"Fine," Vic said with a shrug. "If it means that much to you, go ahead and get yourself killed."
"Maybe I will," Frank said as he slid along the wall toward the side of the building.
"I'll be right here waiting when you start screaming for help."
"You'll be waiting until hell freezes over then," Frank called back. He turned and stuck his head once into the alleyway, and then he disappeared.
Vic sat there, with his gun ready, holding his breath. He was certain he'd hear a volley of gunshots, or a scream of terror, at any second, but there was nothing. He looked back at Hill, who was now slumped over on his knees, staring mutely at the ground. Cars continued to zip past overhead, spewing coolant and synthoil across the road below like dirty rainwater. Vic heard something squeaking in the alleyway, the noise getting louder as whatever it was got closer to the edge.
His eyes widened at the sight of Frank Kelly pushing a massive hoverbike out of the alleyway, carefully walking the thing as he kept glancing over his shoulder, making sure no one caught sight of him. The bike had a long, extended front end made of glittering chrome and high handlebars that raised over the rider's head, and best of all, there was a chariot seat in the back, big enough for two. Frank laughed triumphantly as he struggled to turn the handlebars down and turn, forcing the heavy bike to go left. "I told you I had this," he grunted. "Come on."
Vic grabbed the crumpled lieutenant under his arm and said, "Get up and walk, you baby." He dragged Hill behind him toward the bike, shaking his head in disbelief. "I can't believe you just walked down there and took that. What are you, some kind of covert operative?"
"Getting there," Frank grinned. His face was puffy with exertion but he was beaming from ear to ear as he moved out of the way for Vic to hoist Lieutenant Hill into the rear seat.
They all looked up as a hoverbike engine roared to life around the corner. The roar filled the street, and Frank and Vic crawled over one another to get to their bike's throttle and take off. Vic only managed to get his leg over the back seat and grab hold of Frank's shoulders, just as a mounted biker came peeling out of the alleyway.
The modder spun out in the street, searching frantically up and down for the stolen bike without realizing it was parked only a foot from the corner. Vic jammed his gun in the modder's face and cocked the hammer back.
All of them knew that Vic's gunshot would bring the entire horde charging out of the club, but the modder also knew that same shot would leave his brains splattered all over the sidewalk. The modder didn't move and didn't make a sound.
"Let me guess," Vic said, looking down at the modder's shaking hands. His bike was smaller and older than the other ones. Just a kid, really. He hadn't even had his scarlet eyes installed. "You're new to the gang, right?"
The modder didn't say anything, but his eyes were wide enough to tell the story.
"You were supposed to be watching the bikes, weren't you," Vic said.
The modder nodded quietly.
Vic centered his pistol on the modder's forehead and said, "Let me ask you a question, son. You want to die for this motorcycle or do you want to live to fight another day?"
The modder turned and looked at the club's front door, sensing his fellow gang members lurking just behind it. "They'll kill me if I let you go without a fight," he whispered nervously.
"You think I won't, sunshine?" Vic said. "So which is it? Die now or live to fight another day?"
"L-live," the modder said.
Vic pointed at the gun holstered on the modder's side and said, "Toss that on the ground."
The modder took a deep breath before he reached down and undid his pistol, letting it fall onto the street below. He looked ready to cry.
"Get ready to go," Vic muttered over his shoulder. He waited for Frank to crank the engine before he lowered his weapon and said, "Remember this. Apply pressure."
"To what?" the modder said in confusion.
Vic fired, blowing a hole into the modder's left thigh with a loud bang that sent blood and bone fragments spraying into the air. Their bike took off immediately, leaving the injured modder behind, grabbing his leg and screaming in terror. The club's front door burst open and dozens of angry modders came racing out, ready to shoot. They all turned to see one of their club bikes vanishing down the street, with the triumphant face of Vic Cojo standing on the back of it, giving them the finger.
They ran for their own bikes, moving inhumanly fast on legs that cranked like steam pistons. Within seconds they had their engines gunned and were taking off in a blur down the alleyway, turning hard to catch up to the fleshbags, eager for the taste of human flesh.
The female stopped at the entrance, scowling at the injured newbie with murderous contempt. Her claws were extended toward his throat, ready to tear it out, when she spied the bleeding bullet hole in his leg and paused. "You let them get away?" she snarled.
"T-They ambushed me as soon as I came out of the alley," he said.
"You idiot," she said. Her face twisted in disgust and she said, "Well? Are you going to pick up your gun and go find the fleshbag who did this or just sit there and bleed?"
Bob Buehl had one foot on the headrest of the pilot's seat and one on the dashboard, rocking out to the sick guitar solo pumping through every speaker inside the ship. The solo hit its highest chord and Buehl leapt into the air and kicked, landing on his knees with his fingers dancing across an imaginary fret board. He could see the legions of lusty young women screaming for his body and it was just what he needed to get pumped. In the middle of the song, he heard a strange, high-pitched, pinging noise break into the solo, and looked up. It was gone as soon as it came, and he shrugged it off as a glitch in the audio system.
Buehl dropped to the floor and cranked out twenty pushups as fast as he could. He watched the sweat drip off the tip of his nose onto the rubberized mats in the cockpit and it made him work even harder. He finished the set by thrusting his arms out straight and bridging himself over the floor, holding the position even when his arms started to shake. The song ended with another loud ping and Buehl realized what it was. An incoming call.
He groaned in frustration as he got up and grabbed a towel from his seat to swipe over his face. The comm sounded again before he had a chance to answer and Buehl poked his finger on the screen and said, "What!"
The voice on the other end was complete static, interrupted by a few hardly-audible words that sounded like, "…Coming in hot!"
"Say again?" Buehl said, leaning closer to the speaker to hear. "Repeat that. I say again, repeat."
More static, and then, "bzzzt…Open!"
"Open what?" Buehl said.
Gunfire burst across the hull window where he was standing, pelting the glass with loud, heavy plinks that made Buehl drop to the floor instantly. He got up slowly, looking at the scored window glass in wonder, just as the voice on the com said, "Get the hatch open, you idiot! We're coming in hot!"
Buehl let out a mute gasp as he saw the first hoverbike racing toward the ship, with Frank Kelly bent over the front handlebars and Vic Cojo leaning over him, shouting into the bike's comm microphone, "I repeat, we are coming in hot, now get the hatch open or we're all dead!"
The sky filled with hoverbikes flying behind Cojo and the others, racing toward them, trying to catch up. Buehl's eyes widened at the sight of the weaponry the modders were carrying, and his fingers flew over the console, activating the ship's systems and ordering the lower hatch to open. Another barrage of gunfire struck the side of the ship, much louder and longer this time. Buehl realized the crazy bastards weren't just trying to kill Frank and Vic anymore. "They're shooting my ship," he muttered.
Another barrage struck the window directly where Buehl was standing, a series of rifle blasts that would have caved his face in except for the ship's heavy shielding. He hammered his fists against the windows in outrage and shouted, "Stop shooting my damn ship!"
Outside on the landing deck, flying past dozens of other parke
d ships in a blur, and Frank whipped his head around to see how close the hoverbikes were. As he looked, one raised a rifle and splattered the side of their bike with gunfire, nearly sending them crashing into a power pylon.
"Just drive!" Vic shouted, shoving the side of Frank's face back to look at the ship.
"They're trying to kill us!" Frank cried out.
"I know that! Shut up and drive!" Vic shouted.
The modder steadied himself to fire again and Vic bent down, just about to pull the trigger when Frank panicked again and started to swerve side-to-side. The modder fired first, punching holes in the bike's rear chariot seat just above the crumpled form of Lieutenant Hill, who squealed in terror. Vic grabbed Frank by the back of his neck and said, "I've only got two rounds left in this gun, and so help me, I will use one of them on you if you do something stupid like that again."
"We're almost there!" Frank said, eyeing the open emergency hatch in the side of the ship.
"Are you listening to me?" Vic shouted.
"No, I'm not listening to you, you maniac! I'm trying to get us into the ship!" Frank gunned the engine and they rocketed forward, not slowing down.
"Frank?" Vic said, nervously eyeing the rapidly approaching hull of the ship.
"Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate," Frank muttered, keeping the throttle cranked all the way back.
"Listen, I'm sorry. Slow down before you kill us!"
Gunfire ricocheted off the back of the bike, sending sparks and hissing bullets flying past their heads. Above the groan of the ship's engines and the gunfire and their own arguing, all they could hear was Hill sobbing in the back seat that they were going to die.
"Hold on!" Frank called out as the bike zoomed through the hatch's opening and he yanked the handlebars down, sending the bike into a skid and them headfirst toward the wall, the bikes metal scraping and sparking and the thrusters firing out of the open door.
Frank kept the throttle down, sending long jets of flame scoring out of the hoverbike to keep the bikers from flying in after them, only releasing the lever when the hatch's metal door began to close.
Once it was sealed, Vic wiggled out from under the bike and bent to lift it, just enough for Frank to squirm out. Hill had been thrown from the chariot seat and was slumped against the compartment's wall, staring at both of them wide-eyed, but neither of them paid him any mid.
Outside of the ship, the modders were circling around, gunning their engines. Frank flinched when several gunshots struck the side of the ship and he looked nervously at Vic and said, "Can they shoot through our shielding?"
"I doubt it," Vic said. "The Samsara isn't built for galactic warfare but unless we're stupid enough to stand here and let them blast us, we can take off."
Frank started behind him, following him toward the cockpit. "The what?" he said.
"The Samsara," Vic said. "The name of the ship you've been flying around is the Samsara. Nobody told you that?"
"Maybe because it's a stupid name," Frank said. "What kind of an idiot name's a ship that?"
Vic looked back firmly at Frank and said, "The kind that just saved your hide."
Frank stopped to look out one of the observation windows and saw there were more and more hoverbikes joining the fray and said, "You're sure they can't get through our shielding?"
"Not with those guns," Vic said over his shoulder.
The bikes armed large cannons on their sides and front lined up alongside one another and their barrels started spinning, gathering speed until they whined. From the rear of the formation, the crunching sound of tracked tires rolled across the landing deck, its engine louder than all the bikes combined. Its heavy armor plating had only narrow slits to see through and the driver knocked down the wall of a building trying to turn the tank around to face them. There were parked cars in the way but the tank just rolled over them and crushed them to the ground, all while maneuvering its massive gun turret to get it centered on the Samsara.
"What if they have a tank?" Frank called out.
"Don't be stupid, why would they have a…" Vic turned and looked out the window and he bent forward, craning his neck to get a better view. He took off running down the corridor, shouting, "Bob! Get us out of here! They're going to blow up the damn ship!"
They found Sgt. Bob Buehl standing over the weapons console with his arms folded, glaring through the window at the hoverbikes outside. The weapons console was filled with red error icons.
"We have to go!" Vic shouted.
Buehl stared straight forward and said, "No."
"No? What the hell do you mean no?"
"I mean, no," Buehl said. "They shot my ship. Nobody shoots my ship. Nobody."
"Warning: Shields integrity at fifty percent," a computerized voice said from the console.
"Then release the weapons systems," Buehl ordered the console.
"Request is invalid," the computer replied. "Firing on individual land-based targets is prohibited."
"Unless we're facing an emergency situation," Buehl said. "Shields are failing."
"They're failing because you're just sitting here letting them shoot us!" Frank shouted. "Get us the hell into the air!"
Buehl turned and looked at Frank with gritted teeth and said, "Nobody shoots my ship and gets away with it, you scrawny little sludgesucker lover. You understand me?"
One of the gun-mounted hoverbikes erupted, punching holes in the shield of the lower deck and scoring the ship's siding. "Warning! Warning! Deck 4 has been breached by hostile fire," the ship announced.
"Give me an emergency override and release the weapons systems, then," Buehl commanded. "Or else, I'm going to let those maniacs turn you into enough scrap metal to refit a dozen sanitation drones. Give me weapons control!"
Another burst of fire struck the sides of the ship, and the tank's turret squared up with them, about to fire. Buehl sighed in defeat. He reached for the emergency take-off button, when the computer finally recognized the heat-signature of the tank as a threat and all of the weapons systems flashed green, ready to fire.
"That's my girl," Buehl mumbled to himself as he bent forward and quickly scanned the selection of available guns. "That looks good to start with," he said, then dropped his finger onto the screen.
A massive anti-personnel chain gun rose up from the Samsara's roof and immediately began to swivel back and forth, searching for targets. It hummed softly as its barrel spun to life and one of the hoverbikes flying past appeared to seize in mid-air, shaking violently as holes appeared in both the bike and the modder operating it. The gun continued to scanning and humming and within seconds, five more modders were blown to pieces.
The tank's gun turret recoiled and it let off a deafening shot. The electro-static shell tore through the air toward the cockpit. A direct hit would have killed them all, but the shell's aim was high and instead, it sheared off a layer of roof shielding right above them. The operator quickly began recalculating his next shot, while Bob raced to enter a series of commands into the console and the screen centered on the tank, lighting up all the narrow viewslots in the sides of the heavy armor.
"Do we have anything big enough to blow that thing up?" Vic said.
"Hell no," Buehl said, frantically typing. "What we do have are worker bees. Little nano machines I can deploy in space flight to fix holes in our siding.
"Oh, how nice," Vic said evenly.
"Yeah, it's good for if we get hit by an asteroid or something."
Vic grabbed him by the arm and shouted, "I don't care about the damned worker bees, Bob! Either blow that tank up or get us in the air."
Buehl punched in his last command and a dozen tiny flying capsules sprang into the air from small compartments in the sides of the Samsara and went whizzing across the landing deck, heading for the tank. "I can also deploy them to other locations, you know, short distances for light repair work."
Buehl's eyes lit up as he looked down at the screen, watching the swarm of worker bees sprout multiple sharp
-edged screwdrivers and brightly burning torches just before they vanished inside the tank's viewslots. Both Frank and Vic turned and looked at Buehl, who only smiled and said, "They're repairing anyone inside that tank right now."
The hoverbikes were scattering, trying to outrun the ship's chain guns, but Buehl keyed in a sequence of icons and there was the loud sound of something rumbling high up on the roof of the ship. Frank looked up in time to see a bright streak of light fly high into the air, raining what looked like golden rain down on the remaining hoverbikes and modders. Each spark popped and sizzled as it descended, but instead of fizzling out, they gained velocity, getting bigger as they sped up, homing in on the terrified-looking modders. The sparks burst in the air with bright electrical flares that sent arcs of current dancing across their bodies. They dropped over the side of their bikes like stones, and as most of them fell, they pulled the bikes down on top of them.
Buehl smiled at the pile of writhing, leather-clad bikers. The ones who could move were crying out in pain, their limbs either twisted in the wrong direction or pinned beneath the heavy weight of their vehicles. Buehl clapped his hands together eagerly and said, "All right, you cybernetic scumbags. Time to wrap this up."
"That's enough," Vic said, putting his hand on Buehl's arm. "Cease fire."
"But, they shot the−"
"I know, I know," Vic said. "They shot the ship, and we did what we had to do, but the threat is over. We're killers, that comes with the job, but we aren't murderers. Understand?"
Buehl took a final look at the squirming, vulnerable, modders, and slammed his fists on the console in frustration. "If we leave them, they are going to try and retaliate, sir. They will not forget what happened here and someday, somehow, we're going to wish we'd eliminated the threat."
"You know what I call that, sergeant?" Vic said. "I call that job security. Take us up and get us off this rock."
"Aye, sir," Buehl muttered.
Grendel Unit 2: Ignition Sequence Page 8