'Ah fragsake,' muttered
Djo Moge. 'What's with this lock?'
He stood back from the
access panel by the wide blast door, exasperated.
'Here,' said Edzra
Macbacta, 'Lemme have another look.'
The Hi-Viz Jackers were
at a crossways deep in the interdome tunnel maze of Sector H8. Vints
Courraine, recovered from his head injury, had decided that they
could kill three sheen birds with one bullet by claiming the Ambull
Inn off the Wasted Youth: as well as serving the interests of the
Ba'Kings in the guild war, it would also settle the bad blood with
their former Orlock allies and, best of all, it'd stick one to
Overcomptroller Degister - the Wasted ran for Battersump HEAT.
But the plan to launch
a sneak attack was running awry. Their best way forward from this
gloomy crossways was blocked by a glitching door, and so far none of
their efforts - which mostly consisted of Djo and Edzra trying to
hack the door mech while Murgen, Skew and Ravle stood by chanting
half-remembered Martian prayers – had worked.
Young Dwice Necrofago
wandered down one of the stubby corridors leading off the crossway,
his movement followed by a set of automated pict-cappers mounted
along the ceiling. He pointed at the door there. 'Can't we just go
thisaways?'
'Sumpdammit, no,' said
Vints. 'Weren't you listening? We tried it but that's a Wind Sore
seal glyph flashing on that panel there. Ain't no air behind that
door, or not much of it anyway. We open it and the air equalises, we
could get windblown to spire knows where. It's a frag-crazy move. Now
get back over here.'
As Dwice sulkily
rejoined his gangmates, Vints got to thinking. Far as he could tell,
the tunnel they'd arrived from linked up with the fourth tunnel a
ways back. Everything funnelled to this crossways. With the sealed
door blocked, a canny hiver might think to rig the door they were
trying to get through. It'd set up a snake-sharp ambush....
Vints glimpsed movement
at the corner down the corridor they arrived from. He clocked a large
metallic object being heaved into the air towards them, and just had
enough time to yell, 'It's a trap!'
Too late. The blasting
charge landed square in the middle of the Jacker crew and detonated
with brutal force. Ralve was knocked out cold straight away, and the
rest of the gang were hammered off their feet.
Vints tried to shake
his head clear. He peered up the corridor where the bomb had come
from and saw Orlock plates flashing in the gloom. It was the Wasted
Youth – there was no mistaking the sadistic grin of Frisco as he
rushed round the corner and opened fire, keeping the Jackers pinned.
'Get at 'em, Jacks!'
shouted Vints, but the gang was dazed from the blast and slow to
react, not shooting straight even if they managed to get back on
their feet. Murgen and Skew didn't even manage this - they freaked
out and started crawling desperately for cover.
At least Vints himself
made it to his feet. He took a bolt pistol shot at Frisco, but his
shot ran wide and his gun jammed. Still, Djo was looking sharp – he
hauled himself to his feet and let rip with his flame pistol,
drenching Frisco in fire. The Wasted veteran dropped and rolled,
burning.
Then the door they'd
been trying to hack rolled open with grim inevitability, revealing
two more Wasted Youth up close, and gang boss Soho Jones and a couple
of long-range shooters further away.
The up-close guys
opened fire, keeping the Jackers pinned and drawing blood. In a lull
in the shooting, Vints heard Soho shout: 'Hey, Courraine! Long time
no see!'
Vints glared down the
corridor – Soho was aiming his grenade launcher and fired off a
shot which arced past his vanguard fighters and impacted in Vints's
lower abdomen. A krak grenade. The implosive force tore Vints's
colours and ripped up his flesh. He dropped, cursing and bleeding,
but was still in the fight.
And then the final part
of the trap was sprung. Turned out there was needleways access nearby
– three more Wasted Youth were scrambling out of a hidden pipe
vent. One of them, the man known as Stray Tom, charged straight at
Murgen. The panicked Jacker hardly had the wits to react as he was
hit hard by chain and chainsword, but as he went down he got off a
stubbershot which floored his attacker.
Edzra had ducked back
behind a wall, but with the needleways arrivals, what he thought
would be cover was as useless as rat spit. The Jackers were
surrounded. There was no way out. Well, maybe there was one.
Vints, wincing as he
tried to stem his bleeding, clocked what Edzra was going to do. He
grinned through the pain, muttering, 'Macbatca, you crazy fragger...'
Edzra darted across the
corridor to the sealed door. It wasn't much of a job to override the
shoddy Wind Sore glyph, and, in a click, the door zipped open.
And then all
sumpsucking hell broke loose.
There was a ferocious
roar as the air in the crossways was sucked violently into the
depressurised zone and Orlocks of all colours got blasted off their
feet and tumbled towards the opened door. Hi-Viz Jackers slammed into
Wasted Youths and everyone tried to grab on to doors, walls or
whatever would stop them sliding.
The wind subsided as
suddenly as it had kicked in, but everything in the crossways was
different. The two gangs were all mixed in together. To cap it all,
some bit of debris had hit the other door controls, bringing the
heavy plating rumbling back down and cutting off Soho and his team,
who'd escaped the worst of the depressurisation.
There was stunned
silence in the crossways for a few clicks. Only the whirr of the
overhead pictcappers could be heard. Then moans and curses kicked in.
Djo Moge was one of the
first back on his feet. He rushed to take advantage of the flipped
situation, getting off a flamer shot that pinned two of the
ambushers, but in his haste he also clipped Dwice, setting his hair
on fire. The juve went down screaming.
Vints was back on his
feet, ready to take advantage of the situation, but as he glanced
around, he realised there wasn't much advantage to be taken: Dwice
was down, and there were still more Wasted guns in the crossways than
Jackers. Edzra's gambit had bought them time, but only to escape.
'Boys, let's haul
boots!' shouted Vints Courraine. Before the Wasted Youth could get
the jump again, the Jackers were gone.
The failed raid wasn't
without consequences. Rogue Doc Scratch, perhaps sore that the
Jackers kept sending their wounded to Doc Proxi, switched his loyalty
to the Wasted Youth. And Dwice and Murgen's injuries were surely
going to keep them out the Jackers' next scrap.
Still, something
unexpected happened a few shifts later. A nondescript box with a note
was delivered to the Jackers' Nu-Bedlam hideout. The note was written
on parchment the likes of which was seldom seen on Necromunda below
the Spire. Turns out a bunch of uphive nobs had been watching the
fight on a hack-feed from the pictcappers in the crossways, and
they'd been so entertained by Edzra's willing recklessness that they
decided to throw the gang a favour: the box was brimming with
credits.
Underhive life sucks,
but even that pays off sometimes.