‘You said, “We could starve it do death,”’ said Yolanda. ‘Have you noticed the vampire is feeding a lot more often? It drained Bester the first night, the shopkeeper and Beddy the next day, and then today, it’s fed at least twelve times.’
‘Unless there are other bodies we don’t know about.’
‘Maybe,’ agreed Scabbs. ‘But you have to admit that today has been a banner day in the bloodsucking business.’
Yolanda shrugged. ‘Okay. It’s eating more. What’s that mean?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Scabbs, ‘but if its appetite is growing, you know where it must be headed.’
Yolanda wasn’t listening anymore, though. ‘Um, that’s really great Scabbs, but we should go now.’
‘What?’ asked Scabbs. ‘We can’t just leave Thag here. We need to give him and Grunn a proper burial, or at least look through his pockets to see if I can get back my hundred credits.’
‘Now, Scabbs!’ urged Yolanda. She’d pulled out a pair of binoculars and was looking at the Wastes behind them. ‘We have company.’
‘Scavvies?’ asked Scabbs. It was almost a squeak.
‘Worse,’ said Yolanda as she began to run. ‘Wildcats!’
5: CAT FIGHT
Squatz’s life was finally getting back to normal after that trouble a few months back. His bar, The Breath of Fresh Air, had been home territory to no less than three gangs. It was a sort of neutral ground where all the gangers could enjoy a drop of Wildsnake or his House Special along with the freshest air for miles around, thanks to the huge fan at the junction of no less than three ventilation shafts that sat above the square outside his door.
But then a strange little man came through looking for some lost bit of archeotech, sparking a gang war the likes of which Hive City had not seen in generations. Sure, the Fresh Air was situated amongst the lowest levels of the city, but this wasn’t the Underhive, and the rule of law still applied. At least that’s what Squatz had thought, but even the enforcers had proved powerless to stop this particular turf war and before you could say ‘Did you spill my Wildsnake?’ pretty much all his regulars were dead.
The loss of the three gangs left a nervous void as every gang within three domes wanted to lay claim to that fan and the fresh air it produced. Squatz’s gold mine turned into a money pit overnight. Brawls were constantly broken up by the enforcers, rogue gangers menacing his more law-abiding patrons and the occasional shootout in the street had all driven his more respectable, hardworking patrons away and racked up a huge repair bill for Squatz. At long last, a Van Saar gang led by a runt named Quill had finally taken control. They often hung out in the bar after working their Underhive territories. They kept to themselves for the most part, and kept the other gangs out of the district. A sort of peace had returned to the Fresh Air.
Quill and his boys were in the back room, whooping it up over some big victory. Squatz stood on the plank behind the bar and watched them while cleaning glasses. He was a short man with only one eye. Some people might call him a dwarf. Those people wouldn’t live to apologise. He scratched at the patch over his empty eye socket. He hated wearing it, but Quill had made it very clear that he had no choice. Squatz loathed owning a one-gang bar, but it was better than the alternative.
Quill and his gang headed toward the bar from the back. Quill wore brown body armour with long barbs attached to the shoulders and upper back, making him look a little like a porcupine. Squatz figured it was the best joke the ganger’s brain could come up with. He opened a bottle of House Special as they approached, but Quill flicked the back of his hand at the barman. ‘Important business. We’ll be back later. I don’t want to catch you with that patch off again,’ he said as they left.
Squatz took a long draught from the bottle, wiped his hand over his mouth, and then raised the bottle in a mock salute. He hopped off his plank and went around the end of the bar to go clean up the table. A moment later he heard lasblasts coming from the square. ‘Not so damn close to my bar!’ he yelled and ran to the door.
Squatz arrived just in time to see a huge beast of a man, with wild tangles of hair streaming around his face, land in the middle of Quill’s men. He towered over the Van Saar gang, his huge black shoulders reaching the top of their heads. And there were tubes coming out of his chest and arms that snaked their way over his shoulders. It had to be the vampire, but Squatz was certain that he was wearing some sort of power armour. The vampire was a Spyrer.
Squatz backed away from the doorway, so as not to be seen, and watched. The vampire grabbed a juve named Kenner by the top of his head and tossed him into the air. Kenner slammed into the fan, which screamed in protest as it cut through the foreign body jammed between its blades.
‘That’s going to cost me business for a month,’ said Squatz.
The rest of the gang reacted quickly, fanning out and diving for cover. A couple of them headed for the Fresh Air, but Squatz didn’t want the vampire following them in, so he slammed the door closed and slid the bolt into place. He then moved to a window so he could see the rest of the battle.
The two gangers he’d just locked out turned, but the vampire was right behind them. He now wore some sort of mirrored helmet with glowing red eyes. The tubes that had been slung over his shoulders were attached around the base of the helmet. One of the gangers at the door got off a plasma bolt shot. It exploded on the vampire’s chest. When the flames died away, Squatz could see that the explosion had done nothing more than chip away at one of the black plates on the armour.
The vampire swung a huge fist at the ganger, hitting and shattering the plasma gun. The resulting explosion knocked Squatz to the floor. When he got back up, the vampire was moving away. The two gangers lay in a bloody heap outside his door. The rest of Quill’s gang opened fire from around the square. Laser blasts, shotgun rounds and stubber shots all rebounded off the armour, doing little or no damage.
One of the Van Saar, a tall, bull-headed ganger named Domerud, stood his ground on the other side of the square, unloading clip after clip from his autogun in rapid fire that bounced off the vampire’s armour. With blinding speed, the vampire sprinted across to Domerud and grabbed the weapon from his hand. The vampire spun the weapon around, jammed the barrel through Domerud’s sternum and pulled the trigger.
The resulting spray of bullets shot clean out of Dom’s back and took down two gangers stood behind him. The vampire hoisted Domerud’s limp carcass over his head and tossed him toward Quill. The Van Saar ducked, but by the time he’d straightened up the vampire was right above him. Quill stood his ground, aimed his heavy plasma gun at the vampire, and fired.
Squatz gave him credit. The gang leader must have known what would happen, but had obviously decided in that split second that it was the only way to save the rest of his gang. The explosion engulfed both the vampire and Quill in fire and black smoke that roiled up toward the roof of the square in a billowing cloud. That ought to alert the enforcers, thought Squatz. Not that they could do anything about the rampaging vampire. Enforcers would be no match for a Spyrer.
The huge fan that gave the Fresh Air its name dispersed the smoke after a few moments. Quill’s body lay in a charred heap on the ground, but the vampire was still standing. He wasn’t moving; just standing and perhaps swaying a little. Squatz wondered if the gang leader had succeeded where all others had failed. Then the vampire turned. Squatz could see a small hole in his rig where a chunk of armour plate had been blown off, but that was the sum total of Quill’s sacrificial act.
Hauk, Quill’s second-in-command, an imposing figure standing well over two metres tall and broad across the chest, called for a retreat. The tattered remnants of the gang ran toward the exits from the square, while Hauk and two juves named Wat and Baddy laid down covering fire. The juves both fired laser blasts that hit the vampire in the head. The shots seemed to get absorbed by the mirrored material, and then red beams shot out from the eyes, burning both juves on the spot.
Hauk dropped hi
s weapon and ran, pushing his way past two enforcers who were running toward the square. They took one look at the carnage and the imposing figure of the Spyrer-rigged vampire and turned to chase after Hauk. Funny thing is, thought Squatz, if they catch Hauk, he’ll probably get charged with murdering his own gang. The peace has to be kept, no matter the cost.
The vampire didn’t pursue Hauk or the enforcers. Squatz watched in amazement as the vampire picked up several bodies and jumped onto the horizontal ventilation shaft coming out of the fan housing. He scaled the vertical shaft above the fan and disappeared into the darkness.
A while later, as Squatz was about to go out into the square to see if anyone was still alive, he heard a noise from above the fan. The vampire was coming back down. Squatz closed the door and slunk back to his window. The vampire picked up the rest of the bodies and climbed back into the darkness.
Squatz decided to stay inside for the rest of the day, and perhaps the next few as well. He could live on synthnuts and House Special if he had to, but he wasn’t opening that door for anyone or anything.
‘This is fine looking silver, Kal,’ said Fewell. He held all of Valtin’s buckles in his meaty hands, along with the two silver chains from his jacket. The front of Valtin’s jacket was in shreds as were the tops of his boots where Kal had ripped off all the buckles. ‘This’ll make a nice dint in what you owe me for the last five years.’
‘Now about that information,’ said Kal. He was kneeling next to Valtin with the knife, using it to rip off the silk piping.
‘That’ll cost you extra.’
‘Add it to my tab,’ said Kal with a chuckle. ‘As always.’ He was done with the silk piping and was now scratching and cutting at the too-clean and too-perfect pants and coat.
‘Ow!’ cried Valtin. ‘Watch that knife.’
‘Spire baby,’ said Kal. ‘It’s not even all that sharp.’ When he was finished, Kal tossed the knife toward one of the armour racks. It stuck fast. ‘Okay. It’s a little sharp.’ A broad grin swept across his face. Kal turned to Fewell. ‘I’m looking for another relative of mine.’
‘Another fancy pants Spire brat like this one?’ asked Fewell. He pulled the knife out of the rack and pushed his way back to the counter through all the armour that Wotan had knocked over.
Kal motioned to Valtin to pick up the armour, but Wotan just knocked them over again as he padded after Kal. When he got to the counter, Kal continued. ‘No,’ he said. ‘This relative is older, more experienced. I don’t think this is his first trip down here.’
‘What’s he look like?’
Kal realised he didn’t know and didn’t have a picture. ‘Well, probably a lot like me,’ he said, smiling. ‘You know, dashing good looks, regal chin, full head of hair.’
Fewell raised his eyebrows and stared at the bounty hunter. ‘Well, if you don’t know what he looks like and he knows how to blend in, it’ll be awfully hard to find him. The Underhive’s a pretty big place.’
‘He, um, has a bit of a temper,’ added Valtin. He’d replaced all the armour and joined the conversation. ‘Any, er, murders in the last few days?’
Now Fewell gave Valtin the same incredulous look. ‘Murders in the last few days, you say, huh? Well, gee, I dunno. Just maybe a dozen or so. You boys ain’t heard of the Underhive Vampire?’
‘Oh that,’ said Kal. ‘I heard about that down by Glory Hole. Killed Bester.’ He stopped and stared at Fewell. ‘A dozen? All in Glory Hole?’
‘Nah! All over the Underhive and even in Hive City.’ The armour maker picked up a small hammer and a rounded sheet of metal and began tapping out some dents. ‘All the way down to Dust Falls, I hear.’
Valtin pushed Kal out of the way to get closer to the armourer. ‘When did you say all this vampire business started?’
‘I didn’t say.’ Fewell looked at Valtin and then back down at his work. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Valtin glanced at Kal, who sighed. ‘Lesson number two, nephew: down here everything has a price.’ Valtin stared at Jerico, still not getting it. ‘You’ll have to pay him for the info.’
‘But he was giving it to you for free.’
‘He knows I don’t have any money,’ said Kal, ‘and he’d just add it to my tab later, anyway.’ He looked at Fewell. ‘I really ought to look at that tab sometime to keep you honest.’
‘Says the pot to the kettle,’ replied Fewell.
Valtin ignored the two of them and dug into his pants for some credits. He looked at Kal again, wanting to ask how much to pay, but decided to chance it on his own. He laid down a five-credit chip. Jerico jerked his thumb into the air. Valtin took the five chip back and dropped a 100 credit bond. Jerico gasped, but Fewell had snatched it up without even missing a beat with his hammer.
‘The first murder was here in Hive City three nights ago. After that, it’s hard to say, but it seems like they were strung out from here to Dust Falls and then up to Glory Hole. Don’t know after that.’
‘The timing is about right,’ said Valtin. He turned to Kal. ‘There’s something else you should know,’ he said.
‘What now?’
‘Armand is most likely wearing his Spyrer rig.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ said Kal.
Valtin nodded.
‘And you just thought to tell me this now?’
Another nod.
‘Hey Fewell,’ said Kal, sarcasm dripping off his voice. ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a spare monofilament sword in the back, would you?’
‘No, but I know where you might get one,’ he replied in the same monotone droll he’d used when answering Valtin.
Kal’s mouth dropped open. ‘Where?’
Fewell hesitated, looked over at Valtin, obviously wondering if he could get any more credits out of Kal’s nephew, but then looked back at Kal’s face, which was now stewing red. ‘Out of the Spyrer team that’s tracking your vampire!’ he replied, finally.
Hagen winced as Skreed wrapped a sheet around his torso to help stabilise the broken ribs. He and Dungo had come into the bar just as Hagen was about to pass out again. They’d poured the better part of a bottle of Wildsnake down his throat, which had shocked his system enough to keep him conscious. Then Dungo went to Hagen’s place, which was just a spare room in the basement, to fetch bandages and a fresh shirt for the bartender while Skreed helped Hagen wash the blood and spit out of his beard.
The Wildsnake was taking effect, spreading its warmth through his beaten body and numbing the pain for a while. He didn’t even complain when Dungo opened two more bottles for himself and Skreed.
‘What in the Hive happened?’ Skreed asked finally.
‘Wildcats came looking for Yolanda,’ replied Hagen. He groaned. Just talking made his ribs ache.
‘We should take you to Hive City and find you a real doc,’ said Dungo. He took a long pull at his bottle, as if worried they might leave right away.
‘Nah,’ said Hagen. ‘It’s just cracked ribs and a cracked head. Nothing the docs can do that a little rest won’t cure.’ Fact was, Hagen was afraid of only two things in life. One was spiders. He’d nearly been eaten by a giant hive spider once and was now skittish around all eight-legged creatures. The other thing was doctors. You couldn’t trust a person you had to pay to cut you open. It just didn’t seem right.
The three drank in silence for a while. Hagen wondered if the Hole would ever be the same. The vampire had driven off or killed most of his business. All of Glory Hole had been scared into their homes. It would take months to pay for all the damage the Wildcats had caused. By then, the mercenaries would have found a new hole to hang out in.
The silence was broken by an explosion down the street. ‘Not again,’ said Hagen. With nothing left to lose, he pushed himself out of the chair with a groan and hobbled over to the door, which Skreed had propped against the opening. He peeked through the crack between the door and the frame. ‘Helmawr’s rump,’ he cried. ‘Spyrers.’
A rocket exploded outside the
Hole. The concussion blasted the door into Hagen. He flew across the room, hit the far wall, and fell to the floor. A second later the door landed on top of him. Hagen tried to push the door off, but his ribs screamed at him. Then he heard Dungo scream as well, and he decided to stay put.
Several lasblasts echoed through the room and then Hagen heard a whistling noise that he’d only heard once before in his life, followed by another scream and a dull thud. The whistling was the sound a monofilament sword made as it ripped through the atoms of the air and pretty much any object in its path
A commanding voice said, ‘Where’s the vampire?’
Skreed, his voice halting and choking as he spoke, answered: ‘It… left Glory… don’t know… where it went.’
‘What’s the closest settlement?’
‘Nothing close. Just the Wastes and then Hive City.’
Hagen heard a sickening crack and then the unmistakable sound of another body hitting the floor.
‘We head straight for the City,’ said the voice. ‘He has to eat.’
The Spyrers left, but Hagen waited a very long time before crawling out from under the door. As he suspected, Skreed and Dungo lay dead on the floor. Dungo lay in a bloody mass while Skreed lay next to his severed arm, his head lying at an awkward angle to his body. Hagen, moving very slowly, went downstairs and packed a satchel and then cleaned out the cash box.
First, he was going to go see a medicae, and then head out to take on those damn spiders again to get at their treasure. That had to be safer than running this place.
Derindi poked his head farther out of the hive dust to see what Yolanda was yelling about. She seemed to be looking his way and he feared that the statuesque bounty hunter had spotted his hiding spot. It had been tough following them across the White Wastes, but his small stature and willingness to cover his entire body with dust had kept Derindi hidden for the better part of a day. Of course, his whole body itched.
Now she was looking right at him through her binoculars. But he’d been almost completely buried! How could she have seen him? He glanced over his shoulder to see if there was something else she might be excited about. ‘Oh, crap!’ he said and ducked back under the dust just as the Wildcat gang thundered past.
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