‘It comes and goes.’

  ‘Now?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I’ll get you something,’ he said.

  Dorden walked down the length of the field station and crossed the hall into the side room where they had secured the drugs and dressing packs. It was gloomy, and poorly lit. He took out the lamp-pack he’d taken to carrying on his belt and clicked it on. It came on, then faded, as if the battery was drained. He clicked it on and off.

  ‘Lesp!’ he called.

  He started to rummage in one of the dispensary cartons, looking for high dose tranq/anti-inflammatories.

  He could hear something dripping.

  ‘Lesp! Get in here! Bring a light!’

  The orderly appeared in the doorway with a shining lamp.

  ‘Doctor?’

  ‘Get some light on me, I can’t see a thing.’

  Lesp shone his lamp down obediently.

  ‘What’s that sound?’ he asked after a moment. He turned the beam away.

  ‘Feth’s sake, Lesp! I can’t see!’

  ‘Doctor?’ Lesp murmured. ‘Look.’

  Dorden looked up. Lesp’s lamp beam was illuminating the back wall of the little room. The wall was streaming with blood. It glistened black in the hard light.

  ‘What in the name of–’ Dorden stammered. ‘Who did this? What fething idiot thought it would be funny to waste precious blood supplies?’

  ‘It’s coming out of the wall,’ said Lesp.

  ‘That’s ridiculous! It’s–’

  Dorden stared. The blood was quite clearly oozing out between the brown satin panels.

  ‘Get me a pry-bar,’ said Dorden.

  ‘What?’

  ‘A pry-bar! A pry-bar!’

  ‘What’s going on in here?’ Zweil snorted, entering the room behind him. ‘You’re waking the patients. Is that good medical practice? I don’t believe so–’

  ‘Get out, Zweil!’

  ‘I will not!’

  ‘Father, get out of this room now!’

  ‘What are you staring at?’ Zweil asked, pushing past them.

  ‘The blood!’ Lesp blurted. ‘The blood on the wall!’

  ‘What blood?’ the old ayatani asked, touching the wall. ‘It’s just dust.’

  Dorden snatched the lamp from Lesp’s quivering hand and stepped closer. He could see it clearly. It wasn’t blood running down the wall, it was dust, fine trickles of dust seeping out around the panels.

  ‘Throne take me for an old fool,’ Dorden muttered. He looked around at Lesp and punched him on the arm. ‘And you for a young one.’

  ‘It looked like blood,’ said Lesp, ruefully.

  It really had.

  ‘Get me a ten mil dose of axotynide and shut up,’ Dorden replied.

  He walked back into the field station, aware that his pulse was still racing.

  Criid’s cot was empty.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked, looking around. ‘She was just here. Where is she?’

  In a nearby cot, Twenzet shrugged. ‘She just got up and went out. I told her not to. She said–’

  ‘What did she say, trooper?’

  ‘I dunno,’ Twenzet replied.

  ‘What did she say?’ Dorden snarled.

  Twenzet’s eyes widened. ‘I… I think she said something like “He’s calling me”. I thought she meant her boy.’

  Dorden didn’t believe that for a moment. He hurried back into the hallway. ‘Tona!’ he shouted. ‘Tona!’

  VI

  Ludd started to hurry the moment he heard the angry voices up ahead. Then there was a rattling crack of gunfire and he broke into a run.

  He burst into the billet hall, into the middle of a riot. On all sides, troopers were shouting, backing away, waving their hands. Wes Maggs stood with his lasrifle in his hands in the centre of the room. He was shaking, his eyes wide, his teeth clenched. Scorched holes in the wall panels ahead of him showed where his shots had gone in.

  ‘Give me the gun, Wes,’ Varl was saying calmly, moving round to face Maggs, his hands extended.

  ‘She was right there! Right there! You all saw her, didn’t you?’

  ‘Give me the fething weapon, Wes!’ Varl ordered.

  ‘She was right there!’ Maggs yelled. ‘Right in fething front of me! I must have hit her!’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Ludd. No one paid him the slightest attention.

  ‘I said, that’s enough!’ Ludd bellowed.

  ‘Give me the gun!’ Varl repeated, facing Maggs down.

  ‘Stand back, sergeant,’ said Ludd, trying to interpose himself between them.

  ‘Get out of the way,’ Varl warned him.

  ‘That’s not how this is going to work,’ Ludd replied.

  ‘She was right there!’ Maggs insisted, his voice strangled with tension.

  Varl lunged at Maggs.

  ‘No!’ Ludd cried.

  Varl got his hands around Maggs’s weapon and they grappled. Varl’s augmetic strength forced the barrel up. A flurry of rounds fired off into the ceiling.

  Nahum Ludd was neither especially large nor especially strong, but the Commissariat had trained him well in methods of self-defence and disarmament. Training took over.

  He leapt forward, scoop-kicking Varl’s legs out from under him. Simultaneously, he took hold of Maggs’s weapon in his left hand, and chopped Maggs in the throat with the side of his right. Varl crashed down on his back to Ludd’s left, and Maggs went over, gasping, to his right. Ludd was left standing between them, Maggs’s lasrifle in his hand. He swung it around deftly and aimed it at Maggs.

  ‘Stay the feth down!’ he instructed.

  ‘I didn’t do any–’

  ‘Stay down! Varl, don’t even think of continuing this.’

  ‘Hey,’ said Varl, getting up, his hands raised. ‘I was just trying to help.’ He looked at Ludd, impressed. ‘That was pretty fancy stuff, Ludd.’

  ‘Commissar Ludd.’

  Varl nodded, grinning. ‘Fancy fething stuff, eh?’ He looked around.

  The Ghosts around them began to cheer and clap.

  ‘Thanks, but shut up,’ said Ludd. ‘Melyr. Garond. Remove Trooper Maggs’s other weapons and get him on his feet.’

  ‘She was right there!’ Maggs protested as the two Ghosts scooped him up and took his warknife and pistol away. ‘I was just trying to protect us all!’

  ‘From what?’ Ludd asked.

  ‘The old dam! The old dam!’ Maggs cried bitterly.

  An armed fire-team slammed into the billet hall behind them, led by Kolea. They had their weapons trained.

  ‘Shots reported,’ Kolea growled looking at Ludd and the others down the foresight of his carbine. ‘Do we have contact?’

  ‘False alarm, major,’ Ludd said. ‘Just a little domestic incident.’

  Kolea lowered his gun and clicked his micro-bead. ‘Kolea to all stations. Stand down, stand down. False contact.’

  He looked back at Ludd. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing I couldn’t handle,’ said Ludd. ‘Can we find somewhere we can make Maggs secure for the time being?’

  Kolea frowned. ‘Lock him up, you mean?’

  Ludd nodded.

  ‘Is he on charges?’

  ‘I think it’s safe to say yes,’ said Ludd.

  Kolea whistled.

  ‘I was only trying to protect us all,’ said Maggs, quieter and calmer now. ‘You’ve seen her, haven’t you, Gol?’

  ‘What’s he talking about?’ Kolea asked.

  ‘Who the feth knows?’ Varl replied.

  VII

  He hadn’t been able to sleep, the air was so still. As he lay in his bedroll, it felt like he was being smothered. He got up and walked around, with no particular destination in mind.

  That was a lie.

  No particular destination at all.

  The scratching under the floor knew he was lying.

  Baskevyl wandered idly down through the lower levels of the house, nodding to sentry groups and watch positions as he went, stopping to share a few words.

  All the while, he could hear the slithering underground, the mottled, slick, spinal cord thing moving through the rock beneath him, following him, following him.

  No, not following, leading.

  Baskevyl walked on, down a loop of stairs, passing lights that glowed and faded, glowed and faded, in time with the hideous scratching noise down there.

  He reached the entry hole in the wall that led into the new section. The wall panels that had been pulled down had disappeared for firewood. Three troopers guarded the doorway: Karsk, Gunsfeld and Merrt.

  ‘Quiet night, sir?’ Gunsfeld asked.

  ‘So, so.’

  ‘We heard there was a thing just now, in one of the billet halls,’ said Karsk.

  ‘Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘We thought it might have been another raid starting.’

  ‘It wasn’t,’ said Baskevyl. ‘You can relax. Not too much, mind. All right if I go through?’

  Gunsfeld ushered him in. ‘Help yourself, sir.’

  Baskevyl smiled a thank you, and stepped through the hole into the amber glow of the new section. He’d gone a little way when he heard a voice call to him from behind. Trooper Merrt had followed him down the tunnel.

  ‘What’s up, Merrt?’

  ‘I just gn… gn… gn… wanted to ask you something, sir,’ Merrt said. He looked awkward and embarrassed.

  ‘All right.’

  Merrt held out his weapon. ‘What does that say to you, sir?’

  Baskevyl peered at the gun. ‘It says… I think… er, “034TH”.’

  Merrt nodded. ‘Right. Gn… gn… gn… thanks, sir.’

  ‘Was that it?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Carry on, then.’

  Merrt waited until Baskevyl was out of sight, then he looked at his rifle again. 034TH. That’s what Gunsfeld had said too, when Merrt had asked him. Gunsfeld had looked as perplexed by the question as Baskevyl was.

  The problem was, they were wrong. Merrt could understand that, because he’d been seeing 034TH too, for a long time.

  But the more he’d studied the serial mark, the more he’d become convinced he’d been right all along.

  It said DEATH. It absolutely, definitely said DEATH.

  It slithered beneath him, so close to the surface, some of the brown satin floor panels seemed to lift slightly and drop back into place as it passed. He could hear it scratching and grinding, wet meat and bone on rock.

  ‘All right,’ he whispered. ‘I’m doing it.’

  The scratching fell silent.

  Baskevyl entered the library. He walked along the stacks until he was facing the book. It was bound in black leather, sheened and smooth, with an emblem embossed in silver on the spine – a worm with its long, segmented body curled around in a circle, so that its jaws clenched its tail-tip to form a hoop.

  He reached out to touch it. His fingers wavered.

  He took the book off the shelf.

  VIII

  ‘What do you mean, you don’t know where she is?’ Dalin asked.

  ‘She’s just gone for a walk,’ said Curth. ‘We’re looking for her.’

  Dalin looked around at Cullwoe.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ Cullwoe said. ‘She’s tough.’

  Dalin turned and walked back to where Meryn stood at the door of the billet.

  ‘Permission to help search for Sergeant Criid, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Two fire-teams, out here with me,’ Meryn called over his shoulder. ‘Quick as you can.’

  He turned back to face Dalin. ‘We’ll help you look, adjutant,’ he said.

  IX

  ‘So, it’s true then, Vawne?’ Van Voytz’s voice crackled over the poor link.

  ‘That’s Rawne, sir. Yes, it’s true.’

  Static hissed and buzzed. ‘I’m losing you, general,’ Rawne said, pulling the mic closer.

  ‘I said that’s a damn shame, Rawne. He was a good man, one of the best. I’ve known Ibram for years. Fine, fine officer. I’ll miss him. How are you coping?’

  ‘The circumstances here are not good. We need assistance urgently. Munitions mainly, but reinforcement would be very welcome.’

  ‘It’s coming, Rawne,’ the voice on the link said. ‘Hold tight. I’ll try to arrange a munitions drop for you.’

  ‘Sir, I’ve sent you particulars. Munition requirements, plus a plan for the drop.’

  Static shrieked and moaned for a moment. ‘–in front of me.’

  ‘Say again, Elikon?’

  ‘I said, I’ve got your request right in front of me, Rawne. Looks do-able. You’re sure about this drop site?’

  ‘Confirmed, sir.’

  ‘And you want an extraction too?’

  ‘Yes, sir. If you read my communiqué, you’ll see why.’

  Rawne waited. The vox gurgled and fizzled like a dud grenade. The signal strength indicators kept dropping back to nothing.

  ‘Did you hear me, Nalwood? Nalwood?’

  ‘Here, sir.’

  ‘I said I’ll review this and try to set something up. I won’t leave Gaunt’s boys hanging out to dry. Expect contact from me around dawn.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Ech’kkah.’

  Rawne paused. ‘Elikon, Elikon say again? Elikon, Elikon, this is Nalwood, this is Nalwood.’

  The vox grunted and flared, letting out a sharp rising whine that made Rawne yank off his headset with a wince. The signal continued to flood out of the speakers.

  ‘–ech’rakah koh’thet magir shett gohrr! Gohrr! GOOOOHHRRR! ECH’KHETT FF’TEH GOOOOHRRR ANARCH!’

  The link went dead, cold and dead as hard rock.

  ‘Beltayn!’ Rawne yelled, leaping to his feet. ‘What the feth was that?’

  Fifty metres away in the base chamber, Beltayn urgently nursed his vox-caster, one headset cup pressed to his ear.

  ‘Channel interference, sir!’ he shouted back. ‘I’m trying to recover the Elikon signal now!’

  Rerval bent over Beltayn. ‘Try 3:33 gain–’

  ‘Thank you, I am.’

  ‘That sounded like–’

  ‘I know what it fething sounded like, Rerval!’ Beltayn snapped.

  Rerval went pale. ‘Do you think… if we can hear them… can they hear us?’

  Beltayn wasn’t listening. He wound a dial over and threw two toggle switches. ‘Think I’ve got it… I think I’ve got it back. Clean signal. Setting for balance.’

  Beltayn sat back from the caster suddenly. ‘Feth,’ he said.

  ‘Bel?’ Rerval asked.

  Beltayn handed him the headset. Rerval pressed it to his ear.

  He heard the voice, distant but quite distinct. It said, ‘Are we the last ones left alive? Are we? Someone, anyone, please? Are we? Is there anybody out there? Are we the last ones left alive?’

  Rerval began to shake. ‘Bel,’ he said. ‘That’s your voice.’

  ‘I know,’ said Beltayn.

  X

  It seemed a long way back to the base chamber. Hark wanted to lie down. More than that, he wanted painkillers. More than that, he wanted sleep.

  He was limping along a corridor in the middle range of the house on the southern side. Individual inset box gunslits formed a row of windows looking out down the pass. He sat down on the firestep under one of them, careful not to lean back. Shifting around he managed to peer out into the darkness. It was well past midnight, local. The night was virtually calm and very clear. He could see the black walls of the pass against the maroon sky, and the small, fierce moon hanging above them. The moonlight lit up the lower slopes of the house and made the dust bowl beyond the gate glow like a snowfield. He watched the wind chase zephyrs of dust across the shining dunes.

  He heard footsteps approaching.

  He took out his pistol, pretending to load it again.

  Someone walked past him, stirring the air. He looked up, but there was nobody around. Hark tensed. The air had suddenly gone very cold. The pain in his back flared and he realised he was quite incapable of standing up. He distinctly heard the sound of Tanith pipes. Fear prickled across him.

  Tona Criid appeared, padding along in bare feet. She looked like she was sleepwalking.

  ‘Tona?’

  She turned her head slightly, but didn’t seem to recognise him.

  ‘Tona, can you help me?’

  She kept walking, her feet making small, slapping noises on the brown satin flooring.

  ‘Sergeant Criid, please,’ he groaned. ‘I can’t stand, and there’s something badly wrong here, something terrible.’

  She stopped in her tracks and looked back at Hark.

  ‘He’s here,’ she said. ‘He’s here.’

  ‘Who is?’

  ‘Caff,’ she said. ‘Look.’

  She gestured ahead of her. Down the corridor, in the dark, a light had appeared. It was tiny at first, but then it grew brighter until it had become a twisting, jumping, flickering snake of intense, baleful luminosity. It danced and crackled. Hark felt the hairs on his neck rise and smelled ozone. He knew it for what it was: corposant, freak electrical discharge.

  ‘Tona, get back,’ he said, trying to get up, but his legs were too weak. ‘Tona Criid, get back, now!’

  ‘Look,’ she said, smiling.

  The light wasn’t a light anymore. It was a figure, a human figure, radiating light from inside its form. Tona began to cry. Tears raced down her thin cheeks.

  ‘Caff,’ she sobbed.

  ‘That’s not Caffran!’ Hark cried. He tried to rack the slide of his bolt pistol. It jammed. He fought at it, grinding it back and forth.

  ‘Tona!’

  The figure turned to face them slowly. It was tall. Its clothing was torn and ripped, and soaked with blood. It was quite dead, Hark saw that instantly. Gore caked its face and matted its short, blond hair.