Flotsam Prison Blues (The Technomancer Novels Book 2)

by M. K. Gibson

  Grimm walked up, grabbed the stasis box from the display, and forcefully shoved it into my chest. “You are welcome.”

  Grimm turned away and started walking toward what I assumed to be the way out. I didn’t say anything in response. Shocker, I know. Usually I had a quip or seven pre-loaded. But right then and there, I knew Grimm did me a favor, and I let it go.

  I followed him along the vault’s wide central walkway to an arched doorway into a long tunnel. Grimm picked up the pace and started running, and I was forced to run along or else get left behind.

  Let me take a moment to point out that running, for exercise, was the most wretched thing mankind ever created. Worse than nuclear weapons and reality TV. In the old world, driving along the highways and interstates, I remembered seeing all those 26.2 and 13.1 stickers on cars. The drivers boasting their marathon and half-marathon running experience. And every time I saw one of those stickers, I had to resist the urge to run them off the road. One good thing to come of the new world post G-Day was that they were all dead and the hobby died with them. Sanctimonious assholes.

  “What’s the plan?” I panted, trying to keep up with Grimm. Damn my smoking habit. Good thing the Collective kept my body healed and at top-level performance.

  “We will follow this path until it comes out at Andromalius’s home and improvise from there,” Grimm said, not even panting.

  “You used to run . . . all the time. Didn’t you?” I asked, gasping.

  “What do you mean ‘used to’?” Grimm chuckled.

  “Just proving . . . a theory.”

  The corridor opened up into what looked like a sub-basement. The sub-basement was big, almost the size of the vault we just came from. There were even more ill-gotten gains here. From the look of them, a large potion were mine. The last thing I noted, only due to my super keen senses, was the dozen or so heavily armed guards pointing their ARCTech-made plasma rifles at us.

  “Stop where you are!” the lead guard yelled. He was dressed like the others, in dark green ARCTech tactical-enhancement response gear. He seemed human; in fact, they all did.

  I don’t know what possessed me to do what I did next. Maybe I was just calculating the odds and seeing the events coming out crappy for Grimm and me.

  As fast as possible I spun, turning my back on the guards as I slammed the stasis box into Grimm’s arms.

  “GO! I’ve got this!” I yelled in his face. Then I just braced my legs and heaved, shoving Grimm fifty feet or so down the hallway. I pulled both my blasters, switched to full auto, and unloaded a torrent of fire at the arched tunnel’s ceiling, collapsing it. The falling rubble kicked up dirt and debris. I instinctively dropped to the ground and curled up.

  The guards opened fire as my back was lit up by plasma blasts. The Collective locked me down and threw up my body shield. I was stuck and had to take the impact of the weapons’ fire. It felt like I was being kicked over and over by a mule. Just when I was to point of passing out from the pain, the firing stopped. The Collective released the shield and I rolled over in massive pain, stowed my blasters and put my arms in the air.

  “OK, bitches. Take me to your leader.”

  A long time ago...

  Seven Years Later

  Reynolds’s driver slammed on the brakes, bringing the armored transport to a sudden stop outside the compound. The vehicle’s massive tires kicked up dirt and dust while almost giving Reynolds whiplash. He looked at the driver in the rear-view mirror and the lizard-like hellion smiled back at him. His forked tongue flickered in amusement.

  “I like this,” the hellion said, happy to be behind a wheel.

  He should just be happy to be alive. Demons were slowly but surely acclimating to human culture. Which included driving for those whose body types could fit into a car.

  “Nice driving, asshole,” Reynolds said, fixing his sunglasses.

  “Shut up, human. You’re here in one piece.”

  “Barely.”

  “Want me to fix that?” the hellion asked.

  Reynolds stepped out of the vehicle as the wind kicked up his ankle-length duster, long hair and beard. Turning his back to the wind, Reynolds lit a cigarette and adjusted his sunglasses.

  “Hey, I’m talking to you,” the hellion said.

  “I know,” Reynolds said as he inspected the compound.

  The former Virginia Beach region of Norfolk was one of the last major human settlement strongholds on the East Coast. There were settlements further down the coast, but the demons didn’t care much for them, as they didn’t offer much in the way of use. They were left to the Abominations as far as the demons were concerned.

  But the compound in Norfolk was easy to defend, as the bridges and tunnels were destroyed from the land side coming in. And from the sea, well, most demons were not comfortable with water for now. All in all, the people there could hold out for a good long while. But they had what demonkind wanted.

  Hence Reynolds’s presence there.

  The transport boat was coming in fast. They would take him the rest of the way to the compound. From there, it was up to his negotiating skills.

  “Human!” the hellion demanded as he got out of the car. “Pay attention to your betters!”

  “When one gets here, let me know,” Reynolds said, ignoring the hellion.

  The lizard-like demon reached for Reynolds, meaning to rough him up. It wasn’t much bigger than Reynolds but was heavily muscled. As the hellion put his clawed hand on Reynolds’s shoulder, Reynolds’s hands snapped up like a flash, gripping the demon’s wrist and elbow. Pivoting, Reynolds had the hellion bent over as he applied pressure to the point of breaking the creature’s arm in two locations.

  “Get this straight, motherfucker—you’re my driver. You’ve been relegated to serving me. A human. What do you think your superiors back in the city think of you? Hmm?” Reynolds asked as he applied more pressure.

  When the hellion refused to speak, Reynolds released his grip on the hellion’s wrist, driving his palm into the demon’s armpit. With a heave and twist, Reynolds threw the demon back against the open door of the transport. Reynolds spun and lashed out with the heel of his foot with a spinning back kick, connecting with the transport’s open door and slamming it closed on the demon.

  “Ahh!” the hellion cried out in pain.

  Reynolds opened the door then slammed it shut once, twice, three times. The demon fell to the ground, barely conscious.

  Reynolds wasn’t prone to displays of physical power. Not since the war. The first war. When people knew what you could do, they could plan for it. Mystery and danger were his allies more than power displays.

  “If you want a real job, look me up,” Reynolds said as he threw one of his contact cards on the sandy ground. “Now, I’m going to go do what I came here to do. Stay here with the car.”

  The hellion barely made a sound as his eyes rolled back into his head. Reynolds lit another cigarette and made his way down the beach towards the speedboat. With what would come next, he’d honestly rather be fighting a dozen hellions.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Guilty Until Proven Innocent

  Now . . .

  Despite being a captive, I had to admit—Andromalius’s home was quite lovely.

  As we came up from the basement, I got a chance to take it all in. The home was a large, well-lit, white-walled, oak-floored, loft of neo-architectural contemporary design with a large open floor plan. Items on were displayed on pedestals, as in a museum. The artwork was properly illuminated on the walls. Various stairwells led upwards to what I guessed was his actual living area.

  The party was in full swing. Human servants moved about, serving food and drinks. Retro, Seattle-sound music played while punk demon kids, all dressed up like slackers, drank, caroused and wore sunglasses inside. Acting cool. Most of what I saw were demons who came from some sort of prestigious family but were not purebreeds. So they were all rich royal bastards from Windy Spires.

  The guard
s marched me along to the center of the party where Andromalius reclined, lying on his side on a red leather chaise lounge and surrounded by sycophants perched on similar red leather sofas and ottomans. Andromalius wore a white button-up wraparound silk shirt, a sleeveless denim jacket, black leather pants, and a chain for a belt. His woven ski cap, rings, and necklaces were arranged in what I called “douche plumage.”

  “Welcome to my home, Mr. Salem. Glad you got my invitation,” Andromalius said, peering down his nose over his sunglasses at me. He noticed his guards and waved them off. They took a few steps back in respectful obedience and then moved to the corners of the party.

  “Do you ever go anywhere without those?” Andromalius inclined his chin, gesturing to my tech bracers.

  “No. They pretty much go with me everywhere. Your guards got my blasters, but the one who tried to take these from me was electrocuted to the point where he shit himself. Care to try yourself?” I offered.

  “No thank you. I saw it all.” Andromalius pointed to a digital tablet lying on an amorphous glass coffee table. The demon swung his legs off the chair and stood up to his full height. He stood next to me and put his arm around me. “Walk with me.”

  I knew if I resisted I would be shot all over again by the guards at the party. I played along and walked with him. He reeked of cologne and I was forced to breathe through my mouth lest I permanently burn my nostrils on a high-priced synthetic Axe Body Spray.

  “Do you always drone on like a walking cliché? Look, you raided my vault, I came to take something back. We’re even. You keep this up and we go to war with one another. I don’t want that. Do you?”

  Andromalius ignored the question. We continued walking through the party, the jerk’s arm still draped over me. He nodded and said hello to partygoers. He was showing me off. Like one of the pieces of his collection.

  We did a couple more laps of the party and he seemed to be simply ignoring me. He guided us towards the front of his home to the large glass windows and doors. Outside, across the street, I saw the flashing lights of the local bishop’s police force.

  Great. The po-po.

  “Mr. Salem, you don’t get it, do you? You’re a plaything. An amusement. A human made a baron? You are like a monkey taught sign language. There won’t be a war. Your land, your people, and everything you own I will take because I can,” he said, and squeezed me in a friendly hug.

  “Did you know that an imprisoned noble forfeits all rights and ownership and property for the duration of their incarceration? Did you know that? Have you even read the Laws of Nobility? No, you don’t strike me as much of a reader. Too busy shooting things and thinking with your muscles. During a period of investigation, assets are frozen. But after . . . all you have will be mine.”

  OK, I’ve had enough of this prick.

  I wrenched myself free and turned on him. “You know, I killed Abraxas. I brought him down and survived everything he threw at me. You really think a bastard punk like you is going to do better?”

  Andromalius’s party guests took notice of the scuffle. The demon noble smiled and addressed me, and in a way, them as well.

  “It is illegal to speak openly negatively of our nobility. But since he is dead, the rules don’t apply. Your killing my uncle was the best thing that ever happened to me. His oppressive antiquated way of thinking was rooted too deeply in the Old Hell way of doing business. He never did accept the new order of things. I now have the freedom to do what I do best. After your assault, I was allowed to make a claim against you under Infernal Law’s Rights of Aggrieved Kin. Your property will become my property. Goodbye, Mr. Salem.” Andromalius looked past me at someone else.

  I looked over my shoulder. The Ahlray was making his way from the flashing lights to the large glass doors. Holy crap, Andromalius was handing me over to him. He totally just Boba Fetted me. All that was missing was some carbonite and a smug I know.

  “Evening,” Ahlray said to me as he walked through the glass main doors, towering above Andromalius’s security guards. “Told you I would see you soon.” Then he addressed Andromalius. “Count, I ensured he would pursue the plan of action we outlined. I have the evidence against him. More than enough time away for you to annex his possessions. I do believe this concludes our business. Unless you have objections?”

  “No, you did your part. But I wanted him dead.”

  “Sorry, the new stipulation was added above my pay grade, sir. If you have an issue, please take it up with Vox. His incarceration will suffice.” Ahlray spoke to the demon in a rather familiar tone. I guess when you are packing that level of firepower, you can get a little snarky with just about anyone.

  Hell, since I was already in deep, why not go for rock bottom? I threw a fast overhand punch that broke Andromalius’s nose and put him on his ass. The party stopped and watched in awe. Andromalius just lay there a moment bleeding and then laughed.

  Laughed?

  The demon got up and wiped the black-purple blood from his nose and then fished in the back right pocket of his leather pants. He took out a rectangular leather fold that looked like a wallet. Upon seeing it, I felt a horrible sense of “I just screwed myself.” Andromalius opened the folded leather to reveal a gold badge.

  Andromalius was a cop. He was the local bishop. That was his police force out there.

  Shit.

  ************************

  The next bit was a blur. Mostly because the bishop’s enforcers beat the ever-living shit out of me. It must have frustrated them as they wailed and wailed on me with fists, boots, hooves, clubs, rifle butts, and any object heavy enough to pick up and smash me with while my full body shield protected me from some of it.

  Throughout the beating, the cops screamed at me and yelled charges like murder and theft and assault on a noble. I didn’t know what they were going on about. I tried to argue, to tell them I was nobility, to tell them I didn’t kill anyone or steal anything, but all that got me was another round of beatings. I will say this about the new world’s justice system: It sucks when you are on this side of it.

  The new rule was “guilty until proven innocent.” Which is what I was currently was. Guilty. And it was up to me to prove my innocence. And that was the rub. When you are in custody, you forfeit all rights, if any even existed, short of whom you can bribe. Or kill.

  I sat in the back of the prisoner transport trying to stitch myself back together. I still had my tech bracers. With them I was pretty sure I could break out of there, but after that I would just be target practice for the bishop’s men. I had a feeling I was going to have to ride this one out and hope for the best.

  One of the big demon enforcers opened the back of the transport and climbed in. He was a four-armed beast who wore a large, spherical, black-visored helmet and demon-modified tactical gear in composite armor and carried two electrified truncheons.

  He approached me and I sat up with my back to the cab wall. I felt like hell, but I was damned if this bruiser was going to work me over any more. I may have been a prisoner, but I wasn’t a punk. I popped the eighteen-inch collapsible blades from my bracers.

  “Take another step and I’m going to gut you. You clear?”

  The demon stopped moving and instead sat down on one of the two benches that ran the length of the prisoner transport. He removed his helmet and I actually felt a little relief.

  “Khurzon? What the hell are you doing here?” I asked the Wrath demon gladiator. “You’re a long way from Ars Amadel, girl.”

  The warrior demon had always been square with me and she crossed all four of her arms. “I do a little freelance merc work on the side. Ars Goetia is usually busier than Ars Amadel, so I come up this way looking for jobs. Imagine my surprise when the call for work tonight mentioned your name.”

  “So, you here to spring me?” I asked in vain, already knowing the answer.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m here as your escort the rest of the way. I volunteered to serve as your primary si
nce you are technically nobility and I’m a full-blood. But you have to be unarmed.” One of her four arms pointed at my tech bracers.

  “What happens if I don’t?”

  “I know they’re booby trapped. So do they. If you don’t take them off willingly, they are just going to remove your arms. And they will keep chopping until your force field runs out of energy. Sorry. That’s the way it has to be. But if you give them to me, I’ll make sure they are kept in a secure lockup where we’re going to make sure you can get them back if you’re exonerated. I already have your pistols. This is the best offer you are going to get.”

  I didn’t want to. The bracers were a piece of me. So were the pistols. But I knew the demons would follow through on their threat and hack me up. They had me. This was a trap, and I’d fallen right into it.

  Andromalius set me up. He hired the assassins to try and take me out. When that didn’t work, he somehow he got my vaults’ locations and raided them, forcing me to retaliate. As a cop, he trumped up some charges of murder and theft. And if Abraxas was his uncle, then he had all the legal justification he needed.

  At least Grimm got away. But with what? An arm? If what Andromalius said was true, then I was going to be incarcerated while this got sorted out, and Löngutangar would be vulnerable. He could just buy it outright. Grimm, Vali, and Vidar would fight back and they would lose.

  I retracted my blades and then reluctantly, I removed my tech bracers and handed them over to Khurzon.

  “Here,” I said, defeated.

  “Thanks. Now put these on.” Khurzon produced a pair of elbow-length, fully enclosed manacles. I put my arms in them and the manacles closed around my arms and tightened. I sat on the bench opposite Khurzon and leaned my head against the transport’s bulkhead and closed my eyes.

  “Khurzon,” I said.

  “Yeah?”

  “Could you reach into my pocket and get me a smoke?”

  “Sure. Help myself?” Khurzon asked, and I nodded.