Paradox Slaughter: A Roak: Galactic Bounty Hunter Novel Page 7

  “There is little to no information about the virus,” Hessa said. “Which I find strange. It was quite a big story back when it all happened. The holo vids are filled with news reports. But once the system was abandoned, no one seemed to care about the virus anymore.”

  Roak smiled.

  “Oh, not liking that look on you,” Yellow Eyes said, waving a couple of hands in front of his own face. “What’s wrong with your mouth, man?”

  “I’m smiling, dickhead,” Roak said. “Care to know why?”

  “Because you’re crazy as a shithouse gump?” Yellow Eyes asked.

  “Because there’s no viral threat. There never was,” Roak said. “Yes, beings got sick and died, but not because there was a viral outbreak. They got sick because they were infected with the virus deliberately.”

  Roak brought up a holo and swiped through it until he found what he was looking for.

  “Chipla System,” Roak said, pointing to the holo image. “Very similar to the Sabulos System. Rich in all kinds of resources.”

  He pinched the image and zoomed in.

  “That right there was the scene of the worst epidemic of Hestchian virus ever recorded,” Roak continued. “Six million lives lost.”

  “Oh, that sounds like a nasty bug,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “It was,” Roak said. “The system was abandoned and put on quarantine. One of the corporations came along and bought exclusive rights to clean up the system for the Galactic Fleet. The corporation went bankrupt and sold those rights to a different corporation. Then the same thing happened to that corporation. And another and another.”

  “Who owns the rights now?” Yellow Eyes asked, seemingly enthralled with the story.

  “No one has a clue at this point,” Roak said and zoomed in again on the system. “Galactic Fleet gave up and wrote it off as uninhabitable. But it’s not. I got this holo from the system a few years back while I was on a job. What does that look like to you?”

  Yellow Eyes studied the holo for a minute.

  “Looks like a healthy mining operation to me,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “It was and probably still is,” Roak said. “I’ve never been back. Ten to one the Sabulos System is exactly the same.”

  “Roak, that would mean we are dealing with not only a crime syndicate, but also possible megacorporation involvement,” Hessa said. “That might make things difficult.”

  “It will sure as shit make things difficult,” Roak said, still smiling.

  “You should really stop that with your mouth,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “But, the great part of corporate involvement is that profit matters over everything else,” Roak said. “If I can show the executives that their partnership with the crime syndicate is gonna cost them, then they should back off and let me work.”

  “Us,” Yellow Eyes said. “I’m working this too. You’ll need me.”

  “Sure,” Roak agreed. “I probably will need you.”

  “Awwww, you like me,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “Not even a fraction of a millimeter,” Roak replied. “Hessa? Set a course for the Sabulos System.”

  “I already have, Roak,” Hessa replied. “We’ve been heading to the next wormhole portal that will take us in that direction since Yellow Eyes first said the name of our destination.”

  “ETA?” Roak asked.

  “You aren’t upset?” Hessa replied.

  “I’m always upset,” Roak said. “What’s the ETA to the wormhole portal?”

  “An hour,” Hessa stated.

  “Good,” Roak said, standing up. “You. Yellow Eyes. I’m going to eat something. You’re going to talk while I eat something.”

  “You’re giving me a comm?” Yellow Eyes asked. “Not a good idea.”

  “What? No,” Roak replied. “I’m not giving you a comm.”

  “Then how will we talk?” Yellow Eyes asked.

  “Because you’re coming with me to the mess,” Roak snapped then paused. “Wait, why is giving you a comm implant not a good idea?”

  “Not compatible,” Yellow Eyes said and did that shrug thing again. “It’d make my head swell up like a balloon then pop.” He waved his arms about. “No implants here, either.”

  “No implants,” Hessa said. “You and Roak should get along great.”

  “Except I have an implant,” Roak said. “One I didn’t ask for.”

  “He’s never going to let me forget that,” Hessa said.

  “He does appear to be the grudge-holding sort,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “Mess. Now. You. Talk,” Roak said, pointing at Yellow Eyes. “Now.”

  “You already said that,” Yellow Eyes responded as he got up and followed Roak to the bridge doors then to the lift. “You wouldn’t happen to have more of that gump stew I ate earlier, would you?”

  Roak stepped onto the lift and swore the entire ride to the mess level. Then he got off, walked to the mess, and checked the menu holo by the first food dispenser. The gump stew was gone.

  “You ate it all?” Roak asked. “All of it?”

  “I ate what the dispenser gave me,” Yellow Eyes replied. “If that was all of it, then yes, I ate all of it. Good stew.”

  Roak swiped at the menu then waited for a large sandwich with, protein slices and green leaves, to fall from the chute. Roak added a bowl of carb chips and a large bottle of water to his tray then went and sat down at the closest table.

  Yellow Eyes glanced around. “This ship is meant for a good-sized crew. Such a waste of space.”

  “I was going to say the same thing about you,” Roak said around a mouthful of sandwich. “Sit your yellow ass down and start telling me who in all the Hells you are.”

  “Alright,” Yellow Eyes said. “But it’s a short story.”

  11.

  “That’s it?” Roak asked, pushing his empty plate to the side.

  “That’s it,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “You woke up in a vat and that’s all you know?” Roak pressed.

  “Woke up in a vat covered in purple slime,” Yellow Eyes corrected. “That’s all I know.”

  “An amnio vat,” Roak said.

  “That’s my guess, man,” Yellow Eyes agreed. “There was some breakdown in the vat systems that day and they ended up dumping me with the rest of the beings.”

  “Dumping you? How?” Roak asked.

  “Tossed us all out the airlock into an ice belt,” Yellow Eyes said. “The others were dead.”

  “How in the Hells did you survive?” Roak asked, looking Yellow Eyes up and down.

  “Don’t have a clue, man,” Yellow Eyes said. “I can survive in zero atmosphere.”

  Yellow Eyes grabbed one of his arms and stretched as far as he could. It snapped back into place as soon as he let go. The end, where there should have been a hand, but was mostly a nub, became a mass of wriggling mini-tentacles then returned to its normal nub-like form.

  “I adapt well,” Yellow Eyes said and shrugged his shrug.

  “Were the others like you?” Roak asked. He was honestly intrigued. It was rare for another being to grab his attention when it didn’t exactly benefit him personally. “Were they yellow spindly floppy things too?”

  “You should look into poetry, Roak,” Yellow Eyes said. “You make good words.”

  “Well? Were they like you?” Roak insisted.

  “Why do you want to know so bad?” Yellow Eyes asked. “So you can track more down and do what? Sell them?”

  “Sell? I’m a hunter, not a slaver, shithead,” Roak snapped. “No, I just want to know if you were part of a batch. A larger experiment. Or if you’re a one-off and the others were one-offs too. I’ve seen some crazy lab shit in my life, pal. Just want to know what crazy lab shit you come from.”

  “They were different,” Yellow Eyes said. “All of them. Completely different.”

  “Interesting,” Roak said. Roak finished off his cup of cold tea and stood up. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?” Yellow
Eyes asked.

  “We’re going to arm you,” Roak said. “If you have to come along, then you might as well be deadly.”

  “You saw what I did to Wendell’s heart, right?” Yellow Eyes asked. He stood and waved his arms in Roak’s face. “These are pretty damn deadly.”

  “Knock it off,” Roak snapped, shoving the wriggling limbs out of his face. “Yes, I saw what you did. You can form those hand thingies into different shapes. Great. But what would happen if each one had its own blade? Considering how Eight Million Gods damn fast you are, you could slice and dice half an army before they knew you were even there.”

  “Should I feel exploited? Because I feel exploited,” Yellow Eyes said. “Is this about you exploiting me?”

  “They killed Carla and Taps,” Roak said.

  Yellow Eyes stiffened. “Yeah. Show me the damn blades, man.”

  “Now you’re talking,” Roak said. “Follow me.”

  They left the mess and made their way to the lift. As the doors closed, Roak looked Yellow Eyes up and down.

  “How’d you go from being dumped into open space to being a bouncer at Carla’s?” Roak asked.

  “I bounced,” Yellow Eyes replied. “Bounced from this planet to that, this ship to that, this station to that, this—”

  “Yeah, I get it,” Roak said. “How’d you end up on Ballyway?”

  “Got caught stealing food in the Trvesta System,” Yellow Eyes said, shrugged, created fingers from one of his nubs and twirled them in the air. “Turns out in the Trvesta System, if you steal from someone, then you become their property.”

  “Not exactly a Galactic Fleet sanctioned law,” Roak said. “But Trvesta is out close to the Edge. I doubt the GF gives two craps about that backwater.”

  “They don’t,” Yellow Eyes said. “The guy that owned me decided to go for a vacation on Ballyway. He’s very bad at tile games.” Yellow Eyes turned and gave Roak an intense stare. “Very bad at tile games. He lost all of his credits in an hour. He sold me ten minutes later. The guy lost me in a game where all they do is cut a deck of cards.”

  “High card wins?” Roak asked.

  “No, they literally cut a deck of cards. With a blade,” Yellow Eyes said. “The one that performs the most perfect cut, as close to the symmetrical middle as possible, wins.”

  “That’s a stupid game,” Roak said.

  “No shit.”

  “How’d you get away from that guy?”

  “I ripped his head off,” Yellow Eyes stated calmly. “He was drunk, liked to hit things. I was a thing. He hit me. I ripped his fucking head off and shoved it up his ass.”

  “Literally?” Roak asked.

  “You’ve seen me move,” Yellow Eyes said. “What do you think?”

  “Eight Million Gods damn…” Roak said in a hushed tone. “And here I am about to give you a bunch of blades.”

  “You’re all good,” Yellow Eyes said. “You were a friend of Carla’s.” He paused. “But you did bring trouble to her place. That trouble got her killed.”

  “The trouble was already there when I arrived,” Roak countered. “And Carla knew the risks of her lifestyle. That’s why she never set up her tavern in the tourist malls or spending strips. She liked the dark life.”

  “She did,” Yellow Eyes agreed, nodding.

  The lift doors opened and Roak walked out and down the corridor to the armory. Yellow Eyes followed close behind.

  “There you go,” Roak said as he gestured to rows of various blades tacked up on the wall of the armory.

  “What about those?” Yellow Eyes asked, pointing at a rack of rifles. “A little more punch, right?”

  “You just told me your hands were weapons enough, now you want to upgrade to plasma rifles?” Roak shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  “You brought me down here,” Yellow Eyes said.

  “Have you ever fired a plasma rifle?”

  “Does that matter?”

  “A little bit, yeah.”

  “No. I have never fired a plasma rifle.”

  “Then shut your yellow mouthhole and pay attention.”

  Roak removed a solid-looking blade about fifteen centimeters long from tip to guard. The grip was about five centimeters long.

  “This one has always given me some trouble,” Roak said. “But I like the edge on the blade too much to toss it out an airlock.”

  “Grip is too short for your hand,” Yellow Eyes said, taking the offered blade. “Weird balance. Wants to dip. Not a very good blade.”

  He ran the yellow tip of one of his nubs across the edge and yanked it back fast. Roak watched a small slice on Yellow Eyes’ nub heal almost instantly.

  “That’s handy too,” Roak said.

  “What? The healing? Handy now…”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I save up damage. You think I’d have been a slave if I didn’t have a weakness that could be exploited? I heal instantly, but if I get hurt enough, in a short amount of time, then all of those healed wounds come back. At the same time. I can only take so much for so long before I break.”

  “Someone beat the shit out of you until you couldn’t heal anymore then all of your wounds took you down at once,” Roak stated.

  “You nailed it, man,” Yellow Eyes said as he hefted the blade, made a couple slashing motions, then handed it back to Roak. “I can work with that. What else you got?”

  “Have at it,” Roak said then pointed at two Keplar knives. “Except for those. The Keplars are mine.”

  “You’re the boss,” Yellow Eyes said as he began to peruse the blade selection.

  “I’m not the boss,” Roak growled. “I’m not anyone’s boss. I never wanted to be a boss. I used to do this all by myself and it worked out fine.”

  “I doubt that,” Yellow Eyes said and waved a couple of nubs back at Roak before he could argue. “I’ve heard of you. You have a deadly rep. But no one works alone in this galaxy. Not anymore.”

  “Not anymore? What does that mean?” Roak asked.

  “It means that I’ve seen things, man,” Yellow Eyes replied and turned to face Roak, blades held tightly in his hands. “I’ve seen what’s coming and it ain’t pretty.”

  “What in all the Hells are you talking about? What have you seen?”

  “Roak?” Hessa called over the comm. “We’re hitting the wormhole portal. Strap in.”

  “We’ll be right up,” Roak said and pointed at Yellow Eyes. “That conversation isn’t done. I want an explanation.”

  Yellow Eyes shrugged.

  Roak walked out of the armory then paused. “You coming?”

  “Oh, you go strap in,” Yellow Eyes said. “I’m good.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone in my armory,” Roak said. “Come on.”

  “Bring these?” Yellow Eyes asked, holding up six blades.

  “Leave them,” Roak said. “We’ll gear up when we know what we’re gearing up for.”

  “Fine,” Yellow Eyes said and the blades were back in perfect order on the wall. Roak didn’t see the guy even twitch.

  12.

  “And engine drives are powered down to minimal capacity,” Hessa stated once they exited the wormhole portal in the Sabulos System. “Spor’Cheeva Nebula is dead ahead. We’ll be there in approximately five hours at this speed.”

  “Keep scanners locked onto that nebula,” Roak said. “I want us fully informed before we tuck in there and kill our drives completely.”

  “I have been scanning the nebula since we exited the portal,” Hessa said. “Nothing to detect at this distance. We might catch more as we get closer, but for now, all that I can see is a big cloud of pretty gas.”

  “It is pretty, right?” Yellow Eyes said. “Swirling fun. Lots of swirling fun.”

  Roak swiveled his chair and stared at Yellow Eyes. “You on something? Because you sound like you’re on something.”

  Yellow Eyes’ yellow eyes were bloodshot and streaked with purple veins. They
widened then narrowed.

  “That stew,” he said after a few moments. “I think it’s fermenting in my guts.”

  “Your guts? What guts?” Roak asked, waving his hand at Yellow Eyes. “You’re a damn stick.”

  “Sticks got guts,” Yellow Eyes said and burped. The entire bridge stank of rotten gump stew. “Oh, sorry about that.”

  “Wow,” Hessa said. “You activated the airborne toxin sensors with that one. I think that stew actually is fermenting inside you.”

  “That’s what I’m saying,” Yellow Eyes responded, burping again. “Phew. Not good. I’m gonna go lie down.”

  “Go lie down? We’re approaching the nebula,” Roak said.

  “In five hours,” Yellow Eyes said. “I got time to take a nap, man. Unless you want me to stay here and keep burping up noxious gas?”

  “No. Go lie down,” Roak said, exasperated.

  “Perhaps you should lie down too, Roak,” Hessa suggested. “Rest before we reach the nebula.”

  “I’m fine here,” Roak said.

  Yellow Eyes got up, wobbled a little on his many feet, then made his way off the bridge. Roak watched him go and waited until the doors had closed after him.

  “What do you have for me, Hessa?” Roak asked.

  “Your conversations in the mess then in the armory were enlightening,” Hessa said. “But I cannot find a trace of any operation that matches Yellow Eyes’ description. You would think the dumping of creatures into open space would leave some type of trace, but I cannot find one.”

  “You think he’s lying?”

  “Voice pattern and physical analysis indicate he believes what he’s saying.”

  “Doesn’t mean what he’s telling us is true.”

  “No, it does not mean that at all. He could have been programmed with those memories.”

  “We might have a Trojan Horse on our hands.”

  “I find the fact that references to ancient Earth history still survive many thousands of years later rather puzzling,” Hessa said. “Especially since that toxic planet is so despised.”

  “Language has a life of its own,” Roak said. “Is he resting? Or snooping?”

  “He’s on his way to the quarters I assigned him,” Hessa said.