She detested the thought of abandoning her position. The moment she stepped into the open a stray shot might pick her off. The anger still smouldered inside her, but she pushed it down. There were times when her fury was a weapon, but not here. The sniper’s temperament was cool and calm; rage would not lend strength to her weapon or keenness to her eye. She had to think laterally; find a means of drawing them out.

  Her first thought was the Ambot. Caleb’s las-shot had caused it to run amok, tearing the gang to pieces. She knew she was a better shot than him, but the machine lay dormant and she did not know how he had pulled off the feat. She had the automata’s schematics stored in her vambrace’s databanks, but there was no time to pore through pages of near-indecipherable etchings, hunting for an unknown weak spot.

  She shook her head. Her anger was still guiding her, seeking a means to prove her superiority over him. She did not need to beat him at his own game – she merely needed to beat him.

  It was then she spotted the welding torch.

  It lay abandoned at the foot of the crane, the pilot light off. With a flick of her thumb she adjusted her weapon, upping the intensity to maximum. It would burn through most of the power reserves. She had to make the shot count.

  Two long, slow breaths, just as she’d been taught. The tension eased from her shoulders. It was just another target; a challenge at which to excel.

  On the next exhalation she squeezed the trigger.

  The las-pulse pierced the torch’s fuel tank, the liquid erupting in a ball of flame. It was a modest blast, nothing compared to the chain of explosions that had levelled the compound, but enough for the fireball to engulf the extraction site, the burning fuel setting the very rock alight.

  She heard the screams before there was movement. One of the miners broke from cover, his clothes ablaze. A las-pulse burst open the back of his head. As he tumbled, a second miner emerged from behind the barricade, tearing at his overalls with blackened fingers as the flames consumed him. She granted him mercy, despatching him with a shot through the heart.

  There was no further movement. Then again visibility was falling; the compound was wreathed in oily smoke, and the last of the light was fading as the dome shifted back into its night-cycle.

  Her rifle was almost out of charge. She folded it with practised grace, clipping the weapon between her shoulders as she drew her double-edged knife, the blade blackened so as not to catch the remaining light. There was no other option – she had to risk exposing herself.

  She crept from cover, her footsteps silenced by the micro-stummers embedded in her boots. The pair were once exquisite, gifts from her father, but the ripperskin was now tarnished by the filth of the underhive. She’d first worn them at the debutante ball. It was supposed to be the beginning of her last rite of passage, a celebration before she descended into the depths to prove herself. But the day was now tainted, the glorious moment stolen from her. She held on to that anger now, confident it would bring strength to her blade.

  She moved low and slow, gaze sweeping to encompass the compound. It was a question of luck now, and the thought shamed her. She’d been taught that a Harrow found victory through strength of will, that chance was the refuge of the weak and foolish. It was just another compromise, one of many she had made since her descent.

  She found the last survivor not far from the excavation site. He was uninjured, and well concealed behind one of the barricades. Perhaps this was why he had failed to make a break for it, reluctant to abandon his position. She understood this, even as her knife slid across his throat. He died choking on his own blood, no doubt trying to issue a warning. But there was no one left to warn; a quick sweep of the camp confirmed it.

  She knew the bodies could not be concealed for long, but it was a simple matter to douse them in the fuel from the crane. Perhaps the locals would think it an accident; perhaps they would suspect foul play. It did not matter now. She needed to act quickly, before the settlers passed sentence and her chance for vengeance was stolen.

  It was time for Caleb to leave his cell, and she had the perfect tool to liberate him.

  It was Iktomi who first saw the smoke.

  They were still bound in the main square, the guard known as Tanner keeping a silent vigil, his weapon trained on them. Caleb’s head was bowed, his gaze fixed upon the bedrock. He had been silent ever since his exchange with Stone. She knew the expression on his face, just as she knew better than to try reaching out to him. But she tapped his foot with her own and he lifted his head, follow­ing her gaze and seeing the smoke billowing from the distant mine.

  It was not long before the settlers saw it too. They gathered in the main square. Stone was soon summoned. He stared impassively at the distant smoke before barking orders to the nearest settlers. He then approached them, his mouth a grim line.

  ‘Is this more of your work?’ he asked.

  Caleb looked at him. ‘None of this is our work,’ he sighed. ‘I accept responsibility for ruining the mining operation, but I don’t kill people in cold blood. I don’t kill them at all if I can help it. We’ve been down here the entire time – you can’t blame a fire on us.’

  He glanced to Iktomi.

  ‘And you can’t blame any of it on her. She’s been locked up. You said yourself that nobody could break out of the cell.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Stone shrugged. ‘Some folk think it’s a conspiracy. Maybe you have someone else working with you on the outside.’

  ‘Is this the same person who beat me half to death?’

  ‘Grimm could have put up a fight.’

  ‘If he fought that hard I never could have stabbed him. I bet there wasn’t another mark on him. I’m beaten half to death and he has but a single wound? Doesn’t sound like much of a fight.’

  ‘Well, I never said it was a good theory,’ Stone countered. ‘But you can’t blame us for being suspicious. This trouble started right about the same time that you arrived. I can’t help but think there’s a connection. Things like this don’t happen this far downhive. Our work is dangerous, and people die. But we don’t kill each other.’

  ‘What about the Granite Lords?’

  ‘They didn’t kill anyone,’ Stone said. ‘A couple of them used to be local boys.’

  ‘And that’s the only trouble you’ve had?’

  ‘We get the occasional bandit,’ he said. ‘And the odd mutant. Did your attacker have three arms?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did they steal anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then it doesn’t sound like a mutant or bandit,’ Stone said. ‘Any other suggestions?’

  ‘I think the killer is connected to us somehow. They want revenge.’

  ‘And we’re just caught in the crossfire?’

  ‘That’s how it seems.’

  ‘Lucky us,’ the older man said. ‘Any idea who this mysteri­ous enemy might be?’

  ‘No. But maybe they left a clue at the mine.’

  ‘We have no reason to suspect that the smoke is suspicious. Perhaps the hauling rig’s engine caught fire.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Caleb shrugged. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘I think we are on lockdown until I know more. I’m heading up there.’

  ‘Just you?’

  ‘It might be a setup. I’m not risking any more lives.’

  ‘I could go with you,’ Caleb said. ‘Then you’d only be risking mine.’

  Stone frowned. ‘You think I should free you?’

  ‘I think we should accompany you and try and uncover our mutual enemy.’

  ‘We?’ Stone said, raising an eyebrow. ‘No, I don’t think the two of you should go anywhere together. One of you stays in custody, just to keep the other one honest.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll go’, Caleb said. ‘Put Iktomi back in the cell. She can escape on her own anyway.’

  ‘I doubt that,’ Stone said, untying him from the chair. Caleb raised his hands, holding the manacles forwards. Stone shook his head.

  ‘Oh, come on!’ Caleb exclaimed. ‘You expect me to go after a known killer with my hands tied?’

  ‘No. I expect you to come with me to try and shed some light on who’s doing this,’ Stone said as Caleb stepped past him. ‘We’re investigating, not playing at heroes.’

  He glanced at Iktomi. She bowed her head, as though her gaze were intent on the cuffs.

  ‘Praying?’ Stone asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Thinking.’

  ‘You’re still planning on escaping?’

  ‘If I have to.’

  ‘You mind sharing this escape plan?’ he asked. ‘I’m curious how you intend to get out of those manacles. They could hold a Goliath ’Zerker.’

  ‘They have a simple lock,’ she said. ‘I just need a metal pin or a small piece of bone to pick it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he conceded. ‘But I searched you both and check those cells every day. I know you have neither of those things.’

  She didn’t reply. Stone nodded to Tanner.

  ‘Put her back in the cell. Then I want this place on lockdown.’

  ‘What do you think it is?’ Tanner asked.

  Stone’s face hardened. ‘I’ll know when I get there. Meanwhile, keep your eyes open.’

  Tanner led Iktomi back to the cell block, securing her cuffs to the iron ring. She kept her head down, her gaze still fixed on the iron manacles. The chain was as thick as her wrist, the keyhole the width of her finger.

  She studied it for some time.

  She had no pin.

  The guard secured the cell door, retreating to the corridor beyond.

  Iktomi took hold of her bandaged finger with her right hand. She breathed slowly, steadying her grip, before wrenching the finger sharply to the right.

  There came a loud crack.

  8

  The minecart had died a dozen yards from Elissa’s hideout, the magnetic fields bowing under the weight of the Ambot, the cart grinding to a halt. It did not matter much either way; she had no means of raising the creature from the ground. Still, it felt like yet another setback.

  She had no idea how the machine worked. Her training for the underhive had not covered engineering. She could field-strip a rifle in seconds, identifying every part by touch alone, but she had little idea how the weapon actually functioned. The machine’s schematics could be accessed via her vambrace, but the etchings made little sense to her.

  Still, the machine did not look seriously damaged, the collapsing mountain doing little more than chipping its already well-worn paintwork. The automata had been designed to tunnel through solid rock; it must have been built to endure cave-ins. Likewise there was no sign of the damage inflicted by Caleb. She supposed his shot must have overridden a system somewhere. Could it be fixed? She needed a weapon that could be aimed; awakening the Ambot whilst it was still primed to attack anyone close by could prove a costly mistake.

  Her vambrace whirred, the telltale click of the interface connecting with the upper hive. Once the holo-matrix would have displayed a flawless facsimile of her former life – the gleaming structures and cultivated gardens, the picture so perfect that she almost felt like she’d returned home. But the underhive had tarnished the device, just like it did everything else. She was now greeted by a flickering image of faded blue, the lines blurred and indistinct. She could just make out the figure of a middle-aged woman. She wore black, the colour of mourning, though her dress was pinched a little tighter on the waist than was customary, and her veil was a delicate silk rather than the more traditional weave. Though her face was hidden, Elissa could picture the look of disdain she no doubt wore. It was quite familiar to her.

  ‘Greetings, beloved daughter,’ Lady Harrow said, the words free from sincerity.

  ‘And to you, beloved mother,’ Elissa replied, addressing the woman who had neither birthed nor raised her. ‘Something troubles you?’

  ‘A great many things trouble me,’ her stepmother replied. ‘Our situation becomes ever more dire. Those jackals from House Catallus have been sniffing around our holdings, seeking any source of weakness. They wish to swallow our legacy and take claim of our glories.’

  ‘They are our allies, mother.’

  ‘They are upstarts and ingrates who do not know their place!’ Lady Harrow snapped. ‘If your father were still with us…’

  She trailed off, giving a theatrical sob and dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief. The holo-matrix was too poor for Elissa to tell if there were any actual tears shed. She waited for her stepmother to finish the display.

  ‘Well, I suppose what’s done is done,’ Lady Harrow sighed, tucking the handkerchief neatly into her sleeve. ‘When will your little escapade conclude?’

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Soon cannot come soon enough. Your father’s death has left us on the brink of civil war. And now your cousin Perin has returned from his hunt in triumph. Any fool can see he plans to make a play for control of our house. Worse yet, he might succeed.’

  ‘Then let him.’

  ‘You are a foolish child!’ her stepmother snapped. ‘There is already talk of him stepping out with Lady Catallus’ second daughter. With the backing of House Catallus it will be impossible to oppose him. And that will be the end of our legacy. We will become just another footnote in the Catallus family’s chronicles. Is that what you want?’

  ‘What I want is to avenge my father.’

  ‘And you shall,’ Lady Harrow soothed. ‘He would be so proud of the oath you chose. Proud that you have dedicated your time in the underhive to avenging him, and bringing an end to that wretched killer. But this is more important than vengeance. Until you fulfil your oath I cannot open my door to you, or welcome you into my home. Until that murderer is brought to justice I cannot call you daughter and you cannot take your place as our new Head of House.’

  ‘He will die. But first I will take everything from him. Every­one he cares about. Only when he has nothing left but pain will I grant him mercy.’

  ‘Oh, just put a bullet in the back of his head and be done with it,’ her stepmother said. ‘It’s an oath, not a poem.’

  ‘He dies. My way.’

  ‘Fine. Then send that robot thing you found. You have your little instruction manual – I saw to it.’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that,’ Elissa retorted. ‘It’s offline, and last time it was working it was attacking anything that came near. I might be able to awaken it, but I have no way of knowing if that will restore it to normal or if it will still be in the grip of a murderous rage.’

  ‘Pardon my bluntness, child, but that does not sound like a warrior’s problem. A warrior does whatever is needed to crush their enemy. They do not let cowardice govern their actions.’

  ‘I am not a coward,’ Elissa spat. ‘But if I die this is all for nothing. If I make a mistake here, then–’

  ‘A Harrow does not worry about failing,’ her stepmother told her. ‘A Harrow does not dawdle over matters of could or should. A Harrow imposes their will and changes the world.’

  The display went dark. Elissa stared at it for some time, her stepmother’s after-image burned into her eyes. She pressed her thumb to her vambrace, the holo-matrix displaying a blurred blueprint of the Ambot. Beneath, the text was barely visible: a set of directives for awakening the machine.

  She had her oath. That was all that mattered.

  She reached for the Ambot’s control panel.

  They travelled in silence, broken only by the hum of the minecart’s generator as it glided upon the rails on a wave of electromagnetic energy. Stone was sat behind Caleb in the control cart, one hand ever on his stubber. Caleb sat with his hands still bound. He found his own focus skirting over the landscape. Behind every dune and mound he saw a ­sniper’s opening. They were such an easy, predictable target. He wondered if that was how Iktomi felt all the time – suspicious of every dripping pipe or rusted outlet valve.

  ‘You think someone is following us?’ Stone asked.

  ‘I’m just being cautious.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be a natural trait of yours,’ the older man replied. ‘Who’s after you?’

  Caleb shrugged, or attempted to, his shoulders weighted down by the manacles. ‘I don’t know. It could be anyone.’

  ‘It could be,’ Stone replied. ‘But in my experience there is usually a prime candidate.’

  ‘Your experience?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Were you hunter or hunted?’

  ‘I think everybody gets to be both,’ Stone said. ‘Providing you live long enough.’

  ‘Well I’m one of the hunted,’ Caleb said. ‘I could probably write a book about it if I had the chance to sit still long enough.’

  ‘You certainly have a gift for tall tales.’

  Caleb turned his head, glancing back at him. ‘I prefer to think of them as embellishments.’

  ‘I bet you do,’ Stone replied. ‘I was especially impressed by that story of you killing an invisible monster. Very creative.’

  ‘It wasn’t invisible,’ Caleb argued. ‘It just had a way of muddy­ing perceptions. That’s how it got close enough to feed.’

  ‘And you killed this monster?’

  ‘Sort of. I was the bait. Iktomi killed it. Once it was dead you could see it properly – a shrivelled little creature, some kind of mutant.’

  ‘What about that gang you killed?’ Stone asked as they reached an incline, the cart slowing. ‘Could there be any survivors? Someone seeking payback?’

  ‘No, they’re all dead.’

  ‘You really killed them?’