The Starhawk Chronicles Page 7
“I’m gonna have to shower for a month after this before I feel clean again,” K’Tran groaned. Morogo was making uneasy grunting noises.
“Just be careful,” Jesse replied, watching his two friends head off into the tunnel. Hefting his rifle, he made his way into the opposite tunnel, struggling to keep from slipping and going completely under the sewage flowing around him.
His ears strained for any sounds of impending attack or of a being trying to keep ahead of him. He heard only the sound of the muck oozing past him, the occasional drip-drip of moisture falling from rusted piping overhead, and the odd squeal of a startled sewer creature.
Being alone in the dark in such a foreboding place caused his skin to crawl. Childhood stories of alligators or worse things living in the sewers came back to haunt him, and he cursed himself for being foolish when he felt cold chills creep along his spine at the thought. Despite his insistence, he was beginning to wish he had taken K’Tran’s advice that they stay together.
Granted, he was not alone. Sneaker trailed along just behind him, fortunate enough to be able to hover instead of wading through the sewage. The slop smelled even worse when up to his waist in it.
He estimated the tunnel had run for a half-kilometer before arriving at the larger catch basin. There were three other tunnels leading into and out of the basin. The two on the far side opposite from where he stood were higher than the watermark, only the barest trickle flowing from them. A crumbling durocrete maintenance walkway, collapsed in spots, ran the circumference of the basin, just wide enough for a being to traverse. To his right was a corroded metal ladder leading up to a darkened floodgate control room.
Sneaker trilled beside him, Jesse looked up, seeing lights playing across the walls of the opposite tube, and after a moment, his two companions appeared. K’Tran waved and started toward him along the walkway while Morogo warily swept his rifle around the basin.
“I really think we’re wasting our time here,” the older hunter said as he approached. “Those two are probably topside in some cantina, laughing their asses off at us.”
“No. They’re down here, and they’re close. I’m sure of it.”
K’Tran gestured to the two tubes across from them. “I suppose you want to check those out?” Jesse’s reply was a sober look and K’Tran sighed again. “I was afraid of that.”
With a wave to Morogo, K’Tran stepped off the walkway and into the waist-high slop. The Vor’na’cik did likewise and Jesse was about to do the same when he heard something from the control room above him.
Two shots screamed out from the control room in rapid succession. The first struck K’Tran a glancing blow across one shoulder and he lost his footing, going down into the murky waters. The second struck Sneaker atop his saucer dome. The drone squealed and plopped into the water. Morogo, any fears he had now laid aside, struggled through the muck to K’Tran’s side.
Jesse had just enough time to raise his rifle when a great blur of white flesh launched from the control room where the shots had come from. It landed atop the Vor’na’cik with a shriek and Morogo went down, struggling to keep his head above the water.
The blur rose from the water with a hiss. Standing more than two meters tall, sewage running off its nearly translucent, jelly-like skin, with a face reminiscent of a spider, Ho’jisk let out a shriek that reverberated throughout the chamber, threatening to rupture Jesse’s eardrums. Extending dagger-like claws, it rushed at Morogo as he regained his footing, and they began to grapple.
Jesse had jumped into the basin to assist his friends when a length of wire looped around his neck from above and began to constrict. He dropped his rifle and struggled to work his fingers between the cord and his throat to loosen the tension. Craning his neck, he saw Skritz. The Harkonian favored Jesse with an idiotic grin and a maniacal, high-pitched giggle. He gave a sharp yank, pulling the cord tighter.
Jesse fought for breath as the cord constricted around his throat. He worked the fingers of one hand beneath the wire, but the tension was too great. The cord cut into his flesh. Another minute and his fingers would be severed. Dark spots began to dance before his eyes.
“Me and old Ho’jisk too much for you, Bountyman?” Skritz cackled, tightening the garrote. “Rahk and Kahr wanted you for themselves, but I think I’ll do you myself, just so I can say I was the one who burned down the great Jess . . .”
Sneaker, still afloat in the water nearby, aimed its weapons upward and fired into the control room, cutting Skritz off in mid-sentence. Skritz yelped and Jesse felt the cord go slack ever so slightly. It was enough.
Reaching up with his free hand, Jesse grabbed the length of wire, pulling as hard as he could. Caught off-balance, Skritz tumbled from his position, belly flopping into the basin with a splat that echoed through the chamber.
Morogo and Ho’jisk resurfaced, grappling claw to claw, fangs extended. K’Tran had managed to struggle back to his feet, choking and spitting, near the far wall.
Skritz leapt out of the muck, lunging for Jesse again, a double-bladed dagger in his hand. Dodging the first wild swipes, Jesse had the satisfaction of noting that two of Skritz’s fingers were now bloody stumps, severed by too tight a hold on the cord. “Now you did it, Bountyman,” The Harkonian hissed through pain-clenched teeth. “Now you really went and made me angry!”
Jesse dodged several more swipes, the basin’s slippery bottom making it difficult. Skritz was struggling as well, his wild swipes continually throwing him off balance. Even so, the diminutive thug got too close too often for Jesse’s liking. One lucky slice caught Jesse’s arm, tearing neatly through his shirtsleeve and into his flesh.
Skritz cackled. “That’s right, Bountyman. Gonna cut you up into teeny, tiny pieces!”
Jesse pulled one of his pistols, but lost his footing and went down to one knee. Skritz took advantage of the slip, bringing his dagger down, when a weapon fired and Skritz jerked rigid as the remainder of his mangled ear disappeared in a crimson haze.
Looking beyond his opponent and the melee between the Vor’na’cik and the Wraith, Jesse saw that K’Tran had made the shot. Skritz shook off the blast.
“Not dead, yet,” Skritz muttered, lunging one last time. Jesse brought his pistol up again, neatly firing a round point-blank between Skritz’s eyes. The Harkonian was dead before he slid into the sewage.
“You always did talk too much, Skritz,” Jesse said, watching with satisfaction as the body floated away in the muck.
Ho’jisk had gotten the upper hand in his wild struggle with Morogo and had flung the Vor’na’cik away from him, into the far wall. The Wraith saw his companion fall, and the weapons leveling at him, dodging as both K’Tran and Jesse fired. He bounded to the ladder as easily as if on dry land and scrambled up into the control room.
Jesse was following up the ladder despite the pleas from K’Tran to wait for him. As he reached the top of the ladder, he fired blindly into the control booth striking only durocrete and broken, darkened control panels in the process. Pulling himself over the edge, he drew his second pistol, pausing. He scanned every corner before moving further inward.
A corridor ran off to the right, leading to a darkened stairwell, from the top of which Jesse spied a flash of sunlight, and heard a pneumatic door hiss shut. He raced for the stairs.
In his haste, he missed the darkened alcove off to one side until Ho’jisk’s fist swung out of the darkness and struck Jesse full in the face. The blow knocked him off his feet, and he landed hard on his back, his weapons scattering across the grated floor.
Ho’jisk stepped from the dark and stood over him for a moment, a look of triumph twisted across his face. He shrieked as he raised an arm over his head, baring his dagger claws in the same motion. Jesse, still winded, awaited the deathblow.
There was a new sound, an electrical hum, and Ho’jisk jerked upright. The scent of scorched flesh combined with the faint whiff of ozone. Another hum and Ho’jisk flew off his feet, sailing over Jesse and crashin
g into the opposite wall.
Jesse shook his head to clear it, and saw a figure stepping from the shadows of the stairwell. The same young woman who had observed them at the fuel depot, only now dressed in light battle-armor, with a sidearm at her hip, a knife tucked into one knee-high boot. In her hands, the source of the hum—a taser staff.
“Having a little trouble, Captain Kid?” Sarcasm dripped from her words. Stepping over him, she approached Ho’jisk, who was struggling to his feet. The Wraith was unsteady, still shaking off the effects of the taser strikes and his collision with the wall.
Her staff cradled across one forearm and between her elbow and ribcage, the woman crooked two fingers of her free hand towards the Wraith in a come-here gesture. “Come on, Big Boy! Let’s see what you’ve got.”
Ho’jisk shrieked with rage and started for her. The young woman was fast—very fast. Swinging the staff in a full arch over her head, she thrust it into the creature’s torso, throwing him back into the wall hard enough that the impact left an indentation in the durocrete. Jesse noticed that the weapon had not been charged on that last move.
“Typical male,” she was saying now, more aloud to herself than to either Jesse or Ho’jisk. “Thinks just because I’m a woman that I can’t defend myself.”
Like a golfer teeing off, she dealt Ho’jisk a blow to the head that would have decapitated a lesser being. As it was, the impact sent him staggering across the control room and out over the ledge, back into the catch basin with a splash.
Without looking back, the woman leapt off the edge. Jesse, his head still buzzing, rose on unsteady legs and hobbled to the ledge to watch the rest of the show.
The scene looked almost comical, with the much smaller woman standing tall and proud and the massive Ho’jisk, battered and bleeding from several wounds, trying to stare her down. It was David and Goliath relived.
They regarded each other for several moments. Ho’jisk extended his claws their full length. He threw his head back for one final screech, but the woman’s staff cut him off as she rammed it into his exposed throat. Ho’jisk’s intended battle cry became a death knell as the creature, mortally wounded, fell backwards, sliding beneath the surface of the murky water.
Throughout the entire battle, the woman had not even broken a sweat.
From their respective positions, K’Tran, Morogo and Jesse regarded the newcomer with silent stares of awe. Even Morogo, with all his considerable strength, had been unable to topple Ho’jisk. K’Tran wiped sweat from his brow and said, “Miss, I’ve got to hand it to you. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
She regarded him with a smile that was devastating. “I know.”
From his higher vantage point, Jesse could see the water behind the young woman began to ripple, and he knew that her victory was not complete. Before he could call out a warning, Ho’jisk burst from the muck behind her, claws extended and aimed for her head.
Without turning, the woman reversed the direction of her staff and thrust it behind her. Set to full charge, the staff plunged through Ho’jisk’s midsection like he were made of thin wet paper, and came out his back. The weapon began to fry his innards, and seconds later, with a shriek worse than all the others, his head exploded. Chunks of flesh and brain matter showered into the sewage around her, but none actually striking the woman. The beheaded corpse spasmed once, twice, then slid off the staff and sank for good into the putrid water.
“Never underestimate the power of a woman,” The young huntress watched her opponent drift away. With a casual shrug, she powered down the taser staff.
Jesse made his way down the ladder, careful not to let his slimy boots slip off the rungs, and over to where Sneaker still lay floating in the water, its lights dark now. Upon closer inspection, he saw that the damage was mostly cosmetic in nature. After a few minor repairs, and some stroking of its ego, the drone would be fine. He handed him over to K’Tran before approaching the young woman.
“Impressive,” he said, the word coming out slurred. The side of his face where Ho’jisk had struck him was quickly beginning to swell.
She appraised him with a smile. “Thanks. Coming from the famous Captain Kid, that means a lot.”
“You have me at a disadvantage.” The word came out difavantage. “You seem to know all about me. Who the hell are you?”
She cradled her staff across one arm and offered her free hand. “Kayla Karson.”
K’Tran looked up from where he was helping the still-stunned Morogo to his feet. “Karson? You the one that keeps applying for admission to the Guild?”
“That’s right.”
K’Tran shook his head with approval. “Well, you keep making kills like that, you’re sure to get an acceptance.”
Jesse felt a sudden pang of annoyance at his companion’s praise, ignoring the hand Karson still held out to him. “She’s not going to get accepted into anything if she keeps moving in on other people’s hunts.”
Pulling out his DNA collector and popping in a new vial, he went over to Skritz’s body . Pressing it to the dead man’s neck, and with a pop-hiss, had collected his genetic template for identification. Placing a disk the size of a small coin in the same spot, he stepped away as Skritz’s body began to vaporize. Within seconds, all that remained of the thug were his ashes floating atop the muck.
Turning, he saw Karson extracting her own sample from Ho’jisk, and set a burner on the corpse. The larger body disappeared with a more dramatic flash, but the effect was the same. Skritz and Ho’jisk were gone, the two vials containing their DNA the only proof that they had ever existed.
Jesse held his hand out to her. “Now you want to give that to me?” It was more an order than a request.
Karson stared at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. “I beg your pardon?”
“The vial. Ho’jisk was supposed to be our kill.”
“You must be joking. You don’t think I went through all that just to let you get the bounty?”
“Our bounty!” Jesse hissed. The pain in his cheek had become almost unbearable, but his anger with Karson was overriding it. “You weren’t contracted for this hunt. We were. Your kill or not, I want that vial.”
Karson glared at him, dropped the vial into a belt pouch, and then took her staff up in both hands. The tone of her voice when she spoke again made it seem as if the temperature in the chamber had suddenly dropped several degrees. “I don’t give a damn who you are, or who contracted you, or whose bounty this is rightly supposed to be. The fact of the matter is, I made the kill, and I am taking the bounty. You want to make something of it . . .” She hefted her staff just a little higher, slapping it gently in one palm. It was all the answer she gave, but its meaning was unmistakable.
K’Tran came up behind Jesse. “She’s right. Legally, it doesn’t matter who contracted out. She made the kill. She gets the bounty. That’s why independents are independent. They don’t have to follow the rules.”
Jesse turned on him with a savage glare. His friend did not back down, and Jesse knew he was right. Defeated, he turned back to Karson.
“You take your bounty and get out of my sight.” He stabbed a finger only inches from her face. “I don’t care what’s fair or legal. I catch you trying to take another one of our bounties, I’ll burn you down where you stand!”
Karson looked less than impressed. She gave him a sly grin and a mock salute. “Whatever you say, Captain.” She pressed a button on the staff and it retracted its length to less than a half meter. Sliding it into a sheath strapped to her back, she turned and disappeared into the nearest sewer tunnel.
Jesse turned his glare back to K’Tran. “Traitor.” He climbed the ladder back to the control room to retrieve his weapons.
He did not mean a word of it, and he knew K’Tran would not make anything more of the matter. He was using his friend as an outlet for his frustrations. In silence, the three of them made their way to the control room, and from there, to the street above.
Chapter Nine
Jesse cursed, grabbing at the tender spot on his neck where Podo had just administered a second shot of painkiller. The Starhawk had an advanced medical bay for a ship of its size, but in their line of work, good medical equipment was a necessity. The swelling in Jesse’s face was already starting to subside. Podo had used a portable bone-knitter to repair the small fracture in his cheekbone, but the soreness would last for a few more days yet. On the bright side, the pain helped to distract from the itching of the newly healed knife wound on his arm.
“That’s the last shot I can give you for the pain for at least twelve hours,” Podo said. “I’ve already given you enough to take down a good sized brackk rat. Anymore and your brain will be pudding.”
“Feels like that now,” Jesse shook his head to try and clear some of the fuzziness he still felt. The action only served to increase the throbbing in his skull. Cradling his head in both hands, he hazarded a look over at K’Tran. His friend was still scratching at the spot on his shoulder where Podo had treated the laser burn.
“I want to know everything about this Karson,” Jesse said. “I don’t care how many databases you have to access, or how long it takes. I want to know what makes this kid tick so we can anticipate her next move.”
“Bokschh is already working on it.” K’Tran said, suppressing a chuckle.
“Something strikes you as funny?”
“You want to know what makes that kid tick. That kid, as you call her, isn’t much younger than you are. Besides, wouldn’t we be better off trying to figure out where the rest of the Nexus Gang is heading instead? Granted, that Karson gal is good, but you can’t believe she’s willing to take on the entire gang by herself?”
“I don’t know, she did pretty well against Ho’jisk, and look what he did to the three of us.” Jesse looked in the direction of the other exam bed where Morogo lay sedated, under constant watch by the bio-scanners. His impact with the sewer wall had caused a slight concussion—not serious, but it required observation for at least twenty-four hours.