Secrets of the Tau Read online

  ‘Don’t thank me yet. We still don’t know if this Emperor’s Seat even exists.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Hinterland

  ‘Wow.’

  Talen’s eyes were as wide as storm shields as they approached the trading post. Hinterland was huge, a tumbledown space fortress built into the side of an asteroid. Crooked turrets jutted up from jagged rocks, the armoured walls pitted and cracked. Zelia didn’t know if the damage had been caused by meteor strikes or energy-cannons. Either way, only Talen seemed impressed.

  Amity gave the ganger a sideways look. ‘Wow? Really?’

  Zelia wanted to cut in, but knew Talen wouldn’t thank her. Up to a few weeks ago, the young ganger had never even left his hive, let alone visited a space station. The son of an Imperial Guardsman, Talen had been destined to join the Astra Militarum, but had run away from home to avoid being called up. At first, space travel had terrified him, but now his face was filled with wonder and awe.

  ‘It’s amazing,’ he marvelled, staring through the viewport.

  ‘It’s a dump,’ Amity said, bringing the ship to a halt. ‘But it’s a useful dump, full of useful people.’

  ‘Including someone who’ll know where to find the Emperor’s Seat?’ Zelia asked.

  Amity shrugged. ‘Maybe. There’s one guy I know… Milon Karter. He deals in maps and information. If he doesn’t know, no one will.’

  She flicked open a vox-channel.

  ‘Station master, this is Harleen Amity of the Profiteer requesting permission to dock.’

  There was a crackle of static, before a thin voice hissed through the vox-casters. ‘Well, well, well… look who the gyrinx dragged in. You’ve got a nerve, coming back here.’

  ‘Vetone,’ Amity replied, ignoring the sneer in the station master’s tone. ‘It’s good to hear those dulcet tones of yours again.’

  ‘Wish I could say the same. You buying or selling?’

  ‘Maybe a bit of both.’

  ‘The overseer will have my hide if I allow you to dock.’

  ‘Do you have to tell him?’

  ‘It depends…’

  ‘On what?’ Zelia asked.

  Amity muted the conversation. ‘On how much we’re willing to offer as a bribe.’ She reactivated the vox. ‘Would three bars of Terran gold help you make up your mind?’

  ‘No… but five would…’

  Amity laughed. ‘You always did strike a hard bargain. How about four?’

  ‘Done,’ came the reply. ‘Just don’t make me regret this.’

  ‘You’ll hardly know we’re here,’ Amity told him.

  A hangar door slid open to reveal a crammed landing bay.

  ‘Proceed to berth eighteen-oh-four,’ Vetone instructed her. ‘And don’t keep me waiting for that gold.’

  ‘I’ll have Grunt deliver it to your quarters straight away. Amity out.’

  She closed the channel, the smile dropping from her face.

  ‘Do you have four bars of Terran gold?’ asked Zelia.

  Amity eased the Profiteer through the open doors. ‘No, but we’ll be long gone by the time Vetone finds out.’

  The captain landed her ship with practised ease and powered down the engines. Soon they were striding through the bustling hangar bay, the sights and sounds of the trading post assaulting their senses. There were people everywhere, from cyborg dockers hauling cargo, to wounded veterans selling knick-knacks that looked like they’d fallen off the back of a transporter.

  To the right of them, a bunch of spike-haired gangers huddled around a promethium drum fire, muttering to each other as if working out which ship they were going to ransack first.

  Meanwhile, to the left, a group of hairy-footed Ratlings argued as they dismantled a flyer, stripping it for parts that in most cases were twice the size of the stumpy scrappers. There was no telling if they owned the now-disassembled ship or not.

  The air was thick with a heady mix of sweat, engine grease and food. Zelia’s stomach rumbled, and she realised that it had been a while since they’d eaten anything other than ration packs. She rifled through her pockets, searching for anything she could use to barter for food. She found only a few Targian shillings, useless here – or anywhere else, now that Targian was gone.

  She turned to Talen, meaning to ask him if he had anything to trade, but the ganger wasn’t there. She stopped and looked around. Talen was standing stock-still, staring at a goat-faced Beastman who was shovelling slimy noodles into his mouth.

  Unfortunately, the abhuman had also noticed he was being watched.

  ‘What’s your problem?’ he growled.

  ‘You’re a goat,’ Talen muttered.

  ‘I’m a what?!’ the Beastman bleated.

  ‘Talen,’ Zelia said, grabbing the ganger’s arm. ‘Leave the nice… man to his food.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘But nothing,’ she hissed, pulling him away. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

  ‘Did you see his face?’ Talen said, still peering back at the angry spacefarer.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He was a goat.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A goat-man.’

  She sighed. ‘You’ve seen abhumans before.’

  ‘I’ve seen Ogryns,’ he admitted. ‘But nothing like that.’ He looked embarrassed, his face colouring. ‘I’m sorry, I… I’m still getting used to all this.’

  Zelia looked around them, trying to imagine what it was like for Talen. Most people in the hangar bay were human, but there was a smattering of sub-species such as the stout, hairy-footed Ratlings, and the goat-faced Beastman who was still glaring at them both with slitted eyes. Abhumans were descendants of human colonists who had mutated over thousands of years to adapt to life on alien worlds.

  ‘I understand,’ Zelia said. ‘Really I do, but you can’t just stare at people, especially in a place like this. It’s asking for trouble. I mean, did you see the size of his horns? If he’d decided to charge at you…’

  Talen nodded. ‘I get it. Sorry. It won’t happen again.’ He glanced around, keen to change the subject. ‘Where are the others?’

  She didn’t know. She had been so focused on getting Talen away from the Beastman that she had lost track of the rest of the group. She stood on tiptoes, trying to see above the crowd. Amity was talking to one of the Ratlings, but there was no sign of Mekki and Fleapit. Then she spotted Mekki’s servo-sprite flitting around the Martian’s bald head. They pushed through the crowd to find Mekki and Fleapit watching cargo being unloaded from a large cruiser.

  ‘What’s so interesting?’ she asked.

  The Martian pointed out the golden exo-suits that the dockers were using to lift the heavy containers, robotic arms taking the strain.

  ‘I have never seen that design before. It reminds me of something, but I cannot tell what.’

  She knew what he meant. A lot of ships carried Sentinel power-lifters, armoured walkers fitted with large claws for transporting heavy containers. The Scriptor had been no exception, and even Captain Amity had a couple of Sentinels in the Profiteer’s hold, presumably for the rare cases where Grunt needed help lifting and carrying.

  But these were different. They were more like suits of armour than walkers, and just didn’t match the surroundings. Everything on board the Hinterland was battered, from the ships to the workers, but the exo-suits were brand new. Whereas most Imperial lifters were crude and clunky, with hydraulic joints gushing steam and servos whining, these were sleek and near silent, barely making a sound as they went about their work.

  Still, they weren’t here to gawp at technology, no matter how impressive it was. Zelia was about to tell the others that they should find Captain Amity when she felt a tug at her bandolier. She put her hand to the leather belt to find her omniscope was gone. Someone had stolen it!

 
She whirled around to see the device in the hands of a feathered-haired Kroot. The bird-like alien was running, barging through the crowd.

  ‘Stop,’ she called out, but the thief had almost made it out of the hangar bay.

  She took off after the alien, Talen racing beside her. ‘Out of my way,’ she cried out, slamming into the goat-faced Beastman.

  The abhuman glared, making a grab for her. ‘What is it with you brats?’ he snarled, hairy fingers digging into her arms.

  ‘Let me go,’ Zelia spluttered, delivering a swift kick to one of his cracked hooves. The goat-man howled in pain and she wriggled free, racing out of the hangar bay to emerge onto a large market square. Stalls of all shapes and sizes stretched as far as the eye could see, selling everything from pungent fruit to cages containing critters from all across the galaxy. There were giant clams that clacked their shells in time to the music of a strange two-headed piper, and disgusting slugs with yawning mouths that, if you believed their reptilian salesmen, were perfect for squig soup. ‘Just add a pinch of grox-foot,’ the trader hissed, thrusting a handful of shrivelled herbs under Zelia’s nose. She batted them away, getting a full whiff of their foul aroma – somewhere between ripe cheese and overboiled cabbage.

  All she cared about was spotting the Kroot, but there was no sign of the yellow-skinned alien, or Talen for that matter.

  She jabbed at the vox that was sewn into her tunic sleeve. ‘Talen? Where are you?’

  He answered straight away, breathing heavily over the link. ‘It got away!’

  She stopped and tried to catch her breath as Mekki and Fleapit caught up with her. ‘Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter…’

  ‘But your scope…’

  The thought of losing the omniscope broke her heart. She had been secretly pleased that Amity hadn’t accepted it as payment. It was all she had left of her life before the Necrons.

  But while her first reaction had been to chase after the thief, Zelia had to admit that running deeper into the station was a bad idea.

  ‘Come back to the hangar bay,’ she told Talen. ‘We need to find Amity.’

  ‘No, wait,’ came the reply. ‘I can see it!’

  ‘Talen, don’t. Kroot can be dangerous. Really dangerous. Please, just come back.’

  But there was no answer.

  ‘Talen? Talen, are you there?’

  Zelia’s stomach tightened into a knot. Talen could get really hurt if he tackled a Kroot by himself!

  CHAPTER THREE

  Stop, Thief!

  Talen could have kicked himself. Freaking out about an abhuman. Zelia was right. He’d seen abhumans before, plenty of them, but when he had found himself standing in front of the goat-man, with its weird yellow eyes and curled horns, he had frozen.

  He must have looked an idiot, especially after everything that had happened to him over the last few weeks. Talen had been stalked by a teleporting Necron and hung up to dry in an Ambull’s larder. He’d tackled an angry Ogryn and escaped rampaging Genestealers, and for what? To be fazed by a fuzzy-faced freak eating a bowl of worm-noodles.

  But there had been something unsettling about the way the abhuman sat there, doing something so mundane as eating lunch.

  It just reminded him how new he was at all of this, how out of his depth.

  Not any more.

  This was his opportunity to prove that he could handle life in space. Catching a beak-nosed alien pickpocket on a space station shaped like a castle? Sure, why not? It wasn’t like he was fighting the urge to curl up into a ball and hide.

  At least the yellow thief was easy to follow. The xenos was fast on its clawed feet, but it was also tall enough to stand out among the crowd. Its mane of quills bobbed as it pelted through the throng of market-goers. Talen wasn’t going to let the Kroot out of his sight, no matter what Zelia said!

  The alien raced through the marketplace, ducking into an alleyway. Talen thundered after it, nearly colliding with a critter-monger hawking a basketful of bat-snakes.

  The lane was narrow, with crumbling shops on either side, the passageway covered by a cobweb-strewn ceiling. There seemed to be even more people crammed into the alley than in the market square, but Talen could still make out the Kroot’s quills at the far end of the passage. He barged through the traders, not caring if he knocked them down. The Kroot darted to the left, before taking a turning to the right. Talen stayed on its tail, all too aware that he was getting lost in the labyrinthian corridors of the trading post. There was no rhyme or reason to the layout of the place. It was as if it had been designed by a madman.

  They charged down yet another cramped corridor. The crowd had thinned out now, but there was no way he could catch the Kroot. Talen was fast, but the alien was faster. Talen’s legs ached, and a stitch cut into his side. He was finding it hard to breathe. Soon he would have to admit defeat.

  Then something caught his eye. There was a weapon stall up ahead, basic armaments racked in front of a counter. There were knives, slingshots and bo-staffs, but Talen knew exactly what he wanted. His hand flashed out as he ran past, snatching a set of bolas. He could already imagine Mekki rolling his eyes at him – Becoming a thief to catch a thief, Talen Stormweaver? The irony wasn’t lost on him, but Talen had been a thief from the moment he joined the Warriors back on Targian. The difference here was that the feathered freak had stolen something from one of his friends. He knew how much that scope meant to Zelia. He’d lost his own link to the past when he’d been forced to leave his brother’s toy Guardsman on the ice planet. There was no way he was going to let Zelia lose something just as important to her.

  The stone balls clacked together as he tested the strength of the leather thongs. They could have been better, but would have to do. Ignoring the protests of the stall-holder, he started to whirl the stones above his head. His father had trained Talen in the art of combat ever since he could walk, convinced that his son would follow him into the Imperial Guard. Talen may have deserted, but the lessons had stayed with him.

  The Kroot went to turn another corner.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Talen said, releasing the balls. The stones whistled through the air, arcing down just as Talen had planned. The alien let out a cry as the straps wrapped around its long legs. It crashed to the ground, Zelia’s omniscope rolling from its grasp. Talen leapt over the alien and grabbed Zelia’s prized possession. He had no idea if it was broken, but at least the lenses seemed intact.

  Now he just had to get it back to her.

  He turned, crying out as something hard smacked into the side of his head. Stars exploded across his vision and he went down with a grunt.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Fight

  Talen groaned. He touched his forehead, his fingers coming back slick with blood. Whatever had struck him had opened the old scar above his eye, a souvenir of his initiation into the Runak Warriors.

  The Kroot loomed over him, the stolen bolas whirling in a clawed hand. So that’s what had hit him.

  The alien brought back its arm, ready to send the stones lashing down again. Talen rolled to his left, the heavy balls crashing into the floor. That had nearly been his skull!

  Talen kicked out, but the alien was ready for him. It caught his leg and swung Talen around as if he were a slab of meat. He smashed into a storefront and dropped back down to the ground, gasping for breath. He forced himself to crawl forwards and cried out in pain as the bolas slammed down onto his back.

  ‘Dirty human cub,’ the alien hissed above him. ‘Teach you to mess with Korok!’

  Talen couldn’t get away. He could barely breathe. And yet even now, he could hear his father’s voice in the back of his mind. This is why we destroy the alien. This is why we wipe them out. It’s kill or be killed, son. No concessions. No compromise.

  Korok snarled as it pulled back to deliver another blow… and was knocked flying by a ball
of orange fur.

  The bolas clattered to the ground, inches from Talen’s aching head. He forced himself to look up. The Kroot was down, being pummelled by long arms. It was Fleapit! The Jokaero had launched himself at Korok and was punishing the Kroot, teeth bared and hairy fists flying.

  ‘Talen!’ Zelia ran up, dropping down beside him. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ he said, pushing her hand away, never taking his eyes off the fight. Korok was reaching for the discarded bolas. Talen grabbed for the leather cords, snatching the weapon from the Kroot’s reach. Korok roared in frustration and lashed out with a bony elbow, catching Fleapit in the head. Fleapit was knocked back and Korok rolled on top, pulling at the Jokaero’s fur. Talen went to help, but Zelia held him back.

  ‘Talen, don’t. You’ll get hurt.’

  ‘We can’t just stand by and–’

  The rest of his sentence was lost as an energy bolt whizzed over them, slamming into Korok. The Kroot was thrown from Fleapit and skidded on the floor before lying still.

  Talen whirled around but stumbled, suddenly dizzy. Zelia grabbed him, keeping the ganger on his feet as they stared at the human who had fired the shot.

  It was a man, with a haughty expression on his lined face and a bulky beamer in his hand. He was tall and thin, wearing a silk shirt over dark trousers, his hair balding and his cheeks cavernous.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ he said, pale eyes dropping to rest on Fleapit. ‘What have we here?’

  ‘Leave him alone,’ Zelia said, jumping forwards to put herself between the beamer and the Jokaero.

  The man chuckled, lowering his weapon. ‘As if I would harm such a prize specimen.’

  Talen felt Zelia bristle. ‘He’s not a specimen. He’s our friend.’

  The smile on the man’s lips faltered. ‘Careful, child. We may be on the edge of Imperial space, but there are many still loyal to the Emperor and his teachings. They won’t take kindly to the suggestion that humans and aliens can be friends.’