Akilles Lebow scrambled
through the gloomy tunnel, dodging chem drips and low-hanging
crosspipes as best he could. Clad as he was in carapace armour, it
wasn't easy hauling his own heavy stubber and Edz's mining laser,
even with the suspensors, but what choice did he have? Ezra Macbacta
was busy propping up flame-scorched Djo Moge and hustling along a few
paces behind.
Ralve Skinzer's voice
echoed from up ahead. 'Here, jacks. We can stop here.'
The chamber was ten
paces by ten, only slightly better lit than the rat run they'd
emerged from. A weak lumen strip flickered overhead.
Ralve was scoping an
exit on the other side of the chamber, peering into the darkness down
the barrel of his autogun. Kurtiz Kohl, who'd been scouting ahead
with Ralve, was slumped against one blackened wall, breathing
heavily. Akilles came to a halt and dumped the mining laser on the
deck without much ceremony. As they entered, Edz released Djo, who
stumbled forwards and collapsed next to Kurtiz.
'By the spire and its
lights, Akilles,' said Edz, trying to catch his breath, 'what the
frag was that?'
Akilles didn't respond
straight off. He was mirroring Ralve at the mouth of the corridor
they'd come from, heavy stubber gripped, ready to blaze if there were
any signs of pursuit. Satisfied they were safe – for now – he
turned back.
'Beats me,' he said.
'But that dome wasn't no place a right-headed Orlock would want to
stick around.'
The assembled Jackers
muttered agreement. They'd gone gunning to the aid of their Ba'Kings
allies the Violent Beauregards, who were involved in an escalating
border dispute with the Harbingers of the Undivided. Thing was, the
Jackers had got turned around and strung out in the badzones,
arriving at the fight piecemeal. What's more, the disused
manufactorum dome where the scrap was on was a disorienting trap-maze
of warping girders and crumbling rockcrete – the kind of place even
a dome runner would think twice about setting foot in.
The Harbingers were
fast – before the Jackers and Beauregards could even get their guns
in order, thuggish Conan was halfway to the Ba'King turf marker. The
Harbingers' weird chants sounded around the domespace, the echoes
teasing trickles of dust from the unstable structures. Edzra had been
convinced he'd got a clear shot at the Harbinger witch, but his heavy
lasbolt fizzled out short.
The dome was bad news –
no place for a gang fight. Not long after, one of the Eschers had
been taken out of action, and Djo got lit up by a tech-boosted flame
shot. This was enough to see both gangs bottling and fleeing.
Now here they were,
catching their breaths and trying to piece it all together. Since
Vints had died, the Jackers were yet to regain their grit.
'Well, sump take 'em
all,' said Akilles. 'Least we all made it out of there.'
'Say...' said Kurtiz.
'What happened to Skew, Kaleb and Murgen, anyhow?'
++++
One level down and a
hundred metres over, Kaleb Dyablo and Skew Yarvil raced through
another tangle of narrow tunnels, also in full flight from the scrap.
Having split from the
main crew, they'd arrived at the crumbling manufactorum right after
Akilles and the boys had fled. Staring out into the gloom, they
clocked what seemed like a whole platoon of Harbingers scuttling
through the shadows, and, as far as they could tell, only one Violent
Beauregard – Private Itchi – was there to gun alongside them.
Skew and Kaleb glanced
at each other, shared a look, turned and fled the dome. Now, they
were on the run, pausing at an old elevator platform. They listened
carefully for several clicks. No sound of pursuit.
'Skew, what the frag
was that?'
'I dunno, man, but that
place was all wrong. You couldn't'a kept me there for all the ore in
the Spoil.'
'Damn right,' said
Kaleb. 'We'd've stood no chance. We did the right thing. Didn't we?'
'Yeah...' said Skew, as
unconvinced as Kaleb.
The two men paused for
a few clicks more. Then Skew's brow furrowed.
'Say.... where's
Murgen, anyhow?'
++++
On hitting the dome,
Murgen Hezsz hadn't clocked that Akilles's' crew had already fled,
nor that Kaleb and Skew promptly joined them, nor that there were
hardly any Violent Beauregards to be seen.
What he had clocked was
a Harbinger lurking in the shadow of an old piece of junk-tech
nearby.
Murgen promptly drew
his stub pistols and went straight for the fragger, taking rough aim.
He fired and one shot hit home, flooring the Harbinger and drawing
blood, but not taking him out of the fight.
Over yonder, Murgen
could hear the obscene oaths of the Harbingers as they defiled the
Ba'King turf marker, as well as call and response from the fringes of
the dome as more Beauregards turned up.
His target had stumbled
to his feet and staggered off behind some more corroded mechworks.
Murgen pursued and took another couple of shots which again floored
the fragger but didn't take him out.
His target crawled
behind a pile of dust-drenched scrap. Murgen paused and stared around
into the murk. This place was pure badzone – it was hard to keep
track of where you were, especially when there wasn't any other
Hi-Viz in sight. Murgen was about to keep moving but was suddenly hit
by the implications of his last thought.
There wasn't any
other Hi-Viz in sight....
'What the frag is
this?' he muttered to himself.
No Jackers around to
watch his back. Gunshots and screams in the darkness. The notoriously
bloodthirsty Harbingers on a high after wrecking the turf marker. And
only the Violent Beauregards, who'd been conspicuously absent through
the guild war so far, on his side.
There was a crash and
triumphant cry from the far side of the dome. One of the Eschers
must've counter-wrecked the Harbingers' turf marker.
But Murgen Hezsz wasn't
stupid. He knew when a scrap was done.
As he turned and
sprinted full speed for the dome exit, he thought about his fellow
Jackers and muttered angrily.
'Where did those
yellowbelly sumpsuckers go, anyhow?'