Infinite Mayhem Read online

  Roak gave Reck a look and they both rolled their eyes.

  “If you say so,” Roak said as he strapped in.

  As soon as they were all secured, the elevator dropped. Bishop screamed until he was hoarse then he passed out, a small dribble of blood leaking from his left nostril.

  “Wheeeeeeeeeee!” Yellow Eyes cried, holding his many arms above his head. “This is amazing!”

  Roak was conditioned so that his body could handle the drop, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant. He gritted his teeth as the elevator’s speed hit a level just under deadly but well away from comfortable. Reck began to snore next to him.

  If the trip down was rough, the sudden deceleration was even rougher. Yellow Eyes’ arms snapped to his sides as the elevator braked then stopped with enough force to wake Reck and cause her to give a little cry of alarm.

  Once fully stopped, Roak unstrapped, stood on shaky legs, and gave Bishop a hard slap across the cheek. The man woke up, glanced around, then vomited all over Roak’s boots.

  “Oops. Sorry. That was no fun, buddy,” Bishop said.

  “It was kind of fun, man,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “Shut up and get ready,” Roak said as he kicked some of the puke off his boots and faced the elevator doors.

  “For what?” Reck asked. “You expecting trouble to start from the get-go?”

  “Yes,” Roak said and handed everyone rebreathers. Reck and Bishop put theirs on, but Yellow Eyes declined.

  “I can handle the vacuum of space, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “I can take some oxygen-rich planet. No problem.”

  The elevator doors slid open and Lawman Abel Pitch was standing on the platform with two dozen deputies behind him. They were all wearing rebreathers too, but it was obvious by the way the lawman’s rebreather was riding up on his handsome, human face that he was smiling.

  “Roak, Roak, Roak,” Abel said with enough mockery in his voice that it should have clogged the rebreather’s filters. “You weren’t supposed to come back, buddy.”

  “Hey, I call him buddy, not you,” Bishop said.

  “That so?” Abel replied. “Well, you can call him buddy from a jail cell while Roak and I get reacquainted. How does that sound?”

  “Not good?” Bishop replied.

  “Your friend is mouthy, Roak,” Abel said.

  “I told him to shut up,” Roak replied. “He doesn’t listen well.”

  “He might listen to this then,” Abel said and snapped his fingers.

  Several deputies rushed forward with stun batons and grabbed Bishop. They shocked him until he fell to his knees. Roak held up a hand before Yellow Eyes or Reck could make a move.

  “Glad you know where you stand, Roak,” Abel said. “How about we take a ride into town? Just you and me. You know where the jail is, so you can fetch your friends once we’re done with our little reunion chat.”

  “Show me to the roller,” Roak said and stepped off the elevator.

  7.

  “I’m not stupid,” Abel said from the passenger seat of the roller.

  The lawman had a gas-powered slug chunker shoved against Roak’s ribs as Roak drove the roller down a dirt road that was engulfed by the ubiquitous, thick jungle foliage that Ligston was known for and caused such an oxygen-rich atmosphere. Roak kept his hands on the wheel and his eyes forward.

  “Nimm said you were down here to find a way to track that Skrang cripple,” Abel continued. “I’m sure that’s true, but we both know you won’t waste a trip to Ligston simply to hunt down some clues. I could feel the target on the back of my head as soon as I heard your name mentioned.”

  “I have no plans to take you out, Lawman Pitch,” Roak stated flatly. “I simply need to find Sha Tog.”

  “Oh, I doubt you do anything simply, Roak,” Abel said, giving Roak’s ribs a jab with the barrel of the slug chunker. “Which is why I’ll be on your ass the entire time you are down here.”

  “I appreciate the escort, but I know my way around just fine.”

  “Of course you do. Still, I’m gonna be by your side. I’d hate for you to stumble across the wrong element and get hurt.”

  “You got a lot of wrong elements hanging around Ligston lately, lawman? I figured you’d cleaned the place up by now.”

  “Well, no one can look into the souls of beings and know what they are truly thinking or capable of, Roak. There are always unfortunate surprises lurking about.”

  “I guess you could be right about that. Thanks for the offer to protect me. Appreciated.”

  The jungle thinned out slightly and the road widened then became plasticrete instead of dirt. Roak kept driving, steering the roller around wagons being pulled by large animals domesticated to handle the majority of transportation needs. Even rollers were risky in the oxygen-rich environment and seen as a luxury.

  “The jail is down that street, right?” Roak asked as they came to a corner.

  “Yes, but we’re heading somewhere else,” Abel said. “Keep going. I’ll tell you when to stop.”

  Roak didn’t like the sound of that, but he kept his mouth shut and continued driving the roller until Able held up a hand and nodded at a fairly new-looking building nestled between two buildings that had seen better days.

  Roak recognized the location instantly and felt a weird flutter in his guts.

  “Ally is back? She rebuilt?” Roak said as he stopped the roller in front of the new tavern that was built on the spot where Ally’s used to be before it was burned to the ground like Sha Tog’s shop had been. “When did she return?”

  “What? Oh, no, that Tcherian bitch hasn’t shown back up, Roak,” Abel said and pointed at the roller’s door. “Out. Come on. I’ll introduce you to the new owner.”

  Roak got out and walked carefully and slowly around the roller and up onto the porch leading to the tavern’s airlock. Abel kept the slug chunker aimed at the bounty hunter at all times.

  “You first,” Abel said with a laugh.

  Roak activated the airlock and stepped into the chamber, waited for Abel to follow, the outer door to close and seal, then activated the inner door and stepped into the tavern.

  “NO!” a voice bellowed from behind the bar as Roak and Abel removed their rebreathers and hung them from hooks next to the airlock. “Not him! Why in all the Hells is he here?”

  “Calm down, Z,” Abel said as he prodded Roak forward with the slug chunker. He pointed at a table in the far corner. “Let’s have a seat.”

  “I said no,” Z insisted. “He does not get served here.”

  Z was a Groshnel, one of the invertebrate races, with eight leg-arms and a body that needed a constant gulping of air to stay solid and full. He had been Ally’s bartender and right hand until she disappeared. Roak and Z had never been on good terms since Z saw Roak as trouble for Ally. Z hadn’t exactly been wrong.

  When they reached the table, Abel motioned for Roak to have a seat with his back to the rest of the tavern. Abel took the seat facing the tavern and the airlock.

  “Hope no one sneaks up on you, Roak,” Abel said as he finally put the slug chunker away, sliding it into a strap on his right leg. “They blow your brains out from that angle and I’m likely to get some on me.”

  “That’d be unfortunate,” Roak said. He glanced around the tavern and the patrons avoided his gaze. “Why are we here, lawman?”

  “Abel. Call me Abel, Roak,” Abel responded. “After all, we’ve known each other a good while now. No need to be formal.”

  “Answer the question,” Roak snapped.

  “Careful. You’re gonna want to watch your tone with me,” Abel said, the mocking playfulness gone from his voice. “I mean that.” He tapped his ear. “One call to my people and your friends may lose rebreather privileges.”

  Roak started to respond then closed his mouth and relaxed into his seat. He spread his arms wide in defeat.

  “Good,” Abel said then snapped his fingers. He kept his eyes on Roak the entire time as they waited for Z to a
ppear with a tray holding two glasses and a bottle of brown liquor. “Thank you, Z.”

  “No friends discount today, Pitch,” Z said and walked off.

  “Yikes,” Abel said. “I’ve upset the barkeep.” He pulled out some chits from his pocket and slapped them on the table. “That should keep him happy.”

  “You sure? I’ve never seen Z happy,” Roak said.

  “Well, it’ll keep him from bitching while we sit and chat,” Abel said.

  “And what are we chatting about?”

  “Everything,” Abel said as he poured for both of them and pushed Roak’s glass across the table.

  Roak took the glass, waited until Abel sipped, then sipped some for himself. It burned good all the way down.

  “I want you to tell me why you are here. I want you to tell me why you are looking for Sha Tog. I want you to tell me who your friends are and why you are suddenly needing a team.”

  “Crew.”

  “What?”

  “A crew. Not a team.”

  “Whatever you want to call them, Roak. I do not care. You’re a solo operator. Everyone knows that. Mighty strange for you to come back to Ligston in the first place, let alone with a crew.”

  “Wasn’t exactly my choice.”

  “What? The coming back here or the crew?”

  “Both.”

  “Then let’s start with why you’re here. Can’t be to sniff out Sha Tog’s trail. You saw what happened to his little shop. There was nothing left then and there’s less than nothing left now. The spot has been refurbished and there’s a nice little haberdashery sitting there in its place. You need a hat, Roak? This lovely old Shiv’erna woman makes great hats. Might improve that scarred-up face of yours to have something nice sitting above it.”

  “Not one for hats,” Roak said. “And I still think I can find a couple hints at where Sha Tog might have gone.”

  “Why? Why track down that Skrang cripple? His off-books weapons business is gone. You aren’t going to be buying any pistols or explosives from him here. Is it the chits you were holding for him? You come into a windfall and want to repay him?” Abel grinned and sipped his liquor. “If that’s the case, then I should let you know that we have a repayment tax now. Thirty percent.”

  “How much is thirty percent of nothing?” Roak asked and downed his liquor. He started to reach for the bottle, but hesitated until Abel nodded, then he refilled his glass. “I don’t have his chits. Or any chits. If you want to shake me down, you’re wasting your time and effort. Never did get my chits back and all my other caches were hit too.”

  “That’s too bad,” Abel said. “I have myself a new lady friend and she does like the finer things in life. A little pile of chits from you sure would make my life easier. It would also help you keep your life intact. Maybe your crew has some chits on them? My people will let me know shortly. We’re very thorough here on Ligston when it comes to processing prisoners.”

  “So my crew are officially prisoners?” Roak asked.

  “That depends on how this little chat goes. Why do you need Sha Tog?”

  “He’s a friend.”

  “You don’t have friends.”

  “I have friends.”

  “Roak…”

  Roak downed his second glass of liquor, but didn’t refill the glass. He smiled at Abel. Abel smiled at Roak. They stayed that way for a couple minutes before the lawman sighed and reached for his ear.

  “I’m going to war,” Roak said.

  Abel’s hand paused and his eyes widened. “Now things just got interesting. War? Who is Roak going to war with?”

  “Whoever I have to,” Roak said.

  “I think you have someone more specific in mind.”

  “Father,” Roak said.

  Abel looked confused. “You’re going to war with your father? Eight Million Gods, you have parents? I always figured you were yanked fully formed from a ooB’clo’no’s anus.”

  “Not my father. Father. That’s what he’s called. Not a being you want to mess with, lawman. Staying off his radar is a very healthy move. Which is why it’s best if you let me go about my business so I can leave Ligston as fast as possible. Allow me to do my thing and I’ll make sure you have no hassle from Father or from my crew.”

  “The crew that is currently locked up in my jail, you mean,” Abel said. “Roak. Your threats are getting weaker as you age.”

  “Trust me here,” Roak continued. “Father is not the being you want stepping foot on Ligston. He shows up here and this place is gone. This whole town is gone. He’ll take it over and he’ll destroy it just for fun.”

  “Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” Abel said. “I think I can handle anything this Father brings.”

  “You do not have the beingpower to”—”

  “Not yet,” Abel interrupted. “But I have reinforcements on the way.”

  “Reinforcements…? What are you talking about?”

  Abel spread his arms. “Ligston is nice and all, but I have bigger plans. I’ve shown what I can accomplish here and it’s time to move on to something greater. Beings in the GF have taken notice of how well I’ve brought order to Ligston. They’ll take even more notice when I bring down the legendary Roak. Of course, knowing you the way I do, you have a backup plan. I figured I’d make one of my own so I sent out a galaxy-wide message to some of the seedier systems, planets, and stations the second I heard you were coming back. Turns out there are a lot of beings that have a grudge against Roak.”

  Abel stood up and winked at Roak. He pointed at the bottle.

  “Drink up, Roak. Might as well finish the last bottle of liquor you’ll ever drink.”

  The lawman walked off.

  “Where in all the Hells are you going?” Roak snarled.

  “To keep an eye on your crew,” Abel replied without turning around. “Make sure they stay safe when the Roak shit hits the payback fan. Or would that be the payback shit hits the Roak fan? Doesn’t matter. You’re a dead being sitting, Roak. It was never nice knowing you.”

  Abel made it to the airlock, grabbed his rebreather, and paused. The tavern watched the lawman briefly then all eyes turned to Roak.

  “Oh, and Roak, I think some of those beings I called may have gotten a head start on the others,” Able said as the airlock door opened and the patrons of the tavern stood up. “You might recognize a few faces.”

  The airlock closed and the patrons sneered at Roak. He did recognize a few faces. None were happy to see him.

  8.

  “Z!” Roak shouted as he jumped to his feet, grabbed up his chair, and flung it at the closest of the beings.

  That being happened to be a less-than-healthy-looking Gwreq that Roak slightly remembered from a job he did several years back. Gwreqs were large humanoid beings, over six feet tall, with four arms and skin made of stone. The chair exploded across the Gwreq’s chest and became splinters that coated the floor, doing absolutely zero to slow the being down. Even less than healthy, a Gwreq was formidable.

  “I hate you!” Z shouted from behind the bar, a gas-powered slug chunker held in four of his eight arm-legs. A fifth appeared and Z threw it across the tavern at Roak. “Catch!”

  Roak caught the slug chunker as the Gwreq reached him and lifted him up off his feet by the neck with one hand. Roak jammed the barrel of the slug chunker against the Gwreq’s shoulder and fired. The gas-powered projectile ripped through the stone skin and turned the shoulder to bloody tatters of flapping flesh.

  Unfortunately for Roak, the being had three more shoulders, which meant three other working arms. Roak found himself caught by two of those arms then flung halfway across the tavern until he collided with the front of the bar. Wood cracked and so did several of Roak’s ribs and possibly a vertebrae or two.

  He sucked it up, ignored the pain, and rolled onto his knees, slug chunker still in his grip.

  “Screw you,” he gasped as he fired at the Gwreq’s head.

  The being ducked, the slug mis
sed, but that gave Roak time to get to his feet, and dive over onto the other side of the bar where Z was busy firing his four slug chunkers at once, dropping beings quickly that weren’t graced with DNA that included stone skin.

  “Got a lighter?” Roak asked as he grabbed up several liquor bottles.

  “The atmosphere explodes with the smallest spark,” Z snarled.

  “Good thing there’s an airlock to keep the fire inside here.”

  “Do you hear the stupidity of that statement?”

  “Do you want to be ripped apart by a jacked-up Gwreq?”

  “Third row of shelves over, second one down. Check the bin there,” Z said as he fired with two slug chunkers while he reloaded the other two. A Slinghasp, a humanoid, snake-like race, screeched as its midsection was obliterated.

  Roak found the lighter, found a rag, stuffed the rag into a liquor bottle, lit the rag, then stood and threw the flaming bottle at the closest group of encroaching beings. Then he took a shot to his jaw that nearly shattered his face as the Gwreq swung wildly over the bar. Roak fell hard and struggled to get his wits back.

  Screaming filled the tavern as beings were engulfed in flame.

  Roak snagged one of the freshly loaded slug chunkers from out of Z’s grip and stood up, firing before he even knew what he was aiming at. The Gwreq joined the screaming as the slug tore through his left eye. He continued to scream as the slug ricocheted inside his skull. Then that screaming stopped as the slug finally exited out the back of the being’s head. The Gwreq’s skull was obliterated and splattered all across a burning Cervile, a feline race with lots of combustible fur.

  Close to a dozen beings were still up and coming at Roak and Z. They dodged the burning bodies, picking up makeshift weapons as they rushed the bar. Table legs, hunks of chairs, limbs torn free from those already fallen. The beings came for Roak and Z, rage and murder clearly displayed on their features.

  “The two Spilflecks!” Roak shouted as he fired dead-on into a Halgon’s chest. Part of a race that looked like a poison dart frog and a rubber band had reproduced, the Halgon was elastic enough that the slug hit its chest, bounced off, and ricocheted around the tavern, nearly taking one of Z’s arms off.