Oh he had passed the trials to become a full fledged member of the Couriers, but that did not mean his fellow Delaque were bound to treat him much differently. After three years of being a full member he had not moved beyond being considered anything more than a juve. He had been assigned to keep tabs on the gang’s stock yard holdings. In this case it was a small processing plant that kept tab on a herd of twenty sump cattle. It was considered to be a step up from working the mushroom fields, but Logan did not see it all that differently.
He still had shovel slop, he was still treated like dung by all his neighbors, and he was always left behind when the gang went out. He was given marginal respect by those at the slaughter house, he was a gang member after all, but it was in name only.
Logan paced up and down the meat locker. With the dome being so close to the outer wall the heating systems were marginal at best. It was a simple matter to simply shut of the air handlers all together to keep the air temperatures cooler than the surrounding area. The fungus that grew on the walls served to renew what little oxygen that was required, as well as the phosphorus light that cast an eerie red glow on the hanging carcasses. It was a good place to get alone and clear his head – despite the stench that permeated everything. And today he needed to get his thoughts together.
‘They’re never going to trust me,’ Logan thought to himself. ‘With the exception of Lusion none of them even talk to me.’ Logan had reached the end of the row and turned back around to head back the other way.
‘I think I need to strike out on my own,’ he pondered. ‘At least I would know where I really stood.’
A loud explosion shook the floor beneath him almost knocking him to his knees. Logan instinctively drew his semi-automatic and headed out onto the factory floor.
As Logan emerged from the meat locker he looked around. Several muscle-bound Goliaths were moving around, shooting factory workers indiscriminately.
“AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
Logan spun on his heals. A Savage bald headed Goliath was charging down on him, a massive two handed hammer poised over his left shoulder, yelling at the top of his lungs.
Logan threw his arms up, one in a vain attempt to stop the swing of the bludgeon, the other to bring his pistol to bear. Without thought his finger was squeezing the trigger as fast as the muscles could twitch. Several of the rounds struck home but the man did not even flinch as the hammer began its arc.
The last thing Logan remembered before everything went black was the sensation of sailing through the air. Not the actual impact of the Goliath’s weapon that sent him flying, but the sensation of weightlessness.
-=-=-=O=-=-=-
At the edge of the fog that clouded his mind Logan could hear the roar of insesent gun fire. With each staccato his head threatened to explode in pain. Slowly the clouds cleared enough for him to look around.
His hands and feet were bound with some kind of cord, and he was draped across someone’s shoulder. As his mind cleared he realized that the pain was not restricted to his head, his entire torso throbbed in unison with the pulses coursing through his brain.
“Dem Delaques sure can’t take their lumps.”
The source of the voice came from some where beyond his view.
“Scar says his boys have crushed da so called Couriers in his sector too.”
Logan craned his head to try and see who it was that was talking, but all he could see was the muscle bound back of whoever carried him like a sack of feed.
“Hey Largo, looks like that whelp your carrying is stirring.”
Logan felt his bearer spin slightly, first one way, then the other, in an attempt to look at Logan. It only made Logan’s head and body ache more.
“Where ya trying to go runt?”
Logan felt the voice rumble through his host. He could only groan in reply. Both of the Goliath laughed at Logan’s obvious discomfort.
“This should make you more comfortable.”
Logan felt the man whose shoulders he was slung across, shift his weight and then lunge backwards, slamming Logan against a bulkhead.
‘Strange,’ he thought to himself. ‘That should have hurt.’ And then the blanket of darkness washed over him again.
-=-=-=O=-=-=-
“Scar says this runt ain’t worth nothin’ to the guilders.”
As Logan’s mind began to rouse him from unconsciousness it also let him know that he was in a lot of pain. This time he didn’t try to look at who ever was talking. Instead he used the pain in his body to perform a mental inventory of what was still there. It was then he realized that he could not feel his arms and he almost panicked, but a line of pain across his back made him realize it was just because they were draped around a pole, which in turn was being used to hold him in a semi-upright position.
“Yea, but look at ‘im. He ain’t gonna be much use to us in da mines either.” A second voice chimed from somewhere else in the room.
“Well, he’ll either bulk up real quick, or we ain’t gotta worry about him escapin’ no more.”
The two men erupted in laughter. Logan’s head just swam, almost like it was no longer attached to his body.
Just as the darkness threatened to envelop him once more the door to the room burst in and fell off of its hinges. Logan struggled to raise his head and see what was happening.
Two men, two Delaques he had never seen before, burst through the door. One held a shotgun braced against his hip, the other had a plasma rifle pulled up into his shoulder. Both men were sending shot after shot through the air, and Logan could hear the grunts of his captors as they were both hit several times.
Logan’s mind had not yet grasped what was happening and he stared almost through his rescuers as the one with the plasma gun shouldered his weapon and knelt down next to him, while the man with the shotgun spun around to cover the doorway.
The man now kneeling next to him was speaking, Logan knew this because he could see the man’s mouth moving, but it was as if his voice was from a far off distance and lagged a half second behind.
“Lusion sent us to get you. He’s right out side.”
With considerable effort Logan nodded in reply while the man cut the cords that held his arms in place. Once the cords snapped Logan fell to his knees, and almost toppled over onto his face.
As the blood rushed back into his arms they screamed in pain. ‘Yup, they’re still there,’ Logan said to himself. He was still too incoherent for his mind to engage his mouth to release the scream that was now running through his brain.
Reaching down with one arm Logan’s rescuer now supported him as he practically carried him out of the room, with the shotgun wielding rescuer leading the way.
Just as the men had said Lusion stood on the other side of the door with a bolt pistol held at arms length in each hand, one in either direction.
“We need to get out of here, NOW! Blowing the door like that has probably drawn some unwanted attention, and we are in no position to hold these muscle brains off for very long.”
Lusion had a concerned look in his face as he looked at Logan.
“Here’s your stubber kid,” Lusion said as he handed Logan his familiar semi-automatic pistol. It felt incredibly heavy in his hands. “I’ve got your heirloom waiting for you back at out new home.” And with a final pat on his shoulder Lusion yelled for them to go.
Half walking, half being dragged, Logan followed the two other men down a short hallway, and then out into a familiar looking courtyard. Unceremoniously Logan was dumped over a short wall of a fountain, and then followed by the other two.
“Alright, down you go,” the man with the shotgun said as he hefted off a small grate in the bottom of the fountain. Logan looked down and groaned. This was not going to be easy.
-=-=-=O=-=-=-
“They’re all gone Logan.”
Logan tried to wrap his mind around what Lusion was trying to tell him.
“The ‘Iron Mandibles’ wiped the ‘Couriers’ out, we are all that is left Logan.”
Logan looked around the room. Lusion had introduced them all to him.
Shade, the Plasma Gun wielder, was the sole remaining tech. Yaris sported a lasgun and didn't talk much. Bartol seemed to revere his Shotgun, which he kept immaculate. That left Lusion, who Logan had known forver, and himself.
Five men. Only five. Out of, how many? The Couriers had once been at least forty strong, and now this was all that was left.
“And we have been forced down here,” Logan finally replied.
“These tunnels have served us for a long time. Krav never kept any maps of them, and he was careful to not use them very often. We should be safe down here,” Lusion said as he walked over to a corner where the small pile of the gangs precious belongings were stacked. “I believe you are going to want this before we begin to rebuild.
Lusion pulled out a sheathed sword from the pile. Logan’s mind flashed back to when he first found it after his mother’s death. As Lusion handed him the heirloom Logan ran his hands over the scabbard, feeling the ancient kill markings his mother had marked on it. With one hand he pulled the blade free from its home to look on the blade. The ancient letters etched into the steel almost cried out to him. “Death comes swiftly,” Logan said quietly to himself.
“Yes it does,” Lusion said, interrupting his thoughts. “And that is exactly what the ‘Tunnel Rats’ are going to inflict upon her enemies.”
-=-=-=O=-=-=-
