Nebula Risen Page 7

  Roak still didn’t respond. The guard looked back at Roak and raised his eyebrows.

  “I’m doing you a favor,” the guard said.

  “Didn’t ask you to,” Roak replied.

  “Your file was right,” the guard said and returned his attention to the display showing the floors they were ascending.

  When they reached the eight hundredth floor, the lift slowed then stopped. But the doors didn’t open. Roak waited.

  “Out,” the first guard said.

  Roak felt a breeze and turned to see the lift wall behind him was gone. In its place was a single walkway wide enough for one person at a time. The walkway led to a pair of doors in an onyx tower. Another contingent of guards were waiting by the doors on a platform large enough for them and one other person.

  Roak guessed he was the one other person.

  Roak did the only thing he could do and walked over to the onyx tower and the waiting guards.

  “Hold,” one of the guards ordered, her finger to her ear. “He’s busy.”

  Roak glared at the woman. He wasn’t a fan of games.

  The rest of the guards gave him hard stares, their eyes locked onto his. He met their glares one by one until each of them were forced to look away. It told Roak a lot about the caliber of the security forces on Jafla Base if the guards closest to Shava Stemn Shava could be intimidated when they had the obvious advantage.

  “He will see you now,” the guard said as the doors slid open in the onyx tower. “In.”

  “I figured that’s the way I should go,” Roak said as he shoved past the guards and entered the tower.

  Inside was a massive reception area where a Spilfleck man was standing, dressed in an expensive suit, his hands clasped behind his back. Spilflecks were a lizard race, able to extend a frilled membrane from their neck when alarmed, agitated, or angry. Roak was tempted to cause one of those reactions as the Spilfleck sneered at him.

  “You are big, but certainly not as scary as some have said,” the Spilfleck stated as he looked Roak up and down.

  “Scraping the bottom of the barrel if Shava Stemn Shava is hiring Spilflecks,” Roak said, unable to contain his disdain.

  The frill pulsed, but did not expand. Roak smirked.

  “I am Ple R,” the Spilfleck said. “I am Mr. Shava Stemn Shava’s personal attaché. You will be speaking with me today regarding the terms of your employment.”

  The door slid closed behind Roak without any of the guards stepping in to the onyx tower. Roak hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  “Are you sure you don’t want the goon squad to be here?” Roak asked.

  “As I stated, you are not as scary as some have said,” Ple replied.

  Roak shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  “If you will follow me,” Ple said and turned to walk off.

  “No,” Roak replied.

  Ple froze in mid-pivot. “Excuse me?”

  “I’m not following you unless you are taking me to your boss,” Roak said. “I didn’t want this job. You all went to a lot of trouble to make sure I took it. Now that I’m here, I’m going to talk with Shava Stemn Shava or no one. Especially not a smarmy Spilfleck like you.”

  “Do you have issues with my kind?” Ple asked.

  “Not particularly,” Roak said. “I’m not a people person no matter the race.”

  Roak walked towards a massive painting on the wall.

  “That him? Your boss? Yeah, I recognize him from some of the news vids. Loves to be in the spotlight, doesn’t he?”

  “I have been instructed to discuss the terms of your employment,” Ple said and there was an audible click that echoed through the reception area. “Or kill you if you refuse to cooperate.”

  Roak slowly pulled his attention from the painting and regarded the small pistol in Ple’s hand. It was a Defta Stinger. A small weapon, barely much bigger than the hand holding it, but Roak knew from experience that if any of the flechettes it fire reached his skin he’d be dead within five minutes. And it would be a very painful death.

  “No middle room with you,” Roak said. “Lead the way.”

  Ple waved the Defta at Roak and Roak took the hint. He’d be leading the way. Roak walked towards a door that Ple nodded at. The door slid open before he reached it and Roak was surprised by the decor. It had a very Old Earth hunting lodge look to it. He’d seen the style replicated on a hundred resort planets that catered to the wealthy that insisted on experiencing the days when humans had a home world.

  A fire crackled in a huge fireplace set into the far wall, the stone chimney towering up into the darkness. There were two high-backed chairs set before the fire. Ple indicated for Roak to take one while he took the other, the Defta never straying from its target.

  Roak sat, instantly wishing he wasn’t wearing his light armor. The fire was throwing off some intense heat. Ple smiled at Roak’s discomfort.

  “It is unfortunate you did not take Gaibah Huup’s offer to work with him on the hunt for Jahpah L’Ex,” Ple said as he tucked the Defta away inside his expensive suit jacket. “It would have made things so much simpler.”

  “I can come up with about a hundred scenarios that would have made things simpler,” Roak said. “Your boss has taken a convoluted route to hiring me.”

  Something like agreement flickered across Ple’s face, but it was gone too fast for Roak to be one hundred percent sure he’d seen it.

  “Despite how we have each come to be here, we are now here,” Ple said. “Let me explain the gravity of your situation.”

  Ple proceeded to describe exactly what Roak already knew. All of Roak’s sources had done a good job with providing accurate intel. When finished, Ple waited for Roak to respond. Roak only smiled and sat there, beads of sweat forming on his brow.

  “You do not seem upset,” Ple said, his voice filled with irritation.

  “I have been in worse situations, as I’ve been reminded several times lately.”

  “I have done my research on you, Mr. Roak,” Ple said.

  “Obviously not or you’d know I just go by Roak,” Roak replied.

  “Roak,” Ple said and nodded. “You have an excellent reputation for getting hard to impossible jobs done. However, you cut a swathe of chaos as you complete these jobs. Many times, you seem to be bumbling your way through. Yet you always complete the job you are hired for. I sense a good deal of luck surrounding you.”

  “Maybe,” Roak said. “Mostly it’s that I refuse to quit. When you refuse to quit, you get the job done. It may be messy, but it’s done.”

  “Right, about the messy aspect of your style,” Ple said. “That part is not acceptable. My employer insists that you handle this job with care and you do not make a mess of any of it. That is a non-negotiable stipulation.”

  “I can’t control the galaxy,” Roak said. “Messes happen. That’s life.”

  “Yes, but your life will end if messes happen during your work for my employer,” Ple stated. He patted his suit. “I will personally see to your death.”

  Roak cleared his throat. “Tell you what. You get your employer in here to talk to me directly and I’ll see what I can do. Otherwise, I make no promises. As it stands, Ple, it’ll get as messy as it needs to. If I take the job.”

  “If you take the job?” Ple responded, genuinely shocked. “Roak, you have no choice.”

  “I always have a choice,” Roak said. “You and your employer are under the impression that you are hiring me. You got it all wrong. I choose who I work for and what jobs I take. The way I see it, you are here for me to interview, not the other way around.”

  Ple blinked several times then shook his head. He started to chuckle.

  “Very well, Roak,” Ple said. “I’ll let my employer know of your terms.”

  “You haven’t heard my terms,” Roak said.

  “Yes. I have,” Ple said and stood. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “And miss sweating my nuts off in front of this fire? W
ouldn’t dream of leaving,” Roak said as he laced his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.

  11.

  Shava Stemn Shava was a strange one to take in.

  Obese to the point where his body almost folded over and engulfed his body, Shava Stemn Shava moved like a man that was only one percent of his size and weight. He crossed the room, a fat hand extended, at a speed that troubled Roak.

  “Confused,” Shava Stemn Shava stated, laughing as he approached Roak. “How does a fat terpig like me not collapse under my own weight? I practice what I preach, Roak.”

  “Heavy-grav training,” Roak said when his brain caught up with his eyes. “You workout in the Orbs just like your fighters.”

  “I work out with my fighters,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “They pull no punches. Nor do I.”

  Unlike his attaché, Roak could not place Shava Stemn Shava’s race. Possibly human, but of a green-skinned lineage obviously, the man also seemed to have attributes of Cervile and maybe some Lipian. There was certainly some of the feline to him like a Cervile while he also moved with a body confidence that the Lipian prostitute race was known for.

  Shava Stemn Shava laughed again.

  “Do not bother,” he said to Roak. “Your guess at my genetic heritage will be wrong. I can assure you of that, Roak. Drink?”

  “If you are,” Roak said.

  “I’ll let you choose the glass,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “Although, if I was going to poison you, I would have had your former associate do it for me back on Mapp Tadt Station instead of going through everything I have gone through to get you here. My, you are a lot of work, Roak.”

  Roak shrugged as Ple appeared by his side with two glasses. When Roak didn’t take either of them, Ple sipped from each, pursed his lips, and held out the glasses once again. Roak took one at random, not really thinking either were poisoned. He just wanted to mess with Ple.

  A panel in the floor slid away and a massive couch was raised from below. Shava Stemn Shava waited until it locked into place then sat down, his bulk taking up the entire expanse of the piece of furniture. Once settled comfortably, Ple handed him his drink then walked over to a chair against the wall and sat down, leaving Roak to Shava Stemn Shava’s scrutiny.

  “You are correct, Ple,” Shava Stemn Shava said after a few seconds. “He is not anywhere near as scary in person as his reputation states. Although the scars do add a certain ominousness to his personage.”

  Roak waited.

  “Jonny Nebula was the best of the best,” Shava Stemn Shava said next. “He was the undisputed champion for decades and possibly the best to ever live. The odds that any of my current fighters will achieve even a quarter of what he did are quite slim despite what the bookmakers would like the rubes out there to think.”

  Shava Stemn Shava waved a hand as if to dismiss the entire galaxy.

  “But Jonny Nebula is dead,” Shava Stemn Shava continued. “Which is why I need you, Roak.”

  “If he’s dead, then doesn’t he have a grave where he’s buried?” Roak asked. “With his fanbase, I can guess that the location of the grave is fairly well known.”

  “There is no body in that grave, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “That is what helps fuel the legend of Jonny Nebula’s failed demise.”

  Roak cocked his head. The meeting had just gotten interesting.

  “You are hiring me to prove he’s dead,” Roak said. “You want me to find a corpse, not a living, hiding person.”

  “Of course,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “I already said the man was dead. A corpse is all you will find.”

  “My sources say otherwise,” Roak said. “Some honestly believe he is still alive and what you wanted was for me to track him down.”

  “He is certainly dead,” Shava Stemn Shava said and made a fist. “I crushed his neck with my own bare hands. Squeezed the life right out of that egotistical trash heap. He pushed one too many buttons, Roak. I am patient, even to the point of my own detriment, but my patience has limits. Jonny Nebula discovered one of those limits.”

  “But he died in the Orb,” Roak said.

  “Did he?” Shava Stemn Shava replied with a dangerous grin playing at his thick lips.

  “Maybe not. Don’t care. But, you’re admitting you murdered him?” Roak said. “That seems dumb.”

  “Why? The entire galaxy saw him killed in his last fight,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “It was staged, by him and not me, but it gives me the perfect alibi. The man died in an Orb, like you said. His final fight. I simply finished the job before he could disappear with his ill-gotten gains.”

  “He bet against himself and was going to use the winnings to fund his disappearance,” Roak said. “Not very original. Fighters try to do it all the time. Few rarely make it. Those that do are simply lucky.”

  “Precisely,” Shava Stemn Shava said as he held up his empty glass. Ple exchanged it for a full one then returned to his seat. “Thank you. Roak? Another?”

  “I’m good,” Roak said.

  “The issue is that Jonny Nebula’s corpse was stolen before I could dispose of it properly,” Shava Stemn Shava said. “For years, I expected it to show up on the black market. There are collectors that would pay ten times what this base is worth for that piece of meat. A hundred times, even. Except it never surfaced.”

  “What makes you think I can find it?” Roak asked. “Why even have me try? You know he’s dead. What’s the angle?”

  “The angle is that I have certain business partners that insist I show proof of death,” Shave Stemn Shava said. “They are very adamant about this.”

  The confusion on Roak’s face must have been evident because the huge man laughed and waved a fleshy hand in his direction.

  “The particulars of my business arrangements need not trouble you, Roak. That is for me to deal with. All I need from you is to find that body and bring it back to me.”

  “There would be nothing left by now,” Roak said. “Unless it’s been stored somewhere.”

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise,” Shava Stemn Shava replied. “Why steal the body if not to keep it?”

  “Unless he’s not dead,” Roak said.

  “He is.”

  “Maybe.”

  “There is no maybe, Roak,” Shava Stemn Shava snapped. He took a couple of deep breaths and centered himself. “Apologies. There is no doubt about the man’s death. None. Let me state that explicitly. You are not looking for a living being, but a corpse. I want the corpse. Or what is left of it. That is your job.”

  “If I take it,” Roak said and leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “I haven’t said I will yet.”

  It was Shava Stemn Shava’s turn to look confused. He swiveled his head on his massive neck and looked back at Ple. The attaché barely raised a single eyebrow. Shava Stemn Shava’s attention returned to Roak, an angry twinkle in his eye.

  “You take the job or spend the rest of your life in a Galactic Fleet prison,” the man said. “And it will be a short life, Roak. I have the pull to make sure you are executed. In fact, I might be able to produce the spectacle for live vid. Make a few trillion credits in one night.”

  “Nothing to say you won’t do that anyway when I complete the job,” Roak said. He did not move from his position as his eyes bored into Shava Stemn Shava. “I get paid in chits. That’s how I work. You want to pay me in, what? My freedom? Release me from the trap you put me in? I can’t hold that payment. If I can’t hold it, then it can be taken away. If it’s taken away, then that means I didn’t get paid. I always get paid.”

  “You need assurances I will not double cross you,” Shava Stemn Shava stated.

  “I know you will double cross me,” Roak replied. “You already have shown that is how you operate.”

  Shava Stemn Shava spread his fat arms wide. “Then how do we resolve this impasse?”

  “I will need a full confession from you,” Roak said. “On record.”

  “On record?” Shava Stemn Shava sai
d, his lip curling in contempt. “No, Roak. This will not do.”

  “I’m not finished,” Roak said. “That’s only the part that assures me that I can’t be taken down by your crap. Like I said, I work for chits. This job is already looking to be expensive. Seven million chits. That’s my price.”

  Roak glanced past the stunned face of Shava Stemn Shava and stared at Ple. The man hadn’t reacted in the slightest at the number. His face was a blank slate, not even that slight eyebrow raise he’d given his boss.

  “Seven million credits? Are you mad?” Shava Stemn Shava sputtered.

  “Chits,” Roak said. “I said chits. Credits mean nothing to me. Cash in hand or no deal.”

  “You are mad,” Shava Stemn Shava said, more to himself than to Roak. “Ple? I believe we have made a mistake.”

  Ple nodded and snapped his fingers. Four security guards entered the room quickly.

  Roak was up and throwing his glass at the closest one then he lifted his chair and threw that as well. Before the guards could counter the attack, Roak went in close.

  He dove and rolled, coming up in front of one of the guards, his hand snagging the ubiquitous stun baton on the woman’s belt. The stun baton crackled and he jammed it in a seam of her armor, putting her down immediately.

  Roak used her unconscious body as a shield, letting the woman take the carbine shots that came flying at him. She shook and shuddered, a grotesque dance that garnered the response from the others that Roak wanted. They stopped firing, mouths open in shock at what they’d just done.

  Roak took their hesitation and exploited it. He was up and throwing his first punch before one of the guards could snap their jaw shut. Roak did it for him. Teeth shattered and Roak felt bits of enamel rain down on his head as he grabbed the man’s carbine and twisted it towards the guard standing next to him.

  That guard panicked and opened fire to defend himself, but Roak was already rolling out of the way, twisting his body back and around the guard with the shattered jaw, letting the carbine rounds punch ineffective holes in Shava Stemn Shava’s expensive floor.

  Roak came up onto his feet and shoved the guard in need of dental work at the others. One dodged, the other didn’t. Roak, with stun baton still in hand, went for the one that had dodged. The man cried out as he received several thousand volts to his throat then that cry was choked off as his voice box was turned into smoking flesh.