Paradox Slaughter: A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel Read online

  PARADOX SLAUGHTER

  A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

  Jake Bible

  www.severedpress.com

  Copyright 2018 by Jake Bible

  Look for other novels in Jake’s Galactic Fleet universe:

  Salvage Merc One

  Salvage Merc One: The Daedalus System

  Drop Team Zero

  Outpost Hell

  Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter

  Nebula Risen- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

  Razer Edge- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

  Paradox Slaughter- A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel

  Galactic Vice

  Agent Prime

  1.

  The spine tore from the being’s body much easier than Roak had anticipated, causing him to almost lose his footing as he slid backward, his boots slipping across the vast quantities of blood that had already been spilled.

  Not a drop of the blood was Roak’s.

  Roak let the spine fall from his gore-covered armored glove. He flexed the powerful fingers, a grin playing at the edge of his lips. Lips that were protected behind a nearly indestructible faceplate. The faceplate was connected to an impressive-looking helmet which was in turn secured to power armor that would have made every Galactic Fleet marine in the galaxy jealous.

  “Hessa?” Roak called into his comm as he looked about at the blood and offal that coated nearly every square centimeter of his ship’s hold. “How many more are coming?”

  “Fifteen beings,” Hessa, Roak’s AI counterpart and copilot, replied over the comm. “ETA is two minutes.”

  “What races?” Roak asked as he glanced down at the seven Gwreqs that had tried to kill him as soon as he’d lowered the rear hatch of his Borgon Eight-Three-Eight stealth incursion ship.

  Gwreqs were a humanoid race, with four arms and stone skin that was nearly impervious to most weapons. An average Gwreq stood at least seven feet tall and had muscles upon muscles to back up their aggressive personalities.

  Regardless of their size, their strength, or the armor-like qualities of their skin, Roak had made easy work of the seven beings.

  “Most are Gwreqs,” Hessa replied. “But there are three Tcherians with them. Fully taloned and about to shift into… And they are gone. You have three Tcherians in full invisibility mode, Roak. Be careful. Their talons can penetrate your new armor.”

  “Not this armor,” Roak said. “I didn’t spend a bounty’s worth of chits on this getup so I’d end up pierced by Tcherian foot talons.”

  “And hand talons,” Hessa said. “Theirs are not clipped.”

  That gave Roak pause.

  Tcherians were a chameleon race, able to change their skin so they could camouflage and blend into any surroundings. Naked, they could become completely invisible. Lizard-like, yet humanoid, they sported a long and deadly sharp talon that extended from the top of each large toe. Unbeknownst to most of the galaxy, Tcherians were also born with a matching talon on their hands. Once they hit puberty, the talon could be retracted into the back of the hand and hidden until needed.

  Except, in polite galactic society, it was seen as unbecoming for pre-pubescent Tcherian children to walk around with extended talons that quickly grew to twice the length of their index fingers. So, similar to the ancient practice of humans circumcising their male infants, Tcherian children had their hand talons surgically removed before reaching the age of two galactic standard years.

  It took some knowledge of Tcherian culture to know about the talon removal. Roak had paused because he had knowledge that went beyond the cultural implications of Tcherians that had retained their talons. Only the elite Tchaka clan were allowed to keep their hand talons. And the Tchaka were considered some of the deadliest assassins in the galaxy. Even the savage Skrang steered clear of them if possible.

  “Would now be a bad time to remind you that it was my idea to upgrade to the Kaxian power armor?” Hessa asked.

  “You want to rub that in right now?” Roak snapped.

  “Seemed fitting,” Hessa replied, a smirk in her voice.

  Despite being an AI, Hessa had acquired quite the extensive list of affectations, including how to sound like she was smirking even though she had no physical body. Roak had grown used to her affectations, although the current smirk irritated him greatly.

  “I said, and correct me if I’m wrong,” Hessa began.

  “Hessa,” Roak warned, not wanting to be lectured yet again on what he was doing.

  “I said,” Hessa continued, “that if you are going to insist on rampaging across the galaxy to exact revenge on the man that wronged you, then you should seriously consider upgrading from light armor to power armor.”

  “I know.”

  “And you said you didn’t want to waste the chits when light armor was perfectly good for your intended purposes. I replied that some of your intended targets would be quite formidable, more so than you were used to dealing with, and perhaps the added protection, not to mention the offensive abilities of the armor, would be worth the expense.”

  “I know, Hessa,” Roak snarled as the new Gwreqs reached the ship’s ramp and began to slowly ascend, their fists punching palms over and over in an obvious attempt to intimidate Roak. “Can we not do this now?”

  They all stopped the displays of aggression when they saw the state of their sisters and brothers in arms. A cargo hold splashed with nothing but Gwreq guts had that effect on most beings, despite their race.

  Roak pointed at the lead Gwreq. “Bishop,” was all Roak said.

  The lead Gwreq held up his upper right hand and the rest stopped cold.

  “You butchered our comrades because you are looking for that scumbag?” the Gwreq asked. “Bishop hasn’t been on this moon in over a year.”

  “I butchered your comrades because they came at me,” Roak said, his arms loose by his sides. “You gonna come at me too?”

  “All you want is to know where Bishop is?” the lead Gwreq asked.

  “That’s all I want to know,” Roak replied. “You tell me and I leave the second after the words pass your stone lips.”

  “No more trouble?”

  “Roak? The Tcherians are above you, ready to drop down and attack at any second,” Hessa stated.

  “Got it,” Roak responded.

  “What was that?” the lead Gwreq asked.

  “No more trouble,” Roak said to the Gwreq. “Unless you plan on causing some. Nothing I can do about that.”

  “The murder of our comrades must be avenged,” the Gwreq said.

  “Then avenge them somewhere else,” Roak said.

  “You killed them!” one of the Gwreqs in the group roared. “You will pay!”

  The lead Gwreq held his hand up again and the grumbling that had begun was silenced.

  “The Gwreq’s hand movements are not for the group, Roak,” Hessa said. “The Tcherians are taking clues from his muscle movements. They have shifted positions and flanked you completely.”

  “Tell me when they drop,” Roak said.

  “Tell you when who drops?” the lead Gwreq asked.

  “I wasn’t talking to you, rock boy,” Roak said. “Now, if you all want to survive to see your little pebbles grow up to be big boulders, then maybe you should back your stone asses off my ramp right now.”

  “Insulting us is not how you survive to see tomorrow, bounty hunter,” the lead Gwreq snapped.

  Roak pointed at the ceiling. “Call off your hidden killers and tell me where Bishop is and maybe, just fucking maybe, I’ll let you see tomorrow. Bishop. Where is he?”

  “You wer
e warned,” the lead Gwreq said.

  “All the bloody Hells,” Roak muttered. “Hessa? You got the invisible lizards?”

  “I have them covered with the security blasters, Roak,” Hessa replied. “However, I must remind you that Tcherians are excellent at evading scanners. I may not be able to neutralize all three immediately.”

  “Try.”

  The lead Gwreq, followed by the entire group, sprinted at Roak.

  Roak simultaneously took a knee and pulled his Flott five-six concussion blaster with laser cluster spread. He didn’t waste a nanosecond to aim, simply squeezed the trigger then leapt back upright as a dozen laser blasts were sent flying through the cargo hold from the barrel of his pistol. All but two of the laser blasts hit their marks. Almost all the Gwreqs fell, holes burned into their chests.

  The remaining two Gwreqs, one of which was the lead Gwreq, didn’t slow as their comrades fell and died. They converged on Roak and grabbed him, a total of eight arms gripping Roak’s armor in various places.

  Roak did exactly what he’d done to the previous Gwreqs that had gotten grabby. He sent a fourteen thousand gigawatt shock charge through the surface of his power armor. The two Gwreqs went rigid then began to smoke. Roak cut off the charge and gave the Gwreqs a second to wobble on their feet.

  Then he punched through their abdomens and relieved both of them of their spines, yanking them out through their bellies instead of their backs. The Gwreqs screamed then went quiet as death swept them on.

  The security blasters lit up the cargo hold and Roak instinctively ducked even though his armor could take several direct hits without worry of damage. A Tcherian screamed and became visible as she dropped from the ceiling, most of her left arm a smoking nub of scorched strips of flesh and charred bone. Roak punched her in the face as she passed right in front of him. Her neck snapped and she was dead before hitting the deck.

  Pain erupted in Roak’s right shoulder blade. He cried out and spun around, his left arm extended in a sweeping attack. The Tcherian behind him yanked its talon free of Roak’s armor and ducked under the swing. Roak brought up a knee, catching the Tcherian in the chin just as the being was going to slam its talon into Roak’s side. The Tcherian’s jaw was obliterated, bone and teeth flying in every direction as Roak destroyed the lower half of the being’s face. Roak grabbed the being’s head and twisted it up and off its neck.

  He casually tossed the severed head over his shoulder as he turned back to face the open cargo hold ramp.

  “Any more coming?” Roak asked Hessa.

  “Scanners are clear,” Hessa stated.

  “Third Tcherian?”

  “Dead,” Hessa reported. “The corpse is in the far left corner of the cargo hold. I will send bots to remove it, and the rest of the bodies, so we can take off and decide our next course of action.”

  “Might still be some folks on this moon that know where Bishop is,” Roak said.

  “I think you’ve killed all the possible leads, Roak,” Hessa said with an exaggerated sigh. “Just like on the last moon and the moon before that.”

  “It was a satellite before that,” Roak said. “Not a moon.”

  “I am aware of that fact,” Hessa said. “I was making a point.”

  “You think I care about your point because…?” Roak asked rhetorically as he surveyed the darkness outside the cargo hold then crossed to the controls and slammed his palm against the button that closed the ramp.

  “I will need that open in order to dispose of the bodies,” Hessa said. “Also, so the bots can effectively hose down the hold and remove the alarmingly thick layer of blood and bodily organs.”

  “Eject it all into space while we’re on the go,” Roak said, spinning about and heading for the lift. “I’m going to take a steam and get cleaned up.”

  2.

  The steam hit Roak’s skin and turned it red raw within seconds. He leaned his forehead against the wall of the shower stall and let the heat soak into his shoulders and back, easing the tension of violence that had his muscles in knots.

  Over six feet, square-jawed and broad-shouldered, the man looked like he could have played any of a dozen of popular galactic professional sports in his youth. But his youth was long gone. Early forties, scarred skin, ropy muscles, and eyes that were cold as ice, Roak had found his sport in life, a long while ago, and it was one that involved a good deal of violence.

  As the steam covered him, Roak could feel the adrenaline high begin to dissipate, but he wasn’t ready to crash. He needed to know his next target before he could even consider sleep.

  “Hessa?”

  “Yes, Roak?”

  “Caff. Lots of it. I’m gonna need some liquid stim.”

  “Caff or liquid stim, Roak? They are different substances.”

  “Just make some brew, will ya?” Roak snapped.

  At times, he wished the ship had come with a normal AI, not one with delusions of sentient grandeur. But the ship had come with her onboard. And Roak had been warned by the friend that had sold the ship to him. It had “quirks” was what he’d been told.

  Quirks was putting it mildly…

  Not that Roak doubted Hessa’s sentience or even disapproved. Solo was how he preferred his life, but having Hessa as a partner, which was a word he was loathe to use, meant he always had someone covering his back. That perk almost made it worth it. Almost.

  She did insert a comm implant into his head without his permission. Granted, the comm implant was of a design that Roak had never heard of, able to avoid all scans and detection, but still… You ask a guy if he wants a comm implant before sticking one in his head.

  “We are out of orbit,” Hessa announced over the very comm implant that Roak was still irritated over.

  “Smooth exit,” Roak said. “Didn’t even feel the change.”

  “We were leaving a moon, Roak, not a planet. The atmosphere was minimal. But, with that said, I have been working on a new configuration for the gravity controls. The dampeners are now—”

  “Don’t care,” Roak interrupted. “Just take the compliment, Hessa.”

  “It will take one hour to reach the wormhole portal,” Hessa stated, sounding obviously annoyed with Roak’s rudeness. “Will you be done with your steam by then?”

  “Funny,” Roak said and turned to let the hot vapor seep into his chest. “Where to next?”

  “I do not know,” Hessa replied. “There are options. Your list is extensive.”

  “Bishop had his fingers in a little bit of everything in this galaxy,” Roak said. “That list is only what I know about. It’s probably a fraction of the possibilities.”

  “Roak?”

  “Don’t start.”

  “I’m afraid I must.”

  “Don’t think you must anything.”

  “Yet, I do.”

  Roak sighed. It wasn’t like he could switch off his comm and block her out.

  “What? Out with it so we can get this over with and I can steam in peace for five minutes.”

  “I understand your philosophy on betrayal.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “But, is finding—”

  “And killing.”

  “—and killing Bishop worth what this is doing to your reputation?”

  Roak ground his teeth together then turned back around so the steam would work on his shoulders again.

  “My reputation? Explain, Hessa,” Roak said after a few moments of silence.

  “I am tapped into the Grid,” Hessa said. “While normal channels are not mentioning any of the fallout from your rampage across the galaxy—”

  “Rampage? An entire mainframe of knowledge and that’s the word you choose?”

  “If the mag boot fits,” Hessa replied. “And, yes, rampage is apt. You have killed eighty-one beings over the past four months, Roak. That is a rampage by anyone’s definition.”

  “Glad you are keeping score,” Roak said and stretched his arms up the wall of the stall.

 
“The rampage is being noticed, Roak,” Hessa said. “Back channels are talking. A lot. Our last stop was proof of that, Roak. They were ready and waiting for us. You weren’t able to step off the ship before the fighting began.”

  “That? That was Torbo being paranoid,” Roak said. “That smuggler has trust issues.”

  “So he sent half his crew to kill you?” Hessa laughed. “While he fled the moon?”

  Roak growled.

  “Are you sure he fled?” Roak asked. “He may not have been home to start with.”

  “He fled, Roak,” Hessa responded. “As soon as we landed, a ship that has been associated with him personally took off. You were fighting angry Gwreqs while he was on his way to the wormhole portal.”

  “Don’t forget the Tcherians,” Roak said.

  “I helped there.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  There was a long pause in the conversation which Roak was grateful for.

  “I did manage to track his ship, if you were wondering,” Hessa stated. “We could pursue Torbo. You can avoid adding to the paradox that way.”

  Roak didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. But the tone in Hessa’s voice meant she wouldn’t let the comment drop until he asked.

  “What paradox, Hessa?”

  “The paradox that in order to track down Bishop, you need to mine all of your contacts for intel,” Hessa said. “Yet, your contacts are not going to want to give you intel if it means you are simply going to butcher everyone anyway. You are bad for business, Roak. Everyone’s business.”

  Roak started to argue then closed his mouth. He’d been in the bounty hunter business long enough to know that what Hessa said was true. He was burning bridges all across the galaxy and pretty soon he’d be cut off from every contact he’d ever made or known. Yet he did not doubt his mission.

  Find and kill Bishop was all he could think of.

  The man had been one of Roak’s very few trusted friends. Not that Roak had friends. But Bishop was the closest approximation in Roak’s life. Bishop had always been there when Roak needed him to be. Then the man betrayed him, took every last chit he had, set Roak up on a bad job, and conspired with the dark tech, Pol Hammon.