Looking at the group of them together, I revised my initial guess at their ages downwards. The one on the gears couldn't be over twenty, and if top hat was much more than that I'd be surprised. Couldn't tell about the one who was actually wearing goggles, but he was fairly scrawny, as they went.
“AND WHO ARE YOU ALL THEN?” I asked, eyeing the growing cloud of vapor. Calendars on the wall nearest the jetpack-rider were starting to sag, and curl. Steam? The moisture on the windows above him seemed to suggest that. I switched vision modes on the mask, filtering out local humidity.
The one on the gear contraption facepalmed. “Bloody 'ell. Told ya we shoulda got an agent.” Yep, he was young.
Jetpack guy hovered up and done, still watching me. “Eh, they'll learn. After this last week? Everyone will know who we are!”
Only the leader took it in stride, bowing at the waist, and sweeping his hat off, before straightening and replacing it with a roguish grin. “Well dear sir, you've had the mixed fortune of meeting the Steampunks! Most of them, at any rate. More than enough for you, I fear.”
“YOU THREATEN DIRE?”
“Dire? Odd choice, there.”
“DOCTOR DIRE, TO BE PRECISE.”
“Ah! Alliteration! Truly the hallmark of a civilized sort. Sadly, my dear dashing Doctor Dire, you have trespassed upon what we colloquially call our turf. And you're obviously assaulting an establishment that had the good sense and quality taste to render to us a sum for, hm, call it security.”
The one with the jetpack snickered. “I guess that sounds better than protection money, sure.”
“Ey, we've earned it,” said the gear rider.
“And we'll earn it today, I expect,” Top Hat smiled. “I'm Hatman Deux, by the way. This is Kineticog, and that's Technomancer. We'll be your duly appointed beating for the day.”
“SHE HAS NO TIME FOR THIS,” I said. “WHO'S THE OWNER? WHERE CAN HE BE FOUND? DIRE SHALL PAY HIM FOR THIS SUBSTANCE DIRECTLY.”
The gear rider, Kineticog, snickered. “Right. And next monkeys will fly outta me bum.”
“YOU DOUBT DIRE?” I turned my mask to glare at him.
“It's the principle of the thing, dear... Lady? Hm. I wouldn't have guessed. Well, we can offer you this exchange instead. Flee, and we'll stop chasing you once you're off our turf.” He twisted his cane, and gears clunked and clacked. Two spikes popped out of each side of it, and electricity started to flare and dance around the tip as he leveled it at me.
“OUT OF THE QUESTION.”
“Ah, well then...” He brought his free hand up and slapped the cane, but I was already moving to cover behind the nearest speedboat. A bolt of blue energy spat by me, crackling against the wall, and sending dancing orbs of ball lightning sizzling in every direction. For my part, I leveled the coilgun and fired a beanbag round... which bounced off a sudden barrier of gears, as shield-sized cogs peeled off of Kineticog's apparatus and assembled into a wall in front of Hatman.
Meanwhile, Technomancer was flying around, trying to flank my cover. He'd waited until he built up a good cloud of steam to hide his approach. I didn't know what that gun he was holding could do, and I didn't want to find out. I picked up the boat in front of me, took three rapid steps to get up a running start, and chucked it at Technomancer. He tried to dodge, but Kineticog's shield zipped over to intercept it—
—Just as I'd planned. I used the distraction to put a beanbag round into Technomancer's chest. He bounced off the wall and fell from the air, knocking over some loaded shelves.
A blue bolt from Hatman's cane struck me in the side, spinning me around. The forcefield crackled, and sparked. Whatever the energy was, it wasn't something the field could block.
“And now to cut yer out of there!”
Kineticog's gears flew loose from shield form, and whirred towards me as I struggled upright, blue balls of energy sparking away from me and spinning across the shop. The gears abruptly rebounded as they hit my force field, and I felt a small bit of heat rise up. He hadn't gone in with lethal force, but if he escalated... I had to end this.
I tried to kick in the gravitics, and they sputtered. The blue bolt had scrambled them... temporarily, I hoped, or it'd be a long way home. So instead I ran, zig-zagged away from a third bolt, and ignored the tiny cogs bouncing off my forcefield. He was slowly escalating the force of things, and he could hit me easily. I took cover behind the tugboat, looked around for something I could use... and my eyes fell upon the hydrofoil hanging above us.
Perfect.
I started slinging coilgun spike rounds that way, and Hatman's yell told me they'd noticed my efforts. Kineticog cursed and I heard his gears grind as he backed out of the building, just as I managed to finally hit one of the chains holding the hydrofoil up. The chain snapped, the entire boat groaned with the stress of metal as it shifted, and the cradle around it burst, raining pieces down upon us. I turned off my force field and pulled myself onto the deck of the tugboat, trusting my armor, and was vindicated as small bits of the cradle ricocheted off me. The central mass dropped towards Hatman, who dropped his cane and dove aside.
I leaped at him, caught his cape with a gauntlet, and pulled him down. I crouched over him as metal bars, chains, and fragments of cradle rained down upon me, clanging off the armor.
As I stared into his eyes, he blinked and opened his mouth in a sneer. “You think you've won?”
I put my right hand on his chest, as the last few bits of the cradle settled. “ACTUALLY, YES.”
I fired the stungun, and he danced and jittered, drumming his heels on the floor. After a second he went limp.
And then he disappeared. One second he was there, the next I was sagging forward, my hand hitting the floor unimpeded. The only thing left behind was his top hat... I spared his cane a glance, but that was gone too.
A glance up, and thank heavens I did, because a manhole cover-sized gear was flying straight at me. I rolled with the hit, and still felt my armor warm to uncomfortable levels of heat. Time to get out of view of the doorway.
A groan to my back, and I saw Technomancer was struggling to rise, trying to get the shelf pinning him off his legs. I jogged that way and he looked around, tried to bring his big gun around, but was a shade too slow. I kicked it aside and he raised his hands. I hauled him out with my left hand, turned, and walked back towards the loading dock doorway.
“AND NOW WE'RE DONE,” I said. “YOU'RE DOWN TO ONE, AND—”
I walked straight into the blue blast, and saw Hatman standing in the entrance of the dock. He was unharmed and grinning. His top hat was gone, but otherwise he looked unruffled. That was all I had time to see before I went ass over teakettle, losing Technomancer in the process. I hit the wall, and the heat rose to simmering levels as I bounced. Hated to do it, but I canceled the forcefield. It was that or bake at the next hit. And as small gears zagged out and started scraping at my armor, I knew I had made the right choice. Not that it'd be much comfort, if they managed to keep grinding.
I glanced around, saw Kineticog peeking in through the side of the doorway. Glanced to the side, and saw Technomancer down. The blue energy hadn't done him good, either.
Well. Time to test a theory. I aimed the coilgun at Kineticog, and started pelting him with beanbags. Sure enough he formed the shield again. And sure enough, the smaller gears stopped grinding against me. He could do a lot with those gears, but he had to see what he was doing. Effective though his shield was, it blocked his sight while it was up.
When Hatman leveled the cane at me again, I swung my left hand up.
And I triggered the flamethrower.
A blast of flaming jelly roared forth to the side of Hatman and he screamed and backed away. He ran away from it, grabbing his hat from the ground before ending up backed against the tugboat. I advanced through the flames as the jelly on the floor burned, and the bit that had caught the side of the loading dock ignited the old wood. Kineticog lowered his shield, blanched, and started to point toward me.
He brought the shield back up before I could beanbag him, but that wasn't the point. It had been a distraction so I could charge Hatman.
As I did, Hatman jammed his hat on his head, muttered something, and threw it down. But by then I was at him, slamming my fist into his shoulder and pushing him back against the boat. With my other one I grabbed his cane before he could raise it. He flinched back, then looked to my side and grinned. “Ah ah ah...”
I glanced that way and did a double take. There was another Hatman there, leveling his cane at me and grinning! “Checkmate, m'dear.” He advised.
“IS IT?” I wondered. “THEN SHOOT.”
He blinked, and I saw his grin hesitate for a second. He twisted a gear on the side of the cane, and the electricity humming along the side built. “I've just amped it up. The shots before? They only knocked you around. But this should kill you, fry you in your armor.”
“YES. BUT WHAT OF YOU?”
“Gone like the wind, like the last one of me you took out. I'll recover.” But there was a tense note in his voice.
Small gears came into my field of vision, and I shook my head. “NOPE. TOUCH DIRE WITH THOSE AND ALL AROUND HER BURN.”
I turned my attention back to the Hatman in my hands.
“IT'S DUPLICATION, ISN'T IT? ONE DUPLICATE AT A TIME.”
“You're close.” He smiled.
“BUT YOU'RE NOT WEARING THE HAT NOW, ARE YOU? THE HAT'S PART OF THE PROCESS. YOU NEED IT ON THE DUPLICATE.”
His smile flickered. “Interesting idea.”
“YES. IF IT'S CORRECT, THEN THAT MAKES YOU THE ORIGINAL.”
He twitched, and I continued. “YOU WERE SITTING OUTSIDE, LETTING THE DUPLICATE DO THE DIRTY WORK. BUT YOU WERE A LOT MORE CAREFUL WHEN YOU CAME IN THE SECOND TIME AROUND. SO IF DIRE KILLS YOU NOW...”
“Do it and yer dead,” Kineticog threatened.
“LADYBUG LADYBUG, FLY AWAY HOME. LOOK AT THIS FIRE? YOU THINK YOUR PROTECTION RACKET WILL WORK AFTER THIS? NOT TO MENTION THE LOSS OF TWO OF YOUR GANG? AND THAT'S ASSUMING YOU CAN TAKE DIRE ON YOUR LONESOME. THAT IS NOT A GOOD ASSUMPTION. THAT IS IN FACT A BIG. FAT. MISTAKE.”
Hatman coughed. “So. Where does that leave us?”
“THAT DEPENDS. ARE YOU THE STEAMPUNKS THAT ARE GIVING THE BLACK BLOODS SUCH TROUBLE IN THE NORTHWEST?” I'd remembered the conversation with Agent Kingsley back at the hospital.
He blinked at me, cautious. But there was a touch of hope in his eyes. “We are. What of it?”
“DIRE FIGHTS THEM IN THE EAST.”
“Wait. Wait wait wait. Yer the Scrap Queen of the Shanty Town?” Kineticog asked. “The one what did for Stig? The Hoodied Vengeance?”
“NEWS TRAVELS FAST.”
“We've got a friend who's a regular gossip fiend,” Hatman said. “Well. This perhaps changes things.”
“IT DOES.” I released him. This was a gamble, but it was worth it. “WOULD YOU BE OPEN TO AN ALLIANCE?”
“I, um.” He straightened his tuxedo where I'd mauled it. “I can put it before the group, but I have to tell you, and I do hope this won't resume hostilities, that the answer is probably going to be no.”
“DIRE WON'T RESUME HOSTILITIES.” The alternate lowered his cane. He started looking around, went and pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall, and hosed down the flames on the wooden part of the building.
“Good. Sweet jesus yer terrifying,” Kineticog said, as he hopped off the gear platform and moved toward Technomancer. I watched him go. “OH?”
“Well, it's more than the voice, or the scarred black armor, or the creepy mask... No offense,” said Hatman. “You don't fight quite right. We were expecting a typical costume fight, heavy on the posturing, shows of power, maybe a big flashy attack or two. Well, you did that last one, but you fight like you're military, or something. I was honestly fearing for my life, there, and I don't mind telling you that.”
I filed that away for later thought. “DIRE'S BEEN UP TO HER ELBOWS IN BLACK BLOODS, SO HER TECHNIQUE MAY BE A LITTLE RUTHLESS,” I admitted.
“Ah. Anyone ever tell you of the unwritten rules?”
“ONCE. WAS A BIT BUSY AT THE TIME. SHE'S LEARNED A FEW TRICKS FROM YOU, AS WELL. SO, NO ALLIANCE?”
“As I said, probably not,” Hatman crossed his arms. “We're up against Barbatos, and sweet Babbage it's taking all we've got to hold him back. He fights like you do. Fast, nasty, and with brutal tactics. If we didn't have a healer, we'd have taken losses already. Truth of the matter is that we're more of a smash-and-grab villain group. You know, heists, raids, that sort of thing. The only reason we took the contract is due to dumptrucks full of money from the local businesses. That, and some of us are rather attached to the area, and whine like babies whenever the rest of us bring up the sensible notion of cutting and running.” He glared at Technomancer's unconscious form, as Kineticog placed him on the geared apparatus.
I nodded. “ALL RIGHT. WELL, DIRE DOES NEED THAT BARREL OF SEALANT OVER THERE. SHE WAS BEING QUITE HONEST WITH AN OFFER OF PAYMENT.”
Hatman shrugged. “Eh, keep the money. We'll tell Mr. Fitzroy that we took the barrel as hazard pay for stopping the fire.”
I nodded, moved over to the barrel, keeping an eye on them as I did so.
“HERE'S A QUESTION; WOULD YOU BE OPEN TO DOING SOMETHING AGAINST THE BLACK BLOODS FOR PAY?”
“It'd have to be a ton of dosh, lady,” said Kineticog. “You at least pulled some punches. The Bloods don't.”
“MMM. WHERE CAN SHE CONTACT YOU ONCE SHE SECURES SUFFICIENT FUNDS?”
“My card.” Hatman flipped one out of his sleeve, grinned, and put it on a box. “I believe we're done here?”
“CERTAINLY.”
The two of them withdrew with their downed comrade. I gave them a few minutes to get clear, before popping out of the armor and checking the gravitic system over. After a few diagnostics, I was satisfied. The weak force pathways would need repolarizing once I got back to my tools, but if I took it slow I could get home without too much trouble.
I walked to the doorway, glanced around outside, and found no one waiting in ambush. Heading back to the barrel, I scooped it up and flew east.
CHAPTER 17: Brown is the new Black
“Oh yeah, them. It was before my time, y'know? Way they tell it, the Steampunks started out as a bunch of Graveyard Gang groupies. Dressed all in thrift store black, got tats, called themselves the Goths. But they were total dweebs back then, started ruining the Gang's image. So Grim had Deadweight haul them in for a talk. Scared them straight, more or less. They changed their image, moved to a different part of the city, and voila, the Goths became the Steampunks. They're still dweebs, but I guess they've learned to be a little less incompetent, now that Molly's in charge.”
--Part of a recorded conversation between MRB agent codename Rook and Graveyard Gang villain Whippoorwill during Agent Rook's 5th kidnapping, casefile G124029-10
It took half an hour to get back to the camp. My gravitics were good for short flights, so I took a wide detour around the tall towers in the center of the route. Best to avoid any more gunshots from that quarter. The last thing I wanted was a hole in the barrel I'd fought so hard to retrieve.
The Steampunks weren't like the other costumes I'd met. Once I'd knocked the fight out of them and confirmed our mutual enmity against the Bloods, they'd been polite. Even friendly. I had the feeling that if they'd managed to come out ahead in the fight, I would have walked out of there with my life.
Compared and contrasted to my encounter with Ballista, the difference was fairly stark. Mind you, Ballista had gone off under the impression that I'd murdered his mentor. Which, admittedly, I had. But I remembered those steely fingers around my arm, and the fading ring of bruises where Scrapper had tried to snap me like a stick of rotten wood. Whatever they'd done to him had killed him long before we got there. Perhaps literally, if he had been a draugr under there. The Black Bloods were responsible for putting me in a situation where it was his life
or mine.
Ballista had turned up later out of guilt but departed just as quickly after Tugs' execution. He'd written off helping the camp full of civilians further, because of moral reasons. Whereas the Steampunks had declined my offer due to an unwillingness to take the risk. I couldn't deny that of the two sides, I had more sympathy for the Steampunks.
And Tomorrow Force? They hadn't even shown. Off chasing shadows, while good people died. I felt disgust, and banished it as I thought on the problem at hand.
We needed allies. That was what it came down to. I couldn't offer Ballista anything he wanted short of vengeance upon me, but maybe I could scare up enough money to hire the Steampunks.
My mind snapped back to the present, as I wound through the last line of buildings and saw a bulky shape on the beach. I paused, zoomed in with the mask's vision, and relaxed. It was the APC from last night. The turret was missing, with a tarp thrown over the spot where it had been, but people were walking around it without much concern. A quick search around the camp revealed several figures with blue jackets, and I recognized Bunny, the Militiawoman who had backed me up in the APC fight. She was squatting and talking with Minna, drawing on the white-speckled sand with a stick.
I flew in, glancing at the overpass as I did so, and Abernathy raised her hand from where she was prowling among the still cars. I noticed that she'd tagged some of them with red paint.
As I touched down on the beach, letting my sputtering gravitics finally rest, people moved toward me with visible relief. Roy was the first to reach me, and he looked at the barrel with curiosity.
Then he shrugged. “Feller named Carson is back. Martin and Sparky's talkin' with him in the laundry tent now. We, ah, ain't told him about Khalid's deal.”
DIRE : BORN Page 26
