Tunnelers. Jett had heard of a strange group of people who lived deep in the abandoned sewers of the Neo York, but had never seen them before. He thought they were urban legends, like the rumors of large alligators he used to hear about. Of course, the alligator tales turned out to be true. Now another story had become a reality.
The hovercraft was followed by a few more on smaller gliding bikes, and many more on foot, sloshing through the muck. Thought most had their faces covered, Jett saw women and children among their number. They trudged along on weary legs, heads downcast, shoulders slumped.
He heard they dwelled deep underneath the city, rarely seen by residents. Something must have driven them away from their homes for them to come this close to the city.
He carefully emerged from his hiding place, aiming at the hovercraft with his g-span. A tracking disk fired from its slot, attaching itself to the corroded hull. He waited until the last of them were lost to sight before standing up. He stared down the tunnel, feeling a twinge of sadness. Different time, same hopelessness. He had seen the same, too many times after the Imperial War. The world was upended, and refugees streamed from one place to the next, trying to find a safe haven. Turned out Havens were being built, but not for refugees. They were already forgotten, left to fend for themselves against the unbridled savages of the world.
Not by me. Jett nodded to himself. I'll come back. Find out what happened. See what I can do to help.
Satisfied with his resolution, he made his way upward, followed closely by Zip, who hummed a warbling tune that echoed off the cavernous walls as they slogged along.
He tapped the entry code and hand scan when a flash of movement caught his eye. A girl sat on the top of his boxpad, skinny legs dangling over the ledge. She wore a bulky flight jacket, an oversized knit hat, and a gas mask that covered the lower half of her face.
He recognized her when she removed the mask. It was the girl from the alley, the one he spoke to on the street a few nights past.
She vaulted from the top, landing lightly beside him. "'Bout time you show up, yo. Getting frost butt waiting."
"You mean 'frostbite.' How do you know where I live?"
"Tailed you a couple times."
"Yeah? I never saw you."
She grinned. "Course not. You letting me in or what?"
"You really shouldn't go into a grown man's pad. It's dangerous."
"Sure." A knife glimmered in her hand and deftly disappeared. "For you."
He sighed and hit the ENTRY button. The door hissed as it slid open. "Fine. At least tell me your name."
"Mira." She darted past him, eyeing the place over. "Nice."
He snorted. "Yeah. Lap of luxury."
"Better than the streets."
He paused in the act of opening the cooler. "You live on the streets?"
"Sometimes. Me and my sister have… had a safe place."
"What happened to your sister?"
Her expression saddened, eyes downcast. "Boogeymen took her."
"Boogeymen?"
"They take people. Make ghosts."
His jaw clenched. "That's why you need help. To get her back."
She nodded, angrily scrubbing away the tear that rolled down her cheek. "I ask questions. Dress like kankibank, try to catch a quig's eye. Quig can lead to boogeymen, but I can't make 'em squeal. Quigs get mad, sic dogs on me."
"That's why they were chasing you that night in the alley."
"Ace."
"What's a quig?"
"Cunny mack. Ho daddy."
"Okay. So you're out there, putting your life at risk trying to attract pimps you can squeeze for info on the boogeymen that took your sister. Do you know how reckless and crazy that is?"
She shrugged, thrusting her hands in her pockets. "Couldn't just give up. Had to do something."
You see something wrong… you do something about it. No matter what the cost. You do something.
Jett nodded to himself. "You're going to stick with this crazy plan anyway, aren't you?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Let's say I got your back this time. But if it doesn't work, we do things my way. Deal?"
Mira grinned like he handed her a sack full of candy.
Jett shoveled a spoonful of oily stew in his mouth, trying to chew. The stuff was called gruel, consisting of a mishmash of any cheap meat and vegetable combination, varying by the day. Usually, the meat was rat. Gruel was greasy and chewy at the same time, but it was also dirt-cheap and filled an empty stomach. But it wasn't the stew that was hard to swallow. It was the conversation from the table behind him.
They were in the bar section of a cathouse called the Love Below, located in the part of the Warrens affectionately called Cunny Alley by the regulars. Prostitution was perfectly legal in Neo York, with taxes levied against every brothel and sex den. As long as the fees were paid, the businesses were free to do as they pleased.
Mira hadn't sat by herself for long. Within minutes a quig in a leopard-print trench coat and a lime green velvet suit sidled up beside her at the bar. Ordering her a drink, he leaned in close, speaking in a low, butter-coated voice.
"Ain't seen a thang like you here before. Bad round these parts. A young filly like you needs a man to look after you. Watch yo back and make you some chedda in the process. Freddy Flava is just the mack to make sure that happens."
Mira placed her chin on her hand and smiled. "You can do that, daddy? I been 'round the way a few times. Bad men always wanna rough me up."
He reached out and stroked her face with a hand glimmering with jewel-encrusted rings. "Oh, yeah. You got them heart-breaker eyes, that sweet, moist little mouth… a trick would have to be dead not to want you. How old you is, sweetheart?"
"Fourteen."
A golden tooth in his mouth gleamed when he smiled. "Perfect, baby. Freddy Flava knows many a trick who'll fall over for a piece of that sweet, young—"
Jett tapped him on the shoulder. "I've heard enough."
Freddy Flava sneered. "You want something, sucka? This jade ain't even trained yet. You wanna slap your sausage, head to the rooms in the back. Got plenty of trickflips to satisfy you if you got the votes."
"Votes?"
"V-notes, sucka. You born yesterday? Now get outta my face 'fo Freddy Flava carve a smile in yo stomach."
Jett's fists clenched at his sides. "I'm terrified."
Freddy Flava sputtered an exaggerated sigh. "Ain't this a bitch? Freddy Flava can't even handle his bizness without being interrupted. Trick, you know who I'm is?
"I know just who you are." Jett's fist shot out, connecting with Freddy Flava's jaw with a sharp crack. Mira scooted away as Freddy Flava tumbled backward off his stool, eyes wide with shock. The bartender glanced over in a bored manner, as if it was nothing he hadn't seen many times before.
Jett ignored Freddy Flava's expression, grabbing the pimp by his fur-lined collar and throwing him to the floor. Heat flared through his veins, radiated from his pores. He dropped down, seized Freddy Flava's polka dot tie and yanked, throttling the man.
"I know all about you." He followed the statement with another punch. Blood smeared across Freddy Flava's mouth.
"You're a sorry-ass excuse for a human being…"
Another punch.
"— who thinks he's a man…"
Another punch.
"— by putting little girls out on the street!"
He punctuated the shout with a savage kick to the ribs. Mira leaped on his arm, shouting something he couldn't hear. He shook her off. His vision filmed over in red. Blood on Freddy's Flava's broken face. Blood on Jett's fist. Sizzling blood oozing from charred bodies of his Hellrazor team. Sightless eyes, dead faces staring up at him. It wasn't enough.