“I’m not going to let you mess this up, Brielle, so don’t even think it. Don’t get involved in matters that are beyond you.”
Brielle snapped. Without thinking, she lashed out, feeling her fist strike her stepbrother’s face and something brittle break beneath the impact. Korvane cried out and stumbled backwards, affording her a clear path to the door. She forged on, flinging the door wide without pause for thought.
Beyond, a wooden, oval table dominated the wide conference room, the back wall made entirely of glass, with a mighty eagle, symbol of the Imperium, mounted upon its outer face. Luneberg sat at the far side of the table, courtesans arranged demurely around him. Seated at either side were a dozen or so hooded scribes, feathered quills scratching across dry parchment in unison.
Her father sat, alone, on the other side of the table, his back towards her.
Luneberg had been speaking, but stopped as she entered, his mouth flapping in outrage. The quills halted too, and the scribes looked up, their faces barely visible beneath the deep hoods they wore. The courtesans whispered furtively, covering mouths with bejewelled hands.
“Father,” she said, suddenly unsure what to do.
Her father’s head turned, and he looked straight at her, confusion in his eyes. “Brielle, what are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to you, Father, we need to—”
The door behind Brielle flew open even further, slamming against the wall with a crash. Korvane burst through it, blood pouring from his ruined nose. “Father, don’t listen to her, she’s gone mad! She’s trying to rain everything!”
Bridle’s father opened his mouth to speak, but Luneberg pre-empted him, bellowing in rage, “What, by all that is holy, is the meaning of this?” He turned on Lucian, pointing a finger at him, “This upstart girl has interrupted us twice, Gerrit, twice she has perpetrated such breaches of protocol as would ordinarily earn a flogging. Well, I tell you this, you may have sought to wriggle out of our deal,” Bridle’s mouth fell open at this, “but I am inclined to throw you all in my dungeons!”
“Wriggle out of the deal?”
Brielle looked to her father, who was addressing Luneberg.
“My lord,” said Lucian, “please forgive my daughter. I will speak with her presently, but please, may we conclude matters?”
“‘Conclude matters’? If by that you mean will I allow you to run out on me without a shred of compensation, then absolutely not. You will find the terms of our original contract quite specific in this regard.”
“‘Specific’?” Lucian surged to his feet. “We had no such deal Luneberg. We can leave whenever we please!”
“How little you know of life, you who consider yourself so well-travelled. I require neither contract nor treaty Lucian, for I am master of this world and may do as I choose. I deem you beholden to me and you may not back out of our arrangement. Not without substantial penalty.”
“You’re mad,” said Brielle, interrupting Luneberg’s tirade. Every head in the chamber turned towards her, a stunned silence descending.
Luneberg stood, straightening out his uniform as he did so. “Lucian, you will punish your daughter, or I will. If you refuse to, I will have every one of you arrested. Do you understand?”
Lucian stood facing the other man across the wide table. He leant forward. “I will not punish my daughter, Luneberg, for she speaks the truth.”
The collective intake of breath from around the chamber would have sounded comical were it not for the tension of the situation. Brielle watched as her father’s knuckles turned white, a sure sign, she knew, of his anger.
“Then you are condemned by your own words. Naal, have them arrested.”
Brielle had not seen Naal standing behind his master, but was grateful for his presence, as he stepped forwards. Their eyes met, and she recalled the promise he had made the previous night. She had only to indicate she needed, and wanted his help, and it would be hers. She nodded, the slightest movement, so that only he would see. He did likewise.
Though he appeared not to be armed with any form of projectile weapon, as would have been the case whenever paying court to such as Luneberg, Lucian now proved he was most certainly not unarmed. In that brief moment, Lucian raised his arm, the concealed digital weapon he always carried upon his right hand ring finger pointed straight across the table, at the Imperial Commander. “You will allow us to withdraw to our vessel and to leave in peace.”
“You will never leave here, Gerrit,” Luneberg replied. Brielle could only assume that the man had never before had the business end of a digital weapon pointed at him. She chuckled inwardly as she saw that the weapon her father pointed was one that would not kill, but would instead have a far more interesting effect upon the target’s nervous system. Luneberg, Brielle realised, had entirely failed to grasp the gravity of the situation.
“I had a feeling that would be your answer,” said Lucian. “These talks are at an end.”
He fired the tiny weapon, a blinding white stream of light arcing across the space between the two men and striking Luneberg square between the eyes. The Imperial Commander stood transfixed as actinic lightning played around his head, before losing control of his bowels, explosively, and collapsing to the floor. There he lay, wailing and puking like a newborn, while his harem recoiled in horror.
Pandemonium descended. Before she could react, Brielle felt her hand caught by her father’s as he ran past her, pulling her after him as he rapidly left the room. Korvane, blood streaming from his nose, caught them up in the corridor outside, and the three were soon racing down the claustrophobic passageways, unable to speak, because they were desperate to get a head start over their pursuers.
Her father in the lead and her stepbrother behind, Brielle raced down the dark corridors of Luneberg’s palace. Clouds of dust billowed at their passing and candles guttered, making the way hard to discern. There were no lumens in sight.
“To the left, Father!” Brielle heard Korvane shout from behind, looking ahead in time to see her father veer off down a side corridor. “I remember this area from our first visit. This is an access corridor used by servants.”
Lucian was leaning against the wall, catching his breath. Brielle did likewise, for although the flight had not been long, it had been sudden and she was in no fit state for such exertions. “Well done my son,” said Lucian, clapping a hand on Korvane’s shoulder. He took another deep breath and looked across at Brielle, holding the contact for a few seconds. “Whatever that was about will have to wait,” he said, turning away before Brielle could answer. She felt the situation slipping rapidly from her control, and could see no immediate way of regaining it.
“Which way, Korvane?” Lucian asked, pushing himself from the wall once more.
“I think we continue on this corridor until it meets the main spine again. Then we need to work out how to get past the guards, to Bridle’s shuttle.”
Assuming I’ll let you on my shuttle, you pompous idiot, Brielle thought, staring daggers into her stepbrother’s back as they moved off, her father leading the way.
An angry shout sounded from behind, the deafeningly loud report of a large-calibre handgun following a moment later. The household guard had finally got its act together, and was closing with each passing minute.
“Right! Right!” shouted Korvane as the three closed on another junction. They had been fleeing for what Brielle judged was no more than fifteen minutes, yet it felt like hours.
“How far to the gate?” she heard her father shout, flinching as another shot was fired somewhere behind them. So far, they had been fortunate, for the guards had not taken proper aim before shooting. She prayed that remained the case.
“I think it’s the next passage on the left,” Korvane called.
“No!” Brielle interjected before she could stop herself. “No, it’s the next right.”
The three slowed, Lucian ducking back while Korvane peered around the next corner. “Which is it?”
; “The left,” Korvane repeated, at the same moment Brielle said, “The right.” her tone now assured. “I remember from last night. I passed this way on my way out into the city.”
Korvane sneered, but her father only nodded. “You’re sure?”
She was. “I’m sure.”
Brielle signalled silence, edging around a corner. “It’s here. Only two guards. We can take them.”
“We cannot ‘take them’,”said Korvane, “we’ve committed grave enough crimes already without adding murder to the list.”
“We may have no choice, my son,” Lucian said, moving next to Brielle for a view of the corridor down which she was looking. As if to punctuate his words, more shouts sounded from behind. The household guards were closing. Brielle realised they would need to make a decision here and now.
“We do it now, Father, or we fight both groups.”
Lucian patted Bridle’s shoulder before turning to Korvane. “Bridle is right, Korvane. Are you ready?”
Korvane sighed, over dramatically, Brielle thought, and drew his power sword. He checked the charge, disengaged the safety, and said, “As ready as can be.”
“Good,” said Lucian. “We don’t have time for subtleties, so let’s keep this simple. We need to get as close as possible and take them down before they know we’re on them, understood?”
Brielle sighed with impatience and frustration. She stepped around the bend and simply ran towards the guards. As she did so, she saw the expression of shock on her father’s face, but she kept going nonetheless. She knew they had no time to sneak up on the guards at the portal, but she knew something else too, a fact of which her father and her stepbrother were entirely ignorant.
She ran on down the corridor, her vision filled by the back of the nearest guard. As she had noted the previous evening upon taking her leave of the palace, its guards stood watch against strangers attempting to gain entry. They expressed no interest whatsoever in events within the palace.
That was their undoing. As Brielle closed on the first guard, she made a fist, raising her arm and bringing it down in a wide swing across the back of the guard’s head. The rings on her fingers made for brutal weapons, and she bit back the feeling of revulsion that welled within her as she felt the man’s skull crack beneath her attack. In some detached part of her mind, she consoled herself that the guard would live, given half-decent medical attention.
Brielle’s attack had taken only a second, but the other guard was already reacting. He turned as the momentum of her charge propelled her past him, shock and surprise writ large upon his face. Brielle came to a halt and spun to face the man, the realisation that she may have taken on more than she could handle dawning as he advanced upon her.
“Brielle, duck!”
Brielle threw herself to the floor.
A high-pitched whine filled the corridor, followed an instant later by the screaming report of an energy weapon discharging at close quarters—another of her father’s hidden, digital weapons, she guessed. The roiling bolt raced the length of the corridor, its light blinding in the enclosed space, before slamming into the guard’s left shoulder.
The man’s shoulder disintegrated, leaving nothing to attach his left arm to his body. The catastrophic wound was cauterised before the blackened arm flopped to the floor, to be followed a moment later by the rest of the guard.
Brielle looked into his fading eyes as life left them, the part of her that had rejoiced that the other man was not fatally hurt now strangely silent.
“Damn!” she shouted. “I had him. You didn’t need to kill him!”
Lucian reached Brielle, offering her a hand to stand up. The hand, she noted, that bore a lethal array of hidden weaponry. “Believe me, Brielle, if I could have avoided it I would have. When it comes down to it, you mean substantially more to me than he did.”
“But…” she said as her father helped her to her feet. “Of course, I’m sorry.”
“You should be, but we can save that for later. Now let’s get to the shuttle before we lose our lead.”
At last, thought Brielle, as the three charged up the tread boards to the shuttle pad. They had, after what seemed like hours, but no doubt was less than one, reached the spaceport. Having dealt with the guards, the remainder of their flight had been swift, and no one, thankfully, had challenged them.
As they gained the top of the ramp, she saw her shuttle standing proud where she had left it, silhouetted against the honey-golden sky of Mundus Chasmata. She had harboured a nagging doubt throughout the chase to the landing pad that Luneberg might have had it tampered with.
“Is everything in order?” Lucian called to Brielle from the steps behind. He was covering the rear, one ring-festooned hand raised as Korvane came in beside her.
“It is,” she called back, hardly able to believe it herself. They would make it after all.
“Don’t be so sure,” said Korvane, pointing across the pad to a figure standing at its far edge, its features invisible against the glow of the sky. Brielle followed his gesture, raising her hand to her eyes to shade them from the glare.
“A friend of yours?” asked Lucian, arriving at his daughter’s side.
She looked closer, realising that her father was correct. “Yes, yes I think so.”
“In that case move it, girl!” said Lucian, and started towards Brielle’s shuttle, Korvane following close behind. She hesitated a moment longer, her gaze lingering on the hooded face of the figure. It was Naal, she had no doubt, fulfilling her request for aid.
She ran after her father and stepbrother.
CHAPTER NINE
“Full charge, all drives! Prepare to make way with all haste.”
Sirens wailed and the lights changed to flashing, deep red, as Korvane leant forward in his command throne, the bridge of the Rosetta a riot of activity below him. “I want all weapons batteries operational within fifteen minutes.”
The bridge filled with shouts of “Aye sir”, junior officers, deck crew and dozens of servitors going about the business of getting the Rosetta under way and clear of the space station—the Chasmata Orbital. Korvane, his father and his stepsister had raced from the surface aboard Brielle’s shuttle, each rendezvousing with their own vessel. No one had pursued them, a fact that Korvane put down to the laxity of Mundus Chasmata’s security forces. Furthermore, they had gambled that the staff of the orbital would be lax in their security and would not to attempt to intercept them. To Korvane’s huge relief, such had been the case.
The cargo lighters dispatched, what seemed days before, to offload the goods collected at Q-77, had still to complete their task, but had fled for the orbital as Korvane had ordered the Rosetta to general quarters. He gave them no more thought, because getting clear of the orbital was likely to require all of his attention.
“Disengage, all points.” Korvane ordered.
A deck officer stationed nearby looked up from his console, concern written across his face. “Sir, the umbilicals aren’t made fast, we’ll lose—”
“I said, Mister Taviss, ‘disengage all points’. Do so now or I will order you left behind.”
The man nodded, before speaking into a fluted horn at his station. He gave the order. The rogue traders had no time to waste in the protracted process of breaking dock, his father had made it clear to Korvane that they should disengage with all haste, regardless of the consequences. A shudder rumbled through the vessel, her bow thrusters awakening. Any moment, they would clear their throats, and the Rosetta would move slowly sideways, clearing the orbital’s docking arm.
“Thruster burn in thirty seconds, sir,” called the helmsman, and a brass-rimmed clock face mounted above the forward viewing port began to count down the seconds.
Korvane watched the clock’s hand as it moved, knowing that even now men on the lower decks would be racing for the safety of the inner chambers. Not all would make it, some would suffocate as the outer chambers depressurised, and a few would be sucked out into space through the u
nsecured outer portals, as the umbilicals were tipped away from their mountings.
He gave them no more thought. The clock hand reached 30.
The port bow thrusters coughed into life, their power staggering as they laboured to move the vast bulk of the cruiser. For what seemed an age the Rosetta wallowed, unmoving despite the vast energies unleashed. Then, inexorably, the scene outside the viewing port shifted, the docking arm receding as the Rosetta slid gracefully to starboard. Once moving, her speed increased, and a moment later a terrible grinding sound travelled along her decks, the unsecured umbilicals, and by the sound of it, several mounting plates, being ripped free.
A moment later and the helmsman called, “We’re free sir, full speed ahead?”
“Full speed ahead, Mister Ellik. Form us up on the Oceanid.”
“Sir,” the Rosetta’s Master of Ordnance called, “augurs are detecting a power surge from the orbital! I believe it is—”
Before the officer could finish his report, a blinding flash filled the forward viewing port. Korvane held his breath, but the impact he expected did not materialise.
“Report!” bellowed Korvane, suddenly filled with anger at the thought of someone daring to fire upon his vessel.
The Master of Ordnance bent over his console, his hands working a multitude of dials and levers, his screens filled with scrolling gibberish. “The cogitators can’t identify sir. It was extremely high powered, but left no etheric wake.”
Deciding not to risk a second volley, Korvane ordered, “Shields to full capacity. Helm, get us moving right now, at full speed. I want to put some distance between us and that orbital.”
Once more, the bridge filled with shouts of “aye sir”, as the crew hurried about its tasks. Korvane scanned the viewing screens crowded around his command throne, seeking any clue as to the type of weapon the orbital had employed, if indeed it was a weapon at all.
“Sir, a second power surge!”
This time Korvane glanced across at his screens as the surge spiked, reams of machine code language screaming indecipherable warnings.
[Rogue Trader 01] - Rogue Star Page 14
