David Gunn: Maximum Offence

Flicking dust from his sleeve, general Indigo Jaxx adjusts a dagger at his hip and then ruins everything by tugging at the collar of his uniform. He is a general in the Death’s Head, for heaven’s sake.

No , Indigo Jaxx shakes his head.

He’s the general.

His regiment is the emperor’s chosen force. Empire ministers fall silent at his approach. Colonels sacrifice entire brigades to win his approval. Men offer their wives, so their sons might find places on his staff.

It is absurd to be nervous, but he is. OctoV has that effect on him.

The beloved leader has that effect on everyone. Stiffening to attention, General Jaxx waits for his emperor to appear in a swirl of static, with words that will scour the inside of his skull like a hot desert wind.

Come on , thinks General Jaxx. Please. Get this over with .

As he prepares for his mind to be invaded, someone opens the office door behind him and the general turns, cold fury on his lips.

‘Is this a bad time?’

The questioner is in his early teens. He wears a green cavalry uniform with a jewelled sword and has ringlets falling to his shoulders. His hair is blond, but it is his eyes that people notice. They are the blue of deep space and just as empty.

Indigo Jaxx blinks.

‘I said . . .’

‘No, sir,’ says the general, standing straighter. ‘Absolutely not.’

OctoV smiles. ‘I’m so glad,’ he says. ‘I wanted to congratulate you.’

The general goes still.

‘Really,’ says OctoV. ‘Producing victory from defeat . . . Having produced defeat from victory. That’s subtle, even for me.’ He nods towards the general’s Obsidian Cross. ‘I’d give you another medal, but clearly you’ve got them all. What is it now?’

‘Imperial knight, grand master, sir. With extra palm leaves and bar.’

‘Very impressive.’

General Jaxx is being mocked. Given the other choices, he is happy to get off that lightly.

‘Well,’ says OctoV. ‘I must go.’

Now it comes , thinks the general, as he watches the boy head for the door. He tries not to tense as OctoV turns back.

‘By the way,’ OctoV says. ‘What’s he doing now?’

Who? The general thinks desperately. What is who doing now? ‘Do you mean Sven, sir?’

‘Yes,’ says OctoV. ‘Of course I do. What is Sven doing now?’

The general swallows. ‘We’re lending him to the U/Free.’

His imperial highness OctoV, glorious leader, the undefeated, eternal ruler of more worlds than can be counted, laughs. It strips General Jaxx’s skull and reduces his self-control to tatters. Around him, the walls of his office begin to spin.

‘You have the best ideas,’ says his emperor. ‘Keep me up to date.’

Indigo Jaxx wants to say, Yes, sir. Of course, sir . But he is on his knees vomiting. So OctoV walks through the nearest wall with the general’s words unspoken.

The man spins round, knife already drawn, and hesitates. It’s not his fight. Anyway, he’s only in Farlight for OctoV’s birthday, unloading luxuries from a cargo ship on the edge of a landing site. And his knife is new, bought that afternoon from a stall in the road behind Golden Memories.

He doesn’t feel ready to use it yet.

A wise choice. Someone is about to get hurt and it doesn’t have to be him. That someone is standing in my doorway. And half of my bar door swings from a rusted hinge, while the rest lies at his feet.

‘Quiet,’ I say.

A girl next to me shuts up.

I am not sure she knows she screamed.

This is my bar, but it is Aptitude’s home and she’s family. At least she is until her mother and father get out of prison.

‘ Sven ,’ she says.

‘Later . . .’ My gaze flicks across the room and settles on a wiry young man with a pointed face, floppy hair and narrow shoulders. He’s reaching into his jacket. At a shake of my head, he lets go his revolver.

Neen’s nineteen.

In the field, he’s my sergeant, but we’re not in the field, we’re on leave. So he’s running security for a bar I own on the outskirts of this city.

Raising his glass, Neen grins. He, for one, obviously intends to enjoy tonight’s show. As we watch, the man in my doorway jacks the slide on an oversized pistol, and takes a slow look round to check we’ve noticed.

‘ Sven .’

Aptitude is getting nervous.

I smile, but it is at another girl entirely. Wandering over, she sits on my lap and snuggles up to me. Aptitude scowls to see me slide my hand up Lisa’s skirt. What she doesn’t see is the knife I take from Lisa’s garter.

‘Subtle,’ says a voice. ‘Understated, anything but obvious.’

The intruder believes my gun is talking about him. He has pegged my corner of the room for the comment, but he can’t work out who to blame. As the man lumbers over, Lady Aptitude Tezuka Wildeside leans back in her chair.

‘You,’ he says. ‘Got something to say?’

She shakes her head frantically.

Satisfied, the man starts to turn away. Big mistake. Turfing Lisa off my lap, I pick up my own chair and smash it over the back of his skull. He drops, but only to his knees.

‘Finish it,’ says Aptitude.

‘Not yet. I’m enjoying myself.’

‘ Sven .’

Clambering to his feet, the thug stares at me.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m Sven Tveskoeg.’ How many seven-foot tall ex-Legionnaires can he see in this bar?

Behind the man stands another. Federico Van Zill, provider of protection to half the bars and brothels edging the landing fields below Calinda Gap. A rumour says the war against the Uplifted will be over soon.

That is bad for Van Zill.

As long as we’re at war, there’s a chance I’ll be killed and my troopers with me. An end to the war would mean Van Zill gets some permanent competition. Peace isn’t going to happen, of course. And it’s disloyal, unwise, and probably treasonous to suggest otherwise. However, Federico Van Zill is an idiot. So I’ve been expecting this visit.

When Van Zill’s thug pulls a knife, I laugh.

It’s huge, with slots cut into the back of the blade. The slots are meant to say this is a man ready to drag his enemy’s entrails through an open gut wound . You can tell a lot about a man from the knife he chooses.

You can tell a lot about a woman too.

The blade I take from Lisa’s garter is a third of the size. It lacks teeth, blood channels and other finery but it’s razor-sharp and made from glass.

All you have to do is stab once, then snap it off at the handle. You can buy ten for the price of the shiny toy in the hands of the man opposite.

When Neen flashes five fingers, a boy behind the bar breaks the news to the punters crowding round him. The odds on our fat friend have just halved.

‘Come on,’ I say.

Watching my blade, he fails to spot that I’m watching his eyes. This is a man used to getting his own way and that is a weakness. In addition, he’s impatient. So he stabs and leaves himself open, only not open enough.

I block.

And go back to circling.

Neen’s seen me kill swiftly. All of my troopers have. But catching Neen’s puzzled face in the crowd I realize he has never seen me bide my time. Kill early, kill often . . . It’s our unofficial motto.

This is different.

I’ve never gutted someone in front of Aptitude. She’s a well-brought-up kid, and I’m trying to keep it that way. One of the reasons this man’s made me angry. He’s still watching my blade and I’m still watching his eyes.