Chapter 6

Jason looked across the table at Sheeala, trying to convince himself that the person he had known for the last three months was actually a SLA Operative, a trained company killer.  He didn’t doubt that the picture on the badge had been of her, but he was still finding it very difficult to make the connection.  Sheeala couldn’t be a Slop, she’d hung out with the Runners and she’d gone on jobs with them, fought against the Nutty Boys with them, run from the Shivers with them.  It just didn’t make any sense.
            “It is true,” said the Wraith.  “Badge is mine.”
            “If you’re a Slop, what the hell are you doing hanging out in a dump like this?” Jason asked.  “You guys live in flashy apartments in Uptown, not flea-pits in the slums!”
            Sheeala looked back at Jason, sensing more than seeing the confusion within him.  It must seem quite strange to someone who didn’t understand what had happened, but it was necessary that Jason believe her and even more vital that he would help her.
            “I am not an Operative now,” she explained.  “Now I am ….. fugitive.”
            She had to struggle for the right word and ‘fugitive’ was the one that seemed to fit her situation the best.
            “I know that I’m going to regret this,” muttered Jason, “but why are you being chased?  I thought that all you guys stuck together no matter what.  I mean, you all live, sleep and breathe SLA Industries, right?”
            “Wrong!”  Sheeala paused before continuing.  “Perhaps I should explain.”
            “Yeah, it might be a good idea.”
            “Happened just before I met Cloud Runners,” she began.  “I was with my squad……

             As usual, Sheeala was taking point with the rest of her squad strung out behind her.  She liked the thrill that came with the knowledge that she was out on her own, too far away for the rest of them to help if anything did happen.  She moved silently through the thick, oppressive darkness of Downtown, looking for anything out of the ordinary, anything that would show that the squad had been spotted.
            For more than an hour now, Urban Clearance, the squad that she was a member of, had been making their way through the lowest levels of Paradise.  Paradise is one of the better sectors of Downtown, it’s closer to Suburbia and therefore far from the decay of the Cannibal Sectors.  Businesses prosper in Paradise and many of the more adventurous youngsters of Suburbia venture into the Sector in search of fun and excitement.  They think that by mingling with the residents of the Sector they gain a veneer of rebellion, of wildness.  The shopkeepers and bar-owners of Paradise laugh behind the backs of these thrill seekers but they happily take their money.  If the rich kids want to play at being rebels, who are they to say any different?
            Paradise is mostly made up of white humans, born and bred on Mort.  Anyone who doesn’t fit in with this image, whether through race or skin colour, is made very unwelcome and this racism is growing stronger by the day.  The largest gang in Paradise, the New Reich, terrorise anyone who looks different than they do and they pay particular attention to black humans.  The gang had taken to travelling around the Sector, burning the houses and shops of anyone who didn’t fit in with their racial stereotype.
            Hundreds of people had been driven out by the actions of the New Reich but there were hundreds more who came into the Sector,  People who agreed with the attitude that was prevalent in the area, people who were white and human and happy to see the others being forced away.  Every business in the area had to pay a certain amount of ‘protection money’ to the gang, but most were quite happy to do this because, in return, they got some of the lowest crime rates in Downtown.  The gang was rapidly growing in strength and Paradise was becoming one of the richest Sectors of Downtown.
            Of course, it was the upper levels of Paradise that were prospering, the levels that were closest to the open sky.  Sheeala and her squad were travelling through one of the lowest levels, close to the ground and far from the richness that the Sector was famed for.  Down here, there were few businesses and even fewer prospering ones.  This level was made up mostly of ancient tenement blocks, filled with the citizens who couldn’t find anywhere better to live.  Many of these unfortunates were the ones who had been forced out by the New Reich.  They had fled from the upper levels into the gloom and darkness below.  There were very few white, human faces in this area, they were just not welcome.
            Sheeala could not hear the squad behind her, nor could she have seen them if she turned to look for them but she knew they were there.  First would be Fresco, the gigantic 313 Stormer who cradled the AGB Chopper that he carried with him everywhere he went.  Sheeala had seen the mess that the razor wire left of its victims and she was glad, very glad, that Fresco was on her side.  Close to him would be John Woods, the walking tank.  Woody’s Hard Armour might slow him down slightly, but it didn’t stop him using his Flick Scythe with deadly accuracy.  Woody had grown up in an area like this, rundown, oppressive and bleak and he would know how to react in any situation.
            Then there was Dancer, the Ebon who the squad relied on for so much.  Dancer wasn’t much use in a fight but she was an expert at finding things out.  Sheeala had no idea how the Ebb worked, but it did work and that was enough for her.  There were numerous times when Dancer had ferreted out some secret that saved the squad from making fools of themselves at the very least.  Finally there was Jim Richards, the undisputed leader of Urban Clearance.  Sheeala was never quite sure what Jim specialised in, he seemed to be able to turn his hand to anything at all with equal skill.  There was no doubt that it was Jim who gave the orders in any combat situation though.  He was the one who always kept his cool and kept track of everything that was going on around him.  Armed with a FEN Assault Rifle and Heavy Exo Armour, Jim was the complete soldier.  A loyal company man who obeyed orders without question and expected his commands to be obeyed in the same way.
            Sheeala knew and trusted every member of the squad, they had been her only family since she left Meny.  It had taken her many months to be able to rely on other people, to trust them with her very life.  Her upbringing had geared the Wraith towards being completely independent but that didn’t work on the streets of Mort.  On Polo, it was best if you only had yourself to worry about, if you relied on yourself for everything but here on Mort you needed someone to watch your back.  It had taken a while, but once Sheeala did realise this she worked towards forming a bond with the rest of her squad.  That bond was the greatest loyalty anyone in the squad had ever had, closer than family, closer than friends.
            They had saved each others lives far too many times to count and now, the loss of any one of the squad would be more painful than the loss of a limb.  They were completely dependent on one another, each one knowing that the others would always be there to back them up when it was needed.
            The BPN that they were on at the moment was a simple one.  Someone was selling Black Market and stolen goods from an address in the lower levels of Paradise.  The squad had to simply go and close the operation down, either arresting the perpetrator or executing him if he didn’t come quietly.  Woody had a Third Eye camera strapped to his shoulder, catching the action on vid slug so that they could sell it back to the media company later.  It wasn’t a big news story but it should make them a few extra credits.  The camera had been Jim’s idea and Woody hadn’t been too happy about carrying it until he’d been told that he could do a private interview at the end of the BPN.  It turned out that Woody’s only problem with the camera was that if it was strapped to his shoulder, he would never be seen on the film.  Okay, it would be him that was doing the voice over but it wasn’t the same thing.
            Sheeala smiled to herself when she remembered the indignation on his face when Jim had told him to put on the camera.  These humans were all so child-like in so many ways.  Their obsession with the vid was something that the Wraith could never work out, what was the fascination with a screen that flashed thousands of different images at them every day?  Wasn’t it better to go out and experience these things than to sit back and watch them?
            A movement in the shadows dragged her attention back to the present and she murmured into her throat mike, “Motion, investigating.”
            There was no reply but Sheeala wasn’t expecting one.  She knew that Jim would have heard and the rest of the squad would wait until she reported back.  The movement had come from an alley off to the side of the street that she was walking down.  Normally, the Wraith wouldn’t have bothered about someone moving about in an alley, but they hadn’t seen anyone for the last ten minutes.  This part of the Sector was meant to be abandoned due to structural instability, there shouldn’t have been anyone in it at all.
            Sheeala had not brought her Body Armour with her, preferring to rely on stealth rather than strength and now she wondered if she’d made the right choice.  She checked that her 603 was sitting properly in its magnetic holder on her belt and that the Gash Fists were secured to her hands and forearms properly.  Confident that everything was as it should be, she darted off the road and into the shadows at the side of the alley.  There wasn’t enough light to make out any details so she slipped her Infra Red Goggles over her eyes and scanned the alley for any heat sources.
            She instantly spotted a figure crouching behind a pile of what was probably rubble but it was too far away for Sheeala to make out any details.  The figure was approximately human shaped and appeared to be aiming a weapon of some kind although it was impossible for Sheeala to be sure.  From the way that the figure was pointing, the Wraith thought that she hadn’t been seen but she wasn’t ready to risk her life on that guess.
            Slowly and silently, she made her way down the alley, keeping to the deepest shadows and hiding behind the rubble and debris that half filled it.  It took nearly seven minutes to travel the 50 metres to the figure, but Sheeala was in no hurry.  Creeping through the rubble she paused regularly, searching for any sign or sound that she had been spotted but there was none.  The figure was less than 10 metres away when the Wraith decided that she had got close enough for her purposes.  Crouching behind an overturned garbage can, she slipped her flashlight from her pocket and lifted the goggles from her eyes.  The darkness in the alley was absolute after the glow that she’d been watching through her goggles.
            Checking that the safety was off on her 603, she lifted it in her right hand while aiming the torch in her left.  With one more deep breath to ready herself, she pressed the button that activated the flashlight and flooded the alley with a brilliant glow.
            Instead of the armed man aiming at her that she was expecting to see, there was a human cub with a catapult.  Rats were tied onto his belt by their tails and he’d potted at least a dozen of the vermin.  The catapult was one of the hundreds that you could buy from any toy shop, deadly to the ferocious rats that roamed all the lower areas of Downtown, but capable of inflicting nothing more than a painful bruise on a person.
            The child, he couldn’t have been no more than eleven at most, was frozen by the light from the torch.  The rubber cord of the catapult was pulled back, as if the kid had been about to fire on another target and the metal pellet dropped from his fingers as he blinked in the light.  The Wraith heard that children from these sort of Sectors sometimes went out hunting rats to put in the dinner pot but she’d never seen it before now.
            Sheeala pointed the beam of the flashlight at the ground and walked over towards the child.
            “Operative,” she called.  “You’re in prohibited area.  Leave now!”
            For a few moments the kid just stood there, blinking stupidly in the light given off by the flashlight.  He stuffed the catapult into a pocket of his jeans, lifted his hands and stuck both middle fingers out at Sheeala in a salute that was as old as time.  Turning quickly, he ran up the alley, away from the Wraith.
            “All Slops are dick-heads!” he screamed over his shoulder before disappearing into the darkness.
            Sheeala stood there for a few moments longer, painfully aware of how close she had come to shooting an innocent civilian, if there is such a thing.  She knew what the residents of Downtown thought of Operatives but she was still surprised every time she came face to face with the attitude.  Replacing the gun and flashlight, she walked back to the main street.
            “Situation dealt with,” she told Jim over the mike.  “Will give full report later.”
            Before continuing the journey, she brought her Nava-map out of a pocket and checked her position on it.  The squad had at least 30 minutes walking ahead of them before they got to the target area, and there was very little chance that the child’s shout had been heard by anyone else.  But it was still better to be safe than sorry.
            “Picking up pace,” she reported into the mike as she moved off at a slow jog.
            Sheeala knew that one of the squad, probably Dancer, would be scanning on her motion-tracker and that they would increase their speed to keep up with her.  Urban Clearance had done the same sort of thing many times before and Sheeala was confident that they would not lose touch with each other.  Moving through the desolate streets of Downtown, she was secure in the knowledge that her friends were just behind her. 

            The Wraith paused in her narration to go and make another mug of coffee for herself.
            “You want?” she asked Jason.
            “Uh, yeah.  Thanks,” he replied.  He was fascinated by the story so far, not sure if he wanted to believe it or not, but convinced that it was true.  He still couldn’t believe that Sheeala was an Operative, it just wasn’t possible.
            She returned to the table with the two mugs of coffee and handed one over to Jason.
            “Didn’t take long to reach target,” she continued.  “I let squad catch up……..

             The Urban Clearance Squad sat against the burned out wreck of an old taxi and considered their next move.  The target area was just around the next corner, an old general store that had been abandoned for years, and Jim was trying to decide which would be the best way to go in.
            “If we go in with guns blazing,” he said, “we’ll lose any chance we have of following this up.  But, if we try to capture the creeps that are inside, we could get involved in a fire-fight, something I want to avoid at all costs.”
            Fresco and Wood were, as usual, all for going in and trashing the place while Sheeala and Dancer would rather have given those that were inside a chance to surrender.
            “We can’t simply go in and kill them,” complained Dancer.  “That would be cold-blooded murder.  We have to at least give them the chance to surrender.  I know that they’re not likely to take it, but we’ve got to give them to opportunity.”
            “Yeah, and they’re gonna be busy shooting at us while we stand there telling them to be good boys and come out with their hands up!” interrupted Woody.  “I say that we lob in a couple of grenades and then we go and pick up the pieces.”
            “Really good move,” said Dancer.  “This entire Sector’s ready to collapse about our ears as it is and you want to make things go boom.  Probably not the smartest idea that you’ve ever come up with, Woody.”
            “Okay,” he admitted.  “Maybe we forget about the grenades but it would still be best to get rid of the punks before we go inside.  Personally, I don’t like being shot.  It hurts!”
            Both the Ebon and Woody turned to Jim, waiting for a decision.  They knew that they could discuss things as much as they liked, but it would still be Jim who made the final choice, just like he always did.
            “We can’t risk too much gunfire,” Jim finally said.  “Dancer was right about the place being ready to collapse.  Too much bullet damage to the structure could bring it down as easily as a grenade.  We’ll have to take those punks out quietly but I want to know how many people are in the place.  Sheeala, do we have a floor plan for this dump?”
            “No,” she replies.  “Records lost.”
            “Great, just great.  Right, Sheeala, I want you to find a way round to the back of the store and you’re to cover the back door if there is one.  If there isn’t a door, come in through a window or something, you know what to do.”
            Jim turned to Dancer.  “Could you tell me what’s going on inside?  Who’s there, what they’re armed with, that sort of thing?”
            The Ebon thought for a moment before answering and when she did speak, the uncertainty was clear in her tone.
            “I could , but I would need to touch someone who’s just come out of the place.  If you can grab a customer, I should be able to have a quick look through their memory and tell you what’s happening insider.”
            “That’s one for you, Fresco,” Jim said to the huge Stormer.  We wait until someone goes in and when they come out again, you grab them.  Don’t kill them and make sure they don’t make any noise.  Got it?”
            “Got it, boss!” replied Fresco.  He wasn’t the smartest person in the squad but as long as things were explained properly to him, he could normally carry out instructions.  Sheeala liked the Stormer, life was so uncomplicated for him, so simple.  He was given orders, he obeyed the orders and then he was given some more.  No problems.
            Jim was trying to think if he’d missed anything out, he always liked  to cover all eventualities.  No matter how hard he tried, something always seemed to go wrong, but he was determined that everything would run smoothly this time.
            “Dance, keep an eye on the motion tracker so we know when the store gets a customer.  Sheeala, do you want to go and scout around the area?”
            Although he’d phrased it as a question, the Wraith knew that it was an order.
            “Sure,” she replied, getting to her feet.
            “You wanting Woody or myself to go with you?” Jim asked.  “You might run into trouble out there, we’ve had reports of pigs in the area.”
            “I go alone,” answered Sheeala.
            It wasn’t that she didn’t like the others, she just knew that she could move faster and quieter on her own.  The humans with their heavy armour just not cut out for sneaking around.
            Sliding around the side of the rusting taxi, the Wraith moved away from her friends and into the darkness of Downtown.  This area had been long abandoned and decay was starting to creep in.  Buildings were crumbling, streets and walkways were covered in garbage and puddles of filthy rain-water, and the electric lights had stopped working long ago.  The only illumination was the dim, weak sun-light that that fell from the upper levels or whatever the visitors took in for themselves.  Sheeala didn’t dare use a flashlight, it would have given her away instantly, so she had to rely on the natural light.  Her eyesight was keen and she would rather use that than the infra red goggles.  The goggles were great at picking out living beings but they blurred most of the background details and Sheeala would rather know what she was walking into.
            The Wraith crept through the deserted streets, watching carefully for anything that looked out of place.  She gave the store a wide berth, not wanting to be spotted by anyone who might be inside.  A broken drain pipe poured water down onto the pavement close to her, leaving a large, scum filled pond that she had to make her way around.  The noise the falling water made as it hid the ground drowned out any sounds that might be heard and she quickly moved out of the area.  Rats scuttled away from the Wraith as she moved slowly down a side alley, checking for any paths that led down towards the store.
            Burned out cars and broken walkways gave the area an appearance of a gigantic graveyard, with rusting bones lying everywhere.  Feral dogs roamed through the streets, searching for food anywhere they could find it.  A pair of large, scruffy dogs passed close to Sheeala and paused to sniff in her direction.  The Wraith thought for a moment that they were going to attack but they decided that she wouldn’t be worth the trouble and continued on their way.
            A gust of wind lifted scraps of garbage and food wrappers, swirling it around the Wraith’s legs as she continued her scouting mission.  Dirt and rubbish were thick on the streets and, for all Sheeala knew, it might have been decades since anyone last made the effort to clean up the area.  Water flowed over blocked drains and gutters, running through the streets, thick and greasy with chemicals and pollutants.  Sheeala was always very careful not to accidentally step into these foul streams, she had no way of telling what lurked under their surface.
            From far above, she could just make out the drone of traffic and machinery, even this far from the surface you couldn’t get away from the noise of the city.  The Wraith jumped easily onto the top of a half-fallen wall and paused there for a second, getting her balance back.  From here she could just make out the target store and she could see a dim light coming from one of the windows.  Perhaps this would be a good time to have a closer look after all.
            Running lightly along the uneven wall, she quickly closed the distance between herself and the target.  Pausing when she got within 10 metres, she dropped from the wall and hid behind some rusting metal-work.  Sheeala could make out figures moving backwards and forwards within the building but it was impossible to tell how many there were.  She wanted to move closer to get a better look but thought that this was not the time.  Far better to wait until Dancer had found out what she could about the place.
            The Wraith turned from the window and started moving away from the area.  She wanted to get a good idea of the surrounding terrain in case she had to chase anyone who managed to escape from the target.  It would not be fun chasing an armed criminal through an area she was not familiar with.  For 20 minutes she made her careful way through the deserted streets, memorising the various roads, walkways and alleys.  She thought that she had covered enough ground and was about to make her way back to the rest of the squad when the sound of something moving through the shadows attracted her attention.
            She froze where she was, knowing that it was damn difficult to spot a stationary target in the darkness and waited for the thing, whatever it was, to make its next move.  The noise had come from the interior of a building just beside her and there was no light within it what-so-ever.  It had sounded too large to be a rat but apart from that it could have been anything.
            Slowly, Sheeala reached for her 603 then thought better of it.  She couldn’t risk a shot just now, it would blow any chance of surprise the squad had.  Instead, she squeezed the handgrip of her Gash Fists and watched as the blades slid out for the guards that ran along her forearms and locked into place, sprouting out from her hands like long, metal claws.  The noise, quiet as it was, seemed to echo through the darkness.
            Moving very slowly, the Wraith started towards the doorway into the building.  As she got closer, she could tell that there was definitely something inside, just out of the dim light.  Sheeala froze again and she could hear faint breathing sounds that were growing louder by the second.  Peering into the building, trying to pierce the darkness with simple will-power, she thought that she could see something moving closer but she wasn’t sure, it was just too dark to make out details.
            Stepping back, she reached for the goggles that were in her pocket but, before she could find them, the darkness exploded into violent action.  A huge creature rushed out of the building, squealing and grunting as it attacked the stunned Operative.  Sheeala was bowled over backwards by a vast, stinking pig that stood at least a metre and a half at the shoulder.  It’s back was covered with wiry hair and the scars of a hundred battles and wicked, yellow tusks curved upwards from its lower jaw.  It’s trotters were ragged and sharp from years of walking over broken concrete and it towered over the Wraith as she struggled to squirm out from underneath it.
            Lightning fast reactions were all that saved her as the boar lunged downwards, trying to gut her with its tusks.  She rolled to the side, just in time to see sparks fly from where the tusks had grated off the sidewalk.  She continued to roll until she was well away from the beast and she leapt to her feet, ready to face the creature.
            Filthy, greasy water ran over the Operative, dripping from her hair, her face, her clothes but she didn’t even notice the dirt as she stared back at this monstrous creature.  Generations of evolution had changed these grotesque animals that were once part of the food chain of Mort.  Kept in vast breeding factories until they were slaughtered for food, many of the animals had escaped into the city sewers in a now forgotten accident.  Over the years they had bred and changed and mutated from the relatively harmless farm animals that they once were into the dangerous, bad-tempered carnivores that were as tall as and many times heavier than most of the citizens of the city.
            As soon as she had regained her footing, the beast was attacking again but this time Sheeala was ready for it.  As it lunged for her, she jumped high in the air, spinning as she did and came down on the back of the creature, her Gash Fists slamming deep into its broad, muscled neck.  The pig screamed in rage and agony, twisting its head to try to bite at the meal it was carrying around on its back.      
            Sheeala allowed herself to slide further backwards, keeping her legs well out of reach of the yellow teeth and stabbed downwards with on Gash Fist while desperately holding on with the other.  Again and again she stabbed and slashed at the pig but the maddened animal hardly seemed to notice the horrendous wounds she was inflicting.  It jumped and screamed, trying to get at the Wraith, growing more and more enraged as she kept just out of reach.  Finally, the beast changed its tactics and bucked forward into a wall, showing amazing agility for a creature of its size and slamming its back, and Sheeala, into the unforgiving brickwork.
            The Wraith had the breath knocked from her body and her grip on the pig was dislodged.  She slid off the creature, landing at the base of the wall, gasping for air.  She tried to struggle to her feet but was too slow, far too slow.  Tusks tore into her stomach, lifting her and throwing her back against the wall again and ripping skin, flesh and muscle from her gut.  Tears flooded down her face as she forced herself to her hands and knees, trying to ready herself for the next, killing attack that would come from the creature.
            The taste of fresh blood seemed to drive the pig to even greater madness and it rushed towards Sheeala, mouth open and fangs glistening with blood and saliva.  The Wraith knew that’s he had only one chance left and she threw herself at the pig even as it was charging towards her.  The Gash Fist in her left hand got the monster just below the throat while her right hand went into the creature’s mouth.  She could feel her skin and flesh tearing open on teeth but she didn’t allowed herself to falter.  Again, she was forced against the wall by the weight of the pig but this time she somehow managed to keep her position.          
            Her right elbow slammed into the wall, making her entire arm go numb but driving it deep into the back of the creature’s head at the same time.  Blood flooded up from the pig’s mouth and burst over the Operative, soaking her face and chest in the stinking, dark liquid.  The beast feebly tried to bite down on her arm but collapsed before it could do more than graze the surface of her skin.  It lay at her feet in a mixed pool of its own and the Wraith’s blood.
            Sheeala slowly and painfully pulled her ruined arm out of the pig’s mouth and staggered away from the bloody scene.  All she wanted to do was sit down and cry but she knew that she had to get away from the area before the stench of blood drew more of the monsters.  Falling against a wall, she stumbled down the street, back towards her friends.
            Sheeala would never remember how she managed the journey back to the burned out taxi where the rest of Urban Clearance squad were but she did it.  Staggering back to the wreck, she saw Dancer come running towards her and then, and only then, did she allow herself to faint.
            The Ebon rushed forward and pulled her back into the shelter of the taxi, calling for the others even as she did so.  The Wraith had lost a lot of blood and completely shattered her right arm but Dancer had the skill that was needed to repair the damage.  Fresco held the body of the Wraith while the Ebon went through the complex formula which would allow her to channel the power of the Ebb.  Streams of pure energy, crackling an electric blue in the dim light, jumped from her long, thin fingers and spread across the Wraith’s injured arm and stomach.  Bones knitted and wounds healed as the squad watched and the Wraith’s breathing took on a more regular pattern.
            “She’ll be fine,” Dancer said to the others even as Sheeala’s eyes flickered open.
            “Thanks,” she whispered before fading into unconsciousness again.

            Sheeala looked across the table at Jason and she saw the disbelief in his eyes.  She slowly took off her shirt and started rolling up the right hand sleeve of her coolant suit.
            “Look,” she commanded, thrusting her arm out towards the bemused Cloud Runner.
            Jason looked down at the offered arm and saw the complicated network of scar tissue that covered it from the wrist to above the elbow.  The Wraith’s fine fur hadn’t grown back in where her arm had been ripped open by the pig’s tusks and the scars were easily visible.
            Jason reached out and lightly ran his finger over some of the lines and he let out a low whistle as he saw the puckered skin that covered her elbow.  There was no doubt that Sheeala had taken some major injury to her arm at some point in the past.
            “Does that ever bother you?” he asked.
            “Only when it rains,” she replied with a straight face and it took Jason a few moments to realise that she was trying to crack a joke, the first he had ever heard her attempt.
            Sheeala pulled the sleeve of her coolant suit back down and shrugged inter her shirt again.  Jason was no expert on Wraith Raider expressions but he guessed that she was quite uncomfortable and embarrassed by the whole thing.  She couldn’t think that she’d messed up, could she?
            “I would’ve freaked if a pig had jumped on me like that,” he exclaimed.  “How could you shove your hand down its throat, for fuck’s sake?  I would’ve just panicked!”
            “Was no other choice,” Sheeala replied.  “Was that or die.”
            Jason pondered this for a moment, still unsure if he would have had to nerve to do what the Wraith had done.
            “So, what happened next?” he asked her.

            It was almost 30 minutes before Sheeala returned to consciousness, but Dancer comforted the others by telling them that the Wraith would be fine.  Sleep was part of the natural healing process and Dancer had speeded up that process when she used her Ebon skills.  The Wraith’s body needed time to adjust to the changes that had taken place and it had just closed down until it was ready to face the world again.  It often happened when someone had taken a bad injury and was nothing to worry about.
            This is what Dancer told the others, but privately she was more than slightly concerned for Sheeala.  It was true that the body needed sleep, but the injury had to be very bad for that to happen.  Yes, the Wraith had taken a lot of damage to her arm and stomach but it wasn’t enough to warrant her unconsciousness for half an hour.
            When Sheeala’s eyes did flicker open for a second time and she struggled into a sitting position, Dancer took her aside for a few questions.
            “Sheeala,” she demanded.  “What’s going on that I don’t know about?”
            “Not understand,” replied the confused Wraith.  She’d just woken up from a nightmare about gigantic pigs chasing her through the city streets and now her friend was interrogating her.
            “Don’t give me that crap!” whispered the Ebon fiercely.  “You’re doing something to your body that I don’t know about.  You’ve been out of it for 30 damn minutes and I don’t know why.  Maybe you can tell me?”
            “Not doing anything,” Sheeala denied.  “I do not know why I sleep.”
            “Bullshit!  Look you over-grown alley cat, I need to know what’s going on.  What happens if you fade out on us when we need you, or when you’re out sneaking about?  What is going on?”
            “Not sneaking,” the Wraith said.  “Scouting.”
            She paused for a moment, not wanting to tell the Ebon but knowing that she was right.  If there was something wrong she owed it to the rest of the squad to tell them what it was.
            “I have been badly sleeping,” Sheeala admitted.  “Take Drum to help sleep.  Take every night now.”
            Dancer just stood and stared at her friend.  She would never have guessed that the Wraith would take any drugs, she didn’t even smoke.  The Ebon had seen too many good Operatives ruined through drugs and she was dead against their use for any reason.  She didn’t even like Kick Start although she would admit that it was necessary occasionally.  Didn’t Sheeala realise that once you started taking a drug, any drug, it only led on to more and more and harder and harder drugs?
            “You think that Drum is a cure for bad sleep,” Dancer said in a very calm voice.  “No, you’ve got it mixed up.  It’s because of the Drum that you can’t sleep.  If you stop taking that shit you’ll find that your sleep pattern returns to normal.  All you’ve got to do is stop filling yourself with that crap and you’ll have no problems sleeping again, I promise.”
            “I will try,” said Sheeala, making ready to turn away from the Ebon.
            Dancer reached out and grabbed the Wraith by her shoulder, pulling her back and spinning her round at the same time.
            “No,” she hissed into the Wraith’s face.  “You won’t try because you’re an addict.  Oh sure, you’ll make a half-hearted attempt and then you’ll think that maybe it isn’t so bad after all. I mean, what’s the harm in making sure that you get enough sleep?  Besides, if you only need a couple of hours sleep a night you’ll have plenty of time to do other things.  Things like staring out the window or watching the vid.  Great. So you’ll not only rot your body, you’ll rot your mind while you’re at it!
            “Don’t you understand that sooner or later that stuff will kill you?  Your body needs a certain amount of sleep every night and it’s not getting it.  You can fool it for a little while with that Drum crap but it will catch on and it will demand it’s full rota of sleep sooner or later.  And you won’t be able to give it the sleep that it wants because you’ll be so reliant on Drum that you’ll be taking it every night, no matter what.  I promise you that before too long you’ll be walking around like a bloody zombie, not sure if you’re awake or asleep and when that happens you’ll be nothing but a liability to the squad.  You’ll either get yourself or one of us killed because of that damned sleeping drug!”
            “What the hell is going on?” demanded Jim.
            Both Dancer and Sheeala spun round to face Jim.  They’d been so engrossed with their conversation that neither of them had heard him approach.
            “I could hear you from the damn taxi, so just what is the problem?  Do you want us to be spotted or what?”
            “Sorry Jim,” said Dancer.  “No problem though, it’s all sorted out.  Isn’t it Sheeala?”
            “Problem over,” agreed the Wraith.  “Sorry for noise.”
            “Okay,” muttered Jim.  “You two going to come and join us or are you going to sit here all day?”
            He knew that there was something going on but he was prepared to let it drop if they were.  Jim was sure that if they couldn’t deal with the problem themselves, they would come to him with it.  He trusted the people in his squad and he was more than happy to let them deal with their own problems whenever possible  It meant less work for him and it stopped them becoming completely reliant on him.
            As they returned to the taxi that had become a temporary base, Sheeala considered what the Ebon had said.  She had a lot of respect for Dancer and normally listened to her advice but this time she was wrong, totally wrong.  If it wasn’t for the Drum, Sheeala wouldn’t be able to sleep at all and the drug was the only thing that was keeping her sane.  She couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares that attacked her every time she closed her eyes.
            She would dream of killers chasing her through the streets of Downtown.  Pigs, Carrien, Cannibals, Dark Night, Thresher, Serial Killers, all these enemies attacked her while she slept and she couldn’t fight back.  Her speed and dexterity would abandon her and it was as though she was running through thick mud.  No matter how hard she tried, the Wraith could never escape from her pursuers.  They would get closer and closer, and she could hear them behind her but she didn’t dare turn round in case she stumbled.  First she would feel light touches on her back as they grabbed for her, then it would be hands grasping at her until they caught her hair and pulled her down.  She would see them standing over her, a sea of faces and hands, shouting at her and reaching out for her and then, then she would wake up.
            Sheeala would wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that she’d been screaming and she was never able to get to sleep again.  This had been going on for weeks before she was finally desperate enough to turn to drugs to help her.  The first time she’d used Drum had been a blessed relief because there were no dreams.  She slept soundly for three hours and woke alert and refreshed, ready to face anything that Mort could throw at her.  How could the Ebon say that the drug was bad for her when it was the only thing that was keeping her functioning?

            Jason interrupted the Wraith’s story with a question.  He didn’t want to stop Sheeala from talking but he was unsure about something.
            “What about now?” he asked.  “Do you still take Drum or what happened with it?”
            Sheeala shrugged, “Not take any more.  Not since left SLA Industries.”
            “And?” Jason asked, knowing that there had to be more to it than that.
            “And I have nightmares, every night.  I do not sleep much.”
            “Damn,” whispered Jason.  He had the occasional nightmare and that was bad enough, but to have them every night must be hell.  His respect for the Wraith Raider was growing by the minute.
            “Sorry,” he muttered.  “Carry on.”

            The squad spent another boring hour, hiding behind the burned out taxi and waiting for someone to approach the target store.  Dancer had been looking down at the motion tracker , not expecting to see anything, when she sat forward and started adjusting the delicate controls on the device.
            “What’s happening?” whispered Jim, instantly on guard.
            “I’ve got three figures approaching the area,” muttered Dancer.  “Human sized, approximately 40 metres away and closing.  I think that they’re moving towards the store but they’re going to pass by us pretty closely.”
            Jim didn’t need to say anything to the squad because they were already dropping to the ground, making sure that there was nothing to reflect any light the visitors might have.  Sheeala cursed silently to herself as she heard the armour that Jim, Woody and Fresco wore clattering softly as it hit the wet concrete.
            Wriggling forward, the Wraith got herself into a position underneath the taxi where she could watch anyone who was passing by without much danger of being seen herself.  She could see the dim light from a flashlight rapidly approaching and could just make out three figures in the darkness behind the torch.
            As they got closer, the Wraith could hear them talking amongst themselves although she couldn’t make out what they were saying.  If they continued in the direction they were going in they would pass no more than a few metres from the taxi but Sheeala wasn’t particularly concerned by this.  They didn’t seem to be paying much attention to what was going on around them and the chances of them realising that they were being watched was very slim.
            All three of the figures were human and were dressed in identical clothing.  They wore black boilersuits with white or silver bands around the sleeves, it was too dark for Sheeala to be sure which colour.  They wore heavy, black leather boots and each one had a knife and a CAF pistol stuck into their belts.  They had uniformly short hair and, as they passed the taxi, she could see that they all had a tattoo on their necks, a tattoo of a red lightning bolt inside a black circle.  The Wraith didn’t recognise the symbol but guessed that it must belong to one of the gangs in the area, probably the New Reich.
            Sheeala watched as the three punks passed her by and continued down towards the store.  They were laughing and joking, completely unaware that they were being studied by an armed Operative and the Wraith felt a surge of contempt for these amateurs.  They really didn’t have a clue and they would had lasted for ten minutes on Polo, if they were lucky.  She kept a careful eye on them until they rounded the corner that led to the store, and then she slid back to rejoin the rest of Urban Clearance.
            “Three gang members,” she reported.  “Probably New Reich, knives and CAF pistols.  No problem.”
            “Perfect,” smiled Jim.  “When they come back again, Fresco, Woody and me will grab them.  Sheeala, I want you to get as close to the store as you can, just in case they decide to leave in a different direction.  If they do, trail them and let us know what’s happening.  Dancer, it’s up to you to make sure that none of them get away when we jump them.  If they get past us, you’ve got to bring them down, but make sure that you do it quietly.  Okay?  Let’s do it!”
            As soon as the orders had been issued, the squad prepared themselves for their tasks.  Dancer readied her knife and prepared herself to use her Reality Folding talents if they were needed.  Jim and Woody put their guns aside and checked their armour, readying themselves to grab and subdue the three punks while Fresco grudgingly put aside his Chopper.  Sheeala checked her Gash Fists, making sure that there was nothing of the pig left on them.  She went through her pockets and pouches, making doubly certain that there was nothing that was going to rattle if she was forced to run.  Satisfied that everything was as it should be, she turned to Jim, nodded and moved out into the darkness again.
            The Wraith moved silently down the street, stopping only when she reached the corner that turned towards the store.  Dropping to the ground, she looked around the corner, her face only a few centimetres above the ground.  If anyone was acting as a look-out, they would not be expecting anyone to be that low down and would not be looking there.  As it turned out, her caution was unnecessary because the store looked as deserted as it always had.  The broken windows and door gave no hint that there might be anyone inside the building let alone that a business deal was going on.
            As Sheeala was about to turn away, she caught a glimpse of a beam of light coming from inside the store.  Someone must have been slightly careless with a torch, letting it flash across the store and shine outside.  The light was only visible for a couple of seconds but it was enough to reassure Sheeala that the targets were inside.  She stood up, moved around the corner and very slowly and cautiously made her way along the wall towards the store.
            As she crawled through the broken streets of the sector, the Wraith Raider was no more conspicuous than a shadow.  She made no sound at all and moved from one patch of deep shadows to the next, constantly aware and constantly prepared to act if she was spotted.  She crept to within a few metres of the store doorway and could just make out the sounds of people talking.  It was impossible to tell how many people, or where they were, but it was enough to reassure her that things were going according to plan.
            Looking around for somewhere to hide herself, to wait for her prey to leave the store, Sheeala considered a few options.  There was the shop across the street, she could easily hide in there.  Or perhaps behind the rubble that blocked most of the walkway just across from her.  She finally decided that she should follow Jim’s orders to the letter and he had said to get as close to the store as possible.  Looking upwards, she could see a small window just above the doorway leading into the target store.
            With a quick leap, she grabbed hold of the window sill and easily pulled herself up until she could peer through the open window.  Inside was an empty room, probably it had once been a stock room for the store below, but now it was abandoned.  Large cracks in the roof and walls had let the rain in and the floorboards looked weak and rotten, she would have to be very careful where she walked.  With an easy, smooth motion she hauled herself onto the edge of the window and paused there for a moment, listening for any commotion inside.  If she’d been heard, people would be rushing towards her even now, but there was no sound out of the ordinary.  She could hear the murmur of voices droning away as they had done earlier.
            Easing her weight off the sill and onto the floor, Sheeala gently put pressure on the boards, waiting for any treacherous squeak or groan.  When none came, she allowed her full weight to drop onto the floor and squatted down behind the window.  From here she would have a perfect view of anyone leaving the store and of which direction they went in.  She made sure that she was in a comfortable position, it could be a long wait and the last thing that she wanted was to get cramp.
            The time passed slowly and Sheeala started to get the feeling that she was being watched.  She carefully looked around the room and then scanned the entire view from the window but there was no sign of anyone.  Easing the Infra Red Goggles out of her pocket, she slipped them on and looked round the area again.  Still there were no signs of life and she should have been reassured, but she wasn’t.
            Something was making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she was beginning to experience an emotion that was virtually a stranger to her, fear.  There was nothing to be worried about and she’d been in many far more dangerous situations that this one, but Sheeala was afraid.  Shadows began to take on shapes in her imagination, Carrien loomed up from the streets, rabid dogs slunk around in the corners of the room.  No matter where she looked, her mind populated it with fearsome creatures, waiting to spring on her.   
            She rubbed a hand over her eyes and shook her head, hoping to shake the visions and, when she looked again, everything was as it should be.  No monsters, no animals, just shadows.  Although the hallucination had gone, the fear that she had felt was still with her.  A shudder ran down her spine and she silently cursed her own cowardice.  There was absolutely nothing to be scared of, no reason for her to be feeling like this.
            “Sheeala fine,” she lied into her throat mike.  “What is situation?”
            There was a pause for a few moments, just long enough for the Wraith to start to worry before Jim replied.
            “We’re cool, just waiting for the birds to fly the coop,” Jim’s voice whispered into her ear piece.
            Just the sound of his voice banished most of the fears that were assaulting her and Sheeala carefully moved her legs, easing the muscled and putting herself into a better position to look over the edge of the window.  The brief period of fear had passed and she silently chided herself for giving into her emotions.  She was a trained Operative, not a cowering child to be scared of the dark.  No, she had a job to do and she would do it without worrying over imaginary fears.  Settling back down, she continued her wait.

            “So what were you scared about?” Jason asked.  “Was there something out there?”
            “Did not find anything,” Sheeala replied.  “Not know why I was afraid.”
            “What do you mean, you don’t know?  You must know, it’s your story isn’t it?  You don’t just get scared over nothing, there must have been some reason for it!”
            Sheeala stared across the table at the puzzled Cloud Runner.  A frown wrinkled her forehead as she struggled to find the right words for what she wanted to say.
            “First,” she finally said, “is not a story.  Is what happened, facts.  Second, not always reasons for everything.  Life does not always give answers.  I felt fear then I recovered.  No reasons, no explanations, just facts.  Is way of life, not way of story!”
            Jason was shocked by the outburst, but the Wraith was getting more and more annoyed by his questions.
            “Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” he said, raising his hands, palms outwards.  “Jeez, I was only asking!”
            “May I carry on?” asked Sheeala with forced politeness.

            It was a further 20 minutes before the three guys who had gone into the store came out again.  Sheeala was in the middle of moving her legs when the voices started to get louder.  For a moment she thought that she had been heard but then she realised that it was just the targets leaving the store.
            “Birds coming,” she whispered into the throat mike and moved a few more centimetres into the shadows.  She could still see what was going on in the street below the store but she hoped she would be invisible to anyone looking up.
            The broken door of the store creaked loudly as it was pushed aside and Sheeala heard someone say, “You should do something about that fucking door, the neighbours will be complaining soon!”
            Rough laughter broke out and as she looked out of the window, Sheeala could see one of the street punks shaking the hand of a large fat man wearing a dirty shirt and jeans.  The new-comer had short, dark hair and his skin glistened with what was either sweat or grease, Sheeala wasn’t sure which.  After a little small talk, he wished them a safe journey back home and said that he hoped that they could be doing some business again sometime.
            “You can bank on that,” said the one that had cracked the joke.  “Damn straight, we’ll certainly be back for more!”
            Sheeala did a double take as she saw that each one of the punks had a FEN Assault Rifle slung over their shoulder.  The pockets of their boilersuits bulged with what the Wraith could only guess to be ammunition.  This could change Jim’s plans and she had to let him know.
            “Birds armed with ARs,” she said into her mike.  “Repeat, armed with FEN Assault Rifles.”
            The punks were just turning the corner of the street as Sheeala leaned out of the window, checking that the store owner had definitely gone back inside.  The Wraith could see no one so she quickly lowered herself over the side and dropped to the ground in front of the store.  A quick look showed her that the place was indeed deserted and she hurried to the corner, worried that her friends might need help.
            By the time that she’d reached the corner, the punks were about five metres ahead of her, laughing and inspecting their nice new guns.  Sheeala was worried that they might start shooting when her friends made their move, that would ruin everything, and she was quite prepared to rush in and help if it was necessary.
            A few seconds later, the punks drew level with the burned out taxi and all hell seemed to break loose.  Three huge armoured figures rose up out of the darkness and jumped for the street punks, giving them no time to think, let alone use the weapons that they had just bought.  Jim came in from behind his target, one hand grabbing his victim by the throat, the other dragging the AR from his grasp.  With a supple twist, Jim levered his victim over his hip and onto the ground, flat on his face.  He discarded the FEN and slammed an armoured fist into the back of his victim’s head.  The unfortunate punk didn’t even twitch, he just slumped forward, unconscious.
            Woody was a bit more direct than Jim.  He simply jumped in front of his chosen target and punched his gauntleted fist straight into the shocked punk’s face.  Bones crunched, blood spurted and the victim fell backwards, the FEN AR flying from his hands.  Woody stepped forward and delivered a precisely measured kick to the side of his target’s head, snapping the head around and knocking him out.
            Fresco had the easiest job of all. When he appeared, his target dropped the FEN AR and reached for the CAF pistol that was stuck in his belt.  Before the manoeuvre was anywhere near complete, the Stormer leaned forward and brought his huge fist crashing down on top of his victim’s head.  The punk dropped without a sound, leaving the Stormer with a slightly disappointed look on his crude face.
            Sheeala was very impressed with the smooth way that the operation had gone.  The appearance of the FEN ARs could have seriously complicated the situation but her friends had dealt with everything admirably.  While she watched, the victims were dragged behind the taxi, out of sight of anyone passing down the road, and Sheeala moved to join them, picking up the discarded Assault Rifles as she did.
            “Nice job,” she commented as she sat down beside Jim.
            “Yeah, it did go pretty well,” he agreed.  “Although I’ll admit that I was a bit worried by those damn FENs.  That wasn’t meant to happen!”
            “You, worried?” laughed Woody.  “Now I’ve heard everything.  The great Jim Richards worried by anything as minor as three thugs carrying Assault Rifles.  You gotta be slipping Jim, I remember a time when you would’ve taken these guys yourself and not even broken a sweat!”
            The entire squad laughed at this good natured ribbing although the laughter was more of a way of relieving the tension than anything else.  They had been in a dangerous situation and had come through it with flying colours.  Surely they deserved a laugh about it now!
            Dancer had started checking the bodies as soon as they had been dragged over and she turned to Jim when she’d finished.
            “These punks are going to have major headaches when they wake up, but apart from that they’re going to be fine.  Do you know who they are?”
            “Yeah,” he replied as he looked down at the prone bodies.  “They’re wearing the colours of the New Reich, like Sheeala said.  And do you see those tattoos they’ve got?  That means that they’re fully fledged members of the gang, not just some street creeps that run with them.  I guess that you could call them officers, for want of a better word”
            “These New Reich guys must be doing okay for themselves,” put in Woody.  “Those FENs ain’t cheap.  The three of them must have set them back about 40 or 50 thousand Uni.  That is one shit load of muggings!”
            “It’s protection rackets that these assholes specialise in,” replied Jim.  “That and a bit of racial abuse.  They only like humans and it’s got to be white humans at that!”
            He looked around the Urban Clearance squad and laughed at the outraged expressions on everyone’s faces.
            “I guess that puts you lot of deviants off their birthday card lists!” he laughed.

            “I’ve heard about the New Reich,” Jason broke in.  “They are bad news, seriously bad news!”
            He suddenly seemed to think of something and glared across the table at Sheeala.
            “You ain’t got them after you as well as Old Man Slayer, do you?” he asked.  “I mean, I can probably deal with the armed might of SLA Industries, but I do not want to get on the bad side of those Paradise boys!”
            Sheeala breathed a silent sigh of relief, perhaps she did have Jason on side after all.  If he could make a joke about her being chased by SLA, he might have the courage to help her after all.
            “No,” she laughed.  “Not New Reich, just SLA.”

On to Chapter 7

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