Working Man

“It’s time you started earning your keep kid.”

For a moment Ian just stared at Dyrke, his gang’s leader. Just two days earlier he had quite possibly saved the life of a fellow team member, what more could possibly be expected of him?

“I need you to go upstairs and collect our cut from Chigger, the owner of the Bifrost.”

“But… I’m barely out of the trials… and I need to keep an eye on Rogers.” Ian replied.

“You need to do what I tell you to do kid. You’ve passed the trials and you’re a full member of this team now. I appreciate your kissing Roger’s boo-boo but if you don’t get a move on before I shove a boot up your fore-quarter contact I’ll get me someone who’ll follow orders and you’ll be back out on the streets. You get me?”

Ian nodded his head, picked up his kit bag, and rushed pass Dyrke who was still standing in the doorway of his room. He had not intended to come across so insubordinate. It was just that he was still trying to gauge his place within the gang and collecting of protection money from the Bifrost definitely felt above his station. He had not even seen combat with the team yet. Well, not counting the retreat from the hive wall a couple days back. But that would come, he was sure of that.

“Hey kid!”

Ian turned around to see Rogers walking up the passageway towards him.

“You should still be resting. That was no carrion bat sting.”

“I’m alright… now. I just wanted to thank you. I want you to have this.” In Rogers’ outstretched hand he held a lasgun by the barrel.

Ian’s eyes widened. This is no clumsy shotgun or autogun. This was tech, and he preferred tech. “I… I couldn’t… that’s your rifle. I’ll earn my own.”

“That’s just it kid,” a second voice came from behind Rogers. It was Dyrke. “You have earned it. Rogers here has been thinking about swapping out his weapons for some time anyway.

“And I wanted to thank you for patching me up,” Rogers added.

Ian accepted the offered weapon. Emotions ran rampant, but pride was the most predominant. Looking back up to Rogers, “I don’t know what to say. Thanks.”

“No kid, thank you for patching me up.”

“You need to change uniforms too.” Dyrke tossed a blue, grey, and black pixeled bodysuit past Rogers at Ian. “Now you best get a move on before my boot catches up with you!”

Ian couldn’t help but smile as he turned. He stuffed the bodysuit into his kitbag, and slung his new lasgun over his shoulder. He felt like he belonged now.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The Bifrost was quiet. At least quieter than the last time he had been here. There was no band playing in the back and the video monitors were black. The patrons that were there barely looked up from their drinks or conversations. Walking up to the bar Ian called out, “Barkeep! Where can I find Chiggers?”

A bald head with dark goggles popped up from behind the bar. The man wore a vest akin to what House Orlock might wear and a Van Saar cybernetic hand held a hefty stub gun. Dropping the pistol heavily on top of the bar he leaned forward.

“What do you want?” The man was more articulate than Ian anticipated.

“Dyrke sent me to see Chigger. I need to make a collection.”

“You‘re not sporting Dyrke’s colors, and I’ve not seen you around here before.”

“Are you going to take me to see the man or not?” Ian was beginning to get irritated.

“I cannot just take anyone to see the man. Prove to me you speak for Dyrke and his team and I will take you to see Chigger personally.”

Ian pulled out the new bodysuit and held it up. “Are you satisfied?”

The bartender was about to argue some more when he caught sight of Dyrke standing in the shadows behind Ian. Dyrke just nodded and the man’s resistance faded.

“Alright kid, follow me.”

The barkeep led Ian up a small spiral staircase behind the bar which led to a trapdoor. Beyond the door was small office with windows that held a commanding view of the bridge’s ‘common area’. The furnishings were sparse but business like. A small desk with a data terminal (inferior Delaque design Ian thought to himself), a bookcase filled mostly with odds and ends, and a small safe, but no one else but the two of them.

“Where’s Chigger?” Ian demanded.

“You’re looking at him kid. Wait right there.” Chigger stepped around the desk, and knelt next to the small safe. Once he was sure he sufficiently blocked Ian’s view he turned the dial. With a creak the small hefty door opened up. Chigger pulled out a small bag and shut the door.

Tossing the bag across the desk Chigger said, “Here you go kid. It was a pretty decent week, but you need to let Dyrke know. The Black Cats have been making noise again. Fushia’s telling me she can take better care of the trash.”

Ian turned to leave. “Thanks Chigger, I’ll let him know. Wait… what do you mean?”

“I mean that the Black Cats are telling me that they are looking to make a change around here, and you and Dyrke’s boys are standing in their way. You get me?”

Ian nodded and then left the room. His mind was deep in thought about what Chigger had told him when he bumped into a woman as they both crossed the floor, an amazing feat considering the sparse clientele present.

“Watch where you’re going!”

Ian stepped back. He recognized the woman from somewhere. She was almost a full two meters tall and wore a ponytail tied tight that swept up and back – dyed a deep green. Her eyes glared and her face was taut. She didn’t look like she wanted to chat.

“It’s a big room. You should have been more careful.”

The woman snarled and moved her right foot back and out while reaching for the pommels of two very fine looking swords over her shoulders. Although neither ganger noticed, the conversation in the room ceased as all attention was drawn to the pair.

“Not in here you don’t Jade!” Chigger said as he entered the room, and emphasized his point by chambering a round in his shotgun.

“Easy Chigger, I was just going to teach this boy some manners.”

The woman splayed her fingers wide to demonstrate she was standing down. She slowly lowered her arms and began to move across the floor once more. As she did so she intentionally drew close to Ian and whispered only loud enough for him to hear.

“Your time is drawing to a close around here Van Saar. Scurry on your way now.”

Ian stood his ground so that she could not help but bump into his shoulder as she passed. He did not move. Not even to watch the tall woman leave the Bifrost. His heart was pounding in his chest, and he could feel his hands beginning to sweat. Glancing down at his hands he headed on out. He wanted to get back to Dyrke and report this. It looked like the Black Cats were taking aim at their territory.

Back from the Brink

“Get up Ian! Dyrke’s been hit!”

Ian fought to clear the fog from his brain. His body was bone tired and his mind was a complete blank. Oh the man now standing over him, handing him his tool kits, was loud enough – but he could not quite wrap his mind around who was yelling at him or where he currently was. As he stood up Ian took the offered tool kits.

“Come on kid!”

The caller was spattered with blood. His name… what is his name? Katan, his name is Katan.

“Wh…where is he?,” was all Ian could manage to say.

Katan darted out of the room and Ian jogged after him. It was all coming back to him. Dyrke, the trials, his completion of the test… he had become a member of one of the gangs. Ian picked up his pace.

As Ian turned the last corner he ran into the back of Boanerges nearly barreling him over. As he slipped in between the Van Saar heavy and Katan he saw Dyrke sitting on the edge of a table holding a bandage over his left shoulder. His bodysuit was covered in blood but he seemed alert. Ian dropped his tool kit on the table next to his new leader and reached for the bandage.

“Not me kid. I’ll be ok. Go take care of Rogers over there.”

Ian turned around. Lying on top of the table was Rogers, obviously in pain. Cacee struggled to calm the man down. Blood was everywhere and for all the man’s struggles it only made it worse.

As he stepped up next to the table Ian could see that Roger’s lips were a light shade of blue. If he could not get adequate air flow restored the man would die. When Roger’s arched his back trying to draw a breath Ian noticed the bullet wound. An ugly hole, with white foam, was evident on the left side of the chest.

“I need a sheet of plastic!”

Nobody moved.

“Katan! Run back to my room. There’s a small pack of food. Get it and bring it back! Go!”

Turning back to Rogers Ian calmly stepped between Cacee and the patient. With help the two men sat Rogers up and cut off the rest of the fabric around the wound.

Katan returned with the meal pack and handed it to Ian. He cut open the pack and let the contents spill to the floor. Pulling a small bottle of antiseptic from his tool kit he handed the items to Cacee.

“Cut the plastic so that it is one flat sheet and then clean it with this,” was all he said to his helper. “Rogers, I need you to calm down. All you’re doing right now is bleeding… calm down… that’s it. Look at me… focus.”

When Cacee handed the plastic back to Ian he immediately laid it over the wound site. Rogers winced in pain but sat still.

“Tape!”

Cacee fumbled through the tool kit, the contents of which now lay everywhere, and handed the tape over.

As the Ian taped the piece of plastic in place Roger’s countenance improved and he took a deep breath.

“Easy… lay back down. Can you roll over on your left?”

Rogers moved to roll over but growled in pain. Sending Katan back to his room once more, this time for a pillow or sheets, Ian continued to try and make Rogers comfortable.

“Can you talk?” Ian asked.

“Yea,” Rogers replied in a raspy voice.

“Are you hit anywhere else?”

Rogers just shook his head and took another breath. His lips were now returning to a normal shade.

Katan returned with the sheets and Ian used them to prop up Rogers’ feet, head, and right shoulder.

“I’m all out of pain killers, but you should be ok.”

Turning back to Dyrke, “he needs something more than a band aid.”

Dyrke shook his head, “you’re it kid. Just do the best you can.”

Ian frowned. He was no doctor, and his little tool kit was not even an adequate first aid kit.

“Let me look at your shoulder.”

“Don’t worry about me kid. I’ll be fine.” And with that Dyrke hopped off the table and turned to leave.

“You did good out there kid… and in here. Welcome to the team.” With that Dyrke walked on out.

The fatigue threatened to overtake him once again. “What have I gotten myself into,” Ian asked himself. The rest of the team had followed Dyrke out of the room. Looking back at his patient Ian noticed that he had passed out, but he was breathing ok.

He couldn’t help himself. Clearing off the other table Ian just laid down and fell fast asleep once more.

One of Them

“Come on lad. Dyrke will have my hide if I don’t get you out of the area in one piece.”

Ian’s ears had stopped ringing and the little white dots clung only to the edges of his vision. He shrugged to get the large man to stop long enough so he could stand on his own two feet once more.

“Why did you save me Boanerges?” Ian said as he looked the severely scarred man in the eyes. “I thought this was my test?”

“You made it all the way to the door on your own kid, hell of an effort if I do say so myself.” The Van Saar heavy shifted the heavy machine gun in his hands. Ian could not help but stare at the scar move as the man spoke. “When you went down to your knees I thought you were gone, but you never stopped moving until you reached the door.”

Looking back into the man’s eyes Ian replied, “I don’t remember anything after that slug slammed into this.” Ian held up the nomad rifle he took as proof of his trip. Looking down at the rifle it was a mess. The optics for the scope was smashed out and the firing chamber had a breach where a large caliber slug had tore into it as Ian carried it across his back.

“Hey, all I said was that you had to bring proof of reaching ‘Hell’s Gate’, I never said anything about pissing of any Nomads. They don’t take too kindly to us hivers being out in their turf, not to mention the pilfering of their goods.” The heavy had a gleam in his eyes. He smacked Ian heavily on his shoulders. “You’re good enough for me kid. Just as soon as we get back to the ‘Bifrost’ the first round is on me.”

BAWHOOOM!!!!

The sound of the Nomad demolition charge caused Ian’s ears to ring once more. Dust and metallic chaff filled the small dome. Both Ian and Boanerges regained their feet and looked back for Dyrke and the rest of the team.

Dyrke was standing in the middle of the dust storm that now howled through the breach of the hive wall. “Boanerges, get the kid and Cacee back to the Bifrost. We’ll be along shortly!” And with that he and the other two Van Saar began shooting into the breach.

Cacee’s autogun and Boanerges’ heavy stubber joined the chorus of the battle now being joined.

“Move back kid!”

The heavy motioned his head over his shoulder. Looking down at the obviously useless las pistol in his hands Ian hesitated.

“I said get moving!” and with that the Heavy let loose a long burst from his weapon as if to emphasize his point.

The staccato of gun fire began to increase. The Nomads had started to return fire in an attempt to suppress the Van Saar and gain the breach.

Ian slung his trophy across his back once more. Once he reached the relative safety of the shadows in the back of the dome he stopped. Cacee had joined him and aimed his assault rifle back towards the gaping wound in the hive.

The Nomad return fire was furious and was beginning to overwhelm Dyrke and his fellow defenders. Ian looked through the haze trying to spot any of the rest of the team. Katan had Rogers under his left arm while in his right he braced his autogun. Firing from the hip Rogers kept the Nomads at bay for the moment. With his foot Katan kicked open a grate in the floor and glanced down and seemed to be talking to someone. The man then lowered his cargo as gently as he could, stood back up and let loose with burst after burst from his autogun in all directions, all the while screaming into the wind.

Finally, his ammunition spent, Katan jumped feet first into the hole in the floor.

Once Boanerges saw that the area was clear he also stopped his salvos and turned to leave. Ian watched as the pair of Van Saar fell back in an orderly fashion, not returning fire anymore so as to not give away their avenue of retreat. As he followed the men into the tunnels of Hive: Primus Ian heard the sound of the enemy gun fire slowly abate behind them.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian stumbled as the fatigue of his trials began to take a toll on his body. Muscles ached that he never knew he had and his ribs throbbed from where he took a Delaque knife… when was that? Three or four days ago now?

“Come on kid. Only another half a kilometer and we’ll be back home at the Bifrost.”

Looking up at the grizzled Van Saar Ian was filled with an inward sense of pride. The Heavy had not called him ‘little rat’ and included him as one of them. His new home was now the Bifrost with the rest of the Van Saar gang known as ‘Team Delta’. Ian just prayed that he would never let his new family down.

Finally the Bifrost came into view. Their approach brought them up from the underside of the massive bridge and drinking hole. The chasm it spanned was over twenty meters across and five hundred meters deep. Just like other similar areas of the hive industrious hivers moved in to take advantage of perceived business opportunities. (The Bifrost being one such example.) Make shift lifts adorned the chasm walls. Some linked the bridge area with the floor below, others to mine claims, and yet still more to hab sites that recently started to spring up – all the result of the new trade routes being established between the underhive below and hive city above.

The lifts were all quiet at this time of day. Although the hive factories operated on a full twenty six hour day some sense of normalcy was imposed on the hive. Lights are dimmed for six hours for what is considered the primary rest cycle. Being this close to the edge of civilization meant that things were not always ‘normal’, but even here people tended to retreat indoors during the times of imposed darkness.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The gang’s rooms were slung underneath the bridge. Old long forgotten cargo containers had been lowered and welded to the underside of the bridge with access points to both the drinking hole that they provided protection services for, and the exterior to ensure less observable comings and goings. It was pretty spacious for the underhive, more then a score of rooms and all to themselves.

“Go on ahead. I’ll wait here for Dyrke and the others,” Cacee said.

Ian caught the non-verbal exchange between Cacee and Boanerges. All three of them had seen that one of the team had been injured.

“Come on kid. I’ll show you your new space.”

As the pair climbed the last ladder Ian’s body began to relax. He let the fatigue wash over him and he barely heard the Heavy tell him where his room was. Instead he just walked into the indicated room, set down his gear on a small table, and collapsed into what apparently was his bed.

Sleep took him quickly.

To Hell and Back

Chapter 8 – “To Hell and Back”
Pt. 1

“Your last test is down that tunnel.”

Ian looked down at the hole that was once a sewer access point. “Where’s Boanerges?”

“He will meet you at the other end, and before you ask any more questions, he will address them.”

Without another word Katan turned to leave. Over his shoulder he said, “You did good. If you survive this one you will have earned some respect among the team.”

Ian stared at the Van Saar ganger’s back as he disappeared into the shadows. Calling out into the darkness he yelled, “How am I supposed to recognize him? I’ve never even met the man.”

“You will know him when you see him. He is… unforgettable,” the shadows answered back. Then Ian was left to ponder what lay ahead.

“Nothing to it, but to do it,” he thought to himself. With that he lowered himself into the old sewer drain and turned on his torch.

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

The old sewer line was cramped for the most part but gradually expanded as other feeder lines joined it. Soon Ian was able to stand full upright and straddle, or avoid all together, the trickle of fluorescent sludge as it meandered on its way. There was no light beyond what his little torch could illuminate and despite his best efforts his footsteps echoed.

For over an hour and a half Ian negotiated the tunnel, passing the occasional carcass or warding off a small predator. Finally he reached the end. In the past bars once blocked the opening but now most of them had been cut off for salvage.

Stopping ten meters short of the end Ian listened and try to determine if there was anything laying in wait. The last thing he needed was to get jumped by some predator.

“You might as well come on out ‘little rat’. Your footsteps announced your approach long ago.”

Ian’s shoulder slumped slightly despite his attempts to conceal his disappointment. At least he knew it was not something waiting to eat him for dinner.

A piece of metal still protruded from the ferocrete and he used it to swing clear of the sludge pool that the sewer dumped into. When he landed his left foot landed wrong. To avoid rolling his ankle Ian dropped and was dumped unceremoniously at the feet of a very tall and imposing man.

The first thing Ian noticed where his boots. They were not standard Van Saar issue, solid black; quick-snap buckles along the front, and a solid metal toe. He had seen them once before… where was that? On the Enforcers! His jumpsuit was the same blue, grey, and black pixel pattern as the others on the team he had met. The utility harness was also of Enforcer issue, solid black that held several pouches and a holster that was secured with a strap around his right thigh. The holster contained a pristine Bolt Pistol. Cradled in the man’s arms was the first piece of Van Saar issue equipment he had seen on the man. An air cooled heavy machine gun with bi-pod support with a magazine feed system that was superior to the belt fed models that the other houses seem to favor. Hanging from a pair of straps was a mask that no longer concealed his face. The visage that met Ian’s eyes caused fear to creep into his heart. The left side of the man’s face was gnarled and the skin, if it could be called that, was transparent revealing bone and muscle. Even the eyelid over the left eye revealed what was beneath. Instinctively Ian dropped his eyes to look away.

“Are you just going to lie there, or are you going to get this test over with?” The Van Saar said apparently not taking notice of Ian’s discomfort.

“Right,” Ian said as he stood up. “You must be Boanerges.” Ian stretched forced himself to reach out his hand, but the man ignored it.

“This test is a simple one really. All you have to do is travel to a small trading post known as ‘Hell’s Gate’, and return with evidence of your visit.”

“Ok, so where is this place?”

As if on cue the Van Saar ganger swung open a small service door and said, “Right this way”. Boanerges grunted as a sudden gust of wind grabbed at the door and threatened to pull it out of his grasp. Debris kicked up from the wind smacked against the two men and Ian ducked his head to protect himself.

“What is it?” Ian asked.

“It is the ash wastes... I will await your return here.”

-=-=-=0=-=-=-

“It’s just not natural,” Ian thought to himself. “If man had been meant to live outside the hive he would not need a respirator and goggles to survive.”

The only things to be seen for as far as he was able were dune upon dune of industrial wastes. The constant shifting and affects of toxic rains reduced the resins and polymers to a sand-like consistency. Lifting his eyes the only constant reference point he had was the hive itself. The wind kicked up dust clouds constantly obscuring his vision, cloud cover above swirled caused light levels to change often, and even the ash beneath his feet felt unstable.

“Who could live in this Emperor forsaken place?” Ian thought to himself. The only additional guidance Boanerges gave him before he shut the door, his only way back into the world he knew, was that he had to follow the outer shell of the hive for two kilometers and he would find “Hell’s Gate”. In the hive such a journey could take a person the better part of a day if the paths were difficult; and out here it was impossible to tell how far he had gone or how far there was left.

Dunes shifted seemingly at will. Sludge rivers would appear out of nowhere, meander aimlessly along, and then disappear below the wastes once more. And yet Ian always kept the hive in sight. As if he knew that if he failed to do so this test would prove to be too much.

One stream pushed Ian over five hundred meters from the safety of the hive wall, but just as it dropped below the ash wastes his goal was revealed. At the bottom of a hidden gorge lay a small settlement. On the outskirts lay a small encampment with several small vehicles among the tents. Glancing back Ian looked at the hive once more and then headed down the hill.

The gates were closed up tight as the sun, long not seen through the toxic cloud layer above, had set several hours ago. The camp too was quiet. Ian had detected only two sentries patrolling among the tents. There was no visible access to the Shanty settlement but the tents were another matter entirely. With the exception of the guards there was nothing to stop him from just grabbing something and getting back.

Ian just let his head slip above the last dune between him and the encampment and waited. Although the guards did not have a set pattern to their progress they did eventually both begin to head away from his vantage point.

Slipping over the dune Ian wasted no time. The thing to him was a tent that had a big motorbike parked in front. It was not ostentatious, but it was slightly larger than the others. No guards were posted out front so Ian slipped cautiously into the tent and out of the direct line of sight of the patrols.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. Having spent a lifetime inside the hive his eyes adjusted to the very dim light quickly. There was a small back area cordoned off from the front area. From there he heard a slight snore. The main room was fairly plain. Some cooking pots, a small box filled with who knew what, a table and even a chair. Adjacent to the table was a small display, upon which stood a long heavy barreled rifle with a small optical scope. Just below that was a knife what had a blade extending not just above the handle, but below it as well.

He needed something to prove that he had been to ‘Hell’s Gate’ – either one of these little trophies should do. Without hesitation Ian hefted up the rifle. It felt good in his hands and he couldn’t help himself. Tucking the butt stock into his shoulder he nestled his cheek against the weapon and peered through the scope, very comfortable. Dropping the weapon into the cradle of his arms he looked back over the table for any ammunition, nothing. Oh well, this will do.

Before Ian slipped out he listened to make sure that he had not disturbed the owner. After he heard the snoring continue he allowed himself to breath once more. A quick check of the area in front of the tent verified that the guards had not returned and he slipped back out into the open.

Now all he had to do was get back across the first dune and he would be home free. Slinging his new prize across his shoulders he took off for the dune. There would be no way to know where the guards had gone without running into one of them, and that would not do.

Fifteen long seconds Ian ran full out. As he crested the dune he kicked his feet out from under himself and slid to a stop. Turning back around he inched his way back up and lifted his head once more over the top of the dune. Ian’s heart skipped a beat. His trail was obvious. He might as well have dropped his torch as a calling card. There was no time to lose. He had to make for the hive and hope he could get a good enough head start to out run those bikes.

Chapter 8 – “To Hell and Back”
Pt. 2

Ian’s breathing was labored as he struggled to fill his lungs with usable oxygen. His respirator was struggling to keep up with the demand, but glancing down at his body suit’s reaction to the surrounding atmosphere there was no other choice, the mask had to remain in place.

How had he lost his orientation? Oh he knew exactly where the hive was, but the angle of his return path was off. Even with the shifting dunes Ian knew he had not passed this way before. The plateau he now found himself on was rocky and peppered with sink holes and mounds. Almost as if on queue to his next question a geyser erupted only twenty meters to Ian’s left spewing some kind of liquid fifty meters into the air. The air currents carried the bulk of it behind him but a fine mist rained down all around him. Even through the filters he could smell the distinct odor of acid eating away at whatever it touched. “Just another example of how Necromunda tries to kill you”, Ian thought to himself. Looking around the geyser field stretched out for several hundred meters in all directions. As Ian looked back the way he had come a pair of motorbikes vaulted over the edge of the dunes and raced across the field right at him. Without further hesitation he renewed his flight.

Thirty meters from the edge of the geyser field Ian could now hear the throaty roar of the engines that hounded him and he realized he was never going to make it of the field before they ran him down. Stopping dead in his tracks Ian drew a las pistol in one hand and a knife in the other. The bikes were at fifty meters and closing fast.

One rider dropped some sort of rifle across the handlebars of his bike and began letting loose – despite being well out of the effective range. The other readied a nasty looking double headed axe from across his back and dropped it into a low ready position in his right hand. Both laid into their accelerators and picked up speed. Ian dropped onto one knee and took aim at the lead bike.

Fwooosssssshh! A geyser opened up beneath the shooter’s rear wheel causing the bike and rider to cartwheel over ten meters into the air. His companion reacted quickly and smoothly steering around the carnage that was his partner, but it was exactly what he should not have done.

The geyser field also hid several fissures that had been caked over by thin layers of ash. The extra stress of the maneuvers on the terrain caused it give way and Necromunda swallowed up the bike and its rider. As his fear began to subside Ian realized he was in danger of hyperventilating. “Get moving Ian, get back to the hive,” was all he could say to himself.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“There it is! Move it!” Ian screamed to himself. Only a hundred meters left to go, but he could feel the presence of his pursuers hot on his heels. Glancing back he could see maybe a dozen men, mostly on foot but one or two buggies also in the mix. But Ian was barely walking. His lungs were screaming for more air, and his muscles were threatening to refuse his commands from lack of oxygen. But so close to safety spurned his will on and once more he was up and running.

“Come on!” Ian yelled at himself, only fifty meters to go. The roar of the engines could now be heard.

At Twenty meters to go the hatch to his freedom sprang open. Immediately rounds from an auto cannon began to impact against the wall surrounding the door.

Ten… five, “almost there!” Suddenly Ian was hammered by a blow across his back. The impact of some incredible force drove him forward onto his knees. White spots filled his eyesight, and he could no longer draw a breath no matter how hard he tried. Even before the white filled his vision it turned to black and he saw nothing more.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The next thing Ian realized was that he was being dragged, and none too gently. Something was snagged, and there was a lot of yelling. What ever it was also released him and he dropped unceremoniously to the floor. Who was yelling, and why couldn’t he hear through the ringing in his ears?

Looking around he saw several familiar faces but his mind could not recall their names. One man with a reddish black goatee and a heavy stubber was yelling and motioning for him to move back. The man hollered something else and let loose a long burst from his machine gun. Another man handed him something and shoved him to move on.

Ian just stared at the weapon that was thrust upon him. It was bent at an odd angle, and the firing chamber had obviously been breached. Finally a man with a full beard grabbed the man with the machine gun by the collar, pointed at Ian, and then pointed somewhere beyond Ian’s point of view. The heavy looked as if he was about to argue, but then nodded. With a determined look on his face the heavy scooped up Ian by his arms and practically dragged him away form the door.

At last Ian’s ears began to clear and he shrugged to get the man to stop carrying him along. Looking back Ian could see that there was no a ten meter hole in the wall they had just come from and several men clad in hooded cloaks and respirators were coming through the breach.

“Come on lad. Dyrke has made it very clear that you are to get out of the area. Katan and Rogers are staying behind with him to cover our retreat.”

Fight or Flight

“Come on you Emperor damned beast!”

No matter how much Bahlaam spurred or whipped the beast it just would not move. For several hours the man had been trying to rejoin his gang, a Shanty Towne horde. He had joined in hopes of earning some respect, and maybe even some guilders for his trouble.

“A little raid is all says he. Be home by supper. My Emperor forsaken rump says I!” He said shaking his fist at the toxin filled sky. “Them Nomads are mighty pissed, I tell you what… Come on you stubborn lizard!”

The two legged beast just turned its head and looked bored, and no amount of prodding seemed to regain the interest of the animal.

“Fine, have it your way.” And with that he got down off the animal and fetched a pair of binoculars out of his saddle bag. Tracking his mount’s trail back the way they had come he wanted to see if the Nomads had followed them in search of vengeance. More than once he could have sworn that he heard the roar of an engine over the unceasing winds, only to see nothing beyond the dunes.

Returning to the saddle bags he withdrew a handful of feed for his mount.

“Come now Dokey. We best be getting back to ‘Hell’s Gate’ before sun down or else them Nomads are gonna make a meal out of ya.”

The beast gobbled up the food, but would not budge until it had had another six more handfuls of food. Finally remounting the beast the both of them headed out, racing over the dunes, where once more towards home.

As the pair neared ‘Dead Man’s pass’ Bahlaam noticed several overturned vehicles and smoke winding its way up to join the clouds above. The closer they approached the more carnage he saw and the more it became obvious that his fellow militia had been ambushed. By the amount of dead (both man and beast) it would appear that not many, if any, had survived. Pulling his beast up short on top of an ash dune some hundred meters distant, he surveyed the killing ground. As he peered through the binoculars his attention was more on the bluffs overlooking the pass then upon the dead below.

His options were limited. The pass was the only safe passage back to ‘Hell’s gate’. A sludge sea filled the area to the south, and an acid geyser field to his north. It would take him days to go around either one, and his food was all but out.

“Necromunda you have lived up to your name this day, haven’t ya.” Bahlaam thought to himself. After several minutes of surveying the area he could not detect a single living thing. Leaning over he talked gently into his mount’s ear.

“Dokey, you must fly and you mustn’t stop for nothin’. You hear me! There is no where else for us to go. Come on now, get on home! H’ya!”

Digging in both heals into the beast’s ribs Bahlaam urged the lizard-beast into a headlong flight down the dunes, straight for the mouth of the pass.

His mount seemed to sense the danger and picked up speed. Without hesitation or further instruction from its rider the beast vaulted clear of dead and debris, never turning from their goal and the relative safety ahead.

Bahlaam let the animal dictate the path and speed. They two had been together since he was old enough to ride and his mount had always brought him home. Instead he continued to scan the bluffs now looming above his head, searching for anything that might reveal imminent danger.

“CRACK!” The unmistakable report of a rifle played off the rock formations, but the beast never skipped a step and both mount and rider raced into the pass through the other side of the Nomad killzone.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Open the gates! The Militia is returning, open the gates!”

Slowly the massive metal doors swung wide. But there were no militia to greet the townspeople, just a lone beast. Its rider being dragged still connected to the stirrup.

Several people ran out to help the man, but it was too late. The man was dead – a single, large caliber, bullet hole to the forehead which exited via a small cavern out the back.

Shopping for a Ride

Elder Khanst wandered through the market. His little shanty had recovered nicely since the last storm. The barricades where rebuilt and the gates repaired. Even the local businesses had been restored to their previous glory. As a matter of fact the recovery had been getting along so well he was now in the market for some new rides for his newly recruited defenses. Having to recruit almost an entirely new gang afforded him the opportunity to be more aggressive in his tactics. No longer would they sit and wait for the Nomads to attack, they would go out on patrol. Maybe even venture in-hive to forage from time to time.

“Ah, Gaul! How are we doing this fine day?” Khanst’s voice reverberated nicely through his respirator.

“Elder Khanst! So good to see you well this morning. What can my humble little trading post offer you today?”

Khanst despised the rotund little man. He was always scarce when the town needed work done, but impossible to get rid off when things needed to be acquired. Still, the man was resourceful in getting those hard to find items – either sanctioned by the ruling house or otherwise.

“Mobility Gaul, mobility. What can you do for me in the way of transportation for me and my boys?”

“Ah, yes, right this way my friend.” The Guilder led his client to the back of the little shack where he bartered goods and then out through a little door. Once out back Khanst looked upon a sizable stable, fully enclosed of course. Roaming among several vehicles was a wide variety of animals. “Let us start with a wonderful truck. Right over here.”

It was a truck in name only. There were no doors, no windows, the cargo area was the only thing with a complete floor, but it was sizable. With eight wheels, and such a large cargo area it was not really what the Elder had in mind.

“Gaul, I said I need mobility. Does it look like I’m going to be running caravans back and forth across the wastes to you?”

“Ha ha ha, perhaps I misunderstood you,” the man said with a smile. “Perhaps a buggy, or a few cycles then? Right this way.”

Walking around the back of the truck the guilder had to shoo away several dog sized reptiles. “They are not much now, but once they reach their full size they will tower over these bikes,” the guilder said as he waved his hand to direct Khanst’s attention. As the elder followed the guilder’s hand he saw some very nice specimens. Three hefty looking bikes with good dust gripping tires, and one sported a small side car with a pintle mount. This was more of what he was looking for. Slightly behind the bikes was a buggy. A two-seater with a pintle welded to the roll bar above the riders seat. And in the back, just behind the engine, was small cargo area.

“Much better Gaul, much better. But what about something that does not require as much maintenance?”

The guilder seemed to hesitate for a moment. Almost as if he was distressed – like he had lost a sale. “Perhaps these animals would suit you better Elder Khanst?” The little man pointed just over Khanst’s shoulder to a small herd of reptilian-like animals.

No two were identical. Several were bipedal, most had four legs. There was even one with eight. They ranged in size from about the size of the cycles he had just seen to one larger than the truck. The range of colors was also widely varied, but all of them were suited for their harsh environment.

“Wonderful Gaul. Let’s get down to business…”

The Recruit

Harten watched his new boss pace back and forth before him and the rest of the “recruits”. He had been itching to get out of that rats nest of a shanty since his thirteenth birthday, and when the guilders came recruiting he jumped at the chance.

“Anyone here that does not own their own weapons take one step forward!”

The scrappy kid to his left stepped up and was immediately escorted out the back door, and Harten’s was very grateful that his respirator hid the smirk now plastered all over his face. Reaching down with his left hand he patted the hefty stub gun in its holster. Good thing that scavvy didn’t need it anymore – served him right for wandering into town all alone like that.

“Right… anyone else? Good!” The man stopped his pacing and turned to face the rest of the men. “You all will be riding with the outgoing caravan tonight. We didn’t have time to be picky so y’all will just have to do.” He paused to let that sink in. “We leave in fifteen minutes. Report to the caravan and get your assignments.”

Harten walked from the warehouse. The wind was howling and whipping up the wastes around him. He would finally shake off this shanty town and get out and see what Necromunda was really about. ‘Fortune favors those who seek her,’ he thought to himself. And that is exactly what he intended to do.

The Mechanic

It was the center of his entire world and he hated it. A vein of some strange metallic ore twisted into a mockery of a long extinct tree. The “Killer Angels” had first been attracted to it because they thought it was something to be salvaged, but even back then it mocked him. There was nothing that could cut it, and he had tried. Saw blades, cutting torches, even demo charges. Not even a scratch. Then it became a symbol of their band’s strength and resistance to the elements of Necromunda.

Once Halleck had discovered the ruins of that crash landed drop ship his fate was forever sealed to that thing. Within the hulk they discovered scores of vehicles and spare parts. There was no way Halleck would walk away from such a find and he established what he called a way-station. You got it, right at the base of that… thing. Since then he had barely traveled more than a half a kilometer from that visage of metal. Buggies, trucks, and even a walker all hung from that “tree” like marionettes – all of them in some state of disrepair.

His latest challenge was a two-seater buggy, and of course the owners just had to have it yesterday. The rear axle had been knocked at such an angle as to cause it to continually pull to the left. Its roll cage had been caved in just above a pile of bloody goop in the “gunner” seat (he had know it was a gunner’s station by the pintle mount now smashed). And to top it off the engine had seized. They couldn’t have discovered a batch of electrical motors – no! But like a craftsman he had put it back together and now it only needed one last piece.

Picking up a mesh of respirator’s that had been jury rigged into some sort of air filter he set to the task of mounting it to the engine. Once the last bolt was in place he stood up and reached into the crew area. Hitting the starter button the engine roared to life spewing a cloud of black smoke. That’s when the urge hit him. Jump in and take it for a test run out on the dunes, no body would miss him for a few hours.

As he lifted his leg to slip into the driver’s seat a small truck raced in and slid to a stop only a meter from his boots.

“Gunder! She’s took a round to right rear axle. Think you could have it fixed in a day or so?”

He could almost hear the “tree” laugh at him as the winds blew through its boughs.

The Shanty Town Elder

Elder Khanst emerged from the bunker with little fanfare. But that was to be expected. The Ash storm had lasted for 3 days and his town was just beginning to dig itself out from under the carnage. Behind him Telila, the town’s doc, kicked at a partially submerged piece of plasteel.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” was all she said.

Khanst just nodded without looking over his shoulder. He looked around at what was left. The walls had held up well, although he was sure there would be digging involved to remove any natural ramps that formed from the shifting wastes outside. The nomads would quickly realize the strategic importance of being able to get over the walls so easily thus making the removal of wastes from around the walls his town’s first priority.

“Thank you for the Shelter ‘Tel’,” Khanst said as he turned to face the doc.

“It was my pleasure Khanst,” she said as she winked.

There wouldn’t be much time. Nomads and scavvy bands were quick to immerge from the dust and debris. With the storm lasting so long hunger would be a powerful motivator, and his town was now vulnerable.

Walking down the main street through town Khanst noticed the merchants were quickly setting up shop. ‘They’re always the fastest to get back to normal’ he chuckled to himself. Taking advantage of the empty paths through the market Khanst eyed the wares. In the last three years he had served as town Elder he gotten to know the usual guilders, or their representatives, that braved the wastes. On the surface they all paid homage to Lord Helmawr and their wares were perfectly legal. But outside the hive walls Lord Helmawr’s strong arm was not quite so firm. Many traders also dealt with black market items. After all ‘slaught’, ‘spook’ and the various other drugs of choice were so much more profitable.

“Glad to see that you weathered the storm Gaul. Looks like you got some new hardware I see,” Khanst said picking up a rectangular device with tubes and wires protruding out at odd angles.

“You have an eye for quality Elder Khanst,” the slightly rotund merchant said with a smile. “But, I am sure this is out of reach of even your deep pockets.” And with that the guilder reached out and relieved the elder of the device.

“Perhaps, but has my shipment arrived?”

The guilder looked around, slightly nervous.

“Relax Gaul. The Enforcers won’t learn of your little side business, just so long as you keep Talila supplied with the Stinger patches – unofficially of course.” The Elder let the words hang in the air momentarily before moving on his way.

Khanst left the guilder’s quarter and headed towards the gates – his little town’s ‘red light’ district. Emira and Jinty were a pair of Delaque who had left the hive for reasons all their own. Not only did they run some highly profitable businesses catering to various pleasures, but they were an invaluable source of information of what was happening. Not just within the walls of ‘Hive’s End’, but also the occasional tidbits of information from out in the waste. And at times – even within the hive itself. As he drew near to the gates the above ground portions of the buildings were in ruin – but not to worry. Peeling apart some smaller sections of what used to be a wall he found what he was looking for, a tube extending four meters into the air. As he climbed the ladder he pulled at the stock of his nomad long rifle – a specialized weapon afforded to him by his position – bringing it over his right shoulder. As he reached the top of the ladder he was able to rap the bulkhead door with one hand.

After a few moments a distant metallic clang resounded. He was sure the two had sheltered a large portion of the population, for a slight fee of course. Still this is where the bulk of his work force would come from.

“There you are boss.”

The Elder turned around to face his second, the town’s former leader. “Do you have the rest of the boys Zatar?”

“Everyone except Gurst and his juves, apparently they threw some kind of ‘ash storm’ party and paid the price.”

“It doesn’t matter. There will be other to replace them.”

Khanst sighed. Not many of the buildings above ground had survived. Who knows how many perished because they had tried to brave the elements. But one thing was for sure, “Hive’s End” would rebuild. He would see to that.

The Scout

The rushing wind raised a howl and caused the ash dust to rain against the rock hard industrial waste throughout the canyon. As the light filtered down through the chemical cloud cover above a purple hue was cast on everything. As the inevitable ash storm prepared to whip through, a lone figure nestled into a crevice high upon the canyon wall. Pulling a telescope from his hooded long coat the man peered down at the shanty town on the canyon floor below.

About four dozen shacks, with no apparent forethought, huddled within a seven meter tall make shift wall. Everything within the settlement was a patchwork of salvaged industrial wastes. Girders, sheet metal, old vehicle parts, or whatever the particular occupants could manage to find and thrown together for shelter. It didn’t matter if the hovel was used for as a personal residence or a gambling den it all looked the same.

The man lowered the telescope then glanced up at the wall of the massive hive. It continued up well beyond his field of view. It was not the wall that he was interested in. From somewhere within the toxic clouds lights began to flicker on causing not only a slight increase in the light level, but a shift in the shadows below. Beneath his respirator a grin formed. It was only a matter of time, and he had survived his entire life out here.

At twenty three he was a seasoned veteran. Since childhood he had known how to change the filter and adjust his respirator. From adolescence he could read the shifting ash dunes and blowing toxins in the winds. Once he was allowed to join the band of nomads he quickly learned how to navigate between the hives. Even so he was better than most. He was a scout for his band. Entrusted to recon routes, gather information, and to report back anything of interest. It was the later that brought him to edge of this cliff on the eve of the biggest ash storm he had seen in many seasons.

A bolt of electricity cracked the sky between the hive and cavern wall having been grounded from somewhere in the eighteen kilometer skyline above. Raising the telescope back to his eye the nomad noticed that the activity level had increased dramatically within the shanty town. Some tried to board up their flimsy shelters while others sought entry into under ground bunkers, handing a few coins in barter to the owners. People were running everywhere. But there was a group of men walking around a rather large shack right against the hive wall. They neither looked scared nor rushed. This is what he was watching for.

Ten men had formed a semi-circle perimeter in front of the building, small arms at the ready. As the wind picked up the nomad barely detected the roar of a very large engine coming to life. He watched the makeshift building behind the men as it imploded. Out of the newly formed pile of scrap a large vehicle began to move. In pairs the men moved from their perimeter and climbed aboard a slowly moving crawler as it emerged from its self inflicted shroud.

It didn’t move all that fast, but it was mammoth. It was twice the height of the shanty town’s defenses and weapon stations covered its armored shell. As it lumbered towards the gate it became obvious that unless someone opened up the gates it was going to just plow on through them. Faint alarms could now be heard and several figures changed their course to move to the gates. As the behemoth reached the gateway the pair of doors began to swing outwards barely keeping pace. Without any noticeable hesitation the crawler squeezed through the gates. When it cleared the gates the gatekeepers did not waste any time and closed the gates behind it.

The sheer mass of the vehicle caused the ground to tremor slightly as it rolled beneath the nomad. He no longer needed his telescope and tucked it back into its pocket inside his long coat. Shifting his weight he turned to watch the crawler slowly disappear. Once out of sight the lone figure climbed back up over the edge of canyon wall. Jumping into a waiting buggy he quickly gunned the engine and raced out into the wastes. His fellow nomads would be very interested to learn about this.

Home for the Holiday - part 2

“Excuse me fellas – but someone just ran through the yard out back.”

The two body guards ran through the front doors and down the hall on their way to their rear of the house. Once Ian heard the back door open he stepped out from the side room where he was hiding, gave his mother a nod of thanks, and then out the door into the crowded street beyond.

Once he was clear of the house he took a moment to scan up and down the steet. In the direction of Ian’s intended exit the crowd of revelers was parting to allow a gang of armed men to pass. His father was closer than he had expected, and he was a heartbeat too late in reacting. The bounty hunter that had once aided Ian’s preparations to escape was now pointing in his direction and barking orders to the others. With no time for pretenses Ian took off running in the opposite direction.

Even though the street was packed it was far easier for Ian to wade through the masses than it was for his pursuers. That was until they started shooting their weapons into the air and demanding everyone to get out of their way. His advantage was fading fast.

Without thinking Ian darted into the nearest alley to try and work his way around his pursuers and get back to the center of the dome. Bad move, the alley was a dead end with only a pole ladder leading to the roof top. Without hesitation Ian darted up the three stories to the roof top. When he reached the top he took a moment to determine how close his pursuers were. Seeing them run into the far end of the alley he drew his laspistol and shot at the ladder’s supports. His tormentors thought he was shooting at them and all but the bounty hunter dove for cover and began to shoot back. It was now Ian’s turn to duck for cover. His las bolts had only managed to weaken the pole and not cause its failure, but he could no longer afford to linger and scampered away.

Reaching the far end of the row of hab units he looked back and saw only one pursuer coming over the far edge where the ladder was. Looking over the edge he saw a small service walkway leading across to the other row of habs. It was not much more than a pair of pipes bound together and barely wide enough to get a sure footing on. Not much else to it, he dropped over the edge and darted for the next row of habs two and a half floors up from the ground. As Ian reached the halfway point the air around him erupted with las and led slugs.

“What in Helmawr’s rump are you doing?!?”

Ian’s father’s gang had reached the street ahead of him and had set up a hasty ambush. Before any of the rounds could strike home his father smacked one of the men shooting at Ian with his power maul. It caused the man to fall to the ground unconscious immediately, and the rest of the men stopped shooting. Not wanting to wait any longer Ian leapt to catch the next roof line and hauled himself up and over the top. But instead of taking off immediately he hid and waited until his rooftop pursuer reached his side of the walkway.

It was a woman dressed in the familiar bodyglove of house Van Saar. Using his hands as a brace Ian kicked out with his right foot catching her square in the jaw just as she cleared the top of the wall. The blow caught her totally off guard and she tumbled back out of sight. Without waiting to appreciate the results Ian was off and running again.

The sound of music came to him from somewhere ahead. The Guilder’s holiday party! With any luck, and if the Emperor was with him, he could lose himself in the crowd and make good his escape.

Instead of heading all the way to the far end of this hab block Ian pulled up long enough to look back the way he had come. His rooftop pursuer was nowhere in sight so he slackened his pace to a walk. Just maybe… he waited for another moment and went to the edge of the rooftop that lined the street. Lifting his head slowly to peer over and down into the street below Ian glanced in both directions. His father’s posse was no where to be seen. But how would he get down again?

Fortune was smiling upon him. One of the habs owners had left some surplus wiring coiled up, perhaps for some project left undone. Ian quickly scooped up the abandoned wire and secured it to a venting pipe. Without further thought he dropped it over the edge of the building and scaled down to the street level.

Although his arrival caused a few heads to turn no one questioned him further than a furtive glance. Another look up and down the street revealed that his pursuers had thus far not noticed his descent. The carnival was in his original direction of flight, and although his instincts told him to double back, he continued on towards the holiday celebration.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian had managed to slip smoothly into the crowd, within eyesight of his pursuers. This time his appearance allowed him a certain amount of anonymity. He was just another reveler. Wanting to put some distance between him and his father he quickly stepped towards the bright red tent strewn in the middle of a common area.

Once inside Ian allowed himself to relax a little, the thin sheeting on the sides of the tent giving him a sense of concealment. The crowd was not as thick as he had hoped, but they moved in and around several cages of mutants and animals. Slowing down so as to not draw attention he moved along with the crowd. The cages that lined the pathway each held a different spectacle.

One cage held what appeared to be a dejected little girl, but instead of a human shaped head there was one that resembled a lizard with horns. In the next cage there stood a defiant man with four arms. Across the way a quadruped animal with a coal black fur coat that was pacing back and forth. The look in its eyes gave the impression that it would tear apart anything on the other side of the bars, if only it could get out.

“Ladies and Gentlemen!”

Ian spun around. Entering the tent behind him was an Enforcer patrol.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” the Enforcer Sergeant repeated. “This display is not sanctioned by the ruling house of Necromunda! Please leave by the nearest exits and return to your homes! If you choose not to leave than we will take action.”

There was a noticeable rise in the tension level of the crowd. Ian could see several patrons reaching for their pistols, checking them, and then looking around for the nearest exit.

“Gotta love the Enforcers,” Ian thought to himself. The dispersing crowd grew denser as it flowed out from under the awning giving him more concealment. Looking around as he was being swept along Ian caught sight of his mother. He could swear that their eyes met, but he could not be sure.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Let me see it,” was the only thing Katan said when Ian stepped through the doorway of the abandoned substation.

Ian handed over the recovered power cell. He also produced his backpack that carried his change of clothes and his recovered tools.

Home for the Holiday

You have got to be kidding.”

“I never joke ‘little rat’.” Ian looked up over the piece of paper in his hands at Katan, his ‘handler’ for this test. The man was stoic. “This is your test. You do not have to perform the task. Simply say so and we will part ways.”

By that the Van Saar meant that if Ian should choose not to go on this little ‘errand’ he would no longer be considered for membership into the gang. Looking back down he reread the letter to make sure he was reading it right.

‘Your 3rd test is to retrieve the power cell for your las pistol, the one that you left behind in your hurry to flee your family’s business.’ Ian shook his head… how could Dyrke know about that?

As if to answer the unspoken question Katan said, “You don’t think Dyrke recruits just any street rat without checking him out do you.” Ian’s head drooped. “He ensures those within the team don’t become… a distraction later on.” Ian raised his head to protest but was cut off. “You’ve got spirit ‘little rat’, but you haven’t passed the tests yet.”

Ian’s thoughts were flying now. How was he going to get all the way back to his father’s house, or lab, undetected, let alone get back in?

“Come on. We have some ground to cover.” With that Katan led Ian back to hive city.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Ian emerged from the lift to a circus – literally. People filled the streets. There were several dressed in bright colors dancing and performing acrobatic tricks, several ash waste animals on display, and the street vendors were out in droves. Ian reached out and grabbed a passing bystander’s sleeve.

“What’s going on?”

“You just up from the sump?” The man asked, obviously eyeing Ian’s torn and dirty jumpsuit.

“Never mind that, what’s going on here?”

“Well, since you’re obviously not from around here… Guilder Gribly has announced a holiday. He wants to show off his wealth apparently. Hey, it’s his money. All I know is that I got half a shift off to come see this freak show that he’s brought up from the sump.”

Ian let the guy go and just peered over the crowd. “What a spectacle,” he thought to himself. “But, this could work in my favor…”

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

His destination was not hard to find. He could have found it if all the lights in the dome had failed. For the last five years he had walked to and from the place where he had been born on his way to work. Before that it was the local apprentice shops. It was a nice place by hive standards – luxurious even compared to the worker habs. It was nestled into the middle of a street off the main path, three stories high and a private exterior area sectioned off for their private use behind it. Even hear the festivities filled the street.

In front of his childhood home stood a pair of bodyguards fully decked out in mesh armor, plasma pistols and obvious bionic implants. Just the air of confidence kept the crowd on the street at a respectful distance. Not that he expected to just walk right in the front door, but it was good to know what the status was around the old place. Of course that meant it would be slightly more difficult getting to his prize.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

The row of houses had been built over top of an old factory dome. In a few places derelict air vents continued to allow air to move between the two areas. Underneath Ian’s home was one such vent. In his father’s quest for security Ian had been sent down there to close it off and thus prevent exactly what he was doing now. Sneaking into the house undetected. When his father sent him down here all those years ago he saw an opportunity. Instead of sealing the vent off he fashioned a door instead.

The vent had gotten pretty nasty since he last used it. Soot and dust layered the surfaces all around him and it rubbed off coating his jumpsuit. When it mixed with the sweat freely rolling off his face and hands (his bodysuit recycling the rest for later use) made for a tacky mess. Fortunately his old hand and foot holds were still in place. The grill in the back wall of the upstairs hallway was still there as well. Before he pushed the screen aside he stopped to listen. Silence was all that met his ears. That was as it should be as both his parents worked, and the two servants were not scheduled to work until the 2nd shift. Glancing at the chronometer on his wrist he had a little over an hour.

Easing the grill onto the floor Ian squirmed his way onto the hallway floor. Once in side he easily made his way to his room. The door was wide open, but a quick visual inventory of the room told him that everything was still as it should be.

Racing around the room he grabbed a small duffle bag and filled it with a couple sets of clothes and some of his old tools (both medical and mechanical). He also grabbed what he had returned home for… the power cell he had set aside for his piece meal laspistol. As he turned to leave he caught his reflection in a mirror on the back of his door. What a mess. His jumpsuit was tattered and filthy; the bandage along his ribcage was saturated with blood; and his hair stuck to his head at odd angles. He almost mistook his reflection for another person. Rubbing his finger across his cheek moved the filth around but did little to clean it off. Sighing to himself he pulled open the door back and stepped into the hallway. Instead of an empty passageway his mother now blocked the only escape route.

“Well, look what the rats dragged in.”

Ian was speechless. What could he say?

“Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”

“I… I need to get going mother,” he finally managed to stammer.

“Not like that you’re not. First you are going to get cleaned up, and I am going to take a look at that… that bandage.”

“Mother you have to know by now. I’ve deserted my post at the lab. I want to see the hive for myself, not through what the house vid-reporters think we should see. You wouldn’t understand.”

“I was young once too. You don’t think I worked for your father all my life do you?”

Ian was confused. All his life his mother was the epitome of elegance. She always seemed to know the right thing to say, the right thing to do. She had been the face of his father’s business and hostess to countless business functions. More then once he had heard whispers of his mother being a distant descendant of the house founders. Now she seemed to insinuate that she had once lived a different life, one not so… sheltered?

“You see I once ran with the gangs,” his mother said, pulling her sleeve up to reveal a tattoo. A tattoo in the shape of an animal’s paw, claws extended, “’The Cats’ if memory serves, but that was a long, long time ago.”

Amber flashed to Ian’s mind but was gone just as quick. “I really must be going. They’re waiting for me.”

“Which gang did you join?” his mother asked stepping to prevent Ian from going around her. “You needn’t worry about me telling your father, just promise me you’ll return once you have spent this urge.”

“Team Delta.”

“The teams? Good, good. She seemed to be lost in thought for a while. I will delay your father and his minions how ever I can, but you are on your own.”

“Thank you mother.”

“Just let me look to that wound first, and then I you will be on your way.”

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

“Man does this feel good.”

Ian just let the water run across his face and then down his back. After his mother had pulled the bandage and scolded him for not taking better care of himself she insisted that he shower before leaving once again. The Van Saar are known to be as clean as they are technical. He could almost feel the fatigue wash away with the filth of the trials of the past few days. As he tried to prolong the experience the door to the outside room flew open interrupting his meditation.

“Time to go Ian,” his mother said as she tossed his now repaired jumpsuit over the curtain. “Your father and his gang are on their way here to eat.”

Several choice words flew through Ian’s mind, none of them he wanted to repeat aloud in front of his mom.

-=-=-=O=-=-=-

Descent

“So where are we going again?” Ian asked as he practically ran to keep up with the Van Saar ganger.

“Not that you really need to know but I’m taking you to the old ruins we have. A while back Nimo, a former member of the team, fell down an abandoned mine shaft while he was out scavenging. Since then things have been pretty busy and we just haven’t had the time to go recover an item from him.”

A thousand questions raced through Ian’s mind all at once. How did the guy fall down this mine shaft in the first place? How did they know he did? If they did know why hadn’t they gone and rescued, or at least made sure, the guy was really there? And why are they sending me instead of one of their own to recover… whatever it is he is expected to recover? Was this guy really dead? Or had he just run off to some other dome to seek his fortune?

His thoughts distracted him enough that he failed to notice the loose I-beam. When it shifted Ian lost his footing causing him to fall to his knee and the resulting jar renewed the pain in his left side. Cacee, the ganger who was leading him on this ‘test’, had given him barely enough time to bandage it up. Nor the time to stitch it up, or any antiseptic, but it would do for now. It had to.

“You mind keeping up? Dyrke has you on a very tight schedule, and I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting. Not if you really want to run with the team.”

Ian said nothing, just picked himself off and jogged to catch up again. As he came within ten meters Cacee moved on leading the way once more. The path opened up into what had once been a small settlement. There were pools of various chemicals, some solidified – others emitting noxious fumes, dotting the landscape. Several of the buildings had collapsed, but it was obvious that none of them were currently occupied, at least not by ‘normal’ folks.

Cacee led Ian through what had once been the town square and into a severely dilapidated building. In the center of the room was a hole ten to fifteen meters across. “That’s it there,” the ganger said pointing to the hole.

“How do you know he fell, and how do you know he didn’t just run off?” Ian asked.

The Van Saar stopped mid-stride and turned. “You didn’t know the guy so I’ll let that slide. But we know he went down here because his rope is still attached, and his lasgun was found at the lip of the hole. He would never have gone down there without it. He either fell, or was pushed.”

Ian walked over to the edge of the hole. It was pretty impressive. At least five stories deep, probably more and it swallowed up the beam from his torch as he panned it around.

“Alright, down you go.” Cacee said as he knelt down next to the rope that was secured to some rebar protruding from the concrete floor. “I’ll watch your back from up here. Make sure you have a way back.”

Ian stood silently as Cacee fastened on a small web strap seat and connector. Once the ganger was happy that it wouldn’t just let Ian tumble out he connected another rope. “There’s actually plenty of hand holds. The rope is just to make sure we can pull your body back up if something should happen.”

“Thanks,” was all Ian could bring himself to say as he began his descent. The darkness that enveloped him was deep and it swallowed up the light as if it fed on the energy. Five levels, six, seven, as he neared what would have been the eighth floor the sound of something tapping against the ferocrette came up to meet him. Without further thought Ian jumped the final meter to the floor and drew his laspistol.

His torch cut through the inky blackness as he panned it back and forth trying to determine the cause of the sound. The light; however, would be swallowed up just as soon as he moved the light to look elsewhere making it hard to see. As Ian scanned a long tunnel he thought he saw some movement on the edge of his torch light, but it was impossible to be sure from here. Preparing to move down the tunnel he tripped sending the torch sliding into a nearby wall – the laspistol he managed to hold on to.

Cursing himself silently he remained still, listening for anymore movement. The beam of light from his torch ended up pointing right back at him. Looking away from the light to keep as much of his night vision as possible he glanced at his feet. He had tripped over a skeleton. “I think I just found Nimo,” he said to himself. The skeleton had been picked clean and its jump suit and kit was spread over a wide area.

As Ian stood back up the tapping returned and his heart skipped a beat. Dead bodies and noises in the dark are nothing new to anyone who has grown up in the hives, but this was different. He was by himself, and he suddenly felt very isolated. Crossing the ground quickly he picked up the torch and peered into the darkness once more. He had come through a hole in the ceiling of some long abandoned warehouse, adjacent to a wall. Scanning the immediate area around him it looked as if he was in the well of what used to be a freight elevator, and what was left of Nimo had been scattered all over. There were no bags, no salvageable kit, nothing that appeared to be of any value.

Glancing back up the hole he had descended through he could no longer see Cacee, just the rope disappearing over the edge above. As Ian’s eyes came back down to level there was more movement, this time the tapping sound came with it. Spinning to face where he had heard the sound the light fell fully upon the dark grey hide of a large spider. Two of its furry legs were extended towards Ian as if trying to reach out and touch him, meanwhile the fangs of the beast worked in a scissor like fashion. Ian’s blood froze in his veins. His mind raced with thoughts and actions but his body refused to respond to any of it.

The spider crouched low and then charged in. That was all that Ian needed to convince his arms to react. As he thrust his right hand forward, squeezing off several shots from his laspistol, his left hand drew his knife. There was no time to run anyway. The las bolts struck home around the creature’s mouth causing it to hesitate. Without though Ian hurled himself in for the kill with his knife held over his head. But before he could plunge his knife in one of the spider’s legs batted him aside. Ian felt the hair of its legs against his neck and face as he was tossed aside.

The spider did not follow up immediately though. It seemed to weigh the options in the beam of the discarded torch. Ian did not hesitate however. Leveling his laspistol he took careful aim at the spider’s left eye and took a deep breath.

“Here’s looking at you,” Ian said and let fly his shot. It struck home causing the spider to spasmodically dance throughout the area, one of its legs kicking the torch and knocking it out. Ian began shooting round after round in the vicinity of where he had last seen the spider. Bright blue bolts of light briefly lighting up the room until he no longer heard anything moving.

Glancing down to where his hands should be Ian flipped the laspistol handgrip up. The charge indicator showed that he had used a considerable amount of the power up in his panic. His eyes slowly adjusted and he could now see a faint grey shaft of light from where he had come from. Inching his way closer he groped around until he found his discarded torch. Flipping the switch it came back to life. As he did the beam fell upon the grey spider once more. This time it lay upon its back, legs curled above.

The thing’s body was a meter long, and the legs two. Inching closer Ian shot one of the legs – just to be sure. It didn’t move. Sighing to himself Ian looked back up the hole once more.

“It’s going to be quite a load hauling that carcass back up there.” With that in mind he set to work.

-=-=-=o=-=-=-

“You know kid, you could have just skinned it down there. It would have been a lot easier.”

Ian sort of looked through the Van Saar ganger for a moment. “Yea, but this way I know you’d believe me.”

“It’ll do kid. I am giving you a go on this one. Best of luck with Katan though. He’s not known for his sense of humor.”

Soup Sandwich

Ian slid down from the small tunnel into the muck that had filled the small dome. For centuries seepage of chemicals and industrial runoff from unknown sources above found its way here. “What an interesting sensation,” he thought to himself. The bodysuit that fit him like a glove changed colors slightly indication that the chemical soup was indeed toxic. “Wonderful. I probably only have fifteen to twenty minutes before the suit becomes saturated.” Holding his las pistol above his head to keep it out of the mess he found himself in, Ian waded off to his left.

“Your first task,” Ian reviewed his briefing in his head, “is simple. You are to recon a small dome and retrieve a small package. Once this is done return to your entry point to turn it over to my team and provide a report of what you saw.”

“What can there possible be to see in here?” He thought to himself. All around him lay construction materials in various stages of decay. There were several small buildings leaning over on failed support beams and a stack of barrels protruding out of the mire. To his right was a single walkway leading to a drilling platform in the center. The walkway to, from, and immediately around the platform was the only continuous areas free of the liquid now coming to his waist.

The men, who he hoped would soon be his ‘family’, had dropped him off at the sewage pipe that helped feed the soup he now found himself in. Without instruction he had decided it best to stay away from the walkways as those were bound to be patrolled, and opted instead to use a circular approach to the center. This way he could get a feel for the layout of the area and get a better view for his report.

‘Plunk!’ Something hit the surface of the mire on the far sound and the sound echoed off of the distant walls. Ian peered through the darkness but could see nothing other than the ripples on the liquid. Now pointing his weapon into the shadows he continued along. His heartbeat quickened enough that he could now feel his temples throbbing to the rhythm. As he approached the far side of the dome he searched in vain for the cause of his earlier fear, but could not find anything.

‘Plunk!’ This time it came from behind him and to his right. Ian spun around aiming his pistol into the darkness. There was nothing except a new ripple upon the surface.

“Hey!” A form appeared up on the walkway and called out. “Who’s down there?!?”

Ian cringed as he realized his actions had caused a noticeable splash. The figure up on the walkway stepped away for a moment, but quickly returned with a handheld torch. With no other place to hide Ian slipped into the shadows of a stack of barrels.

‘Plunk!’ This one was much closer. It was the guy up on the walkway, throwing debris into the mire. ‘Plunk!’ The man above tossed another object into the soup. This time close enough to splash him. Each time the beam of light from the torch searched the shadows around the impact point.

Ian fought to control his breathing. Although it seemed like the man was alone, he was between Ian and his exit point. After the man on the platform threw a few more stones into the muck he seemed to lose interest. Letting out a long quiet breath he moved out from under the barrels and began to search for way up on the platform. Whatever Dyrke wanted was up there, sentry or no sentry.

As he slipped through the muck Ian noticed a sizable drainage tube. Instead of depositing more fluids into the mix, this one was positioned in a way that drew excess fluids off the top as it filled up, and it was large enough for people to get in and out single file. From here he could not tell how far it went, or where it went to. Turning back to face the drilling platform he noticed that it was also not visible from above. “This might be of interest,” he thought to himself.

From here Ian stuck to the wall. There were plenty of large pieces of junk sticking up out of the toxic soup to hide behind. Every few minutes the man on the platform came to a random edge and scanned the area below. And each time Ian stopped in place, not wanting his movement to give him away.

Finally he found a ladder up and out. Waiting for the man to perform one of his inspections Ian double checked his las pistol to ensure the barrel remained clean and the power cell was still charged. As the man walked away once again Ian slowly lifted himself up the ladder.

The top of ladder was midway across the walkway between the dome wall and the drill platform. Looking both ways Ian didn’t see any more people and he breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed the Emperor was smiling upon him and he hoisted himself up and over. As he stood up the drill in the center of the room began to bore into the dome floor below causing a roar of noise to fill up the room. The walkway vibrated unnervingly below his feet causing him to look down. When he did the sentry returned and began to shoot at him. Rounds whipped by and impacted around his feet..

Looking back up towards the drill he saw the man now crouching behind a console shooting at him. The jig was up and there was nowhere for him to hide. There was nothing else to do but charge headlong into the ambush.

“AHHHH!!!!!!!” Ian’s screams were drowned out by the massive drill picking up speed. He squeezed the trigger on his las pistol sending bolt after bolt of ionized atoms into the console the man was hiding behind. Ian’s shots drew closer and closer to home and the man stopped shooting back as he sought cover. The last five meters Ian hurled himself through the air and over the console, headlong into his attacker. As the two men crashed into a heap they slid into a small pile of boxes. Ian felt a sharp pain in his ribs. Regaining his feet he looked down. There was now a long gash across his ribs and he was now bleeding profusely. Even with a quick glance he could tell that his ribs had saved him from a much more severe wound, and that it would take several stitches to close it back up.

Setting his face with a grim determination Ian reversed the hold on his knife and renewed the assault. His victim had been dazed and barely lifted his arms up in defense as Ian’s knife found its target. The man never said another word as he slumped to the ground.

Without moving his hands Ian looked around the platform. What would Dyrke possibly be interested in? Then he looked back down the walkway towards the dome wall. It disappeared into a small tunnel that was lit on to the edge of his line of sight. There was no movement. “Good,” was all he said to himself. Only then did he look back down at the man underneath him.

It was another juve, but not from house Van Saar. The kid was dressed in the traditional vest and bandana of house Orlock. A stub pistol lay beside his limp right hand. “Why would the Orlocks entrust this place to a juve?” Ian asked himself. Withdrawing his knife, and without thought, he checked the kid for a pulse. It was faint, but it was there. Standing above him Ian leveled his pistol at his victim’s head. It would be such a simple thing to ensure the kid never reported back to his gang. His hand began to shake. Dropping his head and hand Ian sighed. “Let the hive swallow him if that is his fate.”

He stepped over the juve. As he lifted his eyes back up to look around the drill platform again his gaze fell upon a small satchel. Kneeling beside it Ian threw open the flap. Inside were several notebooks, and two data slates. Refastening the flap Ian stood to leave and he noticed another person. Waiting at the sewage drain he had entered from stood one of Dyrke’s men, waving him over. He quickly crossed back through the mire and into the small tunnel.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” the man asked.

“Just this,” Ian said as he handed over the satchel. “Oh, and there is another drainage tunnel on the far side.

“Good work kid. You get a go on your first task. The name’s Rogers by the way.”

“Nice to finally be called something other than ‘little rat’.”

“Well, I wouldn’t get too used to that,” Rogers said. “You still have to face the other three tests before anyone on the team even will consider calling you anything else.” Without waiting for more he turned to lead Ian back the way they had come.

Ian glanced down at his wound and winced. “Any chance to get this taken care of,” he called up to his escort.

“If you want you can drop out now. Otherwise,” Rogers said as he turned back around, “you’re just going to have to wait until this is all over.” Shaking his head Ian declined the offer. “Good. Besides, if my premonitions about you are correct. You’re going to eat these tests up.”

“Just great,” Ian thought to himself, “nothing like being given a soup sandwich to eat.” The pair left the hum of the drill behind them and headed back from whence they came.

Awakening

The sound of an air handler drew him slowly out of slumber. The first few minutes Ian just laid there trying to remember where he was. He remembered that he had not returned to his own apartment for fear of being tracked down by his family, and not being a member of any gang yet there was nowhere else for him to belong, so where was he?

He could tell that he was in some kind of bed, and that the blanket that now covered him was not threadbare. There was also a light on somewhere in the room... Was that perfume he smelled? That’s when Ian remembered the Escher from last night. What was her name again? …Amber.

Just then Ian felt the bed move, like a weight being shifted. When his eyes shot open Amber was propped above him on all fours, her face only a few centimeters above his. She peered into his eyes as if looking for something.

Time stood still for a few moments. Ian’s brain flooded with thoughts, but none of his muscles responded to his immediate commands.

“Uh… what happened,” Ian finally stammered.

“It was pretty funny really. We came back here, chatted for a while; you climbed into bed and passed out.” Amber said as she sat up and leaned against the wall. She had a huge smirk on her face. “You slept like you didn’t have a care in the world… or that you were even aware that you were in a woman’s bedroom…odd behavior for a man.” She seemed to contemplate the last point.

Ian blushed as he realized where he was. “I… that is… I meant no offense…. I mean…”

“It’s alright,” Amber laughed. “The other Cats are always telling me that all men want to do is…”

“Oh!... Well, um… that is…” Ian’s face was beginning to turn red and sweat started forming on his brow. Sitting up he continued to be at a loss for words. “I find you very attractive… and given the opportunity I’d…”

“You’d what?” Amber asked leaning towards Ian once more.

BAM, BAM, BAM! Both Ian and Amber jumped with a start as a woman with green hair barged through the door.

“Amber! Stop playing with your new toy and get your ass moving!” And with that she was gone, leaving the door ajar.

“I’d better get going. The girls are going on the prowl today. If I do well I might earn my colors.” Amber leapt off the bed and cleared half the room. Spinning around she snatched up her pistol and sword holsters from a chair and faced Ian. “See you around the bridge Ian… There’s nothing here for you to steal so… just pull the door shut when you leave,” and then Amber darted out the door.

Ian stared at the doorway for sometime not knowing what to think. “I fell asleep! What was I thinking?” he said to himself with a grin. After a few minutes he threw the blanket aside and stood to leave. His holster remained at his side… with the las pistol. A quick check showed that the power cell still had its full charge. “Best to get on with it then,” and then Ian stepped through the door pulling it shut behind him.

Ian walked down the stairs into the main room. For a long time he just stood there trying to figure out where to go. Before he could figure it out the man from his first foray into the proving grounds stepped up behind him.

“Dyrke is waiting for you little rat.”

Ian spun around, “I…”

“Shut up Rat bile. You’re only going to get one shot at this, and Dyrke is not one to like surprises. Especially the stunt you pulled yesterday. Fortunately for you the kid’s going to make it, albeit in a lesser capacity… Move it.”

Ian followed a few paces behind until they reached their destination somewhere within the Bifrost’s lower levels. “Wait here little rat.”

“Um, wait. What’s your name?” Ian called out to his escort’s back.

“You don’t need to worry about that little rat. Not until you pass the ‘Q’ course.” And with that the man left the room.

Dyrke didn’t keep him waiting long. “I’ve been told that you have made yourself at home here at the Bifrost little rat.”

Ian cringed at what was becoming his nickname.

“On to business,” Dyrke said. “This will be slightly different than the normal rotation as we are short on time and initiates.” Ian shifted. Dyrke continued, “there will be four phases that you will be going through. They are back to back with no breaks in between. The only pause you will have will be for direction from one of my team. Do you have any questions?”

“So, do you mean when I pass these tests, I’ll be…?”

“IF you pass them,” Dyrke interrupted. “The overview is this. Phase one will be a reconnaissance type of mission. You will have to move in and around a particular target and then retrieve one item of ‘interest’. From there you will do what we refer to as a deep insertion, “there were chuckles from the others who had since come into the room. Dyrke peered over Ian’s shoulder and silenced the room once more. “Once you complete this test you will be making a trip to the sump, and if you survive this far you will have to make a journey that your wildest imaginations can not come up with.”

Ian shifted his weight and looked around the room. Maybe… this was not such a bright idea after all. All he’d wanted to do was get out of Hive City, have a little adventure. When it was all said and done maybe even return home to a nice job. Now… he was not sure if would survive these tests. Why had he even gotten out of that nice bed?

“Alright little rat, time to die.”

To Be Determined

Ian walked the streets of Hive City with no destination in mind. He couldn’t go back to his apartment since the bounty hunter would take his father there first, and he could not head to Team Delta’s house as he was not a member of that gang yet. That would be determined in the days ahead.

Searching through his pockets he pulled out the last of his stashed credits. Five credits were all he had to his name, that and his las pistol and knife. The last was a gift from his mother upon his ascension to manhood. He thumbed the pommel absent mindedly as he stood outside the “Bifrost”. It was a Van Saar drinking hole set upon a bridge across a cavernous gorge nearly a hundred stories deep. A hive quake from before anyone currently alive could remember had ripped open the gorge causing a ‘natural’ division between areas of the hive and being on the fringe of hive city made it a low priority to reoccupy or repair. As a result the owners of the Bifrost made a handsome sum of credits to those wishing to pass beyond. There were other bridges to be sure, but none as wide as to allow the transportation of anything more than what one could carry on their back.

Just standing outside the door Ian hesitated to go in. He was new to the area, he had never really participated in such revelries before, and he was obviously green. As he juggled those thoughts he was knocked to the floor as a trio of gangers barreled their way past him.

“Watch where you’re going runt,” mumbled one of the men, not even turning his head to address the juve now sprawled out in the gutter.

Ian stood up and dusted himself off. ‘Well, if I am ever going to get used to living out here on my own I had better get used to going into such places,’ he thought to himself, and headed straight through the swinging doors.

The din was mind numbing. Countless conversations all vying to be heard over the others, some kind of music blaring from a band on stage in another room, over the bar were several monitors of hive sporting events – one had the picture of a fighting pit with several pit slaves engaged in a fight to their deaths, another several large rats navigating a maze, and the last had a game of slaughter ball. Ian had to step back into the shadows to avoid from being bowled over once again as patrons came at went at their leisure.

Ian blended in well enough. Not too tall, not so small as to get lost, and his envirosuit looked like any other. Most of the patrons had some form of weapon either strapped to their back or slung over their shoulder. Very few were as inadequately armed as he was. Looking around he decided to head to where the music was blaring from out of the back room.

As he crossed the smoke filled room he noticed several other sizable rooms. All of them filled with denizens of other houses, where this mix-match came together was in the hall in the back. There was no other place like it in hive city. At least not that Ian had heard of. The close proximity to hive city, and the bridge being a jump off point to places beyond, brought several of the houses together. Realizing that their mutual support of this resource was in each of their best interest, even if the Bifrost was Van Saar owned and operated. Each house had a piece of the pie and saw to it that none of the others tried to take more than their fair share.

Once in the back room the music was loud enough that Ian felt the vibrations in his teeth. On stage was a pair of Van Saar, one Escher, and an Orlock. The Orlock was playing a percussion instrument that had some form of fabric stretched across several steel drums of varying size. The Escher appeared to be the vocal ‘talent’ of the group as she was screaming into some form of microphone, but she was being hopelessly overpowered by the sound of the others. The pair of Van Saar appeared to be playing synths with keyboards. All four of them were pounding out a rhythm that had the whole room gyrating and pounding to the beat.

As Ian’s eyes adjusted to the flashing lights he caught site of an Escher making eye contact with him. Not knowing what to think Ian looked back over his shoulder into the common room, but with no one following behind him he looked back. The woman winked at him and went back to her conversation. Ian felt his face flush and ducked into the crowd.

Finding a small table with no one sitting at it Ian sat down where he could just enjoy the music for a time. Out of nowhere a waiter shows up from among the crowd. The man’s face was slightly disfigured and a Van Saar model bionic eye stared down at him with a cool blue light.

“What’ll it be?” The man asked.

Now knowing what to say Ian replied, “Um, water?”

The waiter burst out laughing so loud as to be heard over the music by several nearby. “Let’s see your credits!”

Fishing in his pocket he pulled out all that he had.

“You couldn’t buy a cup of water with ten times that amount! Here ya go – a nice glass of second best for the young lad!” With that the waiter placed a glass of some murky liquid heavily down on the table spilling most of its contents, and scrapped every last credit into his hand and disappeared before Ian could protest the loss.

Lifting up the cup to his nose Ian sniffed at the contents. The odor curled the hairs in his nose and caused him to twitch involuntarily.

“It’s better if you just down it,” came a voice from the crowd.

Ian looked up. It was the Escher from before. She wore black leather pants with a holstered auto pistol along her right leg. Across her shoulders was a plain looking sword, cutting across an orange shirt that left her mid drift exposed. Her red hair was pulled back to a pony tail. Her eyes locked once more on Ian’s.

“People actually drink this?” he asked.

“Only if you want to forget something, or gain some instant courage,” she replied. “You’re not from around here are you?”

Ian thought quickly, but had nothing better to reply. “No. You?”

She ignored the question. “So what brings you to the edge of the underhive, Mr. …?”

“Ian, just call me Ian. Let’s just say I am getting away from something. What about you, Ms … ?”

“Amber, my friends call me Amber. And so, what are you doing here? Are you with one of the local gangs?”

“That is as of yet, to be determined. I apparently have to prove myself before being fully embraced as a member. What about you?”

“I run with the ‘Black Cats’. I’m not a full fledged member yet. I have a few … initiations of my own to complete. What do you say we get out of here so we can talk a little easier?”

Ian hesitated, visions of being ambushed a left in some sewer drain flashed through his mind. “I think… I think I’m fine right here.”

“Suit yourself,” Amber said as she got up to leave. “But I have a small room right here in the Bifrost if you should change your mind.”

“And if I should follow you?” Ian stammered. “What will you do to me?”

“That, is as yet … to be determined,” she grinned back at him as she slowly walked through the crowd back towards the front room.

Ian gulped down the glass of second best and stood to follow the Escher. Fortunately for him the waiter had spilled most of it and his head swirled for only a moment. Leaving the glass behind Ian faded into the crowd in pursuit of his host.