‘News?’
‘Of the colonel-commissar,’ said Ludd.
‘Why do you want to know?’
Ludd laughed. ‘You’re kidding? The men want to know, friend. The Ghosts are a very loyal bunch. Feelings are running quite high in the barracks. They want to know what’s going on.’
‘This facility is the subject of an investigation by the holy ordos. There are strict–’
‘I understand that, friend,’ said Ludd. ‘I was just hoping, you know, off the record, just between us…’
Sirkle stared at him.
‘You must know what it’s like to feel loyalty to a senior commander.’
Sirkle paused thoughtfully.
‘There’s nothing yet,’ he said. ‘No trace of Gaunt’s whereabouts at this time, although the signs are that he did exit Section alive.’
Ludd nodded. ‘All right. Thanks. Thanks for that, I appreciate it.’
There was a tap at the outer door, and Beltayn entered, carrying a tray.
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir,’ he said to Sirkle. ‘Commissar Hark suggested I brought some caffeine in.’
‘I’m sure that would be very welcome,’ said Ludd. He stepped back as Beltayn moved in so that Sirkle and his operators could help themselves to the mugs on the tray.
The tiny window of opportunity opened. Ludd had his back to the half-open door into the inner office. He took Brostin’s paper slip out of the palm of his glove, keeping his hands behind his back. Then he leant backwards quickly, reached around the office door, and dropped the slip into the grille of the nearest wall heater.
‘Well, we’ll leave you to your work,’ Ludd said, heading towards the outer door. ‘Thanks again,’ he added, looking at Sirkle.
The ordo agent nodded back, sipping his caffeine.
‘Sir?’ said Beltayn, looking at Ludd.
‘What?’
‘Something’s awry,’ said Beltayn, and pointed towards the inner office door.
‘Oh feth!’ Ludd cried.
Through the half open door, they could all see fierce bright flames licking up out of the wall heater. Sparks were boiling out across the inner office carpet, igniting smaller fires, and a thick, acrid smoke was already pouring into the main vox office area.
Beltayn hit the fire alarm and bells began to jangle.
‘What the hell is this?’ Sirkle demanded.
They all began coughing as the smoke hit their throats.
‘Feth!’ Ludd cried. ‘Bel, grab an extinguisher from the hall! Feth it all. This is the third time this week!’
He looked at Sirkle. ‘Dust gets caught in these old heaters and catches fire. You’d better move out while we get this under control.’
‘It’s a bad one this time, sir,’ Beltayn coughed as he ran back in with a cylinder extinguisher.
The foul smoke was stinging their eyes and scorching their throats, and the height of the flames in the adjoining room was alarming.
Sirkle got his operators up and out of the room quickly, all of them covering their mouths, and hacking out coughs as they went.
Beltayn looked at Ludd, and Ludd looked back. Beltayn tossed the extinguisher to the young commissar, then sat down at the nearest active caster station. Both of them pulled folded, moistened squares of vizzy cloth out of their pockets, and bit down on them, breathing through their mouths to take the burn out of the smoke.
Shielding his face from the heat of the flames, Ludd pushed the inner office door open and began to blast the ferocious heater fire with the extinguisher.
At the caster station, Beltayn worked as fast as he was able. He quickly scanned and noted the frequency batches that the operator had been listening to; then he used a small screwdriver to remove the caster’s front inspection panel. Ludd gave the fire another couple of blasts and glanced back.
Come on! his eyes pleaded.
Beltayn ignored him. He paused the portable memory recorder then he reached into the inspection panel, selected one of the fat main cable trunks, and unscrewed it at the connector. He took the bypass – a small, metal unit – out of his pocket, screwed one end to the connector, and the other to the loose cable. A small green ‘active’ light lit up on the side of the bypass.
Beltayn began to screw the inspection panel back into place.
Ludd finally vanquished the fire with the extinguisher. He closed the inner office door, took the wadding out of his mouth, and started to open the vox office windows to vent the smoke. Snowflakes whirled in on the cold air.
He looked over at the caster stations. Beltayn had two of the panel’s screws back in place and was starting on the third. Someone killed the fire alarm.
‘Did you get it under control?’ Sirkle demanded, appearing in the doorway.
‘Yes,’ Ludd replied. ‘I’ll get a work crew in to clean it up.’
Sirkle stared at Ludd and Beltayn. They were opening the last of the windows to clear the smoke.
‘This happens a lot?’ he asked.
‘Too often,’ replied Ludd. ‘I don’t know where the maintenance budget goes.’
‘Back to your stations,’ Sirkle told his operators, and they filed back in. Beltayn and Ludd glanced at one another. In Beltayn’s pocket was the small screwdriver and the fourth and final panel screw. There had been no time to fit it. He prayed no one would notice the fact that it was missing.
The operators resumed their seats.
Beltayn suddenly froze. He’d forgotten to turn the portable memory recorder back on.
He moved forward quickly, scooping his tray off the side desk where he’d left it.
‘Let me get you some fresh drinks,’ he said, busily, ‘these will taste foul now.’
He picked up Sirkle’s, then leant in over each station in turn to collect the mugs. At the third station, he shielded his hand from the operator using the tray, and turned the recorder back on as he reached for the mug.
Ludd and Beltayn headed for the door. In the hallway, Beltayn flashed three fingers to Merrt as he hurried towards the mess with the tray. Merrt was one of several Ghosts who’d gathered in the hallway to see what the commotion was about.
Merrt walked to the hall’s swing doors, pushed through them and showed three fingers to Dalin, who was waiting at the far end.
Dalin nodded, and turned to run towards the temple house. Arms folded, Brostin was watching the door.
‘Everything all right, lad?’ Brostin asked.
Dalin nodded.
‘Mister Yellow all fine and dandy?’
‘He sends his regards,’ said Dalin, and went into the temple.
Hark was waiting inside, standing beside Gol Kolea’s adjutant, Rerval, and a battered E Company caster unit.
‘Three,’ said Dalin. ‘It’s three. Go ahead.’
Rerval adjusted the channel setting, raised the vox-mic and began.
‘Nalwood, Nalwood, this is Stronghold, this is Stronghold, please respond.’
Snoozing, his feet up on the edge of the monitor room desk, Meryn started awake as the vox lit up, and nearly fell out of his seat. He scrambled for the mic, scattering an ashtray, some pens and an empty beer glass.
‘It’s live!’ he shouted.
His hand was moments from the mic when Varl reached in and picked it up.
‘Stronghold, Stronghold, this is Nalwood, this is Nalwood acknowledging,’ Varl said calmly into the mic.
‘Give me that,’ Meryn hissed, trying to snatch the mic out of Varl’s hand. Varl slapped Meryn’s hands away repeatedly.
‘Uh uh uh,’ Varl warned, listening hard.
‘Give me that!’ Meryn repeated, his voice a corrosive whisper that would have eaten through lead.
‘Hello, Nalwood, hello, Nalwood,’ the vox crackled. ‘Good to hear your voice.’
‘You too, Rerval,’ Varl responded with a grin.