Crack in the Kill Code (AmpCore #2)

09 - The New Empire

In the moment, with the gunfights, the killing, and the horror-show of the ferry terminal, Kirk had just reacted, adrenaline helping him push through the gruesome state of affairs. Now that they'd slunk back to the subway hideout and he actually had time to think about all of it, he felt sick.

Even Nevay had lost some of her brash confidence by the time they'd finished their investigations. Nobody really knew what to say. In a perverse way, it had all worked out for their crew – a rival dead and territory open for the taking.

But a massacre like that took the shine off of everything.

He wondered if it really was possible that the unfortunate salvagers had somehow brought something back to Hadrian with them. Hard to imagine that any of the mad things across the water could actually stow away on a barge without someone noticing. And they weren't supposed to have the capacity to actually operate one.

A bitter smile tugged at his mouth. Codewraiths were supposed to be banned, and yet one had nearly killed him less than a year ago. AIs were supposed to be banned, but he'd come face to face with one. Corporate history didn't fill him with a lot of confidence.

He sat down heavily at one of the tables in the loose common area, scrubbing his hands wearily down his face. The adrenaline was making him shake; he could feel it.

A clank and a hiss snared his attention, and he turned in time for Targe to thump a bottle of beer down on the table in front of him. Kirk blinked and eyed it dubiously.

STEERHIGH CRAFT! the label blared obliviously. BECAUSE WE BELIEVE IT'S BETTER THAN THE REAL THING.

Somehow, he doubted it, but he didn't exactly have the crypts or connections to have real hops in his drinks. For now, he'd need take them at their word.

"Get it down you, kid," Targe grunted. "You did good today."

"Don't get too emotional on me," Kirk managed weakly. The big man gave a snort of amusement before stumping off, handing out beers to the rest of the crew who'd been on the strange excursion.

Several of them gathered in a loose circle, lounging on chairs and crate, cracking open their own bottles and drinking deep. An uneasy quiet hung there, punctuated only by the clink of glass and the sloshing of liquids.

It was Targe who eventually waded into the silence. "Boss, the hell'd we find out there?"

Nevay twisted a glass of clear spirit back and forth, her lips pursed in thought. She shook her head, her eyes gazing into the distance. In her other hand, she balanced the long-bladed knife, palm resting on the pommel, its point digging gently into the tabletop.

"Corp weapons test maybe," she murmured. "But Maddie's barge... I don't like it. Don't like it one bit."

"Maddie's been scavin' over the water for years," Targe replied. "Y'think she'd be dumb enough to let something come back with her?"

"We haven't seen her, have we?" Nevay's gaze drifted to meet her second in command. "Gut says Maddie's dead'n'buried somewhere on that black fucking shore."

"Hold up," the red-haired administrator, Thackenby, blurted. "You're saying you think something from Hadrian South commandeered that barge?"

"Makes sense, doesn't it?"

"Except for that fact that there's nothing sane enough to run the bloody hot tap in that wasteland."

"Says who?" Kirk interjected, shooting the man a contemptuous smile. "Corps?"