So Brokeface Edwydd had
ratted Gunn's Guns out to Precinct 13, and some kind of targeted
crackdown action by the enforcers was coming down the pipe sooner
rather than later. When exactly was hard to say, so the outlaw
venators took to going about their Foulnest business mobhanded and
steeled by pain-retardant stimms, ever ready for an ambush. Still, it
came as a surprise when a snipershot dropped Mumbles Mervik off a low
walkway as the Guns worked their way between the vacant blocks in a
dead hab dome.
Amplified vox echoed
from all around: 'Jonn Gunn, you are wanted for anti-Guild sedition.
Lay down your weapons and surrender. You have sixty seconds to
comply.'
Gunn had three
thoughts: first, it was damned stupid that he was wanted by the Guild
– he worked for the Guild, for Emprah's sake; second, by
naming him, the coppers had made this a beheading job – no doubt as
payback for what had happened to Captain Angel after Ratbite's
knifework; third, that was five seconds gone already.
'Get over behind those
pipes,' he barked to his domefloor crew, which consisted of Noomena,
Drifter and life-coin scummer 'Filthy' Frenk. The latter two made it
over the pipes and into the shadows of a ventworks that supported the
walkway above, but more boltshells were already flying past them, and
Gunn and Noomena only just managed to dive for cover.
Gunn would have to
count on his fighters in the hab towers. Ratbite was up there – and
only now did Gunn scope why the ratling had been acting like a plague
zee all shift. Illicit stimms usually kept him sniper-sharp, but the
sumpsucking coppers must've spiked his dose back in Foulnest core.
Gunn prayed that Ratbite's bone-deep Guard training would burn
through the spike.
At least scummer Ashman
was up there too. Gunn chanced a glance up the side of the hab block
and clocked Ashman, but also clocked an enforcer sidling up on his
blindspot. And then he clocked the hulking metal form lumbering
across the uppermost bridge between the towers. An ambot, emblazoned
with Precinct 13 glyphics. The coppers had brought their heavy gear.
So much for the boys in the towers.
'This way, Jonn,' said
Noomena, scrambling along the pipe and under the shadowy eaves of the
nearest hab block. Gunn duly followed, glancing left and right across
the domefloor as he did so. Looked like there were two teams of
enforcers, one either side, each making disciplined advances,
sticking to cover until the noose was tight enough to jerk shut.
There was a scream from above. That'd be Ashman, out of the fight.
'You reckon...?' said
Noomena, back to the wall, eyes on the enforcer team weaving through
the walkway shadows beyond the dead ventwork.
'Aye,' said Gunn,
looking the same way. He clicked on the crew vox net. 'Drifter,
Ratbite – if you're with us – focus heat on the skut-ends coming
from the left.'
Drifter nodded back at
Gunn and opened fire, pinning one of the advancing enforcers. A click
later, another copper tumbled from the walkway above and crashed to
the domefloor. This one was toting a sniper rifle. Seemed like
Ratbite wasn't so geezed he couldn't shoot straight. The third
enforcer in the fire zone was clearly shaken, turning and ducking
back behind the support struts.
'A way out?' said
Noomena.
'Not entirely,' said
Gunn, who knew full well that the precious esteem of the Coin Guild
was at stake. 'We settle this here and now, can't just creep out.
Maybe if we get over yonder, we can crack their trap and show these
badges what we're made of.'
'Spirestraight, old
man. We're with you,' Noomena said, and then to Frenk, who was a few
paces ahead of them in the ventwork. 'Hey, Filthy! Prep to rush the
fraggers Drifter just singed.'
Frenk turned to face
them, his trenchcoat fluttering in the discharge from vent he was
next to. He had his stubbers drawn and a skewed grin on his face.
'Yeah,' he said, 'I
could do that...'
Viper-fast, he brought
the stubbers up and fired point blank. The slugs impacted on Gunn's
carapace breastplate – he wasn't injured, but was most assuredly
knocked off his feet. First Brokeface Edwydd, now Filthy Frenk – it
scanned like turning rat fink sellout was a contagious condition.
The enforcers, who just
seconds before were looking shaky, had their courage relit by Frenk's
betrayal. They were on their feet and closing in again. Drifter took
aim with his hotshot, but he'd forgotten to recharge the juice –
the lasbolt fizled and dissipated as soon as it left the barrel.
Noomena made sharp choices on threat priority. Figuring Gunn was
good to take on Frenk, she darted forward between the support struts
and levelled her plasma pistol. She took the shot and the nearest
copper went down, armour sizzling.
But then another
enforcer was charging at her, one she remembered from the last scrap
– Officer Brody, in full rage mode after jacking his stimm-slug.
Noomena was quick with her knife, getting in a few jabs at the
copper, but it wasn't enough. Brody applied brutal, chem-sharpened
force, and took Noomena Greyz out of the fight.
A few metres away, Gunn
was hauling himself to his feet and shooting from the hip at Frenk.
The scummer went down, but laughing. Even as the steam rose from the
fleshwound inflicted by the lasbolt, Frenk sat up and winked at his
til-recent employer. Gunn cursed – pain-numbing stimms don't care
what side a body's on, they'll keep a fragger in the fight even if
he's turned traitor.
Brody, shaking as his
hit wore off, was making ready to charge Drifter. But Drifter had
snapped a full-charge clip into his las, and got a gutshot on the
enforcer. Brody dropped, rolling and moaning on the domefloor. But
then bolterfire rang out and hammered Drifter – no more scrapping
for him this shift.
There was a pop, and a
cloud of smoke filled the gap between the hab towers. The other
enforcer team had closed in and were making ready to make a terminal
move. Two-faced Filthy Frenk had withdrawn, his part in the fight
done. Gunn figured he'd be overwhelmed if the coppers rushed him.
Time to try some sly play. He ducked back into the shadows of the hab
block eaves. They'd have to hunt him down before they took him down.
Gunn moved as quietly
as he could, trying to catch sense in the crackle of the enforcers'
vox bursts. Ratbite's rifle had fallen silent and he wasn't
responding on the venators' vox. Either he'd been gunned down or,
just as likely, had decided that the smartest option was to haul
boots out of the scrap altogether. Maybe the ambot had got him.
Jonn Gunn was alone.
Time to try an old
badzone ranger trick, one he'd taught Mumbles, who'd used it in the
scrap against the Veiled Cartel a few cycles back. Gunn unhooked a
sealed can from his belt and unscrewed it. Inside was a chunk of
meat, probably – hopefully – from a rat, laced with pheremonal
bait-spray. He eyed the domefloor between himself and the coppers and
spied a sizeable drain grate. He took aim and lobbed the meat, which
landed wetly on the grate. A few clicks passed before the
hypercharged bait did its work. The grate cover sprang out of the
floor, shoved aside by a three-metre pale tentacle which scooped up
the meat and gulped it down a sucker-like orifice. The sump beast
below would stick around in case there was more food available, and
thrashed its rubbery limb blindly, searching for prey.
Of course, the Precinct
13 coppers would be sharp enough to steer well clear of the tentacle,
but it might disrupt their advance and give Gunn a fighting chance.
He worked his way along the hab tower base, sticking to the shadows.
And then, 'Freeze,
creep!'
The second enforcer
team, alert to Gunn's ploy, had doubled back around the tower to cut
him off. Another copper leapt from the hab walkway above to a
container crate up ahead. This must've been the one who took Ashman
out. They opened fire at Gunn, who ducked as best he could, the shots
ringing off his armour and bringing him to his knees. He raised his
hotshot and fired at the nearest enforcer, hoping to clear a path,
but the copper's armour was as effective as his own.
'Give it up, old man,'
came a voice from behind him. The rest of the enforcers had bypassed
the sump horror. 'We got you surrounded.'
That they did. Gunn,
his back to the rockcrete hab wall. Five enforcers, all that was left
of the hit squad, spread in a broad semicircle in front of him. Frag
knows what had happened to the ambot, but Gunn wasn't inclined to
complain about that.
'Come on then,' snarled
Gunn. 'What have you got for me, you sumpsucking sons of bitches?'
What they had was a
co-ordinated salvo of bolterfire and solid shotgun shells. But again,
almost all the shots missed or merely dented Gunn's armour. The one
that hit home drew blood but didn't put Gunn down.
'Is that all? Is
that all?' he growled, taking a las shot. One of the enforcers
went down hard, bleeding badly.
The lawmen of Precinct
13 were advancing, but more slowly, more hesitantly. Again, they
opened fire on Gunn, and again he withstood their onslaught.
'The frag is this creep
made of?' said one of the coppers.
Gunn was laughing now.
'You think I haven't bled harder than this? You think I'll go down
that easy?'
He fired again with his
hotshot. It went wide, but the enforcers had stopped advancing now.
One of them turned and ran. The others fired again. But Jonn Gunn
stood strong. He drew his power knife and beckoned to the coppers.
'Come on, let's finish
this,' he grinned.
The enforcers were
taking shuffling steps backwards. They'd stopped shooting.
'This ain't worth it,'
said one of them.
And then they were
withdrawing, hauling away their wounded and keeping a wary bead on
the venator boss as they backed off.
The dome fell silent.
Jonn Gunn was alone. Jonn Gunn was alive. Truth be told, Jonn Gunn
couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so alive.