Nebula Risen

by Jake Bible

  “Ballyway,” Ple said with contempt. “I never question Shava Stemn Shava’s decision not to put a league facility on this planet.”

  “Wise choice,” Roak said as he pushed open the double doors and walked into the establishment.

  Six security bots sputtered up to him and waved wands across his and Ple’s bodies. The wands all beeped shrilly, but the bots did nothing, only rolled, floated, and creaked away, returning to dingy alcoves up against one of the walls.

  “May I help you?” a frog croak of a voice asked from a podium by the opposite wall. “Here to test your skills against the house players? Or perhaps a private table where you two strapping men can face off and finally prove who has bigger balls?”

  Roak turned and regarded the scarred and pus-crusted face that was barely visible over the top of the podium.

  “Nipun,” Roak said.

  “Oh, well, look what the Cervile dragged in,” the face said then was gone.

  From around the podium came an old Ferg – a diminutive race that looked like a praying mantis and a beaver got drunk and bred. The Ferg stood there with her hands on her hips, her head barely up to Roak’s own hip, and regarded the bounty hunter with contemptuous eyes. He took the stare, a look of boredom on his features while he endured the ocular grilling. Then the Ferg’s attention drifted to Ple and her eyes widened.

  “Mr. Ple R,” Nipun stated. “My how your fortunes have fallen.”

  “My fortunes are as favorable as ever,” Ple said. “I am simply accompanying Roak as he obtains information regarding–”

  “Kilk,” Nipun said.

  “Ple, this is Nipun,” Roak said. “Nipun owns the joint.”

  “I gathered that since her name is on the sign outside,” Ple said. “And how did you know we were looking for Kilk?”

  “Who else would Ple R be looking for on Ballyway?” Nipun replied.

  “He’s not, I am,” Roak said hooking a thumb at Ple. “Taska in?”

  “He’s in the back taking some Skrang for all the chits they brought,” Nipun said. “I wouldn’t bother him at the moment.”

  “I don’t have much time to wait,” Roak said and dug into a pocket on the right thigh of his armor. He produced a handful of chits and jangled them in his palm. “What’ll it cost to speed the game up?”

  “All of that,” Nipun said as she took the offered chits. “How much do you want to offer Taska?”

  Roak chuckled and brought out another handful of chits.

  “He should be finished shortly,” Nipun said. “Let me inform him of your presence.”

  She started to walk off, heading for a maze of half-full card tables where players from every race were represented. Most looked like they hadn’t eaten in a long time. They all looked like they were only two chits from total poverty. Nipun wound her way through the maze and was lost from sight as she walked into the shadows of the rear rows of the establishment.

  “Taska?” Ple asked.

  “Contact,” Roak replied.

  “I assumed so,” Ple said. “And he is?”

  “My contact,” Roak said. “Not yours.”

  Ple held up his hands in mock surrender then sauntered off towards the closest card game. All heads swiveled to glare at him and he retreated back to Roak’s side.

  “Don’t wander,” Roak said. “This part of the card sector does not get many visits from the law. If the players decide you’re bothering them, then Shava Stemn Shava will lose an attaché.”

  “You underestimate my skills,” Ple said.

  “You underestimate the superstitions and desperation card player’s harbor,” Roak said. “I don’t doubt you can outfight all of them. Maybe all at once. But their desperation will win eventually. It always does. It’s what fuels Ballyway, no matter the gaming establishment.”

  “Quite,” Ple said and nodded in agreement. “I’ll refrain from bothering the players.”

  Roak grunted in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving the spot where Nipun had disappeared into the shadows. After a couple of minutes, there were a few shouts, the sound of a chair being broken, the cry of a Skrang having something painful done to him or her, and a pistol blast. Not one of the players at the other tables even looked up from their cards at the commotion.

  Nipun walked casually back to Roak and Ple, wiping blood from her cheek with a stained handkerchief.

  “Taska is on his way,” Nipun said and held her hand out as she tucked the handkerchief between her cleavage until it was lost from sight.

  Roak produced more chits and dropped them into her palm. She started to walk away, but he grabbed her by the shoulder. Nipun bared her teeth, the front two considerably longer and sharper than the rest. Their edges almost gleamed, catching what little light was provided in the card house.

  “No need to get bitey,” Roak said and let go. “Just wanted you to know I expect my chit’s worth of information today.”

  “I make no guarantees, Roak,” Nipun said. “You know that.”

  “Not looking for a guarantee,” Roak replied. “Looking for value. Don’t make me ask for a refund.”

  Nipun regarded Roak for a few seconds then nodded and returned to her podium. She climbed up behind it and stared out the front windows, dismissing Roak and Ple entirely.

  There was a bark of laughter and Roak turned back to the card tables to see a large Groshnel making its invertebrate way towards him. The Groshnel had a Skrang clutched in two arms, a Skrang clutched in two more arms, and was dragging one behind it while it walked on its three remaining appendages.

  “Roak,” Taska said as he walked past Roak and Ple and headed straight for the front door.

  With one of the three unoccupied arms/legs, Taska kicked open the door and threw all the Skrang out into the street. They rolled for a few meters then came to rest dead center where passersby had to step around them to get where they were going. No one offered to see if the Skrang needed help or were alive.

  “Whatcha need, pal?” Taska asked as he returned to Roak. He looked Ple up and down and shook his cephalopod head back and forth. “My how the mighty have fallen. I never would have thought I’d be in the presence of Ple R.”

  Nipun snorted from her podium, but offered no other comment.

  “Ignore the Spilfleck,” Roak said, spitting Ple’s race out of his mouth like it was an offense to even say it.

  Ple bristled, but said nothing.

  “Oh, I already have ignored this lizard,” Taska said. “Whatcha need, Roak? I ain’t asking again.”

  “Guy named Kilk,” Roak said. “Location, security details, any other intel you can give me so I may have a long, leisurely chat with the guy sans interruption.”

  “Sans interruption?” Taska laughed, his boneless body inflating/deflating over and over. “How am I to know who or what will interrupt your chat?”

  “You can’t,” Roak said. “That’s on me. All I need is the intel, Taska. Everything you have.”

  “What makes you think I know this Per’teen Kilk?” Taska asked.

  “Because you just said his first name when we did not provide that,” Ple said.

  Roak and Taska turned their glares onto Ple until the Spilfleck nodded and took a step back.

  “That just cost you extra,” Taska said to Roak. “Pay up.”

  Roak shook his head. “I gave you enough chits already. Talk.”

  “I’m no longer in the mood,” Taska said and patted his midsection. “My stomachs are acting up. Haven’t eaten in hours. I tell you what, Roak, you and your Spilfleck bitch can come back in a few hours after I’ve had a meal. I’ll see what I can dig up for you by then.”

  “One hour,” Roak said.

  “Two,” Taska replied.

  “One,” Roak insisted. “Or none.”

  Taska raised four arms and waved them about. “Don’t get hostile, Roak. Don’t get hostile. One hour and I’ll have what you need. Can’t say it’s what you want, but it’ll be what you need.”

  “That
’s fair,” Roak said and turned to walk off.

  Taska grabbed his elbow. “Hold on. Food ain’t cheap, Roak.”

  “I paid for the intel,” Roak said. “Handle your own meal.”

  “I got it,” Ple said and dug into his suit pocket to pull out several shiny, new chits.

  Taska looked at the chits. Roak looked at the chits. Nipun leaned as far over her podium as she could to look at the chits.

  “Eight Million Gods,” Taska said. “This one ain’t gonna last a day around here.”

  The Groshnel took the chits and left, waving an arm over what passed for a shoulder with his race.

  Roak immediately pointed a finger at Nipun.

  “Do not make any comm calls,” Roak snarled. “Give her two chits.”

  Ple didn’t move.

  “I’m talking to you, R,” Roak said.

  “Oh,” Ple replied and fished out two chits. He tossed them at the Ferg who caught them with practiced ease. “May we leave now?”

  “Yeah,” Roak said and walked to the front doors.

  17.

  Roak kept walking and Ple had to struggle to keep up. As soon as they reached the mouth of an alleyway, Roak spun about and grabbed Ple, throwing him into the darkness. Before Ple could react, Roak had the Spilfleck by the front of his suit and slammed against the alley wall.

  “Mouth shut,” Roak warned. “On Jafla, I was nice. I played by your rules because it was your territory. Now we’re out in the field and in my territory. You shut the hell up and let me do my job or we skip to the end of this job right now where I kill you before you kill me.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to assume what is or isn’t my territory,” Ple said and looked down at Roak’s fists gripping his suit. “Do you mind?”

  “Not letting go until you acknowledge that this job is my job and I’m in charge,” Roak said.

  “I did acknowledge that back on Jafla,” Ple said. “But that does not mean I will be a silent observer.”

  “No, that’s exactly what that means,” Roak spat.

  He let go and placed a forearm up under Ple’s chin, the light armor pressing into the Spilfleck’s throat. Roak pointed out of the alley with his free hand.

  “Back there. That. Never again,” Roak said. “They know who you are. They know who you work for. They are already giving Kilk a chance to pay them higher than what I paid them so the man has time to prepare for our arrival or flee the planet.”

  Roak tapped his ear.

  “Hessa?”

  “Of the ships that have left since your unfortunate interaction in Nipun’s establishment, all are confirmed tourist vehicles,” Hessa replied.

  Ple looked puzzled.

  “Who are you talking to? Your ship’s AI? How? You do not have implants,” Ple said, his voice a thin rasp as Roak’s forearm continued to apply pressure to his neck.

  “Could he have stowed away on one of them?” Roak asked.

  “Not that I can see from the security vids,” Hessa said. “Families leaving. None with luggage large enough for a man Per’teen Kilk’s size.”

  “Good,” Roak said. “Keep looking.”

  “I will,” Hessa replied and the comm went silent.

  “You got lucky,” Roak said and let Ple go.

  The Spilfleck’s frill pulsed several times then calmed and flattened as he also flattened the wrinkles in his suit.

  “I have to say I misjudged you, Roak,” Ple said. “From your performance on Jafla, I took you more for a lucky fool and galactic thug. I can see now you are a serious professional. I apologize for any harm I have done to your hunt.”

  Roak smirked. “You’re good, but not that good. I’m not Shava Stemn Shava. Kiss my ass all you want, all you’ll get is the taste of shit in your mouth.”

  “Lovely,” Ple said and nodded at the street. “Shall we continue to wherever it is you are taking us while we wait for that Groshnel gentleman to obtain the information you need?”

  “We’re here,” Roak said and nodded at the far end of the alley. “Come on.”

  Ple followed as Roak wound his way around trash bins and stacked incinerator carbon blocks. The smell of the alley became wet and dank, like a swampy sewer that hadn’t been used in decades.

  “Lovely,” Ple said again, the back of his hand to his nose.

  They made it to the dead end, a moisture-stained wall made of a mishmash of materials. Roak pounded a fist on the wall, producing a dull thud that told anyone snooping around that the space behind was solid.

  Except it wasn’t as a view slat was pulled aside and a pair of yellow eyes with slit pupils stared out at the two men.

  “Password,” the owner of the eyes demanded.

  Roak drew his KL09 and put the barrel to one of the eyes.

  “You gotta be faster than that, Carla,” Roak said.

  “Just messing with ya, Roak,” Carla said as the wall began to lower to reveal a very attractive Cervile woman standing before them. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Bob,” Roak said before Ple could introduce himself.

  “Well, Roak and Bob, come on in and enjoy yourselves,” Carla said as she moved aside. “How long you gonna be around?”

  “Only an hour,” Roak said. “Waiting for Taska to get me some intel.”

  “That so?”

  “That’s so,” Roak said. “Sorry it’s a short visit.”

  “It always is with you, Roak,” Carla said and pointed at the small, but very clean tavern beyond the wall. “Have a seat where you like. It’s slow today so there’s only that Urvein in the corner. I’ll get you a bottle as soon as I deal with these mooks.”

  Carla looked past Roak’s shoulder, but Roak didn’t seem to care and walked into the tavern.

  “By private invitation only,” Carla said as Roak found a corner table and took a seat, his back to the wall.

  That’s when he got a view of Carla extending her claws from her fingertips and showing them to two young punks that were moving towards the open wall. Ple sat down opposite Roak and turned to regard the scene as well.

  “Best you forget this alley, kids,” Carla said and the two punks nodded then turned and fled. She stepped back through the wall and it closed tight behind her. Her yellow eyes fell on Roak. “Usual?”

  “Anything new I should know about?” Roak asked.

  “Got some bootleg Klav whiskey that just came in this morning,” Carla said as she went around the bar and picked up a bottle. “But I haven’t had a chance to crack the seal and taste it yet. Could be piss, could be bliss.”

  “Bring it over and let’s find out,” Roak said.

  Carla smiled and threw the bottle across the room. Roak caught it easily and set about breaking the seal while Carla grabbed three glasses and an extra chair on her way. She spun the chair around and straddled it as she joined the two men. Her eyes went from Roak opening the bootleg whiskey to Ple.

  “I swear I know your face,” Carla said. “Why?”

  Ple glanced at Roak and rolled his eyes.

  “You can talk to Carla,” Roak said. “Now that we’re inside her tavern.”

  Carla twirled a furred finger. “Jammed. Completely impenetrable by tech. You got a listener on ya?”

  “I do not,” Ple replied.

  “Good because it’d be fried already,” Carla said. “The second you walked through my wall.”

  She reached out and slapped Roak across the cheek so fast that it would have taken a vid replay to see it. Roak laughed.

  “For pulling the KL09 on me,” Carla said with a feline smile. “Asshole.”

  “Ple R,” Ple said and offered his hand.

  “Aw, that’s who you are,” Carla said. “Shava Stemn Shava’s guy.”

  “You could say that,” Ple replied.

  “How else would I say it?” Carla asked then snagged the bottle from Roak. “Eight Million Gods, man, you take forever.”

  “The seal is thick,” Roak said.

  Carla produced another
claw and slit the seal with barely a flick of her fingertip. She poured the whiskey and pushed a glass in front of Roak and Ple each, lifting hers and offering a toast.

  “To another Roak mess,” she announced.

  “Why’s that?” Roak asked and clinked her glass. He drank the whiskey down, coughed, smiled, and took the bottle to pour more. “How is this another mess? And I take offense to the word another, by the way, Carla.”

  “You’re on Ballyway,” Carla said as she finished her drink and looked at the glass. “Damn. Not bad. Half the cost of the real thing. I may have to order more.”

  “It wouldn’t pass muster on Jafla,” Ple said, giving the Cervile an apologetic look. “It is close, but connoisseurs will tell the difference.”

  “How many fucking connoisseurs do you see in here, Mr. R?” Carla asked. The Urvein in the corner raised his beefy paw. “Oh, knock it off, Taps.”

  “It is good for a bootleg, I will say,” Ple admitted, pouring himself a second glass as well.

  “What’s the gig?” Carla asked. “Must not involve a tourist if you’re putting Taska on the info trail.”

  “Per’teen Kilk,” Roak said.

  “Never heard of the guy,” Carla said. “That Leforian?”

  “It is,” Roak said.

  “You know me, but do not know Per’teen Kilk?” Ple asked.

  “I don’t know you, Mr. R,” Carla said. “I know of you only because you orbit Shava Stemn Shava. And anyone that’s placed a bet on the Orbs on Ballyway knows of Shava Stemn Shava. So, who the hell is Per’teen Kilk?”

  “Supposed to be a legendary trainer,” Roak said, filling his third glass. “Has a place on Ballyway.”

  “Why?” Carla asked. “If he’s some legend with the Orbs, why would he pick Ballyway to retire to?”

  “It is one of many residences that the man keeps,” Ple said. “We have it on good authority that he is here now. Otherwise, we would have visited a different planet or station.”

  “Mighty good logic,” Carla said, her voice thick with feline sarcasm. “You smart.”

  “I’m hoping you can answer your own question,” Roak said. “Why would some Orb trainer come to Ballyway? Why have a place here at all? He’s flush with credits. Why here?”