CHAPTER 8

Hera: The Hide

I need a plan.

Hidin’ ain’t a plan.

Kickin’ serious ASS, now that’s a plan.

Intel, area, resources. Intel first.

Well, I know they’re here, duh, but don’t know how many, where exactly in the “here” they are, and what-all they got. Ship is certain, cain’t have got here otherwise. Don’t know for “sure” they got a hover. Might’ve been some other kinda buggy, never actually saw it. Technology level, completely unknown. Personnel, well I know about ol’ Smelly, and Barty. The rest could be just goons, could be mercs, I dunno yet. He surely does have the cash for professional muscle.

Area. Hmmm.... Lure ‘em out here into my favorite playground? Maybe. Thugs won’t do for shit out here, divide and conquer, just like old times. Have to take out their ship first, too big an advantage on their side. Naw... knee’s already marginal, cain’t trust in out here in the rough. Back in the junkyard, though.... Flat ground, lots of cover, and I for damn sure know it blind. Blind? In the dark. Yeah, LIKE that part.

Resources. Got my toys here, more in the other hide. Four caches scattered about, and a stash in the yard I ain’t divvied out yet. Too bad I ain’t found any ammo for that rocket launcher, sure would come in handy about now. Don’t want any of the big grenades, too much chance of shrapnel bouncin’ off sumthin’ and gettin’ me too. Those Grizwalds now, might be able to use a few of those. Got one seeker, but no transponder to keep from eatin’ that my own-self. Rig it on a tripwire maybe? Possible.

Some opportunities for deadfalls and such in the yard. There’s that stack of scrap ‘bout ready to fall down on it’s own that Marcus was supposed to fix up, but ain’t. And that Firefly engine likes to roll out into the road every time the loader knocks the prop down. Might do for the hover, or whatever that is.

Awrighty then, this is lookin’ doable. Rest up for today, move out tonight, head back towards the yard. See what’s what and who’s where, get the plan dialed in.

Persephone: 15 Months Ago, Barty’s Warehouse

Boot back on, shank in my pocket. Out the door and over to the window. Huh. Thing ain’t been opened in years and solid stuck shut. Glass in it has wire mesh, take some serious hammerin’ to bust through. Let’s try some doors.

First is locked. Second is a closet, old bucket and mop inside. Third might have been a small office, a couple chairs and some fallin’ apart cardboard boxes. Fourth, just empty.

Well lookee here, another short hall. Didn’t see it with ape-shape blockin’ my view earlier. Door on the right, more junk storage, and down to the end another door. With a placard on the wall sayin’ EXIT. Now ain’t that nice.

Shit. Elevator’s runnin’.

Beat feet back to my hole.

Pick up the door by the handle and the middle hinge, damn, forgot the pins! Pick ’em up, then the door again, set it kinda in place. Middle pin in, top pin, wiggle the door a might. Top pin drops down, middle pin bein’ fussy. C’mon, c’mon! There it goes, push it down with my thumb. Forget the bottom, put it in my other pocket, throw the blanket over by the sink. Door just clicks shut before the elevator doors open. Too damn close.

Go over and sit on the blanket like I been doin’ nuthin’ else this last while. Damn, cut my finger liftin’ the door back into place. Fold it into my fist so it don’t show.

Heavy footsteps, gotta be Smiley. Door unlocks, opens.

“Out,” he says, jerking a thumb towards the elevator. Brilliant conversationalist this guy.

Hand on my shoulder as we go down the hall. Phew, what is that stink? Smells like boiled cabbage. It’s him. My own fug musta covered it up before.

Mr. SMELLY. Best not say that outside my head or it may go missin’.

Into the elevator and back up to Barty’s office.

“Sit”, says Smiley. Yeah, and stay, too, you big ugly bastard.

“Feeling a bit better, Jacob?”

I nod.

“Good, very good. Time now to discuss our business together. Tell me, have you ever been to Higgins’ Moon?”