Frag Hole Rock, Morning Cycle, three days to go!

Bull Gunders was originally of Goliath stock. That is to say he was thick limbed and thick skulled. He was the kind of muscle that took well to life in the Adeptus Arbites, even if all he was capable of was looming behind a smaller, brighter officer. He certainly wasn't the sharpest weapon in the Adptus' arsenal, but intimidation was a valuable commodity. Eddisson Trall shook his head in exasperation as he tried to outline their mission.

'For frak, sake, Bull, we're just going in to scope out the territory. You don't need to say nothing so just keep your slack jaw trapped, okay?'

'Kay, Eddi, jaw's trapped. Who we arrestin?'

'No one, numb-nut, hence the plain-clothes. Did you bring your frakking brain with you, today or what?'

'Wha's brains got ta do wiv arrestin fings?'

'I swear, Bull, if you give us away I'm gonna frag you myself…'

'S'not nice to frag your friends, Eddi…'

'So don't give me a reason, right? I'd hate to have to tell you off again. You remember the last time don't you?'

Bull shuddered.

'You was real sparked that day, Eddi. I didn't like being punished…'

'No, well just you keep that fixed in your thick skull, right?'

Bull might have taken well to being in the Arbites, but he wasn't cut out for undercover work. Eddi was getting nervous about this gig already.

The Greasy Spoon was a cosy affair, though quite run-down and badly maintained. Still, it was the kind of place Eddi liked, the kind of place he didn't get much chance to frequent these days… now that he was respectable. He picked out a table and sat down. Bull's chair groaned beneath his prodigious weight, causing them to catch a few furtive glances from the other patrons.

The serving girl sauntered over.

'What can I getcha boys?'

Eddi favoured her with a smile and ignored the roll of her eyes as he looked her up and down. She was a looker, for a sink-level wench. Tough and a bit rough around the edges, just the way he liked it.

'Fungus beer for me, rats-milk for my friend.' Bull wasn't allowed to drink on duty anymore, not since he'd passed out on a stakeout and let the mark get away. The fact that Eddi was with a girl at the time was neither here nor there… responsibility was responsibility and Bull was Eddi's responsibility…

He wondered whether his reasoning would have made sense to anyone other than himself. He doubted it.

The girl moved away to get their order and he took a moment to admire the way she walked before gauging the room's other occupants.

He dismissed the barman out of hand and the trio of old-timers congregating near the window. Other than that the place was pretty dead. A young kid was stoking a boiler at the rear and a drunk had fallen asleep in one of the booths.

'Looks like early doors, yet,' he ruminated. 'But I think maybe I can think of a better way to pass the time…'

The girl came back and put their drinks down. Before she could take their creds he'd reached out and pulled her down onto his lap with a squeel. The old-timers looked around with a few querulous murmurs, but no one stood to come to her rescue.

They were a bunch of toothless old sots, nothing more.

'What do you think you're doing, rube?' the girl demanded.

Eddi squeezed her thigh and leered.

'Probing for information, is all,' he replied. 'C'mon, sugar-lips, you know you love it!'

She slapped him across the face and struggled to get up but Eddi had a lot of experience of holding onto unwilling parties. She wasn't going anywhere.

'Hold up, hold up, we just wanna ask a few questions…'

'I ain't tellin' you shit til you lemme go!'

'Just tell me who's running Frag Hole these days and I will, honey-cakes.'

She laughed, a harsh, angry bark that really got up Eddi's nose. Still, he was enjoying her squirming.

'These two fellas griping you, Lucile?' came a new voice from near the outer door. The tone was low and threatening, but Eddi was a veteran of the Arbites, it took more than that to frighten him.

Still, the newcomer had entered without a murmur of a sound and stood with a large-bore pistol aimed at the back of Bull's head. That was just about all that it took for Eddi's blood to run suddenly cold. He let go of the girl and she bolted away.

'Who the hell are you?' asked the shaven-headed youth with the shooting iron, a low growling rose from the huge mastiff standing at his side.

'I'm Bull!' said the big man, an inane and simple smile painted across his face. He was looking down at the dog as if he wanted to stroke it.

'Shut the frak up, you dink!' Eddi hissed. 'What did I tell you?'

The unidentified pistoleer cocked his iron, a loud ratcheting threat that made Eddi flinch.

'He's Bull,' the man smiled. 'Who the frag are you?'

Eddi didn't reply. His brain was working furiously at a way to get out of this with his skin whole. Bull's too, although that was slightly less important. But he couldn't think straight with that man smiling the way he was. If there was one thing that made Eddi mad it was other people laughing at him. It made him want to break something, preferably somebody else's bones.

'Stand up!' A second pistol rose to point at Eddi, this one a bulky plasma pistol. You didn't argue with one of those. Eddi got up.

'Move away from the table.' Eddi sidled into an open space. 'You wanna kick him in the ball's Luci?'

Eddi collapsed before he even saw her move. A knot of dull, brain-numbing pain working its way up into his abdomen. He hadn't even had time to react to the man's comment before the bitch put a boot in his crotch.

'That's not very nice,' Bull frowned. But he didn't exactly leap to Eddi's defence. In fact the guy just stood there looking dumber than ever. Then again, he did have a pistol virtually shoved up his left nostril. Even Bull wasn't that stupid.

'What did you come down here for?' asked the shootist. 'Whose payroll you on?'

Was it that obvious that they weren't itinerants? All Eddi could do was groan. It seemed an eternity before he could reply.

'We're just scoping…'

'For who? Did Sott send you?'

'Nah… Arbites… we're Arbites…'

'Why didn't you say so?' the man grinned. 'I would never have caused you so much trouble if you'd been wearing your uniforms. Hell no, I'd have just put you in the ground before you even knew about it. Then again, I have been expecting you, so I guess I'll just ask what took you so long?'

'You were expecting us?' Eddi was just about recovering the ability to speak. He heaved himself up into a sitting position, eyeing the bitch warily as she stalked around to stand proprietarily beside the skinhead. The dog looked even bigger from his new point of view.

'Okay, so maybe I wasn't expecting a pair of dumb-ass amateurs like you, but I was expecting someone.'

'What's this all about man?' Eddi was confused. They'd been sent to scope the local situation, find out who was running things around town. He was starting to think he'd been set up and that didn't sit well.

'You don't need to know the specifics,' Skinhead replied, keeping his pistol trained on Bull but slipping the plasma weapon back into its sling. 'All you need to do is deliver a package.'

He holstered the plasma pistol and reached into his jacket, bringing out a compact bundle that he tossed onto the floor in front of Eddi.

Trall struggled to his feet, scooping up the package as he did so. Bull held out a helping hand but he just slapped it away. He'd lost enough face already without having to be carried out. He glanced at the bundle, noting with some surprise that it was addressed to Senior Arbiter Hubris, the former watch commander in the locality.

'I'll pass on your message, but here's one for you… the next time I see you, you're dead meat,' Eddi sneered. 'And that goes for your pretty little girlfriend too!'

The navy pistol butted up cold against his left cheek. Eddi hadn't even seen the guy move.

'I could just let Bull deliver the message for me, if you're gonna be difficult about it…'

'Nah, nah, s'alright…'

The pistol slid back into it's holster on the shootist's hip.

'Get out of my sight!'

Eddi scrambled as fast as his aching stomach would allow out into the street. Bull followed at a sedate, nonchalant pace born of his complete lack of enough brains to realise the peril he was in.

The sound of laughter followed them and that was what pissed Eddi Trall off the most!

They'd catch some hell when he came back tomorrow with the boys.

xxx

'You might wanna skip town for a while,' Corgan muttered, running a hand over his weary features.

Luci propped herself up on her elbows beside him, doing that thing that enhanced her cleavage and made him all hot under the collar… when he was wearing a collar, that is. At that particular moment they were sharing a period of private intimacy in Luci's room above the bar.

'You think things are gonna get that hot?'

'I just wouldn't want anything to happen to you, is all. There're things going down that could spell trouble for anyone involved with me.'

She smiled winningly, her little eyes crinkling up.

'Such concern from the Iceman himself? It's unheard of.' She crawled up to lie across his lap, one arm around his shoulders, the other caressing the tights curls on his chest. Her breath was sweet upon his cheek as she said; 'Or is it just that I'm ruining your hard-knock image?'

Corgan grinned, putting his arms around her. That was one of the things that attracted him to her. She was totally undaunted by the cold-hard-killer reality that was his life. She stood up to him when violent men st their pants and she did it in a way that amused him. He supposed that kept him human.

She was also intelligent. She'd cut right to the core of his argument. Luci was the only person that was allowed to see the man behind the rep. All his previous squeezes had been kept at arm's length, distanced from the sensitive core encased within.

They'd been distanced from the violence of his business too, in a way that was becoming increasingly difficult with Little Luci Low-Brow. She claimed to be able to look after herself and Corgan supposed that it was another part of the attraction he felt towards her. She was a hive-minx, street-wise and barb-tongued. But even she could be taken by surprise. That Arbite had held onto her with barely a struggle. At the end of the day, she was still Little Luci – any determined hard-knock could bundle her into a sack if he wanted to.

She was Corgan's only acknowledged weakness. If that sounded selfish, he reassured himself with the fact that it was only because he cared for her in the first place that he was vulnerable at all. In his experience, most human actions had at least some selfish motivation behind them. This one was no different to any other.

'You know the crack, Lucile. The bigger a guy's rep becomes the more people there are waiting in the wings to bring him back down…'

In a sudden epiphany he realised what he was saying and it cut him deeper than he'd thought it would. Luci seemed to sense it too. Her smile faded and her skin felt colder to the touch.

'You're sending me away aren't you?'

He tried to sound cold. He was more open with Luci than with anyone else, but he was still a man. He was still a hard, violent man who hated to show any kind of weakness.

'It's for your own safety. They'll only try to use you against me if you stick around.'

'You mean if I'm still on your plate.' She moved away from him, sitting with her long, white-skinned back toward him.

'That's not what I said.'

'Doesn't matter. You're sending me away because you think you'll have to protect me. You don't think I can look after myself after what happened today.'

He said nothing. He supposed it was tantamount to agreeing with her but he couldn't think of a decent counter-argument.

'It's not just about today is it?' She continued when he didn't reply. 'Even after this trouble dies down, you'll never be able to sit still while I'm this close to you. I'll always be the chink in your armour.'

'C'mon, Luci…' he was getting exasperated. The emotions churning around inside him were completely alien to him. He couldn't clear his head.

'Don't worry about it.' She succeeded in sounding cold far better than he had. She rose from the bed, wrapping a sheet around her and sweeping up her gear. 'See you around,' she said, as she left the room and Corgan's life. Probably forever.

Adeptus Arbites 52nd Precinct, Hive City, later that same day…

'Come!'

The bulkhead door hissed open to admit the bulky, armoured form of Chastener Grauss Brydon. In his heavily scarred working armour he was a forbidding presence in the small office. The sigil of the Adeptus Arbites decorated his left breast, polished to a high sheen. He carried a small package under one arm and gripped his visored helm in his other hand.

Senior Arbiter Hubris stood and straightened the jacket of his pristine uniform, a sense of foreboding chancing upon him at this uninvited visitiation.

'Well met, Chastener. I take it this is not a social call…'

Brydon smiled insolently in agreement.

'I've come to make a delivery, Arbiter. Some hive trash bastard who thinks the Arbites are his personal postal service gave this package to one of my lads. It's addressed to you and given that, I thought it best to bring it to you myself.'

Hubris sneered inwardly. He knew exactly why this pugnacious lackwit had taken it upon himself to bring the package personally, and it was nothing to do with Hubris' seniority. The man was ambitious. He was looking for a lever that might give him some power over the Arbiter that could advance his career if he was so inclined.

'Let's have it then.' Hubris replied, curtly. 'Take a seat outside, if you would. I'll have my secretary send you in if I have any further need of you.'

Anger flashed across Brydon's features, but he capitulated, tossing the bundle down on Hubris' desk as he went.

Hubris took up his silver-plated knife and broke the gaffer-tape seal. He spilled the contents out onto his desk. There were three items, a cloth slouch cap, a ruddy pin-badge and a scrawled note. He picked up the note first.

Heffers,

Here's your cap

I've got the feather

Wanna know more?

Fire in the hole.

He picked up the cap and held it up to the light. The weave was compact and yet the material was lighter than it appeared. He recognised the style, but knew that his assumption need not be correct. It looked like the regimental headgear of the Catachan regiments. Six years ago he had served alongside the Catachan Third as they co-ordinated the extermination of an outbreak of viral neurophagia. It was possible that this had been mislaid, though a living Catachan would never part with such a thing in trade. They were accounted precious because they were woven from some kind of local plant. It was a link to their homeworld.

He picked up the badge and all doubts were swept away. It was the regimental badge of the aforementioned Catachan Third. It was well cared for, not a spot of oxidisation, not a fleck of mud. It had been oiled recently with a loving hand.

Hubris felt the sense of foreboding tighten in his guts as the riddle began to make sense.

The reference to a feather in a cap reminded him of an ancient proverb used to denote an achievement of great merit. The physical evidence before him linked that possibility to the Catachan Third, though in what way he had no idea.

He turned to his cogitator unit and accessed the Adeptus intel-net it at the highest level available to him. He punched a few keywords into the search engine and waited as the machine gurgled and hissed, finally spitting out a ream of paper giving him a list of file-references ordered according to their file- date.

Scanning down the list he found the first report filed after his reassignment from the Low Dome Precinct, his brain working feverishly as he punched in the file-ident. The report alluded to a flurry of violent activity. Hubris did a word search to locate "Catachan" in the document and scanned the content. The reporting officer's addendum gave a list of circumstantial tidbits, rumours and conjecture in the main, obtained in the evidence-gathering process of the investigation. The reference to Catachan was from a small-time hood who claimed that he'd been set upon by men who fitted the description. The investigator had dismissed it.

Hubris brought up the second report, again finding nothing but circumstantial and inconclusive evidence. But the inference of the message was clear. Guard deserters had taken up residence in the relatively lawless Underhive. If Hubris could bring them into custody, the potential rewards would be great.

He examined a few more reports hunting for more conclusive evidence. He began to gather names and descriptions. Some of the men identified as Catachans had been brought in for questioning on numerous occasions, but none were ever forthcoming about their origins and investigators had never seen fit to pursue what was an otherwise unrelated issue. None of them had ever realised the potential glory to be gained from bringing in a gang of violent, criminal deserters from the Imperial Guard detachments that had helped put down to zombie plague.

Hubris sat back and steepled his fingers before him. He would have to be canny about this. Brydon would want in on it, and perhaps it would help to get the brute onside from the start. Luckily, Hubris fancied himself the political animal, intrigue was no alien concept to one who intended to climb the ladders of success.

He punched the intercom.

'Sacha, send the Chastener in, would you?'

Brydon stepped into the office once more. Hubris gestured towards a seat and Brydon sat, propping his helmet on his knee.

'This little matter could be good for both our careers, Grauss. But first, why don't you tell me what's going on down in the Low Domes, these days?'

'Of late we've had nothing out of the ordinary, the usual gang-related scuffles, nothing more. There was a bit of turbulence a couple of years back. Old Sott's enforcers got their sorry arses kicked out of a little settlement on the fringes, I think it's called Frag hole Rock. They've made a number of petitions to the precinct commander asking for an Arbites expedition to re-introduce martial law, but Guthries thought it a waste of resources. I believe they're gearing up to go it alone.'

'What could be so valuable that they'd risk such a venture, do you think?'

'Personally, I think it's an honour thing. The Guilds consider themselves the ruling class of the Underhive. They monopolise trade and resources wherever they can. They pay local gangs to take care of security for them. There's always a profit to be made, and they can't stand the idea of being denied what they see as their due. But it goes deeper than that too. They lose face if they can't look after their investments, other local gangs will lose respect, they'll start to question the Guilds' authority. They'll start to wonder how much richer they'd be if they threw off their masters and went independent. They can't afford for that to happen, so they'll do anything to regain what they've lost, no matter the outlay.'

Hubris nodded thoughtfully. None of this seemed pertinent to the matter at hand, but he liked to be able to see the big picture.

'Tell me, what do you know of rumours that there are Catachan deserters living in the Low Domes region.'

'It's common knowledge,' Brydon repled. 'They're quite a successful concern in the Low Domes. They control everything from Tower Head to Palltown and have good relations with Sott & Co. Old Sott hasn't the muscle to oust them from power but that doesn't mean he wouldn't make things difficult for them. They have some kind of trade agreement that keeps everyone happy.'

'Do they link into Sott's problems at all?'

'I think they're mutually exclusive. Old Jamma wouldn't bother his head about Frag Hole unless Sott could make it worth his while, so I don't think that'll happen.' Hubris recognised the name Brydon coined. It didn't ring any bells but it was likely a nick-name anyway.

'Where did this package come from?' Hubris gestured at the spilled contents of the bundle, Brydon eyed them with unseemly curiosity. Hubris could see the cogs whirring behind the man's pugnacious features. He was thinking hard, which meant he was hiding something.

'Please don't think to conceal anything from me, Brydon. Whatever this means, there will surely be a promotion in it for you, but only if you play me straight…'

The Chastener seemed to reach a decision.

'Two of my men were in a bar in Frag Hole Rock this morning. They got themselves into a scrape, which they lost, and it came out that they were lawmen. They only came back in one piece because the local hood wanted them to deliver this package.'

'What were they doing there? I presume they were on a surveillance mission if they were out of uniform.'

'Yes. Like I said, Sott & Co have made various submissions to the precinct commander for help…'

'Did he order these men were going to scope the situation?'

Brydon hesitated, again thinking furiously. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

'No. I sent them.'

'I understand. You wouldn't be the first man to see a shady opportunity. It's a good thing you came to speak with me before going any further down that road.'

The Chastener seemed relieved. Hubris knew that corruption was rife in the lower precincts. They were infected by the disease of criminality that they waded through each and every day. It was to be expected.

'The real question here is how did this man know that you boys would be passing through his territory.' Brydon's blank expression betrayed the fact that he hadn't even considered that. 'I put it to you that he knew Sott had approached you personally and assumed you would be undertake a reconnaissance foray before accepting. He was waiting for them and he was ready.'

Brydon nodded. Hubris' grasp of intrigue was greater than his. Hubris understood motivation and subterfuge. Information was the key to maintaining power. In order to get it you had to have a network of spies and informants. There weren't many people in the Underhive that were above selling such information. The man who was running Frag Hole Rock would want to know what was going on in neighbouring territories so he could be ready for any moves against him. And if he was clever, he would do what he could to plays his enemies off against each other.

'You are being paid to help the Guild regain Frag Hole Rock. It seems that the man you are preparing to move against has a particular grudge against the Catachans running Tower Head. He's sent me this information in the hopes that I will divert the resources of your precinct into an attempt to bring down his rivals. That would sap a lot of manpower and equipment, leaving Sott to go it alone. We have a conflict of interests, you and I,' Hubris concluded.

'So what do we do?'

'I want you to arrange a meeting for tomorrow with your contact in the Guild. Do it personally. I don't want our friend tipped off. I have a plan that should allow us to kill two hoods with one bullet.'

'Yes, sir,' Brydon replied with relish, his first display of the obeisance proper to his rank.

'Meanwhile, let this man think that his ploy has succeeded. Leave off your preparations and make it look like you've decided not to help the Guilders. Perhaps he will lower his guard a little. I will see you tomorrow.'

Brydon stood and saluted, dismissing himself with a purposeful step.

The following day Brydon brought one Guildsman Rake to meet Hubris at his apartment in the Publius District of Hive City. The look on Brydon's face told Hubris that something was wrong.

'What is it?' he demanded, irritation in his voice.

Brydon swallowed.

'It seems that my boys were a little ticked off by their treatment the other day. They went looking for a little payback…'

'And?'

'I lost four men. Bull Gunders, Eddison Trall, Pes Kellit and Fredo Cosch. He killed them all single-handedly and went intro hiding. The watch commander is conducting a full search of the area. I barely managed to get out of it to come here.'

Hubris struggled to retain his composure. Such idiocy was utterly beyond him. But perhaps all was not lost. Perhaps the murder of four Arbites even gave him just cause to come down heavily on the Low Domes region. But it was complicated by the fact that they would be expecting it. The whole region would be gearing up to resist martial law after this.

'We could have done without this, Brydon, but we can still turn this to our mutual advantage. Attend me in the solarium…'