The girl went over to the mangy couch and plopped herself down and helped herself to some gummy brown stuff stuck in a broken dish.
Yul moved further inside. A small workbench with electric components and circuits lay against one wall, having the look of an amateur electrician’s workspace. Odd. Spike cleared a space on the cluttered bench to set a lamp down.
Yul turned at a sound to his left. Struggling under a beat up table were three Mentera strung up in chicken wire. The table’s legs acted as posts to barricade them in. The creatures chittered and sputtered, spitting white fluid from their clacking mandibles. They pulled at their chicken-wire bonds, though it cut into their black and green chitinous hides.
Yul choked. “You aim on rustling up some cricket stew, Smacky?”
Smacky just chuckled. “Mickey here wants ’em as pets. On account of how they shot up his place and took his pa and sister away in a big space blimp. These bug-rats were the last of their squad before we gunned them down and took them prisoners. Now I told him you can’t make pets out of such bloodsuckers, but Mickey’s an optimist and an obstinate one, ain’t you, Mick?”
“Sure thing, Smacky. Bet your ass.”
“Good, then—”
“Nice,” derided Cloye, shaking her head.
Smacky padded over, eyeing her with deeper curiosity. “You’ve got yourself one sharp-edged tongue. Rough crowd here, and rough times, tough situation, miss. How far you want to play it?”
“How deep can you go?” she challenged.
“Woo hoo.” There came a flurry of cat calls as the ruffians slapped their clubs against the scored plaster walls. Smacky hissed for silence.
Yul stared in horror upon a situation rapidly escalating out of control. What could he do to stop it? He moved to her side to catch any heat he could and caught her sly look at him. A dangerous game, but Cloye seemed to know what she was doing. She had not been a Cyber Corp spy for nothing.
“I think you should waste this chick, Smacky,” grumbled Marv. He shoved Yul aside. “Don’t like the sound of her, or her slutty looks. As much as I’d like to make use of them. She almost tagged me back in that culvert.”
“I second that,” said the gang girl, still smacking her lips. “Don’t need no more than one sassy gal here.”
“You’re just jealous, Lace,” said Smacky, “over another choice piece to share among the ranks.”
Her mouth dropped and her face grew livid. “Am not, Smacky!”
“You know I just say everything straight as it is, Lace.”
She shook her head, still fuming.
“Don’t give me that saucy look. You’re like a four-year old.”
Cloye’s lips curled in a snicker.
“What’s so funny, bitch?” called the girl.
“Just remarking how gentlemanly your bully boy friends treat you. You going to stand for that talk? How you expect them to respect you?”
“Yeah, Lace, you going to stand for that?” mocked Marv.
The woman shrieked and sprang at Cloye, made a claw grab for her eyes. The move startled Cloye. She turned aside as sharp nails flicked across her cheek, nails that drew blood.
“What the fuck—are you loco?” She grabbed the girl’s hair and flailing arm and let the gang girl’s momentum crash her into the two yobos behind her.
Lace was up in a flash on the balls of her feet. She sprang forward like a sprung coil. The others gathered around stomping their feet, clapping their hands, hooting and hollering, like a bunch of ranch-hands at a stampede.
“Hey, boss, think we got ourselves a cat scrap here!” yowled Marv.
“Hot damn!” cried Wilb.
Smacky stood apart, lips set in a firm line.
Yul dropped his head and sighed. The young female hood reached and pawed again for Cloye’s eyes. Cloye feinted to the side. She kept those nails back then jabbed an elbow into the girl’s midriff, knocking the wind out of her.
Lace gasped. Before she went down, she hooked a foot under Cloye’s left leg and the two crashed to the floor. Yul heard a distinct smack.
They were rolling around like a couple of momma cats on a spring day, with the young one kicking and biting, cursing like there was no tomorrow, when Wilb hitched his squat, rank frame in like a happy gnome. “You show ’er, Lace! She’s a real scrapping tigress, our Lace is.” Smacky growled, bare arms laced across his wide chest while Marv whistled encouragement through his gap teeth.
The two rolled close to Smacky and he kicked Cloye in the ribs. Cloye wheezed out a hoarse curse and lost momentum. Yul started forward but Spike held a gun on him. Tired of the game, Smacky hauled Cloye up. She drew back a fist, sucking air through her split lip, ready to lay into Smacky for putting boots to her. She clubbed him good just above the left ear.
A heavy red welt began to brew, but he blocked Cloye’s second fist, looking to do something nastier. Yul moved in despite the
