FINGERNAIL NECKLACES IN THE RAIN
19 Oct 2021Goldgunner1
The soft rain formed rivulets on the hard screen between the pilot and the settlement he was docked at. The sullen thrum of her underslung engines on idle pulsed through the cockpit. Becoming used to that thrum was an essential part of acclimatising to life as a pilot. These out system worlds were a tough gig but someone had to haul the specialists about and it was as good a life as one could expect on the frontiers of the bubble. There'd been talk of a new group of mercs who were banding together to take on the local hoods. The hoods in question had their index finger fingernail surgically replaced with a black, tryllium, metal scale. Sharp as a razor and used to inflict pain and horror in keeping with their cavalier cruelty. The Black Fingernail were scum. Organised, well-led and well-funded but scum none the less. Except no outer system jockey like Wendell Bunch was ever going to be caught telling anyone that. Better to think it and keep quiet. A breath of that opinion and he'd be dead, or worse his family in the habs back on Yin Yin would end up as a macabre snack spread. Silence was the best policy. So he sat quietly, engines warm, waiting for his passengers to board again, after their business was concluded. As he waited, the rain fell and fell and fell. The early, weak rain of a terraformed climate but nonetheless healing and cleansing, despite its lack of character.It was an uneasy wait. People moving past his position on the launchpad seemed agitated. It was difficult to make out their body language through the rain, but they were definitely not calm. The workers in their yellow helmets moving between the buildings had side arms and security was nowhere to be seen. Wendell had a good mind to take the vertical and get out of this place. Only problem was that a transit pilot who got a rep for taking-the-vertical on paying clients, didn't have their transit business for very long. So he'd wait.
Now the sudden darkening of the anodised layers on the hard screen indicated some sort of flash. Moving quickly to the edge of forward-hard of the Adder he could see the sharp horizontal bars that flashed across the settlement and the occasional percussive spatter of shots were just audible. Now the sirens and the lockdown order from the control tower obligated him to stay in position even though every instinct in him wanted to run. Rolling his receiver through the frequencies just bought him even more confusion and some worry. The crisp commands of two opposing groups drifted across the cockpit and he couldn't make out who was doing what. Something about Ricza needing ammunition and Henzler being out of grenades, again. How could this banter be possible in the middle of a fire-fight? He waited, tense in the Adder, keeping the engines hot as he had been asked to do and had been paid 120% the going rate to ensure.
It went quiet. Wendell wasn't sure but he thought he could make out one of the workers yellow helmets rolled up against the wall. Further away from him, maybe the hint of a boot peeking around the edge of a cooling unit near the launch pad. He made a decision to not look. The control tower had gone quiet. Just a soft hiss on the comm was audible and even the most subtle request didn't produce a response. Then, without warning the settlement external tannoy blasted a short series of horns and the whole place went dark. Not at all the plan. Heavensgate! The vertical beckoned Wendell's weak heart again. But he stayed put. A few tense minutes and his guests arrived. Signalling against the shadows thrown by their shoulder mounted lighting units for him to open the passenger hatches. He punched the key code and the hissing of hydraulics was accompanied by some light swearing as his guests boarded. The older slightly haggard guy with the faded facial tattoos was leading. He was the one swearing. The hot power core resting on his combat gloves was probably the reason he was uncomfortable. Behind him another blood spattered combat suit. The shorter man had the look of a Bomanian and the sharp green eyes were piercing. Behind him, two others. Less blood but some scorch marks on their armour. The first was carrying a lead bar in his hand, it had some hair stuck at its weighted end. Wendell looked away quickly. The last one of them, Wendall was sure it was the one called Ricza, had a badly made necklace tinkling against his chest plates. From a distance it looked like the base of the chain was made from a lab sink point and it was strung with six small black discs.
"Heavensgate" thought Wendell, "those are fingernails". Punched with a knifepoint and threaded onto the chain, streaking Ricza's chest plates with red rivulets as the rain fell.
Ricza's flat eyes didn't look even vaguely friendly and Wendell was glad he had waited. He didn't relish being held to account by any of them for poor service delivery.
"Who were these guys?"
As though reading his mind, the grey eyed, grey haired member of the team looked up at him and said, "Let's go sonny, The Black Conclave have places to be".
Wendell started the launch sequence and the doors to the Adder hissed closed.
"What APEX didn't know, wouldn't hurt them" he thought to himself as the engines engaged and lift-off commenced.