Dan Abnett - First and Only

Gaunt broke from his reverie and saw Brin Milo hunched under a potted ouroboros tree. The boy was wearing his Ghost uniform and looked most unhappy.

'Milo? I thought you were going with the others. Corbec said he'd take you with the Tanith. What are you doing in a stuffy place like this?'

Milo fetched a small data-slate out of his thigh pocket and presented it. This came through the vox-cast after you'd gone, sir. Executive Officer Kreff thought it best it was brought straight to you. And as I'm supposed to be your adjutant… well, they gave the job to me.'

Gaunt almost grinned at the boy's weary tone. He took the slate and keyed it open. 'What is it?' he asked.

'All I know, sir, is that it's a personal communique delivered on an encrypted channel for your attention forty—' He paused to consult his timepiece. 'Forty-seven minutes ago.'

Gaunt studied the gibberish on the slate. Then the identifying touch of his thumbprint on the decoding icon unscrambled it. For his eyes only indeed.

'Ibram. You only friend in area close enough to assist. Go to 1034 Needleshadow Boulevard. Use our old identifier. Treasure to be had. Vermilion treasure. Fereyd.'

Gaunt looked up suddenly and snapped the slate shut as if caught red-handed. His heart pounded for a second. Throne of Earth, how many years had it been since his heart had pounded with that feeling – was it really fear? Fereyd? His old, old friend, bound together in blood since—

Milo was looking at him curiously. 'Trouble?' the boy asked innocuously.

'A task to perform…' Gaunt murmured. He opened the data-slate again and pressed the ''Wipe'' rune to expunge the message.

'Can you drive?' he asked Milo.

'Can I?' the boy said excitedly.

Gaunt calmed his bright-eyed enthusiasm with a flat patting motion with his hands. 'Go down to the motor-pool and scare us up some transport. A staff car. Tell them I sent you.'

Milo hurried off. Gaunt stood for a moment in silence. He took two deep breaths – then a hearty slap on the back almost felled him.

'Bram! You dog! You're missing the party!' Blenner growled.

'Vay, I've got a bit of business to take care—'

'No no no!' the tipsy, red-faced commissar said, smoothing the creases in his leather greatcoat. 'How many times do we get together to talk of old times, eh? How many? Once every damn decade it seems like! I'm not letting you out of my sight! You'll never come back, I know you!' Vay… really, it's just tedious regimental stuff…'

'I'll come with you then! Get it done in half the time! Two commissars, eh? Put the fear of the Throne Itself into them, I tell you!'

'Really, you'd be bored… it's a very boring task…'

'All the more reason I come! To make it less boring! Eh? Eh?'

Blenner exclaimed. He edged the vintage brandy bottle that he had commandeered out of his coat pocket so that Gaunt could see it. So could everyone else in the foyer. Any more of this, thought Gaunt, and I might as well announce my activities over the tannoy. He grabbed Blenner by the arm and led him out of the bar. 'You can come,' he hissed, 'Just… behave! And be quiet!'

THREE

The girl gyrating on the apron stage to the sounds of the tambour band was quite lovely and almost completely undressed, but Major Rawne was not looking at her.

He stared across the table in the low, smoky light as Vulnor Habshept kal Geel filled two shot glasses with oily, clear liquor.

Even as a skeleton, Geel would have been a huge man. But upholstered as he was in more than three hundred kilos of chunky flesh he made even Bragg look undernourished. Major Rawne knew full well it would take over three times his own body-mass to match the opulently dressed racketeer. Rawne was also totally unafraid.

'We drink, soldier boy,' Geel said in his thick Pyritean accent, lifting one shot glass with a gargantuan hand.

'We drink,' Rawne agreed, picking up his own glass. Though I would prefer you address me as 'Major Rawne'… racketeer boy.'

There was a dead pause. The crowded cold zone bar was silent in an instant. The girl stopped gyrating.

Geel laughed.

'Good! Good! Very amusing, such pluck! Ha ha ha!' He chuckled and knocked his drink back in one. The bar resumed talk and motion, relieved.

Rawne slowly and extravagantly gulped his drink. Then he lifted the decanter and drained the other litre of liquor without even blinking. He knew that it was a rye-based alcohol with a chemical structure similar to that used in Chimera and Rhino anti-freeze. He also knew that he had taken four anti-intoxicant tablets before coming in. Four tabs that had cost a fortune from a black market trader, but it was worth it. It was like drinking spring water.

Geel forgot to close his mouth for a moment and then recovered his composure.

'Major Rawne can drink like Pyritean!' he said with a complimentary tone.

'So the Pyriteans would like to think…' Rawne said. 'Now let's to business.'

'Come this way,' Geel said and lumbered to his feet. Rawne fell into step behind him and Geel's four huge bodyguards moved in behind.

Everyone in the bar watched them leave by the back door.

On stage, the girl had just shed her final, tiny garment and was in the process of twirling it around one finger prior to hurling it into the crowd. When she realised no one was watching, she stomped off in a huff.

In a snowy alley behind the dub, a grey, beetle-nosed six-wheeled truck was waiting.

'Hocwheat liquor. Smokes. Text slates with dirty pictures. Everything you asked for,' Geel said expansively.

'You're a man of your word,' Rawne said.

'Now, to the money. Two thousand Imperial credits. Don't waste my time with local rubbish. Two thousand Imperial.'

Rawne nodded and did

Trooper Feygor stepped out of the shadows carrying a bulging rucksadc.

'My assotiate, Mr Feygor,' Rawne said. 'Show him the stuff, Feygor.'

Feygor stood the rudsack down in the snow and opened it. He readied in. And pulled out a laspistol.

The first two shots hit Geel in the face and chest, smashing him back down the alley.

With practised ease, Feygor grinned as he put an explosive blast through the skulls of each outraged bodyguard.

Rawne dashed over to the truck and dimbed up into the cab.

'Let's go!' he roared to Feygor who scrambled up onto the side ewen as Rawne threw it into gear and roared it out of the alley.

As they screamed away under the archway at the head of the alley, a big dark shape dropped down into the truck, landing on the tarpaulin-wrapped contraband in the flatbed. Feygor, hanging on tight and monkeying up the restraints onto the cargo bed, saw the stowaway and lashed out at him. A powerful jab laid him out cold in the canvas folds of the tarpaulin.

At the wheel, Rawne saw Feygor fall in the rear-view scope and panicked as the attacker swung into the cab beside him.

'Major,' Corbec said.

'Corbec!' Rawne exploded. 'You! Here?'

'I'd keep your eyes on the road if I were you,' Corbec said glancing back, 'I think Geel's men are after a word with you.'

The truck raced on down the snowy street. Behind it came four angry limousines.

'Feth!' Major Rawne said.

FOUR

The big, black staff-track roared down the boulevard under the glowing lamps in their ironwork frames. Smoothly and deftly it slipped around the light evening traffic, changing lanes. Drivers seemed more than willing to give way to the big, sinister machine with its throaty engine note and its gleaming double-headed eagle crest.

Behind armoured glass in the tracked passenger section, Gaunt leaned forward in the studded leather seats and pressed the speaker switch. Beside him, Blenner poured two large snifters of brandy and chuckled.