as he made his way to the lift. “Hessa? Did that go through?”
“It went through,” Hessa said.
Roak paused, his finger about to press the button that would take him up to the bridge. He didn’t like the tone of her voice.
“What’s wrong?” Roak asked.
“They have the outside covered,” Hessa said. “Six fighters are currently blocking the hangar bay doors. Even if I destroy the doors, we will never get out.”
“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak snarled. “Thoughts?”
“Talk to them and see what they want,” Hessa replied. “I have power diverted to the shields since I do not need to power the engines currently.”
“Talk to them?”
“Talk to them.”
“I hate talking,” Roak said.
“Yes, well, we all do things we hate,” Hessa said.
Roak had no idea what that meant coming from an AI. He didn’t dwell too long on it.
“Give me an open channel,” Roak said.
“Open,” Hessa replied.
“This is the owner of the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight,” Roak said over the comm. He could have sworn he heard Hessa grumble. “Who am I speaking to?”
“Commander Vell. I run this station,” was the reply.
“And what can I do for you today, Commander?” Roak asked.
“You can step out of your ship unarmed to start,” Vell said. “Then allow my people to escort you to a detention room for questioning.”
“If I say no?”
“Why would you do that? Do you have something to hide?” Vell asked.
“I have a lot to hide,” Roak said. “You’re not selling your position.”
“Exit the vehicle or I will eject your ship from my station and tear it to pieces outside in the vacuum,” Vell said. “Or come along peacefully and submit to some questioning. If you cooperate, I will do what I can to lessen the charges against you for killing one of my security guards.”
“The mechanic? He came at me with a wrench,” Roak said. “He was also pretending to be something he wasn’t. I was within my rights to defend myself under GF law.”
“Mr. Roak–”
“Roak,” Roak said. “And I never told you my name.”
“You are known on this station,” Vell said. “Roak. I will be frank with you. The GF does not have much in the way of jurisdiction here. It is one reason men and women in your line of business frequent the station to and from jobs.”
“My line of business? I’m a simple seed broker,” Roak said.
“In a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship,” Vell said and laughed. “Roak. Be reasonable. You do not have much of a choice.”
“He is correct, Roak,” Hessa said. “Commander Vell has the advantage in this scenario. I am working on other avenues for our escape, but currently we are at the man’s mercy.”
“So I give myself up?” Roak asked. “I leave this ship and I am as good as dead. And I don’t know why.”
“I do not think Commander Vell wants to kill you,” Hessa said. “Voice analysis does pick up anger and frustration, but not intent to harm. Beyond the usual.”
“Which means I’m gonna get knocked around, but not shot?”
“That is my assessment of the situation,” Hessa said.
“Can you hack the station’s systems and give me some backup?” Roak asked.
“I’m already working on that,” Hessa said. “Submit to their questions for as long as they need and I will take care of the rest.”
“Eight Million Gods dammit,” Roak growled. “Not how I wanted this day to start.”
“I understand,” Hessa said.
Roak sighed and made his way back to the side hatch.
“Vell?” Roak called.
“Yes?”
“I’m coming out,” Roak said as he opened the hatch. He opened a panel by the hatch and set his KL09 and knife inside then locked the panel down. “Unarmed.”
“Wise choice Mr.… Wise choice, Roak,” Vell responded. “I will be seeing you shortly.”
A set of steps descended to the hangar deck and Roak walked down them, hands up and eyes locked onto the team of security guards rushing his ship. They reached him at the same time as he reached the deck and he was instantly thrown down onto his face. His arms were yanked behind his back and restrained. Almost as fast, he was pulled back up onto his feet and shoved towards the corridor doors.
None of the guards said a word to Roak as they escorted him several levels up to the detention area of the station. Not tha
t Roak tried to start a conversation. He was going to do as little talking as possible. Opening his mouth would only add fuel to a fire that Roak couldn’t even see burning. He needed answers more than he needed to give them.
When they arrived at the detention room, he was shoved through the door then pushed down into a chair. His hands were still behind his back and restrained, but the guards added insult to injury by connecting the restraints to the chair. Roak’s arms began to ache by the time Commander Vell arrived ten minutes later.
“Roak,” Vell said, the man’s eyes locked onto a tablet screen.
Several holo reports swirled above the screen then blinked out as Vell shut them down, tucked the tablet into his belt, and took a seat opposite Roak in the only other chair in the room. There was no table between them and no surveillance equipment that Roak could detect. The detention room was about as off the books as they got.
Vell was a short man, a halfer by his looks. One half was human and the other was something compatible, but Roak didn’t know the race. It was a scarlet-skinned race, but that hardly narrowed it down. Vell’s eyes were violet and they bored into Roak.
“Gaibah Huup,” Vell said finally.
Roak waited.
“That name ring a bell, Roak?” Vell asked.
“Yes,” Roak replied.
Vell waited.
“And…?” Vell asked.
“And what?” Roak asked. “The name rings a bell. I answered your question.”
“How did you know the man?” Vell asked.
Roak caught the past tense. “Did?”
“Just answer the question,” Vell insisted.
“We’d worked together before,” Roak said.
“Were you planning on working together again?” Vell asked. He twisted his wrist and waved his hand back and forth until a holo vid came up of Roak and Gaibah drinking in the bar. “This was yesterday, correct?”
“Correct,” Roak said.
“What were you two discussing?” Vell asked.
“Old times,” Roak said.
“Old times? That’s all? Because I have a statement from a waitress that said you looked like you were talking business,” Vell said. “In fact, Gaibah Huup was trying to get you to join him in a job. Can you tell me about that job?”
“Ask the waitress,” Roak said. “She sounds like she knows everything that happened.”
“Right,” Vell said and tweaked the holo until it showed Roak pulling his knife and setting it on the table. “You still have that knife?”
Roak shrugged. “On my ship where you told me to leave it. Come out unarmed was your order.”
“I will have someone retrieve it,” Vell said.
“That wouldn’t be a good idea,” Roak said.
“Why is that?”
“You’ll have to trust me,” Roak replied. “Tell your people not to mess with my ship. It’s…rigged.”
“Is it? We’ll come back to that later then,” Vell said.
The holo vid changed from the view of the bar to a view of a corridor. Roak had to struggle not to react. Lying on the floor of the corridor was Gaibah Huup. Or most of him. It wasn’t easy to tell exactly how much was left since his body was pretty much strewn across the corridor. Some was on the floor, some on the walls. As Roak watched, he noticed distinct drips of blood coming down from the ceiling. All of it surrounded Gaibah’s severed head which was the focal point of the holo.
“You can see why I insisted you speak with me today,” Vell said.
“You have a vid of me doing that?” Roak asked.
“I do not,” Vell said.
“Then other than the vid of me buying an old colleague more drinks than he’s worth, you have no reason to suspect that I did that,” Roak said.
“That is one way of looking at it,” Vell said. “The other way is to assume you had some grudge against Mr. Huup and killed him right after you disabled the vid cameras in this corridor.”
“You could make that argument about anyone on this station,” Roak said.
“Except I can account for everyone at the time of Mr. Huup’s death,” Vell said. “It took some doing, but our station’s AI processed all vids and matched faces to places. Except for you.”
“I was enjoying myself,” Roak said. “I visited a certain level where adults pay other adults to have sexy time. Then I paid extra for a good night’s sleep in a bed that wasn’t in a damn ship’s cabin. I’m sure your vid shows that.”
“Except it doesn’t,” Vell said. He brought up several views of the pleasure level of the station. “We’ve searched and can’t find a single record of you having visited any of the lovely beings that work on that level.”
Roak stared at the vids. “You must have the times wrong.”
“I assure you that I do not have the times wrong,” Vell said.
Vell brought up one last vid. It showed Roak walking down a corridor then the vid goes blank.
“That is the corridor that connects to the one where Mr. Huup would be found mutilated several hours later,” Vell said. “The timing fits you, Roak. No one else on this station was anywhere near that corridor.”
Roak felt nauseous. He was being set up and he couldn’t figure out why. They had some good circumstantial tech evidence and someone had gone to the trouble of paying off the lady he spent part of the night with for her to keep her mouth shut.
“Did Willz put you up to this?” Roak asked.
“Willz?” Vell responded, looking honestly confused. “As in the Willz Syndicate? Well, isn’t that something to ask.”
Before Roak could say anything else, a klaxon started blaring and the room was filled with red light. Not yellow, but red.
“Warning. Warning,” an AI voice announced. “Hull breach in levels eight through forty-one. All station residents and visitors, please make your way to safety bunkers housed on those levels. This is not a drill. Please proceed to the safety bunkers immediately.”
“This is Vell!” Vell shouted into his com. “What in the Eight Million Godsdamn is going on?”
Roak planted his feet and launched himself at Vell. He tucked and flipped, bringing the chair, and his legs, up over his head. Both chair and legs collided with Vell’s head. The man went down hard, blood pouring from a gash in his scalp.
Then the lights went out.
“Get up, Roak,” Hessa said. “I’ve cut power to the entire detention level.”
“Then how am I going to see to get out of here?” Roak asked.
“Perhaps if you had allowed me to give you an ocular implant you wouldn’t need to ask that question,” Hessa replied.
“Not the time, Hessa!” Roak barked.
“The door is open,” Hessa said. “Make your way to it and out into the corridor. I can see you. I’ll guide you to the lift.”
“Then what?” Roak asked as he struggled up onto his feet, still connected to the chair.
“We’ll play it by ear,” Hessa said. “That is the correct term, yes?”
“If it means you don’t have a plan, then yes,” Roak said. “That is the correct term.”
7.
The lift doors opened and Roak stepped out into the corridor just as several security guards rounded the corner at the far end. At least the lights are back on so I can see them coming, Roak thought.
“Left,” Hessa stated and Roak obeyed, turning left and running as fast as he could with a chair connected to his ass, arms, and back.
“Wait,” Hessa ordered. “Count to six then move as fast as you are able.”
“Which way?” Roak asked.
“Straight,” Hessa replied.
“Hessa. That’s a wall,” Roak said as he stared at the lack of corridor in front of him. “I have to go left or right.”
Hessa did not reply. In a way, Roak was glad. He was used to handling chaos on his own, and had been doing a solid job of it before Hessa arrived in his life, so no reason he couldn’t keep handling it without a sentient AI buzzing in his ear.
Roak fell, but not as hard or fast as he could have. The space was tight, so the chair kept him from plummeting as it ricocheted off the interior’s surface, sending him careening and colliding back and forth, back and forth.
By his count, Roak fell for a good thirty seconds before he became wedged between two struts. No one came for him from above, and the angle he was stuck at didn’t allow him to look below for an opening there. For that moment, he was stuck.
Then the clicking of tiny metal feet grabbed his attention and he squinted into the dark to see several fist-sized bots crawling up the surface of the interior. They scurried to his position and swarmed over the chair, tearing it into small pieces with very, very sharp-looking mandibles.
In only a few seconds, Roak was falling once more, freed from the chair and his restraints by the bots. He had barely a moment to prepare for the next row of struts before he was slamming into them. He hooked an elbow over one to keep from falling again then took several slow, deep breaths to make sure nothing was broken.
The security guards had allowed him to keep his light armor on. Armor was defensive, not offensive, and Roak doubted any of them had wanted to be the one to strip him naked, so they left him alone. Good thing or he would have had more than a few broken ribs from the impact with the struts.
The wall in front of him melted like the wall above had, and Roak flipped his legs up and out into the corridor, hooking the backs of his knees over the edge. He shoved with his hands and twisted, getting most of his torso through. It was enough to shift his weight completely into the corridor so he could roll out onto the floor.
“There!” someone yelled and Roak just had time to hear boots pounding the deck before the owners of the boots were on him.
He struck one in the crotch with a balled fist then grabbed another by the calf and yanked hard, taking two guards down in less than a second. Roak rolled out of the way of a boot stomp, grabbed one of the fallen guard’s carbines, and was up and firing before he even knew what he was aiming at.
