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Status: Deadzone – Extract

A Black Library Publication

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A World Above

by Alex Hammond

The floor raced before him, yellow guide lights casting harsh shadows across the face of his driver. The thin hum of an electric engine, rubber wheels dashing across the steel, the rush of the air; the connecting corridors were lonely, humanless places. Fingering his las pistol, to a passer-by Aldus Harkon would have seemed to be simply scratching an irritating itch under his coat. Aldus watched the driver closely; an unimpressive-looking man, but his enemies knew Harkon was cautious of hit men and his escort ready for anything.

‘Shuttle Bay 5b, sir.’ The driver spoke with a mid-hive lilt.

‘Come up in the world?’ Aldus returned his hand to the cane lying upon his lap.

‘Yes, sir. Used to work on the factory floor. Brother went down-hive; I was recruited up. Saved the foremen from a Delaque assassination attempt.’

‘Made your masters proud, no doubt.’

The man saluted. ‘Ran Lo shuttle number five should be docking shortly.’

The transport’s wheels skidded briefly, only to be muffled by the sound of the rush of depressurising air as the cart entered the landing bay. Almost immediately a throat-searing rush of fumes hit Aldus full in the face. He inhaled deeply, painful though it may be – the shuttle bay would be witness to the biggest deal of his life.

The transport cart scuttled away, small wheels competing to keep up with one another. Aldus dusted down his coat and stood, cane in hand, poised near the edge of the eight mile-high precipice. About him men struggled with fuel pipes, prepared magnetic clamps and clung to the sides of the shuttle bay as though at any second the whole thing would lurch forward and toss them out into the night sky, down through the noxious clouds to land a bloodied pulp in the ash wastes so far below.

Aldus loved Hive Primus. If you were strong-willed there were places for you. Places to find greatness, places to make a life for yourself in a giant city almost bursting with the pressure of millions of souls. If you were cast of iron like the city, you could go far. Aldus stepped closer to the edge of the shuttle bay’s entrance. Winds battered him, slapping him hard in the face, stinging his old, cunning eyes. Peering out into the night air, he breathed deeply. A freshness unknown to his sickening body filled his lungs. The stars in the sky, every one a new solar system, were each a place for those of iron to reach greatness.

Aldus hacked hard into the front of his mouth. Sliding the phlegm about his mouth he manipulated it with his tongue until it met his approval. Large and heavy. He leaned forward. A bay attendant behind him shrieked. Aldus delicately raised his hand and cast the phlegm from his mouth. The dark yellow globule dropped into the rushing winds and was swept around and backwards into the gusts. Now part of him would travel into the wastes, carried, perhaps, for ten miles or a hundred before it dropped upon the dead earth below. Aldus smiled within.

‘Sir!’ An attendant, arms replaced by machine loading mitts, screamed into Aldus’s ear. ‘The hunting party… their shuttle!’

Aldus nodded and began the long walk to the end of the runway.

From beyond, from the dark sky, a bright green light burst into view.

‘They’re going too fast!’ A tech-priest looked up at the flickering, ghost-washed display panels before him, sweat running down his green-lit face, tracing the contours of the electronic sight that replaced his eye.

Aldus remained stationary as the bay was suddenly plunged into bright red light, warning beacons alerting fire safety crews to prepare for action.

The jagged shape of the shuttle grew larger. Aldus could make out the Ran Lo signature on its cockpit, the arcane R and L set in their white circle contrasting sharply with the arched windows above.

‘Sir, get behind the fire wall!’

Aldus remained still, with the exception of his calm hands fondling the silver cast at the top of the cane.

As the shuttle continued its wayward plummet towards them, attendants began throwing themselves to the floor, the strobing lights staggering all movement. The tearing of metal screeched about the runway, the shuttle throwing sparks into the smoke-choked air as its wings clipped the sides of the bay. Bulbous wheels screamed like agonised creatures as they struggled to slow the oncoming craft. Small fires leapt up on the floor as the white-hot sparks ignited patches of fuel.

The shuttle sped towards where Aldus stood, noxious fumes pouring from its vents. The shuttle veered off its path for a moment, almost colliding with the wall, only to spin back on line with Aldus.

With an unutterably deafening screech, the wheels finally succumbed to the brakes and the shuttle screamed to a halt, its steel nose cone so close to Aldus’ misshapen body he could have reached out and patted its flaking metal prow. The beaming face of a young man smiled down at the stationary figure through the arched cockpit windows. He waved and Aldus shook a hand in recognition.

Attendants rushed about the shuttle bay, pouring foam directly from their augmented limbs onto the spot fires. Meanwhile priests moved in to consecrate the machine’s safe landing with oils and unguents. Amidst the flurry of movement, a staircase was lowered from the shuttle’s side, its gradual release incongruous with the speed of the men. Four body-suited figures, two boys and two girls, leapt from the access port. Only a robed man, leaving the shuttle last, used the stairs. This, Aldus Harkon knew instantly, was Terrak Ran Lo.

The sage old man walked gracefully towards Aldus, grey hair and groomed goatee painted red in parts. About him the youngsters leapt and shouted, slapping one another on the backs. Their combative prowess was immediately noticeable as they aimed mock kicks and lashed out at one another, pulling short with bladed weapons mere muscle spasms from one another’s faces.

‘I must apologise–’ Terrak Ran Lo began.

‘Scared as a cess rat!’ The young pilot from the ship grinned at Aldus like a big dog, nodding his shorn head, revealing it to be tattooed with the kill marks of a seasoned hunter.

‘Aadon, you oaf, you almost ripped the ship to pieces!’ A woman in a tight-fitting body suit, dark, lacquered braid curled tight in the customary manner of all of the women warriors of Ran Lo, spat out the words at her companion.

‘Does it matter. What about the thrill?’ Aadon snapped back.

‘Aadon, you’re a genius, did you see them run for the barricade?’ laughed the other boy. He was huge, a full head taller than those about him. ‘Call me Takarr. Thanks for making this hunt possible, Mr. Harkon.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Aldus replied. ‘You should thank Lord Terrak for having the sense to come to me.’

‘You can guarantee that everything will be in place by the time they get down there?’ Terrak Ran Lo asked, his voice calm and commanding.

‘Yes. As long as they keep to the schedule they’ll be having the hunt of their lives.’

‘You’d better hope so, Mr Harkon,’ the dark-haired woman said snootily as she stepped forward. ‘You’re being paid a small fortune to make sure this is good.’

‘I’ve had ten years’ experience dealing with Underhivers. Four miles below us I have over thirty seasoned contacts; at six I have another forty. I’d like to think that my dealings with these scum has provided me with enough insight to know when something is worth it.’

‘Excellent,’ the young woman purred and spun on her heels. ‘The mice will be in trouble tonight.’

High above the Underhive, the air is cold. High above the Underhive you cannot breathe for the lack of atmosphere. Ten miles above the savage wasteland of Hive Bottom is where the city’s peak lies. This is where the souls of the dead will travel. This is where they gather. This is where they are blown across the four winds. Scattered like shards of glass. Scattered souls bear no memories. Blood…

Blood ran down Knife Edge Liz’s face. She could feel it sliding down her chin, charting a course past old scars, through the valleys of new wounds. Liz reached her hand up to her face. She might as well have been attempting to lift a steel girder. She let the limb fall to the ground again. Slow waves of red washed over her eyes again.

High above the hive the air is cold. Liz no longer felt her legs. High above the hive you cannot breathe for lack of atmosphere. Liz drew a heavy breath into her lungs. It fell short and sunk only as deep as her throat. She dragged her hand across the ground, feeling for something, anything that could help.

Her hand came across something soft and moist. Feeling up it – a small ring, piercing stone cold skin. Tattered cloth. The small face of a girl, eyes open. Big round eyes like a cat.

Kat.

Kat was dead.

Liz snatched her hand away. Blood rushed to her head. Liz rose to her feet pushing hard so that she fell away from the corpse. She staggered forward and fell upon a cushion of flesh. Arms slick with someone else’s blood. Underneath her she could feel the cold grip of death. Someone was beneath her. Dead. Liz rubbed at her eyes, grit tearing at her pupils. For each layer of blood she wiped off, another would arrive – hers or the corpse’s, she could not tell.

‘Hive daemons take me!’ Liz groaned, rolling off the corpse in panic.

Liz’s limbs struck at the ground, each fist striking in search of a dry place, a steel place. Somewhere where there was no blood. A fist ricocheted off a steel case. Pain shot up Liz’s arm, sending spasms about her shoulder and shooting tendrils of needle-sharp pangs about her. The steel case. Liz ran her fingers over its mesh texture, searching for a sign. She flipped the case over and felt again. Small cross-hatches, like the mesh of the walkways she knew were above her. The criss-cross ended abruptly; a smooth disk lay in the centre of the case, medical cross engraved into its surface.

Liz flipped the medi-kit open and rummaged inside it with trembling fingers. She swallowed pills, wrapped bandages about her wounds. Took out a hypodermic, shook it and was rewarded by the slosh of the liquid within. She had to stab four times before she found a vein. Arm rushing with warmth, Liz fell back and continued falling.

In the darkness there was heat. In the darkness the sound of the hive drifted away. Liz rolled around. The painkillers, like the hands of a lover, held her tight and ran their fingers about her body. They sank deep into her skin. Deep into her soul. They traced patterns across her back. Spelt words she could not understand. Rubbed thoughts into her tired brain.

Kat was dead. She’d come from the streets. Wanted to join a gang. Looked for a way to find a meaning. A meaning for the Underhive. Couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Dead so young. Half a life is more than none. Half a lie.

Liz rocketed into consciousness. A lie. Somewhere there was a lie.

Liz snapped her eyes open and looked about her. Smoke still rose from potholes in the ground. Electric conduits still buzzed and swung from the platforms above her. Beside her lay the medi-kit, plundered of all its contents. A few bright red stims lay scattered about on the ground. Liz carefully picked these up and secreted them down the side of her boot.

Something bit sharply into her ankle. She struggled with the boot and removed a hard, white card. Guilder credits. The lie was unravelling itself. Liz regarded herself in the sheen of an effluent pool. Her leggings were torn. Deep gashes carved their way through her flesh. Her hair, once dyed blue, was a deep brown, nearer her natural colour.

Liz had fallen close to Bekka, Bekka the Harvester. Liz stared over at her corpse. Deep pock marks had cracked open that seemingly impenetrable body of hers. Hundreds of hours of weight-built work, cast aside like a child’s rag doll. For so many Bekka was the paragon of Underhive womanhood: in control, strong, with a mind as strong as steel.

Beside Bekka lay her weapon, its kill markings still as bright as they were the day they were scored. The day they captured that heavy bolt gun from their rivals, the Sump Pirates, had been one of their greatest. An offworld weapon, and ammunition too; an incredible prize! It was a victory that had led them through every bar in Deep Town. They’d got drunk on Second Best and collapsed on the bar-room floor.

From the signs, a story unfolded: the blood-sprayed walls, laceration wounds to her dead comrades. They had come to ambush someone. It should have been simple. A mistake? They took it too easy? Something had gone wrong. Desperate faces, terrified eyes – the dead faces betrayed much. Bekka. Her augmented eyes and powerful weapon would have given her the drop on any assailant. By the ruby scores, sunken into her flesh, perhaps she had been the first to go. A trail of light imprints in the earth belied some rapidly moving assailant. Liz slowly rose and staggered forwards, hand clutching delicately at her leg. With each step the wound tore open a little.

The imprints led to the body of a stranger, wired into a still-pulsing fighting suit. Bloodied mat of hair, disgorged eye sockets. The mechanical enhancements that had once filled these places lay torn on the ground. The stranger was young, Kat’s age perhaps. Bladed gauntlets still moist with blood hung by his side. Liz regarded her leg.

‘Liz!’ A scream from behind her. She spun around, lasgun at the ready. Kat was holed up behind a rock, heavy shells like blast caps erupting the rock from about her. Kat kept her head down. Liz scanned the smoke-filled tunnels for her assailant. Somewhere above, at the narrowing of the walls. Text-book bottleneck. They were surrounded.

‘Liz, hel–’ Kat gargled into silence.

Liz spun to catch sight of her comrade. A dark figure stood over where Kat had been hiding. Unashamed, he held part of an Escher girl above his head like a trophy.

‘Sonofa–!’ Liz threw herself towards the figure that was now dancing about Kat’s shredded remains.

Cracking explosions splintered girders, concrete flinging dust into the air. Liz threw herself through this haze and fell upon the figure, unleashing a fiery beam of death from her lasgun. Hot shells crashed about her, some searing her skin as they bounced about the ground. The figure leapt, lightning fast, and threw itself towards Liz, sharp blades like cleavers dripping wet.

Liz spun about, anticipating her assailant’s speed, and clipped him. Right arm a mangled pulp, the figure swept hard with its left. Blades sliced across Liz’s leg. A sharp pain and sudden dizziness rushed over her. She rolled through the filth, the dirt clogging the wound, blood rush stemmed to a trickle. Liz unsheathed her chainsword and flicked its spinning teeth into action. The figure darted to one side and tumbled across the ground, its suit pumping stimulants into its dying body.

Chainsword buzzing, Liz lightly swept it in front of the oncoming figure’s head. Her timing was on line. Like spearing a sump eel Liz timed the blow to anticipate the movements of her attacker. The chainsword caught on the augmentation about the figure’s head. Its weapon suit sputtered into a death rattle as armour plates and implants were ripped from its body. Both Escher and attacker crashed to the ground. Liz readied her lasgun and took aim on the hidden sniper’s position. Using a bent girder to brace her arm she peered into the darkness.

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A Black Library Publication

First published in Great Britain in 2000.
This eBook edition published in 2017 by Black Library, Games Workshop Ltd,
Willow Road, Nottingham, NG7 2WS, UK.

Produced by Games Workshop in Nottingham.
Cover illustration by Karl Richardson.

Status: Deadzone © Copyright Games Workshop Limited 2017. Status: Deadzone, Necromunda, GW, Games Workshop, Black Library, The Horus Heresy, The Horus Heresy Eye logo, Space Marine, 40K, Warhammer, Warhammer 40,000, the ‘Aquila’ Double-headed Eagle logo, and all associated logos, illustrations, images, names, creatures, races, vehicles, locations, weapons, characters, and the distinctive likenesses thereof, are either ® or TM, and/or © Games Workshop Limited, variably registered around the world.
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ISBN: 9781785728785

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