by Dan Abnett
The kroot went into death spasms, beak clacking and bony limbs beating the ground. The violent motion ripped the stave-sword out of Nayl’s hands.
The man in chequered armour, his face a mask of gore, was back on his feet. He hurled himself at Nayl. The man had lost his boarding axe. His hands clenched around Nayl’s throat.
Nayl rolled expertly with the force of impact, going down on his back and propelling the man right over him with his legs. The man crashed over into the nearest booth, destroying the meeting table under his weight.
Nayl was back on his feet in a moment, but now he was unarmed. The game agent came towards him, chopping with his hooksword. Nayl could do nothing except dance out of the way of each swing. Behind him, Preest was still shouting, and Ravenor was trading blow for blow with the battle-plated hunter.
He’d been in worse positions, Nayl thought. But right then, he couldn’t bring a single one to mind.
KYS DRAGGED ZAEL out into the companionway. He was muttering, sobbing.
‘What do you mean, a message? What’s the frigging matter with you?’ she snapped.
He murmured something.
‘What?’
Zael murmured again.
‘I can’t hear you! What did you say?’
Zael looked up at her. Blood was dribbling from his nostrils. Kys couldn’t remember hitting him. Why was his nose bleeding?
‘Nove…’
Wary for a moment, and suddenly terribly calm, she pulled him to his feet.
‘Nove is your sister. I’m not your sister.’
‘I know. She came. She told me.’
‘Told you what?’ Kys asked.
‘It’s a trap,’ he said. ‘It’s a trap.’
‘OH, GOD-EMPEROR,’ said Halstrom abruptly. His tone was enough to make both Thonius and Frauka look up from their latest game.
‘What?’ Thonius asked tersely.
Halstrom began punching the keyboard rapidly.
‘Something’s wrong. I’ve lost contact with the mistress’s landing party.’
Thonius got to his feet. Frauka lit another lho-stick.
‘Bad transmission,’ the blunter said, carelessly.
‘No, no,’ said Halstrom. ‘We’re being blocked.’
‘Are you sure?’ Thonius said, leaning in over Halstrom’s shoulder.
‘No, I’m not,’ Halstrom said. He depressed another few keys. Nothing happened. ‘Bridge controls just went offline,’ he said.
‘That’s impossible!’ Thonius cried. He was nursing his bound-up limb with his free hand, as if it was suddenly giving him pain. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’
‘I assure you, interrogator, I have not,’ Halstrom began. ‘Primary controls are locked out. The entire system is—’
‘Who the hell’s that?’ Thonius said sharply. He was looking at the hololith displays that showed the feeds from the pict-sources overlooking the jetty. A dozen figures were marching down the jetty towards the Hinterlight’s airgate. They were uniformly tall, and hidden under hooded storm coats. Four of them were paired off to share the burden of two long, and clearly heavy, pannier crates.
‘Seal the airgate!’ Thonius hissed.
‘I can’t!’ Halstrom replied. ‘We’re locked out!’
The main hatch onto the bridge rattled open behind them. Madsen strode on deck, escorted by her two Ministry colleagues.
‘What is going on?’ she asked.
Halstrom began to rise from his throne. ‘Mamzel Madsen, you’re not permitted up here—’ he began.
‘Oh, that’s right,’ she said. Her arm came up and a snub-nosed automatic pistol was suddenly aiming directly at Halstrom’s forehead.
‘Sit,’ she ordered.
Thonius tried to run. Ahenobarb wheeled around and landed a monstrous punch that sent Thonius tumbling across the deck.
‘Oh, f-!’ started Frauka, dropping his lho-stick. Madsen turned casually and shot him.
The raw boom of the gunshot made Halstrom flinch. Frauka looked down in surprise at the bloodstain soaking out across his shirt, and then toppled backwards over the arm of his seat.
Kinsky, his face a malicious grin, walked up to Halstrom.
‘Sit, she said,’ he laughed.
Halstrom sat, feeling his legs going weak.
‘Y-you can’t do this…’ he mumbled.
Ahenobarb was carrying a kitbag over his shoulder. He dropped it to the deck, unfastened it and pulled out a metal object that looked for all the world like a limpet-mine.
He twisted the setting dial, and a red indicator light began to wink on its surface. It was a psionic nullifier unit, extremely high powered, with a mag-clamp built into its base.
Ahenobarb strode over to Ravenor’s chair, slammed the device down onto its sleek casing, and locked it into place.
PREEST WAS STILL shouting. Give it a rest, woman, Nayl thought. It’s not doing any good. He leapt sideways from the game agent’s darting sword, trying to draw him round so he could grab one of the fallen weapons. Even the kroot’s frigging billhook would do.
The game-agent was smarter than that. He kept pressing in, driving Nayl towards the gallery wall.
Preest was looking back at Ravenor/Mathuin. The whirling stave-sword was slowly getting the better of the battleplated man’s falchion. A swing, a strike, a brittle flare of sparks.
‘For Throne’s sake, Ravenor!’ she yelled. ‘We have to—’
Ravenor suddenly staggered. Was he hit? She hadn’t seen him take a hit. Why was he—
Ravenor fell flat on his face. Horrified, Preest couldn’t rid her mind of the simple cliché… like a puppet when the strings are cut.
The game agent aimed the tip of his hooksword at Nayl.
‘Time to surrender, I believe,’ he said.
‘Oh, I can go all night,’ Nayl panted.
‘I’m sure. But can they?’
Nayl looked around. Ravenor was face down on the ground, still, dead. The man in the polished blue battle-plate now had his falchion to Preest’s throat.
At last, she had stopped yelling. Her eyes were wide, blinking, wet with frightened tears, staring right at him.
‘Fine,’ said Nayl, raising his hands. ‘Fine!’
PART THREE
LOST WITH ALL HANDS
ONE
THE BULKHEAD GLOW-GLOBES and recessed lumin panels began to go out. All along the corridor, they dimmed to black. Then the background whir of the atmosphere processors began to fade too. In a few seconds, the air became warm and still.
‘Come with me,’ Kys said.
Zael followed. He didn’t make a sound, as if he didn’t dare make a sound. That was good. The last thing she needed was a freaking-out idiot.
She went by touch along through the humid dark. The last psi-taste she had felt had been Ravenor… or rather the sudden, abject lack of Ravenor. Kys hadn’t realised how much she was usually aware of his presence when he was around. Like a tinnitus, like a hum at the back of her skull.
Twenty seconds ago, it had just gone away. As if a switch had been thrown.
Had he suddenly left the Hinterlight? That seemed unlikely. He’d have told her, surely? Was he dead? She hoped that was unlikely too. The abrupt loss of contact had been pretty much simultaneous with the sudden cessation of ship systems. Something had gone wrong. And it didn’t take a genius to realise the bridge was not the place to go. It’s a trap. Yeah, right.
Groping along in the darkness, feeling for shapes and obstructions with her telekinesis and leading Zael by the hand, Kys suddenly heard a deep, metallic slunk. The ship’s internal mag-locks had just disengaged. Invisibly in the blackness around her, she heard all the doors and hatches open. What next? Was AG going to cut off?
+Thonius?+ she tried.
Nothing.
+Ravenor?+
‘No one’s listening, are they?’ Zael said.
‘I’m not so sure of that,’ Kys said.
They both jumped as emergency power cut in, flooding the
hallway with a cold, green auxiliary glow. Secondary air pumps began to wheeze and stir some breeze back into the atmosphere.
Kys blinked to get used to the new, chilly gloom.
It’s a trap.
‘What did you mean?’ she asked Zael. Wide-eyed, he looked at her and shrugged. ‘Nove said it was a trap. We were going into a trap. I think that Kinsky is part of it.’
‘Shit,’ Kys said. If she’d had her way, those bastards would be dead now. Maybe Ravenor would listen to her next time.
Next time. Ho ho.
She wasn’t going to die like this. Not if she could help it. She had one trump up her sleeve.
‘Zael? Zael, what else did your sister tell you?’
The boy began to cry.
‘Stop snivelling, this is important.’
‘She was all mushed up…’ Zael sobbed.
Kys crouched down and – though revolted by the contact – hugged the weeping boy to her. ‘It’s okay, Zael. I mean it. We’re going to be okay. I promise you. Nove scared you, I know, but she only came back to warn you. She wants you to live.’
‘Does she?’
‘Yeah, she does. That’s why she tried so hard to reach you. All those dreams.’
Zael sobbed again.
‘Come on, Zael. Come on. Tell me what else she said. She wants you to know. She wants me to know.’
Zael pulled away from her and wiped his eyes with both hands.
‘It didn’t make any sense. Not much of it.’
‘I’m sure it didn’t,’ Kys said, rising and turning away. ‘God-Emperor, I could use a weapon.’
‘The guy has some.’
‘What?’
‘The guy has lots.’
She glared at him. ‘And the guy is?’
‘Nayl,’ he said. ‘He has lots of weapons in his cabin.’
‘Nove told you this?’
Zael chortled through his sniffs. ‘No, lady. The guy did.’
Nayl’s cabin was a few doors along. Like all the hatches, it was wide open now.
‘Stay here,’ Kys told Zael, and went inside. The cabin smelled of socks and used bodygloves. ‘Wash much, Harlon?’ she said aloud.
The cabin was littered with armour, equipment and junk, not to mention dirty laundry. She picked over a few pieces in the gloom, discarding heavy blades and team-portable infantry support weapons. She didn’t have time to make a thorough search. On the top of a cabinet, she found a Hostec Livery ten-shot; a decent, rugged autopistol. It was wrapped up in its own holster and shoulder rig. Kys strapped it on, buckled the rig about her bust, and drew the auto to check its load. Fat to the max. Nine in the clip and one in the pipe. The loops of the rig supported three more loaded clips.
Kys put the pistol away in its sheath and walked towards the doorway. On the way, she saw a flanged boline lying on a shelf. She scooped it up and, dagger in hand, reached the door.
Zael was cowering in the door frame.
‘Zael?’
‘Yes?’
‘What else did Nove tell you?’
Zael started to cry again. ‘She said… she said they would be coming in through the front door…’
THE AIR GATE was wide open. Feaver Skoh smiled as he marched in off the jetty, pulling back his hood.
‘Let’s go,’ he said to his men. They followed in behind him, stripping off their hoods and storm coats and setting down the crates.
His coat off and his tall, thick-set physique revealed in its armoured glove, Skoh adjusted his microbead earpiece into place. Behind him, his trackers were opening the pannier crates.
‘This is Skoh. Come back.’
A crackle. ‘This is Madsen. Welcome aboard.’
‘What’s the situation, Mamzel Madsen?’ Skoh asked.
Crackle. ‘Bridge is locked down, Skoh. Ravenor is tanked and out of the game. Your brother reports he has all three of the landing party prisoner. Just need you to sweep the decks and round up the crew.’
‘Read that. Numbers?’
One of Skoh’s men slid the custom long-las out of a crate and tossed it to Skoh. Skoh caught it neatly and armed the weapon.
Crackle. ‘We estimate forty-nine. Mostly deck hands and juniors. Be sure to round up the Navigator. We reckon the inquisitor’s staff members Kys and Swole are both aboard. Both female. Kys is a telekine. Swole is an acrobat. Neither should give you much trouble.’
‘Got that, Madsen. Piece of cake. Lock up the gate and move us off. Skoh out.’
Skoh looked round at his eleven-man team. They were all game hunters, experienced men from Skoh’s family business. All of them, now the storm coats had been shed, were revealed to be thick-set brutes in various types of camo-armour. Some carried long-las, some autocannons. All of them, like their master, festooned their armour with trophy teeth and scalps.
The outer hatch of the airgate slammed shut behind them. Then the inner skin closed.
‘Let’s move,’ said Skoh, leading them off into the Hinterlight’s interior.
Hidden behind a bulkhead, Kys and Zael watched them thunder past ‘Right, not that way…’ she said.
‘NO,’ SAID ELMAN Halstrom.
‘No?’ echoed Lusinda Madsen. She poked her weapon against the side of Halstrom’s temple and cocked it.
‘I think I was clear. I will not obey your orders.’
‘Really? Look, Mr Halstrom… you did see what I did to Frauka?’
‘Vividly. But I will not assist you.’
Madsen smiled. ‘You really don’t have much of a choice, Halstrom. It’s been a lovely long voyage, long enough for me to penetrate your ship’s systems and encode them to my countermand. It’s not been easy, I grant you that. Your mistress, and Ravenor… have made the Hinterlight’s systems ingeniously complex. But that’s why the Ministry employs me. I can shut the ship down, I can start it up. Now sit down, Halstrom, and pilot this thing.’
‘No,’ Halstrom said.
Madsen looked across at Kinsky.
‘Do it.’
Kinsky swayed and fell. Ahenobarb caught him before he hit the deck and lowered him into the second helmsman’s throne.
Halstrom stiffened suddenly, and whimpered. Then he sat down in the command throne and started punching keys. The main systems came back to life.
‘Commencing undock procedure,’ he said, in a curiously flat voice. ‘Thrusters live. Helm active. Disengaging airgate clamps.’
‘Soon as we’re clear,’ Madsen said, ‘head for the sun.’
‘ARE YOU ALL right, Gideon?’ Preest whispered.
Mathuin glanced round at her. He was still very woozy, leaning against the gallery wall just to remain upright.
‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But it’s Zeph. Ravenor’s not waring me any more. He just… vanished. Like he was torn out of me. Never known a ride to be that tough.’
‘Shut up!’ instructed the bounty hunter in the blue battleplate. His angular visor was still closed, and his voice came out as a vox-distort through a helmet speaker. He finished securing the set of mag-cuffs around Nayl’s wrists. Mathuin and Preest were already bound.
The man in the chequered leather armour stood nearby, watching them. His broken nose was still bleeding, and his face was beginning to swell and discolour. He kept looking venomously at Nayl.
Nearby, the game agent was talking to two Vigilants as more of the Order removed the bodies. The agent was making some kind of formal representation to excuse the fight and express appreciation for the Vigilants’ tolerance.
He handed over a bag of coins to pay for material damages. The Vigilants bowed briefly and began to disperse, taking the bodies with them. Tenders arrived to scrub the floor.
The game agent walked over to join his comrades and the trio of captives. He was talking on a compact vox.
‘It’s Skoh,’ they heard him say. ‘Power up, we’re coming down.’
‘Understood.’
The game agent eyed the three of them. ‘They all secure, Verlayn?’
‘
Yes,’ replied the man in blue armour, making a tilting nod with his sharp-featured helm.
‘You’ve frisked them too? No multi-keys, hold-outs, concealed?’
‘I’ve frisked them, Skoh,’ Verlayn replied, sounding a little piqued that his expertise was being questioned.
‘Yeah, well it pays to be careful. Those two—’ Skoh indicated Mathuin and Nayl, ‘in particular.’
‘When the time comes,’ the man in chequered armour growled, ‘he’s mine,’ He was still staring at Nayl.
‘We’ll see about that, Gorgi,’ Skoh said.
‘Promise it, Fernan! Bastard broke my face!’
‘I said we’ll see,’ replied Fernan Skoh firmly. ‘It’s my brother’s call. You ask him. He might give you the bastard as a treat. Now let’s start moving.’
Verlayn gestured with his blade, and the prisoners began to walk. Skoh and Gorgi fell in step behind them.
THEY WALKED THEM along to the far end of the emptied gallery, and then down a main stair onto a more populated level. Heads turned to watch them go by, but they were given a wide berth.
From a gallery on the far side of the salon, Kara got a good view of them. She hurried along the rail, moving on a parallel course, keeping them in sight. They reached another stairhead, and began to descend again.
Kara stepped back from the rail. She tried her compact vox again, but the channel was dead. Something had happened to the ship too.
She slipped on through the crowd, barely breaking step to lift a folded storm coat off a booth bench as she went by. The owner, deep into negotiation with a business partner and even deeper into a bottle of joiliq, didn’t even notice it go.
Pulling the coat on, Kara reached the nearest staircase and hurried down through the crowd as fast as she dared without drawing attention to herself.
THE DECK PLATING shivered again. Then another deep boom rolled through the ship.
‘We’re moving,’ Zael muttered.
‘Yeah, we are.’
‘Was that like that warp thing? Are we at warp?’
‘Translation? No,’ said Kys. Way too early. That’s mag-locks uncoupling. Mooring lines detaching. We’re barely rolling yet.’
‘What are we going to do?’ Zael asked.
