by Dan Abnett
Even if they were shaking like hell now.
She slipped the pistols out and checked the loads. Each handgrip held a clip of thirty caseless rounds.
Below her, with a grating rumble, the lifter's side ramp began to unfold.
First out were two men in dingy flightsuits. They hurried into view on the hangar deck and made their way over to the banks of crew service machinery built into the hangar wall to begin a turnaround prep for the lifter. It seemed to Kara that the lifter wasn't intending to stay long.
"Let's go," Fernan Skoh said with a nod of his head. Gorgi and Verlayn flanked the three prisoners as they came down the ramp, Skoh at their heels.
"Any time now." Gorgi muttered to Nayl. "Soon as Skoh's brother gives me the nod, I'm going to mess you up bad."
"Really?" said Nayl, without interest.
"Shut up, Gorgi," Verlayn said.
"You shut up!" Gorgi said. "I'm gonna take my time and mess this one up real nasty for what he done to my face."
"What?" asked Nayl. "Improved it?"
"You bastard!" Gorgi barked.
"Shut up, Gorgi," Skoh said from behind.
"Yeah, shut up, Gorgi." Nayl agreed.
Gorgi snapped. He lashed out with his left hand and smacked Nayl hard across the face.
"Gorgi!" Skoh snarled.
But the man already had his autosnub pressed to Nayl's forehead.
"You frigger!" he screamed. Two shots rang out, their sounds magnified by the large chamber. Gorgi's head broke apart in a pink mist and he tumbled backwards like he'd been yanked on a chain.
"Emperor!" Preest shrilled in dismay.
More shots rained down from high above them. Most were aimed at Verlayn, and they dented his battleplate with enough force to knock him down.
Nayl looked round. Up on the back of the lifter Kara Swole was unloading serious fire, an auto in each hand. Mathuin grabbed Preest and pulled her down to shield her. Sprawled, but far from dead, Verlayn blazed back at Kara with his laspistol. Fernan Skoh broke and ran back under the lifter, out of the field of fire. His hands still cuffed, Nayl threw himself after Skoh. He caught up with him beside the lifter's rear port landing gear and felled him from behind with a two-handed smash, his fingers laced together. Skoh went down, and his bolt pistol skittered away across the metal decking.
Firing sideways with both autos, Kara leapt along the length of the lifter's top-side as Verlayn's desperate las-shots sparked and careened off the bodywork around her. The two flight crew over by the hangar wall came running back, pulling autosnubs and adding to the hail of fire coming Kara's way.
Nayl hit Skoh with both fists again, but Skoh rolled and kicked out, snapping Nayl's legs away. With his hands bound, he couldn't compensate his balance and fell badly. Then Skoh was on him, kicking him and bending down to jab in punches. Cursing, Nayl grabbed Skoh's torso armour with his cuffed hands and threw Skoh headfirst over him.
Shots dented the hull plating around Kara, and one sliced through the fabric of her bodysuit on her left thigh. Another, one of Verlayn's las-rounds, zipped past less than a hand's breadth from her cheek. With a squeal of alarm, she ducked and widened her arms, firing the weapon in her left hand at Verlayn, and me one in her right at the crewmen. The latter jerked and tumbled over dead. The decking beside Verlayn punctured and holed.
Nayl scrambled up, but the cuffs made him clumsy and Skoh was faster. The game agent threw a punch into Nayl's face that dropped him again, momentarily unconscious. Skoh bent down and picked up his bolt pistol.
The clips in each of Kara's guns were nearly spent. The firefight had only been running for a scant fifteen seconds since the first shot, though it felt like an eternity. She'd been really hosing. She took her fingers off the triggers for a split-second, ignoring the rounds exploding all around her, and took aim to make her last few loads count. She fired the left handgun, a single shot at Verlayn. His polished blue armour had withstood the caseless punishment, but now she hit the left eyepiece of the battleplate's visor. Verlayn's helmet snapped back and he rolled over. Then she turned both guns on the remaining crewman and blew him apart.
"Zeph!" she yelled, and hurled one of her autos into the air towards him.
Nayl came round just as Skoh put a boot on the chain of his cuffs and pinned his arms to the ground. Skoh pressed the muzzle of the bolt pistol into Nayl's left eye socket.
Leaping up off Preest, Mathuin reached upwards with his cuffed hands and caught the spinning autopistol by the grip. He swung it round and shot Fernan Skoh through the heart from twenty metres. Skoh lurched backwards off Nayl, slammed into the lifter's landing leg, and fell on his face.
"Holy frigging Throne..." Preest murmured, dazed and terrified.
Mathuin looked down at the weapon he held. The clip was out. That shot had been the last one in the mag. "Indeed," he agreed.
Kara clambered down the side of the lifter. Blood was running from the gash in her thigh. Under the lifter, Nayl rolled Skoh's body over and found the mag-key for the cuffs. He freed himself, picked up Skoh's bolt pistol and limped back to join the others.
Kara jumped off onto the deck and smiled at him. He saw her face was pinched with cold, the lines of her nose and cheekbones florid with sunburn. The vacsuit's faceplate hadn't been up to much either, especially for someone riding a lifter bareback through the Firetide storms.
Nayl embraced her and held her tight for a moment. "Glad you could make it," he said into her hair.
"Not the easiest thing I've ever done," she replied.
They got the cuffs off Preest and Mathuin. Preest gave Kara a hug too. "I thought we'd left you behind," she said, her voice brittle with relief. "I thought we were going to die."
"Oh, have faith, mistress." Kara smiled. "You had Nayl and Mathuin with you, the toughest sons of bitches this side of Macragge. They'd have thought of something." She looked at the two men, who were busy collecting weapons and ammunition from the bodies. "Wouldn't you?" she said.
Mathuin shrugged. "No, I thought we were going to die too."
"I had a plan," Nayl said.
"Sure you did," said Mathuin.
"I did." Nayl grumbled.
"What? Goad that Gorgi guy into giving you a head-shot?" Mathuin sneered.
"It was a start. I was improvising."
"Look," said Kara. "I don't want to play the doom-sayer... especially as Mathuin has that role covered. But we should book. This lifter was clearly expected. We've postponed death, not escaped it."
Preest looked at her. The shipmistress was badly rattled, Kara could see that. This kind of stuff was definitely not what she'd signed up for. It was like Majeskus all over again. The fragile excitement she'd generated in herself at the start of the Reach expedition was evaporating fast. She was a trader, a void-voyager, not a Throne agent.
"It'll be fine," Kara said, reloading her autos, and felt stupid saying it. Preest just nodded.
"Let's move," Nayl said. He'd armed himself with Skoh's bolter and Gorgi's autosnub tucked into his belt. Mathuin had taken Verlayn's laspistol. He handed one of the autosnubs the flight crew had been carrying into Preest's hands.
"I don't care for guns," Preest said.
"Humour me. Just put it in your pocket."
Pinching the weapon between finger and thumb as if it was a scorpion-ant or a fresh stool, Preest reluctantly dropped it into the deep slash-pocket of her gown.
They left the hangar and slipped down the main access hallway of deck two. A glance told them all auxiliary systems were operating. The cold green light, the feeble air-push.
"My darling's running on back-up," Preest said.
Nayl nodded. "It's a certain someone has taken control of the Hinterlight. Question is, how do we take it back?"
"Kill 'em all?" Mathuin asked.
"Thanks for that, Zeph." Kara smiled.
"Actually, that was top of my list of workable plans," Nayl said.
"We have to-" Preest began, and then stopped. She was scare
d, shaking. She cleared her throat before continuing. "We have to assess status," she said.
She led them away from the main access into a warren of sub-corridors that threaded the space between the primary holds to bow and the enginarium and drive chambers to stern. Progress was easy. All internal doors and hatches were locked open.
"Just down here," she said.
"What are we looking for?" asked Nayl.
"Diagnostic stations," Preest said. "There are about thirty located at various points on the ship. They're for maintenance. Senior personnel can check all aspects of ship's status from any of them."
They reached a cross-junction in the dim sub-hallways. The diagnostic station was a shielded drum rising out of the deck at the centre of the cross. Preest slid back a cover to reveal the console.
"It needs the ship's master keys to operate it," she said.
"How do we-" Nayl began.
Preest removed her preposterously dangly earrings. The master keys, Nayl realised, were the main parts of each. She slid the keys into the paired sockets and turned both simultaneously. The console display shivered into life. Peering at the display, Preest began to touch some keys.
"Shit," she said.
"Shit?" repeated Nayl.
"I see what they're doing." Preest murmured.
"Which is?" Nayl asked.
"The bastards." Preest added.
"Which bastards?" Nayl said.
"Damn it, that's clever..."
"What is?" Nayl asked exasperated.
Preest looked at him at last, and pointed at the screen. "Someone's rewritten the authority codes of my darling ship," she said. "Clever, clever, clever. Basically, they've shut down and locked all my darling's primary systems - all of them, from drive and life support right down to lighting - and initialised all the secondary and auxiliary systems in preference. The Hinterlight is working on back-up, and that network has been entirely secured."
"Can you countermand?" Nayl asked.
"No, that's the point. The clever part. This is a countermand. It's personally encrypted. Whoever did this was a genius. They've taken over the ship using my own backdoor."
"So, what you're saying... is that we're totally screwed?" Mathuin said.
Preest took a deep breath and removed her keys, shutting the console down. "No, Mr. Mathuin. Nearly screwed, but not totally."
"Spit it out, mistress." Kara snapped.
Preest smiled at her. "My dear, no shipmistress worth her salt, no rogue trader, leaves herself open to this kind of piracy. I have secret, core-level protocols to overwrite this kind of crap. Whoever did this hasn't found those."
"So, that's good?" Nayl ventured.
"Get me to the bridge and I'll punch in a few codes that will unlock the entire system," Preest said.
"I'm thinking the bridge is probably not an option at this stage," Nayl said.
Preest nodded, as if she had expected that answer. "All right, get me to enginarium basic on deck six. Right down at the stern. Main cogitator is housed under the bridge itself, but there's a redundant secondary cogitation stack concealed behind the principal drive chambers. In case of emergencies, damage to the main cogitators or whatever. I can work my magic from there."
Nayl nodded. "Good. Great, in fact. But that's a long march from here."
Preest shrugged.
"Right," Nayl said. "Zeph... get the mistress down to this back-up stack. Can you do that?"
"I can try," said Mathuin. "What will you be doing?"
"Me and Kara will be heading upstairs to work to the original plan."
"Kill 'em all?" Kara asked.
"Kill 'em all," said Nayl.
Ravenor had been pushed into a small cargo hold forty metres down from the hold containing the rest of the ship's crew. It was dark. The door was sealed. The light on the latched-on nullifier flashed in the gloom.
The hold's hatch opened and green aux-light fell in at a slant. A figure filled the doorway.
"You're a bastard. A frigging bastard..." Duboe said as he shuffled into the hold space. "You hear me, you frigging bastard? You frigging knuck-wipe? I hope so. I hope you do. This is all 'cause of you."
Duboe faced the chair. He raised the boarding axe he'd pulled from a wall mount. With both hands, he turned the heavy weapon so the back of the axe-head, the pick, was lowered.
"A good deal, I had." Duboe burbled. "A good trade. Then you and your freaks came in to frig it up."
"You know what?" Duboe asked, as if somehow expecting Ravenor to answer.
"You know what? This is payback time."
Duboe hefted the axe up and slammed it against the chair's hull. Sparks flew. The blow had barely made a scratch on the chair's surface. Duboe struck again and again. Apart from a few very slight scratches, his attacks had made no dent, though they had pushed the friction-less chair across the chamber.
Cursing, Duboe put his foot against the chair and kicked it over against the far side of the hold. It slid away and came to rest, bouncing off the wall.
Duboe ran at it and delivered another massive blow. He began to hack away with the boarding axe, driving the chair against the wall so it couldn't roll away. Chips of paint began to fleck off the chair's chassis, and dents began to appear as Duboe threw blow after unrelenting blow at it.
THREE
The Hinterlight thundered on into the blistering flares of Firetide, its real-space thrusters powering it away from Bonner's Reach. Already, the Reach was just a tiny, tumbling rock behind it. The solar storm had set the void ablaze. Gigantic forks of plasma and photonic energy lashed and slapped the vacship's hull like striking lighting, causing the vessel to buck and shake.
It powered onwards, despite the onslaught, heading towards the unstable star.
Like a phantom, running with shields raised against the storm, a second spaceship closed in behind it.
Madsen and Feaver Skoh strode onto the Hinterlight's bridge.
"Who's he?" Skoh asked, gesturing to Ahenobarb.
"Muscle," Madsen said. She walked over to the command throne and looked at Halstrom. His face was now contorted in a grimace of pain as he operated the helm.
"Are we course-set?" Madsen asked him.
Halstrom looked down at his display with difficulty. "Not quite. Another fifteen minutes. Then we'll be sliding into the star's gravity well."
Madsen smiled.
"I'm reading a ship." Halstrom added. "Sprint trader, on the auspex, less than one AU aft of us."
Madsen studied the helm display. She activated the main-beam vox and tuned it to a tight band. "This is Hinterlight. Identify yourself."
"My good woman," the vox crackled back, "this is the Oktober Country. Put Feaver on."
Madsen turned to Skoh and he leaned forward. "Thekla?"
"Good afternoon to you, Feaver. Everything in place, I trust?"
"Of course. We've got them all locked down and the bastard's ship will soon be heading for the heart of the sun."
"I am pleased. I'd hate to have to start shooting at you."
"That won't be called for, Master Thekla," Skoh said. "Fifteen minutes and we're done."
"Excellent, Feaver. I look forward to welcoming you aboard. Oktober Country out."
Skoh straightened up and looked at Madsen. "All set," he said.
"Thekla sounds like a live one."
"He is. But we're set."
"Known him long?"
Skoh shrugged. "Sixty, seventy years. A working compact. Thekla's been good to my family."
Madsen nodded. "Was it his idea? The flects? Or yours?" Skoh wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Neither. I think it was Akunin or Vygold. One of the original contractees. Thekla came in later. By then, all of the captains had seen the earnings from flects. We started to carry them every time we took a contract thirteen run. The returns were huge. Better than the Ministry pays us."
Madsen shook her head, wondering. "Screw you," she said.
The vox-chime bleated.
; "Madsen. Report."
"Is Master Skoh there?"
"Yes. Why?"
"Let me speak to Master Skoh," the voice said.
Skoh walked over to the console. "Let me," he said. "That's Rainfold, one of my crew."
Madsen shrugged and stepped back.
"Rainfold? This is Skoh. What's the deal?"
There was a long pause. "Chief, we went down to the hangar deck. Your brother had been a long time bringing the prisoners up."
"And?"
"Chief, they're all dead."
"The prisoners?"
"No, chief. Your brother and his crew. All of them. The prisoners are gone."
Skoh's eyes narrowed.
"Skoh, I'm sorry," said Madsen, stepping towards him.
"The kills are confirmed?" Skoh said into the vox. Like he was talking about antelopes.
"All confirmed, chief."
Skoh coughed quietly. He paused a long time and then said, "Alert all hunt teams. Add the prisoners to your list. Hunt them down and kill them all."
First the drone went by, then the hunter. The only sound they made was the low buzz of the drone's motor, and that was lost in the background noise of the ship's real-space drive assemblies. The hunter paused for a second, panned his lasrifle around, then carried on down the corridor and disappeared through the next hatch frame.
Kys and Zael emerged from behind some vent ducting. Visibility was poor down in the sub-decks, and the air was hot and dry. They were approaching the main heat sinks for the gravity generators and the corridor was lined with red insulating tiles that looked the colour of meat in the emergency lighting.
Heading towards the stern, they switched left through a low-ceilinged power-convertor chamber. It was even hotter in there, and cakes of dry dust clung to the magnetic vanes of the floor-to-ceiling convertor cylinders. Everything was vibrating slightly, resonating to the throb of the giant drives nearby.
At the far end of the chamber, they came out into another tiled hallway and started to move along it.
"Oh!" Zael said suddenly. Kys glanced behind her and saw the drone rushing towards them at head-height, sensors glowing. Twenty metres behind it down the corridor, the hunter appeared, raising his weapon.
