by Dan Abnett
‘Yes,’ the woman said.
‘Here’s what’s going to happen, Mamzel Streekal,’ said Drusher. He kept the gun aimed and tried not to let on how badly he was shaking. ‘Stop where you are, and toss your weapon now.’
‘Or what?’ she asked.
‘Or I shoot you between the eyes,’ he said. ‘I am a very good shot. Marshal Macks gave me this gun many years ago. She showed me how to use it. I have practised with it every day. I can knock a moving Gortus gortus gershomi out of the sky at one hundred metres.’
‘A what?’ asked Streekal sarcastically.
‘A sea raptor,’ growled Voriet from his cage.
‘See? You do learn,’ Drusher said sidelong. He glared at Streekal.
‘Toss the weapon now,’ he said.
‘Be careful,’ warned Voriet. ‘She is very, very fast. Don’t let her get close.’
Drusher thumbed back the hammer.
‘Lose the gun now, mamzel,’ he said.
Streekal stopped in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed, and her smile dissolved. She raised her sidearm, a compact laspistol, keeping her fingers open to show she had no real grip on it, then threw it aside. It hit the workstation and bounced onto the floor.
‘You won’t get out of here alive,’ she said.
‘Don’t think about shouting for help,’ said Drusher.
‘I won’t. You won’t get out of here alive, because I’m going to kill you.’
‘Let’s see how you do when you’re bound and gagged,’ said Drusher.
Streekal raised her hands.
‘Go on, then,’ she said.
‘Don’t get close to her!’ Voriet hissed.
‘Valentin, what are you even going to tie her up with?’ demanded Macks, shaking the cage door again. ‘Valentin, just shoot her!’
‘I’d prefer not to kill people unless I absolutely have to,’ said Drusher.
‘Then give me the gun and I’ll do it!’ snapped Macks.
Her hands still raised, Streekal took a step closer. She moved with slow poise, like a ballet dancer.
‘Come on then, magos,’ she said. ‘Tie me up. Make it tight.’
‘Stay where you are,’ Drusher warned.
She took another step.
‘For Throne’s sake,’ growled Voriet. ‘Kill her, magos! She is lethal!’
‘He’s right,’ said Streekal, taking another step.
‘Please stop coming closer,’ said Drusher. His hand was really trembling. ‘I’d really be very upset if I had to kill you.’
Streekal took another pace forwards.
‘Throne forgive me,’ said Drusher. ‘I’m sorry.’
He pulled the trigger.
The gun clicked.
Drusher stared at it in disbelief. He remembered taking the clip out to remove the bullet. The clip was still in his pocket.
‘Valentin!’ Macks screamed.
Streekal leapt forwards, grinning. She was faster than any human being he’d ever seen. She slammed into him and kicked him in the chest. Drusher flew back against the bars of Macks’ cage. He could hear Macks shrieking his name. He was winded. His chest burned. The world was spinning.
Streekal grabbed him by the front of his coat and hauled him to his feet. He tried to hit her with the useless gun. She blocked and sent it spinning out of his grasp.
‘You’re so dead,’ she said. She shoved him backwards. He staggered and grabbed the bars of Voriet’s cage to steady himself. The platform surface was uneven and sticky with oil residue. Voriet and Macks were yelling at him. Macks had started to kick furiously at the door of her cage. It reminded Drusher of the way they had kicked the firebox out of the parlour grate: desperate and frantic. Macks was putting every ounce of her strength into kicking the iron door.
A door that would not open.
Drusher had no idea what he was going to do. He didn’t know how to fight. He hadn’t the first clue how to throw a punch.
Streekal was on him. She was smiling broadly. She had drawn a wicked-looking punch dagger. The blade glinted in the candlelight.
Drusher scrambled. He had to dodge somehow–
Streekal lunged. Drusher tried to evade. He felt so clumsy. So slow.
He lost his footing. His boots slid on the oil-slicked decking, and he went down hard on his backside. Streekal’s dagger-punch missed him by a hair’s breadth and struck the bars of Voriet’s cage instead.
She barked in pain at the abrupt impact and started to turn. A hand grabbed her wrist through the bars of the cage. Wincing in agony, Voriet had seized her with his good hand. He wrenched her back with his full bodyweight and slammed her into the bars of the cage, pulling her arm and the punch dagger into the cage with him.
She fought back. She reached into the cage with her left hand and struck at Voriet as he clung on. Macks was still kicking at her cage door and shouting Drusher’s name.
Drusher hauled himself upright. He knew he needed a weapon. There was nothing to hand. He launched himself at Streekal, and pummelled his fists at her. With her arm pinned between the bars by Voriet, she couldn’t turn properly. One of Drusher’s blows connected. He caught the back of her head so hard it felt like he had broken his fingers. The impact bounced Streekal’s face off the bars.
She snarled in pain. Drusher staggered back, clutching his hand. He was still dizzy, and his feet were slipping. His chest burned so badly he couldn’t catch his breath. He could hear the constant crash of Macks’ boot against the unyielding cage door, her voice screaming his name.
Streekal plunged her left arm through the bars again. She got hold of Voriet’s useless right arm and twisted. Broken bone-ends ground against each other. Voriet shrieked in abject pain and fell backwards, his grip on her right wrist lost.
Streekal pulled her arms out of the cage. She turned to Drusher and raised the punch dagger. The collision with the cage bars had broken her nose and split her lip. Blood was running down her chin. She wiped it away with her left wrist.
‘You are going to know such pain,’ she hissed as she came for him.
Drusher leapt backwards. He slipped again and fell on his back. She landed on him, flattened her left forearm across his neck to keep him pinned and raised the blade of the punch dagger to his cheek.
‘Such pain,’ she promised, and started to cut.
The door of Macks’ cage crashed wide so hard it opened one hundred and eighty degrees on its hinges and slammed against the metal bars. Macks flew out, bellowing.
She landed on them both and wrenched Streekal backwards, clawing at her. The pair of them rolled off Drusher, locked together. Streekal tried to push the punch-dagger low to stab Macks in the ribs. Macks grabbed her wrist and pinned it high. She rolled again, getting Streekal on her back and tried to slam her hand against the deck to make her drop the blade.
Streekal growled like an animal and went for Macks’ throat with her teeth. Macks called her the filthiest word Drusher had ever heard her call anybody, and headbutted Streekal in the face.
Streekal’s skull slammed back into the deck. She groaned, dazed. Macks slammed her hand against the deck again, and the dagger spun away. Streekal tried to squirm. Macks punched her in the jaw.
‘Stay down!’ Macks shouted.
Streekal did not obey. Macks knew how to fight. She was a trained marshal. But Streekal’s combat training was far superior to the Magistratum’s.
She lifted her shoulders, arched her back and hoisted Macks off the ground. Macks lost her balance and started to slide and roll. Streekal bent her legs, got both feet under Macks’ belly and kicked hard.
Macks went flying backwards. Streekal leapt up and landed on her. Now she was on top. Her hands closed around Macks’ throat and began to squeeze. Macks fought back, but she couldn’t shift the woman’s weight off her. She began to choke.
Drusher grabbed Streekal and tried to drag her off Macks. Streekal jerked backwards with an elbow that left Drusher bent over on his knees, all the air knocked out of him.
>
He wheezed helplessly, trying to refill his lungs, tears running down his face.
Streekal got off Macks and straightened up. Macks lay on her back, gasping, unable to breathe or move. Calmly, Streekal walked over to the workstation and retrieved her laspistol.
She came back and stood over Drusher and Macks. She aimed the weapon at Macks’ face.
‘Heretic-bitch!’ Voriet yelled from his cage in hopeless pain. ‘You’ll burn in eternity for this!’
‘I do hope so,’ said Streekal.
A shot cracked out.
Streekal took a step backwards. She looked puzzled. She swayed.
Another shot hit her, and a ribbon of blood and tissue spurted from her back. She staggered. She looked down at the two bloody holes in her torso, trying to make sense of them. Then she looked up.
Harlon Nayl limped across the platform towards her. He was battered, dried blood caking the side of his face. He was aiming his large automatic pistol at her.
‘That’s two,’ he said. ‘Do you know how to die, or do you need another lesson?’
Swaying drunkenly, Streekal raised her pistol to aim at him.
Nayl fired again.
Streekal dropped her gun. Her arm flopped back against her side. She took a couple of awkward, wobbling steps then fell down. The slope of the sagging platform rolled her body over a couple of times, then she simply began to slide on the tarry surface.
Her corpse dropped off the platform lip. They heard it hit the deep, ancient pool of promethium far below.
NINETEEN
The Engine Wakes
‘Where’s Streekal?’ asked Gobleka. His intimidating violet stare fixed on Davinch and Blayg.
‘She’s hunting for him,’ said Blayg.
‘And Jaff’s prisoner might be loose too?’ asked Gobleka.
‘It’s possible,’ said Davinch.
‘Didn’t you check the cellar?’
Davinch hesitated.
‘I was going to,’ he replied. ‘I was on my way down. Then I heard you call my name, so–’
‘I didn’t call your name, you idiot,’ snapped Gobleka. ‘I’ve been up here all the time. You wouldn’t have heard me.’
‘But–’ Davinch began.
‘He was playing with you,’ sneered Gobleka. ‘Psykana tricks, you idiot. He’s trying to game us.’
He turned slowly, surveying the expanse of the Loom visible from the main gantry. In the cage behind him, Sark shivered and whimpered.
‘He’s a monster,’ mumbled Blayg. ‘You should have seen it, Gobleka. What he did to Jaff.’
‘She deserved anything she got,’ replied Gobleka. ‘She let them get in here. She let them walk right in.’
‘Wasn’t that the point?’ asked Davinch. ‘To bring them here? To silence them?’
‘Not inside the hall, you idiot,’ said Gobleka.
‘Well, maybe not that,’ replied Davinch. ‘But it makes it easier. They’re trapped. They’re confused. This place messes with your head, especially when you’re not used to it.’
‘Davinch, if I’d wanted to bring them inside to kill them,’ said Gobleka, ‘I’d have called in reinforcements. Proactive specialists. A kill-team from the scholam on Gudrun. Maybe negotiate some cooperation from the Traitor Hosts. Or even petition the King to lend us a grael. This is a mess. There’s no time for any of that now. An outside assist would take days or weeks to arrive.’
‘Yeah, but–’ Davinch began.
‘Weeks, Davinch,’ said Gobleka firmly. ‘We don’t have weeks.’
‘But we’ve killed four of them,’ said Blayg. ‘And two more caged up. Maybe three, if Jaff got that magos shut away before she died. That just leaves the old bastard himself…’
‘The others don’t matter, you arsehole,’ said Gobleka. ‘They’re just foot-soldiers, ten-a-penny. The old bastard is the old bastard for a reason. We’ve got an alpha-class psyker with a grudge loose in here. Either of you combat psykers? Didn’t frigging think so. I’ve got to blank him. I’ve got to use Sark.’
He turned and looked at the cage.
‘I’ve got to use you now, haven’t I, magos?’ he called.
‘Magos! M-magos!’ the naked wretch in the cage gurgled back.
‘Blayg, get the kit,’ said Gobleka.
‘Wait, Goran,’ said Davinch, stepping forwards. ‘That’s not a good idea. Chase will have your guts. The instructions were clear. Sark is a creative asset. We use what strength he has to manufacture. He’s not a proactive weapon, and we don’t waste his power using him that way.’
‘The frigging rules were changed when Jaff ballsed it up, Davinch,’ said Gobleka. ‘Chase might not like it. The King might not like it. But they’ll see it was necessary.’
‘But if you damage him–’
‘We’ll keep him sound,’ said Gobleka.
‘Gobleka, Sark’s burning out,’ said Davinch. ‘He’s still exhausted from the last weaving. He needs time to recover. And if you start him up, and use his power, we don’t know how many more constructs we’ll get out of him. We may not meet our quota. Or at the very least, we could fall months behind.’
Gobleka walked across the platform until he was nose-to-nose with the tall, tattooed man. Davinch pulled back a little.
‘Yes,’ said Gobleka. ‘Chase will be furious. Imagine how much more furious she’ll be if we allow Eisenhorn to shut this place down? She’d bring us back from the dead just to kill us all over again. Protecting this place is our first responsibility. The Cognitae cannot lose the Loom. It’s not an option. He must be found and finished before he can do any damage to it. So we’ve got to use Sark.’
Davinch nodded reluctantly.
‘Besides,’ Gobleka added. ‘The other one’s out there. What’s her name?’
‘Betancore,’ said Blayg.
‘Right. She needs to be wiped too. We can’t risk any word of this getting off-world. So, Sark can handle that as well. Blayg, get the kit.’
The portly man nodded and hurried off the gantry to a lower platform. Gobleka put his assault weapon down on the deck and went over to the cage. He crouched down.
‘Magos?’ he called softly. ‘Draven? You stay calm now, you hear me?’
The man in the cage moaned and curled up in a tight ball. Gobleka put his hand on the frame of the cage door and said a single word that made Davinch cringe.
The cage door swung open. Sark whined and curled up even tighter.
Blayg returned, carrying a medicae pack. He opened the case, prepped an injector and handed it to Gobleka.
‘Full dose?’ asked Gobleka.
Blayg nodded.
Gobleka crawled into the cage. Sark shrank back from him, becoming agitated. Gobleka grabbed him, pinned him with one arm and jabbed the injector into the meat of his left buttock. Sark squealed.
Gobleka let him go, slid out of the cage and sealed it again with an un-word. Sark began to twitch, and then the twitching grew to a violent thrashing. He contorted and twisted, veins bulging, his limbs spasming.
‘Hell’s teeth,’ murmured Davinch as he watched. ‘It takes him longer to come back every time.’
‘There will come a time when he won’t come back at all,’ said Blayg.
‘Then we’ll find a replacement,’ said Gobleka. ‘We always knew that day would come…’
His voice trailed off.
‘What?’ asked Blayg.
‘The old bastard,’ said Gobleka.
Davinch and Blayg turned in terror, expecting to see Eisenhorn behind them.
‘Idiots,’ Gobleka laughed. ‘Think about it. Think about it, we could turn this mess into a huge victory. Turn it right around. End the threat of Eisenhorn and replace the one failing component of this system.’
‘Eisenhorn?’ asked Blayg.
‘He’s perfect. He’s strong. Mentally, physically. The psykana aspect is a huge advantage. He’s already attuned.’
‘Yeah, but his mindset,’ said Davinch. ‘He wouldn’t coopera
te. He wouldn’t be willing.’
‘You think that animal is willing?’ asked Gobleka, pointing at the man writhing and gasping in the cage.
‘He was to begin with,’ said Blayg.
‘The viral shots will destroy the old bastard’s resistance,’ said Gobleka. ‘They’ll negate his will, his self, and rewire his brain and his soul. We’ll break him and reshape him. I don’t think it’ll be hard, either. Eisenhorn’s been on the edge for too long. Decades. He’s been declared a damn heretic, for Terra’s sake! It won’t be a stretch for him. He’s seen the warp. He knows its allure. We’ll just tip him over the threshold so he sees the real truth. He’ll realise where he should have been from the very start. He’ll embrace it like a long-lost love.’
Gobleka grinned broadly at the two men beside him.
‘And Chase and the King,’ he said, ‘they will relish the sheer poetry of their greatest adversary becoming their most valuable asset.’
‘Goran?’ a weak voice called from inside the cage. ‘Goran? Are you there?’
Gobleka looked at his colleagues.
‘Get moving, both of you,’ he said. ‘Find Streekal. Kill anyone else you find. Anyone, caged or not. If you encounter Eisenhorn, try and drive him this way.’
‘If he fights?’ asked Davinch.
‘Then kill him if you have to. But only if you have to. Intact, or alive enough to work with, that’s preferable. Get on with it.’
Davinch and Blayg looked at each other then turned and left the gantry. Gobleka walked back to the cage.
‘Sark? Magos?’
Inside the cage, Draven Sark slowly stood up. He looked around, blinking at the light, his naked, emaciated body suddenly upright and straight-backed.
‘Have I been asleep?’ he asked. His voice was thin and dry, but it had lost its deranged flutter.
‘Yes, for a while,’ said Gobleka.
‘Can I come out, Goran? Can I come out of the cage now, please?’
‘Not yet, magos,’ said Gobleka.
‘Have I been asleep?’
‘Yes,’ said Gobleka.
‘The dreams are bad,’ said Sark. ‘I don’t like them.’
‘I know, magos, but they will be over soon.’