Infinite Mayhem

by Jake Bible

  Plus, the guy could move so fast, he was almost unobservable. Add in he was close to indestructible, and the yellow freak had his uses.

  Second was Bishop.

  Bishop…

  One of Roak’s oldest acquaintances. Bishop had been the guy Roak called when he needed help with a contact or when he was in the market for a new hunting gig. Bishop was connected to everyone. He had a guy in every system of the galaxy and knew the pulse of the not-so-legit circles that Roak worked in. When a job was too difficult or too hot for other bounty hunters, Bishop could be relied on to send that job Roak’s way.

  That was until Bishop had been corrupted by Roak’s “Father” and turned into a spy. An Eight Million Gods damn spy…

  Roak chewed his sandwich, a sneer forming on his face as he contemplated Bishop’s betrayal.

  For three years, the man had played Roak. Strung him along to believe they were allies. Trust was not Roak’s default when it came to interacting with other beings, so for Bishop to deceive him for so long really, REALLY, got under Roak’s skin. The man may have been liberated from Father’s influence, but there was still a reckoning to be had.

  Speaking of reckoning, the third being Roak was none too thrilled to have back in his life was his “sister,” Reck.

  Not truly related, the two of them, as well as a host of other “siblings,” had been raised, trained, and manipulated by a being known as Father to be elite killers and makers of mayhem in the galaxy. But Roak was never one to handle being ordered around for long, so he decided one day he’d had enough, killed Father, and left the fold of siblings behind.

  Except Father wasn’t dead. And had come back to wipe out the other siblings, leaving Reck and Roak as the last of their kind. The two had a truce when it came to their true feelings about each other, but that truce wasn’t going to last forever. Once they tracked down Father and killed him for real then things would have to be hashed out.

  Roak watched as Reck moved about the Eight-Three-Eight, the top of her coveralls tied at her waist and her tank top stuck to her muscular body by sweat and grease. She held a span wrench in one hand and was busy shouting epithets up at the ship.

  “Lovely lady,” Bhangul said as he slid up next to Roak.

  Bhangul Whorp was a Dornopheous, a putty-like race that could form into pretty much any shape they wanted, but mostly looked like a blob of clay with eyes. The being took a seat on an empty crate and watched as Reck railed up at the ship, the span wrench sailing from her hand as she threw it hard at the Eight-Three-Eight.

  “She’s an Eight Million Gods damn peach,” Roak said and kept eating.

  “She yelling at the AI?” Bhangul asked.

  “Probably,” Roak said. “And her name is Hessa, not the AI.”

  “You’ve come to like that quirky program, haven’t you?” Bhangul asked. “I thought you’d be returning that ship a long time ago once you had to deal with it.”

  “Her,” Roak corrected. “She prefers a female gender and I wouldn’t call her quirky within earshot.”

  “I can hear him from there,” Hessa said in Roak’s comm. Roak ignored her and kept eating.

  “That sister of yours,” Bhangul said and Roak grunted. “Or whatever she is. She has a way with ships. You think I can hire her away from you? The mods she’s putting on your Eight-Three-Eight are going to increase the efficiency of the defensive shields by at least three hundred percent. That’s a number the Galactic Fleet would be interested in.”

  “Can’t hire her away from me because I’m not her boss,” Roak said. “If she wants to stay here and be your mechanic, then that’s fine by me.”

  Reck paused in her shouting up at the ship and slowly turned to glare at Roak.

  “Did she hear that?” Bhangul asked, not sounding too pleased by the idea.

  “Probably,” Roak said. “Exceptional hearing is only one of her more annoying traits.”

  Reck lifted both middle fingers, cocked a hip, and thrust her hands out toward Roak and Bhangul. Bhangul waved a putty hand and gulped. Roak sipped his hydration shake and rolled his eyes.

  “A team might be good for you,” Bhangul said. “Anything that teaches Roak a little humility is good for the galaxy as a whole.”

  Roak slowly swiveled his head and stared at Bhangul. The Dornopheous shuddered and looked away.

  “Crew,” Roak said as he swiveled his head back and stared at Reck who had returned to shouting curses at Hessa.

  “What was that?” Bhangul asked.

  “Not a team,” Roak said. “A crew. Not that I even wanted a crew. But no way in all the Hells am I calling these idiots a team.”

  “You’re welcome to stop calling us idiots, too,” Hessa said over the comm.

  “I didn’t mean you,” Roak replied.

  “What?” Bhangul asked.

  “Talking to Hessa,” Roak said.

  “Oh, yes, the undetectable comm implant,” Bhangul said. “Any chance the AI would like to sell me the tech that makes that possible? I could really turn a”—”

  “No,” Roak and Hessa stated simultaneously.

  Bhangul jumped and looked around.

  “She hack your comm?” Roak asked, smirking at the Dornopheous’s anxiety at the sudden communication.

  “She shouldn’t be able to do that,” Bhangul said. “I have protocols in place to shield my comm implant from any and all hacking.”

  “Good for you and your protocols.” Roak chuckled. “How’s that working out?”

  “Hey, I just came over to say thanks again for taking care of Noggla and getting the vase back,” Bhangul said. “My sister is gonna be very happy. I appreciate it.”

  “Didn’t do it for free,” Roak said and nodded at the work being done on the ship. Work that had stopped because of a pissed-off Reck.

  “Roak!” Reck yelled as she marched over to the crates.

  “I’m gone. See ya,” Bhangul said as he got up and slid away as fast as his body would carry him.

  Reck glared at the escaping Dornopheous then returned her attention to Roak. “Roak!”

  “You already yelled that,” Roak said and finished his sandwich. “What?”

  “Tell Hessa to let me get into the starboard shield couplers so I can tweak them before I tackle the aft deflector fuses,” Reck snapped. “She’s being a total bitch about the mods and I am sick to death of her attitude.”

  “You tell her,” Roak said and tapped his left ear. “She plugged a direct comm into you too. I’m not getting in the middle of this crap.”

  “Yes, you are,” Hessa said. “I have told Reck a hundred times that the starboard shield couplers are calibrated to an efficiency level that she cannot improve.”

  “That’s a load of shit!” Reck snapped and turned back to face the ship. “There is at least another twenty percent wiggle room in those numbers! I get the couplers to be more efficient and that will take a load off the aft fuses which will make”—”

  “Do not care,” Roak snarled. “You two figure this out. Without me.”

  Reck whirled back around and jammed a finger under Roak’s nose. Roak set his drink down, grabbed the finger and twisted Reck’s hand back. Reck went with the momentum of the move and spun herself around behind Roak and the crates. She yanked her hand free and wrapped an arm about Roak’s throat. He stood quickly and flipped her over his back, dropping her hard onto the floor.

  Reck spun-kicked and took Roak out at the legs, sending him falling back against the crates. He recovered fast, picked up his drink, and threw it at Reck’s head as she flipped up onto her feet. The container nailed her right between the eyes and she stopped her attack, eyes wide with surprise.

  “Did you throw a drink at me?” she asked, stunned. “You are such a dick.”

  “Ain’t that the truth, man,” Yellow Eyes said as he whooshed past them, his many arms loaded with boxes and bags of supplies.

  “Listen carefully,” Roak said as Reck continued to rub the spot where the drink hit her
. “I don’t want to be in the middle of any of this shit. You and Hessa figure it out. All I care about is that the ship is ready to go when Bishop has a lead on Sha Tog. Make that happen and we won’t have a problem.”

  “I can’t make anything happen if that bitch of an AI refuses to cooperate!” Reck yelled.

  “And I won’t let you continue with the modifications when you refuse to look at the bigger picture of how my systems truly work!” Hessa yelled back. “And your fly is undone!”

  Reck glanced down at the crotch of her coveralls then roared with anger. “I don’t have a fly!”

  “Made you look,” Hessa snickered.

  “Eight Million Gods,” Roak muttered and walked off toward an impromptu comms center set up in the corner of the hangar. “Leave me out of this.”

  Roak navigated past the many ships in Bhangul’s inventory and approached the table loaded down with vid screens and computer interfaces. Bishop was seated at the table and he held up a finger as Roak approached.

  “No, no, Pilmy,” Bishop said, in the middle of a comms conversation. “What I said was that I’d send the data file of contacts once I have confirmation of Sha Tog’s whereabouts. Not before.”

  Bishop waited and rolled his eyes.

  “Not half up front,” Bishop continued. “Even half is a great deal. You’ll take those names and never call me back.”

  More waiting, more rolling of his eyes. Bishop began to drum his fingers on the table.

  “Fine, Pilmy, fine. I’ll call Greber instead. She’ll get me what I need with only a fraction of the whining,” Bishop snapped. “Chat with you later.”

  Bishop grinned and nodded his head.

  “That so? You’re willing to play nice? Great. Comm me back at this signature in an hour and we’ll go from there.” A big sigh. “Yes, one hour. On the dot. A minute late and I start deleting names from the data file. A name a second, Pilmy. One hour.”

  Bishop disconnected and swiveled in his chair to face Roak.

  “What’s up, boss?” Bishop asked.

  “Not your boss,” Roak said. “I own your ass, but not your boss. Bosses are responsible for their employees. No way I’m responsible for you. Ever.”

  “Semantics,” Bishop said. “What can I do for you?”

  “You can tell me you found Sha Tog,” Roak said and waited, glaring down at Bishop.

  “Were you tuned out while I was talking to Pilmy?” Bishop asked and shook his head. “Never mind. I should have a new lead in an hour. Pilmy catches all the scuttlebutt when it comes to the Skrang Alliance. You ever need to know what’s what in that side of the galaxy, Pilmy’s your guy.”

  “You trust him?” Roak asked.

  “Shit no!” Bishop laughed. “He’s probably trying to zero in on this comm signature right now so he can sell us out. But Bhangul has great tech and Hessa has made sure there is no way we can be traced. So, I’m not too worried. When Pilmy wastes most of the hour trying to find us, and realizes he can’t, then he’s going to panic and get us better intel than if he strictly tried to help from the beginning.”

  “Pilmy? I don’t know that one,” Roak said.

  “Jirk,” Bishop said.

  “A skintaker? You sure you can trust the intel he’ll give you?” Roak asked. “Jirks are bottom of the barrel, Bishop.”

  “And you’re the cream at the top, is that it?” Bishop responded. “I don’t see race, Roak. I see results. I’d have crossed Pilmy off my list a long time ago if he didn’t produce.”

  “Fine. I’ll trust your expertise on that,” Roak said. He dropped his voice so he couldn’t be overheard. Not that anyone could be overheard above Reck’s yelling. “What else do you have for me?”

  “You mean Ally?” Bishop asked. Roak glared. “Right. Sorry, buddy, but I’ve got zilch. That Tcherian knows how to hide. After she left Ligston Station, her trail went dead. And I mean dead. No log of her boarding any ship, only a log of her no longer on the station. She’s on the rolls then not on the rolls. Gone.”

  “Could she still be on the station?” Roak asked.

  “Highly doubt that,” Bishop said. “Ligston Station is contracted out by the Galactic Fleet. Too many independent operators on that station for a hot woman to stay hidden for long, even if she is Tcherian.”

  “Maybe,” Roak said.

  “No maybe about it, Roak,” Bishop said. “I mined every lead I could on that station and she is not there. Don’t worry, buddy, I’ll find something on her, though. Maybe not until after we steal my quantum drives and I have access to my full files, but I’ll get you enough to track her down.”

  “Stop calling me buddy,” Roak said.

  “Roger that, pal,” Bishop said and grinned. His grin stayed put even after Roak fixed him with a death glare.

  The comm bleeped and Bishop swiveled back to face the equipment.

  “Gotta take this,” Bishop said. “Might be about your father’s trail.”

  “Not my father,” Roak said as Bishop answered the comm call.

  Roak growled and walked away from Bishop, from Reck, from Hessa and the ship, from Yellow Eyes’ streaking blur of motion, and wound his way back through Bhangul’s inventory of ships. He reached the lift, stepped inside without looking back, and hit the button to take him up to the ground floor.

  3.

  Bhangul Whorp was known by the alias of Khaga Whaga on the Zuus Colony, a colony of seed dealers that helped supply most of the galaxy with agricultural seeds that could survive in most climates and on most planets. Zuus was a dusty, dirty planet, and the ship dealership that Bhangul fronted reflected that.

  Unlike the sleek ships in the subterranean hangar, the top inventory was row after row of rusted-out junk that only seed farmers and scumbags could afford. It was the scumbag clientele that Roak was seeking out as he found a cobbled-together roller by Bhangul’s office. Roak hopped in, started up the roller, and sped out of the dealership and toward the Zuus Colony’s space port.

  It took a few minutes, all of which were almost unbearable as the environmental conditioners in the roller were offline and Roak began to sweat profusely in his light armor, but Roak finally reached the space port and pulled up in front of a rundown-looking lounge. Roak didn’t bother locking the roller as he got out and walked away. If anyone wanted to steal the machine, they were welcome to it.

  Inside, the lounge was dark, cool, and stank of cheap liquor and even cheaper beings. In a booth in the corner was a group of young punks of various races. One of which Roak recognized from previous encounters.

  “No way!” a young, scarred Skrang said, jumping up from the table, pistol in one hand and the other hand held out to ward off Roak. “Don’t want no trouble! Hear me? No trouble!”

  The group of beings seated at the table looked confused, but none offered to get up and support their friend. They watched with bored curiosity as Roak kept walking toward them.

  “Not gonna mess you up,” Roak said and pushed his way into the booth, hip-checking one of the punks. “Just here for a drink.”

  The Skrang stared at Roak in confusion, pistol still drawn.

  “Put that pea shooter away,” Roak said. “You’re gonna get yourself shot.”

  “You’re the one that’s gonna get—!” the Skrang exclaimed then cried out as Roak snatched the pistol from his hand and turned it on him. “Whoa! Sorry, SORRY!”

  “Sit your ass down,” Roak said and waited until the Skrang slowly sat back down. Then he offered the pistol across the table. “Take it. I don’t want it. Shitty weapon. Bad balance and the sight is off by six millimeters. You try to shoot me and you’ll only end up clipping the bartender over there.”

  “No pistols in the lounge,” the bartender called out without glancing their way.

  The Skrang took the offered pistol and quickly holstered it.

  “What you want, bounty hunter?” he asked Roak. “Not here to fight then what you here for?”

  “To drink,” Roak said and looked about t
he lounge. “This is a place to get a drink, right?” He turned back and fixed the Skrang with a hard look. “Especially when you’re buying.”

  The Skrang gulped as all his friends turned to stare.

  “Uh… Yeah. I’m buying,” the Skrang said and snapped his fingers. “Hey! We get another round”—”

  “Bottle,” Roak said.

  “Uh… Can we get another bottle over here?” the Skrang called to the bartender.

  “Just the one bottle?” the bartender called back.

  The Skrang looked at Roak. Roak kept his face blank. The Skrang cringed and frowned.

  “Make it two,” the Skrang said to the bartender.

  “Coming up,” the bartender replied.

  The Skrang punk stared at Roak with wary, terrified eyes, the scales around his nose slits twitching constantly with anxiety. The rest of the punks looked from the Skrang, to Roak, and back to the Skrang over and over.

  “I killed most of the last gang he rolled with,” Roak said, sneering at the punks. Eyes went wide then slowly looked away from Roak.

  “What you want, hunter?” the Skrang asked again.

  “Just some booze,” Roak said. The bartender brought over two bottles and a tray of glasses, dropped them off, gave the punks a disdainful look, then returned to his duties behind the bar. “And here we go.”

  Roak pulled the stopper out of a bottle with his teeth and spat it at the Skrang. The young punk flinched, but didn’t say anything as Roak drank deep then sighed.

  “That’s what I needed,” Roak said and relaxed into the booth. “I never understood why beings ever intentionally sought out dives like this. I’ve done it a thousand times for my job, but never because I wanted to. Now that I have a ship full of idiots to deal with, I get it.”

  No one replied; they only watched Roak take another drink.

  “You morons ever hear of a guy called Sha Tog?” Roak asked.

  The Skrang coughed and choked despite not having taken a drink of anything. The rest of the punks cringed and looked to their coughing leader to respond.