(I) - The Mad Game

by PhantomStag458

A continuation of the novel Fifteen Hours, detailing the frontline experiences of a young soldier named Larn. During his tour across the Imperium and his struggle to keep his body and mind whole, he finds that not everything is as clear cut as good against evil. Consequently, the lines between friend and foe slowly begin to blur.

3. Chapter 3

The Gorynych, Gothic Sector - One month later.

Never relenting, the invisible bonds on Izuru's wrists and ankles held her fast. Suspended two feet above the deck, naked, Izuru could only watch the comings and goings of the corsairs, their gestures at her, the silent words passing their lips; the grins on their faces. The containment field cutting out dropped her to the deck, her numb limbs folding up beneath her. Gasping, Izuru pressed a hand to her side, bleary eyes turning to a trio of corsairs entering the small chamber.

"It is time." A helmetless corsair, his cover tucked under one arm, draped a thin robe over Izuru. "Rise."

Wobbling upon her feet, Izuru donned the robe, tying the drawcord around her waist. Blinking, her eyes focused on a silken-haired corsair; dark and clear-eyed, flanked by two faceless corsairs, each bearing void sabres. "Where am I?"

"A containment cell aboard the Gorynych, flagship of the Void Dragons. I am Derin." The corsair bowed. "I am to be your shadow."

"A shadow I need not." Izuru straightened her back, meeting the corsair's eye. "Take me to my children, now."

"The prince and princess would have words. I am at their beck," Derin cut in.

"My children."

"I know not your children's whereabouts, lady. I must bring you before the commander."

Led by Derin and followed by his companions, Izuru left the cell, part of a long corridor of identical holding facilities. Izuru had long suspected that the thin collar around her neck was a mind-shackle, prohibiting her mind to roam free, where her body was imprisoned, and find her children's consciousness. It left her feeling damnably alone, inwardly at least. The first groups of corsairs she passed, some in armour, some in plainclothes, oohed and made catcalls at her, one or two simply staring, whilst others whispered to their friends of the foreigner in the sheer robe. Straight-backed and stern-faced, Izuru kept her eyes on Derin's back, never deviating. To do so is a weakness, she thought. Such childish and lewd beings do not deserve my attention.

"Spare not a thought for these creatures." Derin's hand brushed the holster on his hip, when a gang of inquisitive corsairs strayed a little too close. "Away!"

The gang skittered back in to a dark recess, licking their lips and leering at Izuru. So much of the Gorynych's architecture reminded Izuru of the archival images of the interiors of Druchii warships she had viewed as a child, from the safety of her old home on the Craftworld Alaitoc. Dark covens, oddly curving, cylindrical corridors, some spikes jutting out here and there. This is quite likely the nearest I shall come to seeing the inside of a Druchii warship.

"Druchii built. Corsair perfected." Derin glanced over his shoulder at Izuru. "Yes, remarkable, isn't it?"

Ghastly. No decent beings would ever find themselves lost in a place such as this. Izuru kept that thought to herself. Enough to make Izuru dizzy, the ascension to the upper decks was made via a spiralling staircase so narrow that only one being could walk comfortably.

"Rather a peculiar defensive measure of the Druchii." Derin lifted the scabbard of his sword up to prevent it from catching against the corner, very nearly slashing Izuru across her nose. "Beg pardon, lady. You must forgive the Druchii."

Forgive the Druchii! It is not the Druchii that have wronged me.

Warmly lit, the decks above the holding cells concealed no parties of oglers, and were only patrolled by armed corsairs. A circular portal Derin led Izuru through contained a void, deep within the belly of the ship, yet filled with spherical chambers, completely transparent and open to all that dared look. Each chamber, a comfortable accommodation, seemed to float mid-air, with narrow bridges connecting each other together. There was not a single rail, handguard, or any measure to prevent accidents from occurring though. Across the nearest bridge, Derin led Izuru. Behind, the other corsairs halted and took up guard at the portal.

The belly of the beast. Izuru peered over the edge, gazing at the darkness below. How far do you stretch?

"My lady." Derin reached a gateway, turned to Izuru, and bowed. "The prince awaits."

Ignoring Derin's offered hand, Izuru passed through the gate and entered the bubble, her heels treading upon a soft, spongey mat, spread upon the floor. In the centre of the bubble, a corsair, bereft of cover, sat cross-legged in front of a low table that held two cups of a green liquid. Blond and slender, the corsair possessed strong, angled features and a broad chin. A pair of grey-green eyes sparkled underneath thin, arched brows. "One only has to extend one's ear and listen…" The blond corsair stood, straightening the silken surcoat that hung over a breastplate, the colour of dried blood. "I hear peculiar tales – whispers – from the lower decks of a woman in our custody; a being of remarkable beauty." The corsair offered Izuru his hand. "Ulthyr, prince of the Void Dragons. Pray, tell me your name, graceful lady."

A flatterer. Pathetic. Izuru folded her arms. At least he knows where my eyes are. "Where are they?"

"Tai? An herbal concoction, brewed with these hands." Ulthyr indicated the cups sitting on the table beneath them. "I shall not sit unless you do so too, fair lady."

Then let us see whose feet give out first. Izuru's eyes bored in to those of the corsair. Answer my question.

"Safe. They are safe in our care." Ulthyr nodded. "Surely after a month's solitary, you do not seek the simple comfort of a seat?"

"You will take me to them."

"Lady, let introductions take place before serious matters. I seek a name."

"For close companions only. And they would never outright seek what must be earned through simple, mutual trust."

"The offer of comfort and refreshments is unconditional. Through it we may talk business, if business is your sole interest. You would offend your host?" Ulthyr's brows shuffled closer to one another. Lines appeared in his forehead.

"Pretend not that this isn't a gilded cage with smiling wardens." Izuru smoothed the robe beneath her and sat down opposite Ulthyr. "Izuru Numerial. Ranger."

Touching his breast, Ulthyr inclined his head politely. "As I am, Ulthyr, prince of the Void Dragons, second-in-command and partner to her eminence, Saarania; princess of corsairs." Ulthyr smiled at Izuru's hesitancy to touch the Tai. "There is no subterfuge here. Let me pass you mine."

"Keep it."

"Very well." Ulthyr sipped from his cup. "Made from the Verna plant. Handpicked. Something of a pastime for me. You are of Ulthwé?"

Izuru folded her hands in her lap, refraining from breaking eye contact with the prince. That would be an exploitable weakness. Let his questions break like waves upon cliffs.

"Craftworld, commorrite?"

"I serve neither."

"Yet, you were aboard a frigate flying the banner of Ulthwé. Why is this?" Ulthyr stifled a burp. "Mm, beg pardon."

"Were you wise, you would release my offspring and I, granting us safe passage to our destination, further passing your humblest apologies to my mentor, the great and noble chief farseer of the Craftworld Ulthanash Shelwé. He is well aware that I am many cycles overdue." Izuru leant forwards. "If you comply with my wishes, all will be forgiven."

The smile vanishing, Ulthyr spread his arms." Look around you. There are no guards here. You are unshackled. I am unarmed."

"A foul manacle bites the flesh around my neck, pirate! Not a word passes your lips that I can trust. I will speak with your princess, not a subordinate. She is quite clearly—"

"Here to parley." A corsair, female, strode through a gateway behind Ulthyr.

"Your eminence." Ulthyr stood up, gesturing at Izuru to follow suit. In matching surcoat and breastplate, Saarania further matched her bondmate's height, a fraction over two metres, allowing both to loom over Izuru by a good seven inches. Pale and dark, Saarania bore the same angled cheekbones, pointed chin, and even sharper ears, than Ulthyr. Where his eyes were green, hers were a deep violet. Quite stunning, Izuru remarked. Physical properties hold no attraction for me, however. And she is a child-snatcher.

"Dear prince, let us a moment." Saarania ran a hand across Ulthyr's shoulder, all the way down his arm.

"As you wish, your eminence." Ulthyr stepped backwards, bowed, and, retreating three paces, turned to depart. "Shall we make appointment for a later date?" Ulthyr asked Izuru.

"Spite me not, my love. Your gaze lingers so." Saarania's eyes flashed.

Bowing again, Ulthyr left the chamber.

"Where are they?"

Saarania turned her head away, sniffing at the lukewarm tea beneath her. "A scant minute in your company and my dearest loses all sense. Not that he had any sense in the first place. A dear, but with no head for command."

"Where are they?"

The princess drifted to the exterior of the bubble, linking her hands behind her. "The question is, not where, but how."

"Harm either and your fleet shall burn."

"All three-and-a-half thousand ships, for two small lives." A broad grin stretched itself across Saarania's face. "Races have gone to war for pettier reasons in the past."

"I see you have never borne children yourself, pirate."

"Nor have I seen them harmed."

"Tell me..."

"That depends on your cooperation, outcast."

"Ranger."

"Pathfinder?"

"Ranger."

"Hmph, lesser stock than a pathfinder. One of poor breeding. Unable to overcome temptation…"

Poor breeding? How dare you, pirate.

"The more you try and hide it, the more apparent it becomes." Saarania spun, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Speak candidly." Izuru faced the princess.

"You do not address a princess with that language."

"A self-awarded title."

"You have no idea. Your veil hides much, half-caste."

Half-caste? "Rescind it." Izuru's jaw tightened. Her voice rising. "Rescind it at once!"

"Perhaps you can explain your existence further at your trial. But, on the other hand, I could make use of your eyes. Tell me why I should not have you imprisoned indefinitely, trialled then hanged. Maybe I should even send you to Commorragh? Then, your farseer will never find you."

"I can sever a blade of grass at 3500 yards. With longarm and blade I am unparalleled. Interrogation and guerrilla warfare are my—"

"I have no need of an interrogator. Your eyes are keen. Serve the Void Dragons as a sharpshooter and gatherer of knowledge, or die." Saarania showed a ring on her finger at Izuru. "Kiss."

Her mouth a narrow line, Izuru glared at the garish jewellery; a gold band with a purple stone set in the centre. It matched Saarania's eyes exactly.

"Aah, the pride of an outcast. What have you to cling to but life, young ranger? I ask only that you accept my offer and serve as an advisor in my circle. While you will be restricted to the ship, certain doors shall open to you. Quarters shall be provided. A steward shall serve you in whichever manner you see fit. A percentage of the spoils shall be passed on to you, after each operation. I see only one way this stubborn streak will end. Kiss."

Stomach knotting in to a rigid ball, Izuru stepped towards Saarania, a muscle spasming in her cheek. Ulthranwé, forgive me. I have betrayed you.

As distrustful as the so-called prince and princess first appeared, the latter made good on her promise to accommodate Izuru, granting her a sleeping chamber and an approximation of a ranger's hand-woven robes. A mockery of cameleoline! Izuru tossed the folded robes on to her bed, after examining them. An insult to all rangers! Why was I provided with a double-bed? The corsairs apparently lived in somewhat excess, by their wide, oval-shaped beds. Does a simple pallet not suffice? Izuru threw the sheets back and ran a hand underneath the mattress. Such comfort will be the death of us.

Forgoing both the faux-cameleoline and the robe Derin provided, Izuru sat naked, with her knees drawn up to her chin, watching the door. Ilic, Korsarro, I will find you. Do what you will with me, pirate, but leave my children be. Izuru closed her eyes, forcing a single tear out. Stiff and sore muscles left Izuru too uncomfortable to try for sleep. The smouldering fire in her stomach saw to that too. If they will come for me, they will come in the low hours of the morning. Will Saarania keep her word that no harm will befall my children? Izuru rammed her forehead against the bulkhead. May your soul be fed to the Great Serpent, pirate!

What passed for sleep caressed Izuru's bare shoulders, granting her no comfort but the rigid, warm surface of the floor and bulkhead that cut lines in to her back. With one eye open, Izuru kept a lookout, counting away the hours in her head. The low hum of the Gorynych's systems, ever-present, was marked by a disturbance in the background noise. A slap of an object hitting the floor in the corridor outside Izuru's quarters. Come for me, treacherous viper. Izuru sprang forwards, gathering her robe in her hands, bunching two ends of it up then pulling it tight; giving her a shield to meet incoming blows. Poised in a corner, Izuru waited for the assassin to make entry. Confound it. I should have bundled my robes underneath the bed covers. Too late now.

With the unnatural disturbance breaking uniformity for just that split-second, Izuru flexed her toes, her ears reaching out for anything else to grant her insight to her assassin's preparations. Will it simply be a grenade inside the room, or a blade across the neck? Isha knows, I cannot remain like this all night. The folly of simply waiting for the attack struck Izuru. Pre-empt the attacker. Strike first!

Izuru bent low, striking the door release, and scuttled outside, raising her improvised defensive measure in front of her face. A bare corridor, devoid of any grinning, yellow-eyed monsters, sat patiently, as if awaiting something to happen. Where…? Izuru heard a stifled gasp, turned, and lunged at a shadow hiding in a pillar of darkness, gripping a slim arm and launching the shadow sideways. Loose hair flying behind her, Izuru drove the assassin against the open edge of the door, ramming its forehead against the surface, pinning its arm behind its back, and kicking the feet out from under it. Lost for breath, the assassin struggled in Izuru's hold. Propelling it inside, Izuru shut the door and pounced, her weight putting the assassin upon his back. "I am not so easily intimidated, assassin!" she spat, gathering the assassin's wrist between her knees. "A little more pressure and your wrist will be mine."

"I'm not – I'm not!" the corsair moaned. "Not an assassin."

"Then why slither about outside my quarters, snake?" Izuru took a handful of the corsair's hair and struck the back of his head against the floor. "Speak!"

"Curious… I was curious. Saw you earlier. You are not one of us…" The corsair whimpered. "Please, I do not want either of us to get hurt."

"Insincere!" Izuru wrapped her tightened robe about the corsair's neck. "If the princess employs half-wits like you then I have nothing to fear from these pirates."

"P-please. I will serve you." The corsair choked, his eyes rolling up in to his head.

"Until the princess orders you to place a blade in my back, yes."

"I know where your children are…"

Releasing the corsair from a choking death, Izuru shook the robe in to shape, donned it then dug her fingers in to the corsair's hair and hauled him out in to the corridor. "Let us see how sincere you really are, whelp," she growled, relishing the groans the corsair gave. "Come out, pirates, I have your assassin!" The challenges thrown at her by her guards, Izuru ignored, staring point-blank through the levelled muzzles of Derin's corsairs.

"My lady, unhand that corsair." Derin raised the muzzle of his lasblaster.

"Disperse, pirates! This whelp sought entry to my quarters. The princess will answer for this!" Izuru grated. "Do not look at me." She backhanded the squirming corsair.

"My lady, we will see this thing is appropriately punished. Leave it with us, please."

"Unhand me, damn you. The princess will answer. Take me to her, or you will never hear the end of this."

"Stand down." Derin waved the armed corsairs away. "Very well. But, I advise to take a gentler tone. The prince and princess are not keen on disturbances at such an hour."

"Oh, they will listen to me." Izuru pulled the corsair up, thrusting him in front of her, pushing him constantly to keep him off balance. "Do you know him?"

"Not by name, unfortunately, my lady. The princess will pass judgement."

A crowd of onlookers, corsairs in and out of armour, quickly tagged on to Izuru and Derin. Once more, their low chatter focused on the subject of the newcomer, as opposed to the cringing, bleeding corsair. Laughter and grins followed Izuru, with untold pairs of eyes striving to see through her robe at what lay underneath. Surrounded, Izuru pushed the corsair on to his knees, once outside the wide portal that led to the commander's quarters. Derin backed to one side as the portal spun open. Arm in arm, the prince and princess, both in respective sleepwear, came before the ship's company. "Caught something, have you?" Saarania smirked.

"Your assassin would have—"

"He is not one of mine. Perhaps it is paranoia on your behalf?" A ripple of amusement stirred the crowd.

"I would see him punished for the intrusion."

Saarania snorted and whispered in Ulthyr's ear. "Saeros, your curiosity attracts dangerous beasts."

"I – I meant not to offend. I apologise, your eminence," Saeros babbled. "Punish me."

"I will punish your friends and ensure they know who caused it. You, young warrior shall serve her as steward."

"I need no servant!" Izuru's lips drew back from her teeth, clamped firmly together.

Ulthyr laughed. "Besotted are you, Saeros?" Mock oohs and feigned swooning from the onlookers, and the crowd devolved in to fits of laughter.

"He is yours," Saarania said, heading back in to her chambers with Ulthyr. "Be sure to return him when you are done."

The jeering crowd burning her ears, Izuru looked down at Saeros. By the Mother, his years pale with mine. "Up." She kicked Saeros in the side, losing some of the force before her foot connected. Yes, I know how it feels to be the odd one out, young corsair.

"Perhaps a return to your quarters?" Derin appeared at Izuru's shoulder. "The mob will have forgotten about this, come the morrow. I shall see your steward is put to task."

"Steward…" Izuru rubbed a sweaty patch of skin behind her ear. "I have never needed a servant before, I do not need one now."

"Please, do not create a barrier between us and yourself. It will not help." Derin's eyes roved around the steadily-dispersing crowd. "This fickle mob would see any number of their own disgraced, if they could wring pleasure from it."

"Is that the sort of rat's nest I find myself in?"

"Unfortunately so," Derin said under his breath. "If rats could bear grudges…"

"Goodnight, corsair." Izuru inclined her head.

"And you, ranger."

---

Butcher's Rock, Bastille 7-3, 05:21

A shaking hand rescued me from a dream about blind, toothless Orks, clawing about in the dark for me. "Wakey-wakey, Larn. We're shy ten of reveille," Bulaven said.

"Mmm, five-thirty nearly?" I groaned, propping myself upright. "Bloody killer getting up this early."

"Aah, you'll prefer it to Ork long-range snipers waking you at three-ish, just for the hell of it."

"Ork snipers?" I dragged my hand through my matted hair.

"Long-range sniper's just slang for artillery. You'll pick up the local lingo in no time."

"Bull, mmm, I did something last night…"

"Larn, son, don't let D hear this, but he went out before and scoped the bunker out first." Bull touched my shoulder. "He wasn't going to make you waste some of our own boys, just for a laugh. He trying to toughen you up and keep you scared, is all."

"Oh. Oh my…" I pressed my hand against the thump in my chest. "I had no idea…"

"Yeah. Keep it to yourself, alright?" Bull winked and touched a finger to his lips. "Ssh."

"C'mon. Hands off cocks and pull off socks." Davir entered the tent, reaching for my foot, poking out of the blanket, and jiggling it. "Scholar, shake a leg."

"Mm." A click and a tiny, flickering flame danced around Skargo's lined face. Throwing his blanket back, Skargo lit up before his feet were even on the floor.

"Bronchitis, brother?" Davir chuckled at Skargo's hacking cough.

"Pass it round." Skargo handed his lighter to Davir.

"What, bronchitis?"

"Drop dead."

"Thank you." Bulaven lit his own cigarette. "Larn?"

"Ta."

A line of glowing cigarette butts and clouds of breath hung over the bleary-eyed mass of Vardans, slouching in armchairs, awaiting the day's work detail.

"I couldn't find any of the food I saw you make off with, Larn." Davir, lounging in his chair, waved his cigarette at me. "Didn't gobble it all down, did ya?"

"Aw, so you could steal some?" Skargo flicked ash at Davir.

"Ow!" Davir leapt up, flapping his arm.

"Take his chair, Larn," Bulaven hissed, pushing me forwards.

"No—!" Davir jumped back over the arm, forcing his chair on to its back.

"Never mind."

Sergeant Chelkar's arrival and subsequent announcement provoked an indignant outburst, rivalling the ruckus of the previous morning. "All of us are on a dig detail this day." Chelkar ground his teeth, staring the hail of muck and flying cans down. "Fifteen minutes scran prep in the kitchen then it's down the mine. Alright, corporal, fall 'em out, let's get moving!" Chelkar clapped his hands.

"Scran prep?"

"We'll be eating lunch down there. They'll keep us at work all day, Larn."

"Can we go back in the trenches?"

"Ha-ha!" Skargo poked at Davir with his toe. "You'll think back on this fondly when Mister Green is lobbing manned rockets at us."

Corporal Kaulewicz's exhortations halted the chatter buzzing through Alpha. "Moving. Moving!"

Davir tossed his spent butt at Kaulewicz. "I saw that, Davir!"

"Bend over, he's taking you behind the factory, D!" Skargo spat out his own butt.

"Easy there, Scholar." Bulaven thumped the spluttering Skargo on his back. "Kaulewicz doesn't operate till past noon. He'll have a fumble then."

"Hey, Bull, your beard's slacking off. Get it cut!" Kaulewicz jogged up to us, miming a pair of scissors going at Bulaven's beard. "See, he's only as strong as his beard length."

"Kaulewicz, you know what ten-thousand feathered steel darts do to a human body?" Davir said.

"I've seen what they do to Orks. Those flechette canisters do convert greenskins in to lumps of shitty rags. There it is." Skargo prodded the back of Davir's cap. "Number one."

"Beehive rounds? Impossible. Figment of your imagination, Private. Beehive rounds are classified as inhumane, and the imperial fighting man is incapable of being inhumane," Kaulewicz said, nodding his head. "This is the only war we've got. Let's be happy with it."

Is he, is he serious? I glanced at Bull, who smiled. The seventeen minutes of scrounging for morsels in the kitchen to fill our brown paper bags with ended when the mess sergeant, steel-edged slices in both hands, chased us out, threatening to punch Alpha's collective hearts out if we ever tried to steal from him again. Out of the way, I noticed Chelkar and the mess sergeant laughing with one another. Must be some sergeant's joke I'll never understand. I'll probably never even make one stripe, let alone three.

Crossing the dried-up canal with the others, I spied a gaggle of rear-end snuffies, attacking the filth underneath the arches with shovels. "What are they doing?"

"Oh, Canticans." Davir picked his nose and flicked the muck over the edge. "Remember this, Larn. Any time you see Canticans, you're safe from Mister Green. The Canticans ran like rabbits at the first sign of violence on day one, they run like rabbits still. A Cantican infantry platoon is about as lethal as a gang of old ladies throwing rotten veg. They ain't cowards, they just hate the Crotch worse than we do. They ain't stupid either, 'specially when they're doing something they enjoy; like stealing. They dig down in the canal most days, 'cause they believe the scuttlebutt about the rich burying all their valuables there, when Mister Green first made a claim for the surrounding real estate."

"Hump, you lot, hump!" Kaulewicz's arms windmilled behind us. As we moved off, Kaulewicz stayed a moment to spit down at the Canticans.

"So, does young wetback get his easy detail today, as well?" Davir poked at my buttocks with the point of his combat knife, on our entry to the lift.

"Until Larn's body is in the same state as it was issued to him, he rates light detail." Bulaven elbowed Davir. "Same story as it was yesterday for us."

The clanking, grinding lift bore the eighty skuzzy grunts of Alpha underground in gangs of twenty. Again, we were ordered down Zeebers where, again, the apparent pointless bashing of the rockface took place. "Why we doing this?" I asked. "What's the point?"

"Keeps us busy. Keeps us out of the way of the lifers and their stooges. The lifers like to pretend us filthbags stay at the front, round the clock. The mess detail and digging down here keeps us out of their sight, so they can re-organise their filing cabinets, churn out propaganda, and buy booze on the black market in peace," Skargo said.

"Mmm, that's exactly the type of foolery that goes on in the rear." Davir nodded solemnly. "We are closer to the Orks than we are the fiends in the rear."

"We are tight with the Orks. Respect for the big green bastards." Bulaven wiped the sweat shining upon his brow. "Got no respect for the officer-scum. Take the load up, will you, Larn?"

Thoughts about returning to the line dogged my mind, on the upward journey to the collection point. Is this my life now? A bitter, freezing existence at the mercy of the Orks and the lifers?

The tunnel floor quivered underneath my feet. Dust trickled through cracks above my head, finding its way inside my collar. What's that tremor about then? I worked a hand down my collar, scratching at the tickle. "…Dust."

"Watch where you're going!" A Vardan backed in to the sledge, turned, and kicked at it, sweeping buckets off the surface with a paw. Dashed upon the ground, the buckets rolled away, spilling their contents.

"Now look what you've done." The Vardan shoved me against the sledge and stalked off, picking up a bucket and hurling it down a side tunnel.

I stared after the receding headlamp. Leaning over the half-empty sledge, I sighed, a handful of dirt dropping from my fingers. "Slave-labour mercenaries," I muttered, rubbing my empty stomach. Picking up each bucket from where they were sitting, I asked, "what've you got to say for yourself, then?" and slung each one back aboard the ledge. Three, four, five… one's missing. I kicked about the tunnel, playing my torch-beam around lazily. Throne, I really can't be bothered with this. What time is it? I longed for the knocking-off whistle that would allow us to put down our tools. I didn't dare slack off, for fear of the foremen leaping at me from the darkness with their batons.

What brought you down here? I scooped up the last bucket, from where it had rolled a short way down a tunnel, just off the main gallery. Turning to take the bucket back up to the sledge, I caught a flash, just visible at a bend in the tunnel. Is this the same tunnel as yesterday?

Armed with the empty bucket, I trod downhill, edging sideways when the slope sharpened around the bend. Oh, my word. Is this what the Vardans have been digging for? In the centre of another gallery, an object of utterly alien origins sat. Looming fifty feet tall, near enough that the tips of the curving arms could touch the ceiling, the object stood on a podium, well above the ground. A gateway of sorts. To where, though? My skin prickled. Is that metal? The entire structure, luminous violet, shone dimly, even with the array of floodlights hitting it. Sheeting crackled under my boots, the smell of fresh plastic mingling with the thin layers of dust in the air. Cables criss-crossed the sheeting, trailing to and from the spotlights and their respective generators, each one running silent. The persistent hum from the gateway seemed to grow, the closer I crept. Bulbous gems sparkled in the arch. A pair of four-legged braziers supported the arches on both sides. Upon these braziers, slim, curving statues with preposterous proportions, wearing bone-white helmets, adorned with giant, curving crests, guarded the gateway. A soft whisper of wind lapped at the hems of my bloused trouserlegs when I set my eyes upon the tiny, blinking slits in the guardian's helmet. What are you?

Voices, echoing down the tunnel, spun me around to face the gallery's sole means of escape. "Shit." A pair of mucky bootprints, brown smears upon the clean, grey sheeting, stood out boldly. Opening and closing my fists, I cast about for a hiding place. With the exception of the generators, neither cubbyhole nor shadowy corner offered themselves to me. Can't use the generators. They'll see my shadow! "Aw, James, what are you doing?" I groaned, tearing up a corner of the sheeting and burrowing my way underneath the brazier I was closest to. One only had to look through the squat legs to see the grunt-sized lump, hiding in the spot a child might have chosen if they were playing hide and seek. Conscious of the horrid rustling the sheeting gave, if even the tiniest movement was made, I leant against the side of the podium and listened to the voices.

"…be too careful with the common soldiery listening in."

"Well, it's the common soldiery we need, if we are to activate this device and withdraw our staff. I would not volunteer any of my own to attempt entry." Many pairs of boots crashed across the ground, drowning out anything else that was said. Only once the last man had stopped shuffling, did I hear the officers' voices clearly.

"I suppose it is good we keep on with the other tunnels, despite our objective being achieved a good four months ago. Gives those brutes something to do whilst they are away from the front."

"Yes, General, my thought's exact. Again, though, I am averse to the application of xenos technology—"

"Again, it will be recorded, commissar."

"Thank you, General."

"Will a formal ceremony be held, Field Marshal Kerchan?"

Field Marshal Kerchen, one commissar, and at least one general.

"Celebrating xenos tech, Colonel Drezlen? I should think not. All of our staff shall be sworn to secrecy, on pain of obliteration."

Colonel Drezlen. I held my breath. What's this officer's plot about?

"Field-grade officers and above, Field Marshal?"

"Oh, I should think at least captain and above. The other ranks can continue to man the trenches, and be none the wiser. Since the lines have been static for the past nine years, GHQ's staff can egress from the combat zone without repercussion."

Egress from the combat zone. What the hell is going on here?

"Hear-hear."

"Yea, I say. Filthy savages…"

"I would add that we need a group of volunteer savages to attempt passage."

"Well, Commissar Valk, can you volunteer some Canticans for a little hazardous detail?"

"Mm, I might suggest Vardans instead, Field Marshal? Canticans are greedy, thieving, odious little people. Vardans are thick as oxen, yet rival a grox in brute force."

"Vardans, general?"

"Well, I would say Commissar Valk has his information spot on the mark. Make it so, Commissar."

"Be glad to, sir."

Lifer scumbags. How can they speak about the Vardans like that? I added another name to my list: Valk. What the hell good's it going to do? I bit my lip, my hands tightening on the leg I lay behind. I bet the others are worrying about me. Bull, at least. Come on, leave, damn you!

The surface I leant against had long warmed by the time the gang of conspiracists left the chamber. Rising up from beneath the sheet, I gritted my teeth. Needles had pricked my spine, dotting up and down my back. Rubbing the tender area, I fixed my eyes on the tunnel mouth, letting out a terrific lungful of air, stifling a rising tickle in my throat. Never thought xenos would protect me. Thanks for that. I reached up, almost on tiptoes, and patted the guardian. Throne, I was lucky with the muck I left behind. I hurried away from the gateway, a spring in my step.

Zaineth sin-kel.

"Oh!" Whirling around, I stumbled backwards, clapping a hand over my dry mouth. The gems sparkled. The humming spread outwards, filling the chamber and my ears with a buzz. "What the fu—?" Inhaling and exhaling loudly, I crashed across the sheeting, fleeing back up the tunnel. Damn the lifers. What the hell just spoke to me then?

---

The Gorynych - Morning Cycle

She appears somewhat bored, thought Saeros Darhathyr, trailing the felarch, Derin, and the cloaked and hooded Lady Numerial. How do we please her? This tour of the decks has done nothing but stretch her patience. Since taking her morning meal in her quarters – after Saeros had fetched it for her – Lady Numerial, escorted by the felarch, was taken on a guided tour of the Gorynych, beginning aft on the upper decks then working through the centre of the ship to the bows, before descending further in to the ship's belly. This exact route was no doubt given to Derin by the princess. Under the felarch's supervision, the ranger was shown the hangar deck, where the corsair's main compliment of Nightwing fighters were birthed, along with the squadrons of jetbikes and tanks for atmospheric operations, the Gorynych's bridge, the engineering wing, the living quarters, the recreational facilities; all of it the princess permitted Lady Numerial to see. Scores of corsairs followed the foreigner with glinting eyes. Wide grins were wetted by flickering tongues, attracted to the ranger's strange allure. The lowest deck, the holding facilities, were off-limits. As a rule, only the jailers were staffed down there, and constant rotations were in effect. No corsair was on warden duty for more than three cycles, at least that was what Saeros was told. Lady Numerial's only comment throughout the tour was on the recreational wing, and that was only after the odour of the casual narcotics use had drifted outside, enveloping the three in an invisible cloud of stink. "No doubt, other debauchery takes place there." Lady Numerial muttered, her nose wrinkling.

"I apologise for my fellow corsair's indiscretion," Derin said. "Come, the portal chamber awaits."

"Must we continue?" Lady Numerial sneered. "I tire of walls and sealed portals. Let me breathe fresh air."

"The princess's orders."

"I am a prisoner."

"As prisoner, you would not have nearly as much freedom as you are currently granted." Derin indicated the ship around them. "This is her kindness. You should be grateful."

"A hound, lapping at its master's outstretched hand I am not. As guest, I am compelled to remain seated and silent."

Derin tapped the butt of his pike on the deck. "It is this or slavery. You would not wish to follow your shipmates where they were sent. The choice you made to serve the princess was no hard decision."

"It is a betrayal of the mentor I served. Long may he hold dominion over Ulthwé."

"Yes, I see you are ever loyal, Lady Numerial." Derin turned to Saeros. "Saeros, why not speak freely. Do not be a silent, brooding shadow."

"I do not give him the liberty." Lady Numerial's gold eyes flashed. Saeros's heart jumped.

"A second shadow you need not. Let the youth speak."

Saeros clasped his hands together and dipped his head, the attention received brought on a quiver in his jaw. "Would the lady see the portal chamber?"

"Head up. Straight back, young corsair. 'Tis rude to avoid eye contact."

"Look at me." Lady Numerial's sharp voice cut through the tumult in Saeros's ears. "Look up at me."

"I beg your pardon, my lady." Saeros, flushing, met the ranger's eyes.

"Have eyes never beheld a ranger before?"

"No, my lady," Saeros stammered.

"Perhaps insignificance is all you are bound for? The princess is punishing your friends for your imprudence. How will they regard you now?"

A fist gripped Saeros's windpipe. "I have no friends, lady."

"You torture the poor youth for naught, Lady Numerial. He has yet to prove himself."

"Stand up straight and look this ranger in the eye."

On the command, Saeros met the blazing eyes. "As you command."

"Lead me to the portal chamber."

"Yes, my lady." Saeros bowed, waiting for the ranger to move in front of him. A levelled glare from her caused a jerk to Saeros's gut. He was to walk in front of her now.

Spacious though it was, the Gorynych housed only a single portal; a fifty-foot-high gateway leading to identical structures in range. "Yes, an impressive specimen," Lady Numerial said. "Quite the artefact, and useless to the Druchii too."

"Indeed it was, my lady," Derin said.

"What lies beyond?"

"Unknown. The princess forbids its use. We are unsure if the tunnel remains whole."

Saeros's eyes strayed over to the ranger's robes when she moved towards the portal, glancing at the forest camouflage and the swell of her chest. No, I mustn't. Saeros bit the inside of his mouth and further pinched the skin on his wrist. Damn myself.

"Stray no closer, please, my lady. The portal is in slumber."

"At full power, the portal saps exactly seventy-one per cent of all power output on the ship," Saeros said, earning him a look from the ranger, whose hood held the shadow firmly over her face.

"A prudent reason to leave the construct well alone." Derin's voice lowered to a whisper. "Wraithbone listens."

Shutting his mouth, Saeros squeezed his eyes shut. A foolish remark. I am forever a petty pirate in her eyes.

Lady Numerial, taking another step towards the portal, froze. "Human?"

"Pardon?" Derin hefted his pike, moving to the ranger's shoulder. "Human, did you say?"

The ranger raised a hand and, fingers outstretched, pointed at the centre of the portal. "I saw a… just a glimpse. I was looking through the portal, as if naught but a barrier of water separated me from the other side."

"Saw whom, my lady?" Saeros's ears twitched. "Can we be away from here?"

"My lady, let us adjourn, please."

"A shape. Bipedal. There was a cave…" Lady Numerial stroked her chin. "I would meditate here, if the princess permits it."

"Wraithbone whispers…" Derin showed Lady Numerial the way out of the chamber. "Please, enough time has been spent here. Let us return to your quarters. Saeros, fetch Lady Numerial a noon meal."

"As you command, Felarch." Saeros scampered in the opposite direction of the ranger and her escort, dodging the prowling gangs of off-duty corsairs roving the decks. Saeros stole through the rear-entrance to the kitchen, in to the pantry, unobserved by the cooks. A meal fit for a lady, not for a corsair, Saeros thought, swiping all manner of food he could find in to a sack. Nothing venomous and no neurotoxins, Saeros. Fruit, bread, honey, dried meat, and a flask containing an orange liquid of unknown origins, Saeros stole. Shouldering the sack, he scooted out of the pantry, ducking to avoid falling under the eyes of one of the cooks, who wore a cleaver on his belt. And, farewell to you. Saeros laughed silently, waving at the backs of the cooks on his way out.

Three decks up, Saeros stopped in the silent corridor outside of Lady Numerial's quarters and composed himself, letting his thunderous heartbeat calm. Easy. Breathe in and out, Saeros. Parting before him, the doors slid open to an empty room. "My lady?" Saeros took a step across the threshold. The bed was made tidily and the grey gown the lady slept in was hanging up in the corner.

"Loosen your hold." The ranger spoke from behind.

Saeros's mouth dropped. Slackening immediately, his fingers let go of the sack. "I'm – I'm sorry. I must beg forgiveness, my lady…"

"Why must you beg forgiveness?" Lady Numerial walked past Saeros and opened the sack. A scant second's examination and she thrust the sacks back at Saeros. "Human food, dispose of it."

"I…I…I stole it for you."

"You did what?" Frowning, Lady Numerial brought out the flask of juice, turning it around in her hand. "As a thief would…"

"I know how to acquire certain items…"

"Be silent. Seal the door." Lady Numerial lowered her hood. Uncovered, and with the light shining on her face, the ranger looked far less imposing to Saeros. Gone was the wild-haired nightmare who had dragged Saeros by the scalp, as a beast would its captive prey. "Be seated."

"Yes, my lady." Saeros sat on the carpet and crossed his legs, looking straight up at the ranger, sat on the edge of her bed. "There is a mixture of bread, honey, fruit—"

"Speak only when spoken to. We are no equals." Lady Numerial bit deeply in to a fresh peach and regarded Saeros, sitting before her. "Where are my children? You said you knew where, corsair. Tell me."

Not one to mince words! Saeros linked hands and swallowed. "The prince and princess's quarters. They are vast, so much so that the prince and princess only venture out to command us on operations. They do not fraternise. Ever. Your children are there."

"You know how to acquire certain items?"

"All small-arms are checked and counted at the end of every standard cycle, my lady."

"All I require is a knife. You stole from the kitchen. Find me the sharpest knife you can. Bring it to me."

"My lady, I cannot betray my kind."

"I do not belong here. Nor do my children. What does Saarania desire with them?"

Saeros spoke in a hushed voice. "Rumours…"

Lady Numerial beckoned with two fingers, both sticky with juice.

Turning red, Saeros bent to whisper in her ear. "The princess is barren."

Drawing back, Saeros started when Lady Numerial offered the sack's content to him. "I have your support then?"

Nodding, Saeros dived in to the sack. "By your leave, my lady." He showed the ranger the flask. "Made from pressed fruits. Orange is its flavour, I believe."

Lady Numerial took the flask and flicked off the stopper, swirling the liquid around and sniffing it.

"Good for your health." Saeros sat back down on the floor, trying to remain dignified whilst he ate.

"Why are you friendless, Saeros?" Lady Numerial took a sip of the orange juice, the peach stone still in her other hand.

"…Shy. I, I am a poor talker."

"You are corsair, are you not?" Lady Numerial dropped the stone in to Saeros's hand.

"Unblooded. Shy of his first operation. My presence offends you…" Saeros scrambled over to the door.

"You are not dismissed, corsair."

"I… apologies."

"Sit."

Saeros trudged over to the warm patch of carpet and sat himself back down, falling under the ranger's gaze again. "If I might inquire, my lady. You are of the Craftworld Ulthwé?"

Lady Numerial leant forwards on her knees, her slim fingers linking through one another. "Iyanden-born, Alaitoc-raised, Ulthwé-mentored."

Saeros's breath caught in his throat. "Kurnous. Never have I encountered one as well-travelled or as beautiful as you, lady." Saying it, Saeros choked, his hand flying to his throat.

"Stay your flattering tongue, youth. If skin has not brushed another's intimately, I suggest you seek a mate before your curious eyes land you peril. Offer me no pathetic excuse. Do you wish to play the victim in life? Or will you become the warrior I expect of you?"

Saeros raised his head to look at Lady Numerial. "I am yours to command, my lady."

Staring down her nose at Saeros, the ranger said, "you shall do exactly as I say, when I say it. Disobey me and I will make you suffer. Begone."

"My Lady." Saeros rose, bowed, and made for the door.

"Izuru Numerial."

Saeros half-turned, his mouth dry. "Saeros Darhathyr," he replied. It was a struggle not to smile when he left the ranger's quarters. A warmth arose in his chest, reaching right up to his ears.

---

Butcher's Rock, The Tunnels

Loose stones swept the feet out from under me, sending me crashing down on my chest. "Aah, God…" I clawed at the uneven ground, dragging myself upright. From other tunnels, leading out of the collection point, headlamps bobbed and swivelled as Vardans tramped out to where they had stowed their lunches inside wheeled hampers. Ordered to seek my own packed lunch out by my stomach, I floundered through the hulking Vardans, slipping down Zeebers and sinking to my knees next to Bulaven, Skargo, and Davir. The sledge was back in its place, and home to full containers.

"We got a new recruit?" Davir sniggered. "Bit eager, in't he?"

"Yours." Bulaven lifted a brown paper bag up.

"Erm…" I wheezed. "Lifers… plot… portal… fiend marshal."

"Fiend marshal!" Davir, beaming, slapped his knee. "Couldn't 'ave said it better."

"Slow down. Slow down." Skargo gripped the back of my neck. "Where did you go, Larn? We were all wondering."

The names of the officers I had heard, I reeled off to the three, repeating several times when I tripped over my words. Skargo's mouth made a small O. "We know those names, don't we, boys?"

"Hmm, Kerchan's the big boss around here. Drezlen's a full-bird colonel. You say you heard a Valk? Brass hat would just love to towel-flick his way out of here. Scumbag."

"General Dushan. Colonel Vlin?" Davir's face darkened. "Bet they'll be part o' that crowd."

"Who did you see, Larn?" Bulaven placed my lunch next to me.

"I had me head down. Wasn't gonna move an inch." I shook my head. "Some xenos magic…"

"Shush!" Skargo put a finger to his lips. "Larn, don't mention this to anyone else, alright? There's no xenos here, 'cept Mister Green and his lifers."

"Naw, that's where the greenskins have it better than us. No lifers to order them around. Only the hardest grunts get to be officers, and they get to waste any grunts that don't behave. That's how we should run things here."

A rumbling cut Davir short. Taking ahold of Bulaven's shoulder, I clapped my cover on, ducking as dirt poured down on us. "Bull, I…"

"Getting more frequent, that." Davir hunched over, shielding his scran. "Aw, no, don't spoil my lunch."

"It's the portal doing it!"

"What?"

"The – the gateway's alive. It's – it's breathing or something. It spoke to me."

"Enough of him. He's gone 'round the bend, good and proper!" Davir cried.

"Spoke?" Bulaven grabbed Skargo and Davir by the scruff of their necks and lifted them upright. "A change in tavern is needed, I think, lads."

Their lunches spilling from their laps, Davir, Skargo, and Bulaven hurried out of Zeebers, with me at the head, holding my bag inside the parka. Once back at the collection point, the three put me in a secluded corner, as far away from the other Vardans as was possible in the crowded gallery.

"Hey, what did it say to you?" Skargo latched on to my arm and refused to let go. "Might need to see this one."

"No, Scholar, you daft grox." Davir punched Skargo in the back. "You went down the wrong tunnel, boy. Saw something you shouldn't have."

"Yeah, but it's the reason why this dig's happening. It's all pointless now…" I whined.

"We're redundant here." Skargo shook off Davir's hand. "C'mon, Larn, let's have a look at this then."

"Hey. If the foremen catch you…" Bulaven, raising a finger, narrowed his eyes. "D, up you get. Deadly Delta's investigating."

"Can't we leave it alone?"

"No, ssh."

The others' heads and shoulders scraped the passageway behind me. "You'd think they didn't want us to find this thing," Bulaven grunted. "Aww, my neck."

"You hear it?" I stopped before the bend. "Oi, listen."

"Nah, nothing." Davir kicked Skargo in the shins. "This twat's blocking me."

"Um, we're gonna have to get closer." Skargo plugged a finger in his ear and twisted it. "Hearing's not what it once was."

On the downwards leg, I waved the others out in to the portal chamber. "It's right over 'ere."

Davir swore loudly. Skargo unfolded his Guard-issue glasses and hooked the wiry arms over his ears. "Throne of Terra," he whistled.

"Bull, come look." I followed my drying footprints, over to the base of the gateway. "You hear it now?"

"What was it you heard?" Bulaven blundered across the sheeting, shaking a boot free of a corner it was dragging along with it. "Why have they laid this…?"

"It's quite striking." Davir shielded his eyes. "There's definitely something I can hear."

"You didn't touch it, did you?" Skargo scrutinised the odd, bonelike material. "Could be dangerous."

"Larn?"

"Uhh, I might have done…" I looked between Skargo and Bulaven and shrugged. "I had to hide from the lifers somehow."

Another tremor shook the chamber. "Nah, I'm not hanging around for a cave-in." Davir took off for the tunnel, very nearly colliding with another party emerging. It was led by Kaulewicz.

"Skargo, Davir, what the fuck are you doing?" Kaulewicz barked. "Not s'posed to come in here."

"Oh, you knew, did ya?" Davir sidestepped around him.

"Nuh-uh, you and the other three little green men in this fireteam are off to see the colonel." Kaulewicz's arm swung in to Davir's solar plexus. Davir gave an oof and fell against a rock. "And you, Bull, Skargo, and the wetback." Kaulewicz unslung a lasgun, flicking the muzzle at us. "Most kosh!"

"Larn." Bull motioned to me. "Quickly now."

"Them officers are in on it."

"Right, a special meeting with Commissar Valk for the wetback." Kaulewicz snarled, jerking his thumb at the tunnel. "Up that tunnel. Fast. I'm calling the commissar otherwise."

"Larn, please." Bulaven dove for my arm. I shrunk away, backing up on to the slope, leading up to the gateway.

"Hold!" Kaulewicz aimed at me. "Not one step further, wetnose."

"He touched the xenos construct," Davir crowed. "He's causing this."

"Shut up, Davir." A flurry of arms hauled Davir in to the growing crowd behind Kaulewicz.

"I'm fetching Chelkar, New Fish. He'll punch your heart out, for sure." Kaulewicz came towards me, the butt of his lasgun resting against his hip. "You were never one of us, off-worlder. Little lost soldier, can't keep his hands to himself. You touched that xenos thing, that makes you a heretic. We hang heretics. I wonder how long you'll struggle. Little legs kicking there. The blue tint in your skin. The shit loosing from your guts."

"Alright, Kaulewicz, you made your point." Bulaven, his jaw set, glared at the noncom. "You're talking about a fellow grunt that crawled out of no-man's land after he took frag in the spine. Crawled, in daylight, after officer-scum left him behind. I'd have him in my fireteam."

"Stand down, Bull, that is a direct order!" Spit flew from Kaulewicz's mouth.

"Bull's right." Skargo's hands were in his pockets. "We don't take arms to each other. It's us and the lifers. You're not in with the lifers, are you?"

Kaulewicz turned his sights on Skargo then Bulaven. "Okay, okay, meat-brains. You are all off to the commissar. That is all of Delta Fireteam, First Squad, Fourth Platoon. All four fannies." Kaulewicz trained his lasgun upon me. "Come down."

The hum surrounded me, rippling across my clothes. Kaulewicz, his eye to his sights, sent a blisteringly hot particle beam past my ear.

"Oi, that's enough of that." Bulaven slapped the smoking muzzle aside. "Like shooting at unarmed grunts, do ya?"

"Say another word and you're not getting a warning shot." Kaulewicz spat at Bulaven. "I want Chelkar down here!"

Upon my knees, I touched the raw flesh on my right cheek, fingertips pressing in to my reddened ear which gave off an acute ringing. Submerged in an invisible tank of water, I was dimly aware of the Vardans arguing. More rocks and earth fell in showers, dousing the Vardans in grey waterfalls, many covering their heads, others falling to the floor and cowering as the violent tremor shook the cavern.

"…out, get out!" A muffled voice screamed. The collective rush for the exit was engulfed in a cloud of dust. Howls echoed from the passage. Davir, Kaulewicz, and seven others careened back in to the cavern, each Vardan a grey ghost underneath a dust-coated helmet. Bulaven squatted underneath the gate and hugged me. "S'alright, Larn."

"J-James," I coughed.

"You're alright, James."

"You've trapped us!" Kaulewicz rushed at me. "Little shit trapped us in here."

"Oi, give over!" Skargo made to tackle Kaulewicz. "Leave the poor lad alone."

Kaulewicz, spitting oaths, grappled with Skargo, driving a knee up in to his groin.

"Leave it. We're wasted, throwing hands with one another!" Bulaven put a foot forwards and met Kaulewicz head-on, both men locking with one another in a scrum. "Stand down, Corp!"

Vardan ghosts barrelled up to the gateway, taking hold of Kaulewicz's arms and shoulders. "You've had your chance, Kaulewicz." Davir kicked at Kaulewicz's knees. "We're in charge now."

Larger chunks of the cave roof crashed down upon the floodlights, buckling the bodies underneath the weight, cutting out the light, beam by beam, until it was only the humming gateway left.

"Move, if you wanna live!" Bulaven picked me up and shoved me towards the gold-tinged cloud swirling around the centre of the gate. "Everyone through!"

Piece by piece, my body was stripped to atoms, thoroughly shaken, and forced back together. Blinded by the brilliant white light, I collapsed, twin trails of blood oozing from my nostrils, dripping from my upper lip.

"Where the fuck have you brought us?" Kaulewicz's nasal voice rasped. Skargo, on his hands and knees beside me, threw up.

"Oh… Eurgh… don't think Larn did this, Corp." Skargo wiped his bile-flecked lips on his sleeve.

"My nose!" Davir cried.

"Where are we?" Bulaven tottered about, his hand pressed to his temple.

"Anybody got their gun?" Davir asked. "'Cept Kaulewicz."

Towering above us, the gate, resonating with light, dimmed. It was the sole construct habiting the chamber, along with spikes dotting the walls and chains dangling from the ceiling.

"Don't reckon this is Broucheroc anymore." Skargo squinted at the needle-like spikes. "Shit, broke my glasses."

"The Crotch will give you a new pair, Scholar." Davir rolled up a tissue and plugged his nose.

"The Crotch hasn't given me anything since the Clap."

"Shut up, you two." Kaulewicz picked up his lasgun, unclipping the charge pack and shoving it back in.

"Oi, look."

One of a pair of arching doors at the end of the room spiralled as the edges unlocked from one another, parting to reveal a slim, tall figure in tight-fitting, gun-metal body armour and a bullet-shaped, crimson helmet. Quicker on the uptake than any of the Vardans, the unarmed xenos bolted.

"Xenos!" Kaulewicz exclaimed, firing a single shot that whizzed over the xenos's left shoulder. "Waste him!"

"Kaulewicz, come back." Bulaven's hands dug in to my armpits. "What we gonna fight them with, huh?"

"Bare bloody hands." Kaulewicz bawled.

"No, we fucking won't." Skargo snapped. "Let's live to fight another day."

"Number ten." Kaulewicz turned his back upon us, striding towards the onrush of armed xenos, appearing in the passageway before him. Exactly three shots were fired. Two by Kaulewicz, one by a xenos soldier, ending up with Kaulewicz and a single xenos on the floor, the latter bearing a black hole in his torso, the former with his skull split down the middle; bubbling, boiling flesh melting away from the smouldering bone.

"No, no guns!" Skargo put his hands up.

"Surrender!" Davir, also reaching for the sky, folded himself behind Skargo. The xenos's stampeding boots stormed around the jam-packed flock of bodies we became. Squashed in to the centre, I lost my footing and slipped downwards, my cry lost in the roar of xenos and human voices.

"James!" Bulaven's searching fingers grasped at thin air as I was lost in the trample of boots. A toecap came flying at me, slamming in to my mouth and scraping skin off my face. The grating shouts of the armoured xenos bombarded my ears, filling my head with horrific alien chatter as I drifted down in to deep slumber.