DIRE : SEED (The Dire Saga Book 2) (6 page)

I nodded my thanks, and moved in. Martin followed, and the door shut behind us, cutting off the music. A glance around showed a storeroom, lit by a single dangling bulb. The walls were lined with cloth, and my scanner flashed a
SIGNAL BLOCKED
message to my glasses
. Heartening, that. No way to spy on us electronically.

There were three simple steel chairs in the center of the room, set between racks and shelves of cleaning supplies and other sundries. I chose one, and folded myself into it.

After a moment a door on the other end of the room opened, and the man we were here to meet oozed in.

Five foot ten or so, a hair shorter than me. Face and head obscured by a cloth hood just like my own. A bit pudgy, but not unreasonably so, he wore a business suit similar to Martin’s.

He would have been just another man on the street, save for the hood, and the fact that I could see right through him. His body shimmered and roiled, mostly-translucent with a faint oiliness to it that suggested a chemical spill. He left slimy footprints on the concrete floor as he walked, but as I watched each one started shrinking as soon as it appeared, returning to wherever it had come from.

“Good evening,” the oozy figure said. His voice was a bit burbly. “As this is our first time doing business, I’m obliged to tell you that you are under no requirement to tell me your name.”

“Her name is Dire. Doctor Dire.” Martin said. I shot a look his way, but his face was unreadable beneath his hood. Had Martin just given up an advantage?

I thought not. He’d spent his whole life negotiating and selling illegal goods and services. I decided to have a little faith in him.

“Ah. That too is acceptable.” There was a pause, and the figure considered me. “You’re quite the busy woman, Doctor.”

I nodded. “Yes. Her time is both valuable and short, so let us skip directly to the business at hand.”

A nod, and I got the feeling he was pleased. “We’re of the same mind, then. Very well.” He took a seat, and Martin sat as well. “The job is a simple hijacking. In two days, a convoy will leave a facility belonging to Morgenstern Incorporated. It will travel west out of the city. Before it leaves the outskirts of Icon City, you and the rest of your team will retrieve a valuable piece of cargo from one of the vehicles. Is this job within your capabilities?”

Morgenstern Incorporated... the second-biggest technological firm in the city, run by the multi-billionaire Aegon Morgenstern, third and last of his line. I’d considered robbing him once, dropped the idea. For a non-metahuman, he’d accomplished much. His company was known for both philanthropy and an utter ruthlessness, particularly when it came to security. Villains had tried to steal his tech before. Some had succeeded, but never for long, and never without price.

But to express doubt would be to weaken my bargaining position. So instead, I snorted. “Did you see the six-o-clock news? That should answer your question right there.”

He nodded again. “Very well. Do you have questions?”

“Yes. What sort of security will the convoy have?”

“At least a dozen guards, spaced throughout three vehicles. Top of the line civilian weaponry, though not up to mil-spec levels. No known metahuman presence at this time. You and your team should be the only supers on the field.”

“Twice now you’ve mentioned a team,” I said. “Who are they?”

“Other discriminating professionals, similar to yourself. You’ll understand if I don’t give names until you’ve accepted the job.”

“Only fair,” I mused. “Nature of the cargo?”

“We’re paying for discretion and confidentiality. The cargo is in a container that should remain sealed, for your own safety, so it shouldn’t be an issue.”

I didn’t like that, but I let it pass.

“Where is it to be delivered, after we secure it?”

“You will be given a phone number. After the cargo is secured, call the number and we’ll give you an address for the hand-off. That’s when you’ll receive the rest of your payment.”

Seemed like a good idea, though it did put a fair amount of power in their court. Whoever this man was working for, they were maximizing plausible deniability and minimizing risk. I drew my mind back to matters at hand.

“Ah yes, payment. What did you have in mind, for Dire’s time and trouble?”

“Two hundred thousand.”

That... was quite a bit more than the small amounts I’d made with my weekly bank-hacks. I’d been unable to dip too far, due to the priority of avoiding detection. Two-hundred thousand was a good couple of month’s work. It wasn’t all of what I needed, of course, but it was a good start. I opened my mouth to accept the offer—

“Five hundred thousand,” Martin said.

What?

“Please,” the businessman said. “Don’t waste my time.”

“You’re wasting hers,” Martin said. “Two hundred thousand is chump change.”

“For a power-armored mercenary without power armor? I’m being kind, here.”

“Oh, she has armor.” I said. “It will be used on the job. If you can meet her price.”

“And yet I saw a suit being hauled out of the Courthouse on a forklift, on the evening news. The MRB likely has it now, Doctor.”

I let out a cold chuckle. “What they have is a charred husk. After completing her mission, Dire utilized the escape teleporter, and the armor bricked itself as designed.”

Half-lie, half-truth. I didn’t want anyone else finding out the armor had been a drone, but it
had
been rigged with a non-explosive self-destruct in the form of EMP charges. Enough time away from my virtual harness’ signal, and the charges were programmed to detonate and destroy the electronics. I’d set the limit to three minutes away from the signal. I had no doubt that it had wiped, as planned.

“An impressive feat, if true,” the businessman said. “If you have another suit to bring to the table, I could see increasing the fee... but if we’re taking into consideration the day’s actions, there’s also the issue that you’re somewhat hot property. The FBI and Icon City’s other authorities and heroes are looking for you, Doctor. I’m afraid I couldn’t offer more than... Two-hundred and fifty thousand.”

“Four hundred thousand,” Martin said. “Job like this is high-profile, and Morgenstern’s got pull. Yeah she’s hot, but the sort of risky shit you’re offering would just make her hotter. Since it would end with the authorities on our asses anyway, your worries are kind of moot.”

“It’s not the hunt afterward that I’m concerned about, it’s the possibility of authorities interfering during the mission. Especially if you exhibit the same sort of head-on tactics that you did during your assault on the courthouse. Three-hundred thousand is the highest I can reasonably go, here.”

“Yeah, funny thing ’bout that,” Martin said. “You want it hit before it leaves the outskirts, and you say there ain’t no confirmed metahuman presence, but this is Icon City. Shit like this, you’re gonna get heroes. So we’re gonna go up against heroes, and next to that, who the fuck cares about the authorities? So we already got one guaranteed super-fight on our hands with this. You know it, I know it, and Dire here? She knew it before she walked in the damn door. Supergenius, man. You ain’t just getting a suit of power armor that can wreck a tank in a fistfight, you’re getting a brain makes Einstein holler in his grave.”

The suit actually didn’t have the strength to punch out a tank, but instinct told me that now was not the time to correct Martin.

The businessman folded his arms, considered us for a minute, then nodded. “Three-hundred and fifty-thousand. Take it or leave it.”

Martin looked to me, I looked to him, and nodded. “Dire finds that acceptable for the task requested.”

The businessman nodded. “Very well, then.” He reached up under his hood, and withdrew a memory stick. “You’ll find the details of the convoy and the cargo here, along with contact numbers for myself and also for the rest of your teammates. Also included is the account number and access code for your down payment. With your negotiation, the down payment will be... roughly seven percent. A bit less. Give me an hour and I’ll notify your teammates of your name, advertised capabilities, and contact number. I assume you have one?”

I recited the number for one of my burner phones. He recited it back, and offered the stick. “Thank you, Doctor. I wish you luck with this venture.”

I took it and handed it to Martin without looking. “And she wishes you luck with yours, whatever they may be.”

He turned and left without another word, and I took that as my cue to do the same. As I opened the door, we were met again by the waiter, who offered the metal tray in one hand. “Your masks, please?”

I waited until the other door shut behind me and the businessman was gone, before removing mine and  placing it on the tray. Martin did the same, and the man covered them, smiled, and set the lid on the tray with a ‘clink’. “Thank you for your patronage,” he said, bowing and gesturing towards the door.

I offered a tight smile, before following the unspoken request to depart. Martin lagged behind, and shot me a look before we hit the door. “Uh, about what we discussed...”

“Still want her to bring the car around?”

“Fuck yeah.”

“All right. Wait here.”

Night had fallen over Barside when I departed, and the crowds were mainly indoors, getting merrily inebriated and tucking into dinner. My stomach rumbled as it reminded me that I hadn’t eaten, and I gritted my teeth and ignored it. I’d gone hungry for days while I was on the run, recovering from my ordeal in the WEB base and trying to lose myself in the chaos that followed the aftermath of Y2K. This was a minor setback compared to the troubles that I’d already fought through.

Every day I survived and was free, was another day that I grew stronger. Every day that I won and achieved small goals, was a step toward my larger goal. I had time and I had patience, and I was smart enough to use both of these advantages to their full potential.

And now I had somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty grand awaiting me, with fourteen times that if I completed the job successfully. I needed to talk over the ramifications of this job with Martin. I had questions that would have been imprudent to ask within the restaurant.

It was evidently peak hour for Barside, as the parking garage signs declared it full. The elevator in the parking garage took me up to the appropriate floor, as I mused on the day’s events. It had been exhausting, to tell the truth. I was looking forward to getting back to the lair and soaking in the hot tub for a while. Perhaps Martin would join me? The shows I had watched indicated that was a social thing to do. Although, half of them seemed to use it as a romantic driver, particularly when only two people were involved. I didn’t know if I wanted to pursue that option with Martin. Honestly, catching up with the rest of humanity in regards to popular culture and social customs was more of a chore than I’d expected. Initiating a romance, even if he was willing, would be more of a strain then I wanted to take on at this time. I was smart enough to realize that there were so, so many ways it could go wrong, and that super-genius or no, if I messed it up, then the consequences could be catastrophic.

No. Better off friends. Friends I knew, friends I could do. Lovers were an unknown quantity.

Pity, though. From the little I’d seen when he changed there was a pretty good body under those clothes, and my biology insisted on informing me that mating was a thing I should be doing. Ah well. Save that experiment for when I had a more secure base, and enough social contacts that I could afford to lose one.

A final nod as I reached my decision, and the elevator doors hummed open. The lights were out, and I found that strange.

Puzzlement turned to panic, as someone tried to shoot me.

CHAPTER 4: BULLETS AND BASTARDS

“Weird as the costume life is, sometimes you gotta take a step back and realize that not everything you run into is about you. Sometimes shit just happens, man.”

--Ballista, Independent hero active within Icon City from 1999-2008

CRACK!

A flare of light in the darkened garage showed muzzle flash from the second shot.  I realized that I was in a lit box in the middle of the dark, and my luck couldn’t hold forever so I dove out of the elevator, heading low. The bullet clipped a car to my left, sent up sparks, followed in a microsecond by a second CRACK, and I was on the ground and scrabbling out of the light. I moved low and fast, briefcase tangled in my skirt before I slid it across the ground under a car, and half-crawled, half-skittered after it.

I was out of the light, and behind cover. I breathed hard, reached under the car, and pulled the briefcase back to me as the echoes of the shot faded in the garage. They faded quickly. Silenced? Yes. That sounded likely. Silenced pistols.

Voices rose, angry and male, but I ignored them for the moment as I cracked open the briefcase, and reached inside until my fingers touched ceramic-steel. I withdrew my find, pulled my glasses off with my free hand, and jammed my mask over my face.

Pneumatics tickled as it locked into place, and darkness turned to light as the operating system hummed to life.

Hot panic ebbed, replaced by cold rage.

I didn’t know who, but
someone
was going to pay for this.

I considered the array of gadgets in the case. The scanner was still going, since I’d neglected to turn it off. Might as well leave it on, if they were using a tactical net then that would give me options there. After another thought, I withdrew the universal remote, my pistol, two magazines, and a flashpak. I considered the taser, then shook my head and shut the case, slid it back under the car.

Whoever they were, they’d opened with lethal force, a violation of the unwritten rules that limited wasteful escalation by heroes and villains. In this case, my use of lethal force would be acceptable; it was basically self-defense.

My mask informed me that it was at 100% synchronization, and I glanced up. Still a darkened parking garage, but I could see it clearly, as if my mask was invisible. This was due to the sensors on the outside of the mask recording the world around it, and displaying it on every visible surface inside. The net effect was to render the mask translucent to my vision. But that wasn’t the reason I’d masked up.

“Nightvision,” I whispered, and the garage went from shadowy and full of ill-defined shapes, to clear as day, with only a hint of greenshift.

“You get her?” A voice said, off to my right. “I don’t know how the fuck she called that elevator without you spotting it.” A male voice, perhaps a hundred feet from me. I crouched down, looked under the cars.

“Hey, I was watching!” Sounded younger than the first one. I saw motion, what looked like two sets of legs, and decent shoes. “Don’t fucking imply—”

“Shut it. Vince, you took the shot. Go over there and confirm.” A third voice, out of my sight. Behind one of the pillars, or the other row of cars? Maybe. Couldn’t rule out the ramp’s slope cutting him out of my sight, either.

So. Three people, presumably all armed. Upslope from me, sheltered by the grade and a plethora of objects usable as cover.

Not for the first time, I regretted the loss of my first power armored suit, and the pocket-sized forcefield generator that my old self had built. That thing could stop about twenty bullets before the charge was drained, and it had stopped far more when I’d wired it into the suit’s generator core. With it, taking out three hostiles would be a snap. But the components to replicate that model were rare, and impossible to get without a lot of money and the right connections. I hadn’t been able to build a replacement, not with the decoy suit and the true armor taking the bulk of my funds. The best I could do was a toaster-sized component that required a ton of power to operate, and worked half as well.

Clicking sounds, and a white disk appeared on the ground, and danced downslope. A flashlight beam, by the looks of it. So I had nightvision and they didn’t? Good to know.

I removed my shoes, set them next to the briefcase. Stealth and offense, those would be the best way to proceed. Still, three of them were bad odds, and the first shot would give away my position.

Unless...

The sound of footsteps, as the flashlight swept down the center aisle to the elevator, danced to either side, skirting me by six feet. “No bloodstains,” young voice said.

I gripped my gun in my right hand, pulled out the universal remote with my left, and pointed it upslope, waving it around until the words
COMPATIBLE VEHICLE
appeared in my HUD. I maneuvered the cursor over via the thumbswitch, until the
CAR ALARM
option was highlighted, and took a deep breath. One good distraction, then I could pop out, kill the young one and relocate, moving while the noise and lights covered my actions. Then I’d need to hunt down the others, get sight on them quickly and shoot first. Simple.

I took another breath for courage, lowered my thumb to the button—

Gunshots, from below. More silenced pistols, and the dull thunder of a shotgun, quite unsilenced.

“Shit! She got past us!”

What?

“Musta taken the elevator down!”

“Right.” Hidden voice agreed. “Vince, Carl, take the stairs down a floor. I’ll keep watch up here. Call when you’re in position.”

“You got it, boss.”

They rushed past me, turning past the elevator to the stairwell. I could have gunned them down easily, but I refrained.

There was someone else in the equation.

I’d thought the ‘she’ they were talking about was me, but what if that wasn’t so? What if I’d stumbled into something quite unrelated to my current drama?

My luck had always been bad, why should tonight be any different? I had half a mind to wait until these goons were done with their work, then depart.

The shotgun thundered again, throwing echoes around the garage, and I sighed. No, waiting wasn’t an option. Someone would notice that sooner or later. The police would be here quickly, or worse, a hero would investigate. I’d be questioned, scrutinized, and my briefcase full of illegal devices might draw some attention.

Besides, they’d shot at me. That was annoying at the best of times.

I reached under the car, slid the briefcase out again, pulling out the taser this time. If they didn’t mean to kill me, then I’d stick to nonlethal as long as I could.

Safety on, pistol in my pocket, back to the universal remote. I scrolled up the tab again, found the switch that would turn on the car alarm—

“Yeah.”

What? I went still, listened. The scanner in the briefcase flickered an
OUTGOING CALL DETECTED
message to my HUD.

“Yeah, no. Ain’t got her yet. We only got ten guys and a big garage to cover. Bitch brought a shotty to the meet, too.”

He was talking on a fucking cell phone. Seriously?

I considered the remote, and pocketed it. These were not professionals. These were idiots. There was no point in overthinking this.

I stood and walked up the ramp, silent in my stocking feet. With my nightvision I saw him far before he could possibly see me, turned slightly away with his phone to his ear, leaning against a pylon. I slid up within forty feet, went still, and listened.

“Yes sir. We’re on this. Bitch is wounded, just gotta finish the job quick.”

He snapped the phone shut, and at the same time I tazed him, aiming for the lower back. He dropped with a squeak, and I gave him a few more squeezes of current until he stopped thrashing. He’d live, with a hell of a headache when he woke up.

Then I picked up the phone. I flipped it open... still working, good. I’d aimed low so I wouldn’t short the thing out when I zapped him. It was a bit scuffed, but still functional.

I ignored the first number on his history, and started running down the rest of them, dialing for a couple of rings then hanging up.

Phones started ringing, above and below, and distant curses reached my ears. I snickered, and set the thing to auto-dial every thirty seconds.

This is why you use a tacnet, and not cell phones. Sweet, unsecured cell phones. I’d just revealed their positions, and thrown a spanner in their communications at the same time.

Five above, as best my audio sensors could tell, and three below. He’d said ten? Two unaccounted for then, either with phones shut off, silenced, or broken.

I left the phone where it was, jogged back to retrieve my briefcase, and went hunting.

I’d gone up against professional techno-terrorists. I’d gone up against gangers trained by a special ops soldier gone bad. I’d gone up against heroes, villains, and brain-dead vampire-things. These were dumbasses with guns, who couldn’t murder a single target with a ten-to-one advantage.

There was no contest, now that I knew what I was up against.

I had night vision, they had flashlights. The only working powered devices in the place were the elevators and the signs outside. They had too few men to cover the garage, and as I went I took out two of the three below, working my way down floor by floor, tazing and leaving them unconscious. It wasn’t quite fish in a barrel, more like frogs in a wading pool. On the second one, I noticed that I’d stopped hearing phones from above. They’d finally wised up and discarded them, or turned them off. Didn’t hear the third one either. He was either on the floor below me, or the ground floor below that.

And as I picked past the fallen fool on the floor, angling toward the ramp down, I heard a muffled ‘click-clack’ behind me.

A shotgun being racked.

I dove behind a van, as it boomed, and I felt insects sting my back as the buckshot went by, grazing and tearing my blouse and skin. Then I was up against the van, cursing myself for getting complacent. For my overconfidence, and the price I’d nearly paid for it.

Click-clack.

Wait.

Hadn’t the men said something about the one they were hunting bringing a ‘shotty’ to the meet?

Movement by the edge of the van, and I threw myself across the hood, scrabbling without heed of dignity as the shotgun roared again. Missed this time, though my back itched and ached, and I couldn’t stop to check the wounds. My blouse was sticking to my back, so I was probably bleeding, but how much I couldn’t tell.

I hit the ground on the other side, taking the concrete with my shoulder and rolling, losing my briefcase in the process.

Not good. Very not good. Worse, the noise would draw the hunters. I had nothing to lose by talking now, seeing if we could find common cause.

“YOU’RE MAKING A MISTAKE,” I boomed, my voice roaring and echoing through the garage.

“Dire? You? You’re the one? Why the fuck are you doing this?”

The voice was female and familiar, though it took me a second to place it. Bunny! One of the Midtown Militia, she’d helped me fight the Black Bloods, back during our conflict.

“BUNNY? IS THAT YOU?”

Clicking noises were my only answer. She was reloading the shotgun.

“BELIEVE IT OR NOT, DIRE’S PRESENCE IS A COINCIDENCE. BUT SHE’S WILLING TO MAKE COMMON CAUSE AGAINST THE DUMBASSES.”

Hard breathing. I crouched down, looked under the van. A pair of boots on the other side, standing in a small dark splotch. As I watched, it spread. Blood, had to be.

“YOU’RE HIT.”

“But I’m not down.” Heavy breathing, and a pregnant pause. “Tell them to stand down, or I take you with me.” She sounded mad. Couldn’t blame her.

“THEY’RE NOT HERS.”

BLAM!

Only the fact that I was crouched saved me, as she fired
through
the thin-walled van to get at me. She’d switched to slugs, fired where she thought I was standing.

“Tell them!” She shrieked. I saw her boots stagger a second, before she started walking around—

—and perhaps thirty feet behind her, coming up the ramp from the ground floor, I saw a man in a suit leveling a silenced pistol.

“BEHIND YOU!” I called, as I rolled under the van, pulled my pistol from my pocket, and shot. It was a bad angle and I missed, missed again as he ran for cover.

Bunny didn’t miss.

Two barrels shouted in lead and fury, and he was lifted off his feet, thrown back against a car’s windshield as it splintered and exploded, as he slid to the ground, chest dark and gory.

“Shit,” Bunny said.

“YOU BELIEVE HER NOW? THEY’RE AFTER DIRE TOO.” Half-truth there. Couldn’t hurt.

She considered, breath a little more ragged than before. Above her labored gasps, I heard the sound of shoes running on the levels above.

“Okay. Got a plan?”

“MOSTLY.” I slid out, slowly, and retrieved my briefcase. When I turned around, I was staring into two sawn-off barrels.

“HEY NOW.” With exaggerated motions, I slid my pistol back into my pocket, and Bunny lowered the shotgun.