by Jake Bible
INFINITE MAYHEM
A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel
Jake Bible
www.severedpress.com
Copyright 2018 by Jake Bible
1.
Stripped to the waist, his utility pants in tatters around his legs, and his light armor shredded at his feet, Roak sat bound to the chair, blood flowing freely from a multitude of cuts across his face, neck, and torso.
Over six feet, square-jawed and broad-shouldered, Roak looked like he could have played any of a dozen of popular galactic professional sports in his youth. But his youth was long gone. Late-thirties, scarred skin, ropy muscles, and eyes that were cold as ice, the man had obviously found a new sport in life, one that involved a good deal of violence.
And despite that violence being perpetrated upon him, he looked bored.
“You’re wasting your time, Noggla,” Roak said, spitting a glop of bloody mucus onto the boots of his captor. “You want to know where the Rector files are. I’m not the guy to ask. I’m the guy that came here to get a vase. That’s it. A vase. I was never told about files or data strips or nothing. Are you listening? All I’m here for is an Eight Million Gods damn vase.”
“A vase?” Noggla guffawed. “A vase! Roak is here for a vase! Why in all the Hells would the galaxy’s most deadly bounty hunter be sent to fetch a simple vase?”
“Favor for a friend,” Roak said just before the wet, slimy flipper fist smacked him across his left cheek. “Damnit! Stop fucking doing that! I’m gonna stink like fish for days!”
Noggla was an Ichterran, a fish-like race that breathed air into their lung sacks then leaked water out of the gill slits in their neck. Constantly moist and dripping, Ichterrans were humanoid-ish, their skin made up of slick scales and limbs, a strange mix of fins and arms, flippers and legs.
A well-known figure in the local star system’s underworld, Noggla glared down at Roak, murder in his glassy eyes.
“Bhangul sent you to get a vase. That’s all you are here for?” Noggla asked. “Terpigshit. Why would he hire a bounty hunter for a vase?”
“He didn’t hire me,” Roak stated. “I’m doing it as a favor. Bhangul and I go way back. I’ve known him since before you married and divorced his sister.”
“Oh, you go way back, is that it?” Noggla guffawed again. “Oh, you’re just good buds that do each other favors? I know your reputation, Roak! Roak always gets paid! You work for chits! You take the jobs other bounty hunters won’t take! You are in it for the money! Roak doesn’t do favors!”
“You seem to know a lot about me,” Roak said, trying to spit a stray scale from the corner of his mouth. “So you should know I always get the job done. Always. How about we try this again?”
“Try what again?” Noggla asked as he crossed the dark room to a cart that held a tray of sharp instruments set on it.
“This whole scenario,” Roak said. “You let me go. I pretend you haven’t been trying to torture me for the past two hours. I reintroduce myself, state what I need, and you give me what I need. I leave. You live. Win-win situation, Noggla.”
Noggla turned and had a seven-inch serrated blade gripped in his hand. “The only winning done today, Roak, will be by me. You are very much on the losing end of things, as far as I can see.”
“Noggla. Knock it off,” Roak said as the Ichterran gangster walked slowly toward Roak with the blade extended. “You have a good thing going in this system. Some nice solid rackets. Comfortable house. I saw the ladies sitting in your entertainment room when I broke in. Nice-looking beings, all of them. Why screw up everything you’ve built over a vase?”
“Because the fucking bitch ain’t getting that vase!” Noggla shouted. Water spluttered from his neck gills and spilled out all over the floor. “That vase isn’t hers to have! She wants it? She can tell her lawyer to talk to my lawyer and then we’ll see what happens!”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Roak muttered. He took a deep breath as Noggla grew closer. “Bishop?”
“Yes, Roak?” a voice replied in Roak’s comm implant.
“Where we at with the vase?” Roak asked. “Yellow Eyes find it yet?”
Noggla paused. He looked left, he looked right, he frowned deeply.
“Who are you talking to?” Noggla asked. “I scanned you. You don’t have any implants, especially not a comm implant.”
“Yellow Eyes has searched the house six times over and can’t find the vase, buddy,” Bishop replied.
“Maybe he’s moving too fast,” Roak said. “Tell him to slow down and take his time.” Roak eyed the confused Ichterran standing before him with a very sharp blade. “Maybe not take his time, but be a little more careful in his searching.”
“I have told him that and he insists he can’t find the vase,” Bishop said. “Can you get more info from Noggla?”
The Ichterran sneered and started moving toward Roak once more. Roak sighed.
“Sure. Yeah. Why the fuck not?” Roak said and grinned at Noggla.
The Ichterran gangster stopped walking once more. He drew back a couple of steps.
“What’s wrong with your face?” he asked.
“I’m smiling,” Roak said.
“Stop that. Seriously. Don’t do that anymore,” Noggla said, repulsed. “You call that a smile? My Eight Million Gods, you really are as messed up as beings say you are.”
“No need to make this personal, asshole,” Roak said. “So, this vase. Where is it?”
“I’m not telling you,” Noggla replied.
“I’m tied up and at your mercy,” Roak said. He shook his bonds and rocked the chair back and forth slightly. “Not like I’m going anywhere.”
“You’re obviously talking to someone over the comms!” Noggla shouted. “You think I’m stupid?”
Roak blinked several times, but didn’t answer.
“I’m not,” Noggla said. “No matter what that bitch thinks. I’m not stupid. You said it, Roak. I run a nice business in this system. I built it up from nothing and now I have more chits than I can count. Stupid beings don’t build what I built, Roak.”
“I know,” Roak said.
“So, why do you think I’m stupid?” Noggla asked, flashing the blade at Roak. “Huh?”
“Because you’re doing this all wrong,” Roak said. “Tell me where the vase is and I go away. No harm done to you or your business.” Roak looked down at his bleeding torso. “Only harm that’s been done has been done to me and this can be fixed by a med pod. I’m willing to forget all about it if you tell me where the vase is. A smart being would tell me. A stupid being would keep trying to think this torture crap is going to work.”
“So you do think I’m stupid,” Noggla stated.
“Only if you keep me tied to this chair,” Roak said. “And if you even think of cutting me with that blade. Do that and you are the stupidest asshole in the galaxy.”
“Don’t kill him yet,” Bishop said. “We need to know where the vase is.”
“I know that,” Roak snapped.
“Stop talking on your secret comm!” Noggla shouted and lunged at Roak.
“Yeah, I’m done,” Roak said and threw himself and the chair to the floor. The blade swiped right where his eyes had been only a second before.
“What do you think you’re going to do now, Roak?” Noggla laughed as he stood over the fallen bounty hunter.
“This,” Roak said and kicked out as hard as he could.
Noggla’s right knee joint was shattered instantly. The fishy flesh around the knee exploded and milky liquid spewed all over Roak as the Ichterran gangster fell to the floor, screaming in agony.
The blade clattered to the floor as well and landed just inches from Roak’s face. He scooted himself quickly to it, grab
bed the blade up in his mouth, ignored the searing pain as his lips were sliced open, then flicked his head up and tossed the blade high into the air.
Roak rolled onto his front and shifted his body and the chair so his hands were aimed directly up. The blade flipped end over end over end then landed in Roak’s right hand. Tip first.
“Eight Million Gods damnit!” Roak shouted as the blade stuck straight up from his palm.
He closed his hand around the blade and wriggled his fingers until he was able to grasp the handle and pluck the blade free of his flesh. Then he got to work.
“You son of a bitch!” Noggla cried. “That was my good knee!”
“Shut up,” Roak said as he got his right arm free from the bonds. He quickly freed his left arm then threw his body back into an upright sitting position on the chair and eyed the Ichterran. The gangster looked pitiful as he clutched at his destroyed knee. Roak sighed. “Noggla? Where’s the damn vase?”
Roak stood up and stretched. He glanced down at his light armor and frowned.
“You’ll owe me for that,” Roak said. “That was my favorite armor.”
“Owe you? You’re going to kill me, Roak,” Noggla said, his voice wobbling with barely suppressed tears. “I can’t owe you if I’m dead.”
“Get up,” Roak said and yanked the Ichterran onto his feet. Noggla cried out as he tried to stand on one leg. “Oh, shut the fuck up. I am way out of patience with this whole damn job. I’m not going to kill you, Noggla. Not over a stupid vase.”
“You’re not going to kill me? But, Roak always”—”
“No, I don’t,” Roak said. “I only kill when I have to.”
“Or when you’re really mad which is like ninety percent of the time,” Bishop said over the comm.
“Shut it, Bishop,” Roak said and ignored Noggla’s confused look. “Noggla. Listen carefully, alright? Tell me where the vase is so I can get it and go away. I’ll even wipe the slate clean of the light armor you owe me. Sound good? Clean slate, no Roak in your life, you live and keep extorting small time business-beings? That’s a good deal, Noggla.”
“Bitch can’t have the vase,” Noggla mumbled as Roak held him up.
“Son of a…” Roak growled then punched Noggla hard in the face. Water spewed from the Ichterran’s neck gills, coating Roak even more. “Damnit!”
Roak hit him again and again until Noggla’s big, black, glassy eyes were swimming in his fish head.
“Stop. Stop…” Noggla gasped. “Fine. I’ll tell you where the vase is.”
“About damn time,” Roak said and let the Ichterran go.
Noggla collapsed onto the floor and groaned and whined until Roak nudged him with the tip of his boot.
“Where, Noggla?” Roak asked.
“Out on the patio attached to my bedroom,” Noggla said. “I put fresh flowers in it every morning as I drink my cup of caff. It’s my time of peace before I start my day.”
“Are you shitting me?” Roak asked.
“No. It’s on the table on the patio,” Noggla said, sounding deeply hurt. “Take it. Just take it. And tell that bitch that she won. She finally won.”
“Yeah, I’m not telling her that because I’m not gonna see her,” Roak said. “Bishop?”
“I heard,” Bishop said. “Yellow Eyes found the vase on the table. We’re at the ship waiting for you when you’re done there.”
“Yellow Eyes isn’t waiting to give me backup so I can get out clean?” Roak asked, pissed.
“Uh, not needed,” Bishop said.
“Bishop? Not liking the sound of that. What’d Yellow Eyes do?” Roak asked.
“Yeah, he killed all of Noggla’s guards,” Bishop said. “A couple of them tried to draw down on him and he was in a hurry so he decapitated them. That sort of snowballed into him decapitating all the guards as they came to see what the problem was. It got out of hand fast.”
“Eight Million Gods…” Roak rubbed his temples. “Fine. I’m on my way.” He nudged the whimpering Noggla. “Next time someone like me shows up, just cooperate. We could have shared a drink instead of all this shit.”
Roak turned to the room’s door and started to walk away.
“Hey, Roak?” Noggla called.
“What?”
“Maybe Bhangul can chill out now and sell me some ships next time I need a vehicle or two? Ask him for me, will ya?”
Roak didn’t even turn around or acknowledge what Noggla had said. He opened the door and walked out of the room, leaving the sad Ichterran to his woes.
Bishop had undersold what Yellow Eyes had done. There was blood of many colors, from many races, splattered all over Noggla’s large and hideously decorated house.
Blood everywhere.
Dripping from light fixtures, from the ceiling, from behind paintings and wall hangings. Roak had to wonder how the blood got back there. He didn’t care enough to wonder too long. He reached the front door and walked out into the dim sunlight of the planet’s early morning.
Outside the large house were a row of destroyed rollers and small ships. Parked in the center of the mess was a puddle jumper, a small four-seater of a spaceship that had been provided to them so Roak, Bishop, and Yellow Eyes could complete the favor of a job for Bhangul Whorp, a Dornopheous vehicle dealer.
The top hatch of the puddle jumper opened and a ladder extended down to the ground. Roak climbed up and basically fell inside the ship and into the unoccupied rear seat.
Seated in the other rear seat was Yellow Eyes. The being was as thin as a broom handle and about as tall. Six spindly arms protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s torso and six spindly legs protruded from what Roak guessed was the creature’s pelvis. Everything was guesses when it came to the being.
Except for the color of the being. The creature’s skin was a brighter yellow than its eyes. Even in the dim light of the dawn, Roak wanted to shield his own eyes as Yellow Eyes turned and blinked at him a couple of times.
“Here ya go, man,” Yellow Eyes said, his voice a deep rumble that was contrary to his spindly appearance. “One vase, as asked for.”
Roak glared at Yellow Eyes for a couple seconds then took the vase and stowed it in a small compartment at his side.
“Neither of you idiots thought to look outside the house?” Roak asked.
“Hey, the way Bhangul was talking about that vase, I thought it was some precious heirloom,” Bishop said from the pilot’s seat up front. The hatch closed and was secured as the engines whined to life. “No one keeps a precious heirloom outside on a patio table.”
“Yeah, man, that’s just crazy,” Yellow Eyes said as he waved his nub-like hands around in front of Roak’s face. “Crazy.”
“Knock it off,” Roak snapped and elbowed Yellow Eyes in the side of the head. The being’s face distorted briefly then returned to its original shape. “Can we go now?”
“Where’s your shirt, man?” Yellow Eyes asked, oblivious to the elbow blow to his head. “You want me to go back in and get it?”
“The shirt doesn’t matter,” Roak said. “Bishop?”
“Lifting off now,” Bishop said and the puddle jumper began to rise into the air.
“Oh, but what about your armor?” Yellow Eyes asked Roak. “You’re missing your armor. You love that armor, man. I can go get that, if you want.”
“The armor is gone, Yellow Eyes,” Roak said. “Same with my shirt. I’ll get new armor and a new shirt when we get back to our ship.”
“You want me to comm Bhangul and tell him the good news?” Bishop asked as he aimed the puddle jumper almost straight up then pushed the drives to full power.
Roak was pressed back into his seat and closed his eyes.
“No,” Roak said as they shot up through the atmosphere then out and away from the planet in only a couple seconds. “He’ll see the vase when we get to Zuus Colony.”
“You sure?” Bishop asked. “Reck put in a comms system that’s completely coded. No way anyone can eavesdrop
on us or trace the call.”
“Bishop?” Roak asked.
“Shutting up, buddy,” Bishop replied. “Sorry.”
“That was fun,” Yellow Eyes said. “We should do team stuff like this more often.”
“Not a fucking team,” Roak growled as he relaxed into his seat as much as he could and tried to sleep away the trip back to their ship and the rest of the crew.
“What’s that smell?” Yellow Eyes asked as Roak drifted off.
2.
Protein slice sandwich in hand, Roak sat on a stack of crates off to the side of the hangar and watched his unwanted crew work. He sipped a hydration shake between bites of the sandwich, ignoring the looks he got from the various beings that had latched onto him.
Latched onto him. Like leeches.
Roak needed their help, but he sure as all the Hells didn’t want it.
Having a sentient AI like Hessa running his ship had been almost more than he could handle. The point of being the galaxy’s most dangerous bounty hunter was to scare off idiots and scrabblers looking to ride his coattails.
Not that he had coattails. He had light armor. A new set freshly fetched from the armory of his Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship. A ship that was designed for Drop Teams and could easily accommodate over a dozen individuals without feeling cramped at all.
In theory.
Roak felt very cramped with just the three others tagging along and messing up his solitary life.
First was Yellow Eyes.
Roak watched the vat-grown being speed about the massive vehicle hangar as he fetched parts and tools for Roak’s “sister,” Reck. Yellow Eyes’ origin story was short. He woke up after being dumped into open space with a bunch of other vats. Each vat contained a strange being like him. Not exactly like him, but weird and grotesque. Yellow Eyes was the only one that survived and the guy was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to.
Roak found him working as a bouncer at a tavern on Ballyway, the gaming planet. The tavern owner had been a friend of Roak’s, until she was killed by a Ballyway gangster. Yellow Eyes saved Roak’s ass from a genetically engineered psychopath that worked for the gangster, so Roak couldn’t quite bring himself to kick the being to the curb no matter how annoying he was. Life debts were hard to ignore.
