by Bear Ross
A holographic projector glowed in the Headhunter’s main carapace, illuminating the far wall of skulls. The view was from one of Vervor’s security cameras. One the replayed video, a Shasarr and Skevvian tore through Vervor’s shop door, and his crew, with equal ease. The image froze on a still shot of the two thugs dragging Kitos out of the door, the two beings framed perfectly for identification.
“Skreeb and that bone-squid friend of his,” the Headhunter snarled. “They work for Beliphres.”
“I... I didn't get a look at them,” she said. “Beliphres is the Gatekeeper who Kitos owed money to, though, right?”
The seething titan nodded in the affirmative. She knew it was foolish to provoke the angered goliath, but she did it, anyway.
“Well, I think it's safe to say,” Jessica said, “This Beliphres guy doesn't really think that line between the Fifth and Sixth Gate Zones really exists, anymore. If he does, his boys stepped right over it. He and the rest of the Gatekeepers must not take your claim of 'running things on the ground level' too seriously.”
The Headhunter's claws and built-in weaponry lashed and writhed as he paced back and forth, his seething anger slipping from his control as he was reminded of his own words. He kicked a pile of unmounted skulls, scattering the heads like marbles.
She saw her words were having an effect, but she wanted to pee, to run, and to hide, all at the same time. The sight of the infuriated assault cyborg was more than just intimidating. I don’t think I could take him on, even if I was in an Unlimited rig, she thought.
The Headhunter stopped his furious pacing, halting in mid-stride, and turned to her, his bristling cybernetic armor in full deployment. His sensors scanned her. There was a psychotic, detached look on his face. From blazing tantrum to cold fury, in an instant. It reminded her of her father’s sudden swings, and she shivered.
“I see your leg's about healed from that wound,” the Headhunter said. “You're also packing a 20-mil Mattis. Good. Go with Nolo and gear up. If you want your Niff back, we may have something for you in the armory. Nolo, have the autodoc finish up with that leg of hers, and prep the boys.
“Wait, what are we talking about, here?” Jessica said.
“You want your Niff back, don’t you?” the Headhunter said, his voice full of manic menace.
“Yeah, but—” This was madness, she thought.
“Load up, then,” the cyborg said. “Talking takes time, and right now, it’s in short supply.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
FIFTH GATE ZONE
It took some doing, but Jessica Kramer blended in well with the Recyke Niner team's operations, despite not being born from a bioprinter. It was a good attack pattern, smoothed by repetition, and her initial apprehension had now faded. The Headhunter led off each assault, creating an opening for them. She and the squad of veteran Nines then cleared out the targets, room by room, floor by floor.
Beliphres, the Gatekeeper who was the Headhunter’s rival in this sector, would be sending at least seventeen dead foot soldiers into the void conveyors tonight. Minus their heads, of course. The Headhunter was keeping those for himself.
Jessica and her new ‘little friend’ had helped with that body count. She looked down at the black, brutish weapon. It chambered the same round as her personal revolver, 20mm Mattis, but it was an autoloader, complete with a drum-fed magazine. It had some thump to it when fired, but if three different gangsters could still talk, they'd say it hurt more on the receiving end.
Now, they were roaring towards the fifth target in their series of raids. Whatever that autodoc pumped into her at the Headhunter’s place, it was still working, and working well. Her leg itched from the removal of the cast, but the combat drugs had her amped. She felt alert, focused, and full of... was it bloodlust? She could end up making a habit of this. No, don't make a habit of this, idiot, she had to tell herself. Druggies didn't last long in the cockpit. She didn’t want to end up like a freak like Melino, with tubes running in and out of her neck.
Besides, we’re here to get Kitos back, she thought. Well, I am, at least. The Headhunter’s little revenge mission was secondary. Wasn’t it? Her tactical success, so far, on this little foray impressed even her. Maybe it was the cocktail they shot her up with. Maybe it was all the hours of physical training her dad put her and her siblings through. Either way, she was enjoying this.
The raids confirmed Jessica's estimate of the Headhunter's combat abilities, in spades. The renegade cyborg was gate-damned unstoppable, a force of nature. He tore through walls, armor, and flesh like none of it was there. Unfortunately, that took power, and his internal power reserves seemed to be getting low. No internal reactor, I guess, Jessica thought.
His actions and responses grew sluggish as the raids against his Gatekeeper rival's assets wore on. At the last safe-house they hit, some schlub punched a rocket-propelled grenade into the side of the Headhunter’s rib cage. The shaped charge exploded against the cyborg's red armor, brutalizing Jessica’s own ears. Recovering, the Headhunter responded by slicing the gangster in half from across the room, along with the steel stairs he was standing on, and the wall behind him. Nevertheless, it was a sign: for all his lethality, the huge, enhanced Nine still had a limit. When the assault was over and it was time to load the Headhunter back into the large armored vehicle, it took some time for the Recyke Niners to get him up the ramp and secured.
“Power depletion near crit, Boss,” Nolo said, his ever-present tablet giving him readouts on the experimental cyborg's status. “Maintain pos in transport for next target. Charge up and replen. Priority utmost.”
The Headhunter regarded Nolo, a whimsical look on his face. He caught Jessica studying him, and smiled.
“You know, I don't know if I've ever told this to anybeing before,” the Headhunter said, “but you have very, very pretty eyes. And I'm not saying that because I collect skulls, either. Doesn't she have pretty eyes, Nolo?”
Nolo nodded, humoring him, trying to continue the scans of the heavy assault cyborg.
“Pilot,” he said with a dreamy tone in his voice, “you wanna know the reason we're knocking the dung outta Beli... Beliphres's territory without any Enforcement inner... innerfer... without any meddling?”
Jessica's brow wrinkled in confusion. It was like the big red guy was drunk.
“Boss, secure info,” Nolo said, scolding. “Pilot has no need to know. Selfsame cogs you're low on power. Query: judgment possibly impaired?”
“No, no, it's okay, Nolo, she's proven herself,” the Headhunter said, his speech becoming more and more effected. “She's a go-getter. She's got fire, this one. Anyways, fire-eyes, the Enforcers leave me alone because I used to be one of 'em. 'Experimental-Model-One-Oh-Nine-Special-Command-Prototype-Eight-Dash-Six.' That's me. Still got a lotta contacts an' what-not with the ol' Rockribs at the barracks. Well, void, at most of the barracks, now that I think about it. I practically run the Sixth Zo—”
“Boss, suggest stifle,” Nolo said. “Initiating safe mode. Priority utmost.”
The Ninety-Nine stabbed something on his tablet, and the majority of the Headhunter's body powered down, limp. The cyborg’s normal-sized head on his monstrous chassis continued to talk.
“He fusses after me, pilot,” the Headhunter said, grinning. “He's like my own, personal mother egg-layer.”
He rested in his ready-rack like a giant scarecrow, a pair of Niner technicians and Nolo tweaking and adjusting him. She looked closer at his torso. That RPG only left a smudge, she thought.
One of the grizzled Nine troopers at rear of the transport, near the main door, clasped a hand over his comm headset, then looked to the rest of his comrades. He held up a finger, making eye contact with each of them. The rest of the team held up a single digit in acknowledgment. Jessica mimicked the hand signal. They were one minute out from the target.
Weapon muzzles charged, glowing in the dim light of the transport. Bolts slammed forward, chambering rounds, and safeties were flic
ked off. Jessica press-checked her new little stomper, making sure she had one round ready to go in the chamber. She rocked on the ammo drum, thumped her spare drums to make sure they were topped off, and looked through the red dot sight mounted to the top of the compact weapon. Still working. Good.
The stimulants took hold, once again, and she felt her heartbeat thicken and hammer through her chest, her breathing slow and loud in her ears. There must be some adrenaline trigger to the stuff the autodocs shot her up with. The thick, stubby cartridges in her spare ammo drums shifted. The noise sounded like a garbage can full of bricks to her chemically-enhanced ears. She looked around at the weathered, expressionless Nines around her. All of the Recykes stared at their team leader by the hatch. The transport's engines whined, slowed, and everybeing in the compartment swayed as it took one last sharp turn.
“Good hunting, fire-girl. Go get 'em, go-getter,” the Headhunter said, his words slurred from his diminished power levels. His upper claw arms hung loose and his organic head bobbed. His solid black eyes narrowed to exhausted slits, then closed.
The transport lurched to a halt, incoming fire jack-hammering off the hull, and the rear hatch slammed down. She was out of her jumpseat and squatting in line with the Nines, all of them stacked up like cartridges waiting to be shot out of a gun. Dad's flask got its two thumps, and she brought her new weapon up to the low ready position.
“Execute,” the lead Nine said.
Jessica smelled burning meat as she emerged from the rear of the armored transport, but she blocked the repugnant odor. The laser turrets on the transport vehicle's roof were still hissing, etching the front of the target building with suppressive beams and flame. The sniper who pinged rounds off the roof as they rolled up must be the source of the charred aroma.
One of the Nines lay wounded just to the side of the ramp, his leg torn away by something big and high-powered. Jessica avoided eye contact with the fallen trooper, her attention focused on keeping up with the entry stack.
The target building was a multistory warehouse with offices in front. The long group of Recyke Nine soldiers fed into the front door in rapid sequence, like a hungry snake entering an octorat burrow. Shouts and gunshots sounded from the interior of the building, answered by the deep, swooping thunder of a plasma cannon and a resultant explosion. The building shook, and flaming fascia and siding fell on the sidewalk around her.
A screaming purple-skinned humanoid, the same type as Zerren Beff, rounded the corner of the building. He held a crude shotgun in his hands, shooting and yelling as he charged towards the open hatch of the transport. She saw he was too close for the lasers to have a chance at him.
Jessica pivoted, swung her weapon sight's red dot on to the gangster's chest, and slammed two heavy 20mm slugs into him in quick succession. He folded in a bloody purple heap, the back and side of his torso blown out, and she rejoined the entry formation. Damn, I love this gun, she thought, a death’s-head grin on her face.
She was the last up the short stairs and into the main door. Offices up front, stairs to the side, and a deep warehouse area filled with rows and rows of boxes and containers farther back. Two bodies, one Myoshan, the other unrecognizable, lay in the gore-soaked and burning lobby. Jessica's senses were almost overloaded, the drugs forcing her to soak in even the most minute of details as she searched for threats and targets. She squeezed her eyes shut, told herself to block out the flood of stimuli, and opened them again, ready to focus and fight. The Niff might be here. Focus.
The lead-off elements of the Niner assault force peeled away in pairs, clearing rooms and holding stairways as the main column passed them down the central hallway. Sporadic bursts of automatic fire signaled the end of individual members of Beliphres's crew. The Nine in front of her, “Dodger,” as his fellow Recykes called him, held up a fist for her to halt, repeating a hand signal from farther up the stack.
Something big and mechanical moved in the open warehouse area up ahead. Something Headhunter-sized. The sound of a high-pitched motor spinning up filled her ears. She knew that sound. She pulled on Dodger's gear harness, keeping him from proceeding past the blind corner into the warehouse with the rest of the team.
The four Nines ahead of them stormed the open room. The lead Nine turned to face the large shadow, just out of her sight, and became an instant smear of blood and meat. The second Nine had just enough time to fire a burst of fire from his heavy support weapon, then he, too, was cut to pieces by the whine and roar of the rotary cannon.
Whatever the shadow was, it was big, and it packed some serious heat. The two surviving Nines from the entry team dove into the rows of boxes and storage drums, trying to hammer rounds into the unseen beast. Heavy footsteps fell, and hundreds of rounds ripped into the pallets and containers sheltering them.
Dodger turned to her, pulled a satchel charge about the size of a load of bread off his thigh armor, and pointed through the wall.
“Suppress,” the weathered Nine said. “Selfsame activate demo charge. Stand by.”
“Suppress? Suppress what?” she yelled back at him as the cannon continued to whine and roar. “I don't have a shot on that thing, whatever it is!”
“Suppress. Through cover.” Dodger said. “Engage. Priority Utmost.”
The Nine pressed a switch, and an orange light started blinking in rapid sequence on the demolition charge he held. She turned, bladed at an angle of forty-five degrees, and dumped the contents of her carbine's ammo drum through the wall. The solid thud-thud-thud of the 20mm weapon echoed through the building.
The fire shifted from the pinned-down Nines in the cargo racks back to her and Dodger. A stream of bullets chewed off the corner of the wall ahead of them, and a trail of punctures tore back towards her through the side of the passageway.
Dodger dove under the exploding wall's fragments, entering the open kill zone. Jessica fell back on her butt, rolling and kicking to escape the oncoming stream of fire. The satchel charge flew from Dodger's hand, and he scrambled into the shattered containers to join his surviving teammates.
Whoever was in control of the unseen cannon tried to shift fire to the leaping Nine trooper, but the deafening krumpf of the demolition charge cut the effort short. Sections of wall buckled from the exchanged gunfire and explosion, and the corner of the warehouse and attached offices fell in. A large segment of rubble collapsed on top of her. Pain and weight blinded her, dust choked her, and she felt her carbine roll tumbling away.
The smoke and swirling chaos took a moment to clear, and Jessica tried to wriggle free from the dense concrete foam on top of her. No good. She was pinned, her arm trapped under the rubble. The carbine was just out of reach on the other side of the heavy block. She pulled her pistol from its chest holster, keeping her eyes alert for any movement. The chunk of concrete cut deep into her left arm, and her hand felt thick and bloated. She tried moving her fingers, and sharp pain came back to her, piercing the soothing filter of the drugs. Probably broken, if I can feel it through the fun-sauce. Gate damn it.
Through the rubble, shattered shapes flowed together, becoming recognizable equipment. A foot, a manipulator claw, a logo on a toppled engine housing. It was a converted cargo lifter, much smaller than NoName. It was meant for interior warehouse use, but someone had welded and bolted armor to its frame, and mounted a sinister gatling weapon. It wouldn't have lasted a minute in the arena, even in Light Exo Beginner. Here, in the warehouse, though, it had made short work of a team of battle-hardened Nines, and nearly punched her ticket, too.
Dodger's explosive blew out the main hull of the cargo walker, painting the inside of the open control cab with what looked like Skevvian tentacles, innards, and other bits.
Her ears still rang from the explosion, but she heard a voice crying from the back of the warehouse. It wasn’t Human or Nine. She cocked her revolver’s hammer back.
“Velsh! What was the void was that? Velshie!” the strange voice called. “I'm loaded up, let's move. Screw the boss,
and screw the Niff! Get out of that thing, and let's go!”
A figure ran through the twisted racks and broken supply containers to the rear of the improvised combat walker. He was a tall, reptilian being, a member of the Shasarr race, but he bore extensive cybernetic work. Both eyes, at least one arm, and a few other metal parts and pieces she could see. It was the same freak from the Headhunter’s video. That meant Kitos was near, she thought
Jessica’s hand throbbed under the concrete, distracting her efforts as she tried to draw a bead on him. The revolver shook in her good hand, the front sight bobbling left and right. The combat drug's effects must be fading. She let the heavy revolver rest as pain washed over her.
His name came back to her memory. Skreeb. Skreeb clambered up the back of the wrecked walker, peering into the blood-soaked cab. He pulled back in disgust, hissing.
“Aw, Velshie, no,” he said, surveying the remains of his companion. That must have been the other venter who took Kitos. Good. You’ve got this coming, she thought, bringing her handgun back up.
Jessica concentrated on her front sight, trying her best to be smooth, to let the revolver’s trigger pull surprise her, like Prath, damn him, taught her. The round went wide, striking the cockpit's frame rail, but a piece of ricochet caught the Shasarr. He wheeled and clutched his side, laying down a burst of fire in her general direction from an automatic pistol.
Dodger emerged from the shredded boxes and crates, his autoweapon's muzzle spraying slugs. The hail of projectiles forced the cyborg back, and the Shasarr ducked behind a far row of metal cans. The sound of leaping claw-steps echoed after the gunfire faded.
They were all too shot up and shrapnel-peppered to pursue him. An engine started in the alley behind the warehouse. Jet exhaust roared, and an aircar streaked past a shattered window. With a flash, it was gone and out of view.