Chris Wooding - The Black Lung Captain

'Is that thing safe or not?' he demanded, pointing at the sphere.

'I don't know!' Crake said. 'I haven't had time! It takes tests, procedures, careful study—'

Grist reached past him and snatched up the sphere.

'However,' Crake continued, 'a reckless disregard for one's own life will do just as well.'

There was another volley of gunshots from outside, snapping through the silent, empty dreadnought.

'Pack up your junk and catch us up!' Frey snapped at Crake. He ran out of the room, with Grist and Crattle hard on his heels. Grist had the sphere under his arm, which Frey wasn't happy about, but now wasn't the time for arguments. He'd make damned sure he didn't let the captain out of his sight, though.

They found Jez sitting by the doorway, a distant look in her eyes. Shell-shocked. Frey didn't have time to wonder what was wrong with her. He hauled her up. 'On your feet, Jez. You alright to shoot a gun?'

She shook herself and focused on him. Her face firmed. 'Yes, Cap'n.'

'Come on, then.'

They backtracked through the dreadnought. The gunfire intensified as they approached the breach where they'd entered. Finally they saw daylight ahead. There, crouching among their abandoned packs in the cover of a bulkhead, was Tarworth. He was using the rifle that had been his crutch to fire out into the undergrowth. Frey reached him first. Tarworth looked up, and his eyes were afraid, but he said nothing.

Frey peered out around the ragged edge of the rip in the dreadnought's hull. Beyond was the forest, steeped in weak daylight. It was alive with movement. Leaves rustled. Half-glimpsed figures rushed this way and that. A few dozen metres ahead of him, he could see the ridge they'd clambered down to get to the floor of the defile. That was their only way out, as far as he knew. The other three sides were sheer.

The undergrowth heaved and Pinn and Malvery burst out of it. They raced towards him, firing wildly over their shoulders and yelling. A spear followed them and buried itself in the ground centimetres from the doctor's foot.

'This way!' Frey cried. He drew Gimble's revolvers and fired covering shots into the undergrowth, aiming at nothing.

'Where do you think we're bloody running to?' Malvery howled back.

They bundled in through the breach and flung themselves into cover, just as Jez, Grist and the others caught up with Frey.

'Where's Ucke?' Grist demanded of his crewman.

'He was out there,' Tarworth said. 'I don't—'

'He's done for,' Malvery panted. 'They got us by surprise. He was the first one. Didn't stand a chance.'

They clustered on either side of the breach, looking out, seeking targets. It wasn't easy. They never stayed visible for long.

'There!' Jez cried.

Frey caught a brief sight of one of their attackers as it loped through the undergrowth. It looked almost like a man, but it must have been seven feet tall, thickly built and covered in black, shaggy hair. It wore beads and was wearing some kind of crude armour, made of hide or leather. In one hand it carried a carved wooden club, decorated with painted symbols and bands of colour; in the other was a spear.

'The beast-men of Kurg,' Hodd breathed, rather unnecessarily.

'Thanks, Hodd,' Frey replied sarcastically, reloading his revolvers. 'I wasn't sure for a minute there.'

'We saw some smaller ones,' said Malvery. 'Ugly little things. Red fur instead of brown.'

'Those,' sniffed Hodd, with a disdainful look at Frey, 'are the females.'

'Those are the native women?' Pinn cried, with the unique anguish of someone whose dreams have just been violently shattered. 'What happened to the sex-crazed tribes of warrior women?'

'Oh, they're rumoured to live in the northern tundra,' said Hodd. 'Actually, there's quite an interesting story I once heard—'

'Will you two shut it?' Frey cried. 'I'm trying to think of a way out of this!'

'Think hard, Cap'n. They've cut us off,' Jez muttered. She took a potshot at something moving in the undergrowth. 'We're trapped in the defile. More of 'em moving up all the time.'

'Where?'

'Over there.' She pointed out into the forest. There was a meaty impact, and she pulled her hand back with an arrow sticking through the palm. Frey stared at her.

'Ow,' she murmured. She went faint, staggered back and sat down heavily. Malvery went to attend to her just as Silo and Crake came running up the passageway, their packs loaded with Crake's gear.

'What's going on?' Crake demanded of the group in general.

'Beast-men!' said Hodd. 'They appear to have the advantage over us.'

'Can't you do something, Crake?' Pinn asked. 'You're a daemonist, aren't you? Make them die or something. Shoot fireballs!'

'Daemonism. you bloody dullard, is a science and an art!' Crake declared indignantly. 'I'm not some two-bit stage magician. If you want to make them dead, use your gun. It's what it's there for.'

Fat lot of good you are, then,' Pinn muttered.

Frey shook his head in exasperation. Pinn never failed to get a rise out of Crake, even when he was in his blackest humours. He was pleased that his crew were just about capable of working together as a unit nowadays; he just wished they could do it without all the bitching and bickering. But then, he supposed, they wouldn't be his crew.

'Malvery?' he called. 'How's Jez?'

'She's okay, Cap'n. Won't be playing the piano for a while, though. Now grit your teeth, Jez, that arrow's gotta come out.'

'Why does it have to come ouaaaaaAAARRGH!! ’

'There, now. That wasn't so bad.'

Jez was still whimpering as Malvery applied the bandages. Grist hunkered up next to Frey. 'We can't let 'em shut us in,' he said. 'If we don't move now, there'll be too many of 'em.'

'There's probably already too many of them.'

'Well, then there'll be even more,' said Grist. 'We can't stay here. Might be this breach is the only way in and out of this dreadnought, but might be there are others. We don't know 'em, but maybe the beast-men do. They could get in behind us.'

Frey chewed his lip. 'You're talking about a death-or-glory break for freedom, aren't you?'

'Might be I am.'

'I hate those.'

'Done many?'

'Not lately.'

'Don't worry.' Grist laid a heavy hand on Frey's shoulder. 'I've done a few. They always work out.'

'Well, 'course they do,' said Frey. 'If they hadn't, you wouldn't be here to talk about it.'

Grist chewed over the logic of that. 'You want to live for ever or somethin'?'

'I told you. Yes.'

'Sirs,' said Hodd, breaking into their debate. 'Might I make a suggestion?'

'What is it?' Frey asked impatiently. But he lost all interest in a response the moment he saw a shaggy figure running up the passageway behind Hodd, a spear raised in its hand.

He reacted instinctively, lunging towards Hodd and shoving him out of the way, aiming with his other hand. He squeezed the trigger too late to stop the beast-man releasing the spear, but he saw it coming and pulled his shoulder back just in time to avoid being impaled. The spear flew past them all and clattered harmlessly down the passageway. The beast-man staggered, dropped to one knee, and keeled over.

Lucky shot, thought Frey. Lucky dodge. Lucky all round, really.

Hodd was staring at him with awe. 'You saved my—'

'Yeah, yeah. Anyone see any more coming?' He ducked as an arrow from outside flew in through the breach and bounced off the metal wall.

'Can't see any right now,' Malvery replied.

'I hear them,' said Jez. She'd taken on that trance-like, distant look that she got more and more lately. Or it might just have been the shock of getting an arrow pulled out of her hand. 'A dozen or so. They're inside the craft.'

Frey turned to Grist, and saw the captain staring intently at Jez, a frown on his face. 'She's got good ears,' he said quickly. 'Seems like you were right. There is another way in. We can't stay here.'