|Chapter 5

            Whisper heard the door to the roof creaking open behind him and he glanced over his shoulder, hand resting easily on the butt of his Bully-Boy shotgun.  He might have been a crack shot with the rifle but he was barely competent with a pistol and if he was going to get into a fight in close quarters, he wanted a gun he wasn’t likely to miss with.  Sitting in the freezing rain for hours on end had done nothing to sweeten his normally bad temper and Whisper was half hoping that it would be some street creep trying to sneak up behind him.  A bit of mindless violence was just what he needed at the moment.
            Disappointingly for Whisper, it was no punk that came up onto the roof, it was Snow, one of the Ebons from his team.  Snow was a tall, graceful man with a shock of white hair and icy white eyes.  He wore a long, white jacket over his DeathSuit and carried a pair of twin vibro-sabres on a belt at his waist.  The sabres had a soft, white leather covering on the hilts and Whisper had seen the Ebon use these blades to great effect on many occasions.
            “Oh great” muttered Whisper, making sure that it was not audible to the Ebon.  “They send the Ice Queen to take over from me.”
            “Hey, Snow,” he continues in a much louder voice.  “You got landed with the next shift, did yah?  Bad freakin’ luck man, it’s a bore.  And it’s freakin’ cold up here!  Not that it would worry you I guess.”
            Snow regarded Whisper with the same disgust he would have given something that had just crawled out of the sewers.  He could never understand why this creature had to be so obnoxious.  Was it an act he put on or was he really like this?  No, it had to be an act.  No one this disgusting could ever have made it through training, he hoped!
            “What’s happened down there?” the Ebon asked.
            “Oh, not a hell of a lot, your Eboness.  A real pretty girl left a few hours ago, but that wouldn’t interest you.  Apart from that, it’s been as quiet as a freakin’ morgue.  These Cloud Runners ain’t as dumb as us, they stay where it’s dry.  Besides, you know as well as I do that punks like these guys never go out during the day,  Like it’s bad for their freakin’ complexions or somethin’!”
            Snow didn’t bother to add anything to Whisper’s complaints.  He had known the human for many months now and had got used to his way of talking.  Whisper was never happy unless he was moaning or putting someone else down and he had spent a lot of time practising his insults.  The Ebon believed that it was a way of trying to cover up his own insecurities.  He thought that Whisper was trying to drag everyone down to his own level and had long ago stopped paying any attention to him.
            “Do we know if the freakin’ Wraith is even in the place?” asked Whisper.  “It would be just bloody typical for me to spend hours up on this freakin’ roof on a wild fucking Carrien chase.  I’ve got better things to do with my time than this, you know!”
            “Mantra says that the Wraith is in there,” answered Snow calmly.  “If he says she is there, then she is there.”
            “Yeah, right, more freakin’ Ebon magic I suppose,” complained the human.
            “Yes,” the Ebon replied.  “More ‘freakin; Ebon magic.’”
            It constantly amazed him how so many humans could simply dismiss the power of the Ebb as magic.  Magic was pulling rabbits from hats and picking the right card out of the pack, hardly in the same league as the reality altering abilities of the Ebon race.  The Ebb was everywhere, surrounding the humans as well as the Ebons, but only the Ebon races could use this energy source.  The blind humans couldn’t even accept that the power was there, to them it would always be magic.
            “Everyone is at Mantra’s flat,” he said to Whisper.  “He would be grateful if you could join them there.”
            “Fine,” replied Whisper.  “I’ll just run over there like a good boy, will I?”
            “Yes, why don’t you do that,” answered the Ebon with a slight smile.  “I don’t think you would want to keep Mantra waiting.”
            As Whisper gathered together his gear and hurried towards the door, Snow took out his monoculars and trained them on the door of The Warehouse.  He could still faintly smell the odour that surrounded Whisper but it was fading quickly and within moments there was no reminder of the disgusting man.  The Ebon didn’t mind the rain and the cold, they didn’t seem to affect him, but Whisper always managed to bring out the worst in him.  It was petty and childish to worry the human about Mantra, but it did make him feel better.

             Back in The Warehouse, Jason and Sheeala had finally discovered what it was that the other one wanted.  It had been a long, tricky conversation because neither one trusted the other but finally, Sheeala had given in and told Jason exactly what she needed from him.
            “You mean,” Jason asked, still not sure of what he had just heard, “that all you want is for me to find these Mystery Tours people?  That’s all?”
            “Yes, what else could it be?”  Sheeala was puzzled by Jason’s attitude.  She couldn’t understand why the human thought she would have wanted anything else.
            All afternoon, the two of them had been dancing around the subject, trying to guess what it was that the other wanted without actually coming out and asking.  Jason had been convinced that Sheeala was planning some sort of job on her own, something that she didn’t want Danny to know about, while Sheeala had been wondering whether she could trust Jason or if he would go running to Danny with the information.
            “Okay, okay,” said Jason.  “I know that you need to find these Mystery Tour guys, and I know that you need to get off Mort and back to Polo, where-ever the hell that is, but what I don’t know is why?  Anyone would that that you had the Slops on your tail …. or …. something!”
            Jason’s voice trailed off as he remembered the Operatives that had chased him and Owen last night.  He’d spent hours trying to figure out why they would be chasing him but it wasn’t him at all.  It was Sheeala they were after, it had to be, there was no other explanation.  But why would they be chasing him, what did he have to do with Sheeala?
            “It is the Slops that are after you, isn’t it?” he leaned across the table so that he could whisper,  “You’re in trouble with SLA, aren’t you?”
            He carried on talking but it was mostly to himself rather than the Wraith Raider.  “The Operatives are looking for you and they’re not sure where you are.  But, they do know that you’re with the Runners.  That’s it, they know that you’re with the Runners but they don’t know where the Runners are.  That’s why they came after me and Owen, they thought that we would lead them to you.”
            Sheeala was looking at Jason in a state of shock.  If what he had said was true, then SLA Industries was already on to her.  They knew where she was and what she was doing.  Moving with a speed that was faster than anything Jason had ever seen before, she lunged forward and grabbed him by both wrists.  Drawing him very close to her face she looked deep into his eyes, unsure of what she was looking for but hoping that she would find a sign that he was lying to her.
            “Explain!” she hissed.
            Jason tried to pull back but he was caught fast in the Wraith’s grip.
            “Last night,” he gasped, “when Owen and me were in ZeeZee’s a couple of Slops chased us.  I thought that they were after me but they weren’t, they just wanted you.  They must have known that you’re with us, the Runners.  Fuck, they could be out there just now, watching us!”
            Jason’s voice was rising in volume as panic set in and he was frantically trying to pull away from the Wraith, as if her very touch could infect him.  Sheeala looked around the Warehouse and saw that they were attracting a lot of attention.
            “Shut up!” she whispered fiercely.  “Shut up, let me think.”
            Jason stared at the Wraith, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.  He didn’t know what to say or think, things were going much too fast for him and he was scared, very scared.  Shit, what had he done to deserve this?  A couple of days ago life had been so simple but now, now there were trained killers out there who knew what he looked like.  This was no a comforting thought.  He considered saying something to Sheeala but she he saw the look on concentration that lay across her alien features, he changed his mind.  Something told him that it would be a very bad idea to disturb her just now.
            Sheeala was closer to despair than she had ever been in her short life.  She was relying on being able to stay hiding with the Runners for a while but she had no hope of that now.  She had to get away from this place but where should she go, where could she hide?  If she fled now, it might take her weeks before she found anyone who would be able to get in touch with Mystery Tours and she couldn’t afford to stay in Mort for that long.  Sooner or later her luck would run out and she would be caught.
            She had only a handful of Unis for cash, her finance card had been cancelled as soon as SLA Industries had realised that she had gone rogue.  She had her 603 pistol that she could sell if she really needed to and her Gash Fists should get a fair price but Sheeala didn’t want to do this unless it was really necessary.  The weapons were as much a part of her as her hands were and she would feel completely naked if they were not somewhere where she could easily reach them.
            At the moment they were hidden at the bottom of the duffel bad that she used for storing her clothes.  Also in the bag was her SLA badge, her finance card and her SCL card.  She knew that it was probably  a very stupid idea to keep hold of these things but she couldn’t bring herself to throw them away.
            How much would it cost to get off planet though, she had no idea.  10,000, 20,000 Uni, she just didn’t know.  Could she raise that much money if she had to?  Could she even find the Mystery Tours people on her own?  No, she was just too conspicuous, Wraith Raiders always got themselves noticed, she needed help.  She needed Jason, but would he help her now that he knew what the situation was?  The Wraith turned her red eyes onto the human who she still had a grip on and saw the fear that was in him.  She just didn’t know if Jason would be of any sue at all but what other options did she have?
            “Jason, I need help.  Your help.”
            Jason couldn’t believe his ears.  Jerking his hands free from her grasp, he leaned back in the chair and massaged his scraped wrists.
            “You want me to help you against SLA Operatives?” he asked.  “Are you crazy or what?  There is not a chance in hell that I’m going to get involved in any of this, understand?  It has nothing to do with me, nothing!”
            “I need help,” Sheeala repeated.
            “Fuck, you just don’t get it, do you?”  Jason struggled to keep his voice down.  “Slops are big time dangerous.  These guys would as happily kill you as look at you.  They are all card carrying psychos and I’m not about to let them use me as target practice.  Listen Sheeala, I’m real sorry about this but you’re on your own with this one, I’ve got plenty of problems of my own without getting sucked into yours.”
            He looked down at his painful hands and saw the small red marks where the Wraith’s claws had dug into him.  They had just broken the skin but hadn’t drawn blood.  Looking down at the faint, red marks he realised just how strong the Wraith was and took a deep breath before continuing.  Sheeala didn’t look too stable at the moment and he didn’t want to offend her with what he was about to say.
            “I think it might be a good idea for you to leave,” he said quietly.  “It would probably be best for everyone if you left the Runners and never came back.  If SLA knows where you are, they’re going to come and get you and they’re not going to care what happens to us.  It’s too dangerous for you to stay here, people will get hurt and it will be your fault for bringing the trouble to us.”
            “I can not leave,” answered the Wraith.  “Nowhere to go.”
            There was a deep sense of sorrow and loneliness in her voice, not self-pity but the acknowledgement of being completely alone.
            “Look,” continued Jason, “you must have somewhere to go.  I mean, where did you stay before you picked up with us?”
            Sheeala knew that she had to do something spectacular to get Jason’s help.  Things were definitely not working out the way that she had planned them to and she was in serious danger of being thrown out of the Runners and ending up in the streets on her own.
            “You wait,” she said as she stood up.
            Jason could only watch as the Wraith crossed through the Warehouse and went over to where her makeshift bed was.  She picked up the duffel bag that lay beside it and pushed her hand deep into the bag, reaching for something that was at the bottom of it.  After rearranging things for a few seconds, she closed the bag again and walked back to the table where Jason was still sitting, the bag swinging in her grasp.  She pulled the mouth of the bag wide open and, after looking around to make sure that they weren’t being watched by anyone, she held the bag so that Jason could see into it.
            With a bright strip light almost directly overhead, Jason had no trouble with making out what was sitting on top of the clothes in the bag.  Glinting dully in the shadows of the bag was a large pistol of the type that Jason had seen hundreds of Slops carrying.  He knew very little about guns but he did know that that was not a CAF and therefore it was illegal for a civilian to have one.  Sitting beside the FEN 603 was a small card with an image of Sheeala on the top right of it and the SLA logo plastered across it.
            Jason stared at it before switching his attention to Sheeala.
            “You’re an Operative,” he whispered as he dropped his head into his hands.  “Now we’re really in the shit!”

             Danny dropped down easily from the edge of the roof and landed lightly on the fire escape that run up the side of the dilapidated building.  The rain had left a slick film of slimy, black grease across the metal walkway and he staggered slightly as his foot slipped.  Grabbing hold of the rusting handrail to steady himself, Danny paused for a second to get his breath back.  It had been a long run across the roofs and the strain was starting to show, he was making mistakes that he would normally never have made.
            The building, a broken down tenement block, lay right at the edge of The Warren.  He could hear voices and music coming from inside but he was certain that the residents were unaware of him.  No-one ever thought to look for people on the roofs, why would they?  Danny might as well not have been there for all that attention he was likely to receive.
            From his vantage point he could see Ridgeway Street, the official dividing line between his turf and the area that belonged to the Nutty Boys.  As far back as Danny could remember, Ridgeway had been considered neutral ground, not belonging to either gang.  Both the Runners and the Nutty Boys tried to avoid this area unless they were going in mob handed.  There had been a few occasions when one member of either gang had been caught alone by large numbers of the enemy and when it did happen, the results were nearly always fatal.
            A few months ago Danny had been sitting on this same fire escape with four others from the Cloud Runners.  They’d just been killing time, looking for something to do when Alan had spotted one of the Nutty Boys strolling down Ridgeway as if he didn’t have a care in the world.  The punk was wearing torn jeans and a leather jacket covered in studs and chains, his long greasy hair had been dyed all the colours of the rainbow and he had a knife stuck down the side of his boots.
            Seeing him had been like waving a red rag to a bull and the Runners decided to teach him a lesson.  Who did he think he was, walking down Ridgeway as though he had a right to be there?  Danny had sent Alan and Tod to check the area, just to make certain that the punk wasn’t acting as bait, trying to draw the Runners into an ambush.  He found it hard to believe that anyone could be stupid enough to walk through Ridgeway on their own, people like that deserved to die.  It would be doing the human race a favour if they got rid of this fool.
            Alan and Tod quickly returned with the news that there was no sign of any other Nutty Boys in the area and Danny led the Runners out onto Ridgeway.  Along with Tod and Alan, he had Jason and Lauren with him, all good fighters and reliable people.  They quickly moved out from their territory and crossed the main walkway onto the far side of Ridgeway.  Danny was very careful to watch out for anyone who would go and get the Nutty Boys but the street was almost deserted.  About 20m ahead of them the lone Nutty Boy had stopped to look in a shop window, completely oblivious to the problem that was rapidly catching up with him.
            Danny and the others took a few seconds to catch up with their victim and the first that the Nutty Boy knew of the situation was when Danny kicked him behind the knee.  He fell forward, bounced off the toughened window and ended up on his hands and knees on the street.  Jason stepped forward and kicked his hands out from under the unfortunate kid so that he sprawled forward, face first onto the road.
            He cried in pain as the skin on his cheek was scraped off by the rough concrete, leaving a large, raw gash on his face.  Blood welled up and trickled down over his chin, dropping onto the road.  His cry soon turned into a scream as Danny stood on his outstretched hand, the heel of his sneaker crushing the bones of his fingers and tearing the skin from the knuckles.  The victim tried to turn himself over, to see who his attackers were but before he could do more than half turn, Lauren kicked him hard in the ribs, forcing him to fall over onto his face again.
            Bones could clearly be heard breaking and the Nutty Boy’s screams turned into coughing gurgles as blood welled up into the lung that had been punctured by the broken ribs.  He dragged his hand out from under Danny’s foot, breaking another finger in the process and struggled to reach the knife in his boot.  Miraculously, the Runners stepped back from him and let him reach for the knife, but when his fingers closed around the space where the hilt should be, he found nothing.
            “Looking for this?” Jason asked, holding the knife he had picked up only moments earlier.  The light glinted evilly off the edge of the blade and the Nutty Boy could see his death reflected in the cold steel.
            He tried to crawl along the sidewalk, looking for help, but there was no-one to help him.  The few citizens who had been on Ridgeway had disappeared when the trouble started, no-one wanted to get involved in what didn’t concern them.  It was safest and easiest to simply walk away, the motto of Mort was ‘It’s not my problem!’.
            The Nutty Boy coughed up blood and winced as pain shot through his injured ribs.  His hair was covered in filth and blood, the dark stains mingling with the multi-coloured patterns that had been so visible before.  Blood had fallen across the front of his jacket, dark clots getting tangled in the silvery chains that glistened in the electric lighting of the street.  He knew that he wasn’t going to get out of this alive and the knowledge had a strangely calming effect on him.  There was no point in struggling because it would do no good, the best he could hope for was that the pain would be over quickly.
            “Why?” he gasped, looking up at the strangers who had attacked him.  The word came out as a whisper but Danny was close enough to make out what his victim had said.
            “Why not?” laughed Danny, swinging his leg back and kicking the unfortunate punk between the legs with all his strength.
            This acted as a signal for the rest of the gang and they released all their pent up aggression on the cowering wreck that lay in the street in front of them.  Their shouts and laughter drowned out the cries and screams of the unlucky victim,  Jason kicked him full in the face, breaking his nose and snapping his head backwards.  The back of his head smacked off road, caving in the back of his skull and breaking his neck at the same time.  Blood splattered across the pavement as the lifeless body of the Nutty Boy turned limp under the combined blows of the Cloud Runners.  For almost a minute, they continued to kick and beat the corpse, destroying the hated enemy that had dared to walk down this street.
            Jason was the first to stop, he stepped away from the body panting for breath.  Looking at his friends beating the corpse of the Nutty Boy he was shocked by the looks of rage on their faces, they barely looked human.  He grabbed Danny by the shoulders and pulled him away from the bloody scene.
            “Maybe we should split before his buddies turn up?” Jason suggested.
            Danny looked at him blankly for a moment, unsure of where he was or what was going on.  He had lost himself in the mindless violence of the beating and it took him a while to get back to reality.
            “Sure, yeah,” he stumbled over the words.  “Sure, we’d better get out of here.”
            The other Runners stopped as they saw their leader moving away and looked down at the bloody corpse that lay sprawled on the ground.  Lauren moved forward and quickly searched through his pockets for anything of value.  Finding a wallet in the inside pocket of his jacket, she opened it to see a couple of dozen Uni.
            “Hey Danny,” she called as she threw the wallet over to him.  “Guess this shithead’s paid for the beer tonight!”
            The Runners quickly fled the scene and made their way back over the rooftops to The Warehouse.  Looking back at this now, Danny could see how Jason was getting ideas above his station, even then.  He had been the one to take the knife, he had been the one to say that they should leave.  Danny should have realised a long time ago that something was wrong, but he had trusted Jason, thought of him as a friend.  It was only now that he realised how wrong he had been.
            Danny forced these memories to the back of his mind and looked out across the quiet street.  This was only a couple of layers above the ground level of the city and virtually the only light that could be seen was from the few remaining streetlights and shop windows.  The small amount of natural light that did manage to make its way past all the walkways and ramps was dim and lifeless.  The rain was thick and greasy by the time it got down to here, full of pollution and chemicals from all the levels that it had already passed through.
            He never felt comfortable this close to the ground and Danny was keen to get the job done and get back to the relatively clean air at the top of The Warren.  It seemed to him that the closer to ground level you got, the more dangerous the people became.  Psychos appeared around every corner and Shivers were few and far between, not that they were much help anyway.  Danny looked upwards, hoping to see daylight but all that he could see were the thousands of overlapping roads and walkways.  Suppressing a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, he climbed down the fire escape and moved out onto Ridgeway.
            A taxi sped past him, throwing up a sheet of water from a filthy puddle,  Danny stepped to the side, easily avoiding the water and cursed the taxi-driver, but under his breath.  The last thing that he wanted to do was draw attention to himself.  The Rat-Trap was located at the far end of Ridgeway Street and Danny had a long, open walk in front of him.  A walk that he would have gladly avoided if he had any other choice.
            He turned to his left and started down the street, keeping close to the shop fronts and trying to remain in the shadows as much as possible.  Looking downwards, he could just see through the grating at the edge of the street, down into the lowest levels of Downtown.  He could see people moving through the darkness and he was certain that the water level was up around their ankles.  He shuddered at the mere thought of living in such a hell-hole and quickened his pace along the street.
            “Spare some change, mister?”
            The voice made Danny spin round, hand reaching for the CAF Steel Death pistol that he kept tucked into his belt underneath his jacket.  His hand had almost reached the gun before he realised that it was just a bum, looking up at him from the corner of a doorway.
            “Just a couple o’ bits, mister, spare some change?”  begged the homeless wreck.
            He was a filthy creature, with long matted hair and bear and clothes that were caked in mud.  He was curled up in the corner of a doorway, a torn blanket his only protection from the cold and rain.
            The bum stretched out a trembling hand and Danny saw that it was covered with open sores, pus and blood leaking out of them and mingling with the dirty rainwater that fell onto them.  The stench from the guy was foul, urine, alcohol and sweat all mixing together to form a smell that Danny would never forget.  The wino leaned forward, trying to grab hold of Danny’s trouser leg but Danny stepped backwards out of range and almost fell off the edge of the pavement onto the roadway.
            “Please mister,” called the bum but Danny was already moving.
            He half ran past the beggar, looking over his shoulder as he did so and he could hear the wino’s cackling laughter fading into the distance behind him.
            “Calm down,” Danny muttered to himself as he slowed to a walk again.  “It’s only a bum, for fuck’s sake.  Get a hold of yourself, Danny-Boy, sort it out!”
            Despite his self-assurance, Danny felt very nervous and on edge.  The buildings that rose up all around him seemed to leer down at him, waiting for a moment’s inattention before they could lunge forward, smothering him in a concrete and metal embrace.  He longed for the freedom of the rooftops, where he could feel the wind and see across the Sector, across the hovels where the burrowers spent their miserable lives.  Danny simply couldn’t imagine spending his life in a place like this, he would have been driven insane but the claustrophobic closeness that surrounded him.  The air was thick with moisture and noise and seemed to be alive with the throbbing of machinery from the lower levels and the rumble of traffic from above.  Although he knew it was impossible, Danny was sure that he could feel the walkway vibrating under his feet, vibrating in time with the million pairs of feet that walked over it.
            No-one paid the slightest bit of attention to him as he made his way along Ridgeway.  Everyone was concerned with their own business and had no time to spare for the pale, sweating man who looked around himself nervously.  That walk down the quiet street was one of the longest that Danny could ever remember.  He waited for the shouts of recognition to ring out, for the crumbling buildings to finally give up their struggle and collapse onto him, he waited for the heavy hand of a Shiver on his shoulder or a knife to cut into his back.
            None of these disasters happened and Danny was shocked when he did reach the door of the Rat-Trap.  He’d managed to convince himself that he would never make it and was somehow disappointed when he did reach the bar safely.  The electronic sign hanging outside the double, swinging doors shower the rear end of a rat disappearing into a hole in a wall.  The tail twitched and writhed with a cheerful flick before completely vanishing into the hole.  The sign went dark for a moment then reset itself with the same rat vanishing into the same hole.  The scene would continue to play over and over until the bar was closed, not caring that no-one even noticed it any more, let alone watched it.
            With one more careful look down Ridgeway Street, Danny took a long, deep breath and pushed the door to the Rat-Trap open.  Noise, smoke and warmth flooded over him as he looked into the dimly lit room.
            “Well, Danny-Boy,” he thought to himself as he stepped over the thresh-hold.  “You’d better just pray that there ain’t no Nutty Boys hanging around inside!”
            With that cheerful thought, he pushed his way into the bar and further away from the Cloud Runner territory that was his home.

On to Chapter 6

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