The warrior tried to rise. Ezra got up first. He stabbed the warrior repeatedly in the throat with a quarrel from his pouch, using the iron barb like a dagger.
The warrior gurgled and convulsed as he bled out.
Ezra reached for his reynbow, but it had not benefitted from being used as a cudgel. Part of the bow frame was twisted, and one of the magpods was misaligned. With a mixture of desperation and reluctance, Ezra grabbed his enemy’s lasrifle. He had to tug it hard to free the sling from the dead man’s clutches.
The Ghosts had taught him the basic use of an energy weapon, even though he did not care for the technology. He checked the rifle. The powercell was charged, and the firing lock was off. He hefted it to his shoulder, searching for a comfortable grip and slipping his finger into the unfamiliar trigger guard.
Two attackers clambered through the space between the wagons. One fired at Ezra, and the searing las-bolt missed the Nihtgane by the width of a splayed hand.
Ezra shot back. He had not checked the discharge setting of his captured weapon. It juddered in his hands as it spat out a flurry on full-auto, mowing down both the attackers in front of him with a squall of shots.
Ezra ran to find new cover. As soon as he was sheltered from view, he adjusted the dial on the side of his new gun to ‘single’.
The fight was escalating fast, but he knew it had only just begun.
Viktor Hark entered the brig area of the Armaduke. He was dazed and rattled. The vessel was clearly in a perilous state. Waking to find himself face down on the deck after the brutal retranslation, he had resolved to follow Gaunt’s last instruction, and then proceed to restoring some order to the regiment.
Secondary order. Even before the accident, Gaunt had been anxious to make the Ghosts ready for a fight.
The ship was making odd, plaintive noises, and it was heeling badly. Hark clattered down a flight of metal steps and approached the heavy shutters of the brig. He realised almost immediately that he was in someone’s crosshairs.
‘It’s me,’ he said, feeling foolish.
Judd Cardass appeared, lowering his lasrifle.
‘Just checking, sir,’ Cardass said.
‘As you should, trooper.’
‘What’s going on?’ Cardass asked. He was surprisingly blunt for a Belladon. That was probably down to him being part of Rawne’s mob for too long. Then again, the current situation was enough to breed tension and bluntness in anyone.
‘I need to see the major,’ Hark replied.
Cardass nodded, and led the commissar through the shutterway into the outer chambers of the brig, where security stations faced the inner hatches, and the walls were lined with cots for the guards.
B Company’s first squad, the so-called ‘Suicide Kings’, had been charged with protecting the regiment’s guest, an extremely dangerous military asset. They took their job seriously, and the outer chamber space had virtually become the company barracks. B Company had taken up residence in the brig after an attempt on the guest’s life during the outward journey had proved the initial holding location insecure.
As Hark entered, he saw the Ghosts of B Company getting things straight. Some were picking up chairs and kitbags that had tumbled during the grav-failure. Others were checking the security instruments. Two or three were patching minor wounds and abrasions.
Major Rawne was on the far side of the monitor bay with Varl and Bonin. They were grouped around Oysten, who was setting up the squad’s vox-set.
‘Shipboard comms are down,’ Rawne said to Hark without looking up.
‘I see you’re improvising.’
Rawne nodded. Only now did he glance at Hark.
‘Drive accident?’ he asked.
‘I’m guessing.’
Rawne nodded.
‘Is the asset safe?’ Hark asked.
‘He’s secure.’
‘I was coming down here to instruct you to come to secondary order,’ Hark said.
‘Done and done, sir,’ replied Varl.
‘Gaunt anticipated this. We’re adrift and crippled, I believe. We may be assaulted.’
‘Boarding action?’ asked Bonin.
‘He felt it likely,’ replied Hark.
Rawne kept his gaze on Hark.
‘Is the ship dead? Fethed? Are we going to die out here? Void-freeze? Like the damn space hulks they tell the old stories about?’
‘I have no idea of our status, major,’ Hark replied. ‘I think we’d need to consult with the shipmaster to discern our viability.’
Rawne looked at Oysten.
‘Anything?’ he asked. ‘Gaunt? The fething bridge?’
Oysten pursed her lips. A Belladon vox-specialist from the new intake, she had been transferred to Rawne’s command after the death of Kabry, Rawne’s previous adjutant. It was clear she was still an outsider in the ranks of the Suicide Kings.
‘I don’t seem to be able to set up any kind of vox-net, sir,’ Oysten replied.
‘Balls to that,’ Varl snapped. ‘This is the Tanith First. We’re not arse-handed morons. Gods among men B Company may be, but we’re not the only unit who’ll have thought to go vox-live to coordinate.’
‘Your point is well made,’ said Oysten calmly. ‘I’m just telling you how it is. The vox feels like it’s being signal-blocked. Maybe it’s the superstructure of the ship. We’re pretty damn armoured down here.’
Rawne shrugged.
‘Maybe it’s you not knowing one end of a fething voxcaster from the other, Oysten,’ he said.
‘Maybe it’s an after-effect of the real space shift?’ Hark suggested quietly. ‘Maybe we’re flooded with energies that…’
His voice trailed off. He realised he was speculating in areas that even he, an educated and experienced senior officer of the Officio Prefectus, knew feth all about.
‘Wait please,’ said Oysten. ‘I’m getting something. Voice, I think. Voice signal…’
She wound one of the dials hard, then flicked two toggle switches, moving the audio to speakers rather than the headset hanging around her neck like a torc.
They heard a blend of squeals, hums, e-mag burbles and bangs, out of which emerged a crackling signal that sounded like overlapped voice recordings. The whole mix was bathed in a white noise hiss.
‘Can you tease that apart?’ Rawne asked, craning to listen.
Oysten made a few adjustments in an attempt to isolate the individual signals.
‘Just trying to clean it up,’ she said.
She stopped suddenly. The thread of voices had become very clear. It was vox back-chatter between multiple operators, a scratchy to and fro of orders, acknowledgements and advisories. They could tell that from the tone and flow.
The content was impossible to discern. None of the words were being spoken in a tongue they recognised as human.
‘Feth that,’ said Varl.
‘Archenemy transmissions,’ Bonin said.
Oysten nodded.
‘Shut it down,’ said Rawne.
‘Before we know what it means?’ asked Hark.
Rawne shot him an ugly look.
‘Seriously?’ he asked.
‘I think we’re in deep shit, Rawne. I think we can use all the intel we can get right now.’
Rawne looked at Bonin and Varl.
‘Bring him out,’ he said.
The pair of them moved swiftly, gathering LaHurf and Brostin as they advanced to the door of the primary cell. Their weapons were ready.
‘Open it!’ Varl yelled to Nomis at the security station.