Chapter Twenty-One - Disposal

“Want your biological junk gone? Call Want-Not today!

Safe and sanitary biowaste disposal since 2023!”

--Excerpt from an ad for the biological waste and pseudo-meat production company, Want-Not Inc., 2034

***

The pontoon boat moved like one of those little four-wheeled scooters that walking whales used when they were shopping in the bigger discount stores. That’s to say, it was slow as hell, and, judging from the engine’s whine, it was having a hard time even keeping up this pace.

“This is like the world’s worst amusement park ride,” I said as I looked around. The walls were all arched up, with large struts every dozen metres, and lights hanging off of them to brighten things up a little. But only a little.

“Something tells me you haven’t ever been to an amusement park,” Gomorrah said.

“I have, actually. The orphanage got this cheap trip to this amusement park, just outside of the city. Big rides, lots of tourists and middle-class sorts. We were there for some photoshoot thing. You know, bunch of kids that can all smile, most of them obviously disabled in some way so the place looks like it’s inclusive and shit.”

“That sounds... nice?” Gomorrah tried.

“Eh, we weren’t allowed on the rides, but we got lots of free food and stuff. I’m pretty sure Lucy stole a shirt too. She might still have it somewhere.”

Gomorrah shook her head, but she kept her attention fixed on the waters ahead. The trip was going to be a dull one, I figured.

“I hear places like that have the best trash if you’re looking for food and stuff,” Rac said. “There’s this man on sub-six. He buys any meat you can pick up. Ten credits per pound. I bet you could make thousands just from the stuff they throw away at a park.”

“What does he do with the meat?” I asked.

“Sausages.”

Made sense.

“That’s disgusting,” Franny said.

“Don’t you love street food?” Gomorrah asked.

“Not anymore,” was Franny’s quick reply.

I laughed. At least we had good conversation to make the ride a little less dull. Then I heard something ahead, a low rumble that was growing louder. It didn’t sound like the gurgle of shit water coming out from some of the smaller pipes either.

“Gom, someone’s heading this way,” I said. I pulled out my Icarus and checked its ammo count. Down to five rounds. Good enough for something small, probably.

“Could just be normal traffic down here,” Gomorrah said. Her shoulder mounted flame-throwers deployed anyway, which said a lot about how confident she was in that statement.

I tucked my launcher under my coat and made my way to the front of the boat, careful about the part of the floor that looked corroded through. We were bobbing along hard enough that some of the slush we were cutting across splashed up and onto the sides of the boat, painting it in a fresh coat of brackish brown.

I really, really didn’t want to fall into the sludge.

The rumble grew louder, and I leaned around, ready to draw my gun at a moment’s notice.

Gomorrah moved us off to the side so that we were riding next to the rightmost wall. I figured that normal traffic laws might apply down here. The tunnel curved ahead; I wouldn’t be able to see what was coming until we were nearly in the middle of the bend.

A ship came rushing by us. Not a pontoon boat like the one we were on, but a proper boat with a tall, shit-covered hull, old rubber tires hanging off the sides, and a cabin at the rear. There were three Sewer Dragons sitting at the front, one of them behind a mounted gun.

They stared at us as we moved past.

We were nearing the middle of the curve, bobbing up and down in the wake of their passage, when I heard the ship come to a stop and start to turn around.

“Shit,” I said as I moved to the back of the boat. “I’ll keep them busy. Can you go any faster in this thing?” I asked.

“Not much,” Gomorrah said. She pushed the throttle up, and the electric engine hummed a notch louder. It didn’t feel like we were moving faster.

The boat chasing after us rumbled around the bend, the three gang members at the front aiming ahead of them, obviously ready to fire. I tightened my grip around my gun and waited. They didn’t fire yet.

They sped up, quickly approaching while bouncing along through the sludge.

Grinning, I flicked off my invisibility and raised my Icarus, starting to squeeze the trigger even as I aimed the glowing target line over the front of the ship.

All three Sewer Dragons started screaming. “Wait! Wait!”

I paused, and I saw Gomorrah glancing back. They weren’t pointing their guns our way, at least, and most were waving their arms around like mad.

“What?” I called back.

They were coming closer. “Does that thing explode?” One of them asked, his free hand pointing at my Icarus.

“Uh, it can,” I said.

“Methane’s at seven percent!” The guy behind the gun screamed. “Are you trying to kill us all?”

“Huh?” I asked.

I think he’s referring to the fact that the current composition of the air around you is made up of seven point two percent methane. There’s also a decently dangerous percentage of hydrogen sulphide, as well as trace elements of a dozen other highly flammable chemicals.

“Don’t you guys have guns?” I asked.

“We use compressed air!” one of them shouted. He raised his gun, revealing a rather bulbous stock that had what looked like a tank stuck in it.

“Cool,” I said. “I’m firing expanding foam grenades. They’re non-explosive, and I don’t think they launch using an explosion either. No fire.”

I wiggled my Icarus around.

We both stared at each other, still bobbing along at a decent clip over the dirty waters. “So we can shoot at each other?” One of them asked.

“I guess so,” I replied. “Uh. Why were you going to shoot at us in the first place?”

“You’re from the government! Here to kidnap some of us!”

“What?” I asked. “Do I look like a fed?”

The guys stared at me, then at each other.

“I’m a samurai, for fuck’s sake,” I shouted back. “I’m here to look for kidnapped people.”

“The people Doc took?” one of them shot back.

I really didn’t know what to say to that. “Yes?”

“Shoot her!”

“Are you fucking--” I ducked down as a spray of pellets zipped through the air above me. They might not have been shooting proper guns, but it was hard to tell when being shot at.

Gomorrah spun the wheel, throwing us across to the other side of the tunnel and casting a wake behind us that had the faster boat chopping up and down through the wastewater. “You’re terrible at negotiations!” she screamed.

“Oh, shut up. Watch them negotiate this!”

Standing on wobbly legs, I brought my launcher around and fired, five squeezes of the trigger that sent an equal number of glittering shells towards the Sewer Dragon boat. The first two missed, but the other three were dead on. One even slugged one of the Dragons in the arm, and, when the shell burst, it glued him to the deck.

His pals weren’t too pleased with that.

“Fuck!” I shouted as I felt a dozen little pinpricks across my chest. The heavier gun was firing as if ammo weren’t a concern, and I winced as it left little pinholes all across the surface of the pontoon.

Dipping to one knee, I let go of my Icarus so it dangled by my side and reached for my Trench Maker, then I paused. That did use an explosive to fire, didn’t it?

“Myalis, rails?”

Entirely safe.

My railguns deployed from over my shoulder and my vision filled with twin reticles that I locked onto the ship’s rear, about where I figured the pilot was.

Two thumps tugged my shoulders back as a pair of railgun rounds shot out and punched a pair of holes into the hull.

Didn’t seem to do much. “Dammit!” I shouted.

“This is so fucking cool,” Rac said.

“You're taking on water,” Franny replied.

I blinked, then looked down. The nun was right—the bottom of the boat was filling with sludge, some of it pouring through the holes in the floor. Our pontoon was starting to fill up.

“Shit,” I said. “Gom! Ram them! We’re taking their boat.”

“We’re what?” Gomorrah asked.

I moved up, a foot on the edge bent so I’d be ready to jump. “We’re going pirate!” I shouted back. Then, as Gomorrah veered us into the other boat’s path, I jumped.

***