by Jake Bible
He smacked himself across the cheek. Nothing happened.
“Roak? What’s wrong?” Hessa asked. “Why are you armed and standing in the corridor? And why did you just hit yourself?”
Roak blinked and spun in a circle.
“Am I awake?” he asked.
“Your vital signs say you are,” Hessa replied. “I was about to alert you to an anomaly I picked up in the ship’s internal comms system, but it’s gone. However, I am not a fan of the coincidence that I detected an anomaly then I find you standing in the corridor with your Flott while you ask me if you are awake. Am I jumping to conclusions or should I be concerned?”
“You should be concerned,” Roak replied and relayed his encounter with Father.
“Alright, I am considerably more than concerned now,” Hessa said once Roak was finished. “More so because someone sent a coded message without me knowing. That is quite alarming, Roak. Quite alarming.”
“Agreed,” Roak said and rubbed his face. “I’m going to have a steam and eat before we hit the last leg of our trip.”
“Oh, we already have,” Hessa said. “Go ahead and steam and eat, but you’ll want to be on the bridge ASAP after that. We’ll be arriving at Legend shortly.”
“So I did get some sleep,” Roak said.
“Yes. You did. Although, I am unsure if that sleep was restful or not.”
“Hessa? Keep what happened between us. I don’t want anyone alerted that we’re onto the coded message or that Father can project his consciousness across the galaxy and into my mind.”
“Oh, I have no plans to open that can of Hesperian worms, Roak. For now, this stays between us. I’ll investigate on my end while you and the others are on Legend.”
“Good.” He sighed. “Any gump stew left?”
“If you hurry. Yellow Eyes is down there now.”
“Eat first then a steam,” Roak said and headed for the lift.
19.
The former asteroid prison filled the Eight-Three-Eight’s view shield. A small docking bay apertured open and landing lights began to strobe brightly as the ship approached Legend.
“Cleared for landing in docking bay five,” a voice called over the comms. “Welcome to Legend. Please be prepared to be searched if the ship is staying longer than ten minutes.”
“Only a drop-off, guy,” Hessa replied. “Got me some work in the Bafsa System tomorrow and need to hit the portals ASAP, you know what I mean?”
“Uh, yeah, sure, whatever,” the voice said. “Don’t really care. Alert your passengers that they will be scanned by a security team before they can enter the main areas. If they do not pass the scans, they will be eliminated on the spot, no questions asked.”
“Ain’t my problem, guy,” Hessa said. “I’m just the ride. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” the voice said. “You don’t need to keep asking. Cleared to land. Welcome to Legend.”
The ship entered the docking bay and started landing procedures.
“How was that?” Hessa asked. “Sounded like I was an actual being working hard, right?”
“Sure,” Bishop said.
“If you say so,” Reck replied.
“It was…passable,” Nimm responded.
“I believed it,” Yellow Eyes said.
“They’re letting us land and that’s what matters,” Roak said as he stood up from the pilot’s seat. “Let’s go.”
“Yes, Captain!” Yellow Eyes shouted and saluted with three of his nubs.
“Knock it off,” Roak said as he passed the being.
Roak didn’t wait for the others. He strode to the lift, entered it, and was pressing the controls to take them to the cargo hold before half the crew were next to him. Reck slid in as the lift doors closed and she gave Roak a sly grin.
“What?” Roak asked. “What’s the grin for?”
“We’re going to destroy this place,” Reck stated.
“I’m all for that,” Bishop said.
“We aren’t going to destroy the place,” Roak said. Reck raised an eyebrow. “Yes, there is a good likelihood that we will destroy the place. But it’s not guaranteed.”
“We’re going to destroy the place,” Reck repeated then faced the lift doors as they opened.
Roak’s helmet was sitting on a stack of crates next to a strange-looking enviro suit.
“That’s for you, Bishop,” Roak said. He grabbed his helmet and nodded at the enviro suit. “It’s clunky, but should keep anyone from recognizing you.”
“Clunky?” Bishop exclaimed as he picked up the suit and struggled to get in it. Nimm immediately helped him. “This is a little more than”—”
His voice was cut off as his helmet was sealed.
Then, “Eight Million Gods damn this suit is heavy. And stuffy. How do I cool it down? Where are the implant interfaces?”
“Hold on,” Hessa said. “Try it now.”
“Ahhh, there we go,” Bishop said. “Sweet, cool air. Still heavy as all the Hells. Any way to get grav assist with this bitch?”
“No,” Hessa said. “Sorry.”
“Well, I’ll be getting my workout in today,” Bishop said.
“Set?” Roak asked, but didn’t wait for an answer as he activated the rear ramp.
The aft end of the ship opened and a security team of three Gwreqs and a one-armed Leforian waited at the bottom of the ramp.
“Let’s get a move on, people,” the Leforian shouted. He raised his one arm and showed a scanner. “I got better places to be.”
None of the Gwreqs were armed, but by the battle scars that crisscrossed their stone skin, Roak didn’t believe they needed to be. Could Roak take them with his Flott if he needed to? Sure. Would all his crew survive? Probably not. He knew that and by the looks on the Gwreqs’ faces, they knew that.
Then Roak spotted the plasma cannons trained on the ship and realized that the Gwreqs were more for show and to back-up the Leforian
“Let’s go!” the Leforian yelled.
Roak walked down the ramp and presented himself. The Leforian ran the scanner over his body and frowned at the results.
“No implants? Really?” he asked Roak.
“You like being tracked by the GF?” Roak responded. “Because implants is how you get tracked by the GF.”
“You do something to the GF we should be worried about?” the Leforian asked.
“Haven’t we all?” Roak replied.
“Get out of my face,” the Leforian snarled. “Next!”
Yellow Eyes was next and the Leforian didn’t even give the being a second look. He scanned him, frowned at the lack of implants, shot Roak a nasty glare, then gestured for Yellow Eyes to move. Nimm went next after Yellow Eyes. The Leforian studied Nimm’s results closely, muttered about synthetics, then waved Reck on.
“Oh, come on,” the Leforian snapped as he held his scanner up for the Gwreqs to see. “You believe this shit?”
Bishop was last.
“You gonna make me step inside that suit?” the Leforian asked him.
“Can’t have oxygen touch my skin,” Bishop replied, his voice a metallic warble from a speaker centered in the helmet where his mouth would be. “You want me to melt into a puddle then explode?”
“No, I do not want you to melt into a puddle and explode,” the Leforian exclaimed. “Who would want that? Don’t ask stupid questions. Get out of my face and welcome to Legend. You screw up while here and you’ll be killed. We do not have a brig, we do not ask question, we do not care if we make a mistake and shoot you due to a misunderstanding. Unless you’re an Edger and have pledged to fight for the Edger cause, you are garbage. But your chits are welcome. Spend as much as you want in the bars or brothels.”
“Brothels?” Yellow Eyes asked.
The Leforian looked the being up and down.
“I don’t even want to know,” the Leforian said. He faced the open ramp. “You! Get out of this docking bay now or we’ll vaporize the ship! We nee
d the space!”
The ramp closed and the engine drives started up.
“We’re done?” Roak asked.
“Yes, we’re done,” the Leforian spat. “Get out of my sight!”
Roak didn’t wait around. He walked through the docking bay’s airlock and the others were right behind him.
“Closest bar?” Roak asked the Leforian as the security detail shoved past them before the airlock sealed shut.
“Map. On the wall. Use it,” the Leforian replied and stomped off toward a different airlock. The airlock opened wide and he stomped into another docking bay. “You! You want to die today? No? Then stand still and get ready to be scanned!”
The airlock closed, leaving Roak and company alone.
“That went well,” Yellow Eyes said. He blurred for half a second. “Closest bar is two decks down and three corridors over.”
“Let’s go,” Roak said.
They made their way through Legend without any hassle. When they reached the bar, only a few beings gave them more than a cursory glance before returning their attention to their drinks and conversations.
“You two sit at the bar,” Roak said and nodded to the open stools at the main bar. All the beings in the bar were seated at tables or booths. “We’ll sit back there and see what we can see.”
Nimm strode to the bar and sat on one of the stools. Reck followed, her eyes scanning their surroundings. Once the two women were seated, Roak led Bishop and Yellow Eyes to a booth that had just opened up in the far corner.
They sat down and a waiter came over, a Dornopheous that had molded his body to permanently keep a serving tray balanced on a shelf in his abdomen.
“What do you want?” the waiter asked.
“Beer any good?” Yellow Eyes asked. “I could go for a nice Jarmuschian Porter or a”—”
“The beer sucks nuft nuts. It’s made from the gray water,” the waiter said.
“Poop beer?” Yellow Eyes blanched. “Never mind.”
“Bottle of brown liquor,” Roak said. His arm shot out and he pinched a bit of the waiter’s putty flesh. “Not the house brown. A couple steps up from that.”
“Good call,” the waiter said. “Three glasses?”
“Two,” Roak replied. “The guy in the suit can’t drink. He opens that and he becomes a puddle then explodes when the oxygen mixes with his flesh.”
“All the Hells,” the waiter said and shrunk back. “Thanks for bringing him in here. Really appreciate that.”
“My pleasure,” Roak said.
The waiter pointed at Roak’s helmet. “And you? You can drink through that?”
“I can lift the visor,” Roak said.
“Why not take the helmet off?”
“Because I’m here to kill a guy and I don’t want him to know I’ve arrived.”
“Guy got a name? Slide some chits over and I may be able to help you find him.”
“Or you’ll have him pay you some chits to tip him off.”
“Being’s gotta make a buck.”
The waiter left and Roak relaxed into the booth back. He watched the other beings in the bar, but none of them even glanced his way.
“Know the guy?” Roak asked without looking at Bishop.
“No,” Bishop replied, his voice coming through Roak’s comm and not the helmet speaker.
“He say something?” Yellow Eyes asked. “I can’t hear him.”
“He said no,” Roak responded. “You think you can take a turn around the bar and eavesdrop?”
“You bet,” Yellow Eyes said.
He was gone in a blur. The blur spread about the bar, but a being would have had to look very closely, and know what they were looking for, to see the blur. Yellow Eyes returned after a few minutes.
“Two groups are plotting to murder each other and neither group knows the other group wants them dead,” Yellow Eyes said. “Other than that, I got nothing, man. No talk of Skrang or any huge chit windfall.”
“Reck?” Roak asked.
Reck didn’t turn from her barstool to look in Roak’s direction, but she raised a hand to her face and scratched her cheek. Nimm was busy chatting up the bartender who was a Groshnel that looked a lot like Z.
Their waiter returned with a bottle of brown liquor and two glasses.
“He doesn’t have a port in that helmet for a straw?” the waiter asked, nodding at Bishop as he set the glasses down in front of Yellow Eyes and Roak. “Seems like poor planning to me.”
“Fuck off,” Bishop said, his warbled voice making the waiter take a couple slides back.
“Whatever,” the waiter said and left.
“Let me do the talking,” Roak said.
“Whatever,” Bishop replied.
Reck stood up from her stool and the bartender pointed to the corner of the bar where a single door stood. Roak caught Reck’s eye as she walked past and he got up from the booth.
“Pour some booze,” he said to Yellow Eyes. “I’ll be right back.”
Reck walked through the door and Roak was close behind. It was an all beings, all patrons lavatory. Reck dropped her pants and sat down on a humanoid toilet. There were no stalls.
“Ahhhh, been holding that,” she said as she pissed. “Take a leak, Roak. No point in wasting a trip to the crapper.”
Roak leaned against a wall then frowned as his light armor stuck to something sticky. He pulled away from the wall and lifted the visor on his helmet.
“What’d you find out?” Roak asked.
“Bartender has heard of some big spenders at a brothel five decks up and across the base,” Reck said as she stood and pulled her pants back up. “He’s not sure if they’re Skrang or not. But if not, he hasn’t seen that amount of chits being spent on Legend in a long time, so odds are the beings have been in contact with our Skrang if they aren’t our Skrang.”
“Brothel five decks up,” Roak said. “Good job.”
“Not looking for a pat on the head,” Reck replied. She pulled the Blorta 65 laser pistol from a holster on her right hip, checked the charge, then holstered it as she pulled an identical pistol from her left hip and checked that. She spun the weapon her finger before holstering that one then grinned at Roak. “Ready?”
“Drink some more,” Roak said.
“Why? We’re on a time table, Roak,” Reck responded. “We have a week to get the Skrang and the chits back to their pals. Let’s hit the brothel, nab the Skrang or interrogate the non-Skrang until we know where the Skrang are, snag their lizard asses, get the chits, and go.”
“We drink for a bit then leave separately,” Roak said. “We take off right now and that bartender will call the brothel before we hit the first lift.”
“So I have to sit at the bar with Nimm until you leave then follow after? Is that the plan?” Reck snarled. “Nimm ain’t bad, but she’s still got so much GF in her that I want to punch her face every couple of minutes.”
“Good. Get pissy with each other,” Roak said. “That’ll distract the bartender.”
“Eight Million Gods…” Reck rubbed her forehead. “Fine. Two more drinks and then we’re hitting the brothel.”
“That works,” Roak said and left the lavatory.
He sat back down at the booth without glancing at Reck as she took her seat at the bar.
“Two drinks and we’re gone,” Roak said. “There’s a brothel five decks up and across the base. Skrang or their associates might be there.”
“Want me to go scout it out?” Yellow Eyes asked.
“Not now,” Roak said. “When we’re closer. I’d like a little distance between us and that security team at the docking bays before we stir the pot.”
“Gentlemen doing alright?” the waiter asked as he slid by.
“Fine,” Roak replied.
“Oh, and don’t forget the fifty percent tip when you leave,” the waiter said. “Wouldn’t want you guys to be beings of interest with Legend’s security teams. They’re always waiting for the next murder to happen.”
“Tell you what,” Roak said and leaned forward. The waiter slid backward and stopped at the edge of the table. “How would you like to make even more chits?”
“I would like that a lot,” the waiter said.
“See those two groups there?” Roak asked, nodding at the beings Yellow Eyes had implicated in the simultaneous murder plots. “Neither group knows the other is plotting to kill them. Play them against each other and you’ll make way more chits than our fifty percent tip.”
“Oh, nice,” the waiter said. “I still expect fifty percent from you, though. I’m not one to waste a good extortion ploy when it is presented to me on a platter.”
Roak glared. The waiter glared back.
“Fine,” Roak said. “You’ll get your tip.”
“Excellent,” the waiter said and slid away. “Have a nice killing!”
20.
Reck and Nimm caught up to Roak and the others two decks up from the bar.
“What’s wrong with him?” Reck asked, nodding at Bishop.
“This suit is shit,” Bishop replied, his voice so garbled it was almost impossible to understand him.
“Hold still,” Reck said and moved to make some adjustments on Bishop’s helmet. After a couple seconds of fiddling, Bishop sighed and Reck stepped back. “That better?”
“Yeah. Lots. What did you do?” Bishop asked.
“Opened the suit to the outside atmosphere. You don’t really need the suit, it’s only for show,” Reck said. “Not sure why Hessa set it for full function.”
All eyes fell on Roak. He shrugged.
“We needed authenticity for the security scans,” Roak said.
“Right,” Bishop said.
“Any issues with the bartender?” Roak asked.
“None,” Nimm replied. “He thinks it is Skrang in the brothel. Never asked him outright, but he hinted at it.”
“Bigotry against Skrang is easy to spot,” Reck said.
“Cross the base here or go three decks up first?” Nimm asked Roak.
“Cross here,” Roak said. “This deck looks residential. Less issues that way.”
They made it five corridors before they were stopped by a pack of Cerviles. A feline race with very deadly claws, the furry beings blocked Roak and company’s path. A few Edgers hung outside their residences to watch, but most tucked inside and away from any potential trouble.
