REHO: A Science Fiction Thriller (The Hegemon Wars) (8 page)

Reho did not look back.

Behind him, steam rose into the air, disappearing into the coal clouds that had destroyed the health of those living in Darksteam. A bubbly sluice of water roared down the gravel streets, passing him as he ran. The torrent of lava-like water soaked his boots and burned his legs as he sloshed through it. The ash on the ground floated to the top, making a morbid, soupy mixture.

***

The streets had been empty since the Fighter’s destruction. Reho had seen the zeppelin once more, farther east, its spotlight scanning the town.
Our buyer arranged for a surprise
.
How important were these devices they were bringing? Did this buyer do this, turn rival political parties against each other, simply because he had the power to make it happen?

The train station was vacant. There were no Monets, Industrialists or their children with strange words.
The Monets spoke English.
What were the Industrialists speaking?

The station covered nearly fifty feet along the train tracks. The steam train still hissed, having been parked for less than half an hour. A round clock, its face at least six feet in diameter, illuminated the lonely platform: 7:58. Reho glanced at his Casio: 2:56.
Was his time wrong or did New Afrika use a different time, like in the OldWorld?

The crew had not yet arrived. It was possible they had encountered resistance a few blocks over.

Reho adjusted his Casio and decided that waiting for the crew to arrive wasn’t going to help them get out of Darksteam any faster.

Everything in the town was dark, except for the light beaming down from the zeppelin, moving closer to the area he suspected Ends and the crew had traveled.

Something exploded, sending
a burst of smoke into the air a few blocks from the station. The vibration that followed shook its rusted infrastructure. Smoke continued to stream above the buildings, mixing with the thick clouds above. Farther away, to the west, another boom was followed by a flash of light. And out on the water, a storm had gathered.

Reho checked his AIM. The device had mapped the entire town, but that wasn’t what Reho wanted to see. He checked the air pressure; it had dropped significantly. As if on cue, a gust of wind sent a chill down his spine.

The rain flooded his vision as he made his way from the station toward the source of the smoke. He switched back to the map; he still had another block to go. A gust of wind rushed through the street, slinging wet ash into the air. Reho shielded his eyes and wished he had grabbed some goggles off one of the dead guys when he’d had the chance. Lighting flashed again, revealing nine dead Monets on the ground.

Gunfire sounded from nearby. As he rounded the corner of Division Street
,
Reho saw the steam-mule, the crew pinned behind it. Ahead, several vehicles and a temporary barricade had prevented them from making it to the station.

The crew fired wildly from behind their armored cargo. Reho wondered whether the steam-mule had been damaged. The rain turned into a full-blown storm as Reho reached the crew. Sola leaned against the wagon, her eyes bloodshot and her hands trembling. Her weapon blinked red as she waited for the cells in the pulse rifle to recharge.

“
Reho!”
Ends said. The steam engine was still running, but they couldn’t access the controls without taking fire.

“We can’t move! There are too many of them firing, and they’re blasting us with these things!” Ends pulled a metal cylinder the size of his index finger from his pocket. It had a dozen spikes sticking out from it.

The steel bolt was heavy in his hand. It looked like a fishhook, designed to enter the skin and not come out. An eye loop had been welded to the top of it. Reho didn’t have to imagine what it was for. A cable attached to it would turn a gunfight into a fishing game.

“Gibson!” Ends called through the gunfire. He crossed Reho and butted Gibson with his rifle. Gibson immediately ceased fire. He had been firing an OldWorld nonstop since Reho arrived. Rain poured down his face and around his goggles.

Gibson had noticed steps near the building, about fifty feet way.
“
There’s a lower level.
”
He pointed past the Monets.
“
It comes out over there.”

They were low on ammunition. Sola’s weapon had recharged, but Ends had her wait. They wouldn’t last much longer unless they unpinned themselves and made a quick dash to the station.

The storm had done something Reho hadn’t expected. He searched the sky but couldn’t find any sign of the zeppelin. Its spotlight would have been the end to their travels; thankfully it was gone. Whatever kept it afloat, the storm was a danger to it.

Reho checked his AIM. The grid showed an underground level, just as Gibson had suspected. The plan was simple and it could work, if he moved quickly.

Ends reloaded his weapon for the third time since Reho arrived. There was no way they would last much longer at this rate.

“Ends!” Reho said through the blasts and over the roar of the steam-mule.

“I hope you have something.”

“Gibson’s got a plan.”

“Gibson?”
Ends asked.
“What did he say?” a volley of steel shots skidded across the top of the cargo as one sparked against Thursday’s rifle. Thursday kept shooting. Reho wasn’t sure if he was actually hitting anything; it sounded as though just as many men were still firing.

“I’ll come up from behind
,
”
Reho said. “Don’t shoot me, and be ready to go.”

Gibson nodded. “I’ll cover you!”

Behind Reho, Ends grabbed his secondary rifle and blasted both barrels at the Monets. Grabbing two more grenades from Gibson, Reho launched across the street, protected from the fray only by Ends’ guns.

A few had taken notice as Reho positioned himself behind a vehicle parked near the steps. He fired three shots into a gaslight near the entrance and ran for the lower level.

Reho heard the scrape of metal and an ominous clanking somewhere in the darkness. Gunshots continued above. After every ten or so rounds, he heard a loud
puft,
followed by an even louder metallic thud as one of the fishing bolts hooked into something above.

Again, a scraping noise followed by a child’s whimper. “Shhh. Honey, don’t move,” a woman’s voice whispered to her child in the darkness somewhere to his right. Reho continued north to the stairwell that would take him to the surface, behind the barricade that the Monets had set up after pinning down the crew.

Mechanical hands reached through the darkness and latched onto Reho’s back as he lifted his leg to ascend the stairs. Powerful digits dug into his midsection, then flung him aside. Reho landed on the sublevel’s floor, his ribcage on fire, bruised from the contraption’s brutal grip. He heard someone crying in the distance. Reho felt for his rifle but couldn’t find it. He leveled his pistol but would have no target from where he crouched. As he darted toward the stairs, something embedded itself inside his shoulder. He spun around and felt wire wrap his chest.

Then, like a fish caught with a hook in its mouth, came the inevitable tug. Blood poured down his chest.

Reho pushed back as the line tightened. Not wanting to be dragged farther into the darkness, he reached for his knife and slashed at the line. The blade slid across the wire, and whoever—or whatever—was at the other end jerked hard. Reho hurried forward, loosening the wire’s tug, and wrapped the wire around the barrel of his pistol. The pain in his shoulder subsided for a moment as blood gushed down his arm and onto the entwined pistol. With enough force to fling a car, Reho jerked on the wire with all his might. The mechanism his opponent was using came loose and slid to a stop at Reho’s feet. It was the size of a rifle with a cast-iron barrel and reel built into the handle. The barrel was pressurized, capable of blasting out steel hooks at its target.

Whoever had fired the weapon was still in the darkness. Reho fired off two shots into the wire, five feet from his wounded shoulder. He would have to dig the hook out later. No sounds came from below. He couldn't hear the woman’s voice or the child’s whimpering. If not for them, he would empty his pistol into the darkness. Instead, he collected his rifle and ascended the stairs.

Crouching down, he wrapped the wire twice around his shoulder, then looped it to keep it out of the way. His shoulder throbbed as the metal shifted in his flesh. It felt as though one of the spikes had shattered a bone. He scanned the street and counted seven men. He peered down the stairs but saw no one.

The men behind the makeshift barricade were definitely Monets. Reho had noticed it before. They all dressed the same, resembling the first soldiers who had dropped from the zeppelin. Society in New Afrika—at least in Darksteam—had developed differently from anything in Usona. Their use of steam and metal altered every aspect of their life. Whether for better or worse, Reho couldn’t say. Considering he had a human fishhook
in his shoulder, he opted for the latter.

Reho remained unnoticed as he waited for an opportunity to kill most of the picturesque soldiers with his grenades. Two wandered farther, close enough to a vehicle where two other Monets were positioned. The grenade arched, landing on top of the machine. Three of the men noticed and dove, but it was useless. A moment later, four of the seven were dead, sending the other three to hover together away from the fire. The second grenade rolled, but a pile of shells sent it off course, exploding next to one of the men. Reho met the survivors as they fled away from the blast. The first one fired twice, aiming too low as dust blinded him from the bullets impact against the ground. Reho was too close, but he fired his rifle anyway. Blood erupted between them.

Reho jumped backward as a blade attached to the body of a steam-altered rifle spun toward him. Reho hit the ground hard, sliding past the stairs and into the building. The ground was covered in wet ash and blood. Reho felt a lighting bolt of pain in his shoulder as the steel bullet-hook reminded him of its presence. Reho picked up an altered rifle; there was no time to figure out the gears. He ran for the last Monet. Midair, a bullet ripped between them, pulverizing half the man’s face and sending his goggles sky-high.
Thank you, Ends.

The rain continued to pour, showering the streets as though exacting revenge on the town. He grabbed the goggles that had landed near him; its straps were severed. Reho unstrapped a pair from one of the other dead Monets and fitted them to his face. He could see clearer. In the distance, the crew had taken the opportunity and was already moving toward the train station. Reho grabbed one of the gadget-rifles and a brass lantern covered with etched flower designs. Reho twisted the knob, allowing it to emit more light, and headed for the lower level. He wasn’t quite ready to leave.

***

The woman and child were on the far end of the room. He could see them tucked into each other on the lighted stairs that led back to the street. Reho knew that whatever had attacked him still lurked in the darkness between them.

The lower level contained various shops he hadn’t noticed before. The gas lantern revealed a posted directory of shop names: Albert’s Watches, ETC., Jane’s Book Cove & Antiquities, George’s Modified Guns & Defensive Mechanics
.
An arrow directed him across the lower level to where George’s shop was located.
Dammit.

The door was propped open by a melted mass of what looked to be an amalgamation of copper scraps. The lantern illuminated the shop; items hung from its walls and ceiling. Some were OldWorld guns, modified to use pressurized gas canisters, springs, and cranking gears to fire what he assumed to be the same steel hooks as the one lodged in his shoulder. The pain had abated, but he could feel the tightening as it swelled.

His pity party ended as something struck his back, sending him to the ground. Reho twisted, his gadget-rifle pointing into the face of an old man who looked more mechanical than human. His eyes were gone, replaced by clocks, both displaying different times. His hands were covered with brass rods that looked robotic and uncomfortable. Cogs and spinning gears connected to a device on the man’s back that looked remarkably similar to the inside of a clock. Every piece moved as he lowered his hands toward Reho’s neck. He had knocked him down with his forearms and now seemed determined to strangle him.

Any other time, Reho would have killed the attacker instantly, but something was different about this clock-man. He wasn’t like those knock-down-drag-outs he’d faced in Usona. Neither was he like the Monets or Industrialists. Reho didn’t know what he was, but he knew he wasn’t the enemy. He was protecting what he owned.
Had he even been a threat or just scared?

Reho averted the man’s attack, firing one of the steel bolts through his hand and pinning him to the wooden counter.

The altered man said nothing, no screams or gasps.

“Sorry, George,” Reho said. “But I can’t have you trying to follow me and shooting me in the back.” The old clock-man made no noise, but the pain of being nailed to the counter registered on his withered face.
He’s blind and can’t speak.

The shopkeeper remained silent as Reho closed the door behind him. The lower level was dark again. He left the lantern outside the shop and made his way to the street.

The woman and the child were gone.

Nothing moved on the street. Only the sound of the town’s large boilers and the hiss of steam valves filled the night. Ash was falling aga
in instead of rain.

***

“Gibson, get the steamer started. We will have the cargo on board and ready to go in five minutes,” Ends said as Reho joined the others at the station. “Sola and I will load the cargo
.
Thursday, you and Reho take lookout.”

Thursday found a covered place on the platform from which to watch the streets. His breathing labored as he dug in his pocket for a cigarette.

“We heard the heavy guns from that Fighter, then the explosion. What happened?” Thursday asked, then noticed Reho’s shoulder. “And what happened to you?”

“Everything has a weakness. It couldn’t hit me from underneath,” Reho replied. “And the shoulder? Just a flesh wound.” Reho smiled. The pain had increased, and he felt feverish.

“Underneath? You’re a crazy piece of work.” Thursday chuckled. “So you got next to its balls and did what? Looked up and punched them?”

Reho’s laughter surprised even himself, though the sudden movement sent a fresh wave of pain through his upper chest and into his neck.

“I shoved a grenade into the first crevice I found.”

“Smart . . . though I think you can skip the details.” Thursday lit a bent cigarette. The smoke filled the cramped area. Both watched as ash fell from the sky, soaking into the puddled streets.

Something exploded nearby, sending a ball of fire skyward.

The steamer roared to life, drowning out everything except for a loud slam as the cargo door shut. Thursday snuffed out the cigarette.