Razer Edge: A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel Page 6

  “We like leave now,” Spickle said. “Find Pol Hammon. Now go on Roak’s ship.”

  “Yes. Go on Roak’s ship,” Sath said.

  “The galaxy underestimates Maglors because of their difficulties learning Common. Such bigotry over language,” Pol said. “But those are wise words. Go on Roak’s ship. An excellent plan.”

  More and more explosions.

  “Excellent plan. Not a simple one,” Roak said. “Hessa?”

  “Good news or very bad news?” Hessa replied.

  “Just give me the whole situation,” Roak said and sighed.

  “The hangar where I am located is on the opposite end of the station from you,” Hessa said. “The good news is it is one of only a handful of hangars that the Edgers have not targeted and are not in the process of taking over. If you get here, we should be able to take off and leave fairly unmolested. The very bad news is you will have to deal with approximately a hundred Edgers between your location and mine.”

  “That doesn’t include the regular crazies and shoot-first assholes that live on Razer,” Roak said.

  “No, I am afraid you will have those unknown variables to deal with as well.”

  “I’m beginning to see why the payoff is twenty-five million chits,” Roak said.

  “I’ll make it thirty million if you can get me to my final destination within three days,” Pol said. “How does that sound?”

  “Sounds like a distraction,” Roak said. “You pay me thirty if you want, but I’m focusing on living first, bonus not even close to second. You hear me, old man?”

  “No need to get ageist,” Pol said. “Body might be old, but my brain is far from it. Do not underestimate me like you have underestimated your Maglor friends.”

  “Not my friends,” Roak snapped and looked at the Maglors. Sath had pissed himself. “And not underestimating them. Trust me.”

  “I’m plotting the safest course,” Hessa said. “Proceed to the closest lift. Not the one you came in on, but the one the opposite way. Less killing on the connected levels.”

  “Less killing direction sounds good,” Roak said. He snapped his fingers. “Follow me, old man.”

  “We follow too,” Spickle said.

  “I thought you were here to get me around this station?” Roak snarled. “Remember that part of your sales pitch?”

  Spickle gave such a slight shrug that it was almost imperceptible. Sath looked like he pissed himself again. Roak struggled not to shoot them both.

  “Whatever,” Roak said and started jogging down the passageway. “As long as you keep up.”

  “Eh hem,” Pol said.

  Roak stopped and looked back. The old man had barely gone a meter.

  “Strong brain, old body,” Pol said. “Jogging will not work for me.”

  “What will?” Roak snarled.

  “Walking briskly,” Pol replied.

  “We run ahead and scout route,” Spickle said, slapping Sath on the shoulder. “That show way around.”

  “Good idea,” Roak said as the two Maglors took off and were lost from sight around the corner. “Good riddance.”

  Roak waited for Pol to catch up.

  “Am I going to have to carry you?” Roak asked. “I charge extra for that.”

  “Come now, Roak, you’ve carried many a target before without charging extra. How else would you move the targets that end up as corpses?”

  “If you insist,” Roak said and grinned.

  “No, you will not have to carry me,” Pol said.

  “Good. Come on. If we hurry, maybe we’ll lose the monkeys.”

  “Such a derogatory term for a sentient race.”

  “Yet, it fits. Shut up and walk faster. No running, no jogging, just walk a little faster.”

  Roak wasn’t too worried about the Maglors’ role anymore. If they ever became too much of a burden, he could always cut them loose.

  “Oh, Roak, I can feel the murder coming off you,” Pol said. “For shame.”

  Roak turned and eyed the old man. “No clue what you mean.”

  “Riiiiiight,” Pol replied and gave Roak a wink. “Well, I didn’t hire you to save two Maglors, now did I? But, if you can, perhaps we could keep them alive long enough for them to make it on their own.”

  “If they make it, they make it. I’m not babysitting,” Roak said. He studied the old man. “Hessa? Fast isn’t going to happen. Give me a hole where I can hunker for a few minutes without getting killed. Gonna need to feel this out.”

  “I can plan for you, Roak,” Hessa replied. “I am more than capable of—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know you are, but I need to work this out in my head on my terms. A hundred Edgers and thousands of Razer assholes. Instinct will get us back to you, not a well thought out plan.”

  “I’m not sure what she is saying, since I can only catch a glimpse of the comm code,” Pol said, tapping his temple. “But I am almost certain she is arguing that a well thought out plan is better than instinct.”

  “I was going to say that,” Hessa agreed. “Mr. Hammon is correct.”

  “You hired me for me,” Roak said, stabbing a finger at Pol. “Instinct is how we live through this. Trust me or hire the Maglors to get you out of here. You seem to think highly of the little poop flingers.”

  “So much bigotry,” Pol said, but didn’t argue. He nodded and walked closer to Roak.

  “Hessa? Get me a hole. Now,” Roak ordered.

  “Would a please be so hard to—?”

  “Hessa!”

  The two Maglors came sprinting back around the corner.

  “Not that way!” Spickle screeched.

  “No good! No good!” Sath yelled.

  Roak was fairly certain Sath had shat himself. Made sense since he’d already emptied his bladder.

  “What are you two whining…?”

  Roak let the question fall away as two Cerviles, two Slinghasps, a Gwreq, and a being he hadn’t seen in a long time came around the corner, weapons up, faces filled with the need for violence.

  “Oh, my…” Pol gasped.

  “Chassfornian,” Roak said quietly as he looked at the huge being that was chained and manacled, the Gwreq holding the end of the chain to keep the thing in place.

  Built like a giant mastiff, but bipedal and at least ten feet tall, the Chassfornian needed a handler due to the thing’s default personality being nothing but pure rage. Once used as shock troops in the War by the Galactic Fleet, the GF cut the entire species loose since none of the other races would deal with them anymore due to their intense need to kill anything they came in contact with, even supposed allies.

  “Get the H16s,” Roak snapped at the Maglors.

  The two beings blinked as they hurried behind Roak.

  “I would do what he said,” Pol muttered, his eyes huge and focused on the Chassfornian.

  Cerviles were deadly. Slinghasps, a limbed snake-like race, could be deadly. A Gwreq was always deadly. But a Chassfornian in a contained space like the passageway they were in? The equivalent of deploying a nuke in a bucket.

  “Now,” Roak snapped.

  The Maglors picked up the two H16s that were on the floor next to the two crushed Maglor corpses then they hurried back behind Roak.

  “I swear, if either of you shoot me in the back instead of shooting these assholes, I’ll kill you myself,” Roak said.

  “Yes,” Spickle replied.

  “You will,” Sath agreed.

  One of the Cerviles stepped forward, raising the barrel of her RX31 plasma assault rifle to the ceiling. She held up her free hand and gave Roak a nod.

  “No quarrel with you, bounty hunter,” the Cervile said. “Heard you were onboard and you were after him.”

  She nodded at Pol. The old man gulped. Roak rolled his eyes.

  “Good for you,” Roak said. “Glad we got that straightened out. Care to move so we can leave?”

  “That’s the problem,” the Cervile said. “Edgers are here. They’re taking the station
. Too bad. We had a good thing going. But, reality is what it is.”

  “There are thousands of you,” Roak said. “You can handle a few Edgers.”

  “Can? Sure, sure. Want to? Nah. Why would any of us stick our necks out?” the Cervile replied. “Once all this calms down then it’s back to business as usual. The Edgers will be in charge, but so what?”

  Roak didn’t reply. A reply wasn’t called for.

  “So, speaking of business as usual, I am sure you know the time-honored tradition we have here on Razer, yeah?” the Cervile continued. “Finders keepers?”

  Roak sighed. “Hessa. Open the cabin doors, please.”

  There were four cabin doors, two on each side of the passageway. They slid open almost immediately. The newcomers, including the Cervile that was doing the talking, all glanced at the doors. Roak opened fire.

  11.

  The newcomers didn’t let the Chassfornian loose right off. That was their first mistake.

  “Back in your cabin!” Roak yelled at Pol. The old man did not argue. The Maglors followed.

  “Not you!”

  The Maglors didn’t listen.

  Roak shouted those orders as he sprinted to the open cabin door opposite Pol’s, the KL09 in his hand barking plasma blast after plasma blast, forcing the Cerviles and Slinghasps to hit the deck. The Gwreq only sneered as one of the blasts hit him square in the chest. The Chassfornian howled with bloodlust.

  Roak made it into the cabin and checked the charge on his pistol. Ninety-six percent. Good.

  “Don’t kill us,” two Lipian women said in unison when Roak burst in on them. They were holding each other on the bed, both completely naked.

  Lipians were a humanoid race originally bioengineered strictly to be prostitutes. That limitation had been lifted from them centuries earlier, but most still lived the life. Genetics were hard to overcome. And a station like Razer was a great place to make a sizable living as a prostitute. If you lived long enough to enjoy the chits.

  “You don’t kill me and I won’t kill you. Deal?” Roak said as he looked about the cabin. “What weapons do you have?”

  The two Lipians pulled Blorta 22s out from behind their backs. Roak grinned at the small pistols, not because of their size, but because they packed a nice punch and were way more deadly than their appearance.

  “Good pistols to have on hand,” Roak said. “Gonna need to borrow them.”

  The look of fear in the Lipians’ eyes turned to business savvy. Roak shrugged and reached into a pouch on his belt with his free hand, tossing them each a few chits. The Lipians tossed him the Blortas. The Lipians nodded, stood up, and hurried into the bathroom, locking and bolting the door behind them.

  “Good idea,” Roak muttered as plasma fire scorched the frame of the cabin’s door.

  “You let your target go, Roak!” the lead Cervile yelled. “He’s on the opposite side of the passageway. Rookie move for a man with your rep.”

  Roak didn’t reply. He was done talking. The two Blortas were tucked into his belt, last resort weapons if his KL09 gave out. More plasma blasts to the wall and door frame. Roak counted off, finding the rhythm that all shooters had no matter how hard they tried to vary their shot pattern.

  Plasma blast, blast, blast, blast. Roak stepped out and fired as he sprinted across the passageway to Pol’s cabin. A Slinghasp screamed, his voice a strangled gurgle of blood and burnt flesh. Roak heard the body drop just before the next round of plasma fire started up.

  “You two,” Roak snarled, aiming his KL09 at the Maglors while he slammed a palm against the door controls, locking them in the cabin while also locking the attackers out. “You ever disregard an order like—”

  “They do not work for you, Roak,” Pol stated. “You do not give them orders.”

  “I do give Eight Million Godsdamn orders if they want a ride off this station on my ship!” Roak shouted. “Otherwise, they are no use to me and they die here and now!”

  “You made deal,” Spickle said. “We show you Pol, you take us with.”

  “You made deal,” Sath echoed.

  “We sign a contract? You got a seal in blood or something?” Roak snarled. “Deals are only good if I’m alive. You two will get me killed if you don’t do exactly what I say when I say it.”

  There was a good amount of shouting outside the door as rifle butts pounded against it. Roak shook his head and glared at the Maglors for half a second before shifting his gaze to Pol.

  “You’re the almighty tech. Tech us out of this,” Roak said.

  “Do your job for you?” Pol asked with a smirk.

  Roak glared. “You want to play that game with me, old man? There’s a Chassfornian out there about to be let off leash. He’ll eat that smirk off your face with one bite.”

  “Yes. There might be a way,” Pol said as he swallowed hard and cleared his throat.

  Roak snorted. “Which is?”

  “If the Chassfornian was used for combat by the GF, then he has a control chip in his head,” Pol explained. “Most Chassfornians learned to overcome the control, hence the problems with that race integrating once the War was over. They live for the rage.”

  “You’re presenting me with more problems, old man!” Roak yelled as the pounding continued at the cabin door.

  “I can hack the chip,” Pol said. “I won’t be able to control the Chassfornian directly, but I can make it hesitate long enough for you to kill it.”

  “How much time do you need?” Roak asked.

  “Five minutes. Tops,” Pol said.

  “That gives me enough time to kill the others,” Roak said.

  Pol nodded and his eyes rolled up into his head.

  Instead of white, like the backs of most human eyes, Pol’s were sky blue, shot through with gold streaks. Cybernetic implants, of course. Roak wondered how much of the old man was still flesh and bone.

  “Better hurry,” Pol said, his voice slightly distant.

  “Carbines,” Roak said and held out his hand as he holstered his KL09.

  The Maglors’ eyes widened even more.

  “Here.” Roak tossed them the Blortas. “We can trade back when I’m done.”

  “You know how kill Chassfornian?” Spickle asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh. Good.”

  Spickle threw Roak his H16. Roak caught it and threw it around his back, letting the mag straps lock onto his light armor as the combat weapons were designed to do. He glared at Sath. The Maglor tossed him the second H16 and Roak checked the charge. Nearly full.

  “Close the door after me,” Roak said. “Anyone comes through that isn’t me and you put a blast between their eyes.”

  “Anyone?” Spickle asked. “What about if it—”

  “Anyone,” Roak snapped.

  “Yes,” Spickle said and held his Blorta tight.

  “You ready, old man?” Roak asked Pol.

  “I’ve been working this entire time,” Pol responded. “Go.”

  Roak nodded, not sure if the old man could see him or not, stepped to the cabin door, dropped to a knee, and took aim with the carbine.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be able to…?” Roak asked, but the cabin door was already opening.

  Roak was firing before the door had moved more than three centimeters. He clipped someone in the thigh then nailed someone else in the belly.

  “Back! Back!” the lead Cervile shouted.

  Roak kept firing, clipping someone else in the shoulder as the attackers retreated, their own shots aimed too high and going over Roak’s head.

  “You have killed one Slinghasp already, Roak,” Hessa reported. “The second one is wounded in the shoulder. The Cervile that appears to be in charge took a shot to her thigh. The second Cervile has been mortally wounded in the abdomen. Nice shooting on that one.”

  Roak took note of Hessa’s report and dove out of the cabin, the carbine still to his shoulder as he rolled across the floor, firing over and over until it powered down, the maga
zine’s charge spent, the barrel smoking red hot.

  Tossing the empty H16 aside, Roak pushed up onto his knees, the second carbine already swinging from around his back and into a firing position. Without hesitating, Roak squeezed the trigger, taking off the gut shot Cervile’s head with one blast. Mortally wounded folks tended to get suicidal; Roak wanted to avoid that. Roak had learned the hard way.

  Roak’s experience was on the mark as the headless Cervile’s left hand opened and a grenade fell from his dead grip. Roak dropped and covered his head as the lead Cervile screamed to take cover. The explosion was deafening and the blast shoved hard against Roak’s prone body.

  Roak grunted from the impact of the shock wave. Not plasma, but a concussive shock. Roak figured they really wanted Pol alive if they were coming at him with concussion grenades and not ones loaded with plasma.

  There was screaming from the cabin at the far end of the passageway. Hessa had opened the door wide and the occupants had been too scared to close it. Roak looked up and counted a dead Cervile, a dead Slinghasp, and a dazed Slinghasp trying to crawl towards that open door. Roak put a blast in the dazed Slinghasp’s side and the guy stopped crawling and started bleeding.

  The lead Cervile was in the cabin which left only a smiling Gwreq and a snarling Chassfornian in the passageway. Roak slowly got to his feet, H16 aimed at a spot right between the Chassfornian’s eyes.

  “You can walk away,” Roak said to the Gwreq without looking at the stone-skinned being. “Take your big dog with you and chalk this up to a gross miscalculation. Live to fight another day and all that shit.”

  The Chassfornian’s snarls turned into garbled speech, but Roak couldn’t make out what the being was saying. The Gwreq laughed hard.

  “My friend says that another day is today,” the Gwreq replied. “We’ll stay right here and wait for you to give us the old tech. Take your time. We ain’t going anywhere.”

  The station shook from yet another explosion.

  “Might not be much left of the station if we wait too long,” Roak said.

  The Gwreq shrugged his massive shoulders. All four of them.

  “I’m giving you a chance to—”

  Roak was cut off as the lead Cervile pivoted from her cover and opened fire on him. He took a shot to his left side, the light armor taking the hit for him, rolled with the momentum, letting his left hand fall away from his carbine, and opened fire with a one-handed grip as he shifted his aim from the Chassfornian to the Cervile.