[Ravenor 03] Ravenor Rogue - Dan Abnett

  The men wore helmets, but their faces were bare except for dust goggles. They had stared in complete incomprehension at the prisoners being brought in. Nayl had wondered if it was because of the odd mix of them - a towering Amazon with sullen eyes and leather bodywear ripped in places to reveal toned skin scabbed with scratches, a barely pubescent girl in a robe, a crippled freak in a floating chair, and a bald bruiser in bodygloving that had seen better days. He had a nasty feeling they were simply baffled at seeing any visitors at all.

  +I can't read any of them at all,+ Ravenor had sent. +Cough if you hear this, Nayl.+

  Nayl had coughed.

  +Then my mind's not totally useless. They must be blocked.+

  The squad had brought them into the module chamber, and locked the hatch. Ten minutes passed.

  Nayl got up off his chair and moved to peer out of one of the small, recessed windows.

  "Listening station, you think?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Ravenor, his voice just a dry wheeze, like an asthmatic whisper.

  "I thought so. From those masts. High security in places like this. No wonder they weren't too happy to see us strolling around. You know the regiment flashes, by the way?"

  "No," said Ravenor.

  Nayl shrugged. "Me neither. Are you sure you're coping, Gideon?"

  "I have had better days. Listen to me... we may have walked into trouble here. A high security zone, as you said. I will try to talk us out of this, because it is our best chance of salvation. It is the only hope of escape the door has offered us so far. Imperial contact. Please follow my lead. Do not do anything... provocative."

  "Hey," said Nayl, with an open handed shrug.

  "I meant Angharad specifically."

  "I understand," the Carthaen snapped. "But Evisorex needs me and-"

  "Evisorex can sit and wait, Angharad. For Throne's sake-" Ravenor's voxponder suddenly cut off, and the monotone voice pattern was lost in a series of strangulated gulps and rattles.

  Nayl hurried to the chair. He realised the sounds were coughing, or even choking.

  "Gideon?"

  "What's wrong with him?" asked Angharad, with a tone that suggested she didn't really care how much Ravenor suffered.

  "Frig, I don't know. I know he was hurt bad. Oh, Throne-"

  Nayl took a hand away from the chair's side. It was smeared with blood. Blood was weeping out of the puncture marks the hook-limbed monsters had punched into its casing.

  "I think he's dying in there."

  +You are quite probably correct.+

  "Gideon?"

  +I think we've known each other long enough for me to be honest with you, Harlon.+

  "I would hope that to be true."

  +I could put up a brave front, and try to keep being the strong leader, but I am not feeling so very strong anymore. My support systems are close to shut down. When they are gone, my body will start to die. Furthermore, I believe I may have sustained physical injury. A wound, maybe more than one. I cannot tell, because my chair's medical supervision system has cut out. My voxponder also just malfunctioned. I am attempting system repairs to it.+

  "So I have to do the talking?"

  +For now. These people seem blocked to my mind. That may be because of my reduced performance, but I think they're properly blocked. I need you to-+

  "Shhhhh!" said Nayl.

  The chamber door had just opened. Two troopers entered, and were followed by a small, brunette woman in the uniform of a Guard colonel. She was strong-featured, and almost attractive, although her face was lined and worn by years of care and sunlight. She gave a nod, and one of the troopers closed the door.

  The woman walked around and sat down behind the table. She regarded her four detainees.

  +I can't read her either, Harlon. She's blocked too.+

  Nayl rose from beside the chair and faced the seated woman.

  "I'm sorry for this trouble, ma'am," he said. "My name is Harlon Nayl. I am an accredited bounty hunter, carrying license to hunt in the Scarus, Electif and Borodance sectors."

  "That's an interesting series of lies," the woman replied with a husky voice, "or at least unlikely, considering how far away those sectors lie."

  "May I ask, ma'am, where we are?"

  She hesitated, with a confused smirk. "Are you telling me you don't know?"

  "Would I ask such a stupid question if I did?"

  "I suppose not. This is Rahjez."

  "I don't know it."

  +Please, Harlon, be careful what you say.+

  "I'm interested... how could you be on a world," asked the woman, "without the slightest knowledge of where it is?"

  "I could tell you a story about how I was kidnapped by slavers, and made my escape along with these three companions, landing on a world I had no way of identifying."

  "Would that story be true?" she asked mildly.

  "Look at me. Look at the three people I'm travelling with. Are we remotely... likely? Don't we look like escapees from a slaver ship?"

  "That makes more immediate sense than the suspicions I have."

  "What might they be?"

  "That you're spies. Good spies disguise themselves in the most unlikely ways, in my experience."

  Nayl nodded towards Angharad, aloof at the back of the room. "Look at her. Built for fighting. That's why the slavers chose her. Good breeding stock for the arenas."

  "I am not good breeding stock for-"

  +Shut. Up. Angharad.+

  "But the slavers, they obviously saw that in me." Angharad added.

  "Slavers?" asked the woman. "We haven't had slaver activity since... when did we last have slaver activity in this sub, Kerter?"

  "Never," answered one of the troopers.

  "Do spies just walk out into the open to get captured?" asked Nayl.

  "They might," the woman said. "It rather depends on their agenda."

  Nayl shrugged and risked a smile at the woman. "This isn't going well, is it?"

  "I'd say not," the woman rose. "I am obliged to tell you that I am Colonel Asa Lang, in operational command of this station, and that's all I am obliged to tell you. You are prisoners of war."

  "There's a war?"

  "Oh, please." Lang replied.

  "Are you obliged to offer us aid?" Nayl asked.

  "What kind of aid?"

  "Water would be nice. We haven't had liquid in a while, or food. The kid there is suffering. Medicae aid would be nice too. My... acquaintance Gideon there, he's been hurt."

  Lang looked at the support chair. "He is a disabled person? In a support unit?"

  "He's been stabbed."

  "By what?"

  "Long story." Nayl began.

  +Harlon. Just cut to the chase.+

  Nayl nodded at Ravenor. "May I show you something, Colonel Lang?" he asked.

  "Go on."

  He moved to the chair. "Don't get jumpy or trigger happy now," he added to the two troopers. "Hand it to me, Gideon."

  The chair opened a mechanical slot on its nose and displayed Ravenor's Inquisitorial rosette, the badge of Special Condition. Nayl took it out and handed it to Lang.

  "This is Inquisitor Gideon Ravenor, of the Ordos Helican. The rest of us are part of his chosen company. We have been through a terrible experience that has deposited us here on your world. We request, by the authority of the Inquisition, your immediate help."

  Lang handed the rosette to one of the troopers. "Get this checked," she said. The man hurried out of the chamber.

  "If that claim is true, I apologise for your treatment." She took out a link. "I need Medicae Bashesvili standing ready in the infirmary quickly, and get someone to bring water and food."

  "Thank you, colonel," said Nayl. "We-"

  "How did you get here?" asked Lang.

  "Via a portal."

  "A what?"

  "A portal."

  "I don't understand."

  "Neither do I, really. It's been rough, but that's why I want to know where we are."

&nb
sp; "This is Rahjez, in the Fantomine subsector."

  "Fantomine? Throne, that's... that's right out on the edge of the Ultima Segmentum."

  "If your story is more than a story, you're a long way from home." Lang replied. "This is Listening Station Arethusa on-"

  "What did you say?" Nayl cut in, sharply.

  "That this is Listening Station Arethusa."

  Nayl looked at the chair. "You were aiming for the Arethusa, weren't you?"

  +Yes, Harlon.+

  "Shit." Nayl moaned. "That frigging door..."

  "Who are you talking to?" asked Lang nervously. "Are you talking to the cripple? Is he speaking?"

  "My master Ravenor is a psyker," said Nayl. "For some reason, he can't read you."

  Lang nodded. "It's because we're implanted with blockers when we do a tour here on Rahjez. The ku'kud screams when we burn it."

  "The what?"

  "The thorn weed. It grows very rapidly, and would choke the station if we didn't use the burn gangs to crop it back on a daily basis, but it is psy-active. At night, it whispers. When we kill it, it screams. The cumulative effect of either can be lethal. When we are sent here for a duty rotation, we are psychically blocked to preserve our sanity." She leaned forwards, and pulled back her hair to reveal the implant lodged in the base of her skull. "Unblocked, you will quickly start to suffer."

  "May I ask you another question?" asked Nayl.

  "I suppose so," Lang replied.

  "What year is this?"

  "What what?"

  "What year is this, the calendar date?" Nayl asked, looking her in the eyes.

  "It is 404, of course," she said. "404.M40."

  EIGHT

  The Arethusa was cold and forbidding when they came back from the surface. It had never been the most comfortable ship, nor the most welcoming but as they stepped in through the air-gate, it felt especially dank and stale.

  Unwerth scampered ahead of them, excited. "Fyflank has fixated something!" he exclaimed.

  "It had better be something good," Thonius said to the others. "My mind is made up. It would take a lot to change it."

  "Wait to see what Unwerth has found," said Kys. "If it's Siskind's ship-"

  "If, if, if..." echoed Thonius. "I want a course set for Thracian by tonight."

  Kys and Kara waited while the others wandered despondently out of the dock bay.

  "Is Thracian such a good idea, Patience?" Kara asked once the others were out of earshot. "The mercy of Lord Rorken?"

  Kys shrugged. "It's Carl's call, Kar, and maybe he's right. We should try to make amends now he's gone."

  "Has he, though?"

  Kys looked at her. "What do you mean?"

  Kara tilted her head. "Since when did Gideon ever not beat the odds?"

  "Nice try, Kara Swole." Kys replied. "I'm afraid I just can't buy in to that sort of optimism. I saw the Wych House perish and I saw how damaged he was. He's gone from us."

  Kara sighed. Kys felt how close to tears the smaller woman was.

  "It's been hard, up here," Kara said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "The ship's been misbehaving. On again, off again, while we were waiting for you. I didn't want to bother you with it, so I never sent."

  "How is the ship misbehaving?" asked Kys quietly.

  Kara laughed humourlessly. "Oh, like it's haunted. The whole crew is spooked. No one can sleep, and we keep hearing sobbing."

  "I thought you looked tired."

  "Tired?"

  "Drained. Strung out."

  "Well, I am. Everyone aboard is. Even before we heard what... what had happened."

  "So, sobbing?"

  "Yes, and manic laughter, through the vox, even when it's shut down."

  "I don't sense anything," said Kys, uncertainly, tentatively allowing her mind to reach out.

  "You will. You won't sleep, or if you do, it won't be calm. That's why I said what I said about Gideon."

  "Explain?"

  Kara shrugged. "I thought it might be him, somewhere, trying to get through."

  "Let me look into it," said Kys. She had a distinct notion of what might be wrong, and there was no way she was going to scare Kara Swole with the idea yet.

  "Look," she said brightly, "there's someone who loves you."

  Kara turned around. Belknap was waiting for her in the arch of the main docking clamp.

  She crossed to him and they hugged.

  "Is it true?" Belknap asked Kys as she approached.

  "Is what true, Patric?"

  He cleared his throat. "Is Ravenor dead, Kys?"

  "Yes, I'm afraid he is," she replied.

  Kys strode into the infirmary ward. There was no sign of Frauka, except a dish full of lho-stick butts and a forsaken data-slate. Zael lay on the cot, thin and cold as ice.

  +Zael?+

  No response.

  +Zael?+

  She turned as Wystan Frauka re-entered the room behind her. He was dabbing his nose with a paper swab from the surgery.

  "Oh, you're back then?" he asked.

  "Where were you?"

  "Out there." Frauka gestured, meaning the surgery chamber. "Don't often see you down here."

  "I didn't realise I needed an appointment," she snapped.

  "Steady," he soothed. "Listen, I heard what happened. I'm sorry, truly."

  She stared at him. She was aware that a rising tide of grief was making her irritable and short-fused. "Has he woken?"

  "Zael? No."

  "And you'd tell me if he had?"

  "No, I'd keep it a secret." Frauka retorted, sitting down on his chair. "What is this?"

  "Kara told me the ship has been troubled while we were away."

  Frauka blew up his cheeks and exhaled a sort of resigned sigh. "So I've heard."

  "Not felt anything yourself?"

  "I'm an untouchable, baby."

  "I'd appreciate it if you kept the pet-names to yourself. Have you experienced any of the phenomena the others have reported?"

  "No," he said. He sat down and reached for a lho-stick but didn't light it. Untouchable though he was, he was aware of the tension in the room.

  "They've told me things. Sobbing on the vox. Boguin was in the galley last night, and he heard laughter coming out of plumbing. Fyflank says he hears footsteps following him every time he takes a stroll along the holds. Other stuff."

  "I dunno, Kys, show me a ship that isn't full of noises. The crew's agitated, especially now they know he's not coming back. Imagination does stuff to you."

  "But you've heard nothing?"

  "No."

  "And Zael hasn't woken, even for a moment?"

  Frauka met her eyes. "I know what's at stake, Kys, and you know the damned responsibility Ravenor handed me. You think I like that? You think I'd lie to you?"

  "I don't know. Truth is, Frauka, none of us know you very well at all. We can't read you."

  "Story of my life. You have no idea whatsoever how hard it is to be an untouchable. Everyone feels the absence, and it makes them uncomfortable. You get treated like shit. Working for Ravenor's the only decent job I've ever had, the only time I've felt worth anything. I guess that's over now, isn't it? Get off my back. I've covered yours long enough, and I deserve more respect, even if I make you uncomfortable."

  They stared at each other. On a different day, under different circumstances, she might have been more sympathetic. In his own, alien fashion, Wystan Frauka had saved them more times than she could count. He certainly deserved their respect, but just then, she felt unable to give it. She was too scared.

  "Where were you?" she asked.

  "When?"

  "When I came in here?"

  "Back there," said Frauka defensively. "Like I said-"

  "Why?"

  "I was looking for a swab. I had a nosebleed."

  "A nosebleed?"

  "Yes, I had a nosebleed."

  "Only one?" Kys asked, glancing down at several blood-soaked swabs littering the floor under Zae
l's cot. She looked up again slowly and stared at Frauka. "Nosebleeds: secondary indicative symptom of proximal psychic activity."

  "Or of picking your nose." Frauka snapped. "I'm an untouchable, remember?"

  "He's awake, though, isn't he?" Kys asked, looking back at Zael.

  "I'd have sensed it."

  "Sensed it?"

  "Blocked it, I mean."

  "You know what he is? What he could be?"

  "I'm very aware of what he might be, Mamzel Kys."

  Kys lunged at Frauka and dragged him out of his chair. The bedside cabinet crashed over, spilling Frauka's dish of lho-stick butts and his data-slate onto the deck. He cried out in surprise, and tried to fight her off. He was strong, and large, but she was determined and she was a trained, principal agent of the Inquisition. She outclassed him many times over. She slammed Frauka back into the wall, and pinned him, her forearm across his throat.

  "Why? Why are you doing this?" he gasped.

  "You tell me why," she hissed. She reached out with her telekinesis, still pinning him physically, and pulled the autopistol out of his pocket. It floated up beside their faces.

  "I know why you have this. You know why you have this. Ravenor trusted you."

  "Kys!"

  "He woke up, didn't he? He's awake. That's why the ship is sobbing out of its decks. What's the matter, Frauka, too pussy to do it?"

  "No," Frauka yelled. Kys stepped away and shoved Frauka away onto the deck. He fell awkwardly. She turned and grabbed hold of the floating pistol, racking the slide with her mind.

  Kys stepped forwards. She aimed the pistol at Zael's head with a steady, two-handed grip.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  Frauka crashed into her and brought her down hard. They wrestled on the floor. The weapon went off, and the slug tore into the ceiling.

  Belknap burst into the infirmary. Without hesitation, he dived at the pair of them. Guard training took over and he managed to pull them apart.

  "Get off!" Belknap shouted, pushing Frauka away. Frauka bashed into the wall, and sat down heavily. He blinked, dazed, at Belknap fighting brutally to contain Kys. Kys had caught the doctor in a telekinetic hold and was lifting him away from her. Frauka reached up and turned off his limiter.