‘Now,’ said Crimson, and he reached out to give Ralan a shove in the back.
The deacon stumbled through the door, slipping on some loose rocks and pitching forward onto the ground.
‘Be quiet,’ hissed Crimson through his bared teeth. As Ralan got to his feet, Crimson motioned for the guards to follow.
The eight men saluted as one and marched through the door in double file, making twice as much noise as Ralan had falling down.
‘Why am I surrounded by incompetents?’ said Crimson. He stared up at the ceiling, not so much appealing to a higher power as defying it to provide him with a reasonable answer to his query. He followed his men inside.
He could see the lights of the worksite in the distance, but little illumination found its way to this back door – and for good reason, he knew. As far as anyone in the universe knew, that door opened onto a large void in the hive. Whatever had been there dropped away in a hivequake long ago. Or perhaps it was just one of those odd empty pockets the ancient builders simply forgot about or built around.
Whatever the case, only he knew the secret to reaching this door – a narrow ledge ran around the void just below torch light range. Crimson had used this access point in his early days to amass a small fortune in artefacts that he then used to escape detection and start a new life when things heated up for Jules Ignus.
More recently, the back door had allowed access to his saboteurs, who would now face the pools of redemption for failing to keep the construction crews from uncovering that abominable body.
‘Blast that Tavis,’ he said. ‘This is all his fault. Him and his dome-sized ego.’
Ralan and Crimson’s guards picked their way across the shadowy dome toward the lights. It became clear as they got closer that there were far more people in the dome than a simple construction site would account for.
Crimson caught up with his men when they came to a sudden halt. They stood above the construction site on a higher level of the dome. Below them, Crimson saw an odd assortment of people. Guilder guards stood at attention near the main dome entrance and walked in pairs around the perimeter of the lights. A small group of gangers dressed in chains and leather milled around between the guards and the work site.
But it was the worksite itself that got Crimson’s attention. A large group of people, some well-dressed, others who looked like refugees from an Underhive bar, and a set of half-dressed slaves all knelt in a circle, their heads bowed in prayer. In the centre of the worshippers was a body lying in state on a crude altar, a body Cardinal Crimson had once vowed would never see the light of day again. He intended to keep that vow no matter the cost.
‘Is that body glowing?’ asked one of Crimson’s guards.
The cardinal glared at him. ‘It’s just a trick of the lights,’ he growled. ‘Go get that abomination, and kill any of the heretics who try to stop you.’
Ralan opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something. ‘They worship a false prophet,’ said the Cardinal. ‘They have been judged and will face the pools of redemption. Go!’
As he watched Ralan lead the guards around and down to the construction site, Crimson heard the snap of a stone crunching underfoot behind him. He turned and looked into the swirling, cloud-filled eyes of Jobe Francks. ‘Still quick to judge and even quicker to send others to do your dirty work, eh Ignus?’ he said.
‘You will address me as Cardinal or your eminence,’ said Crimson. ‘Whatever you think you know about me, I am the leader of your faith. I would think you of all people – someone who claims to be touched by the Undying Emperor – would show some respect for my authority.’
‘Respect for you?’ said Francks. ‘How can I respect someone who shows no respect for any living creature but himself? You are nothing more than a rat eating away at the edges of civilization. I should give you the respect reserved for such vermin – a quick and painless death. That is more than you deserve.’
Crimson took a step closer to Francks, turning slightly as he moved to hide his hand. ‘What do you know about respect, wyrd?’ he said. ‘You’ve manifested abominable powers, just like your dead friend down there. It is an affront to nature. You are the ones who should be exterminated for the betterment of society.’
‘But then who would you rail against?’ asked Francks. If he had noticed Crimson’s furtive hand motions beneath his robe, he didn’t show any sign of it in his face, and he stood as still as a rock. ‘Without the wyrds and the mutants and the heretics, you would be out of business. Your only power comes from picking and tearing at the fringes of society to bolster the beliefs of the faithful.’
‘They betray the natural order,’ said Crimson. What little skin he had left on his face flushed with anger at the heretic’s lack of understanding. ‘They betray the strictures of Redemption.’
‘You are the true traitor to the cause of Redemption, Ignus,’ said Francks. ‘You always have been, and your stringent interpretation of the words of the Undying Emperor will only lead you and your flock to ruin, never to the ultimate reward the Universe has in store for the rest of us.’
Francks’s calm, almost placid face mixed with his heretical words enraged the Cardinal even further. ‘The abominations must be cleansed from the universe if the faithful are to live in the grace of the Undying Emperor,’ screamed Crimson. ‘It is the word. Redemption is the fire. I am its crucible.’
He pulled a meltagun from beneath his robes and pointed it at Francks. ‘This wicked world will be cleansed, beginning with you.’
Francks simply frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t know what saddens me more,’ he said. ‘That you believe every word you say or that you think you can create a better world through murder.’
Crimson glared at Francks as he squeezed the trigger.
9: REDEMPTION
‘Well, this should be interesting,’ said Kal. He’d followed his instincts, and a fairly obvious trail, down a supposedly dead end tunnel. Luckily, the secret passage through the fake wall at the end lay open, and he’d been able to slip into the side tunnel with ease.
Now he’d come upon a round dome portal. Looking through, Kal could see a crowd inside including a large group of people on their knees bowed around what looked like a dead body.
Jobe Francks must be inside. That was the good news. The bad news was there were at least a dozen Guilder guards between Kal and the body.
He gave the wheel a spin and pushed open the portal. Stepping through, he was amused to find he had to tap the nearest guard on the shoulder to get his attention. Perhaps he should have simply slipped around the guards, but then that wouldn’t be Kal’s style.
‘Kal Jerico, bounty hunter,’ said Kal when the confused guard turned and stared at him. He gave the guard his biggest, most disarming smile. ‘I’m here to help. What’s the situation?’
The guard’s eyebrows wrinkled as his confusion deepened. Then he must have come to a decision, because he sighed and placed a hand on Kal’s shoulder. ‘Well, it’s the oddest thing,’ he said. ‘Since the workers found that miracle body, everything’s got totally scavved. Then this new group barges in and starts worshipping as well. We’re just waiting for word from Tavis…’
‘Seldon!’ yelled another guard, who stepped in between Kal and his new friend. ‘Who is this man and why are you talking to him?’
‘He’s…’
‘Kal Jerico,’ said Kal. He extended his hand as the other guard turned toward him. ‘Bounty hunter. I think I can help. Just let me take my bounty out of here and I’m sure everything will return to normal.’
The second guard stared at Kal from under a furrowed brow. He glanced down at Kal’s hand before returning his gaze to his eyes. ‘Leave now, bounty hunter, and you won’t get hurt. This is a private guild matter and does not concern you.’
Kal flashed his smile again. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I haven’t slept. My entire body is one big welt, and all I want is my bounty. He just came in here with a crowd of followers. Let me take him
and I’m sure the others will follow.’
Neither the smile nor the story seemed to work. ‘Seldon, escort him out of here.’
Seldon grasped Kal below the elbow. With a quick twist, he turned Kal around and wrenched his arm into an extremely uncomfortable position. With a little more pressure, Seldon pushed Kal forward toward the open portal.
‘Scav,’ said Kal. ‘They got here fast.’ He ducked.
‘Who got here fa–’ asked Seldon.
The laser blast streaked over Kal’s head. Seldon’s body slumped to the ground with a dull thud. Kal dived to the floor by side of the door and kept rolling, figuring the next blast might encompass a larger area.
Behind him, he heard guards shouting and weapons firing. Several shotgun blasts replied from the Goliaths in the tunnel. By the time the first frag grenade exploded, Kal was back on his feet and running along the edge of the dome away from the door.
Several Orlock gangers stood between Kal and the body but after the explosion they moved toward the guards, the ends of their bandanas flapping behind their heads as they ran. Kal cut across toward the gathered worshippers as the battle heated up by the entrance.
Kal scanned the crowd for the wild-haired man, but didn’t see anyone even close to that description. He did see a familiar face, though. ‘Scabbs, you son of a rat,’ he said. ‘What in Helmawr’s name are you doing here?’
‘Kal,’ said Scabbs. ‘Great diversion. Did Yolanda send you?’
The immediate detour in the conversation made Kal pause a moment. ‘Um,’ he said. ‘Yolanda?’
‘Well, I was kidnapped and Yolanda tried to follow, but–’
Another explosion by the door made Kal turn. The Goliaths had pushed their way into the dome and now outnumbered the remaining guards.
‘Whatever,’ said Kal. ‘We’ll catch up later. That diversion will be on top of us soon. Did you see Francks? I’m sure he came in here.’
‘He was here just a few minutes ago,’ said Scabbs. ‘He brought all these people to worship before the glowing miracle body.’ Scabbs pointed at the bier in the middle of the circling crowd.
Kal glanced at the bier and did a double take, finally taking a good look at it. The body not only glowed, the light coming from it seemed to pulse. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Now that’s just strange.’
He shook his head, trying to get the image out of his brain. The sounds of the battle by the door were getting closer. He looked at Scabbs. ‘Where is Francks now?’
Scabbs pointed toward the top of the pile of debris. ‘He went to face his destiny.’
‘Great,’ said Kal. ‘That can’t be good.’
A las-blast hit the ground between them. Kal thought it was a stray shot from the Goliath battle but then he glanced where Scabbs was pointing. Ralan and his Redemptionists scrambled down the debris pile. Ralan had a laspistol in his hand.
‘I’m really starting to hate that guy,’ said Kal, pulling out his own laspistols. He fired twice, pulverising two chunks of rock on the pile below Ralan. He glanced at Scabbs. ‘Crimson’s men are here,’ he said. ‘So Crimson can’t be far behind. I need to get to Francks now. I need a diversion… I mean another diversion.’
Scabbs smiled, which was somewhat disconcerting because Kal couldn’t remember ever seeing the half-ratskin smile before. Plus two large flakes of skin at the corners of his mouth fell away when he did it.
‘I have an idea,’ said Scabbs. He turned and ran through the crowd of worshippers. Kal took cover behind one of the townspeople, hoping Ralan wouldn’t chance hitting a citizen while Guilder guards were nearby.
Scabbs reached the bier and raised his hands. ‘My people,’ he called out, and Kal was amazed when the slaves raised their heads and stared at Scabbs. He pointed up the hill toward the Redemptionists. ‘Behold, the unbelievers,’ he called. ‘They come to desecrate the shrine. They come to remove the miracle body.’
A murmur ran through the entire crowd. Kal stared at Scabbs. The pulsating light limned his head and arms, making him look almost angelic. He shook away that image as well. This was Scabbs after all, about as far removed from an angel as a rat is from a human.
‘Rise up, my people,’ called Scabbs. ‘Rise up and fight the unbelievers. Do not let them near the miracle body,’
‘This can’t possibly work,’ muttered Kal. He watched in amazement as the bare-fisted townsfolk and slaves ran toward the heavily-armed Redemptionist guards. One of the Redemptionists raised a rifle and took aim, but Ralan slapped the weapon out of his hands. He barked a command and they all holstered their weapons just before the crowd reached them.
Kal worked his way to the side and tried to climb up the pile, but it was too steep and the debris too loose. He needed to find another way. ‘Scabbs,’ he called. ‘We need to get to the top.’ He couldn’t believe he was even thinking about asking this next question. ‘Any suggestions?’
The air around Jobe Francks sizzled and blurred like mirages he’d seen in the Wastes. He felt his face and chest heat up. His nostrils filled with the smoky odour of charred hair. A ringing echoed inside his ears.
What an odd sensation it is to be burned alive, he thought. He felt that boils would soon erupt on his skin and then his organs would begin to cook. Francks felt himself drowning in the experience. It was almost welcome. Almost soothing. Life had been so hard in the Wastes. He’d lost everything years ago. Perhaps being burned to death was the fitting end.
Crimson’s screams penetrated his mind – something about needing more power or a malfunction. Was it supposed to take this long? Why wasn’t there more pain? A voice in Francks’s mind told him to fight, reminded him that the Universe wasn’t ready for him to die just yet. The thought seemed odd, almost amusing. ‘We all die, don’t we Syris?’ he asked the voice. ‘Why does it matter when?’
The answer came to him in a moment of absolute clarity. Death is no more than a single moment in time, a tiny blip on the fabric of the Universe. But the fabric is made up of all those blips. Each life adds to the tapestry, touching other blips and sparking new patterns to emerge and spread across the fabric like ripples in a pool. To cut a life short would tear a hole in the fabric. Redemption came only once the last stitch was sewn, the last pattern was woven.
‘You must endure,’ said the voice. ‘A while longer. You must finish the pattern.’
Suddenly, the heat intensified. Pain lashed through Francks’s body, screaming for attention from his brain. He reached out toward Crimson with his mind as he stretched his arm into the shimmering air. With a flick of his wrist, he knocked the weapon from the Cardinal’s hand. The air returned to normal around him and the heat in his skin began to dissipate.
‘You’ll find me harder to murder than your sacrifices, Ignus,’ said Francks.
‘If you’re so special,’ cried Crimson, ‘then why was your master so easy?’
‘Was he, Ignus?’ asked Francks. He looked down at the body of his friend. ‘Then why did you have so much trouble removing his body? He’s special, Ignus. Even you have to admit that now. Don’t you Ignus?’
‘Stop calling me that!’ screamed Crimson. He rushed forward and leapt at Francks.
The two men tumbled to the ground in a heap. Crimson landed on top of Francks and straddled his chest, his robe pushed up around his knobbly knees. Francks tried to roll to the side, but was amazed at the strength in Crimson’s skeletal frame. He was pinned and forced to stare up into the deathly apparition of Crimson’s face.
Scabbs led Kal around the outskirts of the battle between the Redemptionists and the body-worshippers. They stayed low, lest a stray shot from Goliath-Guilder battle catch them from behind.
‘I’m sure I saw it over here,’ said Scabbs. He glanced around for the ladder he’d seen Ander carrying earlier, but every scream from his left made him jump and turn toward the battle. Those were his people, and he had sent them against Crimson’s guards. He knew what those animals were capable of. He’d almost been sent to the bottom of t
he acid pits himself once. He wouldn’t forgive himself if the worshippers lost and got rounded up for redemption.
‘You sure you didn’t see it in a dream?’ asked Kal. ‘You did say you’d been knocked out last night.’ Kal carried his laspistols in his hands and periodically shot into one melee or the other. ‘Damn!’ exclaimed the bounty hunter.
Scabbs whipped his head around to look at the worshipper battle, expecting to see one of the slaves fall to Kal’s friendly fire. ‘What is it?’ he asked as he scanned the fight.
‘I lost sight of Ralan,’ said Kal. He waved his pistols back and forth in front of him as he searched for the missing Redemptionist. ‘That scavving deacon has been a pain in my backside all night.’
Scabbs watched the battle a moment longer. Many of Crimson’s guards had succumbed to the pressure of the riot. All Scabbs could see were worshippers beating on something at their feet. The guards still on their feet had pulled out their weapons again. They backed into a group and fired at any worshippers who came close.
‘Ah, found it,’ said Kal. He pulled the ladder out from beneath the wreckage of the light pole and set it up against a wall of concrete blocks; the last remnants of what used to be a building or perhaps just a basement.
Another shot rang out from the debris mound behind Scabbs. He turned to order his people to hold back, but found the barrel of Ralan’s pistol poking him in the eye instead. The deacon grabbed Scabbs by the neck and twisted him around into a choke hold. He pressed the gun into Scabbs’s temple and whispered ‘shush’ into his ear.
Scabbs tried to call out to Kal, who was now halfway up the ladder, but couldn’t do more than gurgle. Perhaps it was the sound. Perhaps Kal was psychic when it came to Scabbs. Or perhaps he just expected the sidekick to get into trouble. Whichever the case, Kal turned on the ladder and looked down.
‘Ralan,’ he said. ‘I see you finally made it. How’ve things been since I left?’
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