Tales of the Nineteen Galaxies #17


Time for another Tale!!!  This one’s a bit of a strange one, expanding on something mentioned in Eve’s First Adventure: a hover-bike gang war.  It’s short, but hopefully cool.  Am starting to run out of pre-written stories, so I’ll be spending next few weeks writing some more… including one or two of other science fiction characters (but without naming so as not to infringe copyrights and whatnot).

So here’s Number 17:

_________________________________

GANG WAR

 

Strangis Forgan Kror.

With a blue sky above and white fluffy clouds it was idyllic.

The sky was filled with death.

Red banked his bike to the left and then pulled it up, taking him up in a twist that brought him around onto the arse of one of the Swoops.  The Swoop ganger, wearing the pale blue of her affiliation, tried to weave and bob to lose him.

But he stuck on her rear like glue.

He opened the weapons system, a small plasma gun hidden in the engine block.  He tapped the trigger on his bike’s handlebars.

The first shot skimmed the Swoop’s rear-end, burning the paint off, but nothing much else.  The second shot hit the ganger square in the back.  The woman flailed for a second, then fell off the bike, sailing down into the cloud bank far below, food for the cloud-sharks.

The battle was a swirling miasma of hover-bikes firing on each, dancing around each other over the edge of one of the great floating cloud-cities of Strangis.

It was a territorial dispute, between Red’s gang, the Harks, and the Swoops, vying for control of the skylanes around two cities.

This was the biggest though; the main event, the boss had called it.

Twenty-three Harks against forty Swoops.

It shouldn’t have been so easy.

Red whooped as another pair of Swoops exploded, their engine cores pierced and detonated by weapons fire.  He was enjoying the rush of the adrenaline through his veins and the wind in his neon-red half head of hair.

A plasma round fizzed past his head, and he instinctively ducked.  Another fizzing round passed through the space his head had previously occupied, and he pushed his bike down and around.

The machine whined and growled, fighting against him as he pulled it into a too-tight turn.  He almost hit another of his fellow Harks –although he wouldn’t have cared if he had hurt someone; he wasn’t built to care about that sort of thing.

The Swoop that had got behind him tried to match his manoeuvre, but was going out too far wide, their own bike not as minutely manoeuvrable as Red’s customised vehicle.

Something moved in the clouds below.

Something drawn by the battle.

He pushed the bike down, gunning the engine harder.

He aimed for the clouds.

The Swoop followed, joined by two others, obviously stupid enough to see him as an easy target.  Red hadn’t been an easy target for years.

“Idiots,” he murmured.

He was glad they couldn’t see his face and the beaming evil grin plastered on it.

His bike, pushed to the limit, started to fail, the whine of the engines filling his ears as surely as the howling wind.  He could hear their engines as well, their faster speed outclassing his machine.  They were almost within point-blank range when he saw the shadow in the clouds again.  He blasted a plasma round into the cloud directly beneath him.

He grinned again, and pulled the bike up, using his greater manoeuvrability.

He looked up at the confusion and alarm on their faces and relished it.

Red cackled with delight at his revenge.

Something monstrous and massive, the size of a medium freighter with a mouth full of knife-like teeth burst from the clouds, the plasma round having angered it.  It reached up and swallowed the three Swoops before any of them could react.

The cloud-shark sunk back under the cloud level and its shadow disappeared from view.

Red whooped in victory and returned to the main furball.

They were winning.

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