Thursday, February 25, 2016

Here Be Monsters - Chapter 37

     Dirk was sitting in the pilot's seat of the NAC-Hyundai Aero' that he'd stolen, after shooting the driver of the second one outside the bar before he could report back to his employer or escape.  He had been running on pure instinct - if it could be called that; he had figured that if he took one of the killers' vehicles, then it would make him harder to find.  Logically, a professional killer would have found a way to identify and disable any tracking devices or software embedded in the Aerodyne's flight computer that could potentially be used by the authorities.  His personal background and early training had made such tactical thinking a sort of second nature.
     It was raining steadily across most of the Bay area, and the windows were beginning to fog up, but Dirk wasn't paying attention.  His mind was replaying the sight of Alex, starting to run, only to be shot in the back, her body tumbling to the floor, like a ragdoll thrown by a petulant child.  He looked up at the street outside, but tears blurred his vision.  Shame for abandoning her, when he should have stayed, and helped to try and save her poisoned his thoughts, and it was followed by an instant of mind-bending rage.  It passed quickly, but it was harder to set aside the shame.  He had fled the scene out of fear.  Fear of the consequences of trying to save her life by sacrificing the freedom he'd so carefully worked to achieve.  The medalert tag he had used had been given to him by his grandparents, before leaving home for the last time.  It wouldn't be long before the Imperium's agents figured out that he had been in the bar, and had shot four people.  When they did, they would begin searching for him in earnest. It seemed as though the lie that his life had been was about to be exposed.  Looking back, he should have stayed, and simply faced the consequences, but the die was cast.
     He hadn't given a destination any real thought, so he was a bit confused when he realized that he had landed the air car in front of The Hyperwave Club.  His mind, it seemed, had been making decisions subconsciously, without any of the rational thought processes needing to get involved.  He suddenly realized why he had come to this particular place:  Thorne.
     He'd spoken with him the last time he was on-planet; before the trip out to the colony ship.  Dirk had barely recognized him from the images and video clips he had seen as a child, but although his facial features had been altered, the way he walked, and moved, the way he kept scanning his surroundings, looking for any possible sign of trouble, were like a beacon of light in the dark for anyone who had been trained to notice such things.
     And he had been trained; from early childhood.
     He drew his pistol from its holster, checking to make certain that it was loaded, and that a round was chambered before getting out of the 'Aero.  There was little to no traffic in this area, which was something to be thankful for, since it meant that if he had to get away quickly, he wouldn't be dodging other vehicles.  The low clouds were reflecting the city lights, giving good visibility in spite of the rain that was coming down, soaking him as he ran to the club's entrance.
     Although it was after hours, the club's sign was still lit, and he was willing to bet that if he knocked hard enough, then someone would answer the door.  They would probably be annoyed with him, but if they answered, then it wouldn't matter if they hated him with a passion.  He needed to find Thorne, and this was the only place he had seen him, so it was the best place to start.  He decided on a direct approach, and simply hammered his fist on the door continuously until a loud, distorted voice came through the comm panel next to the door.
     "FUCK OFF!  We're closed!  Now beat it, shǎzi!"  Someone shouted at him from somewhere on the other side of the door.
     He suddenly realized that if anyone inside decided to call the local police to report a disturbance, then he was well and truly screwed, so he decided to try reasoning with whoever was inside instead.
     "I'm looking for someone, and this is the only place I ever recall seeing him.  I just want to talk to anyone working here who might be able to ID him."  He said, standing in the dark, rain drenched street, and pounded on the door a couple more times for emphasis.
     There was no immediate reply, and he felt like an idiot for thinking that there would be.  He suddenly felt as though the planet's gravity had become as heavy as his homeworld's, and he slumped forward resting his forehead on the door.  He stood there in the rain, nearly leached of all ambition, considering the various consequences of simply turning himself over to the local authorities, when the sound of the door's locks being disengaged nearly caused him to jump out of his skin.
     He backed up, and kept his right hand across his abdomen, close to the weapon on his left hip as the door opened up to reveal the hulking shape of the club's cyborg doorman, partially occluded by shadow in the unlit foyer beyond.  The FBR didn't say anything, but held the door open, while standing just enough out of the way to let him by.
     The problem with full body replacement cyborgs was that you could never tell what kind of a mood they were in until it was too late.  The cyborg had no sooner closed an locked the door, when he rounded on Dirk, pinned him face first against the wall with one hand, and systematically relieved him of his handgun, spare magazines, two knives, his ID folder, billfold, titanium pen, motorcycle keys, and his private comlink.  Dirk knew that resisting would be less than futile, so he waited until the doorman was finished.  The cyborg was extremely thorough, and didn't miss anything, including the 25mm ring claw concealed by his right hip, behind his belt.  It occurred to him that most bouncers didn't get this thorough, and began to wonder if he'd made a serious mistake coming here.  His intuition told him that more was happening here, but he needed help, and Thorne was the best way to get it.
     The cybernetic hand was pulled away so quickly, that he nearly fell over backwards.
     "Saints' wet dick!  Should I just be thankful you let me keep my clothes?"  Dirk exclaimed, looking into the impassive mechanical face looming over him.
     "Yeah, you should."  Said Thorne from the end of the foyer.  "In fact, you should be thankful that you're still breathing.  Come on."  He made a come along gesture and turned into the club proper.
     Dirk followed him for want of any real options.