DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (28 page)

I leaned against the shack, and watched them work. And it felt good. Felt right in a way I couldn't quantify.

It was almost sad when Abernathy came around the corner, and shooed them off. She looked at the chalk, sighed, and went into the laundry. When she came out again with a wet rag, I was there. “Uh-uh.” I wagged a finger.

“You're not exactly gonna inspire much in the way of fear like this. It looks like a kindergarten art class exploded on you, there.”

“She'll sluice it off when she's out of sight of camp. But for now, it stays. It's good to be thanked. Good to feel needed.”

“You are one seriously weird supervillain, but hey, you're the boss.”

I shrugged, as I entered the armor.

“The more she learns about the world—” The shell hissed shut, and my mask settled into place. “—THE LESS SHE CARES ABOUT LABELS.”

CHAPTER 16: Enter the Steampunks

“Not all the villains went rampaging during the Y2K outage. Some of them actually helped out. Though mind you, most of them did it out of self-interest. It really cuts into your diabolical schemes when looters are trying to break into your secret lair to grab food, and roving gangs are re-enacting lord of the flies on your secret identity's lawn.”

--Excerpt from “Villains anonymous,” a short lived reality show that ran through 2001. The speaker has been identified as Vorpal, a mercenary villain currently at large.

It was time to retrieve the sealant for Guzman's plan. I flew across the city, weaving through the Brownstones without trouble. A brief stop by a broken water main rinsed the chalk from my armor. Sad as I was to destroy it, Abernathy had a point. Well, at least the children weren't around to see their efforts washed away.

After that, it was a straight flight. I went across the Brownstones, past about six tall residential towers, and towards what looked like a large industrial district beyond.

A rifle cracked as I flew past the southernmost tower, but if they were shooting at me they missed, and no shots followed that I heard. The forcefield could take a hit or two anyway, and I was going fast enough I doubted I was in any serious danger.

Then it was across the edge of the Industrial District, several square miles of factory complexes, most of which looked rusty and disused, falling apart, much like the piers near the camp. I had a good view of the highway below, at least. That was Route 120, according to Guzman. The first leg of it was choked with cars, but it looked like it had been cleared out a bit as it turned west, and most of the exits were emptied. There was one area where the guardrail was clearly broken, and the charred wrecks of cars littered the ground below. That gave me an idea... gravity, fire, tons of metal... I filed a wicked notion away for investigation later.

Eventually the long ribbon of highway turned into a cloverleaf. Interstate 3, I presumed. I headed down, glancing around during the descent. There were shops here, unlike most of the terrain I'd overflown thus far. Most of the factories and warehouses around the shops looked to be in good repair, or at the very least, they had been functional prior to Y2K. They would be again, once this was over. Circling lower, I moved around the cloverleaf. There should be a sign for the boat repair facility...

I passed a gas station, flew past the attached truckstop, paused at a used car lot, and finally located what I was looking for to the northwest of the Cloverleaf. It was back a ways, past a padlocked gate. The yard was a gravel road, with exposed grass and dirt where patches of it had been rubbed away. Scattered around the main complex were boats of all shapes and sizes. The largest was a garbage scow, and I had no idea how it had been transported here.

Most of them were sport boats, motorboats, and a few kayaks and canoes. They  hung in racks or rusted loose on the ground. A long ramp lead up through an open loading dock, into the darkness of the main building. The sign on the roof above the fire-escape stairs to the main door read “Dry Dock”, and I landed, tried a knock.

Nothing. The handle refused to turn in my grasp, probably locked.

I was not surprised. Fortunately, someone had left an open loading dock.

Two steps toward it, I wondered just
why
someone had left an open loading dock. Might be wise to play it cautious. I adjusted the sights on the mask to compensate for the darker interior, peering around as I hovered in. Just because I hadn't seen any security to this point, didn't mean there wasn't any around.

It seemed deserted at first glance, and the odor of old grease filled my nostrils as I peered around. It was a large place that had probably been a warehouse at some point, with rails running off from the loading dock ramp. They led to various platforms and cradles. The largest vessel in the cradles was the lowest to the ground, a tugboat by the looks of it, all barnacle-encrusted hull and rubber bumpers. Up above, a hydrofoil's twin turbines jutted out near the roof as it hung suspended by chains. There was a cradle halfway-constructed around it. Looked like they were swapping engines, before their task was interrupted. I eyed the exposed parts with envy for a second, before lowering my gaze. I wasn't here to steal mechanical components, as much as I could use the upgrade. The sealant would be kept low to the ground...

After about ten minutes or so, I found two large barrels labeled CL off to the side, among some other chemicals. Nothing else seemed to have similar lettering, so I gambled it was the substance I needed. Ah well, if it wasn't the right stuff I could always come back.  I picked up the barrel and tested the weight of it... cumbersome, but not undoable. I started walking back to the entrance—

—And froze, as shadows fell across the Dry Dock's floor, cast by people moving outside.

“Well well well...” An unfamiliar voice. A man peered in. He was wearing a top hat, a short red-trimmed black cape, and a tuxedo. He had waxed mustaches, and he was carrying a cane that seemed to have a ton of gears on it. “A looter? In some sort of power armor?”

“ARE YOU THE OWNER OF THIS FACILITY?”

He jumped back at my voice, raised his cane and pointed the end at me. Hollow, like the business end of a gun.

I put the barrel down.

“Ha... Uh. No. No, my dear... person, I am not the owner. However, you
are
trespassing, and I fear that cannot be tolerated. Simply not cricket!”

He strode out to the center of the room, snapped his fingers, and two more figures flew in. One had some sort of jetpack that rode on great gouts of vapor, creating a small fog cloud as it went. He had straps and buckles all over his jodhpurs and jacket, and held a large gun with multiple winking tube lights on it, and a miniature tesla coil on the end. Jetpack guy wore goggles and a cowl, with black hair sticking out from his head at odd angles.

The second figure seemed to dance through the air, running in place on some sort of fantastical spinning contraption of gears that ranged from manhole-cover-sized to pocket watch-sized. They ground and spun through the air with no visible power source or center mass to them, and nothing I could see holding them in place. Finally he stopped, for certain definitions of the word... the gears never stopped turning. He wasn't much to look at himself, wearing a short dress jacket over leather coveralls, topped by a bowler hat over fluffy blonde curls. He grinned, and I noted a gear tattoo over one eye. He had goggles, but they were up on his hat, for no reason that I could tell. Seemed kind of pointless.

Looking at the group of them together, I revised my initial guess at their ages downwards. The one on the gears couldn't be over twenty, and if top hat was much more than that I'd be surprised. Couldn't tell about the one who was actually wearing goggles, but he was fairly scrawny, as they went.

“AND WHO ARE YOU ALL THEN?” I asked, eyeing the growing cloud of vapor. Calendars on the wall nearest the jetpack-rider were starting to sag, and curl. Steam? The moisture on the windows above him seemed to suggest that. I switched vision modes on the mask, filtering out local humidity.

The one on the gear contraption facepalmed. “Bloody 'ell. Told ya we shoulda got an agent.” Yep, he was young.

Jetpack guy hovered up and down, still watching me. “Eh, they'll learn. After this last week? Everyone will know who we are!”

Only the leader took it in stride, bowing at the waist, and sweeping his hat off, before straightening and replacing it with a roguish grin. “Well, dear sir, you've had the mixed fortune of meeting the Steampunks! Most of them, at any rate. More than enough for you, I fear.”

“YOU THREATEN DIRE?”

“Dire? Odd choice, there.”

“DOCTOR DIRE, TO BE PRECISE.”

“Ah! Alliteration! Truly the hallmark of a civilized sort. Sadly, my dear dashing Doctor Dire, you have trespassed upon what we colloquially call our turf. And you're obviously assaulting an establishment that had the good sense and quality taste to render to us a sum for, hm, call it security.”

The one with the jetpack snickered. “I guess that sounds better than protection money, sure.”

“Ey, we've earned it,” said the gear rider.

“And we'll earn it today, I expect,” Top Hat smiled. “I'm Hatman Deux, by the way. This is Kineticog, and that's Technomancer. We'll be your duly appointed beating for the day.”

“SHE HAS NO TIME FOR THIS,” I said. “WHO'S THE OWNER? WHERE CAN HE BE FOUND? DIRE SHALL PAY HIM FOR THIS SUBSTANCE DIRECTLY.”

The gear rider, Kineticog, snickered. “Right. And next monkeys will fly outta me bum.”

“YOU DOUBT DIRE?” I turned my mask to glare at him.

“It's the principle of the thing, dear... Lady? Hm. I wouldn't have guessed. Well, we can offer you this exchange instead. Flee, and we'll stop chasing you once you're off our turf.” He twisted his cane, and gears clunked and clacked. Two spikes popped out of each side of it, and electricity started to flare and dance around the tip as he leveled it at me.

“OUT OF THE QUESTION.”

“Ah, well then...” He brought his free hand up and slapped the cane, but I was already moving to cover behind the nearest speedboat. A bolt of blue energy spat by me, crackling against the wall, and sending dancing orbs of ball lightning sizzling in every direction. For my part, I leveled the coilgun and fired a beanbag round... which bounced off a sudden barrier of gears, as shield-sized cogs peeled off of Kineticog's apparatus and assembled into a wall in front of Hatman.

Meanwhile, Technomancer was flying around, trying to flank my cover. He'd waited until he built up a good cloud of steam to hide his approach. I didn't know what that gun he was holding could do, and I didn't want to find out. I picked up the boat in front of me, took three rapid steps to get up a running start, and chucked it at Technomancer. He tried to dodge, but Kineticog's shield zipped over to intercept it—

—Just as I'd planned. I used the distraction to put a beanbag round into Technomancer's chest. He bounced off the wall and fell from the air, knocking over some loaded shelves.

A blue bolt from Hatman's cane struck me in the side, spinning me around. The forcefield crackled, and sparked. Whatever the energy was, it wasn't something the field could block.

“And now to cut yer out of there!”

Kineticog's gears flew loose from shield form, and whirred towards me as I struggled upright, blue balls of energy sparking away from me and spinning across the shop. The gears abruptly rebounded as they hit my force field, and I felt a small bit of heat rise up. He hadn't gone in with lethal force, but if he escalated... I had to end this.

I tried to kick in the gravitics, and they sputtered. The blue bolt had scrambled them... temporarily, I hoped, or it'd be a long way home. So instead I ran, zig-zagged away from a third bolt, and ignored the tiny cogs bouncing off my forcefield. He was slowly escalating the force of things, and he could hit me easily. I took cover behind the tugboat, looked around for something I could use... and my eyes fell upon the hydrofoil hanging above us.

Perfect.

I started slinging coilgun spike rounds that way, and Hatman's yell told me they'd noticed my efforts. Kineticog cursed and I heard his gears grind as he backed out of the building, just as I managed to finally hit one of the chains holding the hydrofoil up. The chain snapped, the entire boat groaned with the stress of metal as it shifted, and the cradle around it burst, raining pieces down upon us. I turned off my force field and pulled myself onto the deck of the tugboat, trusting my armor, and was vindicated as small bits of the cradle ricocheted off me. The central mass dropped towards Hatman, who dropped his cane and dove aside.

I leaped at him, caught his cape with a gauntlet, and pulled him down. I crouched over him as metal bars, chains, and fragments of cradle rained down upon me, clanging off the armor.

As I stared into his eyes, he blinked and opened his mouth in a sneer. “You think you've won?”

I put my right hand on his chest, as the last few bits of the cradle settled. “ACTUALLY, YES.”

I fired the stungun, and he danced and jittered, drumming his heels on the floor. After a second he went limp.

And then he disappeared. One second he was there, the next I was sagging forward, my hand hitting the floor unimpeded. The only thing left behind was his top hat... I spared his cane a glance, but that was gone too.

I looked up, and thank heavens I did, because a manhole cover-sized gear was flying straight at me. I rolled with the hit, and still felt my armor warm to uncomfortable levels of heat. Time to get out of view of the doorway.

A groan to my back, and I saw Technomancer was struggling to rise, trying to get the shelf pinning him off his legs. I jogged that way and he looked around, tried to bring his big gun around, but was a shade too slow. I kicked it aside and he raised his hands. I hauled him out with my left hand, turned, and walked back towards the loading dock doorway.

“AND NOW WE'RE DONE,” I said. “YOU'RE DOWN TO ONE, AND—”

I walked straight into the blue blast, and saw Hatman standing in the entrance of the dock. He was unharmed and grinning. His top hat was gone, but otherwise he looked unruffled. That was all I had time to see before I went ass over teakettle, losing Technomancer in the process. I hit the wall, and the heat rose to simmering levels as I bounced. Hated to do it, but I canceled the forcefield. It was that or bake at the next hit. And as small gears zagged out and started scraping at my armor, I knew I had made the right choice. Not that it'd be much comfort, if they managed to keep grinding.