The Black Lung Captain - By Chris Wooding Page 0,141

get the attention of the beautiful Century Knight.

Samandra favoured him with a knee-weakening smile. 'Much appreciated, sir.' She turned and began calling out orders. 'Grudge, Jask, with me. Grissom, you stay and guard the staff.'

'I'm not babysitting this bunch of—' Grissom began to protest, but Frey cut him off.

'We'll stay,' he said.

Samandra looked him over suspiciously. Sizing him up in the red darkness.

'Safer up here. Besides, I'm the only one of my lot that can shoot worth a shit,' he lied. 'And I said I'd look after her.' He thumbed at Trinica.

'The passenger. Right,' said Samandra. She frowned at him. A you'd better not be up to something kind of frown. Frey put on his most winning grin.

'Tick-tock, Samandra!' said Grissom, by the door.

'Fine,' she said. 'I can't spare a Knight anyway. Don't even think about going anywhere, though. You'd never make it to your aircraft.'

'Hey,' said Frey, raising his hands. 'Nobody wants to keep me alive more than I do.'

Samandra gave him one last, uncertain look. 'Weapons are on the table,' she said, pointing to the shotguns and pistols that had been brought up by the mercs. 'Good luck.' Then she was heading towards the exit, herding their enthusiastic young guide ahead of her, shouting for the mercs to back them up.

Frey waited till they were gone and said, 'Did you hear that, Jez?'

'Certainly did, Cap'n,' said his navigator, in his ear. 'Meet you on the roof of the refinery in ten minutes?'

'Ten minutes,' he said. He turned to Malvery, who'd scooped up a shotgun and was admiring it. 'Doc, pull that Sammie out of there,' he said, pointing at the door where Jask had stood.

'That's my guest!' Roke protested. 'You'd better not be—'

Til make you a deal, Roke,' Frey interrupted him. He picked up a pistol, checked it, and began loading it. New model. Pristine condition. Very nice. 'I get you and the Sammie out of here, you tell me where Grist is. Simple, right?'

'Agreed,' said Roke, without hesitation. 'There's a port nearby where I can arrange transport for my guest and I. Take us there and I'll tell you.'

'How do we get to the roof?'

'The roof?' Roke thought for a moment. 'The access door is locked and the head caretaker isn't here. No idea where the key is. We'll have to take the elevator.' He motioned at the window. 'Out there.'

There was a loud bang from below, and several of the window squares shattered. One of the company men toppled backwards, his head and chest a mess of blood and torn skin. The others began to shriek and scramble over each other in an attempt to get away.

'Probably shouldn't be standing next to the window, huh?' Frey muttered to himself, as he pulled Roke aside. Malvery emerged with the Samarlan. Trinica and Silo joined them as the company men hightailed it back to their offices and locked the doors. Silo was glaring with naked hatred at the Samarlan. The very sight of the man inflamed him. The Samarlan returned his gaze with a cool disdain.

Frey took him aside. 'I know, Silo, I know. But we have to find Grist.'

'Grist! Grist!' he snarled. 'What's so important, Cap'n? What you got to prove that's so damn important?'

Frey blinked in surprise. 'I made a mistake, and I'm trying to make it right,' he said.

Silo stared over his shoulder at the Samarlan, nostrils flaring. His fist was clenched and his arm trembled. He looked like he wanted to spring on Roke's 'guest' and beat him bloody.

'Can you deal with it? For me?' Frey asked. 'You don't have to speak to him. Just don't kill him or anything. Please?'

Silo's mouth was pressed tight, as if tasting something bitter. 'I'll do what you ask, Cap'n,' he said. 'But this ain't right. I want you knowin' that. Ain't right.' He hefted his shotgun and pumped the lever-action handle to chamber a round. 'Let's go.'

The refinery floor was like something out of a nightmare. A sea of roaring metal noise punctuated by the shrieking and grinding of gears. Black pistons pumped up and down, shadows lunging against the gory glow of the furnace light. Unoiled mechanisms leaked wisps of acrid smoke. There was a haze in the air that stank of chemicals.

Frey, Trinica, Malvery and Silo hurried down the aisles between the looming machines, weapons ready, alert for danger. Roke and the Samarlan followed, with Roke providing occasional directions. The Samarlan was frustratingly slow; he seemed reluctant to run, and never accelerated above a speedy