Seven for Tanelorn

Four

Home of Sevir Bolatto, Moon Tanelorn

There was a certain comfort, Sevir thought, in having a large and sturdy desk between himself and the man he was talking to. There was something disturbing about Piter de Vries. The masklike face, so devoid of expression, its inhumanity only accentuated by the blue-on-blue eyes, was one thing. But Sevir had done business with Vulcans, so this alone wasn't the problem. It was the sense that he was being treated as a simple datum – just one more piece of information to be processed by the Mentat opposite. Even the most rigidly logical of Vulcans never failed to acknowledge that a person was a person, a living, sentient being. That fact, though, seemed irrelevant to Piter.

"I have come to give you a warning, Sevir." Piter said, his attempt at a concerned tone falling far short of sincerity. "My Baron's sources tell him that, the day after tomorrow, your town will be raided by pirates. This information is given to you to use as you see fit, Sevir. You may warn your people, or use the time to make your own property safe.

"However, as you know, the Baron has forces at his disposal, of which our common enemy, the Master, knows nothing. On their own, these forces are no match for those of the Master. But if they had a secure base, walls to fight behind, then they would be. So, we have a proposal. If the Baron commits his forces to the defence of your homes, will you speak to your Council in favour of an alliance? All my Baron asks is a seat on your Council and to garrison his troops in the town. In this way, we secure ourselves against the ambitions of the Master."

"This is all your Baron requires?" Sevir asked. "Our other discussions indicated he had somewhat greater aims."

"All in good time, Sevir." Piter said. "These pirates present an immediate threat, and the Master would be certain to take advantage of the chaos they would leave behind them. My Baron wishes only to secure all our positions at this time. The safety and well-being of your citizens is, as always, his paramount concern. Later, when these present matters are settled, we will turn to our larger plans, my friend."

"Got it all planned out, ain't ya, bub?" This was a voice Piter did not recognise. A rough, deep, gravelly tone that played no subtle tricks, but dealt only in that most dangerous of commodities, the truth.

He came out of his chair fast, knife in hand, to face the newcomer. He saw a short, stocky human with thick dark hair and a rugged face, who watched him steadily and with an utter lack of fear. He glanced behind the man, who noticed and gave a feral grin.

"If you're looking for your babysitters, don't bother. They're in no condition to do anything."

Even with Piter's Mentat training, it took him a moment to realise that this man must have taken down two Sardaukar quickly and silently. No ordinary foe, then.

Piter held up his knife, slowly and carefully, before letting it drop to the floor. "I yield." He said simply, then moved fast, the slender poisoned blade flicking out of his sleeve as he struck.

There was the sound of something falling to the floor, and a spurt of dark liquid. Piter stared down, realising his was looking at his own arm, severed just below the elbow, lying on the polished wood. Claws had sprung from his opponents' hands, and he had moved even faster than Piter. The pain was starting now, and Piter realised he was losing blood. Pain is a function of nerves. He repeated the old Mentat drill to himself. Pain comes as light comes to the eyes. Effort comes from the muscles, not the nerves. He went for a killing strike with his remaining hand. Too slow, the clawed man was already moving. The room turned upside down, then came to rest at a sideways angle. In the few seconds before his brain died of oxygen starvation, Piter de Vries realised it was his own decapitated body he could see slumping to the floor.

"It's going to take a lot of work to clean this room up!" Sevir told Logan peevishly.

The Canadian shrugged. "Harry told me he has spells that can clear anything up in a jiffy. I couldn't do it outside. Too many people about."

He walked over and picked up Piter's severed head, then carried it through to the hallway, where he placed it in a box on a nearby table. Sevir followed him, seeing Piter's two Sardaukar bodyguards. One lay on the floor, his head twisted at an unnatural angle, and clearly quite dead. The other was propped in a sitting position against the wall, his hands and feet tied, his mouth taped, blindfolded and clearly out cold.

Logan went over to the unconscious man and squatted in front of him to slap him awake. "Listen up, pal." He growled. "You got a package to deliver!"

Baron Harkonnen's Sanctum, Moon Tanelorn

"Damn that Piter!" Baron Harkonnen rumbled. There had still been some use in the killer Mentat, though it was getting close to time to dispose of him. Even the twisted Mentats supplied by the Bene Tleilax were not fully controllable, though more amenable than most. But Piter still knew too much about the Baron, his vices and weaknesses, to be allowed to live much longer.

But without a Mentat, the Baron was at a disadvantage. He knew himself that he could not equal the mental capacity of the Master. He also needed Piter to make sense of the circumstances of his own death. The surviving Sardaukar who had brought Piter's severed head back knew nothing. He had been taken down silently, by someone he had not seen, and kept blindfolded until his release in the forest. Whoever had done that had also killed at last one more Sardaukar, and Piter himself. The only information the survivor could give was the voice of his captor -rough, deep, male and accustomed to command. Which meant nothing in itself. The only kind of person who could do that to a Sardaukar would be a Bene Gesserit witch, who could make her voice sound like anything she wished. If the Sisterhood was somehow involved, then the matter had become grave. If it was only a single witch, then it was less of a threat. But it also meant that the Harkonnen spy network in the town might be compromised.

The Baron had had the survivor executed – failure was failure and not to be tolerated – and activated his secondary plan. This one lacked elegance, but had the advantage of simplicity.

Leandros' pirates would make their attack, but the Baron would not intervene. He would allow the town to be sacked. If the town had any defences, they would be revealed, if not, the place would be on the verge of destruction. If, as the Baron surmised, there was something in the town -the weapon suppressor, for instance – which the Master wished to obtain, he would have to act. Either he would commit his troops to drive off the pirates, or direct them to attack the weakened defences after the raid was pushed back.

In either case, the Master would be left with no defences except the Sith Warrior, Darth Maul. No matter how formidable that creature might be, he could not hold out against more than twenty Sardaukar. With his one bodyguard dead, the Master would be at the Baron's mercy, and could soon be – persuaded – to reveal his secrets. That left only the madman Voldemort – the rest would obey the Baron as easily as they had the Master, they were only machines. But the Baron had long ago taken steps to neutralise the self-styled wizard.

As to Leandros, if he survived, the Baron would pay him the promised price. He could be dealt with later, once House Harkonnen was returned to its rightful pre-eminence.

Town Hall, Moon Tanelorn

Mira's injury had left her in a support role, which she was to an extent grateful for. Not that her inability to fight beside Titus on this occasion didn't rankle, but at least she had a chance to use her organisational abilities.

With the help of the Council, she had commandeered several large buildings near the centre of the town as rest centres for the troops. It might have been easier to let the fighters retire to their own homes when off duty, but Mira told the Council that it would be important to have all the soldiers in one place, in the event of an emergency. Units could be pulled together and deployed much more quickly from a central location. In order to support this, the two main inns had been designated mess-halls, and the Guildhall as a barracks where off-duty fighters could catch some sleep. The local Adeptus Mechanicus had joined forces to provide maintenance and repair from the town centre shops – setting aside commercial rivalry for the moment. Finally, the Town Hall itself had been converted to a field hospital.

It was early evening, and Mira had finally done all she could do for now. Time to head for the inn where Titus and the others would be, have a meal and then whisk Titus back to the TARDIS for a well-earned cuddle and some sleep!

"Lieutenant Mira? Can I speak with you?"

Mira turned to see a slender, dark-haired human girl looking enquiringly at her. The child's name was Susan, Mira recalled, and she looked to be about twelve or so. She had turned up promptly every morning and helped out eagerly wherever she could. Susan was exceptionally intelligent and seemed to be held in high regard by the locals, so Mira had had her doing a lot of the necessary calculation and paper work.

"What is it, Susan?" Mira asked.

"I'm sorry to delay your dinner, but it's very important that you speak with my grandfather. Can you come with me?"

"Of course." As Susan led her out, Mira asked, "Who is your grandfather?"

"People call him the Counsellor." Susan told her. "It was Grandfather who advised the Council to contact Captain Titus. I'm sorry I have to bring you to see him, but he doesn't go about very much. People are always stopping him to ask for advice, you see." She lowered her voice confidentially. "He doesn't really like people very much, you know."

They walked in silence for a while, finally turning into a narrow street that ended in a wooden fence. In the fence was a gate. Susan put her hand on the gate, then paused and tuned to Mira.

"I'd better apologise in advance, Mira. Grandfather is very clever, but a little set in his ways. He can be impatient, abrupt, outright rude in fact. You mustn't mind him."

Without waiting for an answer, she pushed the gate open and led Mira into a small yard. Soldier-like, Mira noted that all the surrounding walls were blank, no windows overlooked the yard. In the middle of the space stood a blue wooden box, roughly large enough to hold one person. The translation matrix of Titus' TARDIS allowed Mira to read the Ancient Terran writing – Police: Public Call Box.

Susan went up to the box and inserted a key into the lock. The door opened and a bright light shone out.

"Grandfather!" Called Susan. "Lieutenant Mira is here!"

"Well bring her in, child, bring her in!" The voice was dry, and reminded Mira of a teacher, or an Inquisitor. She stepped into the box, not entirely unprepared for what she was about to see. It was, as she suspected, a TARDIS, different from hers and Titus', but the hexagonal control panel was unmistakable.

The man standing beside it was of medium stature, thin, stooped and elderly, with long white hair and sharp features. He looked Mira up and down with a pair of piercing eyes.

"Good evening, young woman. I am the Counsellor, at least that's what the people here call me. You are the travelling companion of Captain Titus, hm?"

"Lieutenant Mira, formerly of the 203rd Cadian Shock Regiment." She said formally.

"Ha! Thus the military mind! Why would you think that information of the slightest interest to me, hm?" The Counsellor replied with a touch of impatience.

"Well, I can't answer for you, of course." Mira replied with her own hint of impatience. "But I like to know who I'm dealing with! The Doctor told us he was the last of the TimeLords, for instance, so how did you come by a TARDIS?"

The Counsellor snorted. "How long have you been travelling with Titus? Time is not a linear thing, young woman. What this Doctor told you might have been true for whatever time he came from, but it is not true for me, now!"

"So you are a TimeLord." Mira smiled. "That's all I wanted to know!"

The Counsellor raised an eyebrow. "Could you not simply have asked?"

Miras' smile became a grin. "I've known two other TimeLords – one very intimately – and it's been my experience that members of your species do everything they can to avoid giving straight answers!"

The Counsellor suddenly smiled. "A most remarkable young woman! In that case, you will understand why I can tell you so little."

He took a wooden box from the console and handed it to Mira.

"These are the items I promised your friends as payment. If events proceed as I expect, I will not have the opportunity to present them myself. Therefore, I am leaving the matter in your hands, young woman. You will know when it is time to give each item to its owner.

"I would be obliged if you did not mention this conversation to anyone except Captain Titus. Now I suspect you are late for your dinner, so away you go!"

Tanelorn had no satellite surveillance as such, but the single Federation-built warp-capable runabout the inhabitants owned came with an adequate sensor array. The pirate ship was spotted as it approached the moon.

"An Assault Frigate type." Titus noted. "Capable of ship-to-ship combat against merchant vessels and light warships, of course. But they're mostly designed for boarding actions or planetary assault.

"They'll drop off the raiding party in a couple of dump-boxes, then draw off. They'll be wanting to raid us, not flatten the town, so the ship will probably stay back until called for. Usually to cover a retreat with their heavy guns."

Obi-Wan nodded. "If they're anything like the space pirates I know, their troops will be light assault – no heavy weapons. And since energy weapons don't work here, they might have to go hand-to-hand more than they're used to."

"Which means," Kratos stated, "that we have an advantage. Sharpe's defence unit has a full complement of those autoguns, for one thing. And when it comes to hand-to-hand, we have everything we need."

"Then let's get ready!" Titus said.

It was a classic raid in the beginning. The frigate – according to the writing on the prow it was called Fruit of Betrayal – swept in low and fast, dropping two box-like objects into the woods near the town.

Harry, who was waiting with Sharpe on the walls, asked "Why not just drop them in the town?"

Sharpe shook his head. "Too risky, mate. You don't want to be getting your lads out of something like that right in the middle of the enemy. You want the time and the chance to get formed up and ready. Surprised you don't know that, Harry!"

Harry shrugged. "I'm a policeman, not a soldier, Richard. We don't deploy, we go in and nick people!"

Sharpe snorted. "You act like a soldier – a bloody good one, too!"

Titus' communicator beeped, he flipped it open. "Titus."

"Logan." The Canadians' voice was muted. "They're deployed and moving out. We got about 25 lizards armed for hand-to-hand, 25 bugs with guns and maybe ten cyborgs.

"My people are gonna stalk, take out stragglers. The cyborgs aren't disciplined, we should be able to thin 'em down. Logan out."

"Right!" Titus thought for a moment. "They won't be expecting much in the way of defence or tactics. They'll probably settle their shooters at range and use them to cover the fighters until they get close.

"Harry and Elrics' magic will probably cause a few casualties. Then Richards' group can keep the shooters' heads down while the rest of us get in and take out the fighters.

"If we can force them to retreat, that would be best."

"Or we could slay them all!" Elrics' voice showed no trace of compassion.

"Foolish." Kratos growled. "If we kill them all, who will spread the fear of this planet among others of their kind?"

The discussion got no further, as the first contingent of raiders appeared out of the trees. The next few minuted were instructive and, for those with a Klingon or Spartan mindset, amusing. Harry's Confundus curses and Mazing Charms had several of the reptilians and insectoids wandering blindly into deadfalls or getting inextricably tangled in mazes of trenches and stakes. Four out of ten cyborgs had made it past Wolverine and his scouts, only for three of them to be sucked down into the ground as soon as they left the trees.

Despite this, most of the Insectoids made their way into range of the walls and formed up. The Reptilians and the single remaining cyborg began a steady, if somewhat ragged advance. On the walls, Sharpe remarked to Harry, "I'd tear a strip off any sergeant of mine who let a sloppy line like that advance!"

He turned to his squad. "Right, boys and girls, nice and steady! We're aiming at the overgrown beetles, and we have to stop them shooting back. Start with a volley, then keep up a steady fire at your own pace. Don't try to pick them off one by one, just concentrate on keeping their heads down.

"Ready...Fire!"

The first volley took down about a third of the insectoids and caused the others to scatter and drop. The defenders followed Sharpes' orders to the letter, keeping up a steady fire that prevented the pirate gunners from reforming. Harry did his part, firing off hexes as fast as he could think of them.

"Didn't realise that wand could fire so far." Sharpe remarked as he took aim.

"If I can see 'em, I can hex 'em!" Harry replied.

The sudden display of fire-power from the walls had caused the advancing fighters to hesitate, which was when Titus, Kratos and Elric hit them, along with the assault group.

Elric found himself face-to-face with the hulking Reptilian who commanded the attacking force. He carried a heavy, double-bladed axe which he used with great skill. This would be no easy duel, and Elric found a grim pleasure in finally encountering battle.

For the last few days, the albino's brilliant mind had been busy processing information – knowledge that was beyond the wildest myths or drug-induced fantasies of his people. The relatively simple technology of this world was one thing, but to understand that in the Galaxy beyond there were devices that were even more complex, could achieve things no magic was capable of, was a fascinating thing. He had spent what spare hours he could find in the library of Tanelorn, scanning the databases there, knowing that his time here was limited, and striving to learn all he could.

As a result, Elric had become more than a little stressed. Despite his intelligence he remained, at base, a barbarian from a barbaric world. Now he found that the simple, direct exertion of combat caused all his tension and the incipient headache he had been suffering from to vanish.

"Arioch!" He yelled. "Blood and souls for my Lord Arioch!" He flung himself into battle. Stormbringer responded to his mood, singing joyously as it hacked at the Reptilians' superb defence. The duel was a tough one, the Reptilian was skilled and hardy, neither offering nor asking quarter. He was also powerful, and without the strength lent him by his runesword, Elric would have been quickly overwhelmed. In the end, though, the Reptilian made a fatal mistake, parrying a strike directly, rather than slipping it. Stormbringer howled in triumph and sheared through the axe-shaft so that the lethal blades fell to the ground. Even as his opponent grabbed for a dagger, Elric thrust the hellblade deep into his chest, drawing out his life, his strength, his soul.

Elric drew his sword from the oddly shrunken corpse, and looked around for more enemies, just as a shadow fell across the battlefield.

New technology, other worlds, Kratos had taken little heed of most of it. Not that he was a stupid man, but he was a Spartan. Weapons, training, tactics, supply, defences – these were what concerned him and he had learned exactly as much as he needed to do his job. Now he sought out the one remaining cyborg.

The man – he had been a man, once, Kratos guessed – had no arms. Instead a pair of long metal tentacles extended from his shoulders. He used these as whips, and had already killed one defender and inflicted a nasty wound on another. The cyborgs' extended reach made it near-impossible to close with him, but Kratos' chain blades negated that advantage.

Neither man had fought anyone with the same type of weaponry before, but it soon became apparent that their styles were very different. The cyborg, possibly because he was heavily armoured, was not very mobile. He tended to stand still, relying on his weapons to eliminate anyone who came within his reach. Instead of eyes, he had some kind of metal and glass band that encircled his head and apparently allowed him to see behind him as well as in front.

Kratos, on the other hand, was agile in a way that belied his bulk, and though he preferred to stand and fight, he knew the value of mobility. Over the years since Ares had bonded him to the Blades of Chaos, he had developed a wide range of moves and combinations designed to counter everything from agile, airborne Harpies to lumbering Cyclops and Minotaurs. The cyborg was just a little too slow to catch the Spartan – though there were several near-misses – but on the other hand even Krato' fiery Blades did limited damage to his opponents' cerametal armour.

The Spartan knew that he would tire before the machine-man did, there had to be a way to break the stalemate. He saw that as long as he kept moving, the cyborg confined himself to horizontal sweeps -always at neck or waist level – but that if he stayed still for a moment, then his enemy would attempt a vertical strike. Such strikes drove the tentacle deep into the churned ground, from which it took a second to pull clear. Not long enough to counter, unless...

Kratos paused, as if to catch his breath, and the cyborg responded with a downward strike. Kratos stepped back, the absolute minimum distance he could afford. As it was, the tip of the tentacle scored a long but shallow cut down his chest, which the Spartan ignored. He stepped forward and planted one foot on the tentacle just where it was driven into the earth. The thing was not strong enough to lift him and he took advantage of his opponents' surprise to swing his blades at the root of the tentacle, which was severed in a shower of sparks and a spurt of silvery liquid.

The cyborg yelled in either shock or pain, and swung the other tentacle across at neck height. But Kratos was already moving, diving and rolling under the sweep to come up within arm's reach of his opponent. As he had suspected, the creature had no close defence, He struck once, cleaving the unarmoured head from brow to chin. The cyborg did not fall, but the tentacle dropped, and he did not move again. As Kratos tuned to the battle, there was a roaring overhead.

On the Observation Deck of the Fruit of Betrayal, Brakt watched the battle with some concern. These were not simple farmers and traders, at least, not any more. They had somehow come by weapons, training and leadership. Colonel Traag was locked in a duel the outcome of which was doubtful, the Insectoids were pinned down, the Reptilians were at best evenly matched and the cyborgs had been decimated.

"Captain to Observation." Brakt said into the intercom.

Leandros was not pleased to be summoned.

"Can I not leave you to conduct a simple raid without supervision?" He snapped.

Brakt simply pointed to the screen. Leandros took in the situation at a glance, then his eyes widened.

"It cannot be!" He gasped. "The heretic yet lives!"

He pointed a shaking finger to a figure on the screen, a giant of a man in blue armour, wielding a pistol-like weapon and some kind of sword.

Leandros' eye were filled with rage, with madness.

"Oh, Titus!" He snarled. "I have dreamed of this day, but never thought to see it! Brakt, take the ship in, use the railgun, raze this village! They shall pay for harbouring him!

"I am going down to slay the heretic!"

Brakt stared at his Captain.

"Raze the village?" He asked. "We were not hired to do this, Captain. The Baron will not pay us if we destroy what he seeks. Nor will we benefit if we destroy it.

"Vengeance I comprehend, but waste I do not."

Leandros swung round and grasped Brakt by the throat. Starwolves come from the heavy world of Varna. which makes them many times stronger and faster than normal humans. But Leandros was no normal human, and Brakt was as helpless as a baby in his grip.

"Be silent!" Leandros raged. "Titus is the reason I am here, cast out from my Chapter, my world! It is because of him that I must be a thief, a mercenary, a pirate. It is because of him that I travel on this scow, breathing air tainted by Xeno scum like you!"

He flung Brakt across the deck and turned on his heel. "Carry out my commands, Xeno!" He snapped as he left.

Titus was ploughing through the Reptilians, intent on saving as many casualties among the townsfolk as he could, when the familiar sound of a jump-pack came to him through the clatter of battle. He swung round, focusing on the sound to see a figure in black Space Marine armour land nearby. Titus knew of no Chapter that wore matte black armour without insignia. The Astartes approaching him now wore no helmet, and Titus recognised the face, twisted in anger as it was.

"Leandros! Brother, what are you doing here?"

"I am not your brother, heretic!" Leandros shouted. "I reported your heresy, as the Codex required. But then you had to die a hero! I was hated, shunned. I turned my back on Emperor and duty, and sought death. But I did not find it. Instead I came here, a place with no order, no rules, where Xenos and mutants walk among humans as if they had the right to exist!

"Bad enough to have lost all honour, all purpose, but now to see you here, still clad in the armour of the Chapter you disgraced. If I can do nothing else, I can at least put an end to the abomination that is your life!"

With that, Leandros sprang at Titus with his chainsword. Battles between Adeptus Astartes are rare, except when Chaos Marines are involved. Between members of the same Chapter, they are almost unknown. Both Titus and Leandros had received the same geneseed implants, had been trained in the same weapons and tactics by the same instructors. They should have been evenly matched, but they differed in one vital thing – motivation.

Leandros was mad, craving nothing but blood and vengeance. He attacked with utter abandon, pure savagery. At first he had the advantage, driving Titus back, inflicting grievous wounds. But Titus was fighting for something, for many things. He was fighting for the people of Tanelorn. He was fighting for Mira, the woman he loved. He was fighting for his new life, a life in which his battles had meaning; more meaning than the endless, brutal wars of the Imperium. He fought with conviction, and with the skill acquired in a life twice as long as his opponents'.

It was experience that told in the end. Only a veteran could have seen the opening that Leandros left, but Titus saw it and seized it. He cut once, and Leandros' head rolled in the dust.

Titus dropped to one knee. "I am truly sorry, brother." He murmured, then coughed up blood and pitched forward. He rolled onto his back as the sky darkened. He heard the roar of ship engines and saw the frigate loom overhead.

"Mira." He murmured, as his vision began to fade.

On the walls, Harry and Sharpe had been joined by Kenobi, who had command of the final defence cadre. Watching the mayhem below, Obi-Wan remarked, "Looks like I won't get to see any action today."

Harry pointed, "Don't speak too soon!" He said grimly.

As he spoke, the frigate swept down to hover over the battlefield.

"Does that thing carry anything other than energy weapons?" Harry asked.

Obi-Wan frowned. "I'm not familiar with that specific type, but if it's like similar models the Empire uses, then it'll have missiles and the belly turret will have a railgun. It could flatten this entire town!"

"Then we'll have to board it!" Harry snapped. "I can see a window there with an empty room behind it..?"

"That'll be the Observation Deck." Obi-Wan said. "But I don't see how we're to get there..."

"My department!" Harry told him. He grabbed Sharpe's arm with one hand and Kenobi's with the other. "This is going to be rough, guys." He said, then disapparated, taking both men with him.

The Master's Redoubt, Moon Tanelorn.

Lord Voldemort looked up from his scrying-glass.

"They are defending well, Master, but they are taking casualties. The giant in the blue armour has defeated the pirate leader, but has been wounded, perhaps mortally. It would be wise to strike now, with all our force."

The Master hesitated. This was a day before the Dalek had stipulated, but only a foolish leader let opportunity slip. Anyway, he was not averse to spoiling his 'employers' plans - Daleks were not noted for honest dealing.

"Go." He said. "Attack now, while they are distracted and weakened! Everything we have."

Voldemort rose and left, calling orders as he did so. The Master sat back in his chair, then suddenly became aware of a tension in his bodyguard.

"What is it?" He asked.

The Sith Warrior moved in front of his Master and dropped to one knee.

"Master," he said softly, "I feel a ripple in the Force. The last time I felt it was in the presence of a Jedi Knight. The Jedi who was responsible for my exile here."

The Master waved a hand. "Go, my friend, go. I am safe here, I have my own...methods."

Darth Maul rose, bowed and left. The Master sat back.

Unnoticed, in the shadows, Baron Harkonnen slipped quietly away.