The Longest Game

In the beginning...

Emerald eyes stared across the clearing. The primitive bipeds screeching in the undergrowth yelled and postured. One braver than the rest stepped out and threw its weapon. Rychek's hand snapped out, catching the spear behind its head. Shaped stone tied with twine onto a wooden shaft. It barely counted as a tool, let alone technology. Contemptuously he crushed the haft between his fingers, powdering the wood, the head falling to the floor. Even had it connected it would barely have scratched his armour. He darted forwards, snatching up the warrior who had dared attack him, grabbing onto the animal-skin that had been pressed into service as a stinking parody of clothing. He adjusted his grip, expecting the material to tear. One handed he brought the terrified face up to his own, mildly surprised as the light in the brown animal like eyes went out. Rychek dropped the corpse looked at his blood coated fingers and shrugged. Too fragile. Still in the name of efficiency and thoroughness he ran the liquid through one of the many tools he had brought with him. Data scrolled, results highlighted. He twitched his head in the closest he had come to surprise in... as far back as his memories stretched. This one, this one might actually have the potential he had searched for. Not immediately perhaps. But if he was prepared to play the long game... He turned and walked away, ignoring the wailing from the rest of the primitives as they clustered around their fallen companion mind already looking to the future.

Present day

False night had fallen and the sudden gloom did nothing to quiet Darien's unease. The outhab slums were always grim in full daylight, now they seemed downright treacherous. He glanced over a shoulder, the same pair of gang enforcers, still behind him, Goblin Crew by the look of them. He quickened his pace, looking to get to a main route with crowds. Not that the presence of people would make the gang members any less likely to try to kill him, but there would be more cover and more chance of slipping away.

That plan failed at the next corner. Another pair of gangers, shabby grey leather greatcoats and a green tattoo 3 fingers wide across the face. The green flaring around the eyes marked their affiliation and rank. Darien looked around but the other pair were closing fast, no longer making even a pretence at subtlety. The few passers-by were quickly scattering, not wanting to be involved. His only escape was a narrow alleyway and he sprinted for it. Heavy boots clattered behind him and he darted into the refuge. A small handful of lumen globes provided what light there was, but at the end were the lights of the main shopping area offering the prospect of transient safety. He was halfway towards them when he realised the footsteps behind him had stopped. The reason immediately became apparent as another 2 gang members appeared at the other end of the alley. Darien swore as others started to appear from doorways and he realised how neatly he had been herded.

"Hear you've been looking for me." The voice was clear and surprisingly cultured. Most gangers spoke with strong slum accents peppering their speech with argot that made it almost impossible for outsiders to understand. This could have been a newscast reader or high ranking adept. Other gang members dropped back from the speaker. His tattoos not only covered the eyes, but swept up and back over a bald head. Silver lines and circles whorling over green. His coat was in much better condition but otherwise he dressed no differently. Average height and build, but still there was an indefinable presence about him.

"Are you Trask?" Darien asked, carefully keeping his hands visible and away from any pockets that might have concealed a weapon.

"Who's asking?"

"Someone with a cargo to move."

The gang leader snorted. "Do I look like a haulage company?" sycophantic sniggers came from the other gang members.

"It's a small cargo, that I'd rather nobody looked at. Doesn't need more than a little space and a guarantee that the Eagles and port security don't find it."

"What's in it for me?"

"50 large. Monthly as long as the shipments keep making it through." There were low whistles from some of the gang members.

Trask cocked his head. "Lot of money for that little. What's the deal?"

"No questions, no interfering officials and regular, then as I say 50 large."

Trask pouted, the cultured accent disappeared. "Shame cause I got questions. Like who the frack are you, who told you I do transport and who do you work for?"

Darien reached for the autopistol in his shoulder holster but froze as a dozen weapons were already levelled at him.

"Take out your heat, drift like."

Darien removed the autopistol with the tips of his fingers and reached for the knife at his belt.

"Gun to the ground. You can keep the blade." Trask waited until the gun was on the floor. "You don't like questions. I can respect that. Tombsy how many asps we got?"

"6" called out one of the shadows from a doorway.

"Kay circle up." The gang moved as one, blocking both sides of the alley, relaxed but with weapons still pointed at Darien, while 6 toughs with knives formed a loose circle around him. Though superficially similar to the others, they seemed younger and in place of tattoos had green facepaint in a slash across their face.

"Gonna tell us who you work for?" Trask asked.

"Frack you." Darien dropped into a combat stance, knife at the ready.

"OK asps. You kill him, you in. You hurt him so bad he talks, you all in."

The first of the inner circle of toughs whooped and charged. Darien blocked a clumsy thrust with his left arm and slashed with his knife; opening a slice through the gangers coat, but before he could follow up he had to dodge aside from a second ganger. A quick side kick sent a third staggering back. He dropped to a knee reaching for his pistol but a foot kicked it out of reach and a knife cut into his shoulder. Darien punched with his knife hand and one of his attackers doubled over and dropped to the floor. There was a heavy blow to his back and he spun to his feet knife slashing round and catching the trailing arm of his latest assailant. The brief satisfaction died instantly as he felt the wetness on his back and realised he had been stabbed. The five remaining gangers stepped back while the sixth moaned softly on the ground blood pooling around him. They were warier now, one severely injured two more bearing superficial wounds. The five still fighting circled their victim looking for an opening. Raw and untrained. Darien knew he could have taken any of them, probably any two even injured as he was. But five? He pressed his hand against his back trying to stem some of the blood-flow, knowing it was just a matter of time now. A faint from the left and as he span to meet it a knife slashed at his cheek. Another blade lodged in his thigh, then twisted. The pain dropped him, a boot connected with his knee. A second flashed towards his face. He grabbed and twisted feeling the ankle snap. As the wannabe gang member fell Darien stabbed up into the inner thigh, aiming for the artery there. Another kick, this time to the wound in his back, he froze with the pain and a stamp on his hand broke several of the bones there and sent the knife skittering away. He almost got to his knees before another stamp to his wounded back put him face down on the ground. He lay panting, watching as the gang leader slowly walking up. One ganger was sat on the ground howling and clutching at his groin. Blood soaking his trousers. Contemptuously Trask grabbed his head and snapped his neck. The sobbing from the other badly wounded ganger abruptly stopped.

"Who do you work for?" Trask crouched down, cold eyes regarding Darien as though he was just a malfunctioning piece of machinery. He almost gently took Darien's broken hand in his. "Who. Do. You. Work. For?" Each word punctuated with a twist that ground broken bones together. Lights burst behind Darien's eyes and he screamed in pain.

"Try again boys." Trask stalked back to the shadows. The remaining 4 young toughs moved back grinning now that their victim was now far beyond being able to fight back.

There was a crack and one of the four attackers fell. By the time any of the gangers had realised what had happened there had been two more cracks and two more gangers were down.

"Sniper!"

A hail of gunshots rang out, a mix of solid slugs and lasbolts aimed at the nearby rooftops. Another answering crack from a lasrifle took down a another ganger, but this gave the returning fire a clear target. Bricks fell as the concentrated firepower took its toll. The noise increased as shotgun blasts echoed down the narrow alleyway, figures in black carapace armour running towards the fight firing as they came. Two in front carrying full body shields those behind using them as mobile cover.

"Adeptus Arbites! Throw down your weapons, or die!"

There was some desultory return fire as gang members dived for what cover there was. But turning their fire towards the fast approaching arbitrators left them vulnerable as lasfire spat down from above, either a second sniper or the first had relocated. As one of the remaining asps was thrown against a wall by the impact of a shotgun blast the gangers started to flee.

There was a screech as a Rhino pulled up at the other end of the alley. Too wide to enter it still made for an effective barrier. A few of those fleeing that way simply scrambled up the front as a pair of arbites got out and opened fire at close range.

As the charging column reached Darien the fighting degenerated into a hand-to-hand brawl. The better trained, better armed and better armoured Arbites quickly overpowering those gang members still inclined to fight.

"First squad, secure the area, bag, tag and process. Second squad, by pairs search the buildings I don't want any of these scum getting away." The speaker moved imperiously through the chaos as troopers used shock mauls to put down any surviving gang members. Unlike the plain carapaces worn by most of the arbites this had a dull gold Aquila across the chest, a second on the helmet's forehead and what would have been bright gold chasing edging the plate if it had not been dulled by boot polish to a dull sheen. As well as the crackling power maul swinging in one fist there was a shotgun slung across the figure's shoulder and a bolt pistol hung at the belt. The heavy weaponry and the backswept antenna on the helmet gave the wearer the look of a predatory insect. Darien struggled into a sitting position.

"Marshal." he croaked.

"Medicae! Now!" The Marshal moved to his side but never stopped scanning the surrounding area for threats. "Frack Darien I thought you were supposed to be good at this." A medic sprinted over already fumbling with his med pack grabbing at bandages. The marshal swung the shotgun off its shoulder and tracked the motion as a figure jumped from the roof of a nearby block, sliding down the guttering. The figure looked round, and the marshal relaxed. A rough cape covered a black bodyglove and a sniper pattern lasrifle was slung over one shoulder.

"Trask went that way." the figure indicated a nearby doorway but made no move to follow. The Marshal nodded and gave swift vox instructions.

A pair of troopers ran to the doorway, one loaded a breaching round while the other flattened against the wall. Two shotgun rounds to the lock then the first kicked the door open and dived into the room, the second following almost instantly before a large explosion sent them flying back out into the alley. Flames roared out of the entrance too fiercely for anyone to follow.