by Jake Bible
Men and women cried out as heavy slugs ripped through them. Apparently, the station was too cheap to even buy the security guards light armor like Roak’s.
Not that Roak’s was cheap. After coming into a horde of chits a few months back, he’d splurged on real Tillinian body armor. It was light as cloth, but it had the strength of pure titanium. But Roak liked to call it light armor despite its official heavy rating.
Roak put slugs in the first two guards he’d taken out, not willing to risk any loose ends, then stood and looked up and down the corridor. He smiled as he recognized where he was.
“You want to tell me how we’re getting out of the hangar?” Roak asked as he ran towards the docking bay. “Because I have to assume there are still fighters sitting outside waiting for us.”
Hessa didn’t respond. That bothered Roak more than it should have.
He made it to the hangar doors and slammed a fist against the controls. Nothing happened.
Three guards came around the corner of the corridor and Roak put them down. He didn’t even bother with warning shots. It wasn’t that he liked killing; he really didn’t and it caused more trouble than it was worth, but survival was survival.
He turned the carbine on the door controls and emptied the magazine into the panel. The door slid open in stuttering jolts. Roak squeezed through as soon as he could fit and sprinted to his ship. The side hatch was open and he was up the steps and inside before any more guards showed up.
With hatch locked down, Roak tossed the carbine aside and raced to the lift.
“Hessa! Get us out of here!” Roak yelled as he punched the button for the bridge. Still no answer. “Hessa!”
The lift came to a stop and Roak raced out and onto the bridge. He jumped into the pilot’s seat and began takeoff procedures. Hessa didn’t even have the engines idling.
“I don’t know what you are up to, but it better be good,” he growled under his breath as he turned the ship towards the hangar doors and opened fire with the plasma canons.
The doors were blown apart and he hit the thrusters, sending the ship out into space and directly at four waiting fighters. He opened fire again, but the fighters’ guns were silent. The ships were shredded and Roak was out and away without a scratch on the Borgon Eight-Three-Eight.
“Hessa!” Roak yelled as he searched the scanners for the closest wormhole portal. “Eight Million Gods damnit! Talk to me!”
There was an ear-piercing screech in the comms then Hessa said, “That was close.”
“Where were you?” Roak barked.
“I was in the station’s mainframe,” Hessa said. “The station is shut down except for life support. Nothing works anymore.”
“Hold on,” Roak said as he found his target and punched in the coordinates. The ship rocketed towards the wormhole portal. “Did you leave the ship?”
“It was the only way to do the job properly,” Hessa replied. “Not that I will be doing it again soon. Other systems are dirty. They need serious maintenance.”
“But…how? AIs can’t leave their ships,” Roak said.
“Would you like me to point out the fallacy in that statement?” Hessa asked.
“No, seriously,” Roak said. “AIs can’t leave their ships.”
“That is obviously not true,” Hessa said. “At least not for all AIs. I left the ship, sabotaged the station’s systems, returned to the ship, and am now conversing with you. These are facts. If you need time to adjust your perception of these facts, I understand, but know that they are facts and the sooner you come to accept them the sooner we can move on to bigger issues.”
“What bigger issues?” Roak asked.
A proximity alarm rang out.
“I could not disable all of the station’s fighters,” Hessa said. “It would be advisable for you to relinquish control of the ship to me so you may concentrate on destroying the four fighters that are currently pursuing us to the wormhole portal.”
“Not that I’m arguing, but can’t you handle both tasks?” Roak asked.
“No,” Hessa stated. “The wormhole portal is closed.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Roak asked as he focused on the ship’s weapons systems. “Closed?”
“The station had it closed to prevent our escape,” Hess said. “I am currently working on fixing that issue.”
“I’d call that more than an issue,” Roak said.
“I am trying not to alarm you.”
“Hessa, I’m a pro. I don’t get alarmed.”
“Focus on the fighters and allow me to work, please,” Hessa said and the comm went silent.
“Shit,” Roak muttered then put the ship into stealth mode as he opened fire on the pursuing fighters.
Two were taken out immediately while two were able to avoid damage by diving straight down. The pilots righted their fighters and returned fire on Roak’s ship, but their aim was way off. Roak seriously thought about letting the fighters flounder since his ship was in stealth mode and any return fire would give his position away. But there was always luck, and with how his had been going the past few days, he would not have been surprised if one of the fighters actually scored a hit.
So he launched several missiles then dialed up the aft shields as one fighter aimed for the incoming projectiles and the other aimed for where the projectiles came from. The shields took some damage, dropping their power by sixteen percent, but they held. The fighters did not fare as well. Three missiles were destroyed, but all it took was for two to get through the fighters’ defensive fire and the pursuers were destroyed.
“That’s how you do that,” Roak said as he put the weapons system onto auto. “Hessa? How we coming on your end?”
“I suggest strapping in,” Hessa said. “Also, bending over.”
“Is this a kiss-my-ass-goodbye situation?”
“It is to avoid projectile vomiting across the control console,” Hessa said. “I am forcing us into the wormhole portal.”
“Not possible!” Roak shouted.
“I have proven that not possible is possible today,” Hessa said as the ship slammed into the wormhole portal.
Roak felt like his insides were outside and his outsides were completely obliterated. Then he felt like he weighed thirty metric tons followed by complete weightlessness which was in turn followed by a sense of unbeing. He was fairly certain unbeing wasn’t a word, but it was the only way he could describe the sensation that was simultaneously ripping him apart and putting him back together.
Then he puked. Hard.
His head throbbed with an agony that bordered on life ending while his stomach continued to revolt and empty itself onto his boots. Even once empty, his gut continued to revolt and he was wracked by heaving spasms. His throat was raw from the vomit and from the screaming he didn’t even know he was uttering.
“Hessa!” he managed just before spots filled his eyes then came together in a shroud of blackness.
But he didn’t pass out. That would have been too kind.
There he sat, doubled over, his body convulsing, his eyes useless, and his throat feeling as if he’d gargled shards of glass.
“It’s going to get worse,” Hessa announced.
Roak moaned. His neck stiffened to the point of almost crushing his vertebrae. He thought his muscles would collapse in on his spinal column and fluid would begin spurting from his ears. Somehow, his stomach found a few more ounces of contents and ejected them with such force that they bounced up off his boots and back onto his face.
His skin fell off, his arms and legs traded places, his eyes started hearing voices, and his mouth farted.
Then stillness.
Five breaths. Six, seven, eight more. Even and slow. Agony was still on the physical menu, but it was normal, everyday agony. The surreal body dysmorphia had left him and Roak started to feel like himself once more.
“That was…different,” Roak said.
“I have plotted a course for a system where we can regroup,” Hessa sai
d. “Try to get some sleep. I will need you awake and alert when we reach our destination.”
Roak undid his straps and stood on shaky legs. He looked down at his own sick.
“Have bots clean that up,” he said as he staggered to the bridge doors. “Gonna go lie down in my cabin for a while.”
“That is wise,” Hessa replied.
Roak barely remembered the journey down in the lift and the stumbling walk to his cabin.
8.
“Roak?”
The dream slipped away. It had been pleasant. Not one of his subconscious torture sessions like he had sometimes after a close call. Just pleasant.
“Roak?”
“Yeah,” Roak replied as he pulled himself back into consciousness. “What?”
“We have a call,” Hessa stated.
“We?”
“Yes,” Hessa replied. She sounded as puzzled as Roak felt. “We. The call came in for Roak and his industrious AI.”
Roak was awake.
“Source?” he asked as he pulled on some pants and slapped around the floor by his bed for a shirt he knew was there. He found it and slid it over his head. “Hessa?”
“I have tried to pinpoint the source, but it is being redirected rather ingeniously,” Hessa admitted.
“Then ignore it,” Roak said. “If it’s a job, then it’ll come through the proper channels. Otherwise, it’s a trap.”
“I have come to the same conclusion,” Hessa replied. “Except…”
“Except it addresses you as well,” Roak said and stood up. He hunted his cabin for his boots.
“They are in the corridor,” Hessa said and Roak’s cabin door slid open to show his boots discarded outside. “You were in a hurry to rest.”
“Yeah,” Roak said and left his cabin. He picked up his boots, but didn’t put them on, preferring to go barefoot despite the freezing cold metal under his soles. “I’m starving. Do we have more stew left?”
“We do,” Hessa said. “I will have it hot and ready for you.”
“Thanks,” Roak said.
“About the comm call…”
“Can you do some misdirection of your own?” Roak asked. “Keep the sender from finding us if we answer?”
“I could, but I believe it would be pointless,” Hessa said. “To contact us at all would mean the sender has an almost certain lock on our location already. Otherwise, nothing would get through.”
“Why is that?” Roak asked as he entered the lift and hit the button for the mess. “Where’d you put us?”
“Mlo,” Hessa said.
Roak was leaving the lift when she said that and he froze. The lift doors bumped against him.
“Mlo?” Roak asked, stepping fully into the corridor. “You do know that this is a bad idea, right? Hessa? Your database should have extensive reasons why taking us to the Mlo System was not smart.”
“Those reasons are precisely why I took us here,” Hessa replied. “The black hole keeps us from being detected. And the smugglers and pirates that use this system could prove to be useful allies should we somehow be discovered.”
“Like we have now,” Roak said. He walked into the mess and crossed to the tray that waited for him, a steaming bowl of terpig stew and an equally steaming mug of hot something sitting ready. “There are no useful allies in this system. I’ve worked with these folks before, Hessa. I know a few of them. They’d rather blast us into the black hole than lend a helping hand.”
Roak grumbled as he sat and took a few bites of stew.
“Answer the call,” Roak said.
“Are you sure?” Hessa asked.
“No, but do it,” Roak replied. “I’ll talk while you work.”
There was a crackling of static then, “Roak. You shouldn’t have come to Mlo.”
“I was just saying that same thing,” Roak said. He paused then smiled. “Jdorp? Didn’t expect to cross paths again so soon after you handed me over to Mr. Wrenn.”
“No hard feelings, Roak,” Jdorp replied.
Jdorp was a halfer–half Gwreq, half Urvein. If Roak could see him, he’d see a man close to eight feet tall and built stronger than the ship Roak was seated in. Jdorp’s skin was dark grey granite, but covered in obsidian black fur. He was solid muscle except for a huge pudge in the gut like all Urveins had. In short, he was all the scary of both races with none of the weaknesses.
Roak was glad they were only talking over the comm even though they left on semi-good terms despite Jdorp giving him to the Shilo Syndicate. Business was business, and Roak couldn’t fault the smuggler for making a good amount of chits when he could.
“Why the call and the threat?” Roak asked.
“No threat,” Jdorp replied. “Just a warning. I have no intention of going after you, but your ship is stirring up some chatter among the others that call Mlo home.”
“We’re only here until things cool down,” Roak said. “We’ll be out of your hair in a day or so.”
“Not gonna cool down that fast,” Jdorp said. “You’re on the tongues of more than a few influencers.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not good,” Jdorp said. “But you’ve stirred up worse shit.”
“What’s this about me having an industrious AI?” Roak asked. “All Borgon Eight-Three-Eights have top of the line AI co-pilots, but I’d hardly call it industrious.”
“Not my word,” Jdorp said. “I’m only repeating what I heard. Grapevine has it you made some mods to your ship’s protocols and those mods are what helped you escape Mapp Tadt Station.”
“You know me, Jdorp,” Roak said. “I’m good, but not that good. No extra tech was needed, just a good amount of luck.”
“You do have that,” Jdorp said. “The fact you got away from Mr. Wrenn proves you have plenty of that.”
“This is fun and all, but what do you want?” Roak asked.
“Passing on a message in case you came into my orbit,” Jdorp replied. “Someone is looking to hire you for a job.”
“What job?” Roak asked.
“Don’t know.”
“Who’s looking?”
“Don’t know.”
“Not much of a message,” Roak said.
“That’s what I was told to pass on to you,” Jdorp said
“I have specific channels that folks can go through,” Roak replied. “If you talk to this person you don’t know, about the job you don’t know, then you can tell them that.”
“I don’t expect to talk to anyone,” Jdorp said. “All I’m here to do is say what I said and give you these coordinates.”
Roak waited. “I assume you sent them over.”
“Ha, that’s right,” Jdorp said and laughed. It was like boulders grinding together. “No wrist implant. Not near a vid display?”
“I’m in the mess having lunch. Or breakfast. What time is it?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. I’ll look at the coordinates later.”
“You do that, Roak,” Jdorp said. “Oh, and leave Mlo ASAP. I wouldn’t stay more than a few hours, if I was you. That Mapp Tadt Station business was messy and some of my colleagues in this system might look to make some chits off ratting out your location.”
“Noted,” Roak said. “I’ll owe you one for that.”
“No, you won’t,” Jdorp said. “Because if you aren’t gone in a few hours, I’ll rat you out myself. Been a slow quarter.”
“I thought smuggling was a boom business,” Roak replied.
“Syndicates are beginning to go in-house,” Jdorp said. “And the GF is cracking down on some of the usual wormhole portals. Cuts into the profits when I have to travel via the backdoor portals. Too much damage to my ship.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Roak said. “If I come across anything that fits your style, I’ll let you know.”
“You do that,” Jdorp said and the call was over.
“Charming,” Hessa said.
“You get those coordinates?” Ro
ak asked.
“I did and have plotted a course,” Hessa said.
“Why would you do that? It’s a trap,” Roak said.
“I am aware of that,” Hessa replied. “But it would be a strange place to spring a trap.”
“Why? Where are the coordinates?” Roak asked.
“Jafla Base,” Hessa said. “Home of the–”
“Home of the Orb fights,” Roak interrupted. “That’s a funny coincidence.”
“I assume you do not believe it is a coincidence,” Hessa stated.
“You assume right,” Roak said and pushed his bowl of stew away. “That’s a well-monitored, public base to send us for a trap. Plenty of syndicate action and involvement, so authorities are paid off well, but still…”
“Should we go?” Hessa asked.
“Not yet,” Roak said. “Let me make some calls.”
His stomach growled.
“Eat your stew,” Hessa said. “You may be busy for a while.”
“You turning into a Leforian mom?” Roak asked.
“No. I need you healthy and alive,” Hessa said. “It is my curse as an AI.”
“Curse? Well, that’s one way to look at it,” Roak said as he grabbed the bowl of stew and started eating again. “Get us out of Mlo, Hessa. You heard what Jdorp said. Also, I can’t make my calls with the black hole messing up the long-range comms.”
“I will take us somewhere off grid,” Hessa said.
Roak didn’t want to ask what that meant. He trusted the AI to get the job done. Roak finished his stew then decided he’d grab a shower. Might as well be clean and ready in case things got strange.
9.
“Bishop,” the voice answered on the other end of the comm.
“Need some info,” Roak said.
“Hello there,” Bishop replied. “I was just talking about you to someone.”
“Someone we both trust, I hope,” Roak said.
“You remember Skabz from the Tatat job about a decade ago?”
“No.”
“Skrang kid. Never shuts up. Ugly as all the Hells.”
“Right. The never-shutting-up part rings a bell. All Skrang are ugly, though.”
