Streekal growled like an animal and went for Macks’ throat with her teeth. Macks called her the filthiest word Drusher had ever heard her call anybody, and headbutted Streekal in the face.

Streekal’s skull slammed back into the deck. She groaned, dazed. Macks slammed her hand against the deck again, and the dagger spun away. Streekal tried to squirm. Macks punched her in the jaw.

‘Stay down!’ Macks shouted.

Streekal did not obey. Macks knew how to fight. She was a trained marshal. But Streekal’s combat training was far superior to the Magistratum’s.

She lifted her shoulders, arched her back and hoisted Macks off the ground. Macks lost her balance and started to slide and roll. Streekal bent her legs, got both feet under Macks’ belly and kicked hard.

Macks went flying backwards. Streekal leapt up and landed on her. Now she was on top. Her hands closed around Macks’ throat and began to squeeze. Macks fought back, but she couldn’t shift the woman’s weight off her. She began to choke.

Drusher grabbed Streekal and tried to drag her off Macks. Streekal jerked backwards with an elbow that left Drusher bent over on his knees, all the air knocked out of him.

He wheezed helplessly, trying to refill his lungs, tears running down his face.

Streekal got off Macks and straightened up. Macks lay on her back, gasping, unable to breathe or move. Calmly, Streekal walked over to the workstation and retrieved her laspistol.

She came back and stood over Drusher and Macks. She aimed the weapon at Macks’ face.

‘Heretic-bitch!’ Voriet yelled from his cage in hopeless pain. ‘You’ll burn in eternity for this!’

‘I do hope so,’ said Streekal.

A shot cracked out.

Streekal took a step backwards. She looked puzzled. She swayed.

Another shot hit her, and a ribbon of blood and tissue spurted from her back. She staggered. She looked down at the two bloody holes in her torso, trying to make sense of them. Then she looked up.

Harlon Nayl limped across the platform towards her. He was battered, dried blood caking the side of his face. He was aiming his large automatic pistol at her.

‘That’s two,’ he said. ‘Do you know how to die, or do you need another lesson?’

Swaying drunkenly, Streekal raised her pistol to aim at him.

Nayl fired again.

Streekal dropped her gun. Her arm flopped back against her side. She took a couple of awkward, wobbling steps then fell down. The slope of the sagging platform rolled her body over a couple of times, then she simply began to slide on the tarry surface.

Her corpse dropped off the platform lip. They heard it hit the deep, ancient pool of promethium far below.

Nineteen

NINETEEN

The Engine Wakes

‘Where’s Streekal?’ asked Gobleka. His intimidating violet stare fixed on Davinch and Blayg.

‘She’s hunting for him,’ said Blayg.

‘And Jaff’s prisoner might be loose too?’ asked Gobleka.