'Crusher, put some
smoke out there,' barked Jonn Gunn. 'We'll wait for them to come
forward, then rush them, guns up.'
'Sure, boss,' said
Crusher Retzo, and flung a smoke grenade into the centre of the wide
chamber. The grenade rattled to a halt and disgorged a thick cloud of
fumes.
Gunn's Guns were on
another op. This time, they were down in the lower depths of Foulnest,
in a row of rust-rimed, slime-smeared warehouses that, before the
great drain-off, would have been the sump quayside. The job was to
take on incomer crew known as the Dreadhook Whalers, who were allied
with the Water Guild. This was the hook Gunn had used to get Van
Scultis interested, playing up Guild rivalries, and it was certainly
a version of the truth; in fact, the Whalers and the Guns, both
dissatisfied with their current alliances, had been making overtures
to the Corpse Guild. A decisive showdown between the two gangs would
determine who would take priority.
Gunn and Van Scultis
had split their forces and advanced into two adjoining warehouses.
Gunn was accompanied by Crusher, as well as Brokeface and Mumbles.
There was scant cover in the abandoned storage hall, and their foes
were moving in from a set of smaller chambers and corridors on the
far side, so Gunn had ordered the smoke drop.
While Crusher and
Mumbles hung back, Gunn and Brokeface moved forward to a wall that
ran from the edge of the smoke cloud. Gunn's armour clattered, and
Brokeface cackled at the prospect of violence. They paused and heard
shunting doors and low voices from around the corner. The Dreadhooks
were in the warehouse.
'Right, Brokeface,'
hissed Gunn. 'I want you to - '
But Brokeface wasn't
listening. Since he'd reconnected with the crew via the life-coin
exchange, he'd been even more unhinged ever. He twisted his head
round with a jerk, a mad grin on his ravaged face.
'I'm going for it,
boss! Watch this!'
Brandishing his
autopistols, he launched himself off the wall and disappeared around
the corner, into the smoke.
'Dammit,' muttered Gunn
as Crusher moved up to join him.
'What's he playing at?'
asked Crusher, wrinkling his snub of a nose.
'Fragged if I know,'
said Gunn. 'The damn fool's a liability. We'll have to wait and -'
He was cut short by the
chatter of autofire, coming from beyond the smoke. Twin burst,
presumbly Brokeface's pistols. A wild, wordless holler from
Brokeface. A short, controlled burst – autogun rather than pistol,
to Gunn's experienced ears, likely one of the Dreadhooks. A surprised
yelp from Brokeface. Then silence.
Mumbles had crept
forward to join Gunn and Crusher. 'Hrrg hrrg hrrrh.'
'Yeah,' said Crusher.
'Don't think Brokeface is gonna be much more use.'
Gunn scowled.'Right,
boys, we're in a tight pipe here, but we might just be able to work
our way out. Stick to the plan, guns up, rush them through the smoke,
take them by surprise.'
'Hrrrg hrrrrrrrr.'
Gunn had to admit
Mumbles was right – it wasn't much of a plan. But it was all they
had. 'If we're lucky, it won't matter how many of them there are,
we'll catch them on the hop.'
Crusher prepped a
grenade and, on Gunn's cue, the trio ran forwards into the smoke.
Things went down fast.
There were five Dreadhooks, grizzled fighters clad in haz-shield
suits, on the other side of the smoke: two in the main warehouse
chamber, three lurking off in side-rooms. Mumbles found himself
tangled in combat with the closest, while Gunn pinned one with a
lasbolt and Crusher chucked a grenade into one of the doorways,
hoping to take out the plasma gunner there. The Dreadhooks returned
fire, pinning Gunn and Crusher as Mumbles grappled with his foe.
The smoke was clearing,
and Gunn realised he'd underestimated how much solid weaponry the
Dreadhooks were hefting. Big mistake.
Bolt shells and plasma
shots filled the air. One of the former caught Gunn's shoulder armour
and blasted it open, searing the flesh beneath. He dropped, gritting
his teeth. Wincing through the pain, he looked up and clocked a
distinctive plasma muzzle pointing straight at him. He tried to roll,
but the gun spoke and the shot hit his leg, superheating his armour
and setting the skin beneath boiling.
He screamed and passed
out.
+++++++++++
When Jonn Gunn regained
consciousness, he was lying on his back. He was also in immense
discomfort. He tried to blink his eye open, but there was something
stuck into his tear duct. There was something stuck into everywhere,
countless needlepoints snaking under his armour, driving into his
veins and pores. He writhed, groaning, but a slender hand pressed
down on his chest with surprising force.
With wilful effort, he
blinked his eye open. Stooped over him was the unmistakeable figure
of a Master Nautican, all wide-brimmed helm and beady, chem-spiked
eyes. And, of course, all moisture-cap tubes, a tangle of lines
extending from the storage units on the Nautican's back and from
under his – or her – robes. The lines terminated in the multitude
of extractor needles that were lancing Gunn's body. Behind the
Guilder, he could just about make out the hulking form of the
attendant Subnautican, blank-masked, impassive.
This must be the
Dreadhooks' ally, Gunn realised. They must have driven off
Crusher, Mumbles and Van Scultis's crew after I took the plasma hit.
They must have captured me. And this must be how I die, after all
these long cycles. Drained dry by the Water Guild.
The
Guilder nodded, head cocked, as if understanding Gunn's thoughts.
Then, the lines shuddered and the extraction began. Gunn writhed
again as agony, worse than the plasma wound, wracked his body. He
could feel his arteries shrivelling as vacuum suction acted on them,
could feel his very tissue folding in on itself. Death couldn't come
soon enough.
And
then the extraction stopped. Gunn looked up, and saw that a third
masked figure – presumably the Syphonite factotum – had
approached the Nautican and was gesturing extravagantly, showing a
dataslate. Gunn strained to listen through the pipes cramming into
his ears, and could just about make out a rapid, urgent exchange in
the ululating cant of the Water Guild.
The
Nautican turned away from the Syphonite and looked down at Gunn. The
beady view-lenses glistened, somehow melancholy. Abruptly, the lines
began to detach from Gunn's flesh, quivering and lashing and they
withdrew back into the Guilder's robes.
Gunn
watched, perplexed, as the Nautican stepped away and began conferring
with the Syphonite. Responding to some unheard cue, the Subnautican
lumbered forwards and picked Gunn up in its huge paws. The veteran
venator was manhandled across the room. A door opened and Gunn was
unceremoniously thrown out.
He
would've dropped to the deck if Snags Skivvens and Mumbles hadn't
been there to catch him. They moved off up the pipeway, putting hasty
distance between themselves and the Nautican's lair.
Slumped
heavily between his gangmates, Gunn slurred a question. 'What the
frag just happened?'
Snags,
barely recovered from his recent injuries, replied through gritted
teeth. 'You probably guessed how that scrap ended. The Dreadhooks won
it, and the aquamongers got you...'
'Yeah...'
gasped Gunn, bleeding from a thousand microwounds. 'But how'd I...?
How'd you...? Wassit Van Scultis?'
'Hrrrrr
hrrrrg,' said Mumbles.
'Nah'
said Snags. 'Her crew took just as much of a bruising as you and the
boys. She's mighty vexed at you, reckons you set her up.'
'Heh,'
said Gunn. 'S'not exactly wrong. But...'
'Well,
you'll be glad to hear that other bit of business came off
spirestraight, just as planned.'
The
other business. The real game. The involvement of the Water, Coin and
– tangentially - Corpse Guild in the scrap with the Dreadhooks
meant that eyes were off the lower sump quays for the duration of the
shift. Time enough for Snags to help out some smuggler friends of his
in moving a shipment of contraband in from Dogland. Risky work, but
well worth it in terms of creds.
'And
you used the payment... to buy me back from the Water fraggers?' gasped Gunn.
'Aye,
that I did,' said Snags. 'Only some of it, though. And only just in
time. I was just finishing up the deal, wouldn't even have known
you'd been taken if Mumbles here hadn't come rushing to find me.'
'Hhh-hrrrrgh,'
said Mumbles, triumphantly.
Gunn
grinned despite the pain as they hauled him back up towards Foulnest Core. Between his
busted leg and the extraction wounds, he was in bad shape – it'd
take a fair few shifts for him to recover. And the defeat at the
hands of the Dreadhooks surely wouldn't do the Guns' reputation any
favours. But there was grim satisfaction to be had at getting one
over the Guilders. And besides, as every Underhiver knows, every
credit you earn, you pay for in blood.