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cover　as　return　fire　spat　towards　him。　One　of　the　enemy　rounds　struck　him；　slicing　a　neat　cut
through　his　body　armour　and　scoring　a　wound　across　his　forearm。
The　cut　was　impossibly　thin；　and　at　first　there　was　no　pain；　but　then　blood　began　to　well　and　he
cried　out；　clutching　a　hand　to　the　deep　wound。
Leaving　a　trail　of　blood　drips　that　hissed　and　steamed　as　they　struck　the　snow；　the　Skyllan
Interdiction　sergeant　staggered　away；　dragging　his　laslock　with　him。　He　slipped　in　the　hot　oil
pooling　from　the　damaged　engine　block；　and　fell　to　his　knees。　Scrabbling　through　the　sinking　mire；
Folches　pushed　himself　back　to　his　feet；　and　ran　blindly　around　the　corner　of　the　immense　icecrawler；
looking　fearfully　over　his　shoulder。
A　thin；　wickedly　barbed　blade　entered　his　guts；　sliding　easily　through　his　armour　and　flesh　and
halting　him　in　his　footsteps。　His　laslock　dropped　from　his　hands；　and　he　stared　up　into　the　face　of　his
killer。　Nothing　could　be　seen　behind　the　cruelly　slanted　eyes　of　the　blank　helmet；　and　all　Folches
saw　was　his　own　face　reflected　back　at　him。
The　figure　was　a　good　head　taller　than　him；　though　it　was　inhumanly　thin；　and　it　cocked　its　head
to　the　side；　leaning　into　him　as　it　twisted　the　blade　embedded　in　his　stomach；　as　if　savouring　every
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moment　of　the　kill。　Blood　gushed　from　the　wound　as　it　opened　up；　and　steam　rose　from　the　heat　of
his　innards。
A　hand；　fingers　like　the　black　legs　of　a　spider；　clamped　around　Folches’s　neck；　and　he　was
pushed　up　against　the　crawler。　The　blade　slid　from　his　gut　and　was　held　poised　in　front　of　the
sergeant’s　eyes；　blood　dripping　from　its　elegantly　curving　tip。
The　figure　pressed　almost　intimately　close　to　the　dying　sergeant；　as　if　it　wanted　to　experience
every　last　dying　sensation　of　the　soldier。　Then　it　pushed　the　blade　into　Folches’s　side；　sliding　it
slowly　up　between　his　ribs　to　pierce　the　lungs。
Blood　foamed　up　in　the　soldier’s　mouth　as　his　lungs　began　to　fill；　and　he　gasped　for　breath　as　he
slowly　drowned　on　his　own　blood。　The　black　fingers　remained　clasped　around　his　neck　almost
lovingly　until　his　heartbeat　fluttered　and　stopped。
Then　the　black　figure　released　its　grip；　and　the　sergeant　slid　to　the　ground。
Solon　ran　towards　the　control　cabin　of　the　ice…crawler；　barging　workers　out　of　his　way。　The　sirens　in
the　claustrophobically　narrow　hallways　were　deafening；　and　he　winced　and　clamped　his　hands　over
his　ears　as　he　ran　past　one　of　the　blaring　klaxons。
A　burly　orderly；　his　overalls　covered　in　oil；　ran　into　Solon　as　he　rounded　a　corner；　knocking　him
back　into　the　wall。
“Sorry；　boss；”　said　the　man；　helping　him　back　to　his　feet；　and　Solon　pushed　past　him。
He　vaulted　a　steel　banister；　landed　on　the　gantry　below　and　ran　on；　turning　to　the　right　towards
the　control　cabin。　His　boots　rang　out　sharply　as　he　climbed　a　short　flight　of　stairs；　and　slammed　the
door　to　the　control　cabin　open。
“What　in　the　hell—”　he　began；　but　his　words　of　reproach　to　the　relief　driver　died　in　his　throat。
A　fist…sized　hole　had　burned　through　the　side　window　of　the　cabin　and　driven　through　the　drivemechanics
on　the　wall　opposite；　leaving　a　smoking　hole　that　dripped　with　molten　metal。　The　driver
was　slumped　back　in　his　seat；　half　his　head　missing；　the　devastating　blast　having　clearly　passed
through　him　when　it　had　struck。
Solon　gagged　at　the　stink　of　burnt　flesh；　but　moved　into　the　cabin；　trying　not　to　look　at　the
corpse；　and　failing。　There　was　no　blood。　Whatever　had　struck　him　had　cauterised　the　wound
completely；　forming　a　blackened　crust。　The　blast　had　hit　him　in　the　temple；　and　everything　in　front
of　the　line　drawn　between　his　ears　was　missing；　down　to　his　mouth；　which　was　drawn　in　an　almost
comical　expression　of　shock。
Tearing　his　gaze　away　from　the　corpse；　Solon　moved　to　the　control　console。　It　was　dead；　no
lights　flickering　along　the　length　of　its　panel　at　all；　and　he　swore。　He　flicked　a　few　switches；
muttering　an　entreaty　to　the　Omnissiah；　but　nothing　happened。　He　balled　his　hand　into　a　fist　and
stuck　the　console。
“Come　on；　damn　you；”　he　swore。
Red　warning　lights　flickered；　the　needles　of　the　dials　wavering　back　and　forth；　and　Solon　let　out
a　surprised　laugh　of　success。
His　small　victory　was　short…lived。　A　beam　of　solid　darkness　punched　through　the　side　of　the
control　cabin；　destroying　the　console　in　a　shower　of　sparks。　Cables　and　wires　were　fused　by　the
lance　strike　and　flames　exploded　outwards　with　immense　force；　shattering　the　already　ruptured
plasglass　windows　of　the　cabin　and　hurling　Solon　backwards　through　the　cabin　door。
Thrown　backwards　down　the　stairs　leading　to　the　cabin；　the　flesh　of　his　face　and　arms　blistering
from　the　heat；　Solon　hit　the　deck　hard。　Frantically；　he　fought　to　rip　his　thermal　undershirt　off；　for　the
synthetic　material　was　melting　onto　his　skin。　Shaking　the　smoking；　skintight　shirt　loose；　he　hurled　it
away　from　him；　and　began　to　stagger　back。
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The　crawler；　the　closest　thing　he　had　to　a　home　since　he　had　been　expelled　from　Sholto　guild
eighteen　years　ago；　was　beyond　redemption。　It　was　dead；　and　the　vultures　were　circling　outside　to
descend　on　its　carcass。
He　had　to　get　away。
Rounding　a　corner；　he　almost　ran　headlong　into　Cholos；　with　the　frightened　boy　Dios　in　tow。
“Solon；”　began　his　second；　his　face　panicked。
“Not　that　way；”　he　shouted；　turning　the　man　around　and　pushing　him　before　him。　“The　crawler’s
done。　We　have　to　get　the　hell　out　of　here。”
Screams　and　shouts　echoed　up　through　the　corridors；　and　Solon　and　Cholos　fought　their　way
through　panicked　workers。　The　crew　looked　to　Solon　for　guidance。
“Get　your　exposure　suits　on；”　the　overseer　bellowed。　“We　stay　here　and　we　are　all　dead。”
Or　as　good　as；　he　thought；　thinking　of　the　distinct　lack　of　bodies　aboard　the　crippled　crawler
they　had　come　across　just　hours　earlier。
“Damn；”　swore　Cholos。　“My　suit。”
“Where　is　it？”　asked　Solon。
“In　my　locker；”　answered　his　second。　“But　Solon；　the　refugees…　there　are　not　enough　suits　for
them　all。　We　can’t　leave　them。”
“We　stay　here　and　we　die。”
“But　all　those　people？”
Solon　swore　and　punched　the　wall；　bruising　his　knuckles。
“What　do　you　want　me　to　do；　Cholos？　I　can’t　save　them；　and　with　the　generators　down；　they’re
going　to　freeze　to　death　as　surely　in　the　cargo　bays　as　out　on　the　ice。”
“There　must　be　something　we　can　do；”　said　Cholos。
“Well；　if　you　come　up　with　something；　I’m　all　ears。　Maybe　that　bastard　Folches　can　call　in
support　from　the　Skyllan　Interdiction；　or　something。　I　don’t　know。”
Cholos　let　out　a　long　breath；　and　rubbed　a　hand　across　his　face。
“Take　Dios；　Solon；”　he　said。　“I’ll　meet　you　down　below。　I’ll　be　quick。”
Solon　looked　down　at　the　boy；　who　was　staring　up　at　him　with　wide　eyes；　and　swore。　Cholos
dropped　to　his　knees。
“Go　with　Solon；”　he　said　slowly　to　the　boy。　“He’ll　see　you　safe。　You　understand？”　Dios　nodded
solemnly。
“That’s　the　way；”　said　Cholos；　ruffling　the　boy’s　short…cropped　hair　as　he　stood　once　more。　“I
won’t　be　long。”
“I’ll　meet　you　on　deck　three；”　said　Solon。
“I’ll　be　there；　boss；”　replied　Cholos；　giving　Solon　a　tense　smile。
“You’d　better　be；”　said　Solon；　and　slapped　his　second　heavily　on　the　shoulder；　urging　him　to
move。　“Go。”
Cholos　ducked　through　a　side　hatch；　and　Solon　glanced　down　at　Dios　once　more。
“Come　on；　boy。　Move；”　he　said；　gruffly。
The　boy　gave　him　a　salute；　his　face　serious；　and　the　two　of　them　set　off　towards　the　cargo　bays。
It　took　them　the　better　part　of　five　minutes　to　move　from　the　crew　area　to　the　cargo　holds；　passing
through　twisting　corridors　and　past　dozens　of　panicked　crewmen。
Punching　the　locking　plate　of　cargo　bay　three；　the　door　hissed　open　and　swirling　wind　struck
him。　Screams　were　lost　in　the　gale　roaring　through　the　cargo　hold；　and　Solon　saw　that　one　of　the
cargo　bay　hold　doors　was　wide　open。
Through　the　blinding　snow　and　ice；　Solon　saw　a　dark　shape　hanging　in　the　air　outside；　hovering
four　metres　above　the　ground。　It　was　sleek　and　black；　with　wicked　blades　and　spikes　protruding
along　its　sides；　and　it　rocked　slightly　as　the　winds　buffeted　it；　like　a　ship　rolling　on　the　open　sea。
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Black　figures；　taller　and　slimmer　than　a　man　were　dragging　people　kicking　a