(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.

7. Chapter 7

The Gorynych

The foursome of Izuru, Saeros, Derin, and Maess donned the articles of clothing belonging to the Adeptus Mechanicus, laid out for them on tables set up in the shadow of a captured Arvus Lighter in preparation for their insertion. Unwashed and holed in places, the blood-red robe Izuru took on over her supple breastplate smelt as well. How in the name of the Mother am I to move with any fluidity in this stinking garment?

"Madam?" Saeros, in identical garb, approached. "Have orders been given in detail? I do not know the why of this undertaking."

"Nor I, Saeros. Nor I." Izuru crouched down and fastened the metallic overshoes Saeros wore to pass for the lumbering boots of the machines. With only the toes visible underneath the robe, the disguise would pass all but the closest scrutiny.

"Aah, no, it presses!" Saeros yelped. "Please, they crush my feet."

"Then exchange them with my own." Izuru set about removing the clasps, one by one, then passed Saeros her own boots. "I have demonstrated. Now you must carry out the procedure unattended."

"Yes, my lady. Gratitude." Saeros limped away.

"Ignorance will preserve him, lady." Derin placed a set of goggles and a rebreather on the table beside Izuru. "This will shield you from human scrutiny."

Izuru tutted. "As a trained specialist, I would have the comfort of knowing the basic outline of the mission before embarking in to the unknown. Were you privy?"

Derin's head drooped until his chin touched his breast. "…No. I believe her eminence passed all the details on to the wayforger, who will brief us upon our insertion in to human territory."

"During or after?"

"I do not know, my lady."

"Have you doubts?"

"None whatsoever. I eagerly anticipate observing a ranger in the field." Derin pulled the adjustable strap of his own rebreather over his head and let the device hang from his neck. "Your footwear?"

"The young one's feet took issue with his pair. I offered him an exchange…"

"Lady Numerial?"

"Y-yes, I will – I will finish preparations." Izuru blinked. The stumble stirred a bubble of unease in her gut. Why did I do that?

From the tight confines of the Arvus, Maess dropped. "Please, Felarch, Ranger, Corsair, if you would find accommodation within, we can be underway."

"No farewell committee?" Izuru winced at the pressure upon her feet with the fastening of the tight clasps.

"Vliss observes from afar." Saeros, his rebreather dangling down his chest, returned.

"No lecherous prince creeping in the shadows?" Izuru plucked the overshoes from her own footwear. "Kaela, I must go without. Unless further pairs were provided?"

"My lady…" Saeros stooped to unfasten his own boots.

"Stay that compassionate hand, young one," Derin said. "Your mistress did not command you."

Saeros backed away, the tips of his ears darkening.

"No matter, let us away." Izuru gestured for Saeros to embark. "Saeros?"

"After you, my lady." Derin tailed Izuru as both climbed the ramp leading up inside the Arvus.

"Built for the lesser species…" Saeros muttered, his head tilted to one side.

"Find your seat, young one." Izuru touched the muzzle of the long rifle that poked out of the narrow bag sitting next to the pilot's seat. Checking in her peripheral vision for any observation, Izuru slid a wraithbone knife from the bag and tucked it away.

"One wonders how such a stunted species grew to such potency, while ours declined." Derin groaned. Only seated did he have room to move his head without constraint. "Identification belonging to a Menial of the Adeptus Mechanicus." Derin handed Izuru a yellowed booklet to keep. "Memorise the name and details of the being. Saeros?"

Tyssa Marchent. Izuru gazed at the black-and-white profile of the human-machine hybrid. To taint one's flesh with cybernetics is unthinkable. A cannibalisation of the sacred body. Izuru licked a finger and flicked through the pages. "The machine has not received its requisite stamps in this paybook for nine Imperial months." Izuru raised the blank pages and showed them to Derin. "The profile does not resemble me in the slightest, Felarch. Saeros, your identification tells a similar tale?" Saeros's weathered ID drooped in his hands.

"Our heights will arouse suspicion also," Izuru said. "Do you know the average height of the mechanical slaves, Felarch?"

"I do not, madam. Ours is to serve, not to question." Derin worked at the adjusters on the harness across his chest. "Please, the both of you, find comfort where you sit. T'will be many hours before we breach Grendel's atmosphere. Memorise your aliases."

"I cannot." Izuru unclasped her harness and stood up. "The stench of the humans lies heavy…"

"Please, please consider your options, my lady." Derin waved at Saeros to sit down. "The princess will make a corpse of you for such open defiance. I am embittered at your situation, 'tis unenviable, but you must see this through without question. Opportunity may arise in the near-future where you might reclaim your offspring and be free once more. But it will not be this day."

Izuru grasped an overhead hold and stared down at Derin. "You are loyal to the princess. This places us at odds. It may aggrieve me on the day we regard one another through our respective gunsights."

"The pain will be all mine, lady. But, for now let us set the future aside and remain professional cohorts."

"I wonder if you truly know who it is you serve?" Izuru sat back in her seat. "Why you continue to do so?"

"And tell me…" Derin leant forwards. "Why does an outcast of Alaitoc serve Ulthwé. What loyalty is that?"

Conscious of the building roar of the Arvus's propulsion, Izuru turned her head and closed her eyes. No stories for you today, Felarch, for through you the princess listens.

"My lady?"

"Disturb her not, young corsair. She is wise to take sleep when she can."

"How can she…?"

"Hold your tongue. You will never speak on Grendel unless addressed by the felarch, the wayforger, or the ranger. The language of the humans is unknown to you, is it not?"

"We were taught only that it was a barbarous tongue, and that our rifles and blades are the sole means of communications with their kind."

"A firm hand, I agree. But retain a cool head always. Dispense with sentiment and harden your heart. They are enemy."

"I remember the young human on Platis," Saeros murmured. Izuru's eyes snapped open.

"Recall not the target, but your failure to take it. Learn from a mistake, so it may never be committed again."

"Nothing more on Platis," Izuru snapped. "Either of you. Tread not in the darkness of the past."

"I am sorry, my lady." Saeros looked down at his hands in his lap.

"Grendel awaits," Derin said. "May your fortunes change."

Izuru's gaze lingered on Saeros. "Did you listen to your felarch?"

"Yes, my lady."

"Be seen and not heard. That is all you need know. Now, enough chatter. Rest. You do not know when the next opportunity to sleep will present itself."

Saeros nodded. "I understand, Lady Numerial."

"We strike a new page in this song." A smile touched the corners of Izuru's lips. The song of bloody-handed revenge.

---

Tetrarch Lander, Grendel Atmosphere

The men of Battery B, no more a gang of street-thug lookalikes, filled the buttock-numbing bucket seats in the Tetrarch's hold. All odds and ends turned in to Quartermaster Branch, the battery was now clad in simple olive-grey fatigues in numerous shades. Trousers and jackets, from field green, to stone grey, to shades of khaki; no two articles of clothing were alike. Reissued body armour – zip-up flak jackets – bulked up each grunt. Heavy kitbags, standard OG, held all available deck space hostage with their bulk.

"Guess we're not important enough to get the good stuff." Art tugged at the ¾-inch collar of his flak jacket.

"'Cause it's not a proper war, that's why," Wenrok said. "It's a security detail. We're gonna be standing 'round on street corners looking tough."

"Mmm, catch the bird's eyes doin' that." Kerris, opposite me, grinned. "Proper cushy billet too, I hope."

"You alright, James?" Art nudged me. "Bit peaky there."

"Urgh, last lander I was in came a cropper." I massaged my aching temples.

"How's the headgear?"

"Overture's done now. It's a full orchestra beating out a piece in there now."

"Ask Reimer if you can pop down to A branch and see the MO later."

"What branch?"

"Medical Officer, he'll hit you up with some pills, maybe a prescrip… prescription." Art sat up in his seat. "Ooh, you hear that?"

"S'all quiet." Samuel poked Wyrig. "Wiry-boy, we're planetside."

"Comfy ride that." Art bent over his kitbag. "Here's to a cushy billet."

"Number Four, on your feet!" Sergeant Reimer sidled along the passage, kicking at unattended kitbags. "On the command, form single file and follow the gunner in front of you. We are about to debus on to Grendel. Samuel, do not leave that bag behind. I want it presented when we get to barracks as full as it was when you heaved in it on the way down. Bombardier, make sure he keeps it with him."

"C'mon, Samuel, one hand on your kitbag." Stazak thumped Samuel on the back. "Fresh air'll do you good."

"Got some fluff hanging off your…" Art plucked at my fresh beret. Lairs wore dark blue berets shaped to the right. Mine, freshly-issued, I soaked in water for a time and moulded it to my head whilst taking care to leave the liner in. I wasn't sure that the metal crest of the regiment, displayed on my cover, was something I deserved.

"Pray for a clear sky." I put on a smile. "Shall we?"

A miasma of aircraft fuel and choking wind greeted Art and I on our climb down from the Tetrarch's belly and on to an airstrip in the shadow of iron-grey rainclouds. Flooded with personnel ships, the tarmac vibrated upon each subsequent take-off and touch-down. Puddles, trembling with ripples, leapt upon the gunner's boots as they splashed through single-file. "Cheery." Art weaved around a deep puddle. "Better than Butcher's Rock though, eh?"

I made a face and nodded at another Tetrarch showing us its innards. A six-wheeled armoured car with a stubby cannon in its turret was rolling down the wide ramp. "Security detail? What's the armour for then?"

"When's the Crotch ever done things half-arsed." Art shrugged. "Show of force, innit?"

"Alright, Number Four Gun, single file and follow the other crews. Lively now." Reimer chivvied us along. "Iggery. Stazak, police the tail-end."

"Iggery, that's a new one."

"Fast, James."

"Yep, before it starts to chuck it down."

"Fizzers, you two?" Stazak squawked.

"No thanks, Bombardier," Art replied. "Say no, James," he whispered to me.

"No, Bombardier."

"Good answers. Now, chop-chop."

What's a fizzer then? Dogged by Stazak, Art and I made after the other gunners. Even the bombardier plugged his ears when a Tetrarch bellowed overhead. In the swirl, berets scattered to the four winds, mine included. Hoots of laughter came from shrewd grunts who carried on, smug that they had kept their covers in check. I fell out and scooped up the cover, wiping the droplets from the crown and reseating it.

"And here comes the rain…" Art's pace slowed. "Wait."

"Rain be damned, that's incoming mail!" Stazak cried. "INCOMING!"

Short, sharp whinnies of falling mortars preceded whip-cracks as the shells burst, flinging flecks of boiling tarmac in the air. The gunners broke lines, scattering to hide underneath hulls and behind landing claws. "Who's doing that?" Somebody shouted aloud. "Is this a war?"

"Is this a war!" Wenrok laughed.

"Well who put it here?"

"Bugger knows."

Lieutenant Ahern, on his feet, sped past, calling for us to follow. "B Battery, follow me!" The ten second bombardment left behind an empty silence, gradually taken up by alarms going off on the airbase and the fire crews beginning to appear. Bulbous and inhuman in their one-piece suits, the firefighters unravelled snaking hoses attached to their vehicles and attacked the fires spreading from ships damaged in the bombardment. Other vessels, waiting to be given the all-clear, buzzed overhead. Someone doesn't want us here, that's a definite. But who?

Guided to an untouched hangar, Crew Four milled about until Ahern intervened. "Sergeant, sort this crew out. I'm off to find some transport."

"Sir. Single file, gunners. Sharpish." Reimer came about as a chief petty officer appeared behind him.

"Is that your commanding officer, Sergeant?"

"The officer on the double? Yes, he's acquiring MT for us. What seems to be the problem here?"

"No problem. I want these guardsmen inside the hangar and lining up."

"Lining up, what for?" Half of the battery were already inside the hangar. At a given command, they dropped their kitbags.

"Oi, what's goin' on in there?" Wenrok, behind Samuel who was nearest the open door stood up on tiptoes. "Pitch in there."

"Shove off." Samuel lifted his other bag over Wenrok's head. "Slippery-slidey, what am I hiding?"

"Nah, Sarn't wants it back remember? Keep that sick squared away."

"I don't wanna go in there now, he's Navy." Wyrig sneered at the CPO. "Not playing any part in his buggery."

"…Get to the bottom of this." Reimer ducked around Samuel and disappeared inside. "Hope you're keeping that, Samuel. I don't want you leaving any of it anywhere. If I find one speck around here!" Curious murmurs flew around the gunners stranded outside. What are they doing in there? I switched my kitbag from one shoulder to the other and shook my aching hand.

"Did a number on us." Wyrig bit a fingernail. "Rude bastards."

The CPO returned, Reimer in tow. At the former's behest we filed in to the hangar and made up a third and fourth rank behind the other two crews who waited before a row of female personnel in grey. "Lumpy-jumpers!" Wyrig said under his breath. "Half a dozen of 'em!"

"Third and fourth rank will drop their kitbags on the command," the CPO said. "Drop!" Our kitbags thumped beside us. "First rank will drop their trousers on the command. Drop!" Titters frittered through the other ranks as the rustle of heavy-duty cotton and clink of belt buckles ran through the first rank. The queasy Samuel held the honour of being first in Gun Four. I lifted myself up as high as I could on my toes and saw a blond head bob in front of Samuel.

"I am going to insert this and take a sample. It will not hurt, Guardsman."

"Okay, uhh, I do speak Gothic." Samuel threw a smirk at us as the woman knelt in front of him. "Ooh, cold hands there, lady."

"I am a lieutenant."

"Oh, sorry, sir, miss, ma'am." Wyrig, third in line, snorted and began unfastening his belt. Just what's this all for anyway? I'm keeping my trousers up.

"Petty Officer, what the hell is going on here?" Ahern, his body armour wet with rain, rushed in. "Who gave you permission to do this?"

"Sir, this a Navy matter. All personnel disembarking must have their blood tested for Chaos taint. We must think of the civilian populace of this world. If disease is brought here it can spread to epidemic levels."

"Let's go over here." Ahern took the CPO away. I caught a few choice words Ahern spoke, nothing an officer and a gentleman should really have said aloud. It left the CPO pale. With his bluster deflated, the Navy packed up and departed.

"Did you really let the Navy take over in my absence?" Ahern said to Reimer once he had finished with the CPO.

"CPO outranks me, sir." Reimer scratched his moustache. "Just glad the WNs have jogged on before any of the lads could jump them."

"Point, Sergeant. I've found us some motor transport. Form the men up, quick sharp."

"Eurgh, shame." Art straightened out the kink in the groin of his trousers. "Can't remember the last time I've had me cock out before a lady."

"Hope the locals are better looking than them lumpy-jumpers," Stazak tutted. "Most sour-faced mattresses I've ever seen. Slept with uglier though…"

"I dunno, maybe they didn't fancy seeing four lines of cocks." Art hoisted his kitbag over his shoulder. "One down here, one up there." Art pointed at Stazak's groin then at his face.

"D'you remember those fizzers, Drow?" Stazak motioned at Art and I to fall in.

"Aw, I don't recall…" Art's eyes wandered around the ceiling.

"What's a fizzer anyway?" I asked.

"Jankers; a charge, Larn." Stazak waved a finger at me. "I'll find you the book on it if you like."

"Erm, I just wanted to know, that's all."

"Tell you what." Stazak rubbed his hands together. "You can both buff up some lovely old boots. I'll tell you all about it then."

"Fuck." Art mouthed at me once Stazak had turned his back. "First ten minutes planetside and we're ridin' a bloody fizzer!"

I shook my head and sighed. "Miss Platis yet?"

"Pfft, not a chance. Butcher's Rock?"

"Number ten-thousand."

Projectiles hammered us from the sky as we began our march to the waiting transport, the rain soaking through our flak jackets and clothing. Drops shone on the points of the razor-coils tipping the pair of twenty-foot-high fences bordering the airstrip. Concrete blockhouses ringed with sandbags and studded with embrasures guarded the gateway. Thickset soldiers in four-colour combats and bottle-green helmets crouched behind man-packed weapons. All were armed with long-barrelled autoguns, trained outwards at the adjacent street. Are those civilians out there? I squinted through the drizzle at five civilians walking briskly down the street. Two women and three children. Why aren't the kids inside?

"James." Art touched my shoulder. "Mount up." I found purchase on the damp rope hanging from the Hennus's canvas roof and climbed up to the gunners. "Careful." Art dove a hand underneath my swinging kitbag. "Go on, mate, up you go."

Stazak lifted the tailgate up to me and Art – the last to board – and locked it in place. "D'you see them civvies, Art?"

"Could be every day for them." Art grasped the iron frame above his head. I fumbled for a handhold and pressed my knee against the tailgate. Grey smoke poured from the exhausts. A shudder and the Hennus rolled forwards, snaking through the barricades and out on to the street. It looks almost rural. Nothing grand about it at all. Red bricked buildings and high stone walls drew past us. Graffiti painted on the largest surfaces was unintelligible. Oh, shit. I gripped the tailgate and leant over it. A motor vehicle, little more than a blackened husk, sat on its roof at the side of the road. Bricks, fallen from a crumbling wall, were scattered across the street, fragments of it the Hennus bumped over.

"The hell happened to that?" Art pulled a face.

"The wall or the car?" I caught Art's eye. He shook his head. Every other junction was guarded by the same soldiers in the peculiar camouflage, backed up often by armoured cars sitting behind semi-circles of sandbags and coils of wire. Emperor Botherers Out! A tall wall read in bright white paint.

"Chaos taint! They're a funny bunch, them boaters." Wyrig guffawed.

"Is it even a disease. You can't catch it fucking, can you?" Samuel scratched at his groin.

"What, like the Clap?"

"Aw, you'd know, wouldn't you?" Samuel's voice rose. "His legs nearly fell off. It was hilarious, walking all bandy-legged like."

"Brilliant, mate." Kerris laughed.

"Yeah, don't be spreadin' yourself around here. Locals will string you up good and poke holes in ya." Wenrok mimed a pair of scissors. "Snip-snip."

I shared a looked with Art. Why do you hang 'round with this crowd? Bunch of lowlifes.

Window frames, ringed with glass teeth, watched from both sides of the street, their former occupants spread across the road; a crackling carpet crunching beneath the thick tyres. A trail of black smoke rose from a window higher up. "Remember the riots back on Alderia?" Art said to Wenrok. "Looks like the capital, here."

"Eh, where is 'ere though?" Wenrok covered his nose as the stench of burning motor fuel covered the lorry. "What they burnin' on that pyre, heretics?"

"S'illegal to waste fuel, Wen." Wyrig raised a finger. "Stonin' costs nothing. Sustainable procedure too."

"Like popping heads do ya?"

"Poppin' cherries, that's my game." Wyrig slapped his knee.

"Speak of it and up it pops." Samuel waved at a local, stripped to the waste and tied to a wooden post in the centre of a square. "Flogging post over there. Nice one, dickhead!"

"Do one, mate," Art jeered.

"Toss me off!" Wyrig flicked muck from his nose over the tailgate.

I watched the shackled man until he was out of sight. "What he do?"

"Dunno, he had some tattoo on his chest. Gang member maybe? One of those anti-imperial anarchists?"

"Don't matter, does it? Long as somebody's getting the lash, the crowd's happy. Innocent or guilty don't mean nothing." Wyrig nodded at Samuel. "Ain't that right, boy?"

"Point, Wiry. Nice seein' some sod getting his just-desserts every week."

"Good stuff that." Wenrok added. Over a two-lane bridge spanning a wide river the Hennus rolled, slowing at the far end and snaking through barricades, watched by men in shining body armour and full-face helms. Are they Guard, PDF?

Art answered my question. "Arbites. Tin Men, James." Animal barks came from cyberhounds, straining on their master's leash. Part organic, part mechanical, the beast's paws scraped alongside the Hennus flanks. Equally Harsh shouts from the Tin Men curbed the dog's enthusiasm. I saw bludgeons and power mauls brandished as the lorry left the Arbites checkpoint behind. The chatter slowly lost its drive and died away at the roadside, leaving a glum silence in its wake. Only once the lorry drew to a halt in a courtyard and Stazak jogged around from the cab did the battery get themselves together. "Debus." Stazak unlatched the tailgate and lowered it. "Drow, Larn, out." I hopped down, taking my kitbag with me. "Line up in your respective crews, gunners. Larn, report to the battery commander. Well, hurry up, for god's sake."

"See ya later, pal," Art said. "Have a good one."

"Drow, line up there. You heard the order, Larn." I lowered my chin in the rain and slouched over to Lieutenant Ahern, awaiting me inside the doorway of what appeared to be a school.

"Look lively, Private." Ahern ushered me inside. "You'll be working for me directly. Strange billet they've given us here."

"Looks like a school, sir." I took off my beret and squeezed it.

"School, schola, academy… deserted too." Ahern examined the placards on the walls. "History, mathematics, philosophy. Do you know what a batman is?"

"No, sir."

"Nothing fancy, I assure you. You'll be batting for me, Private, seeing as we're a man overstrength."

"Yes, sir."

"You'll be my runner too, or otherwise perform tasks I don't have the time for during the day. Does that make sense?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. The officers' billets are in the next building across. The Science Annex, I think."

A revised history of Grendel, I read on the wall as I passed. Why would they revise their own history? Is that what they teach, or taught rather? "I'll keep me mouth shut, sir."

"Good lad. I won't need you one-hundred per cent of the time. You'll billet with the gunners in the gymnasium."

He's letting me stay with Art! "Thank you, sir."

"Foul day…" Ahern turned up his collar once we were back outside. "Ah, Five Hundred have arrived."

Joparr 500? A mix of four and six-wheeled armoured cars were parked around the yard. A pair of sentries in body armour and soft cover guarded them. "The paratroopers, sir?"

"Droptroopers. Not sure which they prefer honestly." A Joparr offered Ahern a salute. The latter returned it.

"…Berets."

"Odd practice. Tradition, I suppose." Ahern led me inside the Science Annex. "I haven't quite worked out the way around yet." Ahern's voice faded when an officer in Barrack Dress approached from the opposite direction. "Morning, sir." Ahern saluted. I followed.

"Good morning, Lieutenant. At ease. Should the private soldier be in here?"

"Why, yes, Major. Private Larn is batting for me."

"Mm, good show. I am Major Delica, aide to Colonel Brecher, your battalion commander."

"Ahern, sir. Officer Commanding, Battery B, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment. Haven't seen any guns 'round here have you, Major? My battery lacks any armaments larger than rifles."

Delica laughed. "Q branch being tight again are they?"

"I wouldn't know, sir, I've only just arrived with my battery."

"Ah, that's fine then. I'll take you to meet the battalion commander. Let your man know the way to your billet and we can be off, Ahern."

"Well, I'm really not sure of the way either, Major. We arrived together."

"Right, um…" Delica checked his watch. "Take the corridor to my right here, Private, follow it along until you reach a white door. If it's already occupied, you'll have to scout around."

"Are Lairs and Five Hundred the only regiments billeting here, Major?" Ahern asked.

"To an extent…" Delica waved me away. "Off – off you go, Private."

"Sir." I brought my heels together. What does he mean to an extent? Who else is billeting here? The officers now spoke in hushed voices. What's the officers being so secret about? Down a corridor carpeted with the thinnest green material, so thin I could feel the stone floor underneath, I found the nearest white door, one of a long line, painted crudely and drowned in varnish. Now what am I supposed to do? None of the doors had any indication as to who occupied the rooms aside a placard with a three-digit number printed on it. The door nearest to me was 237. I took a step forwards and rapped on the door with a knuckle. The silver handle refused to budge. Locked. Are they all locked? None of them gave an inch. What a prize fool I'll look when I go back to Ahern and tell him. Eight doors down, I knocked on the last in the row. "Enter," a muffled voice said. I turned the handle and pushed the door inwards to see three plainclothes men sitting on worn sofas around a mess of cards, alcohol, and cigarettes piled on a small table. "Oi, you fucking sneak!" A dark-haired man in a maroon sweater and leather shoulder holster threw down his cards and rushed at my retreating form.

"Sorry, I… I was looking for a billet for—"

Shoulder Holster threw the door open and strode out in to the corridor. "Stand up straight when you address an officer. Explain your presence in the Officers' Billet before I throw you in the Glasshouse. Who is your commanding officer and attached political officer?"

"Sir." I came to attention, my heart banging inside my chest. "Sir, I'm batting for Lieutenant Ahern, Alderian Light Air Defence Regiment. We just arrived at the barracks, sir. I was ordered to locate a suitable billet for my officer, who is with Major Delica right now, sir."

"And where is Major Delica?" Shoulder Holster's eyes narrowed. Underneath the black finger of hair, his mouth had become a thin line.

"Taking my officer to meet the battalion commander, sir."

"Who is?"

"Colonel Brecher, sir."

"Lieutenant Colonel Brecher to you, Private." Shoulder Holster pointed back the way I had come. "Walk. We're going to see your platoon commander." The butt of a laspistol protruded from the officer's holster. Wonder if he's going to use it?

Under the eye of the plainclothes officer, I was hustled through more corridors and stairways, encountering admin staff who nodded at my escort and otherwise ignored me. No, I'm the naughty little boy off to see the headmaster for a caning. The officer, after ordering me to wait outside an office, went and knocked sharply on the glass. Through the blur I could see three silhouettes, two standing and one sitting. Ahern, Delica, and presumably the battalion commander. "Enter."

Shoulder Holster opened the door. "Sir, I have an agent of the enemy, sent to disrupt my operation with me right now. He refuses to give his name and number."

Refuses to give his name and number? He never asked!

"Captain, I am in the middle of an important meeting. Your interloper can wait," a clipped, nasal voice replied.

"Er, beg pardon, Captain, you wouldn't have my man out there, would you? I sent him off to find a suitable billet earlier. Major?"

"The lieutenant speaks the truth, Captain. Sorry, Ahern, what was your man's name?"

"Larn, sir."

"Captain, can you please explain what happened? In brief." The nasal voice of the battalion commander spoke.

"Private Larn, who was unaware where my men were billeted, intruded without giving a reason why he was out of bounds."

"Private Larn is batting for me—"

"That's a strange tone you took just then, Lieutenant."

"Captain." Brecher's voice cut the captain off. "I see no point in continuing this discussion. It looks to me that the owner of the keys needs finding. That is all."

"Yes, sir." The captain glared at me, his moustache bristling, when he walked past. Still stood at attention, my eyes remained fixed to a spot on the opposite wall. Full to bursting, I let loose the air in my lungs. Always putting my bloody foot in it.

"Sir, I'm sorry." I babbled at Ahern, once the battalion commander had finished with him.

"Not here," Ahern muttered, beckoning to me to follow. Without the relief of standing easy, I slammed my heels together, turned, stamped upon the carpet and marched after Ahern. "An alternate has been found in a separate annex. I expect my kit unpacked and seen to. Does that make sense, Private?"

"Yes, sir." I saluted another officer, this one in uniform, on his passing. The prospect of sorting out Ahern's kit loomed over me like a yellow-eyed shadow. That bloody nightmare. I scratched behind one ear. And I've got that cocking fizzer Stazak dropped on me and Art. Who the hell are those blokes in civvies then? They can't be regulars. I bit down upon that question. It would have to wait.

---

Arvus Lighter, Lysades Subsector

No being alive has ever escaped me. Izuru awoke with the tiny, niggling thought burrowing in to the centre of her mind. Leaning forwards, Izuru stared down at the deck beneath her feet and examined the hexagonal rivets fitted by a machine-slave. "Did slumber come quickly?"

"If it came at all, it was for a fleeting moment, my lady," Saeros removed his hand from where his head rested and rubbed his eyes. "I fear I only dozed."

"Felarch?" Izuru unclipped her harness.

"Sleep will only come at my call. I need it not." Derin smiled. A human las-weapon sat partly disassembled in his lap. Why the human weapon? Izuru wondered. "Status, pilot. How far out are we from Grendel's orbit?"

"We are shy 120 000 klicks from Grendel, my lady. Shall I wake you on our entry?"

"No." Izuru's eyes ran over the bank of crude buttons and switches meant for the fists of the mechanical slaves to push and slap. "Tell me, what is our mission?"

"Upon insertion…"

"Upon or after?" Izuru took out her short blade and pressed the point against where Maess's kidney was. "Another pound of pressure and I take your life, pirate. Reveal to me the princess's designs. What business has she on Grendel?"

Maess never turned a hair. "Any aggression towards the wayforger, the felarch, or your steward shall be met with reprisal, Ranger. If the princess sees no further use for you then you will be left at the tender mercy of the humans on Grendel."

"A hollow threat."

Maess shook his head. He did not take his eyes from the control bank. "You have no leverage. My life, the lives of the felarch and your steward mean nothing to her eminence."

"Tell me, pirate." Izuru pressed deeper in to Maess's robes. "Tell. Me."

"He sells arms to the humans," Saeros yapped. "I saw the containers being loaded."

"You were not at liberty to pass on that knowledge!" Derin snapped. "Ranger, come away from the wayforger and return to your seat."

"You treat with the humans?" Izuru withdrew the blade. "You treat with the humans!"

Maess smiled and snorted. "It is good business providing arms for insurrection. That is all."

"I am not assisting in arms dealing. And you call yourself a wayforger?" Izuru drew her gloved hand across he brow. "Were you complicit in this, Felarch?"

"Mine is not to question the princess's decree."

"Turn us around." Izuru's voice cracked. She pinched the bridge of her nose and, pressing her thumb and forefinger together, gestured at Maess. "Turn us around."

"We are not returning to the Gorynych. All our lives will be forfeit," Maess muttered.

"Turn us around!" Izuru shouted.

Derin unfastened his harness. "My lady…"

"Turn us around!" Izuru flew at Maess, grabbed his hair and rammed him headfirst against the control panel. "Turn us aro—"

"My lady, please!" Saeros took Izuru's arm. "Stay your hand—" Izuru shoved her elbow in to Saeros's nose. "Umphh."

"Pirate filth." Izuru spun and balled her fist, drawing it back. "Wretched thieves, all of you!"

"Peace, my lady." Derin's forearm clamped down upon Izuru's throat. "Peace. Do not struggle. Please, do not struggle!" Spittle flew from between Izuru's teeth. Her legs flailed upwards, pushing her body from the floor. "Saeros, I need your hands. Maess, assist." Derin growled. "Maess! Saeros, take her legs. My lady, cease your struggles. Do not fight it." Izuru kicked off from the bulkhead, shoving Derin backwards, who fell on to his back. "Calm. Your strength ebbs, I can feel it. Saeros, hold her legs. Please forgive me for this, Lady Numerial. I do this for our safety." A tottering Saeros fell on to Izuru's knees and pressed down upon her feet. Twin trails of bright red blood crystals oozed from his skewed nose. "There." Derin remained motionless for a minute as the last of the fight drained from Izuru. "When I let you go, do you promise to act in a calm, professional manner and abstain from emotional outburst? Nod, please." Izuru nodded. "One, two, three." Derin released Izuru from his hold, taking the knife away from her beforehand. Izuru drifted over to the seat furthest from the cockpit and perched upon the edge. "Wayforger. Maess?" Derin touched Maess's shoulder.

"How is he?" Saeros, one hand stemming the exfil from his nose, hovered behind Derin. "Does he require medical attention?"

"He does not." Derin lowered Maess's head and turned to Izuru. "Nor will he ever," he said gravely. Saeros slumped in a seat and stared away in to space. "The wayforger knew the mission." He covered his mouth. "Now what do we do?"

"You will assist…" Derin lifted Maess clear of the pilot's seat.

"Oh…" Saeros's jaw quivered when he saw Maess's face. "How could you?"

"Silence, young one. Leave her be." Derin laid Maess upon the deck and covered him up. "With the wayforger's passing, command of the mission falls to me. Attend to your mistress if she requires you, Saeros. I must speak with the princess."

"Do not reveal the truth, I beg." Saeros clasped his hands together in to a ball. "Please, Felarch."

"Leave the matter in my hands, Saeros. No harm will befall us. Return to your seat."

Saeros knelt before Izuru. "Is there anything I can do for you, my lady?" Izuru's eyes, unfocused, gazed at the deck. Her lax fingers spread in her lap.

---

The Gorynych, Lysades Subsector

It was Prince Ulthyr who accepted the encoded communique in the solar as his bondmate slept. What news do you bring, Wayforger? Ulthyr drew his nightrobe around his body and sat before the swirling haze. "Speak." Ulthyr drew a hand across the fog, revealing the form of the felarch. "Felarch? I expected the wayforger." Ulthyr sat upright, stiffening at the tidings delivered by the felarch.

"By your leave, I would speak with her eminence, my prince," Derin said. "'Tis orders I seek."

Ulthyr spread his fingers over his knee, digging his nails in to the skin. "Her eminence is asleep and permits no disturbances, though I shall inform her nonetheless."

"Gratitude."

"Do not expect a forgiving response. Patience, Felarch." Ulthyr froze the image, got up and padded back to the sleeping chamber. "My love." Ulthyr slipped in to bed. "News from—"

"The felarch," Saarania murmured.

"You foresaw?" Ulthyr recoiled.

"…No." Saarania reached behind her, finding Ulthyr's neck and drawing him against her. "Just a guess."

"The wayforger met with an accident."

"So, the felarch assumes commands. This move by the ranger surprises me, Uly, but it would have occurred sooner or later." Saarania shifted on to her back.

"Do you trust the felarch to lead?"

"I trust him enough to keep the young one in line. Derin will see the task to completion. I order him to memorise then destroy the documents on the wayforger, Uly."

Ulthyr squeezed Saarania's shoulder. "This will work out, Saarania."

"Undoubtedly, Uly. I await news of the felarch's success with growing anticipation."

"Why could we have not kept the ranger as a body slave?"

"And keep her close to the children? Uly, there are times when I am grateful my thoughts are not governed by the object between my legs." Saarania grabbed at Ulthyr's groin. "The further away the ranger is, the lesser the danger she is to us and our plans."

Ulthyr winced. "Aah… Port Maw?"

"Mmm-hmm. Now, send the felarch and the half-breed away to Grendel, as far from my thoughts as is possible."

"Yes, your eminence." Ulthyr brushed against Saarania's cheek with his own and slithered from their bed, returning to Derin. "Felarch, you command now. The contents of the containers must reach the human insurgents in the slums of Grendel's capital city, Norn. Your contact is a human named Veen."

"I understand, my prince."

"Please." Ulthyr lowered his voice. "If the outcast proves herself too great a trouble to handle, abandon her and save yourselves. I am sorry you are with such ill-tempered company. Her eminence wanted her off the ship."

"Yes, my prince. If possible, I would know if this mission will be worth the cost."

Ulthyr swallowed. "Felarch, it is most important that you deliver the cargo to the humans. I cannot stress how vital that shipment is to our operations in the Gothic Sector."

"Your word, my prince."

"Good fortune walk hand-in-hand with you." Ulthyr swept the likeness of felarch away and sat back, closing his eyes. I do not envy you, Felarch. Such a fiery temperament the Lady Numerial possesses. I fear for yours and the young one's safety.

---

Regia Barracks, Loyalist Sector, Norn

During the brief lull in the aftermath of the afternoon parade, I sought out Lieutenant Ahern in the Officer's Billet and asked his permission to see the Medical Officer. A twenty-minute wander later, I explained my case to the MO, showed him a note from my officer, and was issued a prescription of PAP – mild pain relief in tablet-form – across the counter. "You're liable for two months' worth there, Gunner. To ingest take two with water and make sure you leave a gap of six hours between consumption."

"Thank you, sir. Oh, I'm not a…" The shutter slammed shut in my face. "…gunner." With the bottle of tablets in my pocket, I left A branch, walked across the parade-ground, and pushed through the door to the Other Ranks Billet and came face-to-face with Wyrig and Samuel. The two gunners, leaning against the paint-flecked wall, stepped towards me, both wearing grins.

"Aw, no, I 'aven't got time, lads." I sighed as the two larger men fell in on either side. "Stazak's got Drow and me on jankers, buffin' boots…"

"Nah, your boyfriend's not bailing you out, boy." Wyrig chuckled and gripped my arm. Samuel had the other.

"Oi, give over." I shook at the iron holds the gunners had me in. "What if an officer sees you, huh?"

"Nice little officer's pet you are!" Samuel slapped me on the back of the head. "C'mon, we're gonna show you where shits go."

"What d'you mean—Ow!"

"Belt up, ya foreign cunt."

Wyrig and Samuel shouted in to the gymnasium as we passed. "Kerry, Wen, get out 'ere!"

"Dunking the outsider, are we?" Kerris and Wenrok scuttled out after my two captors. "Let's 'ave a gander."

"Lads?" I twisted my head around. "Sarn't?"

"Don't you lads them, toss-arse!" Wyrig slapped me on the ear. "Just showin' the outsider where shits go."

"Aw, brilliant one, mate." A finger poked me in the spine, digging in to the scar. A growl escaped my gritted teeth, provoking a bark of laughter from Kerris.

"He poked you, wetpants!"

"I 'aven't done nothing yet." Wenrok giggled. "Maybe see how large is arsehole is?"

"Number ten, ya deviant dogger. We only shag what's willing, ain't that right, Sam?"

"Damn right, Wiry."

The gunners propelled me in to a latrine, partly flooded with water. Wenrok seized a gunner from another battery, standing before a urinal, and threw him out. "Gotta find one not flooded." Kerris kicked at a cubicle door.

"Must be a burst pipe somewhere. This school's been outta commission for years." Wenrok banged on another door. Wyrig joined him.

"Go on, son, wait over there like a good little boy." Samuel, left with me, pushed me against a sink. "Now don't you fucking move."

My breath fogged the rust-flecked taps. Grime stared up at me from the basin beneath. Sat behind the taps was a squat, rectangular bar of soap; brand-new. I lunged for the brick and spun around, striking Samuel full across the brow. "Ooh, he's done him out, he has!" Wenrok cried, seeing Samuel collapse buttocks-first in to a puddle.

"Better not drop that soap." Kerris laughed.

Wyrig pulled his head back from a stall. "Cheeky bugger… come 'ere!" Wyrig bore down on me. "See how you like it." Wyrig swung a meaty-handed blow at my head. His fist cut through the air, swiping at the space my head had occupied. I splashed away from Wyrig and past the dazed Samuel. His hand shot out and caught my ankle, bringing me down.

"Good one, Sam." Kerris hooted.

"Get his trousers off!"

"I've got a nice toilet stall all plum and ready for ya!" Wyrig got hold of my neck and dragged me backwards. A boot striking the door flung it inwards, revealing Stazak. "Shit." Wyrig let go of me and stumbled back in to a sink.

"Private, this is a Lairs matter," Stazak rolled up first one sleeve then the other. "Wait outside." I shook Samuel's restraining hand off and bolted from the latrine. What's Stazak doing in there? Thumps and wails slipped out from the tiny gap underneath the door. Splashes and the whoosh of a toilet flushing brought the session to a close. As calm as he was when he entered the latrine, Stazak walked out, closing the door behind him. "On me, Private."

"Bombardier, I'm—"

"What happened in the latrine will be staying in the latrine. That clear, Private?"

"Yes, Bombardier."

"Now, I want you to start standing up for yourself. No more playing the victim. You're giving the bullies what they want. I know it's shit, but you're a grown-up, so act like one."

"I'm not Lairs though…"

"No, and you never will be. You're not dismissed either, Private, I'm ordering you on that fucking fizzer right now. Q branch, most ricky-tick. Gunner Drow is over there. You'll join him."

"Yes, Bombardier."

With water stains up my trouserlegs I stumped over to Q branch, receiving glances from logistics personnel, all finely turned out in Barrack Dress; wool jumpers, crisp Olive Grey trousers, and Stable Belts. Nobody accosted me when I traipsed past the canteen. No well-to-do officer or noncom would want anything to do with the bedraggled OR dragging himself through the History Annex. Shit, commissar. I made a left before my path brought me past an approaching commissar. Bloody big cap. What's he doing here? I listened out for the loud squeak of leather on my tail. Phew, he's gone.

Q branch, set up in a storage cupboard, was overflowing with heaps of boxes containing all sorts of military paraphernalia. The quartermaster sergeant, imprisoned in his closet, snarled at me to go away when I approached. "Are you deaf, Gunner?"

"Sergeant, I'm here on a fizzer…"

"Colour Sergeant, Gunner. I don't wear this skull above these stripes for a laugh!" The quartermaster sergeant got down from his stool. "'Round here, Gunner, I'm unlocking the door for you."

"Yes, Colour Sergeant. I'm a pri—" I stopped mid-sentence. Better keep quiet about that.

"Gunner Drow, is this the individual put on a work detail with you?" The quartermaster sergeant practically barked. Art, up to his elbows in boxes, looked up from the pair of parade boots he was polishing. "Yes, Colour Sergeant, Gunner Larn and I were ordered to buff boots by our bombardier."

"Well, get on with it then. You are here until your bombardier comes to collect you. Do you understand, Gunner?"

"Yes, Colour Sergeant," I replied, not meeting the quartermaster sergeant's eye.

"Oh, and there will be no nattering either. You are here to work."

"Yes, Colour Sergeant," Art said. The quartermaster sergeant kicked a box out of his path and shut himself back inside his closet.

"Can he hear us?" I mouthed, pushing a thumb at the QM's closet.

"Only if you mention drink." A grin flitted across Art's face. "I've seen behind his desk, I have. He's a right soak in off-hours, he is."

"So why we doin' these boots when all this stuff's still waiting for unboxing then?" I plonked myself down on a box opposite Art and picked up a boot. "Got a rag?"

"I dunno. D'you think they've got a clue how to run an army? No-one's got a clue. It's just all one big joke. The rear-echelon cogs and their snuffies 'aven't got a clue. They're just in it for the money, the birds, and the booze." Art placed a bottle of boot polish between us and dropped a torn-up piece of blue cloth in my lap. "And that's not countin' the commissars."

"The commissars?"

"They like their whipping boys, they do. Younger the better. You watch out there, pal."

"It's not a flattering picture, is it, Art?" I poured a dollop of polish on to the rag and got rubbing.

"Aw, I've only just scratched the surface. Now, Platis, I've never seen as big a fuck-up as that."

"You had it good on Platis. Bastille was ten years for the Vardans. I was there a month. I didn't know what was goin' on. They didn't know what was goin' on. Only thing the snuffies knew was where Mister Green was, and that was just over the horizon." I spat on the toecap. I hope this belongs to an officer. "Cor, you bet they was waiting over there. Jolly green giants with guns and big pointy teeth."

"Erm… so what's all this then?" Art pointed at the dampness in my trousers. "You didn't fancy a swim, did you? I know them toilets are flooded but…"

"Nice crowd, your gun crew. Wyrig, Samuel, Kerris, Wenrok, those their names?"

"They didn't, did they?" Art's hands went still.

"Said they was gonna show me where shits go."

"No… well, Stazak's—"

"Stazak bailed me out. I clocked Samuel with a soap brick and I wasn't throwing hands with the others. Bang – Stazak enters and throws me out."

"You didn't see it?"

"No. I heard it good though."

"What he say?"

"Stop playing the victim and act like a grown-up. Then he sends me here."

"Alright, listen, I'll back you up in case the boys from the bog try and go ham on you again."

"Cheers for that, mate. God, I can't wait for me transfer to come through now."

"Yeah, won't be long, James. This security nonsense is gonna be a proper cushy detail compared with Platis and Bastille now."

"Was that chit-chat coming from your sewers?" The quartermaster sergeant boomed. Stepping out of his closest, the Soak's mouth flapped. "I want nothing but 'yes, Colour Sergeant, no, Colour Sergeant. I will call the RSM if I hear another word."

"Colour Sergeant, we're out of boot polish." Art stood up and showed the Soak an empty bottle of polish, whilst kicking the full article at his feet out of sight.

"Then get some more."

"Colour Sergeant, Gunner Drow requests permission to get a new bottle from your stores."

The Soak squinted. "I'm going on my lunch-break. You will hold fire on that request until after I have returned." The Soak produced a set of keys and locked his door. "Carry out your orders, gunners. I will be back in thirty minutes." Once the Soak had rolled away, Art's blackened hands dropped the boots. "Give it a minute first. Wait till he's gone."

"Why, what you doing?"

"I'm a curious little sod. Can't help myself." Art jangled a lone key on a ring. "Picked the spare key outta the Soak's pocket, didn't I?"

"Oh, shit."

"Got a plan. Stand clear, James." Art stuck the key inside the lock and twisted. "A lock is only as strong as the door holding it is. Just lucky I had a key on me, huh?"

"What's inside 'ere then?" I followed Drow inside the Soak's lair.

"All manner of buckshee kit, that's what."

"Buckshee?"

"Stuff we ain't supposed to have." Drow slid his hand across a small green box poking out on a shelf. "Prophy… uh, I dunno what the word is. I'm grabbing a couple for when they let us out to play."

"Proph-what?"

Drow took the box down from the shelf and pulled the lid off. "Three for you and three for me." He slapped three flat, square packets of shiny foil in to my hand. "So you don't sling one up a bint by accident."

"Err…"

"S'alright, I'll sort you out when we're on the pull." Drow replaced the lid and slid the box back in to place. "Right, Soak, what else you got tucked away?" I took in the miscellany of packets, containers, and boxes of kit that was piled on shelves and in corners. The single hatch the Soak conducted his business through was left open. No way anyone's climbing through that.

"Camos, Vibros, combat stims. This prick's been sitting on a horde."

"What you looking for, Art?"

"Aha!" Art pulled a small bottle of alcohol from underneath the Soak's counter. "Amasec. This is officer's plonk."

"Art!"

"S'alright, we're not the ones lifting this." Art placed the bottle on the counter. "I've got a plan. Help me find a sidearm."

"Do they keep firearms in 'ere?" I peeped inside the few boxes that weren't sealed. "Art?"

"Not unless Q branch was planning on selling some to the locals to make some extra wampum on the side. Oi, take this." Art dangled a leather shoulder holster next to me. Aside from the holster, the rig carried two spare pouches for magazines.

"Is this necessary?"

"I want protection if we're out on the streets. I don't trust the locals, even if we are on the east bank o' the river and it's friendly territory. Come on, James, have a rootle."

"So, what you planning on doing with the plonk then?"

"Evening inspection tonight, yeah, Sarn't gonna find this buckshee plonk in Wyrig's kit."

"That'll land him up on a firing squad, won't it? Fraud gets you shot. That's what it says in the primer."

"James, no one pays attention to what the primer says. You ever wondered when it was written, or who it was written by? Some lifer yonks ago that's never even seen a rifle range, never got his clobber dirty, and never been in a contact. Worst Wiry's gonna get is three months max in the Glasshouse. I just hope he gets transferred too. Wonder how QMS is gonna explain his non-reg plonk?"

After much poking through the Soak's horde, Art, beaming, showed off a brand-new stub pistol to me and spun it around on his forefinger. "Bloody good. Where's that holster?"

"Does it fit?"

"Standard second-line holdout gat." Art slit the tape seal of a box of ammunition with a fingernail and opened it up. "Thirteen rounds." Art popped brass slugs in to the thick magazine.

"How we carrying this stuff out then?"

"Brought my own parade boots, didn't I? I'll wear the stompers around me neck."

"Ha-ha, good one." I sniggered.

"So, you having fun yet?"

"Well, if it gets Wyrig in to trouble then yeah."

"Okay, we're done here." Art and I quickly set the goods we disturbed straight and replaced anything we had moved.

"You keeping that key?" I asked once we were back outside with the buckshee kit safely stowed inside Art's shoebox.

"Hmm, QMS will know we took the key if he can't find it. Don't reckon he's that thick. Hold on." Art made his way through the stacks of boxes and around to the open hatch. "I'll just toss it through. He'll think it fell off the peg."

"So, is that it then. What's the plan now?"

"Just carry on until Stazak comes 'round." Art ploughed through to me and sat back down. "C'mon, let's get stuck in. Might as well do a good job now."

"Ehh, yeah. I hope this stuff comes out. Don't want black fingernails on parade."

"Oh shit, yeah. Don't want to be explaining ourselves to Reimer too." Art sneered. "Eurgh, they're a right state, they are."

"Can't wait to see Wyrig's face," I muttered.

"Hah! That's the spirit, mate. Talk about getting your own back." Art laughed, catching my eye then pushing at my shoulder.

"Yeah – oof." I teetered on my perch, regaining balance and returning the favour, up-seating Art.

---

Arvus Lighter, Grendel Orbit

Izuru's heartbeat thumped in her ears. Leaning over the pilot's seat, she gripped the arm so tightly the leather in her glove stretched. Beneath her hood and goggles, the breather mask sat in place. Derin and Saeros likewise wore their disguises.

"Arvus Lighter FS-1435, your approach is unexpected. Explain your presence in this subsector."

Derin brushed blood crystals from the transmit button. "Lighter FS-1435 responding to hail," he replied, affecting a monotone. "Our presence in Subsector Lysades, Gothic Sector is unauthorised. We number four menials of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Three living, one deceased. Our purpose is pilgrimage followed by burial of valued companion, whose home we humbly request permission to enter."

The wayforger's corpse may prove useful after all. Izuru glanced back at the covered body and Saeros sitting above it. He prays. But, to whom?

"Arvus Lighter FS-1435, coordinates are being transmitted to your ship. Be prepared to receive a full inspection of your premises upon landing."

Derin held off from replying and turned to Izuru. "Can you bluff the humans?"

"Weak minds are easily swayed. Fear not."

"Lighter FS-1435 responding to hail. Received and understood, Grendel. We await the inspection. The Omnissiah protects." Derin took his finger from the transmitter and relaxed.

"You mispronounced Omnissiah."

Derin's head snapped up. "Then let us hope our presence does not draw too great a scrutiny."

Of all the mistakes, a mispronunciation could lead to our undoing. Izuru dug her fingers in to her thigh. Incompetence!

"I heard," Saeros said. "I vow to remain silent."

"Good, then keep your mouth shut." Izuru struck the body with her foot and leant over it to drag the olive grey container down from the storage cupboard. "What secrets do you hold?" Izuru murmured.

"My lady, you may not."

"Fly the ship, Felarch." Izuru tutted. "Bother me not." The clasps came away one by one. Izuru lifted the lid and ripped out the foam inserts. Saeros darted over and picked them up. "Away!" Izuru hissed. "Away!" I am beset on every side by ignoramuses.

"What are they?" Saeros's mouth opened. A long tube painted green sat inside the box.

"Kaela Mensha Khaine…" Izuru touched the cold steel. "Felarch, did you know?"

"Know the contents of the cases? No, I do not."

"Saeros, what do you see?"

"I do not know, my lady, but its purpose strikes me as nothing benign." Saeros backed away from the ugly tool. "It is of human origins."

"A brutal, crude weapon of war." Izuru eyed the container in the opposite rack. "My guess is that an identical article resides there."

"But what is it, my lady?"

"Slowly, piece by piece the princess's plan is revealed." Izuru tapped her chin. "Felarch, your ears."

"You should not have viewed the contents, Lady Numerial." Derin frowned. "The princess—"

"Is not here. Tell me, Felarch, if you found yourself in a position of command, why would you provide human insurgents with surface-to-air missile launchers?"

"Her eminence treats with the humans?" Saeros gasped. "Why?"

"Yours is not to question, Corsair. Only I, as an outsider, have that privilege." Izuru snatched the foam inserts from Saeros and re-arranged them over the launcher. "Civil unrest brews on Grendel, but why choose to fuel the flames on such an insignificant speck of human dirt. What has Saarania to gain from funding an insurgency?"

"Perhaps it is all a diversion, my lady?"

"Saeros, be quiet."

"No, Felarch. Speak, young one."

"Might her eminence look to draw greater security to Grendel in the hope that it may grant an opening for a raid upon an imperial base in the Gothic Sector?"

"Where. Where?"

"Port Maw?" Saeros shook his head. "I… I cannot know."

"You would need a thousand ships to even think of mounting such an incursion. The Gorynych flies alone."

"Or three and a half thousand." Saeros turned pale. "Does her eminence seek to raid Port Maw?"

"We brush the planet's atmosphere, my lady. Find your seat," Derin called. Her seat vibrating beneath her, Izuru fastened her harness. "Saeros, sit!"

"I know of no bolder raid undertaken by the Void Dragons, my lady. Truly, it seems the princess gambles all in this operation."

"Cleanse your thoughts of such conjecture. We walk amongst the humans in due course." Izuru closed her eyes and shut her ears to the growing roar that encompassed the lighter's tiny structure. Patience, patience. My time will come. With or without my companions, I will take back what is mine with bolt and blade.