by Jake Bible
“Thank you,” Pol responded.
“Anything else I need to know?” Roak asked. “Any more secret accomplices that are gonna pop out of the woodwork? Because I’m done with surprises. You want off this station on my ship then all cards on the table. That is non-negotiable. I catch a hint of deception at any point and I cut you all loose. Except for Pol. He’s worth too much.”
“They all come with or no payoff, Roak,” Pol said.
“You see, Pol, you are very wrong there. I don’t care how smart you are. I don’t care how secure you think your chits are. Really. I don’t care. Why? Because I always get paid, Pol. I. Always. Get. Paid. Shit, you can ask anyone that has ever dealt…with…me…”
Roak stood up and slammed a fist into the counter with enough force that both Maglors squeaked and jumped down, scurrying to the safety behind one of the couches. Pol gasped and Hail produced a Blorta suddenly, the pistol aimed right at Roak.
“Put that away,” Roak said, waving off the weapon. “I’m not mad at you. I’m even more impressed.”
“You are?” Pol asked cautiously. “Why is that, Roak?”
“Because you have done something no one has ever been able to do before,” Roak said. “You got to Bishop.”
Pol offered an apologetic smile in response.
“I don’t care why or how,” Roak said. “One of the few beings in this entire galaxy that I thought couldn’t be got and you did it. One of the few beings I trust with my life and you broke him.”
“There are reasons,” Hail said.
Roak held up his hand. “Do not care. In fact, I’d rather not know. I want to hear those reasons from him directly. And trust me, I will hear them from him directly. Face to face.”
Hail’s eyes widened.
“That scares you,” Roak stated. “Good to know. I’ll use that weakness against him.”
“Roak, please, you can’t be mad at—” Hail began.
“Oh, I get to be mad at anyone I want, lady,” Roak said. “That’s the beauty of being me.”
He sighed and shook his head a few times then pointed at his chest.
“Can I please get my clothes now? I’d like to be dressed as we go over the plan.”
“Wait, what?” Hail exclaimed. “You’re going to help us?”
“After everything you idiots have gone through to snare me? Wouldn’t dream of not helping you. But, and hear me clearly, I am only doing this now because there are two thousand Edgers onboard this station and you fools are my best chance at getting back to my ship alive. I’m not happy about any of this, but there it is.”
“We understand,” Pol said.
“Do you, Pol?” Roak growled. “Do you? Because your lives depend on that understanding.”
17.
Roak stared at the station’s schematics, noting the seemingly haphazard way the place had been cobbled together over the centuries. But Razer Station was far from a haphazard construction. As his eyes scanned the tablet he held, swiping from page to page, over and over again, he began to see the pattern.
Roak grunted as he pointed at a single line that threaded from sector to sector.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“Waste management pipes,” Hail said. “Sewer system.”
“That’s the only connector that runs the entire station?”
“Yes,” Hail answered.
“Great,” Roak said and grunted again.
“Yes,” Pol said and sighed. “I know what you mean. The entire station is designed to throttle movement from one sector to the other.”
“Easier control,” Roak said. “Great way to keep security personnel numbers and costs down. But easy to take advantage of if you want to invade.”
“Binter was relying on the individualistic natures of the station’s residents to add to his numbers,” Hail said. “He grossly miscalculated their willingness to join.”
“No, he grossly miscalculated which side they’d join,” Roak said. “Sympathy for the Edgers has always been strong on Razer. No secret there. I think Binter assumed most residents would fight for independence instead of signing up with a movement that doesn’t stand a chance in all the Hells of making it.”
“You don’t believe that the Edgers can become an autonomous group?” Hail asked.
“They can’t,” Pol said, surprising both Roak and Hail. “What? Beings are swayed by emotion and comfort. The Edgers offer neither. They are a cold, calculating movement that relies on a military esthetic that could be generously called sparse. No matter what side you are on, the Galactic Fleet offers endless creature comforts for its citizens and the Skrang Alliance offers constant emotional turmoil for those blindly loyal to its leadership. Edgers can’t compete.”
Hail looked uncomfortable with Pol’s assessment and Roak took note.
“Doesn’t matter since we aren’t joining sides,” Roak said, tapping the tablet so it stopped on a specific part of the station’s schematics. He spun the tablet around to show Hail. “Is this what you’re talking about? We get here and then what?”
“We detonate,” one of the Lipian men said from the living room. “Boom.”
Roak, finally dressed and outfitted in his light armor, pivoted on his stool and regarded the man. “What was your name again?”
“Bouln,” the man replied. “This is my brother Coult.”
“Right,” Roak replied, turning his focus on the three women. “Mees and Ezze are Pol’s neighbors. That leaves the loner there. Pasha?”
“Yes,” Pasha said.
Like all the Lipians, she was extremely attractive. But there was a sadness so deep in her eyes that Roak almost had to look away. Almost. Sometimes the sadness was what he was looking for.
“How many have you killed?” Roak asked.
Pasha’s sad eyes widened and there were gasps from around the room. Even Hail seemed disturbed by the question.
“Good to know my guess was right,” Roak said and pointed at his own eyes. “You don’t get a look in there like that from playing kids’ games. You’ve killed people. A lot of people. And you didn’t like it one bit.”
“Pasha has a young look,” Hail said, clearing her throat. “A young look that certain types are attracted to. Many of those types are in the business of diplomacy or politics. Many of those types make enemies that hire Pasha to get close and take care of loose ends.”
“Just another sorry sack dying of a heart attack on top of a Lipian,” Roak said, waving off Hail’s explanations. “I got that immediately.”
Roak set the tablet down and got up. He walked over close to Pasha. To her credit, she did not flinch when he crouched in front of her until she met his gaze.
“But that’s not what I’m seeing,” Roak said. “I’m not seeing the kills you made for money. I’m seeing the ones you did for yourself. The ones that made the voices quiet down inside your head. The kills that got you through your miserable life. How’d you justify those, Pasha?”
“Enough!” Hail yelled. “Leave the girl alone!”
Pasha said nothing. Roak studied her long and hard. From the top of her head to the tips of her painted toenails, he studied her. After a while, Roak nodded, stood, and went back to his stool.
“She’s better with blades,” Roak said. “Everyone else can carry Blortas or whatever guns you all have, we’ll get to that soon, but for her? Blades.”
Roak looked at Hail as the woman stared past Roak and studied the young woman. He smiled and nodded.
“Calluses,” Roak said. “Dead giveaway for knife work. I know the unsolved body count on Razer is high, but I have to wonder how high because of her.”
“Oh,” Spickle said.
“She killer girl,” Sath said.
They nodded as if that explained every mystery in the galaxy.
“Back to business,” Roak said and tapped the tablet again. “Detonate. You want to blow this portion of the station here that connects this sector to this sector why? To cause chaos? We already have
chaos. What we need is a plan that’ll get us from Point A, which is where my ass is seated, to Point Z, which is the bridge of my ship and off this station. I do not care about any points in between. A to Z. No chaos, no distractions, no convoluted terpigshit that will get us all shot. A to Z.”
“Yes,” Pol agreed. “Which is why I hired you, Roak. To get us from A to Z. Now, how do you propose you do that?”
“I came on board with the expectation of one target,” Roak said. “I plan on leaving the station with the accomplishment of one target. That was the job. That is the job. That will always be the job.”
Voices were raised and started arguing with him instantly, including Pol’s and the Maglors’. Roak waited patiently until they got tired of haranguing him.
“You all finished? Good,” Roak said. “Now, I’m going to give you the tough love plan. This group is too big for everyone to make it to my ship alive. Maybe if the Edgers hadn’t come. But now? No Eight Million Godsdamn way. You each need to get straight with that on your own terms, whatever terms those are. The odds aren’t good for even me getting Pol off station. Look what happened before all this. I had my ass handed to me and almost died.”
“No arguing that,” Hail said. “I’m surprised you get any jobs done. Seems to me—”
“Don’t care. I’ve heard it all,” Roak said. “I can’t even count how many assholes have taunted me with the whole ‘How are you alive, Roak?’ crap. Yet, here I am. Still alive when the majority of those folks aren’t.”
He was greeted with silence.
“Here’s what we do,” Roak said. “We arm up. What are we looking at there?”
“Blorta 22s for everyone,” Hail said. “They’re the chosen weapon of our trade.”
“Good pistols. I don’t disagree with your choice there,” Roak said. “What else?”
Hail glanced at Pasha, but only for a second.
“Blades. Lots of blades,” Hail continued. “Many clients like a little blood with their intimacy.”
“Fine. And armor?” Roak asked.
“No armor,” Hail said. “There’d be no reason Lipians would need armor. We have to justify needing clothes half the time with the terpigs that live on this station.”
“Rifles or carbines? Grenades? Other explosives? Anything?” Roak pressed. “Come on, is that all? Blortas and blades?
“Yes. Blortas and blades,” Hail replied. “But we are good with the Blortas.”
“Pasha’s good with the blades,” Roak said. “Fine. We’ll work with that.”
He studied the schematic again, swiping over and over and over.
“I think we can make this work,” Roak said. “But you each will have to play your parts.”
“And what parts are those?” Hail asked.
“The ones you already play. Time to get dark and stay dark,” Roak said. He scratched his chin. “And I’ll need a helmet. Mask will do, but a helmet would be better. Can you at least provide that?”
“A helmet? Why?” Hail asked.
“Because we’re going to march down the center of this station with our heads up and tits out,” Roak said. “I’m going to take us all straight through this little coup.”
More raised voices and arguing. Roak sat there and took it as they explained to him what an idiot he was and how stupid his idea was and how he would get each of them killed.
Roak picked at something in his teeth. It felt leafy.
“Shut up,” he sighed. “Shut up.”
They did. Reluctantly.
“What is the universal language?” Roak asked then answered his own question. “Love. Or in your cases, sex. I don’t care who you are, sex has a way of breaking down defenses faster than brandishing any pistol or rifle. I happen to have access to six sex workers. I plan on using you all to walk us through the center of the Edgers.”
“Then what?” Pol asked over the vocal objections of the Lipians. They quieted down when he spoke. “What is the goal of that, Roak? Why walk right into the lion’s den?”
“Not into, but through. Pay attention. And because that’s the only way we survive the lion,” Roak said. “We use the assets on hand to distract the Edgers. Nothing works like a little T and A to distract killers. Their blood is already pumping.”
“Through. Distract. Use,” Hail said and sneered at Roak. “This plan will get some of us killed.”
“Like I said, lady, some of you are going to die anyway,” Roak said. “It’s a numbers game now. The Edgers have the numbers.”
“But you don’t expect to be among the dead, do you, Roak?” Hail asked.
“I never do,” Roak said. “And I never am. That’s why I get hired again and again. Call me an idiot, call me a reckless moron, call me a lucky son of a bitch, call me whatever you want. I’m here because at the end of the day, I survive. At the end of the day, I win. Every. Single. Time.”
None of the Lipians looked even remotely happy with the plan. But none offered an alternative. Roak waited for any last minute suggestions then nodded.
“Good. Let’s get to work. I have questions about the business and someone needs to find me an Eight Million Godsdamn helmet.”
“Why?” Hail asked.
Roak rolled his eyes. “Because this pretty mug of mine is known. And I might have some bad blood with more than a few Edgers. They aren’t always flush with funds and some of them may not have paid me for a job. I had them shipped in parts and pieces back to their friends over the span of a year. I was making a point.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Hail said and clapped her hands together. “Time to hurry. We have Edgers to service and a Roak to teach.”
18.
Hail found Roak a helmet and mask to hide his face. Both matched the floor length kimono-style outfit he wore that helped conceal his armor and the bulky Flott still on his hip. Barely any charge left, but Roak wasn’t giving up a hard-found Flott. The mask was some stylized version of one of the Skrang gods which would give Roak even more cover since most people would rather not engage with a Skrang. Eyes would be averted almost instantly.
“Do you need the helmet?” Pol whispered as the party waited by the door of the cabin for the Maglors to give the all clear signal. “The mask itself will hide your identity.”
“The helmet will come in handy,” Roak said. “Trust me.”
“I am finding that harder and harder to do,” Pol replied. “I am not in one hundred percent agreement with this plan of yours. Is there no way to escape this station with all of our lives intact?”
Roak glared down at the old man. If there hadn’t already been eyeholes in the mask then the intensity of Roak’s glare would have burned a couple new ones. Roak’s glare continued until Pol turned away.
“If I’d known I was going to be bringing back six Lipians, two Maglors, and you, I would have made different arrangements,” Roak stated. “I would have had a completely different attack plan.”
“You wouldn’t have taken the job,” Pol said.
“I wouldn’t have taken the job,” Roak agreed. “But we’re here now. You want to live, Pol? Then quit the whining and do what I say, when I say it.”
“Promise me you’ll do your best to keep everyone alive and I’ll double your payout,” Pol said.
“You have that kind of chit stash?” Roak asked.
“I will,” Pol said. “Fifty million chits, Roak.”
Roak sighed.
“That’s not going to happen,” Roak said. “One of these beings will die before we get to my ship. I can guarantee that. More than one? Probably. I’m not going to promise something so you feel better about screwing up my job.”
“Screwing up your job? Screwing up your job?” Pol nearly shouted. “Is that all you—?”
“Clear,” Sath said, peeking his head inside the cabin door as soon as it slid open far enough. “We go now.”
“You know your jobs?” Roak called to the group. They nodded. Roak focused on each one of them. “Are you sure?”
; “We know our jobs, Roak,” Hail said. “They are jobs we do daily.”
“Except this time, if you get into trouble, you kill not cower,” Roak said. “No apologies. No sorry this or sorry that. Your time on Razer Station is done. You don’t worry about consequences. You worry about killing as fast as you can.”
“You didn’t say anything about staying alive,” Bouln said. “Maybe we should worry about that, too.”
“You do what you have to do to keep breathing,” Roak said. “Unless that means giving up the group. You give us up and we all die. But, I can’t make that choice for you.”
Roak looked about the cabin and nodded.
“I can only hope your loyalty to your friends will tell you to make the right choice.”
“You are a piece of work, I’ll say that,” Hail responded. “You talk a good game, but it’s not a team sport you’re playing.”
“Never has been and I’ve never said I play well with others,” Roak said.
“Go now,” Sath insisted. “Now, now, now!”
“You know the order,” Roak said.
The others paused as they looked to each other then one by one they filed past Roak. He waited until the men had gone out into the passageway, followed by the Maglors, then gave Pol a quick shove as Mees and Ezze crowded in behind. Roak wanted Pol in the middle of the little flesh caravan.
“I want you to watch him closely,” Roak said to Pasha as she moved around Roak. “Your eyes on Pol. You help me keep him alive and I will guarantee you a space on my ship.”
“What’s this?” Hail asked as she shoved between Roak and Pasha. “Are you making side deals?”
“I’m recognizing something in someone and utilizing that something to its full potential,” Roak said. “It’s what I do. What I don’t do is make side deals. The only deal I have in place is a contract on a bounty for Pol Hammon. Everything else is in service to that.”
Hail nodded a few times then faced Pasha.
“I’ll watch the old tech, you watch our friends,” Hail said.
Roak growled and found a Blorta stuck up under his chin.
