by Jake Bible
“I’ve been told you don’t have implants. Scans show you don’t,” Binter said. “But I know a tell when I see one. You have an earworm. Someone is chatting to you on a comm. That is some tech I am very interested in learning more about.”
“Proprietary,” Hessa said.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Roak said. “You should trust your scans.”
“Do you trust scans?”
“Not really.”
“There’s your answer. Get me that tech and I’ll call it even on my fee.”
“If I had access to tech that can’t be scanned, do you think I’d sell it for two hundred? Pal, you got B’clo’no jizz for brains.”
Binter snorted then started laughing hysterically, his furry fists pounding the table over and over. More people got up and left. Roak took note of that. When Binter laughed like a mad man, people got even more scared.
“B’clo’no jizz. That’s beautiful,” Binter said once he’d calmed down. He tilted his head, wiped his eyes, and nodded at Roak. “My people have the chits. You won’t have any problems from station security for the duration of your stay.” He pointed a finger at Roak. “Don’t take advantage of that privilege. People die, that happens, but if I start seeing a body count, then I might have to step in.”
“Can I get a number on what you consider a body count?” Roak asked.
“More than ten,” Binter said.
Roak frowned. Binter started laughing again, but not as out of control as before.
“The stories about you are true! Ha!” Binter guffawed. “Roak, if you can’t keep it under ten, then I asked for way too little money.”
“I’ll do my best,” Roak said as he stood up, downed one more glass of brown, shivered, then tipped a finger to the Ferg. “Hopefully I won’t see you again.”
“I’ll be seeing you,” Binter said and tipped his glass up at the ceiling.
Roak got what he meant and nodded. The armed men and women parted for him to leave, as did the remaining bar patrons. They shuffled out of Roak’s way like he was toxic sludge.
When he reached the passageway, Roak glanced over his shoulder, but Binter and his people were gone. No one made a move to occupy the empty tables. Roak took note of that too.
7.
First stop for Roak was one of the dining sections of the station. A massive food court filled with pretty much every cuisine the galaxy had to offer. It was also filled with pretty much every race the galaxy had to offer. Roak wound his way through the multi-racial crowd until he found a noodle stand that looked promising.
He’d started in the dining section because he was hungry as much as it was a good place to gather the feel of the rest of the station. A bar was one place to get a feel, but only a certain type. Food, on the other hand, said everything about a station.
“What you want?” an ancient-looking Leforian snapped at Roak when it was his turn to order.
Like all Leforians, the being looked like a seven foot tall cross between a beetle and a Great Dane. Except the noodle stand Leforian’s chitinous exoskeleton was held together by steel alloy rivets and staples. At some point, the man had been in battle. He’d seen some serious violence and had to be stitched together piece by piece.
“You gonna stare or order, dipshit?” the Leforian snarled.
“Most Leforians are polite as all the Hells,” Roak said. “Refreshing to meet one that doesn’t give a shit.”
“No chatter, only order,” the Leforian said. “What you want, dipshit?”
“Large bowl of Teglian spice noodles and a can of Shapf beer. Magnum size,” Roak ordered.
“Number eighty-two,” the Leforian said, handing Roak a plastiglass chip with the number etched into it. “Pay now in case you die before your order is ready. I don’t eat costs of dipshits.”
“I’ll be fine, but it’s your stand, your rules,” Roak said and paid the Leforian for the noodles and the beer. “I’ll wait over here.”
“I’ll keep not caring, dipshit,” the Leforian said. “Next!”
Roak looked about for a table or empty stool, but the food court was more packed than the bar had been. So, Roak took his order chip and began weaving his way to the closest trash incinerator cans. There was a good amount of space around those where he could stand without getting elbowed or nudged. Personal space was important on a station like Razer where the wrong bump to the ribs could mean pistols drawn.
“I think I may have a breakthrough,” Hessa said over the comm.
“Yeah?” Roak replied as he dodged a plate of half-eaten nuft ribs that was flung his way. Whoever did the flinging had shit for aim and the plate of scraps hit the side of the incinerator can and bounced to the floor. Roak didn’t bother picking it up. “What kind of breakthrough?”
“I may have found Hammon’s bio-signature,” Hessa said. “It is a long shot, but it could help narrow down his location within the station.”
“Yeah, that would be a help,” Roak said as he studied the beings that filled the massive food court. “This place is an Eight Million Godsdamn zoo.”
“You’re a zoo, asshead,” a grizzled old Cervile said.
Cerviles were a feline race and the man snarled, showing a distinct lack of the sharp teeth that Cerviles were known for. The old man threw a cup of something bloody into the incinerator and Roak stepped back as it hissed and popped before being turned into carbon ash. The Cervile glared at Roak for a second then shoved through the crowd and was gone.
“Making friends?” Hessa asked.
“As always,” Roak replied. “You know me.”
“The bio-signature is a couple of decades old, and not from a mainframe source I would normally trust, but it was buried so deep behind a mountain of inconsequential data that I have to believe it was hidden on purpose.”
“Most things are hidden on purpose. Otherwise, they’re just lost.”
“You know how we have spoken about me getting an android body?”
“Yeah, what does that have to do with this?”
“If I had an android body I could tell you to kiss my ass.”
Roak grinned.
“Yeah. Sure. That is one plus to having a body.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’ll shut up and let you talk.”
“I noted the date of that apology.”
“You want to note the date of when I rescind the same apology if you don’t get on with it?”
“The bio-signature will allow me to start tracking Hammon via the station’s security logs. That is a lot of data to sift through, but once I find him, I can track him to his cabin.”
“That would be helpf—”
“Eighty-two!” a voice boomed from the noodle stand.
“Dinner’s ready,” Roak said. “I’m going to grab my noodles and walk the food court with my ears open. You get on those security logs.”
“Enjoy your noodles,” Hessa said as she cut the comm.
Roak shoved through the crowd to the stand and held out his chip. There was a second Leforian there, just as battle warped as the first, and he took the chip. He looked at the number and held out a bowl of noodles, but retracted the offered food before Roak could take it.
“Fifty chits,” the new Leforian said.
“I already paid that guy,” Roak said, hooking a thumb at the first Leforian.
“You’ll want to pay me too,” the new Leforian said and glanced quickly at the bowl of noodles.
The glance was hardly subtle. Roak looked from the Leforian to the bowl of noodles then at the large napkin being held under the bowl. It obviously had writing on it. Roak sighed and fished out fifty chits. He slapped them onto the stand’s counter and held out his hand.
The Leforian took the chits then gave Roak the noodle bowl, with napkin firmly attached to the bottom.
“Magnum of Shapf beer, too,” Roak said as he took the offered bowl and obvious message. He held up a finger. “Charge me extra for the beer and I crack that exoskeleton like a nut and feed y
ou to the crowd.”
The Leforian growled deep then reached back with one of his four hands and snagged a beer from an open cooler. “Suck it.”
Roak rolled his eyes and took the beer. He spun around and came face to chest with quite possibly the largest Urvein he’d ever seen. The woman had to be eight and a half feet tall with muscles on muscles. She still had that tummy pudge that all Urveins had. They were a bear-like race that could tear a man limb from limb, but all of them had a bit of a belly no matter what shape they were in.
Roak gave that belly a poke with his cold beer.
“Excuse me,” he said and made to go around her. She shifted to block him. “Okay. Something I can help you with?”
“You’re Roak,” the Urvein stated in a deep rumble.
If it weren’t for the prominent breasts covered by armor, Roak would never have known the Urvein was female. Their voices were incredibly deep no matter the gender.
Roak studied the being for a couple seconds, ignoring the snarls and insults from other noodle stand patrons to get out of the way.
“Fine. Yeah. I’m Roak,” Roak replied. “Good guess. Now move, will ya, lady?”
The Urvein’s top lip curled up in what Roak hoped was a smile. Or smirk. He’d take a smirk. Either way, the lip revealed a tooth so long and sharp that Roak had to keep from flinching at the sight.
“Stay out of it,” the Urvein said.
Roak waited, but the massive woman didn’t offer up any other words of advice.
“Sure. I’ll stay out of it,” Roak said and moved to get past her again. That time she let him. “No plans on ever getting in it. Whatever it is.”
“Keep it that way,” the Urvein said then disregarded Roak like he was a pile of crap to step around. “No more warnings.”
“Got it. No more warnings,” Roak replied over his shoulder as he put as much distance, and beings, between himself and the Urvein.
He kept walking until he was on the opposite side of the food court from the noodle stand then he tucked the beer can into his belt and snagged the napkin out from under his bowl of noodles.
“We help you. Make it worthwhile,” the message read.
Roak stared at the message, blinked a couple of times, turned the napkin over, the other side was blank, returned to the message, read it again, blinked some more, then shook his head.
“Idiots,” he muttered as he headed for the closest exit.
“Where you go?” a voice asked from his right. “You not read note?”
Roak paused, took a deep breath, then looked down at the being that was addressing him.
A Maglor. The being stepped in front of Roak. Roak sighed.
8.
Maglors were of a race of simian creatures; a primitive race that had only recently (within the last century) started to travel the stars. With help. The race didn’t have the brain power to engineer space worthy crafts on their own, but their planet had resources that the Galactic Fleet wanted, so a deal was struck.
It was near impossible to tell the males from the females if you didn’t spend a lot of time around the beings, which Roak hadn’t, so he didn’t know if he was addressing a man or woman. Not that he cared too much. Despite the gender, Maglors were only a meter tall and not known for their strength. Agility, yeah. Strength, no.
“Pal, unless you want a combat boot in the groin for dinner, I’d get the Hells out of my way,” Roak snapped. “I’m not kidding. All I want is to eat some noodles and be left in peace, got it?”
“You read message?” the Maglor asked. “We help. Make it worthwhile.”
“Yeah, I read that on my napkin. Easy message to memorize. I see you did that too. Good for you, pal.”
“You no want help?” the Maglor asked, looking extremely confused. “Razer big place. Hard find target without help.”
“I think I got it handled, but thanks for the concern,” Roak said and started to move around the little guy. Or gal. Whatever.
His way was blocked by a second Maglor arriving out of thin air. They were agile.
“This your boyfriend?” Roak asked. “Or girlfriend? I don’t really care, but both of you are gonna want to move.”
“You sit with us. Share noodles. We talk,” the first Maglor said. “Make deal.”
“Seriously? I know those monkey brains of yours aren’t the best at processing anything close to intelligent thoughts, but this is just plain stupid,” Roak said. He was glad his beer was still in his belt so he had a hand free to pull his KL09, if needed. “Unless you want those brains splattered across this food court, I suggest you step off, fuck off, and never bother me again.”
“You make mistake,” the second Maglor said, shaking a hairy monkey finger at Roak. “Don’t know what best for you.”
“Oh, for the love of the Seven Satans, get out of my way,” Roak snarled.
The two Maglors didn’t budge. They blinked up at him with their wide eyes and held their ground. Roak’s noodles were getting cold.
“Talk. Now,” he said. “You have one minute.”
“We go sit—”
“Talk!” Roak snapped, his hand on his KL09.
The Maglors looked at each other.
“We get you Pol Hammon. We get you your bounty. You share piece with us,” the first Maglor said.
“Why?” Roak asked.
“We have reasons.”
“No, I don’t care why you want to help,” Roak said and sighed. “I’m asking why I should let you. Why in all the Hells would I take your help when I have zero need for it?”
That confused them. They blinked at him over and over.
“Yeah, you two put those brains together and get back to me with an answer,” Roak said and shoved between them to the exit.
“We know all the ways,” the second Maglor called after him.
“Good for you!”
“All the ways around and off,” the first Maglor called.
“You need us to get around and off,” the second Maglor said.
Roak paused.
His gut told him that they were saying more than the words coming out of their mouths. His mind told him that Maglors were too stupid to have subtext.
“Hessa?” he called.
“I am still working on Hammon’s location, but I am getting close,” Hessa replied. “The security measures on this station are very deceptive. They appear to be simple, but there are complex layers of protocols that even I am having a hard time cracking.”
“Sorry about that. Listen, I have two Maglors here that are implying I will need their help to get around and off this station,” Roak said. “I also had a run in with a seriously jacked Urvein woman that told me to stay out of it.”
“Out of what?”
“You talking to us?” the first Maglor asked.
“No. Shut up,” Roak said. “Hessa? Are you picking up on any activity that suggests something is about to go down?”
“Please hold,” Hessa said.
“Ha. Funny.”
“We no see funny,” the second Maglor said.
Roak turned on his heel and glared at the two beings until they lowered their gazes and took a step back. He shook his head and waited.
“My experience with this station is too limited to assess what would suggest something is about to go down,” Hessa said. “The behaviors of most of the beings onboard range from slightly aggressive to berserker-rage aggressive. I count no less than thirty-seven murders happening as we speak. Some by the station’s security forces.”
“Yeah, I met their boss. Not surprised. So, nothing saying there’s an attack coming or the station is going to be overrun with…?”
Roak didn’t finish the sentence because he couldn’t think of who or what would want to overrun Razer Station. That was an undertaking that only lead to a galaxy of hurt.
“Yes, yes, yes,” the first Maglor said, hopping from foot to foot like he needed to piss. He or she still refused to meet Roak’s glare. “Attack coming. Very overru
n.”
Roak scrunched up his face and looked at the ceiling for a second.
“See what you can find out,” Roak said. “I’m going to talk to the… Maglors.”
“Oh, I wish you all the luck in the galaxy with that, Roak,” Hessa said.
“Yeah. Thanks,” Roak said. Roak stepped to the Maglors. To their credit, they didn’t retreat. “Okay, boys. Are you boys? Don’t answer that. I don’t care. So, you want to help me around and off? Fine. Let’s talk. Take me to the closest observatory so I can eat my noodles and listen to whatever jabbering offer you have in mind.”
“Share noodles?” the second Maglor asked.
“Screw you, pal. Get your own damn noodles,” Roak said then nodded his chin at the food court exit. “Lead the way, asshole.”
The Maglors shared a look then both nodded and led the way.
The observatory wasn’t half bad. Roak had expected discarded stim sticks and prophylactics to be strewn everywhere, but it was surprisingly clean. The benches set in a semicircle before the massive observation view shield were pocked with burn marks and taped together, but at least they weren’t sticky.
Roak grabbed a seat and began eating his noodles.
“Stop hovering and sit your asses down,” Roak said around a mouthful of noodles.
The Maglors sat down next to him and nodded at the view shield.
“So big,” the first one said. “So many stars.”
Roak assumed it was the first one. He hadn’t paid attention to who was who as he was led to the observatory. That was going to get confusing.
“Names,” Roak snapped. He slurped up some noodles then turned to see the Maglors staring at him. “Your names. Not all the stars’ names. And there aren’t so many out this far on the Edge. There’re like twenty stars out there.”
“Twenty big number,” the second Maglor said.
“Names?” Roak asked as he cracked open his beer and sipped. “You do have names, yeah?”
“Spickle,” the first Maglor said, slapping his chest then cheek.
Roak looked at the second Maglor. “If you say Tickle or something else that rhymes with Spickle, I swear I’ll put this beer can through your skull.”
