ICHaFBI 10

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=I, Corvus; How a Fool became Imperator of the O'Reillys - Chapter X -=
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<<Next Chapter - Return to Story Index - Next Chapter>>
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----<Character & Faction Directory of I, Corvus>----
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===Unpleasant discussion by the Forge===
Lagrange Point 3 (Lunar)
New Venice System, Latium District
Marian Hegemony
18th May, 3031
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A tiny emergence signature appeared at a pirate point. The timing had been perfect as the pinprick of light was obscured from New Venice’s sensors by a gas giant far in the outer system.
The Leopard took it’s time, twisting through the system on a winding course at a leisurely pace to keep the chance of detection down. It glided into the watery ring of a tiny atoll. The hidden platform took the Leopard under the surface, to the Ordo Vigilis watch station. Three passengers disembarked and transferred without a word to a battered fishing vessel on the surface.
 
A fisherman took them down to the hold and pointed to a trio of data chits. Two of them slipped tiny pads from the pockets and slid them inside. The third man, the largest man, flipped a compartment on his left arm, revealing the myomer structure beneath the “skin”. He slotted the chit into the arm and flipped open a panel, displaying a read out. He memorized the information, then snapped the chit and tossed it overboard. Then they all waited, silently, together.
 
The largest man knew sleep wouldn’t come, but he closed his eyes anyways and thought through scenarios: the paths he could take, the ways each could go wrong, and how to adjust and overcome, how the showdown would go.
 
It was nighttime when the boat finally docked at Jalandhar, the capital of New Venice. The crew left and as the hours went by, the others slipped away, one by one. The large man left last, wearing a raincoat and straw hat taken from the hold. He kept to side streets and alleys as much as he could. His target, the Vulcan Forgeworks compound towered over the rows of prefab townhouses and cookie-cutter village markets. He slipped behind a dumpster behind one such market and dumped his borrowed clothes, pulled up the hood of his stealth suit, pressed a button on the belt, and waited.
 
When he was sure the path was clear, he rushed the steel and concrete walls and latched on with the electromagnet concealed in his arm, gripped the concrete with his heels, and leapt on top. He squatted on top motionless to let his suit blend with the background, blinked his cybernetic eye to switch on telescopic vision, surveyed the yard, and then slipped down.
 
He hated this sort of work; despite the prosthetic enhancements, he was a social engineering man at heart. The rush of infiltrating in plain sight and talking through challenges always beat slow tension of hiding, waiting, and sneaking. But the slow insertion of the dropship necessitated such an entrance.
 
The target would be in his suite in corporate offices at this time of night. He slipped around to the edge of the building. All three entrances were guarded by a pair of armed guards outside, and sure to be more inside. It would have to be the roof then. He said a silent prayer of thanks for Gurdeep Vulcan’s lack of pretension. While other corporations build the biggest towers possible, Vulcan was satisfied with a building exactly big enough to do the job.
 
The grappler reached the eighth story roof with ease. A pair of guards sat in their booth, watching the best of that week’s gladiatorial matches while the agent crept to the stairwell door. Vulcan was thorough. The door was flush on all sides and the extra bolts on the lock and security pins on the hinge denied his usual means of entry. He would have to pick it after all. A minute later he was in, switched his eye to infrared, and began to slink through the halls towards Gurdeep Vulcan’s rooms.
 
It was easier inside, the servants were all asleep and there was no sign of more security. He found the door to Vulcan’s rooms and swept it with his eye. There was no one inside. Was the information wrong? Had he remembered it wrong? If he had gone to one of the compound’s factories for nighttime inspection, there would be no way to catch him alone. He crept back up to the roof and surveyed the yard once more.
 
One thing caught his eye. A handful of outbuildings built in the ancient Roman style. From here, he could see the flicker of a fire inside, and a single man handling something long and hot. He crept to the archaic forge and found his target.
 
Gurdeep Vulcan, once known as Gurdeep Singh, CEO of Vulcan Forgeworks, wearing a tunic and hammering at a glowing length of metal. He was an enormous man with a chiseled physique, long hair tied up behind him and an exquisitely sculpted beard, and mustache.
 
The agent closed the door behind him and pressed the button on his belt. “Vulcan,” he said.
 
Vulcan looked up for a moment, narrowed his eyes, and then returned to his work. “Have I the honour of addressing the young master Kelly?”
 
“If you mean Vigilis Centurion Kelly, then yes.”
 
“Don’t act proud to me, boy. I knew you back when you were still shitting your pants daily. I do hope you’ve grown out of the habit, Sean never seemed to.”
 
“I should kill you where you stand for saying such things about our rightful Imperator.”
 
“Then you’d better do it. I can’t stop a Vigilis assassin and my men can’t reach me in time.”
 
Kelly stood staring daggers at the man.
 
“No? Well, then why are you here Ambrose?”
“I’m here because our Imperator and my father were murdered in broad daylight and broadcast to the entire Inner Sphere and no one seems to care! Marius loved you! But you’re just sitting here, playing around while battalions of tanks roll off your lines for a usurper to use!”
 
“And what would you have me do, hmm? Declare my little fiefdom be in rebellion, and allow the Praetorians to reduce me to ash? I have tanks, but no crews beyond the personnel beyond quality assurance, and I assure you Karen from Human Resources would have my head, let alone what the health and safety committee would say.”
 
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Gurdeep? I knew you were a fucking coward, but I won’t let you abandon Sean like this! Do they mean anything to you?” Ambrose began to walk slowly, purposefully towards Vulcan.
 
Gurdeep put down his hammer and looked Ambrose in the eyes. “Marius made me who I am today. Without, I would be nothing, this company would be nothing, this world would be nothing. Sean is my godson. Livia is my goddaughter. I have no children and I do not plan to. I love them more than any child I could ever have. I have tried to laugh off our insults, but you push further. The last thing they need is a reckless martyr like you. I will kill for them, I will die for them, and I will die killing you if needs be to protect them. You need to leave, now, and go back to whatever hole you hide in and stay there while the grownups do the work.”
 
Ambrose stopped a foot away. “What the fuck did you say?”
 
Vulcan quenched the sword and stood straight, looming over the Vigilis agent. “I said that you will get your friend killed unless you stop your reckless behavior. Let me ask you, where is Sean? Where is Livia? The other members of the Imperial family have returned, but not yet them. How do you intend to restore an Imperator who cannot be found? Will you reign as regent? Will you put Corvus on the throne? How will you then remove him when Sean is found? The people who have him, what incentive do they have not to kill him? Surely he is with men loyal to the usurper. Have you thought this through, any of it?”
 
Ambrose hadn’t. Some in his cabal had, but he’d waved away their concerns.
 
“I thought not. And who will rise with you when the time comes? A civil war will weaken us greatly. It has to be quick and decisive when the blow comes.”
 
“Yeah, the Imperial armies, they’re still loyal. The commanders of Legio I and III, the Alphard Trading Company and Marian Arms are loyal to us, they’ll make sure we have the weapons we need. The Humphreys of Islington, and veterans from the colonia settled across the worlds he conquered. They’re gathering, on Jubka.”
 
“No. They must not gather, must not arm, not yet. Stay quiet, stay low, locate their arms and the loyalty of those who already hold them, but not strike, not even prepare to strike, only think through the act of striking. You have your division of the Ordo Vigilis on side, or you would not be here. But the other four, they will be watching. Even if they are on side, not all among their number will be. Let them find the dissidents you don’t trust. Let them think they have won, and then they will relax.”
 
Ambrose thought about it for a moment. It made sense. Surely the news had already reached the Praetorians about the growing “pirate” threat on Jubka.
 
“You put me in a difficult position, Mr. Kelly. Your plans have put my godchildren in greater danger than they already were. If you strike before they are found, then I will do all I can to save them, which will mean that I will have no choice but to fight alongside Sertorius. If you think that I have been sitting here, twiddling my thumbs while my kin suffer, then it shows you and your sources have made yet another error. There are greater forces at play, here. I have played the game for longer than you’ve been alive. There are pieces who have been off the board since before you were born, and I intend to bring them back. Has your father mentioned Lucius O’Reilly junior before? No? Perhaps the name Daryl the Hun would be more familiar? Hmm, he should have. I am not surprised Sean has not mentioned him, his second cousin was exiled before either of you were born, but Harcourt should have. A distant relative, severed from the line of succession, who took a whole legion of followers with him into exile, including most of the original Ninth Legion. They call themselves Boyz Movers Limited. Don’t let the name throw you, Lucius is a master at branding and it’s serves his purposes. They’ve grown now, and laid low doing jobs in the deep periphery. Negotiations began the day after your father was killed. When the time is right, Lucius and his Boyz will return and avenge the dead. Do you understand what I’m saying? You find me Sean, and I will find him an army that Sertorius will never suspect.”
 
Ambrose Kelly nodded, put up his hood and pressed the button to engage his suit. Vulcan picked up his hammer and returned to work.
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===Haggling over property===
Tribute Landing Pad
Algenib, Samnium District
Marian Hegemony
12th February , 3031
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Metellus Metalicus, Quarterman of the Flaming Circus, floored the gas of his frankentank. Decades of salvage and jury rigging had left it with patches and replacements and additions from maybe a hundred different makes and models had erased any knowledge of its original pattern and with it, it’s proper name. It was a testament to the ingenuity of Algenib’s spannerboys that it ran at all, let alone at speeds like this.
 
It was still not fast enough. He swore as he saw the circle of vehicles surrounding the landing pad. The big dogs were already here: the Pantheon with their togas and masks made in mockery of the Imperial Court, the Dildominators in all their leather-clad glory, the immense vehicles of the Bad Motha Trukkas, the Lazarians painted white as ghosts. Standing above them all, Burning Chrome, the biggest dog in the junkyard that was Algenib.
 
Then he saw his space: a few of smaller tribes huddled together. He blew his horn to signal his convoy to hit the flames. The sight of a dozen fire breathing death racers scattered the lesser tribes and Metellus took his proper place.
 
“Take the wheel,” he commanded as he climbed out onto the gun deck as one of his boys slipped into the driver’s seat. He clapped a steadying hand on his foregunner, Gnasher Drillbiter, who in turn kept a twitching finger on the triggers of his coaxial flamer and machine gun.
 
Metellus kept one eye on the rival tribes and another on the incoming dropships. If violence was going to break out, it would be now. None would dare dishonour themselves in front of the Imperator’s servants. He felt the tension loose from his shoulders when the first Mule touched down. A company of Imperial soldiers came first, as always. Then the slaves began to stumble out, goaded forward by more soldiers with shock batons. Warboys from the other tribes surged forward to claim them, but Metellus kept his eye on the cargo bay. The Flaming Circus had no need for new slaves, it was the parts he wanted.
 
He ordered his men forward as soon as the first load left the bay. They were third hand scraps and pieces, some military, some civilian, none matched. The soft people of the core worlds were too rigid to see their value, but these were the lifeblood of his people. The Circus’ spannerboys waded into the fray flanked by the biggest warboys the Circus could find. The spanners pointed and warboys claimed, kicking away the boys from lesser tribes while the spanners dickered with the warboys of greater ones.
 
A Pantheon warrior strode by with a string of handsome young men. Metellus imagined the smile under her Bacchus mask and thought of how she would look tonight when she broke the slaves in. But there was something about the first slave that caught his attention, some familiarity he couldn’t quite place.
 
He suddenly shot straight up, “Gnasher, come!”
 
He jumped down, called after the Bacchus mask, and grabbed the slave, “This one! How much?”
 
“Not for sale!” She grabbed the slave by the arm, “See this? Soft, gentle, never done a day of work in his life. He’s a patrician this one! Softer than any I’ve seen, no, he’s mine.”
 
“Gnasher, the keys, now!”
 
Gnasher Drillbiter cocked his head for a moment, but quickly bounded back to the truck. He returned with the keys hanging from his mouth. Metellus took it, and held it out towards Bacchus mask. “For him.”
 
Metellus could see the woman’s eyes go wide under the mask. She took a while to process, as if looking for the catch,.“You’ve been in the heat too long, Flamer. Have the whole chain.” Then she threw the lead at him.
 
Metellus caught it and cut the chain to separate the first slave from the rest. “Gnasher, take the rest. This one is mine”
 
Metellus grabbed the slave by the chin and pulled he close. “If you tell anyone who you are, I will kill you. Do you understand?” He spoke quietly, not quiet a whisper, but enough so that only the slave could hear him through the din of the feeding frenzy.
 
The boy looked at him in terror and confusion. Metellus squeezed harder and the boy squirmed, “Nod if you understand boy.”
 
The boy nodded.
 
“Let me be clear to you, boy, she would have killed you and it would not have been pleasant or short. You are my property and it cost me a lot to save you. To the others you’re a toy, and they would break you and throw you away like a toy. But I’m a connoisseur of rare toys. You are an investment, and you are going to pay me back a thousandfold for my kindness. If you don’t, I will break you myself. Do we have an understanding?”
 
The boy nodded.
 
“Good.” His boys had already emptied his battlewagon and were busy filling the other trucks with loot. Gnasher kicked the driver out of one while Metellus led the boy to the back.
 
“We’re going to have a lot of alone time on the way home, young Master O’Reilly. Pay attention. You have a lot to learn if you want to survive.”
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===Knowing your place===
Flaming Circus Camp
Algenib, Samnium District
Marian Hegemony
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Sean waited alone for hours in the heat of Metellus’ tent. He spent the time mulling over a dozen wants to escape the camp, but the vastness of the Algenib wastes beyond seemed insurmountable. Finally, the tent opened, a woman entered instead of the expected Metellus.
 
She was tall, wiry, and covered in burn scars and tattoos. Her clothes were ragged, covered in stains and he could smell the stale sweat from across the tent. Every part of her was covered in dust and grease except for the immaculate tools in her belt.Here stood the exact opposite of the courtly girls of Alphard: competent, confident, weathered, and tough. It excited him.
 
She covered her mouth to hide her laughter, “This is him?”
 
“Yes,” Metellus’ voice called from outside. He hurried in, gave a nervous look around outside, and closed the tent, “ZHe doesn’t look like much, but trust me, he’ll be worth a million times his weight in fuel. Think you can make a spannerboy out of him?”
 
She snorted, “Fuck no! Look at the kid! Kid, show him your hands. What do you think I can do with that?”
 
“Don’t call me kid!” Sean protested
 
The two ignored him. “Surely he can fetch and carry? We just need to keep him useful enough to stay alive.”
 
“There ain’t room in the boneyard for a pissant like him. I’m not gonna let you drag me down with you.”
 
“Stop it!” Sean cried.
 
The woman grabbed a wrench from her belt and pointed it at his face, “The grownups are talking kid, don’t you little shits get taught to speak only when spoken to?”
 
Sean rose to his feet and screamed “I will not be treated this way, I am Sean O’Rei—” Metellus’ fist slammed into Sean’s stomach and knocked the wind out of him. He collapsed to the ground.
 
“Holy fuck, he’s legit ain’t he?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Damn….” she paused, “Fine, fine, I’ll find something, but if the shit hits the fan I knew none of this. I think you need a little man to man to help him get his shit together first.”
 
Metellus knelt down next to Sean, “Look, it doesn’t matter for now what you were. Slavery doesn’t work the same way here. This isn’t Alphard, there is no law here and no legal protection for slaves from their masters. And even if there was, whoever sent you here owns those courts. But a slave on Alphard is a slave forever. A slave here, they can become anything they damn well want. I pissed off your dipshit of a father and got sent here twelve years ago as a slave. And look at me now! Quarterman for one of the biggest tribes on Algenib.
 
Sean had by now managed to get back to his feet, “What’s—” he coughed, “what’s quarterman mean?”
 
Metellus smirked, “It’s two things. One, I’m the guy in charge of making sure we get enough food, fuel, water, and parts to keep the tribe running. Two, anyone who fucks with me gets drawn and quartered. Do you know what that is?”
 
“Yeah.”
 
“Good. So you don’t fuck with me right?”
 
Sean nodded.
 
“Good. You’re my ticket out of this hellhole, and I’m yours. You do want to get out of here, right? No! Don’t answer dipshit, it’s rhetorical, of course you do. I’ve got some rules and if you follow them, you and me are gonna spin your purple blood into running this godforsaken deathscape and once we’ve done that, we can get the hell out of here. Rule one: do exactly what I say. Rule two: don’t tell anyone who you are. So far, only you, me, the Wrench Kisser there, and my man Gnasher Drillbiter know who you are. After twelve years on this rock they’re the only two I’ve found who I can trust, and even then only because they want to ride your coattails with me. You talk to no one about anything except them. Rule three: you make yourself useful. I don’t know how, I can’t care how, but deadweight dies here. Rule four: do not, for any reason, piss anyone else off. They could end you in a second. Got it?”
 
Sean nodded.
 
“Good. Go out and see Wrench. Do whatever she says and do not piss her off either.”
 
Sean left the tent. Wrench motioned for him to follow and led him through the camp. “Do yourself a favour kid, don’t look anyone in the eye.”
 
He took in the sight of the camp. The land was rocky with red soil and jagged cliffs ringing the camp. What vegetation there was had more grey to it then green.
 
“Yeah, don’t step on that without shoes or you’ll need stitches.” Wrench pointed at the tents, “Same goes for them!”
 
She took him past hundreds of tents, maybe thousands. They were gathered in circles, huddled around vehicles of all sorts, each one covered with some sort of tarp under which groups of men and women lounged, drank and laughed. The tents gave way to smaller shacks made from scraps and eventually, a huge, open building that might have been a hanger once. Vehicles in all states of repair filled the space.
 
“Welcome to the boneyard kid.”
 
“I’m not a kid.”
 
“You’re not a fucking man, that’s for sure.”
 
He grabbed her waist and pulled her towards him, but she didn’t budge, “I’ll show you how much of a man I am.”
 
The next thing he knew he was on the ground with a pounding headache. Something in his jaw felt wrong.When his vision came into focus he saw her wiping blood off of her wrench.
 
“You gonna do that again, and I’m calling this whole thing off and mounting you dick first to my ride, you got that kid?”
 
Sean nodded. He put a hand on either side of his jaw to see what was broken. It turned out to be two teeth. He spat them out and struggled to his feet. He stood, silently, staring at her.
 
Wrench slid her tool back into its pouch on her belt. “That’s a start. For now, your job is to hold shit for me while I work. The first thing you’re gonna hold is your tongue. You talk when I tell you to. Do well, and one day, you’ll be riding in one of these beauties.”
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===Life on the savage Algenib wastes===
Flaming Circus Camp
Algenib, Samnium District
Marian Hegemony
19th February, 3031
The Wrench Kisser lay on top of a mutant vehicle. Sean thought it might have once been the chassis of an ancient Packrat, with the body of a command van stuck on top. They’d spent the last week trying to find space to shove a civilian car on top of that along with the SRM-6 off of a Striker tank. The thing was hideous, but somehow, it worked.
 
She held out a gloved hand, “Plate.”
 
Sean passed her another piece of thick, albeit primitive armour plating.
 
She welded in silence, plate after plate until the torch began to sputter. She flipped it off. “Shit. Check the hose.”
 
Sean was already on it. The hose was...well, calling it a hose at this point was charitable given how much of it had been patched. He had no idea how the thing still managed to carry fuel at all. Then again, it broke down so often he’d become a deft hand at patching it. Soon enough, it was “working” again and he scrambled back up the monstrosity.
 
Wrench said nothing and was already back to work before he got to the top. He’d learned that silence was her way of saying “Good job”.
 
He handed her another plate, “Last one.”
 
“No shit? Guess Gnasher is gonna have to hope the bullets only come from the left side.”, they laughed together.
 
“Ok, hammer.”
 
He handed her one.
 
She handed it back, “No, the left-handed one dipshit.”
 
He twitched to reach for the hammer, then gave her the finger, “Fuck you.”
 
She gave him a quick wink and smile, then began to shape the awkward parts into place.
 
This whole place still confused Sean. How could these people build working engines of war out of scraps welded together, something else the best techs of the Inner Sphere had trouble with, but their work still ended up a slapdash mess?
 
“Don’t fuckin’ stare at me dipshit. Grab a hammer and go to town.”
 
Sean grinned, it was still rare that she trusted him enough to actually do something to one of her vehicles.
 
Wrench stopped and flipped up her welding mask. “Boss incoming. Look like you give a shit.”
 
Metellus called up to them, “How’s my favourite lady today?”
 
“She could use a new fucking everything, but I fixed the NOS injector.”
 
“Good, we’re going on a trip. Suit up, I need a tech, and bring your slave.”
 
“Gloria ain’t ready for service yet.” she told him.
 
“I know, I need something with cargo space. Prep Dokkaebi.”
 
She stuck out her tongue and gave a quick salute with her wrench, then jumped down. “Right, Sean, help me arm it. See the cooler over in the corner, I need that loaded in the back, then the fuel tanks need filling. Remember: red line for the car, orange line for the flamers.”
 
He nodded and set to work. Dokkaebi at least made a little bit of sense to him. He recognized the chassis as a Goblin, but with half of the armour plates gone, the turret replaced with one he didn’t recognize, and the engine fitted with extra parts that somehow gave it the power to run at nearly twice what a Goblin should run.
 
The turret, wherever it was from, was open on top and mounted two of the Flaming Circus’ trademark flamers, each with a coaxial machine gun. Gnasher Drillbiter was already on top, polishing the fore mounted gun.
 
Metellus returned with the rear gunner, Vipra, and a pair of brawlers he hadn’t seen before. Vipra flicked a hand-rolled cigarette butt into Sean’s face as she passed while the heavies didn’t bother to acknowledge him. They sat together in the infantry bay, staring at one another, while Sean leaned on the cooler and tried not to be noticed.
 
Metellus climbed into the driver’s seat and Wrench beside him. “Where we going, boss?”
 
“Ashbourne.”
 
“No shit? And Nightmarus Mons knows we’re going?”
 
“It’s his idea. The tribe is getting into the big leagues. Maximus Phallus sent notice that we’re to receive his ‘gifts’, so Mons needs to send a suitably worthy messenger so as not to offend our dear governor and I drew the short straw at council. Let’s get this shit going, we’re due tomorrow.”
 
Sean suppressed his groan. Ashbourne, the capital of Algenib, was seven hundred kilometers away, most of it trackless sand and spinifex.
 
He managed to sleep through some of it though, and came to when Dokkaebi came to a sudden stop. He popped his head out of the bay, but only saw more desert. “Hey, why’d we stop?”
 
“Get up here, slave!” Metellus called, and so Sean pulled himself up to the driver’s cabin.
 
“Learn. You see that?” Metellus pointed to a buggy of some sort, with two screaming men waving guns around.
 
“What about it?”
 
“It can’t move.”
 
“Sucks to be them.”
 
“More than you know. It may not look like it, but there are laws on this world. The most important, maybe the only one everybody follows, is the law of salvage. Movement is life. Never forget that. You see a vehicle that can’t move like that? Then the occupants are already dead, whether they know it or not. Anyone who can get it moving again can claim it. We’ve got a tow line, so it’s ours.”
 
“What about them?”
 
“They can take a bullet or a slave collar. Or run off and starve, but not many are dumb enough to choose that option.”
 
“So what are we doing then?”
 
“We’re on Pantheon turf now, not our own. And we’re too damn close to the Dune Rats. Might be an ambush.” He surveyed the area and waited for what seemed to Sean like forever. “Thunder, Lightning! Go and claim our salvage!” He finally shouted.
 
The two bruisers in the infantry bay grabbed their weapons and walked purposefully towards the buggy. It’s crew fired a couple of shots at their feet, then a spray from Vipra’s machine gun drove them away. The crew dropped kept running across the desert.
 
Metellus frowned, “Morons...I can’t believe they’d choose to die like that….Fuck, no! Get back! Ambush!”
 
The recovery crew turned and ran, but holes opened up in the ground to their left and right. People jumped out, covered in brown rags, guns drawn and shot the two down.
 
Metellus swore up a store and gunned the engines. “Dune Rats!” Sean sat there in confusion, until a half-dozen other buggies began to roar towards them from across the desert.
 
“How the hell can they hide in this place?”
 
“They’re clever fucks, they dig, tunnel, ramps, pitfalls, all sort of shit. Cover it up with woven grass and sand. Goddamn nightmare. Go up and help Gnasher!”
 
Sean climbed up to the turret. Vipra and Gnasher were already hammering away at the incoming buggies. He put a hand on Gnasher’s gnarled shoulder. The freak turned around and grinned at him with his jaw. Sean shuddered. Every single tooth had been replaced with a drill bit and wired together. Sean had never wanted to ask why he’d done it. “Metellus said to help.” Gnasher just grinned, laughed and nodded, then kicked an empty.
 
Sean climbed back down. “Gnasher says he’s running out of bullets.”
 
“Let them close and we’ll get them with the flamers.”
Sean nodded and began to climb again, but was sent flying back down to the infantry bay as an explosion rocked the Dokkaebi. He looked up and saw fire from the turret, and climbed to check. Vipra was gone and her flamer’s tank had ruptured. Smoke was billowing out of the top of the tank. Gnasher’s hunched back was dotted with scorch marks and shrapnel, but he kept on laughing and firing, incinerating a buggy that got too close. The buggy smashed into the side of the Dokkaebi, spraying fire and wreckage across the engine compartment.
 
“Sean! Talk to me! What was that?” Metellus called out.
 
Sean climbed back down and looked out the back of the bay. A vehicle, far larger than the others, was tailing them, furiously trying to reload a missile launcher. Sean ran forward and called up, “SRM-2! Vipra’s gone and so’s her gun.” He flinched as a harpoon embedded itself in the wall next to his head. He looked back and saw a cable leading from the harpoon to their pursuer. The Rats began to winch in the cable. Two men were already preparing to make the jump across. “They’re tied to us and they’re trying to board! Wrench, get down and help me!”
 
“Wrench is busy with the fire. Grab my knife and gun, cut it loose, and if not, shoot them and get the tailgater.”
 
Sean reached up and pulled Metellus’ weapons from their holsters. He tried to saw the cable, but it was steel and far too thick. The first Dune Rat jumped into the bay with an axe drawn. Sean, shaking, drew the pistol, closed his eyes and fired.
 
He opened them and saw the Rat dead on the ground. He aimed at the other Rat and fired four more times before the gun began to click. The Rat fell and was crushed under the wheels of it’s transport.
 
Two more started to climb out of the vehicle. Sean looked around, desperate. He grabbed the Rat’s hatchet and threw, but it bounced harmlessly off of the hood.
 
“Metellus help! I’m out of bullets!”
 
“Get the tailgater!”
 
“I can’t! I’m out of bullets!”
 
“No you fucking moron, get the tailgater! Open the cooler!”
 
Sean ran forward and opened it. Inside was a hideous, scaled creature with long claws and a muzzle around it’s jaws.
 
“Ohhhh.” Sean called up as the thing hissed at him.
 
“Grab it by the neck Sean!”
 
Sean did so, unclipped the muzzle, and tossed the creature at the Dune Rats’ car.
 
The thing briefly spread its legs to reveal gliding webbing and dug its claws into the hood of the Rats’ vehicle. The car began to swerve and shake. A Rat tried to grab the lizard, but a slash from its claws severed the tendons of her arm and she slipped off of the hood. The driver panicked and the whole thing rolled. The cable snapped, and the Rats disappeared into the smoke.
 
The surviving buggies peeled off to lick their wounds.
 
Sean took a moment to process the last two minutes of his life, then crawled back up to the driver’s cabin. “What the fuck was that thing?”
 
“Tail Gator. Those fucking things hunt with heat vision. They see a hot engine, and they chew the thing up trying to get at their prey. Best way to get rid of a tail. Now grab an extinguisher and help Wrench, it’d be a shame to fight off a horde of Rats just to burn up before we get to Ashbourne.”
 
Sean nodded and got back to work.
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ICHaFBI 10