The crowd tried to push back, but after several got shot and fell to the ground, the rest turned and ran. Wotan growled and barked as people ran past him, but for the moment they didn’t seem terribly worried about the metal mastiff and his razor-sharp teeth.
Once the last of the crowd passed Wotan, he saw the wall had opened and that Bobo was walking through. Wotan stood and ran towards the open wall just as the blare of the siren changed pitch and the wall began to close. The guards had relaxed and let the barrels of their weapons drop slightly, but immediately brought their guns back up and aimed at Wotan.
Wotan stopped, but not because of the guns trained on him. No, this was something far worse. Deep down in his processors, another odd command had been activated. The neural pathways for this command had been connected, and the metal mastiff had no choice but to comply with the mental order.
The slightly higher pitch of the blaring siren as the wall closed had triggered the response and try as he might to fight the urge, Wotan found himself sitting down, raising his nose up to point at the top of the dome and howling.
Katerin stepped out onto the Hive City docks. One of the scummers had survived the assault, but just barely. His leg had been blown off by the captain’s bolt launcher, and he wouldn’t last the night. At first the scummer wouldn’t talk. Katerin was amazed by the man’s loyalty, but when he’d been reminded about what happened to injured creatures in the Ash Wastes at night, the scummer had been more than happy to tell Katerin everything he knew in exchange for a quick, clean death before the spiders came.
And so they had piled back into the transport and headed for the Hive City docks, chasing after some one-armed mercenary named Vandal Feg, who the dying scummer said had taken the satchel and run off before their first pass over the battlefield.
Katerin had decided to keep his spyrer rig on. It was a calculated risk, he knew. Hive City residents didn’t take kindly to Spire nobles rampaging through their streets in rigs. That type of thing might be fine in the lawless Underhive, but in the City there were rules, and one rule was that they all hated anyone from the Spire interfering in their daily lives.
But that was exactly why Katerin had decided to wear the rig. It would cut through the lengthy process of complaints and protests he expected from the Hive City officials. There would be hell to pay later, but that wouldn’t be his problem.
Behind him, the royal guard hustled off the transport and began spreading out onto the docks in groups of three. “Slam and sweep,” he called. “Break open every locked door; check every corner. No lethal force unless absolutely necessary, but nobody leaves these docks unless I say so.”
An official-looking man with a clipboard and wire-rimmed glasses sitting on top of his bald head rushed over towards Katerin. “What in the hive is the meaning of this?” he asked.
Katerin held up one, armoured finger, almost poking the man in the cheek, and glared for a moment before turning back to his troops. “Mageson, give me an aerial view. Stein, guard the entrance. Nothing gets past you. Understand? Use any means necessary to keep this dock locked down.”
The bald dock official sputtered and fumed. Keeping his finger poised in front of the man’s eyes, Katerin slowly turned to look at him. The man’s face had turned bright red from his neck to the top of his head, but Katerin wasn’t about to let the man go on the offensive.
“What is your name?” demanded Katerin.
The sputtering turned into an open-mouthed exclamation of surprise. “Bwah…” he started, before regaining his composure. “I am Remor Donne, comptroller of the Hive City docks. You can’t…”
“Excellent,” said Katerin. He turned and walked a few metres away. “Just the man I need.” He looked back at Donne and waved him over. He waved his hands at the docks, which his troops were already busy searching. “I am Aldous Katerin, captain of the royal guard… Lord Helmawr’s royal guard. My troops are here to search for a fugitive. I expect your full cooperation in this matter.”
The controller raised his own finger and opened his mouth to protest, but Katerin took that moment to drape his heavily armoured arm around Donne’s shoulders. He let just enough of the weight of the rig rest on the man to exert pressure throughout his entire body. He smiled at Donne as he cocked the bolt launcher, which was right next to the man’s ear, to load an explosive bolt into the firing chamber.
“You can’t do this,” said Donne, his voice hardly trembling at all.
Katerin was actually quite impressed when Donne finished his thought, and with much more authority in his voice than most people could muster with a loaded bolt launcher so close to their head.
“I just did,” said Katerin. “Consider the docks under martial law until further notice. You can either help this process end quickly or you can spend the next few days explaining to Herr Kauderer why you hindered this operation.”
Kal snuck out of Cait’s office just as a freakishly tall man with an angular face and a long, sharp nose opened the door adjoining Valtin’s office. Now Kal remembered the hawkish man. He’d been in the room during Kal’s meeting with old Helmawr during his last visit to the Helmawr estate. Some other high-ranking official in his father’s inner circle. He hadn’t said anything during the meeting, but it was obvious to Kal that he normally dominated any room he entered.
Kal bumped into the door frame as he looked back at the hawkish man. The man’s eyes immediately darted towards the door as he stood stock still. He searched the area and Kal was certain that he’d see the shimmering air surrounding him. He tried to slip around the door frame as silently as possible.
“Who’s there?” said the hawk. “Guards!” he called. “Guards!”
As usual, luck was with Kal Jerico, for at that moment, a woman screamed. This wasn’t a “Sweet Emperor, there’s a rat in the room,” scream. This blood-curdling howl continued like the wail of a siren, completely drowning out the hawk’s call for aid.
The scream echoed through the halls, but as it continued, Kal could tell it was getting closer. Then, from around a corner down the hall came Cait, running and flailing her arms, and screaming like she’d been stabbed in the gut — a sound Kal had heard all too often in his life; had even made on more than one occasion.
Cait had no blood on her that Kal could see. She moved much too quickly for someone with a stomach wound. The hawk ran out into the hall, quickly followed by Valtin. Kal backed away from the scene before the hawk remembered the shimmering air and turned to look for him.
As he turned the corner, he heard Cait scream. “She’s dead… Someone… I don’t know who, but she’s dead. There’s blood everywhere!” and then the crying started.
Kal thanked his luck and jogged off in the opposite direction. As he ran, Kal wondered what he should do next. He couldn’t trust anyone up here, not even Valtin it seemed. He was all alone and someone wanted him dead. Well, okay, that made it a normal day, but he was out of his element in the Spire. He had no idea where to start looking for answers.
At the very least, he needed a safe haven where he could hole up and think things through. Normally, he’d retreat to the Sump Hole; his office of sorts. He’d sit, have a few wildsnakes and wait for an idea to hit him — or some barmaid’s brother — whichever came first. But here in the Spire he had no refuge, no office.
Then it came to him. The last time his father had screwed up his life, they’d taken him to a private chamber where the crazy, old recluse had holed up; Helmawr’s private office. With the old man dead, and Kal next in line, the office belonged to him now, didn’t it? And it had the added bonus of being secluded and a secret to all but Helmawr’s most senior advisors. It was the perfect place for Kal to catch his breath and figure out his next move. Now, if he only had some idea how to get to that secret room.
Kal stopped and tried to get his bearings. The estate was like a maze and he’d never been very good at directions; that’s what Scabbs was for. “Damn,” he said. “I could really use that son of a ratskin right
now.”
Scabbs pulled his knees into his chest, trying to get just a little smaller as he hid in the dark. Feg stared into the corner for a moment, but then continued to scan the room. Maybe he hadn’t seen him.
“I know you’re in here somewhere,” said Feg. “Come out so I can kill you quickly and quietly. Otherwise it’s going to hurt. A lot.”
Scabbs began to shake from head to toe, which sent a cloud of dead skin into the air around him. Before he realized it, he breathed some of the skin flakes into his nose, and sneezed.
Feg whirled around, snapping his mechanical arm out to the side, and activated his chainsword. A thousand tiny blades began spinning along the length of the sword as he moved towards the corner. “Okay,” he snarled. “You asked for it. Here comes the pain!”
Scabbs aimed his laspistol at the hulking monstrosity coming towards him, but knew that no matter how many shots he got off, it would do little but make Feg even madder. He squeezed the trigger anyway, hoping beyond hope that some of Kal’s luck might have finally rubbed off on poor old Scabbs.
He aimed for the eyes. It seemed the most reasonable thing to do. But his hands were shaking so hard that the las blast shot well over Feg’s head, blasting a hole in the thin metal roof.
“Ha ha,” said Feg, and Scabbs could see the glee in his eyes. “There you are, you little rodent.”
Scabbs wasn’t sure if Feg had seen his face in the flash of light from the las blast or just assumed anyone hiding in a dark corner was likely to be a rodent. It didn’t matter. He needed to move. As Feg advanced, Scabbs darted forward.
Feg must have heard him, because the huge chainsword sliced down in a long arc. Scabbs got inside the reach of the weapon just in time and continued on, scrambling on hands and feet right through Feg’s legs.
He got out the other side, but behind him the huge bruiser had turned and swung his screaming chainsword down towards the ground again. Scabbs darted to the side, but the sword caught him in the foot, leaving a long gash below his ankle.
He screamed and rolled to the ground, slamming up against the back wall. As Scabbs lay there, writhing in pain, Feg advanced, raising his chainsword up high for the final strike. Scabbs closed his eyes and muttered a silent curse at Kal and Yolanda.
Feg smiled, his face lit by a beam of light coming through the hole Scabbs had shot through the roof. Before he could strike again, the door behind Feg exploded. Plasteel shrapnel pelted the room as three royal guards entered. They levelled their weapons at Feg. “You’re coming with us,” said one of them.
“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Feg. “You’re the ones going straight to the sump.” He rushed at the guards, revving his chainsword as he ran.
Scabbs thanked his lucky, Kal Jerico, stars and crawled over to the hole. Before dropping out of sight, he glanced back at the fight. One royal was already down and the other two were backing towards the door. Scabbs slipped over the edge, going head first into the hole. He tucked and rolled down the slope, hitting his head on something hard and sharp as he barrelled down the tunnel. As he came to a stop, his foot and his head screamed in pain, but at least he wasn’t dead.
Quite some time later, Kal found a familiar set of stairs and headed down. He felt he was finally getting close and was fairly certain he wouldn’t find himself going past Valtin’s office a fourth time. At the bottom of the stairs was a curving corridor with no windows. As he moved down the hall, he could tell he was winding around some large central space.
A moment later the door came into view. He knew it was the right door by the two guards standing at attention outside. The door was closed, so Kal couldn’t just slip past the guards cloaked in his shimmering, light-bending field. Technically, they were his guards, so he didn’t think killing them was a good idea, either.
Then he had a thought. He snuck up next to the near guard. He got so close he could see the wax built up inside the guard’s ear. It was actually pretty disgusting and Kal considered reporting the guard to his superiors, but he had something much more fun in mind.
Reaching carefully around behind the guard, Kal poised his hand just above the hilt of the man’s service sword. Then, with one quick movement, he shoved the pommel down, forcing the sheath up and over, smacking the other guard in the leg.
“Ow,” said the injured guard. “What’d you do that for?”
Kal slipped back away from the guard.
“Do what?” asked the first guard.
“Don’t give me that,” said the second guard. “You just hit me with your sword.”
Kal moved around behind the second guard, who had turned to face the first guard.
“I did no such thing,” said the first guard. “You must have dreamt it.”
“You saying I was asleep on duty?” asked the second guard.
Kal got ready.
“Wouldn’t have been the first time.”
“Why you…”
Kal shoved the second guard in the back. The guard lurched forward, throwing his arms up defensively, and ended up hitting the first guard in the nose as he fell on top of him. As the first guard went down, he brought his knee up into the groin of the second.
In a moment, they were both on the floor, rolling over each other trying to get one another into a head lock or scissor their legs around the other’s torso. One landed a nasty punch to the midriff of the other, and Kal heard a loud crack as one guard’s head smacked into the floor.
“That was too easy,” mumbled Kal as he stepped past the now bruised and bloodied guards and opened the door. “I need better guards if I’m going to stay here much longer,” he added after entering the darkened chamber beyond.
Kal didn’t know what to expect when he got into Helmawr’s private office. If he was lucky, the old man’s desk would still be sitting at the far end of the chamber with a comfy chair, and, perhaps, a bottle of the Spire’s finest liquor stashed away in the bottom drawer. More than likely, all he would find inside was Valtin waiting for him. His nephew had an annoying habit of showing up unannounced.
What he didn’t expert — never even dreamt of, or would have ever guessed — was that he would find the body of Lord Helmawr lying on a bed. There, in the back of the room where the old man’s desk once stood in that single pool of light, now sat a large bed bathed in white light holding the unmistakable figure of old Gerontius Helmawr, lying with his arms folded over his chest as if placed there to lie in state.
Except this was no audience chamber. It was a secret room that only the most senior members of House Helmawr even knew existed. As Kal walked towards the bed, he noticed something else odd about this situation. There were tubes connected to the body that led to upturned bottles hanging on pegs behind the bed.
There was also what looked like a medi-pack attached to the pale, sunken chest by a series of wires. This was like no medi-pack Kal had ever seen. It had a pict screen with little squiggly lines and numbers that flashed from side to side, and it beeped periodically.
Kal began to get an odd feeling in his gut. There was something not quite right here. It wasn’t just that they’d placed Lord Helmawr’s body in this secret room connected to a bunch of weird machines. Kal stuck the fingers of one hand under Helmawr’s nose and felt the slightest breeze rustle his skin.
“He’s alive,” said Kal. “What the scav?”
“I suppose you have some questions for me,” said Valtin from behind Kal.
After wrapping up his wounded foot with a dirty strip of cloth from his shirt, Scabbs had made his way down the tunnel. As he suspected, it was full of twists and turns and dead ends and sheer drop offs. Within the hive, the areas between the domes were notorious for these kinds of secret pathways, lying hidden from most, yet allowing those who knew of them to move undetected from place to place.
They were also notorious for killing more people than ever got through to the other side. Hive quakes would render a path useless or worse, leave a deathtrap in its wake. Too often, wars between gang
s would be fought over which gang had the right to control the tunnel. Some thought that most hive quakes were actually started by errant frag grenades set off within these enclosed and unstable areas of the hive.
Eventually, Scabbs saw some light coming from the tunnel ahead of him. As he got closer, the light got almost unbearable to his sensitive eyes. As he turned one last corner, he saw it — a large hole with nothing beyond it but white ash and whiter light.
“I made it,” said Scabbs as he limped down to the exit.
“About scavving time,” said Yolanda, who stepped into the tunnel just as he reached its end. Scabbs was too tired and too sore to even rise to the bait. Instead, he decided it seemed like a good time for a rest. He put his back against the wall of the tunnel and started to slide down to the ground.
“Don’t bother sitting,” said Yolanda. She kicked him in the thigh. “We’re heading back up to the docks.” She pointed at the tunnel exit. “It opened onto the ash wastes, a place no hiver would go… at least not without a gun to his head or the promise of a huge score when, or if, he returned. There’s nothing out there but an abandoned transport and a scavving lot of bodies.”
“But…” said Scabbs. He slid a little further down the wall, only to get another kick in his thigh.
“No,” said Yolanda. “Come on. Whatever was in that transport is already gone. The only thing left was an empty safe that something ripped open. I don’t know how they did it. I couldn’t even lift the door, which I found embedded in the floor across the chamber.”
“Feg,” said Scabbs and he slipped the rest of the way to the ground.
Yolanda was obviously too surprised to remember to kick Scabbs. “What?” she asked.
“Vandal Feg has it,” said Scabbs. “Whatever was in that safe, Feg ripped it open with his big, metal hand and now he’s in the hive with it.”
[Necromunda 10] - Lasgun Wedding Page 9
