by Jake Bible
“So is going after Bishop’s files,” Nimm growled.
“Why not go ask this Mother about Father’s motivations and see what she says?” Yellow Eyes asked.
“I plan to,” Roak said. “Always have.”
“Alright, man, sure, great,” Yellow Eyes said, his head nodding up and down. Then he shook it side to side. “Are you thinking that Bishop’s files will help you find her?”
“No,” Roak said.
“You folks can play a million questions with him all you want,” Reck said. “He’s not going to tell you why he still wants the files.”
“She’s right. I’m not,” Roak agreed.
“Because…?” Reck asked. “Tell us why you won’t tell us why you want the files.”
“I followed that sentence,” Yellow Eyes said.
“You must be so proud,” Reck replied. “Roak? Why won’t you tell us?”
“Because I need all of you to get this job done and if I tell you why, then we’ll argue over my reasons and waste more time instead of simply going and getting the files,” Roak said. “So we’re going to get the files.”
“There,” Reck said and looked at Nimm. “He has to tell us if he wants our help.”
“No,” Roak said. “I can go it alone.”
“You just said you need us!” Nimm shouted. “This is maddening!”
“Are you messing with us?” Yellow Eyes asked. “You’re messing with us. Not cool, man.”
“I am not messing with you,” Roak replied. “I’m holding all of my cards to my chest right now.”
“Ah. There it is,” Reck said. “You need us, but don’t trust us.”
“Pretty much,” Roak said.
“After everything we’ve been through?” Nimm asked.
“It is because of everything we’ve been through that I do not trust you. Any of you,” Roak said and pointed up at the ceiling. “I don’t trust Hessa either, if that makes you feel better.”
“It does not make me feel better,” Nimm said.
“And it makes me feel worse,” Hessa said. “I’m kind of sad that we had to leave Ti’Ya behind on that destroyer. It was nice having an AI friend. Now she could be obliterated by Skrang plasma and I won’t ever know. Roak’s lack of trust is the cherry on top of that terpigshit sundae.”
“Oh, I could go for a sundae!” Yellow Eyes exclaimed. A sundae was quickly in front of him. He took a few bites then shoved it away. “The food replicator makes horrible sundaes.”
“The food replicator makes horrible food,” Roak said. “Stick to the protein slice sandwiches.”
“You really don’t trust me, Roak?” Hessa asked.
“Would you trust you if you were me?” Roak asked.
“Not at all,” Hessa replied without hesitation.
“Then there we have it,” Roak said. “The second smartest being on this ship agrees.”
“Ah, I’m flattered,” Yellow Eyes said. “It means a lot that you think I’m the smartest being, man.”
Roak glared.
“That was a joke, man.”
“Uh huh,” Roak replied. “Listen, everyone, if you want out, then we’ll drop you off at the next safest station we can approach. You go your way, I go my way, and that is that.”
“This is my ship, Roak, I’m not going anywhere,” Hessa said.
“I didn’t mean you,” Roak replied.
“So I don’t have a choice to leave because I’m an AI? Is that it?”
“No, because you’re part of this ship and I’m gonna need my ship.”
“My ship.”
“My ship. You came with it, but it’s my ship.”
“I feel like this is an issue you two should sort out in private,” Reck said and stood. “I’ll be in a long steam. Do not bother me for any reason other than the End of Days.”
“We dropping you off?” Roak asked.
“Don’t be an ass,” Reck replied. “You aren’t dropping me off. I’m seeing this through even if it means humoring your paranoia.”
“Glad to hear it,” Roak said. “Nimm?”
“Can I sleep on it? I need to sleep on it,” Nimm said.
“Hessa? How long until we reach the first facility where Bishop’s files might be?” Roak asked.
“You know how to count. Figure it out on your own, smart guy,” Hessa replied.
“Never mind,” Nimm said. “I’ll check the navigation console before I go to my quarters.”
Nimm stood and Reck stepped aside to let her pass.
“Looks like now you want a team,” Reck said as she followed Nimm out.
“Crew!” Roak shouted after her.
“Team,” Yellow Eyes said and was gone.
Roak sat there in thought for a long while.
“If Sha Tog is dead, then where is Ally?” Hessa asked.
“That processing power of yours have any ideas?” Roak replied.
“Two,” Hessa said. “Father got her and is holding her as his last bargaining chip against you. Or she did escape and is hiding like the smart woman she is.”
“Both of those scenarios have her still alive,” Roak said, visibly relieved. “I was leaning toward dead after all that has gone down.”
“If she is dead, then it is an accident,” Hessa said. “If someone killed her, then they would use that to either motivate you into making rash decisions, which would be unnecessary since you already do that, or we would have found evidence of her death on our own. The galaxy is vast, but small at the same time.”
“It is. Which is how I’ve been able to do my job all these years,” Roak said and stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To do a full inventory on the armory and on the equipment in the cargo hold. Beem stripped me of my Flott. Gonna need a new pistol.”
“We do not have another Flott, Roak. They are rare and you have gone through a couple since I’ve known you.”
“I’m fairly certain I still have my old KL09 heavy pistol lying around. And another set of light armor.”
“One last set. And, yes, there are a few KL09s in the armory.”
“Hessa? Let me do the count. I need to clear my head with a menial task.”
“Menial?”
“No offense to you and all the millions of tasks you complete every day.”
“Hour. I complete millions of tasks every hour. That’s why you are still breathing and we aren’t headed into a star.”
“Got it.”
“Roak?”
“What?”
“Can you do this?”
Roak scrunched up his face in thought.
“Don’t do that.”
“Kiss my ass, Hessa.”
“Can you do this?”
“Yes. I can do this.”
“Just checking.”
“What’s our first destination?”
“Outpost in the Zhusika System. We need to refuel and the plasma cannons could use a recharge. Plus the food replicator is low.”
“Zhusika System isn’t exactly off the GF’s radar, but it’s close.”
“Which is why we’re going there.”
“Thanks.”
“Time and date noted.”
“Fuck off.”
26.
Crusty would be how Roak described the outpost on the planet of Zhusika in the Zhusika System. Crusty.
“Are we going to fall through to the core?” Yellow Eyes asked as his foot nubs crunched through the crisp layering of dirt that coated every centimeter of the ground around the ship. “Look at the ship. It’s like half a meter below the surface already.”
“The planet has two seasons,” Nimm said. “Rainy and dry. As the mud dries, the air below is trapped and it pushes upward, creating this crust. The deepest the air pockets can get are a couple meters, so no, we are not going to fall through to the core.”
“If you say so, man,” Yellow Eyes responded. “Sure feels like we’re going to fall through to the core.”
“Well, we a
re not,” Nimm said.
An old hover bot came out of the dusty outpost and stopped directly in front of Roak’s face. It scanned him from head to toe then proceeded to do the same to the others.
“What in all the Hells are you?” the hover bot asked as it scanned Yellow Eyes several times then it turned to Roak. “It for sale? No idea what that thing is, but someone is bound to buy it. Give you twenty chits.”
“Not for sale,” Roak said. “Not for twenty chits.”
“Hey, man, not cool,” Yellow Eyes said.
The hover bot spun around and got in Yellow Eyes’ face.
“It talks. Fifty chits. Final offer,” the hover bot said.
Roak pulled his KL09 heavy pistol and aimed it at the hover bot.
“How much does it cost to replace this hover bot?” he asked.
“More than fifty chits. Point taken,” the hover bot said and flew a circle around the group then returned to the outpost. “Kick the crust off your boots when you come inside!”
Roak holstered his pistol and glanced over his shoulder. He locked eyes with Reck.
“Something bothering you?” he asked.
“No other ships,” Reck replied. “The crust hasn’t been disturbed this season anywhere around this outpost. This guy needs us more than we need him.”
“Hessa? What do your scans tell you?” Roak asked. “Can we refuel and charge the plasma cannons here?”
“I am detecting fuel and energy stores below the outpost,” Hessa replied over the comms.
“What’d she say, man?” Yellow Eyes asked.
“Yes. She said yes,” Roak replied.
“I did not say yes,” Hessa corrected. “But close enough.”
Roak walked to the outpost building and kicked his boots against the doorframe as the door slid open.
“Welcome!” a voice called from inside. “Come on in, y’all! Lovely day, wouldn’t you say?”
Roak walked inside and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. The outpost was one large room and it was filled top to bottom with junk. Old, dusty junk. At the far end of the room was a counter and behind the counter stood a Chassfornian.
Roak pulled his pistol again. Nimm and Reck were right by his side, their pistols drawn and ready to fire.
“Hold on, now. Hold on,” the Chassfornian said as he raised his massive arms into the air. “Ain’t no call for that.” He chuckled and it was as if the whole building had been engulfed in thunder. “I know how this looks. A Chassfornian running an outpost? What in all the Hells, right?”
Chassfornians were massive creatures. Built like giant mastiffs, but bipedal and at least ten feet tall, like the one behind the counter. They were usually with a handler since their default personality was pure rage. The beings were once used as shock troops in the War, but none of the other races dealt with them anymore due to their intense need to kill anything they came in contact with, even supposed allies.
Roak watched the Chassfornian for a moment then holstered his pistol.
“Never heard a Chassfornian with such clear speech,” Roak said.
The Chassfornian tapped his head. “Clarity implant. Usually used by junkies to curb their addictions to whatever they are addicted to. Turns out Chassfornians are addicted to rage and murder and violence. Who knew?”
Yellow Eyes raised a nub.
“Yes?” the Chassfornian asked.
“Uh, no, I was raising my hand because I know that Chassfornians are addicted to rage and murder and violence,” Yellow Eyes said and put his nub down. “That’s all, man.”
“What are you?” the Chassfornian asked. “Never seen your kind before.”
“Me neither,” Yellow Eyes replied.
“Our ship needs to refuel and charge up the plasma cannons,” Roak said.
“Does it now?” the Chassfornian responded and waved his beefy wrist over the counter. A holo display came up. “My bot’s scan shows a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion fighter. Y’all a Drop Team?” He chuckled again. “That’s a joke. You obviously ain’t no Drop Team. Don’t see many Borgon Eight-Three-Eights in the private sector, but they show up every once in a while.”
“Can you refuel the ship and charge the plasma cannons or not?” Roak asked.
“Straight to business. I like that. Yes, sir, I like that a lot.” The Chassfornian rubbed at his chin. “Because I sure do love doing business. Let’s see… Refuel and a recharge is gonna run you about twenty thousand chits. I’m sure that’s fair considering the Galactic Fleet has an all points lookout for a Borgon Eight-Three-Eight just like yours.”
“Eight-Three-Eights all look the same,” Roak replied. “You got the wrong one.”
“Not with those mods, I don’t,” the Chassfornian said and spun the holo display around. “I got good bots. They don’t miss much. What’d be the point of having bots if they can’t do more than my own peepers here, am I right?”
“Twenty thousand chits is a little steep,” Roak said. “We have…”
“Not twenty thousand,” Hessa said over the comms. “We have five thousand. See if he’ll trade.”
“How about a trade?” Roak asked. “We have a good amount of weaponry that you might be”—”
“Let me stop you right there, sir,” the Chassfornian said. “You’re a man that doesn’t miss much, I can tell. So them cold, dead eyes of yours in your head there must have noticed that I am a little heavy on inventory right now. As much as I do appreciate a good trade offer, I’m going to have to insist on chits.”
“Then I guess we can’t do any business,” Roak said. “We’ll find another outpost.”
“Oh, no, sir, I am afraid you won’t,” the Chassfornian said and shook his head. “Not in this system. I’m the last one. The rest gone bust or decided that maybe moving in a little closer to the center of Galactic Fleet activity might be a better business choice.”
“Why are you still here?” Roak asked. “Why not move on?”
The Chassfornian frowned. “Where to? I may have help keeping myself from going berserk and killing every Eight Million Gods damn being that so much as causes me even the slightest irritation, but, and this may be a surprise to you, the rest of the galaxy could care less. I’m Chassfornian. No one wants my kind closer to the center of Galactic Fleet activity.”
“And he has a family to think of,” another Chassfornian said as she came out from a back room, a scatter gun held in each massive hand. “Either you got chits or y’all are gonna get out of here right now. Don’t need you bringing the GF down on us if you can’t pay.”
“Honey, relax now,” the first Chassfornian said. “Y’all, this is my wife, Jugga. I’m Gilga and I got a couple little ones in the back named Kigga and Bilp. I’m telling y’all this so there’s no misunderstanding. We ain’t looking to sell you out to the GF. Ain’t our style. But my wife here is correct in saying we also don’t need the GF coming down on us. So, with all due respect, either you have the chits or you can leave.”
“She got an implant too?” Yellow Eyes asked.
“No,” Jugga said.
“Oh…” Yellow Eyes replied and gulped.
“Roak? We should leave,” Hessa said. “I am not detecting any transmission coming from this outpost, so I don’t believe they have alerted the GF, but they will.”
“Sorry to bother you,” Nimm said. “We’ll find a different outpost. Good luck to you and your family.”
“I’d rather get our fuel here,” Roak said.
“Roak, come on,” Nimm said. “Reck? Talk to him.”
“Roak? You’re that bounty hunter guy,” Gilga said, his face lit up with a wide, happy grin. “Well, hot damn. You’re probably the closest thing to a celebrity that we’ve ever had here. The guy that plays Galactic Steve’s stunt double on that holo vid stopped by once, but he was so drunk he was impossible to talk to. But, Roak? Wow. A pleasure.”
“Pleasure enough to trade?” Roak asked.
The grin dropped and Gilga shook his head.
“No, sir. Sorry about that. Twenty thousand chits is the price.”
“Alright, man. You sure do know how to drive a hard bargain,” Yellow Eyes said. He blurred then was still. A stack of chits sat on the counter in front of Gilga. “Twenty thousand chits.”
“What in all the Hells?” Jugga asked and her scatter guns lowered. “Where’d those…? How’d he…? Gilga, baby, should I shoot them all now?”
“They just paid us, so I would reckon shooting them would be rude,” Gilga said as he counted the chits. “Twenty thousand on the nose.” He swiped at his holo display. “The bots will get to work right away. Y’all care for a cup of caff? Jugga made a fresh barrel just an hour ago.”
No one replied. They were too busy staring at Yellow Eyes.
“What?” Yellow Eyes asked. “You didn’t think I put all the chits back in those compression pouches after counting them did you?”
“Hessa,” Roak said.
“I’m checking the ship now, Roak,” Hessa replied over the comms.
“If she’s looking for the rest, tell her I put them all in the empty gump stew containers,” Yellow Eyes said.
“Gump stew? Is that what I’m smelling?” Gilga asked as he raised some of the chits to his nose.
“Three hundred and forty-five thousand and sixteen chits,” Hessa said in Roak’s ear. “That’s a nice surprise.”
“So, it’s gonna be a good couple hours to make sure the refueling goes well and the plasma cannons take the charge,” Gilga said. “Sorry, but our equipment is a little outdated or it’d be faster. You sure you don’t want some caff?”
Reck shrugged and walked to the counter. “I’ll take some caff. Straight up. No sweetener.”
“Y’all?” Gilga asked Roak, Nimm, and Yellow Eyes.
“Sure,” Roak said and hooked a thumb at Yellow Eyes. “None for him, though.”
“I suppose not considering he’s got some speed in him already,” Gilga said with a laugh. “Jugga, baby? Would you please fetch the customers some caff?”
“Kids!” Jugga shouted, not moving a centimeter. “Five cups of caff! NOW!”
“They’ll be right out,” Gilga said. “So, what can y’all tell us about this dust up with the GF and Skrang we’re hearing about? The War Treaty dead or what?”
