To say that Jonn Gunn
was dissatisfied with his treatment at the hands of Coiner Guilder
Lymeris Van Scultis would be like saying that Hive Primus is somewhat
tall. Ever since his crew had been outlawed, Gunn had been trapped in
a web of obligation to the Guilder, the promise of bounties revoked
keeping him compliant even as his hard-won reputation was dragged
through the sump. It rankled with him, painful like a gutshot wound.
But the grizzled
venator figured he had a way out: the second chrono-crystal that the
Guns had acquired during the Great Power-Down. It would surely be of
interest to Van Scultis, perhaps enough to persuade her to issue
writs of pardon. The tricky part was gaining an audience with the
Guilder – all contact with the Guns was conducted at a remove by
Skinflint Devinscar, and Gunn didn't want to risk revealing his hand
too soon. There was only one option: sneak into a Guild mart and
confront Van Scultis in person.
This was what brought
Gunn, Drifter Zensen and Ashman Gwalt to the secure zone in Foulnest
Core that shift. The op was to infiltrate the market, locate Van
Scultis, and strike a bargain. Simple enough, but there was bound to
be an enforcer presence, not to mention other guns-for-hire who might
fancy claiming a bounty or two. Gunn's Guns came scrap-ready, but
were keeping their hardware hidden under capacious robes.
Drifter convinced one
of the perimeter guards to look the other way for a few clicks, and
the Guns entered through a heavy blast portal. Inside, the secure
zone was teeming with activity. The side chamber they'd entered
connected to the main hallway of the market, which was well-lumened
by underhive standards, and notably so in contrast to the gloomy side
chambers. Room here for all kinds of trade, overt and secretive. From
previous trips here, before the outlawing, Gunn knew that Van Scultis
would be holding court at the far end of the hallway, off to the
left. Up ahead, a shame-mob was in full swing, with a sonorous-voiced
preacher driving a gaggle of Cawdors in a righteous beat-down of some
poor chained-up sinner.
'Gwalt,' said Gunn,
'we'll be needing a distraction, something to draw eyes towards that
shame-mob. See if you can't get involved, stir up a little dust.'
'Spire-straight,
chief,' nodded Ashman, and darted forwards.
He sidled into the edge
of the mob and aimed a clumsy slap at the chained recidivist. 'Take
that, ya scum!'
The Cawdors cheered his
efforts, but the gaunt preacher was running a tight affair – he
dashed over to Ashman and gripped him firmly by the arm.
'Son,' he said, 'your
enthusiasm is most welcome. Let me ask you, have you truly heard the
redeeming word of Him-On-Terra?'
Ashman squirmed. 'Well,
aye, sure I do, I have. I mean, he's the big guy, the big ol'
Emprah.'
The preacher fixed
Ashman with a steely gaze. 'And blessed are we all to bask in his
radiant light. But there is the coarse belief of the common man, and
there is the utter devotion of the unstinting believer. So again, I
ask you, have you truly heard his redeeming word?'
Gunn and Drifter
watched as Ashman continued to squirm in the preacher's grasp, and
the Cawdors continued to pummel the prisoner.
'Well that's not quite
how I scanned it,' said Gunn. 'But we're on a clock here. Come on.'
They moved to the edge
of the main hall, stopping behind a cluster of mercs and merchants
who were passing the time of shift and taking a vague interest in the
shame-mob. Gunn eyed the hallway.
'Fragdammit.'
'What's up, boss?' said
Drifter.
'See over there, that
fella in purple, the fancy uphive clothes?'
'With the hat? So
what?'
'That's only Slash
Memento. Bounty hunter, a good one, too. I know him, and he knows me.
He scopes me, that's the sneak job down the pipe, and there'll be
blood.'
'Right, right,' said
Drifter. 'But he doesn't know me...'
Gunn caught Drifter's
drift. 'Alright, get over there, get him talking or something, see if
you can keep him from looking my way while I move on.'
Drifter nodded and
stepped out across the hall. The blast door off to the right, beyond
the shame-mob, rumbled open, and Gunn glimpsed grey and red armour.
Precinct 13. The game had just got far riskier for the Guns, but what
choice did they have?
''Scuse me, sir,' said
Drifter, tapping his mark on the shoulder, 'but ain't you Slash
Memento?'
The bounty hunter
turned, looking askance at this rag-draped scummer who's accosted
him. 'So what if I am? Who's asking?'
'Ah, I thought it was
you, I seen picts. I gotta say, sir, I am a big, big admirer of your,
er, work.'
Drifter was laying on
the blather like he had with the doorman. Gunn seized his chance and
shuffled off past the cluster of traders. As he passed, he overheard
snips of their chatter, talk of how this was a usual shift at the
mart: guns-for-hire looking for work; docs offering their services in
Cutter's Corner; thronebotherers looking to talk to anyone who'd
listen. Apparently, it was worth steering clear of the chambers the
other side of the main hall – Goliath and Orlock crews facing off
there over some longstanding bad blood. And, of course, the wares for
sale, the offers, counteroffers and back-and-forth haggling. Nothing
Gunn hadn't heard before.
Ashman had prised
himself away from the preacher and was now parallel to Gunn on the
other side of the hall. Gunn was edging past three hooded Cawdors and
heading into a shadowy side corridor when the crackle of an enforcer
helm-vox sounded: 'Hey, you!'
Shrinking back into the
shadows, Gunn glanced back up the main hall. One of the Precinct 13
officers had used his riot shield to bash his way through the
shame-mob and was advancing on Drifter and Memento.
Drifter grimaced. No
choice but to brass it out.
'Officer! Ah, um, glad
to see you! Can I maybe introduce you to one of the finest – no,
er, the finest venator this side of the heat sinks? This is
none other than Slash Memento. Slash – you don't mind if I call you
that, right -, meet Officer, er, sorry, I didn't catch your...'
'Officer Malone and
myself are acquainted, as it happens,' said Memento drily as the
enforcer loomed over them.
'O, I scope it, right
right,' said Drifter, grinning weakly. 'Well, in that case I'll leave
the two of you to catch up on all the goings-on. Who's hot on the
wanted list, and all that...'
He stepped away, fixing
to head back the way he'd come, but he didn't get five paces.
Shouldn't have mentioned the wanted list.
'Freeze, creep!' barked
Officer Malone. 'You're one of Jonn Gunn's boys, ain't you?'
Drifter would have
broken and run, but he was penned in between Malone and a new
enforcer arrival – Rin the cybermastiff, who powered through the
Cawdor crowd up the hallway. In a few clicks, they had Drifter Zensen
pinned and magnacled on the deck. The shame-mob preacher bustled
over, keen to lay the word on this poor recidivist and maybe bag a
new convert to his cause.
If Rin was in the zone,
Captain Doyle himself wouldn't be far away, and there was real toxy
blood between the enforcer captain and the Guns. Even less time on
the clock than Jonn Gunn had expected. He ducked down the shadowy
passage, hoping to loop round and reconnect with the main hall right
next to Van Scultis and her entourage. The sound of shots echoed
through the mart, presumably those Orlock and Goliath rivals throwing
down; Gunn prayed to Terra that it'd distract the enforcers and draw
them away.
He ghosted through the
gloom, rounding a corner and clocking Ashman, who'd similarly dodged
being recognised by the coppers, at the lit junction ahead. Just a
fat merchant and his bodyguards to muscle past, no problem. It was
all down to these last few metres – if he could reach Van Scultis
and claim sanctuary from her, Precinct 13 would have to back down.
But then there was
commotion over beyond the junction: two Orlocks ran into view,
shoving past Ashman and the merchant crew. As they dashed by, Gunn
heard one of them: 'That Ray Void, fragdammit, he's crazy!'
Back on the other side
of the junction, a couple of bloodied Goliaths were running the same
way as the Orlocks, but they didn't get as far. Shots rang out, and
the Goliaths dropped. The fat merchant, panicked, had his crew hustle
him out of the line of fire.
As bodies cleared out
of the way, Gunn gazed across the junction, past Ashman on the
corner, far into the chamber beyond. There was Raymond Void,
strolling forwards with a smirk on his face, bolter muzzle smoking.
But he wasn't the only
rival boss on the scene.
'Jonn Gunn!' The
amplified vox echoed down the corridors. 'This is Captain Doyle. I
know you're there, you damned dirty skuthead, and I'm taking you in,
dead or alive!'
No point in the
disguise any more. Gunn cast off his loose robes, revealing his
battered armour. Ashman did likewise.
Ray Void. doubtless
accompanied by some of the Rustgate OMC, was a wild card here. Sure,
there was bitter history between the crews, running back to the long
trek across E-Sec all those cycles ago, but the Guns and the
Rustgaters had worked together before, at the Battle of Foulnest.
Plus, they were fellow outlaws. Surely that would count for
something?
'Void!' called Gunn
hoarsely, 'We've got the heat right on us here! What say we set our
iron on them together?'
Void was approaching
the junction, but still out of sight of the approaching coppers. He
called back over his shoulder, to one of his crewmates out of sight,
'Hey, Jo! I got Gunn himself here, he wants to strike a truce!
Whaddaya think?'
Gunn couldn't quite
hear Old Jo Genge's answer. But, whether or not he'd listened, Void's
decision was immediately clear – he levelled his bolter and took
Ashman down in a hail of shells.
So much for an
alliance.
Malone was striding
forwards over prone, bleeding Ashman. With him was Officer Riggs,
clipping a fresh clip into her bolter. Gunn glimpsed Ray Void darting
around the corner behind them, heading straight for an audience with
Van Scultis, and no doubt a deal of his own. The enforcers must have
clocked Void's presence, but it looked like Jonn Gunn was the only
outlaw on their wanted list this shift. Ragged sheen birds were
coming home to roost.
With his crew out of
action and Van Scultis beyond reach, Gunn realised that all he could
do was run.
He turned back down the
shadowy corridor, ducking as Riggs's boltershells ripped into the
bulkheads around him. He was hit: the shots tore up his armour and
drew blood. Malone was on him, stimmed up and hammering down with his
shield, but Gunn had his power knife out, the blade keening as it dug
into the enforcers armour and put him down. With one smart stab, Gunn
finished the job.
No time to take
satisfaction, though. Gunn took another step the way he'd come, but
the lumenlight from the main hall way was smeared out by a towering
silhouette. Captain Doyle.
'You're not walking
away this time,' snarled the enforcer. He'd slung his shotgun and
drawn his stubber for close-up scrapping. Gunn didn't doubt it was
loaded with dum-dums.
'Let's see about that,'
said Gunn, smoothly reversing his grip on the knife.
The two men traded
blows, but each was a veteran of countless downhive death duels.
Doyle sidestepped Gunn's knife swing with alacrity that belied his
bulk; Gunn turned Doyle's stubber aside with his elbow and ducked
beneath the enforcer's jabbing fist. Gunn dragged the knife back, but
Doyle twisted to the side and the energised blade only scraped his
armour. Doyle fired blind, point blank, but the dum-dum merely grazed
Gunn's ear.
This could have run on
all shift, but Riggs was muscling in, looking to back up her captain.
Gunn's attention was split between his two attackers, and Doyle
pressed the advantage. He drew his fist back, shifted his weight and
threw a punch that connected squarely with Jonn Gunn's jaw, sending
him reeling onto his back.
The scrap, the op,
perhaps Gunn's life as a free man - all over in less time than it
takes to reload a las clip. Enforcer Captain Doyle laughed grimly and
unclipped the magnacles on his belt as he loomed over the fallen
venator.
'You're nicked, my
scum.'