Blowing off Some Steam (Rust and Ash: Storms over Cogtown #1), Page 3
David M DeMar
thump went off behind me, followed by a series of more explosions. I hastily pulled my faceplate back down as I careened to a stop on the rocky soil, landing with a bone-jarring thud and barely avoiding cracking my skull open on a jagged-looking boulder.
I regained my feet, my suit’s bleed valves hissing like a cat, and loped around the perimeter of the depot to meet up with the rest of the squad. “Nice one, boss,” a rain-soaked Wachowski told me as he helped me out of the gorilla suit. I disengaged the steam core and pulled it halfway out, then wrestled the oversized revolver from the suit and pulled back a good fifty yards.
“Wait, we’re not keeping it?” Charlie looked even more bedraggled in the flashing lightning. He winced as hail bounced off his shoulders. “Think of the damage we could do with one of those military suits, Sarge!”
I shook my head. “Too much maintenance,” I yelled over the howling storm. “I’d rather just keep ‘em out of the hands of the mining company!” I thumbed the hammer back on the revolver. The chamber ratcheted into place and I took careful aim at the exposed steam core, bracing my feet. “Besides, I can’t operate one of these things for shit.” I squeezed the trigger, winging the canister. The cylinder decompressed in a hurry, turning the stolen suit into a ton and a half of steel wool. Me and the boys legged it into the ubiquitous scrub underbrush.
Two days later, the team and I had made it back to New Herculaneum. Holed up in a dark back-alley slum in Cogtown, I looked up at the roof as another EM storm raged overhead.
A dark, powerfully-built man, with bushy brows and a thick, black beard was pacing back and forth in front of me, the gaslight sending his shadow dancing across the walls. “You’re absolutely sure all of those suits were CA military?”
“Without a doubt, sir.” I leaned back up against the wall and fished a cigarette from my pack, flicking my Zippo to light it. I took a deep drag, savoring the feeling of my lungs filling with smoke. “Military hardware, all identical to the gorilla suit I hijacked to get us out of there. And that ordnance was not for clearing rock from mineshafts. The mining company’s gotta be gearing up for some sort of antipersonnel engagement — probably to get rid of people like us.”
“And the Colonial Authority is in on it,” he said, pausing and scratching at his chin. His eyes glittered in the gaslight as he cast his gaze around the room. “This goes deeper than just Hesperus District, Sergeant — you know as well as I do that things have been getting worse and worse since the Corporate Autonomy Act. The NHMC is out of control, and there’s nothing to stop them if they’ve got the CA in their pocket.”
I flicked the ash on my smoke and took another drag. The cheap, planet-side grown tobacco was harsh, but I didn’t care. “We can’t possibly stand up to the mining company and the Colonial Authority at the same time, Diomedes, not by ourselves. We need to start talking about building a coalition, sir. The Sons of Argos don’t have enough manpower and equipment, but if we spearhead a larger resistance network throughout all of Hesperus, we could make a difference.” I sighed. “You know, this used to be a lot easier when we could just call in the cavalry. This back alley homing pigeon shit is way too much Old Earth Victorian for my tastes.”
Diomedes nodded. A small, exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “I know, but we’ve got to make do.” He leaned up against the far wall and crossed his arms. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Sergeant. Keep an eye out on the dead letter drops in your precinct; I’ll be sending word on our next move soon. Until then, keep your head down.” He broke into a grim, humorless smile. “And good work out there.” I saluted him and took my leave.
I had made my way back to Main Street, the lapels on my cheap coat turned up against the wind, when a bedraggled newsboy darted around the corner. “Extra! Extra!” he shouted. “Terrorist attack on mining company depot!”
I flagged him down, buying one from him. “Thanks, lady!” he said before running off down the street. I ducked into a nearby doorway to get out of the rain. There, right above the fold, was a sketch of the depot. It depicted the warehouse doors blown open and clawing at the sky like a pair of gnarled, skeletal mitts, and black, foul-looking smoke had been drawn pouring from the dark yawning opening. “TERRORISTS!” read the headline, and underneath it, “MINING OPERATION MARRED BY SENSELESS VIOLENCE.” I shook my head and started reading through the article:
Late in the evening on the 23rd a terrific blast rocked the eastern Hesperus range. The New Herculaneum Mining Company’s Hesperus Depot was devastated by an improvised explosive device of some sort, destroying vital pressure-alloy mining equipment, including several Real Motion Replication miner suits. “This was no accident,” NHMC’s Chief Investigative Officer, Horatio Cadlington, said in a prepared statement. “The destruction of these RMR suits was a deliberate act of sabotage, and the perpetrators of this act will be sought out and punished for not only their destruction of NHMC property, but for their disruption of our community and the valuable career opportunities NHMC brings to the Hesperus District.” No organization has come forward to claim responsibility for the attack, but several insider sources point the finger at the shadowy terrorist organization that calls itself the Sons of Argos, led by the notorious anarchist known only to friend and foe alike as Diomedes. By some stroke of luck or perhaps an indication of the ineptitude of the members of those involved in the incident, no loss of life occurred.
I laughed bitterly. “Mining equipment, my ass,” I said and tucked the paper under my arm. I stuck my head out of the doorway, casting my eyes up and down the muddy street before dashing off into the rain. I was supposed to meet the boys tonight down at the Torch and Goggles for a few pints, after all, and I wasn’t about to leave ‘em hanging, now was I?
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
Share this book with friends
I regained my feet, my suit’s bleed valves hissing like a cat, and loped around the perimeter of the depot to meet up with the rest of the squad. “Nice one, boss,” a rain-soaked Wachowski told me as he helped me out of the gorilla suit. I disengaged the steam core and pulled it halfway out, then wrestled the oversized revolver from the suit and pulled back a good fifty yards.
“Wait, we’re not keeping it?” Charlie looked even more bedraggled in the flashing lightning. He winced as hail bounced off his shoulders. “Think of the damage we could do with one of those military suits, Sarge!”
I shook my head. “Too much maintenance,” I yelled over the howling storm. “I’d rather just keep ‘em out of the hands of the mining company!” I thumbed the hammer back on the revolver. The chamber ratcheted into place and I took careful aim at the exposed steam core, bracing my feet. “Besides, I can’t operate one of these things for shit.” I squeezed the trigger, winging the canister. The cylinder decompressed in a hurry, turning the stolen suit into a ton and a half of steel wool. Me and the boys legged it into the ubiquitous scrub underbrush.
Two days later, the team and I had made it back to New Herculaneum. Holed up in a dark back-alley slum in Cogtown, I looked up at the roof as another EM storm raged overhead.
A dark, powerfully-built man, with bushy brows and a thick, black beard was pacing back and forth in front of me, the gaslight sending his shadow dancing across the walls. “You’re absolutely sure all of those suits were CA military?”
“Without a doubt, sir.” I leaned back up against the wall and fished a cigarette from my pack, flicking my Zippo to light it. I took a deep drag, savoring the feeling of my lungs filling with smoke. “Military hardware, all identical to the gorilla suit I hijacked to get us out of there. And that ordnance was not for clearing rock from mineshafts. The mining company’s gotta be gearing up for some sort of antipersonnel engagement — probably to get rid of people like us.”
“And the Colonial Authority is in on it,” he said, pausing and scratching at his chin. His eyes glittered in the gaslight as he cast his gaze around the room. “This goes deeper than just Hesperus District, Sergeant — you know as well as I do that things have been getting worse and worse since the Corporate Autonomy Act. The NHMC is out of control, and there’s nothing to stop them if they’ve got the CA in their pocket.”
I flicked the ash on my smoke and took another drag. The cheap, planet-side grown tobacco was harsh, but I didn’t care. “We can’t possibly stand up to the mining company and the Colonial Authority at the same time, Diomedes, not by ourselves. We need to start talking about building a coalition, sir. The Sons of Argos don’t have enough manpower and equipment, but if we spearhead a larger resistance network throughout all of Hesperus, we could make a difference.” I sighed. “You know, this used to be a lot easier when we could just call in the cavalry. This back alley homing pigeon shit is way too much Old Earth Victorian for my tastes.”
Diomedes nodded. A small, exasperated sigh escaped his lips. “I know, but we’ve got to make do.” He leaned up against the far wall and crossed his arms. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, Sergeant. Keep an eye out on the dead letter drops in your precinct; I’ll be sending word on our next move soon. Until then, keep your head down.” He broke into a grim, humorless smile. “And good work out there.” I saluted him and took my leave.
I had made my way back to Main Street, the lapels on my cheap coat turned up against the wind, when a bedraggled newsboy darted around the corner. “Extra! Extra!” he shouted. “Terrorist attack on mining company depot!”
I flagged him down, buying one from him. “Thanks, lady!” he said before running off down the street. I ducked into a nearby doorway to get out of the rain. There, right above the fold, was a sketch of the depot. It depicted the warehouse doors blown open and clawing at the sky like a pair of gnarled, skeletal mitts, and black, foul-looking smoke had been drawn pouring from the dark yawning opening. “TERRORISTS!” read the headline, and underneath it, “MINING OPERATION MARRED BY SENSELESS VIOLENCE.” I shook my head and started reading through the article:
Late in the evening on the 23rd a terrific blast rocked the eastern Hesperus range. The New Herculaneum Mining Company’s Hesperus Depot was devastated by an improvised explosive device of some sort, destroying vital pressure-alloy mining equipment, including several Real Motion Replication miner suits. “This was no accident,” NHMC’s Chief Investigative Officer, Horatio Cadlington, said in a prepared statement. “The destruction of these RMR suits was a deliberate act of sabotage, and the perpetrators of this act will be sought out and punished for not only their destruction of NHMC property, but for their disruption of our community and the valuable career opportunities NHMC brings to the Hesperus District.” No organization has come forward to claim responsibility for the attack, but several insider sources point the finger at the shadowy terrorist organization that calls itself the Sons of Argos, led by the notorious anarchist known only to friend and foe alike as Diomedes. By some stroke of luck or perhaps an indication of the ineptitude of the members of those involved in the incident, no loss of life occurred.
I laughed bitterly. “Mining equipment, my ass,” I said and tucked the paper under my arm. I stuck my head out of the doorway, casting my eyes up and down the muddy street before dashing off into the rain. I was supposed to meet the boys tonight down at the Torch and Goggles for a few pints, after all, and I wasn’t about to leave ‘em hanging, now was I?
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
Share this book with friends
