Nemesis

Further on, she saw a side-chamber that had been converted into a drab approximation of an infirmary, right beside a workroom where figures in shadow were bent over a jury-rigged device trailing wires and connectors. Soalm detected the familiar odour of chemical explosives as she moved on.

A hatch was creaking shut as she approached, and she turned to see. As it closed, one of Capra’s men gave her a blank look from within; over his shoulder she saw a bloodied trooper in clan colours tied to a chair, a moment before he disappeared out of sight. She paused, and heard footsteps behind her.

Soalm turned and saw a pair of refugee children approach, eyes wide with fear and daring. They were both grimy, both in shapeless fatigues too big for them; she couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls.

‘Hey,’ said the taller of the two. ‘The Emperor sent you, right?’

She gave a nod. ‘In a way.’

There was awe in their expressions. ‘Is he like he is in the picts? A giant?’

Soalm managed a smile. ‘Bigger than that, even.’

The other child was about to add something, but an adult turned the corner ahead and gave them both a stern look. ‘You know you’re not supposed to play down here. Get back to your lessons!’

They broke into a run and vanished back the way they had come. Soalm turned to study the man.

‘Are you looking for something?’ he asked warily.

‘I’m just walking,’ she admitted. ‘I needed a moment… to think.’

He pointed past her, blocking her path. ‘You should probably go back.’ The man seemed hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure he had the authority to tell her what to do.

The Execution Force fit strangely among the freedom fighter group. In the weeks that had passed since they liberated the prison camp in the city, Soalm and the others had gained a kind of guarded acceptance, but little more. Under Kell’s orders, each of them had turned their particular skill-sets towards aiding the rebel cause. Tariel’s technical expertise was in constant demand, and Koyne showed a natural aptitude for teaching combat tactics to men and women who had, until recently, been farmers, teachers and shopkeepers. Meanwhile, Iota and the Garantine would go missing for days at a time, and the only evidence of their activities would be intercepted reports from the communication network, stories of destroyed outposts or whole patrols eviscerated by ghostly assailants. As for her brother, he kept his distance from her, working with Capra, Beye and Grohl on battle plans.

Soalm did her part too, but as the days drew on it disturbed her more and more. They were helping the rebels score victories, not just here but through other resistance cells all across the planet; but it was based on a lie. If not for the arrival of the assassins on Dagonet, the war would have been over. Instead they were bolstering it, infusing fresh violence into a conflict that should have already petered out.

The Venenum was precise in what she did; surgical and clean. Collateral damage was a term she refused to allow into her lexicon, and yet here they were, their presence more damaging to the locals than the guns of the nobles.

The man pointed again. ‘Back that way,’ he repeated. Dispelling her moment of reverie, Soalm realised that he was trying to hide something.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I think not.’ Before he could react, she pushed past him and followed the turn of the narrowing corridor as it dropped into a shallow slope. The man reached for her robes to stop her, and she tapped a dot of liquid onto the back of his hand from one of her wrist dispensers. The effect was immediate; he went pale and fell to the ground, the muscles in his legs giving out.

The corridor opened up into another cavern, this one wide and low. In the middle of the dimly-lit space there was a thermal grate throwing out a warm orange glow; surrounding it were rings of chairs, some scattered cushions and salvaged rugs. A knot of people were there, crowded around an older woman who held an open book in her hand. Soalm had the impression of interrupting a performance in mid-flow.

The older woman saw the assassin and fear crossed her expression. Her audience were a mix of all kinds of people from the camp. Two of them, both fighters, sprang to their feet and came forwards with threats in their eyes.

Soalm raised her hands to defend herself, but the old woman called out. ‘No! Stop! We’ll have no violence!’

‘Milady–’ began one of the others, but she waved him to silence, and with visible effort, she drew herself up. Soalm saw the echoes of a lifetime of grace and fortitude there in the old woman’s face.

She pushed through the ring of people and faced her interloper. ‘I am… I was Lady Astrid Sinope. I am not afraid of you.’

Soalm cocked her head. ‘That’s not true.’

Sinope’s aristocratic demeanour faltered. ‘No… No, I suppose it is not.’ She recovered slightly. ‘Ever since Beye told us you were on Dagonet, I knew that this moment would come. I knew one of you would find us.’

‘One of us?’