Dead Dwarves Don't Dance

by Derek J. Canyon

  “Why?” the pleaser asked, yawning and stretching.

  “Those idiots found Smith’s body and think he’s the guy that attacked Stiltzkin’s.”

  It took a moment for that to get through her frazzled head, but then she jumped up and clapped her hands together. “So, are we leaving now?”

  “Yeah,” Grue grunted, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Now go get some clothes on before you get Munk excited with all the naked hopping.”

  “Sure thing! But after that kind of news, I’d hop naked on his lap! And yours, big guy.” She gave each a gleeful kiss on the cheek then skipped into the back.

  Munk shook his head. “The wonders of modern pharmaceuticals.”

  “Start her up, Munk. Head west on IC-20 and get through the gate.”

  Munk hurried up to the cab and started the engine. The cab window cleared to transparent.

  “Then where?”

  “Hold on, I’ll check,” Grue said, working through the online roadmaps in the Grand Safari’s onboard computer.

  As he pored over the details, Earless stepped out of the back wearing the same denims and NecroBob tank top.

  “Hey, whose breakfast?” she asked, noticing the pancakes.

  “Mine,” Munk yelled back. “Bring it up here.”

  “Sure thing. Want some breakfast, Grue?” The goon nodded and Earless pulled a couple more Global Foods Suddenhot Meals from the cupboard. She popped the boxes’ chemcooker tabs and waited for the food to cook.

  Several minutes later, Munk sighed in relief as they drove through the West Containment Wall and into the vast expanse of the Wilderness Preserve that dominated the continent. He handed Ulric’s forged border passes back to Grue who was finishing his breakfast.

  “They worked.”

  “Why wouldn’t they? Ulric’s the best.”

  Earless took their empty food cartons and dumped them in the sink. She tilted her head sideways, a quizzical look on her face.

  “So,” Munk said, accelerating on IC-20, “where are we going, Grue?”

  The goon, in the passenger seat, flipped on the dashvid. “We take this until it ends at what’s left of Old Birmingham, then trek cross-country to…” He scanned the online maps. “Let’s see, nearest good road after that is a stretch of IC-55. Cross the Mississippi at the Memphis slag piles and follow the Arkansas River up into the Great Plains. Once we hit IC-40 at Amarillo Temporary Urban Zone we’ll make great time.”

  “All that cross-country?” Munk asked. “Why not use IC-20 to the DFW Metroplex? From there we can catch a flight to the Free State.”

  Grue shook his head. “I’d rather not see the inside of another plex. The news may be reporting Regional’s press releases, but I can’t believe that the Reggies are stupid enough to think they bagged the real hitters.”

  “What? You think they’re lying to the media?”

  “Why not? Think about it. Once the hitters are found dead, the rioters will pack up and go home.”

  “Yeah.”

  “But that doesn’t mean Regional won’t stop looking for us. So we stay away from plexes.”

  “And if we stay away from plexes, Regional can’t touch us.”

  “Unless they ask for help from the Preserve Rangers.”

  “Like we can’t handle a bunch of ecologists,” Munk scoffed. “Looks like our escape ain’t gonna be that difficult after all.”

  “Told ya,” Grue said with a grin.

  “Maybe not,” Earless said. They both looked back at her. She stood by the fridge, looking away with open but unfocused eyes.

  “What is it?” Grue asked.

  “There’s a psyker watching us.”

  Grue jumped out of his seat, pulling out his Ultima. “Where?”

  “She’s gone.” The pleaser’s eyes slowly came back into focus. “Put the gun away, you moron. You can’t do anything to an out-of-body psyker.”

  “Who was it?” Grue demanded, holstering the gun.

  “I think it was Sweetpea.”

  “Sweetpea? Are you sure? What the hell would she want with us?”

  “Somebody must have hired her to find us.”

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Nope. When she noticed that I saw her, she left.”

  “You think she’s working for Regional?”

  “Sweetpea? Hell, no. She’s a Free-Worlder and a Paleo-Capitalist. Hates the government.”

  “So what’s she doing?”

  Grue sat down in one of the rear seats. “We can’t know why she was watching us, or who she was working for. Hell, we don’t even know if it had anything to do with Stiltzkin’s.”

  “But…” Munk prodded.

  “But we can’t take any chances,” Grue agreed. “She could have heard our whole conversation. We’ll have to scrap the original plan. Hell, we shouldn’t even use IC-40, but it’s the fastest way out west. Damn it!”

  “So, what?” Munk demanded.

  “We’ll bypass Amarillo altogether and get on IC-40 farther west.”

  “That’s all?”

  Grue shrugged. “What other choice do we have? If there were still any freaking roads left on this continent we’d have all sorts of choices. But we can’t make good time rolling through woods and swamps and environmentally-preserved ecologies.”

  “Progress does have its disadvantages, I guess,” Earless said.

  41

  Noose stood in front of the newspaper-covered walls of the candlelit room as he waited for Sweetpea to finish her blood questing. He examined the various news stories on the walls, noting that some of the articles were over a hundred years old. He read a few of them, smirking at the tame language and ancient controversies. He puffed lightly on his cigar as he read about some maniac going by the name of Zookeeper Dave trying to assassinate a presidential hopeful. The dwarf shook his head. It never changes, he thought.

  A noise caught his attention and he turned to see Sweetpea walk into the room like a tired old sow. He tossed his cigar aside and rushed over to her. She put a shaking hand up to her pale face, obviously fatigued. He did his best to help her to sit down, but with her excessive weight, did little to stop her inevitable collapse.

  “What happened?” Noose asked.

  “Nothing untoward. The blood sample was very old and the connection to her body weak. It required much searching. I barely managed to find her, and then did my best to stay near her as long as possible.”

  “Did you learn anything?” the dwarf asked expectantly.

  “Yes. Just before I returned. I couldn’t stay any longer.”

  “And…?”

  “She’s with a human and a goon. Grue and Munk. They’re heading for Arizona.”

  “Where are they now?”

  “Just leaving Atlanta in a ground vehicle.”

  “What?” Noose exclaimed. “Just leaving now? How far away are they?”

  “A few kilometers.”

  “Damn! It’ll take me hours to get a border pass to follow them.”

  “Grue said they would head to Amarillo and then take IC-40.”

  “Makes sense.” Noose looked at the woman. “Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine, Ichabod. But there is something you should know.”

  “What’s that?” Noose asked as he retrieved his coat.

  “She saw me.”

  “Who saw you?”

  “Earless. She perceived my presence.”

  “I thought Earless was brain-fried?”

  “I cannot speak to the truth of that,” Sweetpea said, wiping her sweaty brow with her shawl. “But I have heard, yes, that she had lost most of her psykic powers. She still has some left. How much, I cannot be sure.”

  “Do they know you overheard their plans?”

  “I can only assume that they would assume I heard all they said.”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t change much, though. They still need to head west. I’ll find them. Can you try to find her again later today?”

  “Tonight
, perhaps. But if they were responsible for the Stiltzkin’s attack,” Sweetpea said seriously, “then they will be quite desperate. Use caution.”

  “Caution’s my middle name.” Noose smiled and pressed a cashcard into her hand. “Thanks again, Sweetpea.”

  “You are a good man, Ichabod,” she answered, holding his hand and gazing at him with her big round eyes. “Albeit a man who has made a poor choice for a profession.”

  “Hey, lighten up. It’s just a job, and don’t forget that I’m genetically-skewed for it.”

  “You are not a victim of your gengineered existence, Ichabod. Look at myself, a drudge, a laborer, a follower. Designed for loyalty, servility, and docility.” She chuckled, jowls quivering. “Regional Police certainly does not consider me docile any longer. I am a rogue, a rebel, completely defying my scientifically ordained destiny. It can be done. Scientists have not unlocked all the secrets in DNA. They cannot control everything. Despite the assurances of the Global Genetic Oversight Board, they are not omniscient and all-powerful. They can skew your genes toward certain professions, aspirations and lifestyles, growing whatever type of neohuman they like. But it is the individual, and only the individual, who possesses the self-determination to plot their own course.”

  “Your point being?” Noose asked impatiently.

  “You avoid your own desires, Noose. You know that killing is not your own choice. It is theirs, the bureaucrats of the United Globe who requisitioned your creation. By casting aside your profession, you rebel against the Global machine. Beyond all else, the UG fears those who choose their own destiny.”

  “Yeah, right. Listen, Sweetpea, I don’t have time for this philosophical introspection spud. I got things to do and people to kill. Take care.” He hurried out of the room.

  Sweetpea watched him depart. The slanting rays of the sun snuck into the room, and she heard the faint rustling of her feathered friends in their nests near the ceiling. She leaned back on a pile of old books and closed her eyes.

  42

  “Just leaving Atlanta?” Cori asked again.

  “Yeah,” Noose replied, glancing down at the phone in the Celerity’s dashboard. “Guess they didn’t have a good plan to get out of the plex. But they’re on the move now, and they know someone’s after them.”

  “You think they’ll change their plans?”

  “Don’t see how they could. Quickest way to get to Arizona is IC-40.”

  “They might avoid roads to throw off pursuit.”

  “And add days to their travel time? I’m not sure about that.”

  “So, you think they’ll still head for Amarillo, then? Not just disappear into the Preserve?”

  “No way to be sure. But we don’t have anything to go on right now. Sweetpea can try and track them again tonight after she’s recovered, then we’ll know more.”

  Cori nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Snag us some border passes.”

  “Us?” Cori smiled. “You’re actually going to let me leave this apartment?”

  “I can’t very well scour all the Wilderness Preserve alone. Even with both of us, it’ll be difficult.”

  “Difficult? More like impossible. How are we going to cover that?”

  “Me in a skycar and you hacking the Preserve cameras and satellites.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “So do I.”

  “When are we leaving?”

  “As soon as possible. I have to go back to my place for some supplies and then rent a skycar.”

  “What kind of supplies?” Cori asked.

  “My kind of supplies. Grue’s a big boy. I’m going to need some heavy weapons to take him down.”

  43

  Noose parked Cori’s car a couple blocks from his building in Dekalb and walked down the back alleys. He wasn’t sure if his place was being watched, but he couldn’t take any chances. The police were probably trying to locate the owner of the exploded Detonator, but Noose was wise enough to keep his vehicles registered to aliases with dummy residences. On the other hand, the unknown forces behind the hitters might have the street contacts to find him. Sticking close to the walls and keeping his head down, he hurried around garbage bins, a couple unconscious drunks, and a well-fed mutt.

  He pressed his palm against the scanner on the rear entrance of the Dunaire Premio Apartment building. The hall inside was empty of all but a potted fern. Disregarding the elevators, he ascended the stairwell.

  At the tenth and top floor, he entered the hallway, hardly out of breath. His recovery was speeding up.

  He paused and observed the empty hall. The carpeting was clean, the walls decorated with stylish replicas of various artistic styles, from Picasso’s surrealism to Walking Bear’s neuvo-nativism. Only two apartment doors opened on the hall. He shared the top floor with just one other tenant, a mid-level corp exec with a very amenable and expensively bodysculpted wife.

  Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he went to his door and grasped the knob. The integral scanners matched his palmprint, blinked the “access confirmed” hologram, and unlocked the door.

  But the hologram blinked a little too slowly.

  Noose ducked down and sideways. The thick wooden door splintered under machine gun fire from inside his loft. As wood debris rained down around him, Noose yanked his Stormer out of its holster.

  The door to the other loft opened, and the barrel of a Global Arms Paladin minigun moved menacingly into view, carried by a smart-goggled gunman in body armor. The hitter blocked Noose’s only escape to the elevator and stairs. The other end of the hall featured only a large picture window with a view of north Dunaire, and a ten-story drop to the pavement.

  Noose fired a couple shots then leapt through the remains of his doorway. As he rolled into his loft, minigun fire ripped through the walls, shredding furniture.

  “You idiot!” yelled someone inside his loft. “He’s a dwarf! Aim lower!”

  Noose scuttled across the hardwood flooring into his large kitchen, bullets zinging all around. He jumped up and fired both his guns at the two men standing near a floor-to-ceiling window.

  Both were bulky humans in casual suits. Each wore dark shades and carried submachine guns. At least one of them did. Noose’s shooting had blown out the other’s brains.

  The second man kept firing, chipping away at the marble kitchen counter behind which Noose hid. Listening to the rounds clattering amid the metal pots and skillets in the cupboards inside, Noose realized he had mere seconds before the hitter with the Paladin came through the door.

  Noose jumped up and over the counter, landing on his feet and sprinting at the man by the window, firing his Stormer and Wardog. The man’s SMG sputtered away, peppering the furniture and walls behind the dwarf. One of Noose’s heavy pistol slugs caught the gunman in the left shoulder. Two more shots knocked him back against the sofa, where he stumbled and threw a hand back for support.

  Realizing that the gunman wore a bulletproof vest, Noose lowered his aim and shot two rounds into his knees. The man howled in pain and dropped around behind the sofa. Noose fired through the back of the sofa, hoping that at least one shot would find its mark in the man’s head.

  Sharp machinegun fire exploded from the doorway, and Noose stumbled sideways as a bullet tore through his left shoulder. Biting back the pain, he slipped and skidded a last few meters to stop behind the cast-iron spiral staircase that led up to the upper floor of his loft.

  “He’s hit!” yelled the man with the Paladin as he ducked behind a pillar at the end of the kitchen counter.

  “So am I, you asshole!” The wounded man behind the sofa groaned loudly. “Hurry up and kill the gimli bastard!”

  Noose leaned around behind the staircase, getting a clear view of the wounded hit man. He popped off a quick round, silencing him forever.

  Bullets clattered, clanged, and sparked off the heavy cast iron of the staircase as the third gunman laid down a sustained blast at the dwarf’s hiding pla
ce. Miraculously, none of the bullets found their way through the maze of steps, railings, and supports to hit Noose. The ricochets, however, scattered all around the room. A vase exploded into fine dust, the walls suffered dozens of punctures, and the large window cracked.

  Noose fired back at the minigun-toting attacker, disappointed to see the full body armor shrug off even the heavy rounds from his Stormer.

  The man ducked back behind the pillar after being struck in the chest with two of Noose’s shots. “This dwarf’s a crack shot! Get your ass in here, psyker!”

  “Marvelous,” Noose lamented. A four-man hit team, complete with minigun and psyker. Whoever wanted him dead, wanted him really dead.

  A tall, dark-haired neohuman in expensive leather clothes and bronze shades stepped into the room. Noose raised his Stormer to fire, but jerked back as minigun rounds once again clattered around him.

  “Hurry up with the fireball!” the gunman yelled. “I’ll keep his head down!”

  Noose watched as the psyker raised his arms. The fireball, depending on the pyro-psyker’s power, would probably fill a good portion of the loft. And there wasn’t a stitch of cover inside the room that could protect him from it.

  That only left outside the room.

  Noose glared at the window. It was made of heavy impact MaxiPlax duropane, but it had been punctured and cracked in dozens of places by the fire from the Paladin. Three stories below, across a narrow alley, squatted another apartment building. Noose didn’t really have any choice.

  Keeping a firm grip on his guns, Noose disregarded the pain and blood oozing from his shoulder. He ran headlong at the window. The Paladin spat out more death, and new holes appeared in the window ahead of him. Noose was happy that the MaxiPlax ads were exaggerations.

  With a yell, he threw his arms up in front of his face and jumped through the window. The weakened duropane shattered under his weight and he flew into the air just as the loft erupted in a violent ball of psyker flame. Tongues of fire licked at him as he arced out and down, across the alley and onto the roof of the adjacent building.