The Black Lung Captain

Thirty

The window overlooking the refinery floor was crowded with bodies. The besuited officials of Gradmuth Operations had emerged in a panic, alarmed by the noise from below. They jostled for space with the mercs, hoping to see what was going on. Frey pushed through the common room to the window and looked down.

The refinery had come alive. Great rock-chewing machines gnashed their teeth. Vats of viscous liquid had begun to churn. Kilns glowed as they roared into life. There was a furious racket of grinding gears. A thin smoke had begun to rise. Frey saw men running among the equipment, yanking levers, thumping buttons.

'How did they get in?' someone cried.

Gunfire rattled outside. The mercs on the gate were engaging the invaders. Frey doubted the miners and factory workers were stupid enough to try a full-frontal assault. Much more likely, they'd got in behind the defences and were overrunning the refinery compound.

He'd wondered where most of the village had disappeared to. By the sounds of it, they were all here.

Roke pushed in next to him, with Samandra at his shoulder. At the same time, the overhead lamps died. The refinery was already dim -natural light was shut out - but now it was plunged into darkness, lit only by the fiery red of the awakening furnaces. The scampering figures below became daemonic, mischievous imps racing through the bloody glow.

'They're sabotaging the refinery! Those bastard muck-scraping ingrates!' Roke said. 'We have to get out of here!'

'I'm not going down there!' said a bewhiskered and monacled company man. 'There's dozens of them! With guns! We'll be lynched!'

'Idiot!' Roke said. 'Don't you know what happens if you turn the machines on out of sequence? The kilns will fire up before the coolant starts flowing. The steam pumps will rupture if there's no one to man the valves. This place is going to tear itself apart!'

The company man went white and started to gibber in a manner that reminded Frey of Harkins at his best. 'But . . . but . . . but ... if they blow up the refinery . . . where will they work? What about their jobs?'

'Damned Underground insurrectionists!' spluttered one of his fellows. 'Got them so stirred up they don't know which side their bread's buttered!'

The mercs, who'd overheard the news of the imminent disaster, began jostling for the exit.

'Hey! You all stay your damn selves here or I'll shoot your cowardly hides!' Samandra yelled.

There was a boom that made them all jump, and a shower of concrete dust fell from the ceiling. Colden Grudge was standing in the doorway to the common area, his autocannon smoking. Grissom sloped over to stand next to him and shucked back his duster, revealing knives and pistols. Suddenly nobody felt like leaving any more.

'What can we do?' Samandra asked Roke.

'Get us out of here!' he said.

'That's what they want. They'll be waiting for us outside, with overwhelming numbers, and we can't protect all of you. What else?'

Roke thought for a moment. 'There's a master override switch. It shuts down the refinery in case of emergency. They won't be able to turn it back on without a code, and only the staff know that. I can show you.'

'Not you,' said Samandra. 'You're staying here. The Navy's going to want a word with you.'

'I'll take you,' volunteered a young man with oiled blond hair in a neat centre-parting. A brave and gallant-looking sort, too young to know what danger was. Probably eager to get the attention of the beautiful Century Knight.

Samandra favoured him with a knee-weakening smile. 'Much appreciated, sir.' She turned and began calling out orders. 'Grudge, Jask, with me. Grissom, you stay and guard the staff.'

'I'm not babysitting this bunch of—' Grissom began to protest, but Frey cut him off.

'We'll stay,' he said.

Samandra looked him over suspiciously. Sizing him up in the red darkness.

'Safer up here. Besides, I'm the only one of my lot that can shoot worth a shit,' he lied. 'And I said I'd look after her.' He thumbed at Trinica.

'The passenger. Right,' said Samandra. She frowned at him. A you'd better not be up to something kind of frown. Frey put on his most winning grin.

'Tick-tock, Samandra!' said Grissom, by the door.

'Fine,' she said. 'I can't spare a Knight anyway. Don't even think about going anywhere, though. You'd never make it to your aircraft.'

'Hey,' said Frey, raising his hands. 'Nobody wants to keep me alive more than I do.'

Samandra gave him one last, uncertain look. 'Weapons are on the table,' she said, pointing to the shotguns and pistols that had been brought up by the mercs. 'Good luck.' Then she was heading towards the exit, herding their enthusiastic young guide ahead of her, shouting for the mercs to back them up.

Frey waited till they were gone and said, 'Did you hear that, Jez?'

'Certainly did, Cap'n,' said his navigator, in his ear. 'Meet you on the roof of the refinery in ten minutes?'

'Ten minutes,' he said. He turned to Malvery, who'd scooped up a shotgun and was admiring it. 'Doc, pull that Sammie out of there,' he said, pointing at the door where Jask had stood.

'That's my guest!' Roke protested. 'You'd better not be—'

Til make you a deal, Roke,' Frey interrupted him. He picked up a pistol, checked it, and began loading it. New model. Pristine condition. Very nice. 'I get you and the Sammie out of here, you tell me where Grist is. Simple, right?'

'Agreed,' said Roke, without hesitation. 'There's a port nearby where I can arrange transport for my guest and I. Take us there and I'll tell you.'

'How do we get to the roof?'

'The roof?' Roke thought for a moment. 'The access door is locked and the head caretaker isn't here. No idea where the key is. We'll have to take the elevator.' He motioned at the window. 'Out there.'

There was a loud bang from below, and several of the window squares shattered. One of the company men toppled backwards, his head and chest a mess of blood and torn skin. The others began to shriek and scramble over each other in an attempt to get away.

'Probably shouldn't be standing next to the window, huh?' Frey muttered to himself, as he pulled Roke aside. Malvery emerged with the Samarlan. Trinica and Silo joined them as the company men hightailed it back to their offices and locked the doors. Silo was glaring with naked hatred at the Samarlan. The very sight of the man inflamed him. The Samarlan returned his gaze with a cool disdain.

Frey took him aside. 'I know, Silo, I know. But we have to find Grist.'

'Grist! Grist!' he snarled. 'What's so important, Cap'n? What you got to prove that's so damn important?'

Frey blinked in surprise. 'I made a mistake, and I'm trying to make it right,' he said.

Silo stared over his shoulder at the Samarlan, nostrils flaring. His fist was clenched and his arm trembled. He looked like he wanted to spring on Roke's 'guest' and beat him bloody.

'Can you deal with it? For me?' Frey asked. 'You don't have to speak to him. Just don't kill him or anything. Please?'

Silo's mouth was pressed tight, as if tasting something bitter. 'I'll do what you ask, Cap'n,' he said. 'But this ain't right. I want you knowin' that. Ain't right.' He hefted his shotgun and pumped the lever-action handle to chamber a round. 'Let's go.'

The refinery floor was like something out of a nightmare. A sea of roaring metal noise punctuated by the shrieking and grinding of gears. Black pistons pumped up and down, shadows lunging against the gory glow of the furnace light. Unoiled mechanisms leaked wisps of acrid smoke. There was a haze in the air that stank of chemicals.

Frey, Trinica, Malvery and Silo hurried down the aisles between the looming machines, weapons ready, alert for danger. Roke and the Samarlan followed, with Roke providing occasional directions. The Samarlan was frustratingly slow; he seemed reluctant to run, and never accelerated above a speedy walk. Malvery was looking distinctly nauseous, still suffering the effects of the previous night. Silo looked like he wanted to murder someone.

They could hear gunshots somewhere ahead of them, and the thumping of Grudge's autocannon. Between the high, echoing roof and the cacophony all around them, it was hard to pick out their location. Frey was as keen to avoid the Century Knights as he was to avoid the armed workers who were sabotaging the refinery. He didn't much want to see the look on Samandra Bree's face when she caught him stealing off with her prisoners.

Frey reached a corner and saw that the coast was clear. He looked back. Once again, the Samarlan was lagging behind, moving with quick steps but not actually breaking into anything that might be described as a jog, let alone a run.

'Will you bleedin' well hurry?' Frey said.

The Samarlan made no effort to do so. Malvery, who was standing nearby, grabbed his arm and pulled him forward with a rough tug. 'Quicken up, eh?'

The Samarlan threw him off angrily, yellow eyes wide in outrage. He began to berate Malvery in his own language: a hissing, harsh tongue that made him sound like a furious snake. Then, realising that Malvery didn't understand him or care, he rounded on Silo, who was standing nearby. He unleashed a tirade, pointing at Malvery and then at Silo. Frey had no idea what was being said, but the Samarlan seemed to be indicating that Silo should have intervened.

Frey had had enough by this point. 'Tell your friend to shut up,' he said to Roke, 'or I'll break his teeth.'

Roke went over and spoke to the Samarlan in his own tongue. Frey looked around anxiously. This was no place for temper tantrums. That Sammie was trying his patience.

The Samarlan calmed, finishing with a few gestures at Silo. Silo hadn't spoken the entire time. He turned away with barely suppressed rage.

'I'm sorry,' said Roke, as he returned. 'He's a Samarlan from the noble caste. They don't run in public. And they certainly don't get touched.'

'They don't run?'' Frey almost choked in disbelief. 'Has anyone explained to him that he's going to be lynched if he doesn't? Does he even know that everyone who's being shot and killed out there is dying on his account?'

Roke gave Frey an apologetic look. 'Every day since they're born, they're attended to by slaves. They live a life of ridiculous luxury. Manners and etiquette are life and death to someone like him. He won't run. It'd be a terrible indignity. He'd rather die.'

'Would he run faster with my toe up his arse?'

'You get us both out, Frey. That's the deal,' Roke reminded him sternly.

Frey rolled his eyes and swore. 'Come on, then.'

They rounded the corner and hurried along a row of vats. Gas flames roared at their bases. Some of them were beginning to bubble. Viscous liquid oozed over the rims and splattered on the floor. The stench made Frey light-headed.

They were halfway along the row when three men ran into view at the far end, carrying shotguns. They were unkempt figures, wearing overalls, their faces lit from below by the gas flames. They paused at the sight of Frey and his group, perhaps thinking that they were on the same side; then one of them raised his shotgun and screamed, 'Sammie!' Even in the half-light, the Samarlan's skin marked him out immediately.

The moment of hesitation was not shared by Frey and his companions. They got off their first volley before the refinery workers even had a chance to shoot. But their accuracy was less impressive than their speed. The workers, alarmed at finding themselves suddenly under fire, shot wildly in the vague direction of their targets, then threw themselves into cover. Frey's group did the same, squeezing into the gaps between the vats.

The Sammie just stood there in the aisle, back straight, an imperious look on his face. Bullets whined through the air around him. He faced them without fear.

'What in blazing shit is that idiot doing?' Frey cried. Presumably, the Samarlan was too dignified to cram himself into the baking hot blackness with the rest of them. 'Malvery, get him out of there!'

Malvery lunged from hiding, grabbed the Samarlan and pulled him into cover. When he began to hiss again, Malvery whacked his head against the side of a vat. He was too shocked to say anything after that.

Frey checked on Trinica, who was pressed up against him in a not entirely unpleasant fashion, then concentrated on dealing with their attackers. These men weren't gunfighters. They were attempting to use the vats as cover, but when they leaned out to fire, they took far too long to aim. That, and they tended to lean out at roughly regular intervals, letting Frey predict when and where they'd appear so he could line up his shots. Easy pickings.

He clipped one with a bullet in the shoulder, sending him sprawling out into the open where Silo finished him off. Malvery hit another man clean in the face. The last worker was understandably distressed by the sight, and ran away, shouting, 'Sammie! Sammie!'

Frey breathed a sigh of relief, then yelped as burning hot liquid bubbled up and spilled from the vat overhead, splashing his leg. He danced out into the aisle, beating at himself. The others emerged in a more controlled fashion.

They set off again in a different direction. The Samarlan began snapping at Silo as they went. It was making Frey angry on his friend's behalf. Silo suffered the abuse with a kind of furious submission. He wasn't making any attempt to defend himself while the Samarlan chewed him out.

'What's he saying?' he demanded of Roke.

'He's just confused as to why there's a Murthian here,' Roke replied.

'No, he's not,' said Trinica. 'He's calling your engineer all kinds of names, most of which involve his mother, and he's doing it in the mode they use to talk to slaves and animals.' She listened for a moment. 'Right now he wants to know why Silo didn't try to shield him from the bullets.'

Frey had forgotten that Trinica spoke Samarlan. He was almost as surprised as Roke.

'Er . . .' said Roke. 'You get us both out unharmed if you want to know where Grist is,' he reminded Frey.

Frey shook his head and cursed. 'You tell that bastard that we're in Vardia now, and Silo's no slave.' Roke dropped back to do so. Frey went over to Silo, shoving the Samarlan aside on his way. The Samarlan squawked in outrage. Roke did his best to calm him.

Silo was looking at the floor, every muscle tense. Frey thought about putting an arm on his shoulder, then thought better of it. 'Silo . . .'

'Been nine years since anyone spoke to me that way,' Silo said, through gritted teeth. 'Damned if it don't still make me cringe like a dog.'

'Don't listen to him. They're just words. You're free now.'

'If I was free,' said Silo, Td've shot him the moment I laid eyes on him.'

A sudden explosion made them all flinch. A rolling cloud of smoky flame rose up above the machines to their right. More gunfire broke out nearby. They heard Grudge's autocannon once again. The miners and workers would be no match for the Century Knights, but Frey was happy to have someone to draw the heat off while they made for the elevator.

'I've just had a thought,' said Frey. 'What happens to the elevator if they shut down the refinery?'

'It stops working,' said Roke. 'Obviously.'

'Bugger,' said Frey. 'Let's move, people! Time's wasting!'

They came across several more workers as they ran through the factory, but they had an advantage that their enemies didn't. The insurrectionists always paused to be sure they weren't attacking their own; Frey and his companions shot on sight.

'I don't mind saying, Cap'n, I don't feel too great about this,' said Malvery, as he stepped over the corpse of another refinery worker. 'They've got a fair grievance, after all. He really is selling to the Sammies. Ain't we fighting on the wrong side?'

'Hey, I'm all for the peaceful exit, Doc. They're the ones who want to shoot us,' said Frey. 'Far as I'm concerned, we're just getting our retaliation in first.'

'I suppose so,' said Malvery with a sigh. He fired at some kid at the end of the aisle, who threw down his weapon and went scrambling away. 'Think I'm just emotional right now. Been getting that way lately, when I'm hungover.'

'Uh-huh,' said Frey, not really listening.

'Maybe I should lay off the swabbing alcohol and go back to grog.'

'Maybe.'

They found the elevator soon after. It was little more than a small box with a folding gate, set inside a caged passage that rose up into the darkness. It was waiting at ground level, so Frey pulled it open and ushered everyone in. He could hear running footsteps approaching. The noise and the darkness made it hard to tell where they were coming from. The Samarlan hesitated, obviously considering the prospect of being crammed in there with so many people. This time it was Trinica who shoved him inside.

Frey pulled the gate closed and Roke hit the button. The elevator clanked and squealed and began to rise, just as a group of refinery workers ran into view. They were slow to react - it took them a few moments to spot Roke among the passengers - but when they did, they were furious. One of them pounded the button that called the elevator, but to no avail. Finally some of them started shooting, but by that time the elevator had moved high up into the darkness, and their shots only ricocheted off the protective cage.

The refinery fell away beneath them. As they rose over the machines, Frey could see more fires starting at the far end. Vats glowed with heat; troughs of molten rock were overflowing; steam engines were pumping at a distressing rate. One massive piston arm came loose and went spinning across the room to crash into a set of pipes on the other side. As predicted, the refinery was ripping itself apart.

I hope you know what you're doing, Samandra, he thought.

Then the refinery disappeared beneath them, and they were travelling through a short passage of concrete, with grey daylight at the top. A doorway to the roof. The elevator had almost made it when they shuddered to a halt.

'I reckon they found your master override switch, then,' Malvery said. 'Never doubt the Century Knights, that's what I say.' He eyed the gap between the top of the elevator and the bottom of the doorway, which was barely large enough for a man of Malvery's bulk to squeeze through. 'We cut it a little fine, though.'

There were gates across the doorway, which Frey pulled aside. Malvery gave him a boost and he crawled out on to the flat roof. Black chimneys rose all around him. Cold air chilled his cheeks, nose and forehead. He heard engines, and looked up to see the Ketty Jay approaching through the snowy sky.

'Right on time, Cap'n,' Jez said in his ear. 'Not like you to be so punctual.'

'I'm full of surprises these days,' Frey said, giving her a wave.

They were safe up here. The Century Knights would have their hands full defending the staff of Gradmuth Operations from their irate employees. And better still, he had Roke, a man who claimed to know where Grist was. In fact, when you thought about it, he'd done pretty bloody well. Trinica had better be impressed with that.

Frey walked to the edge of the roof as the others climbed out of the elevator and the Ketty Jay eased in to land between the chimneys. There was gunfire from below. Workers and mercs battling in the courtyard, taking cover behind anything they could find. From up here, the conflict seemed a lot less urgent than it had when he was down among it. Let them fight it out; it wasn't his affair. He had more important things to deal with.

He heard a commotion behind him and turned around to see that the Samarlan had started up on Silo again. Damn it, this was getting out of hand. He strode over there. Silo was walking aw^ray, his head down and his fists clenched, but the Samarlan was following him, yelling at him in his own strange language.

'What happened now?' Frey asked Trinica as he came closer.

'The Samarlan's annoyed because Silo got out of the elevator before he did,' said Trinica. 'It's not done, apparently.' Trinica looked up at him. 'Darian, I don't know how much more your man's going to take of this. That Samarlan seems to still think he's a—'

She never finished, because at that moment the Samarlan, angered that Silo was ignoring him, slapped him round the back of the head. Frey groaned and put his hand over his face.

'That's done it,' he said.

Silo rounded on the Samarlan, stared at him a moment, then smashed the butt of his shotgun into his mouth. The Samarlan staggered back, clutching his bleeding face, his eyes wide. He was making incoherent gasping noises, as if he couldn't catch his breath. Silo descended on him, his expression furious. He grabbed the Samarlan by his shoulders and began dragging him towards the edge of the roof.

'Stop him!' Roke cried in alarm. 'Unharmed! That was the deal!'

Malvery looked to Frey expectantly, waiting for the signal to intervene. But Frey had had enough of asking Silo to take the Samarlan's abuse, just so he could get some information. He'd been putting Harvin Grist before the needs of his crew for too long now.

'Sorry, Roke,' he said. 'Your mate's got it coming.'

'Bloody right,' muttered Malvery, with an approving nod.

The Samarlan didn't even resist as Silo pulled him along. No doubt he was still too shocked at being struck. He probably never even entertained the thought that Silo would throw him off the roof, until he was airborne.

They listened to his shrill scream all the way down. It was cut short with a faint thump. Silo walked back towards Frey, and stood before him.

'Feel better?' Frey inquired.

'Sorry⁷1 did that, Cap'n,' he said, but his head was held high and he looked prouder than Frey had ever seen him.

'No, it's me who should be sorry,' said Frey. 'You're a free man on my crew. You shouldn't have had to suffer that.'

He held out his hand. Silo took it and shook.

Roke was gaping in disbelief. 'You killed . . . you just . . . !' He took a step back from Silo, as if from a madman. 'The deal's off! You hear?'

He got another step before he heard the click of a pistol hammer being cocked, and felt the muzzle of a gun in the back of his head. Trinica was on the other end of it.

'You gave it a good try,' said Trinica to Frey. 'But that's enough of being nice. Let's do this quick and easy.' And she shot Roke in the back of the knee.

Roke dropped to the ground, trying to scream but unable to make a noise. Blood steamed on the snow-covered roof. Trinica walked round to stand over him. Frey and the others had instinctively stepped back. Suddenly, all his romantic thoughts of his old sweetheart had disappeared. This was the Trinica who'd robbed and killed and plundered her way across Vardia. Even without her make-up and attire, he could see it in her manner. Utterly cold. Utterly ruthless. No one was getting in her way.

'Now,' she said to Roke. 'Grist. Where?'

Roke just gasped at her. She shot him in the hand, pulverising it into a bloody mash of tendon and shattered bone. He found his voice then.

'He's in Sakkan! Two hundred kloms north-west of Marduk! Warehouse complex on the east edge of the city! That's where we always hid out. He moves his drugs through it. Heavily guarded! He's got his own hangar there and everything! Big enough for the Storm Dog!'

Trinica shrugged at Frey. 'That's where he is,' she said, and she shifted her aim to Roke's forehead.

'Trinica!' said Frey sharply. She looked over at him. He shook his head slowly.

'Whyever not?' she asked. 'This way he can't talk to anyone else.'

The stark logic in her voice chilled him more than the freezing air. Over the past month he'd almost begun to believe this side of her had faded away, and a new tenderness had replaced her steely brutality. The fact that he'd been mistaken came as unpleasant shock.

'Don't be like this, Trinica,' he said.

'But this is how I am, Darian,' she replied.

Roke whimpered and blubbered on the ground, his eyes fixed on the barrel of the pistol pointed at his head. Trinica's gaze was locked with Frey's.

Frey had seen enough murders in his time. He'd just watched his engineer throw a man off the roof. But that was done in anger, was heavily provoked and, to Frey's mind, well deserved. Roke might be a scumbag, maybe even a traitor, but he'd given them the information they wanted. To shoot him now was just too cold-blooded.

Or maybe it was just that it was Trinica holding the gun. Maybe, if she pulled that trigger, he'd lose her for ever.

Please don't be like this.

Frey's heart thumped in his chest. Snow drifted through the space between them. Seconds crawled past.

'Very well,' she said at last. 'As you wish.' Then she lowered her gun and walked off towards the Ketty Jay without another word. Frey let out the breath he'd been holding.

'I need a doctor!' Roke cried suddenly. He was cradling his destroyed hand, face slack with shock. 'Someone get me a doctor!'

Frey turned to Malvery.

'Don't look at me,' Malvery said. 'I've barely got enough supplies to look after you lot. I ain't wasting any on him.'

'Sorry,' said Frey to Roke. 'Looks like you're on your own.'

'Maybe you can ask one of the factory workers for help,' Malvery added maliciously.

Roke was still howling when they left him, and he kept howling until the sound of the Ketty Jay's engines drowned him out.