DIRE : BORN (The Dire Saga Book 1) (29 page)

I glanced around, saw Kineticog peeking in through the side of the doorway. Glanced to the side, and saw Technomancer down. The blue energy hadn't done him good, either.

Well. Time to test a theory. I aimed the coilgun at Kineticog, and started pelting him with beanbags. Sure enough he formed the shield again. And sure enough, the smaller gears stopped grinding against me. He could do a lot with those gears, but he had to see what he was doing. Effective though his shield was, it blocked his sight while it was up.

When Hatman leveled the cane at me again, I swung my left hand up.

And I triggered the flamethrower.

A blast of flaming jelly roared forth to the side of Hatman and he screamed and backed away. He ran away from it, grabbing his hat from the ground before ending up backed against the tugboat. I advanced through the flames as the jelly on the floor burned, and the bit that had caught the side of the loading dock ignited the old wood. Kineticog lowered his shield, blanched, and started to point toward me.

FOOMP!

He brought the shield back up before I could beanbag him, but that wasn't the point. It had been a distraction so I could charge Hatman.

As I did, Hatman jammed his hat on his head, muttered something, and threw it down. But by then I was at him, slamming my fist into his shoulder and pushing him back against the boat. With my other one I grabbed his cane before he could raise it. He flinched back, then looked to my side and grinned. “Ah ah ah...”

I glanced that way and did a double take. There was another Hatman there, leveling his cane at me and grinning! “Checkmate, m'dear.” He advised.

“IS IT?” I wondered. “THEN SHOOT.”

He blinked, and I saw his grin hesitate for a second.  He twisted a gear on the side of the cane, and the electricity humming along the side built. “I've just amped it up. The shots before? They only knocked you around. But this should kill you, fry you in your armor.”

“YES. BUT WHAT OF YOU?”

“Gone like the wind, like the last one of me you took out. I'll recover.” But there was a tense note in his voice.

Small gears came into my field of vision, and I shook my head. “NOPE. TOUCH DIRE WITH THOSE AND ALL AROUND HER BURN.”

I turned my attention back to the Hatman in my hands.

“IT'S DUPLICATION, ISN'T IT? ONE DUPLICATE AT A TIME.”

“You're close.” He smiled.

“BUT YOU'RE NOT WEARING THE HAT NOW, ARE YOU? THE HAT'S PART OF THE PROCESS. YOU NEED IT ON THE DUPLICATE.”

His smile flickered. “Interesting idea.”

“YES. IF IT'S CORRECT, THEN THAT MAKES YOU THE ORIGINAL.”

He twitched, and I continued. “YOU WERE SITTING OUTSIDE, LETTING THE DUPLICATE DO THE DIRTY WORK. BUT YOU WERE A LOT MORE CAREFUL WHEN YOU CAME IN THE SECOND TIME AROUND. SO IF DIRE KILLS YOU NOW...”

“Do it and yer dead,” Kineticog threatened.

“LADYBUG LADYBUG, FLY AWAY HOME. LOOK AT THIS FIRE? YOU THINK YOUR PROTECTION RACKET WILL WORK AFTER THIS? NOT TO MENTION THE LOSS OF TWO OF YOUR GANG? AND THAT'S ASSUMING YOU CAN TAKE DIRE ON YOUR LONESOME. THAT IS NOT A GOOD ASSUMPTION. THAT IS IN FACT A BIG. FAT. MISTAKE.”

Hatman coughed. “So. Where does that leave us?”

“THAT DEPENDS. ARE YOU THE STEAMPUNKS THAT ARE GIVING THE BLACK BLOODS SUCH TROUBLE IN THE NORTHWEST?” I'd remembered the conversation with Agent Kingsley back at the hospital.

He blinked at me, cautious. But there was a touch of hope in his eyes. “We are. What of it?”

“DIRE FIGHTS THEM IN THE EAST.”

“Wait. Wait wait wait. Yer the Scrap Queen of the Shanty Town?” Kineticog asked. “The one what did for Stig? The Hoodied Vengeance?”

“NEWS TRAVELS FAST.”

“We've got a friend who's a regular gossip fiend,” Hatman said. “Well. This perhaps changes things.”

“IT DOES.” I released him. This was a gamble, but it was worth it. “WOULD YOU BE OPEN TO AN ALLIANCE?”

“I, um.” He straightened his tuxedo where I'd mauled it. “I can put it before the group, but I have to tell you, and I do hope this won't resume hostilities, that the answer is probably going to be no.”

“DIRE WON'T RESUME HOSTILITIES.” The alternate lowered his cane. He started looking around, went and pulled a fire extinguisher off the wall, and hosed down the flames on the wooden part of the building.

“Good. Sweet Jesus yer terrifying,” Kineticog said, as he hopped off the gear platform and moved toward Technomancer.

I watched him go. “OH?”

“Well, it's more than the voice, or the scarred black armor, or the creepy mask... No offense,” said Hatman. “You don't fight quite right. We were expecting a typical costume fight, heavy on the posturing, shows of power, maybe a big flashy attack or two. Well, you did that last one, but you fight like you're military, or something. I was honestly fearing for my life, there, and I don't mind telling you that.”

I filed that away for later thought. “DIRE'S BEEN UP TO HER ELBOWS IN BLACK BLOODS, SO HER TECHNIQUE MAY BE A LITTLE RUTHLESS,” I admitted.

“Ah. Anyone ever tell you of the unwritten rules?”

“ONCE. WAS A BIT BUSY AT THE TIME. SHE'S LEARNED A FEW TRICKS FROM YOU, AS WELL. SO, NO ALLIANCE?”

“As I said, probably not,” Hatman crossed his arms. “We're up against Barbatos, and sweet Babbage it's taking all we've got to hold him back. He fights like you do. Fast, nasty, and with brutal tactics. If we didn't have a healer, we'd have taken losses already. Truth of the matter is that we're more of a smash-and-grab villain group. You know, heists, raids, that sort of thing. The only reason we took the contract is due to dumptrucks full of money from the local businesses. That, and some of us are rather attached to the area, and whine like babies whenever the rest of us bring up the sensible notion of cutting and running.” He glared at Technomancer's unconscious form, as Kineticog placed him on the geared apparatus.

I nodded. “ALL RIGHT. WELL, DIRE DOES NEED THAT BARREL OF SEALANT OVER THERE. SHE WAS BEING QUITE HONEST WITH AN OFFER OF PAYMENT.”

Hatman shrugged. “Eh, keep the money. We'll tell Mr. Fitzroy that we took the barrel as hazard pay for stopping the fire.”

I nodded, moved over to the barrel, keeping an eye on them as I did so.

“HERE'S A QUESTION; WOULD YOU BE OPEN TO DOING SOMETHING AGAINST THE BLACK BLOODS FOR PAY?”

“It'd have to be a ton of dosh, lady,” said Kineticog. “You at least pulled some punches. The Bloods don't.”

“MMM. WHERE CAN SHE CONTACT YOU ONCE SHE SECURES SUFFICIENT FUNDS?”

“My card.” Hatman flipped one out of his sleeve, grinned, and put it on a box. “I believe we're done here?”

“CERTAINLY.”

The two of them withdrew with their downed comrade. I gave them a few minutes to get clear, before popping out of the armor and checking the gravitic system over. After a few diagnostics, I was satisfied. The weak force pathways would need repolarizing once I got back to my tools, but if I took it slow I could get home without too much trouble.

I walked to the doorway, glanced around outside, and found no one waiting in ambush. Heading back to the barrel, I scooped it up and flew east.

CHAPTER 17: Brown is the new Black

“Oh yeah, them. It was before my time, y'know? Way they tell it, the Steampunks started out as a bunch of Graveyard Gang groupies. Dressed all in thrift store black, got tats, called themselves the Goths. But they were total dweebs back then, started ruining the Gang's image. So Grim had Deadweight haul them in for a talk. Scared them straight, more or less. They changed their image, moved to a different part of the city, and voila, the Goths became the Steampunks. They're still dweebs, but I guess they've learned to be a little less incompetent, now that Molly's in charge.”

--Part of a recorded conversation between MRB agent codename Rook and Graveyard Gang villain Whippoorwill during Agent Rook's 5
th
kidnapping, casefile G124029-10

It took half an hour to get back to the camp. My gravitics were good for short flights, so I took a wide detour around the tall towers in the center of the route. Best to avoid any more gunshots from that quarter. The last thing I wanted was a hole in the barrel I'd fought so hard to retrieve.

The Steampunks weren't like the other costumes I'd met. Once I'd knocked the fight out of them and confirmed our mutual enmity against the Bloods, they'd been polite. Even friendly. I had the feeling that if they'd managed to come out ahead in the fight, I would have walked out of there with my life.

Compared and contrasted to my encounter with Ballista, the difference was fairly stark. Mind you, Ballista had gone off under the impression that I'd murdered his mentor. Which, admittedly, I had. But I remembered those steely fingers around my arm, and the fading ring of bruises where Scrapper had tried to snap me like a stick of rotten wood. Whatever they'd done to him had killed him long before we got there. Perhaps literally, if he had been a draugr under there. The Black Bloods were responsible for putting me in a situation where it was his life or mine.

Ballista had turned up later out of guilt but departed just as quickly after Tugs' execution. He'd written off helping the camp full of civilians further, because of
moral reasons
. Whereas the Steampunks had declined my offer due to an unwillingness to take the risk. I couldn't deny that of the two sides, I had more sympathy for the Steampunks.

And Tomorrow Force? They hadn't even shown. Off chasing shadows, while good people died. I felt disgust, and banished it as I thought on the problem at hand.

We needed allies. That was what it came down to. I couldn't offer Ballista anything he wanted short of vengeance upon me, but maybe I could scare up enough money to hire the Steampunks.

My mind snapped back to the present, as I wound through the last line of buildings and saw a bulky shape on the beach. I paused, zoomed in with the mask's vision, and relaxed. It was the APC from last night. The turret was missing, with a tarp thrown over the spot where it had been, but people were walking around it without much concern. A quick search around the camp revealed several figures with blue jackets, and I recognized Bunny, the Militiawoman who had backed me up in the APC fight. She was squatting and talking with Minna, drawing on the white-speckled sand with a stick.

I flew in, glancing at the overpass as I did so, and Abernathy raised her hand from where she was prowling among the still cars. I noticed that she'd tagged some of them with red paint.

As I touched down on the beach, letting my sputtering gravitics finally rest, people moved toward me with visible relief. Roy was the first to reach me, and he looked at the barrel with curiosity.

Then he shrugged. “Feller named Carson is back. Martin and Sparky's talkin' with him in the laundry tent now. We, ah, ain't told him about Khalid's deal.”

“PROBABLY WISE.” If Khalid wanted them to know, he'd tell them. If their stock in trade was information, they might know already.

“GO TELL GUZMAN THAT THIS BARREL'S THE STUFF HE WANTED, ALL RIGHT? AND IF IT'S NOT, DIRE NEEDS TO KNOW IMMEDIATELY.”

Roy nodded. “All right. Watch yer step an' I'll do the same.” He hurried off, and I headed to the laundry tent, ducking my head to step inside. I didn't want to decant out of the armor around the Midtown Militia, wasn't ready to show that gesture of trust quite yet. Perhaps in time.

I found Sparky leaning forward in his chair and talking with Carson. Their voices were low, and they stopped as soon as I entered. From the wall where he was leaning, Martin cracked a grin. “The prodigal Dire returns.”

“ANYTHING SHE SHOULD KNOW?”

“They're keeping your machinegun.”

“Hey.” The fat man raised his hands. “Honestly, it wouldn't be much help to you. Those things are a bitch to use unless you're trained.”

“IT WAS STILL A PART OF THE VEHICLE THAT DIRE REQUESTED YOU RETURN TO HER,” I noted. “WHY DID YOU EXTRACT THAT WEAPON?”

His face colored a bit. I got the feeling that people didn't often talk to him in that manner.

“First off, we lost people supporting you with that, so I don't give a red fuck if you called dibs. Second off, we'll have a use for it soon. Turns out Stig was a pretty key part of the Black Bloods' Downtown defenses. They're crumbling now, and the Kriegers are pushing in. Guess who's holding the line there.”

“The cops, I bet. With your asses trying to look like you're doing something worth a damn.” Martin sneered.

Carson stood up, so fast that the chair fell out from under him. “I don't like the tone of your voice.”

“EASY,” I told them. “IF YOU WISH TO KEEP THE WEAPON, THAT IS ACCEPTABLE. FOR NOW. THE REST OF THE VEHICLE IS INTACT?” The gun was a secondary concern. The vehicle itself... Possibilities there. I tried not to drool, and thanked heaven for my mask. No wonder so many costumes wore them.

Carson calmed himself and picked up the chair, before settling back into it. “Oh yeah. We even hosed out the back of it for you. Sweet Jesus, those draugr are horrible.”

“YOU KNEW WHAT THEY WERE, THEN.”

He paused, with his mouth half open for a second. “Ah. Yeah.”

“YOU COULD HAVE SHARED THAT BEFORE WE ENGAGED THEM.” I remarked, making a show of studying the fingers of my right hand. “HAD TO SWITCH TACTICS TO PROPERLY DEAL WITH THOSE THINGS.”

“Truth of the matter is,” he spoke, “we didn't think they'd be deploying those things here. They usually only bust them out against major opposition.”

“FIFTEEN OF YOUR MEN AND DIRE WEREN'T MAJOR OPPOSITION?”

He scowled. “They shouldn't have known about us helping you. You might want to check your camp, it's possible you have a leak.”

“Also possible it's on your side,” Martin said. Carson flushed again.

“MARTIN. YOU ARE BEING VERY RUDE TO OUR GUEST.”

He snorted. “You missed our shouting matches earlier, when he tried to get me to leave the room. That was fun times.”

“AT ANY RATE, IT'S IMPEDING PROGRESS. CARSON, WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT THE STATE OF THE BLACK BLOODS NOW? WHAT FURTHER HELP CAN YOU OFFER? IN THIS MATTER?”

If we could get more reinforcements from the Militia, we stood a chance of fending the Bloods off. They didn't have infinite resources or people, and they were down half of their leadership.

But Carson was silent, and I felt my heart sink as I finally glanced back to him.

He sighed, and looked away from my gaze. “Things have changed. The Kriegers are pushing up, like I said, and we lost good men and women during that raid. We didn't expect a riot truck.”

“YOU OFFERED AID THE LAST TWO TIMES YOU APPROACHED.”

“I know. Munin feels horrible about it. We're trying to pull in contacts, get you reinforcements from the spandex side of things, but Ballista's saying some pretty ugly things about you.”

“WHO CARES?” I raised a hand, palm up. “REGARDLESS OF DIRE, THERE ARE INNOCENTS IN THIS CAMP. SCORNING IT BECAUSE OF HER MERELY DOOMS THEM.”

He rubbed his forehead with a jacket sleeve. “I know, but... it's complicated. Heroes walk this fine line, y'see. A lot of them won't kill to begin with, and with the Black Bloods it's kill or be killed a lot of the time.”

“Seems to me I got over that in '44.” Sparky spoke up for the first time. “Nazis didn't exactly pull no punches, neither.”

Carson shut up, and the wind whistled outside.

“IF DIRE DEPARTED, WOULD HEROES PROTECT THE CAMP?”

Martin whipped his head around to stare at me, eyes wide. “What? Shit, no, that's a bad fuckin' idea—”

Carson was shaking his head, too. He pushed a hand toward Martin, and cut him off. “I can't guarantee it. There's a lot of trouble going down throughout the city, and not enough heroes to go around. Much as a lot of them would like to—”

“Oh. Fuckin' beautiful,” Martin snapped. “Bet Pyre Hill don't have no problems getting' patrolled each night.”

Carson rolled his eyes. “Yeah. The Torchbearers are busy keeping the SCK from grabbing that turf. You remember those guys? Those guys you helped set up into a drug empire?”

“Fuck you, man!”

“ENOUGH!” I didn't have to amp it up much, and both of them flinched as I stepped between them.

“CARSON. GIVE MUNIN DIRE'S THANKS FOR YOUR HELP TO DATE, AND HER REGRET THAT BRAVE PEOPLE DIED BEFORE SHE COULD GET THERE.”

He nodded, and I turned to Martin. “WE HAVE MUCH TO PREPARE, AND IT'S TIME TO TALK RESOURCES. AFTER CARSON LEAVES, STICK AROUND. YOUR HELP WILL BE NECESSARY.”

He smirked. “You heard the lady. Get gone.”

Carson ignored him and rose. He nodded to me, stuck out a hand. I took it as gingerly as the gauntlets would allow. My synch was still off, and I didn't want to crush his bones. I managed a shake with nobody getting maimed out of the deal.

“You've got our flaregun, still?” Carson asked. I looked to Martin, who nodded.

“YES.”

He stopped for a moment, considered me. “Bunny asked if she could stay behind when we leave. Maybe train some of your people, help them with learning their guns.”

I nodded. “ACCEPTABLE TO DIRE.”

“All right. Take care of her, huh? Got enough funerals in the days to come. Don't need another. Especially not her.” His face twisted, and I nodded again. He left without another word.

Sparky watched him go, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes squinted. Martin took Carson's chair after the tent flaps closed, putting his feet up on a washing tub. “Shit. Sorry, the guy was pushing my buttons.”

I pulled the release on the armor and stepped out of it, smoothing down my undershirt and pants as I went. Fights were sweaty affairs. I pulled up a chair myself, relaxed into it, and looked at Martin. “So. Let's talk money.”

“You want me to show you the money, honey?”

I barked laughter. That had been the Goldigger's catchphrase, in that smackbrawl show we'd watched. The flaxen-haired harridan had indeed taken home the gold that night.

“Perhaps some explanation,” I sniffed, as I rubbed my grinning face. I had needed that laugh. “Dire ran into the Steampunks to the west of here. It was a pretty good fight, but they relented once Dire had them in a bad position. We discussed our mutual enmity with the Black Bloods, and—”

“Wait. Steampunks. Plural. You took on the Steampunks and
won
?”

“Well, only three of them. Hatman Deux, Technomancer, and Kineticog.”

“Jesus. You okay?”

“Armor's a little banged up. Listen, they're fighting the Black Bloods right now. They're doing it because the locals are paying them to do it. Dire offered an alliance, to put pain on the Black Bloods, and they were disinterested.”

“Smart.”

“But they did imply that they would help out for a
lot
of money.”

“I take that 'smart' comment back.”

“Dire's got this.” I dug into my armor's storage compartment, dug out the remainder of my cash. About four-thousand, give or take. I riffled it out, and he looked it over, nodded. “It's a start. But for hiring them? For that? Nah. Gonna need some more zeroes.”

I nodded. “Which is why she's asking you about money.”

His eyes shifted, as comprehension dawned. “Ah. Huh. Well, shit.” He gnawed his lips. “I got maybe six grand here. The rest is... tied up.”

“Tied up? Where?”

“Business I'm in, you don't keep much on you at once. Investments elsewhere, some of it. And product is costly so most of it's in that form right now. Oh, and bribes to the local asshole cops. And the part I pay for the camp.”

“It's that costly?”

“We built shacks and been squatting on a public bench for years without being kicked off. You think that comes cheap?” Then the rest of his statement sunk in.

“Wait, you're bribing the cops? Why are they doing the Black Bloods' work, then?”

“I'm small potatoes. Bloods prob'ly made them a better offer. Or threatened them. Or both. Dunno if you noticed, but those fuckers are a little scarier than me. And they got a vampire. Fuck a duck, they got a vampire!” He threw his arms up. “The hell we supposed to do about that? I did not sign up for this Bram Stoker shit!”

“Well, we've got an alchemist, at least. One that's good at fighting vampires— and doing whatever alchemy is.”