Infinite Mayhem Page 7

  “Hey!” Z shouted as he fired at the Halgon and turned the being’s head to rubbery pulp, its skull not as elastic as the rest of it.

  Roak didn’t apologize. He continued firing at the incoming mob. Then an alarm sounded and he glanced at the ceiling as orbs of red began to spin and flash. He knew what was coming next. So did Z.

  “Under the credit scanner!” Z yelled.

  Roak dove for the small cabinet under the credit scanner, yanked the door right off, and pulled out a humanoid rebreather and a Groshnel rebreather. Roak didn’t bother to ask or wait for permission, he yanked the rebreather over Z’s head then pulled his own on just as the fire-suppressant foam fell from above and filled the tavern.

  “Keep moving! Don’t let it set!” Roak yelled.

  “I know how the system works!” Z yelled back, waving his arms about to keep the fire-suppressant foam from hardening across his body.

  Roak kept himself moving as the foam tried to harden and hold him in place. The fire was smothered, leaving only a smoldering mess simmering under the foam. The attackers that thought ahead were waving their arms frantically to keep from being stuck in place. Those without the foresight were frozen statutes, rage-filled eyes peeking out from under foam-crusted brows.

  The alarms stopped, the foam was no longer falling, and Roak was taking aim. He dropped the attackers that were still moving then he focused on the ones stuck in place.

  “That’d be murder, Roak,” Z said. “They can’t fight back.”

  “They should have thought of that before,” Roak replied as he pulled the trigger. The frozen beings died one by one. All attackers were dead. “Not taking any chances.”

  Z managed to trudge his way to a control box set in the wall behind the bar. He waved one of his arms over it, his implant activating a holo interface. He typed in a code then a series of commands that activated clean-up process. Bots rolled out from their sealed and secured charging nooks and started to tackle the foam slop and corpses that filled the tavern.

  “Now that we have that out of the way,” Roak said, facing Z. “You get what I need?”

  “I could have transmitted this to you,” Z said as he opened a second panel, scanned his implant in the security harness, then took the small disc that slid free of a hidden slot. He offered the disc to Roak. “Would have been a lot less messy.”

  Roak took the disc and tucked it into a pouch on his light armor.

  “Then we wouldn’t have had this fun reunion,” Roak said.

  “I wasn’t lying when I said I hate you,” Z replied.

  “I know. I appreciate the help,” Roak said as he patted the pouch with the disc. “This is everything Sha Tog left behind?”

  “That is all the data he uploaded into the tavern’s inventory and ordering system before the place was destroyed,” Z said. “I didn’t see it until I rebuilt and downloaded the backup into the new system.”

  “You did a great job keeping this under wraps,” Roak said as he tried to crack off some of the foam that had hardened to his armor. It was going to take a while to remove. “I’ll pay you back for this.”

  “Find Ally,” Z said. “Do what you need to do with Sha Tog, take care of this Father business, but find Ally.”

  “That’s the plan,” Roak said and frowned. “Back way out still the same as the old building or is there a new one?”

  “Behind that holo painting hanging next to the staircase,” Z said and pointed at the far wall. “When you reach the alley, head to your right. Follow the buildings until you come to the edge of town. Wait by the jungle. Someone will come by with a roller. They won’t say a word to you. It’s an exchange only. No need to get them involved.”

  “Got it,” Roak said. “Thanks, Z.”

  Roak slogged his way to the hidden back exit.

  “Roak!” Z called.

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t come back. Even if you’re with Ally, don’t come back. This was a one-time deal. I meant it when I said I hate you. Like shoot you on sight hate you.”

  “Noted. You gonna be able to handle the lawman?”

  Z shrugged. “This is the only tavern in town. He’ll cut me slack because he drinks for free.”

  “And he didn’t expect me to die anyway,” Roak stated. “Or he would have killed my crew immediately. He’s waiting.”

  “So you know it’s a trap?” Z asked.

  “It’s always a trap,” Roak replied and left the tavern.

  As the hidden airlock sealed closed behind him, Roak focused on the noise of the incoming fire team. That kind of chaos was perfect for him to make an easy getaway. He turned right and jogged to the end of the alley, checked that the side street was clear, jogged to the next alley, then continued that way until he reached the edge of town and the beginning of the ever-encroaching jungle.

  A blue-skinned human was waiting by a beat-up old roller. The woman didn’t even give Roak a second glance as he jogged up to the vehicle. She opened the driver’s door then walked off as if Roak wasn’t there. Roak ignored her as well and jumped into the driver’s seat. He started up the roller and hit the accelerator.

  After a few pauses to make sure he wasn’t noticed by townsfolk hurrying to see what the commotion was at the tavern, Roak navigated his way to the lawman’s offices and the town’s jail. He didn’t bother to hide the roller. No one was around. Roak parked the vehicle in front of the building’s main airlock and jumped out.

  The airlock opened without any trouble as Roak approached. He stepped in, waited for the outer door to seal, waited for the inner door to open, then walked into the lobby and pulled off his rebreather.

  “How’d it go?” Roak asked.

  “Eight Million Gods damn he’s fast,” Bishop said from behind a desk, his eyes on a holo screen as his fingers typed frantically at a keyboard. “Yellow Eyes took the guards down and opened the cells before we could even blink.”

  “I blinked,” Reck said as she held up an RX31 plasma assault rifle. “So much for no weapons on the surface of the planet.”

  “Abel Pitch ain’t one to play by the rules,” Roak said. “That the only weapon you found?”

  “There’s plenty more, just no point in taking them if they’ll just be snatched from us when we get back up to the station,” Reck said.

  “Then why take that one?” Roak asked.

  “Custom butt stock fits my shoulder perfectly. Figured I’d try to hang onto it, at least,” Reck said and demonstrated by seating the rifle to her shoulder and taking aim at Roak. “Bang.”

  “Cute,” Roak said. “Bishop?”

  “Nothing on Ally,” Bishop replied as he pushed back from the desk and stood up. “Sorry, pal.”

  “Hey! They have Tchalmian soda!” Yellow Eyes exclaimed as he walked into the room, all but one of his hand nubs occupied with a different can. “And more than one flavor!”

  The being downed all the sodas at once, burped loudly, then tossed the cans over his shoulders.

  “We good, man? You get what you needed from the bartender?” Yellow Eyes asked. “What’s that all over you?”

  “I got it,” Roak said, ignoring Yellow Eyes’ reference to the crusted-on foam. “I also have a roller outside. Time to leave. Now.”

  “Really? I wanted to go hike the jungle before we left,” Yellow Eyes said. “I saw some birds that were way trippy, man. And for me to say something like that means they really are trippy.”

  “You can come back on your own time,” Roak said. “We leave. Now. Rebreathers on.”

  Roak slid his on, turned back to the airlock, and didn’t bother to wait to see if anyone was following before he activated the door. Reck, Bishop, and Yellow Eyes pushed in behind him. The outer door opened and the group sprinted to the waiting roller.

  “We got company,” Bishop said as Roak sped away from the building. “Three rollers heading straight for us. Maybe four streets down.”

  “How many deputies did you take out?” Roak asked.

 
“Oh, I killed them all,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “Give me a number,” Roak snapped.

  “He killed sixteen,” Reck said. “I killed five more once I was out of the cell.”

  “That felt like overkill,” Bishop said.

  “Don’t know the meaning of the word,” Reck and Roak said.

  “You two are so Eight Million Gods damn cute,” Yellow Eyes said with a laugh. There was a crack and hiss. “What the Hells was that?”

  “Reck!” Roak yelled as he yanked the wheel and steered the roller onto the closest side street.

  “Flechettes,” Reck said. “They’re using simple projectiles.”

  “Not simple! Not simple!” Yellow Eyes said as he panicked and began flailing around. He was seated in the back with Bishop and smacked the man over and over with his nubby arms. “Acid on them! Acid!”

  “He’s right!” Bishop shouted, trying to make himself as small as possible as more acid-laced flechettes punctured the roller’s rear windows. “They’re gaining on us, buddy!”

  “Stop calling me buddy!” Roak shouted as he turned onto another side street then onto another. He brought the roller to a screeching halt.

  Ahead was a roller that took up the entire street from side to side and was twice as tall as the one Roak was driving. In the driver’s seat was a grinning Abel Pitch. The grin fell from the lawman’s face as he sped the massive vehicle straight at Roak and the others.

  “I got this,” Reck said and settled the plasma rifle to her shoulder.

  “What are you doing?” Roak yelled. “You fire that and the air will combust all around us!”

  “Nah,” Reck said. “We’re safe. Trust me.”

  “Reck! No!” Roak shouted as he tried to stop her, but he wasn’t fast enough.

  Reck squeezed the trigger and a plasma bolt burned through their roller’s view shield and straight up at the oncoming vehicle’s view shield. The air around the bolt outside the roller turned to flames and soon the entire street was engulfed.

  Then the flames became white mist and visibility was reduced to absolute zero. Roak braced for the impact of the oncoming vehicle, but after a few seconds, nothing happened. The mist dissipated and revealed a scorched street, but no town-destroying inferno.

  “Told ya,” Reck said and pointed at the stopped vehicle in front of their roller.

  A headless corpse was slightly smoking in the driver’s seat.

  “A couple of the guards wouldn’t shut up about the new fire-suppression protocols that Pitch made the town council install,” Reck said. “Apparently, it nearly bankrupted the town, but Pitch wasn’t gonna spend his tenure worrying about anymore random burn-downs of buildings. Now, if we’d been in the jungle, I would have never taken that shot.”

  “Can we go now?” Yellow Eyes asked weakly from the back of the roller. “This acid sucks. I got like holes all up in my shit here, man.”

  “Yeah, he’s not looking so good,” Bishop said.

  Roak glanced back and saw that Bishop was right. Yellow Eyes’ usual bright yellow skin had taken on a greenish tinge. He put the roller into gear and spun them around.

  “We’ll get you up onto Ligston Station now,” Roak said. “Hang on.”

  9.

  Roak had alerted Nimm to the need for a medical officer to meet them when the elevator reached the station. Nimm had not alerted Roak to the fact there would be more than just a medical officer waiting for them to arrive.

  “Roak, I’m Lieutenant Cash’al Beem,” a smug-looking Leforian said. A dozen GF troopers stood behind the being with another dozen of the station’s security troopers behind those.

  Leforians were a mammalian-insect race that looked like a cross between a dung beetle and a Great Dane dog. Over six feet tall with four arms and coated in chitinous armor, Leforians could look intimidating, but the majority had fairly docile personalities and were saddled with the reputation of being worry warts. So much so that most beings called Leforians “moms.” The Leforian facing Roak and crew did not look like a docile, worry wart. No one was calling him “mom” anytime soon.

  “I believe you are in possession of information that is vital to the Galactic Fleet’s efforts to keep the Skrang Alliance from breaking the War treaty,” Beem continued.

  “Nope,” Roak replied calmly. “You got bad intel there.”

  “I think not,” Beem said.

  Roak only grinned. Beem drew back and clicked his quad-mandibles in disgust and irritation.

  “Can we skip the what is Roak doing with his face part of the conversation and get me to the med bay?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Kinda dying here.”

  A medical officer pushed through the troopers and approached Yellow Eyes, but was held back as one of Beem’s four hands clamped hard on the woman’s shoulder.

  “The thing will be tended to as soon as Mr. Roak cooperates,” Beem said.

  “Roak,” Roak said. “No mister. Just Roak.”

  “Roak. Will you cooperate or must your comrade here suffer in pain as you fruitlessly try to withhold information from me?” Beem asked.

  “Can I have a vote?” Yellow Eyes asked. “I feel like I should get a vote, man.”

  “Roak?” Beem pressed.

  “Help Yellow Eyes and we can go talk,” Roak said. “That’s the cooperation you’re getting.”

  “That is not enough,” Beem responded. “I need the information now to show you are not an agent of the Skrang Alliance and can be trusted by the Galactic Fleet.”

  “There’s our problem,” Roak said. “I can’t be trusted by the Galactic Fleet because I don’t give ten shits about the Galactic Fleet. I take care of me and that is as far as I can be trusted.”

  “And your crew,” Bishop said.

  “What?” Roak asked.

  “You take care of you and your crew,” Bishop said and smiled at Beem. “He keeps forgetting he has a crew.”

  “Not the point,” Roak snapped. “Beem? You want information then make sure Yellow Eyes gets all fixed up. We got nothing to talk about until then.”

  “I’m ready when needed, Roak,” Hessa said in Roak’s comm.

  “Where’s Nimm?” Roak asked without responding to Hessa.

  “Commander Nimm has been relieved of duty,” Beem said. “Her services are no longer needed and her fate is sealed.”

  “Her fate is sealed?” Roak asked. “So whatever I do now won’t have repercussions on Nimm?”

  Beem eyed Roak for a second then shook his head.

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” he responded.

  “How far would you go?” Roak asked. “Give me a range here.”

  “You need to stop this now, Roak,” Beem said, his upper mandibles grinding against each other in a futile attempt to hold back his building anger. “Your ship is no longer on this station. I had it ejected into space as soon as I arrived. It is floating out there useless. You have no way off unless you cooperate with me and give the Galactic Fleet what it needs.”

  “Do you have a lock on Nimm?” Roak asked.

  “Seriously?” Bishop responded from behind Roak.

  “We can take them, Roak,” Reck said.

  “Hessa? Do you have a lock on Nimm?” Roak asked again.

  “Who are you speaking to, Roak?” Beem snarled. He checked his wrist holo and frowned. “I am not seeing a comm signal coming from you.”

  “Shut up,” Roak responded. “Grown-ups are talking.”

  “I do,” Hessa stated. “But the moltrans unit has been tricky of late, you know that. I may not be able to get all of you off the station before violence breaks out.”

  “That’s not my concern,” Roak said. “Get Nimm then Yellow Eyes. I’ll leave the rest of the order up to you after that.”

  “Roak! Who are you talking to?” Beem demanded. He pulled his sidearm and took aim at Roak’s head. “Answer me!”

  “Sir, we have a report that Commander Nimm is no longer in her quarters,” a GF trooper said. “The guards watched her demateria
lize before their eyes.”

  “That kind of rhymes,” Yellow Eyes said, his voice sickly and distant.

  “I am sure the information is on you somewhere,” Beem said. “Keeping you alive was a mistake.”

  Before Beem could fire, Yellow Eyes became a swirling mass of molecules then blinked out of existence.

  “Moltrans!” Beem shouted. “How?”

  Roak’s answer to Beem’s question was a fist into the being’s quad-mandibles. One of the mandibles cracked and hung at an awkward angle. Roak aimed his second punch for that one and smirked when it snapped off and fell to the floor.

  “This is how it’s gonna go, eh, buddy?” Bishop said as he dove for the closest troopers and took them out at the knees.

  Reck was in the fight instantly. She dove to the floor as several plasma blasts scorched the wall she’d been standing by. She rolled, came up between two troopers, relieved one trooper of her rifle, turned to the other trooper, took his head off with a single squeeze of the trigger, then sent the butt of the rifle slamming into the weapon’s original owner’s throat, crushing her windpipe and sending her to her knees in a choking, gasping mess.

  Roak just kept hitting Beem. Punch after punch, jab after jab. Roak spun and sent elbows into the lieutenant’s carapace then spun back around and let loose with a wicked roundhouse kick that tore off another mandible.

  Beem roared in pain and anger and grabbed Roak by the sides of the head and lifted. If Roak had been wearing his heavy armor, he’d have had a helmet on. With light armor, it was all Roak flesh that Beem held as he raised the bounty hunter up off his feet.

  Roak gripped Beem’s arms in order to keep his head attached to his neck. He tried to kick the Leforian, but his legs were blocked by the two lower arms.

  “You are a gnat in the ecosystem of this galaxy,” Beem spat in Roak’s face. “You are insignificant. There are forces so much larger than you and your little team.”

  “Crew,” Roak grunted as the pressure in his skull grew well past uncomfortable.

  “I will have that information!” Beem shouted.