Searching for the keys, he found them in the overhead visor of the driver’s seat, and slid the key into the ignition, hand at the ready to activate. Several underhivers saw what he was doing, and began to point and to tug at the sleeves of their companions. The crowd of wood and plastek masks began to part as people instinctively backed up or were dragged aside. Many of them punched fists into the air and cheered, clearly under the impression that Osada intended to ram open the lift gates for them. A thickset woman worrying at the lock with a crowbar hurried aside, and the way was clear.
With all attention on the cargo-8, most of them didn’t see Sapphira stand and hurl the riot grenade over their heads. A few jumped as it ignited in the air and began to fountain sparks, but no-one truly reacted until it struck a man by the lift controls in the back of the head, causing him to scream out and fall. The grenade dropped out of sight and burst with a colossal bang and a firework of white smoke, stumbling another two undehivers who were hammering at the control panel and sending others reeling back, cursing and batting at sparks that were burning into their clothes.
Sapphira was already up and running before the second grenade landed, but she heard it burst with ear-splitting volume. The cheers and chanting of the underhive mob became a wordless roar. The squeal of the cargo-8’s tyres rose above it as Osada floored the truck’s accelerator.
“Her!” a man on his knees behind Sapphira bawled, pointing an accusing finger. Evidently someone had seen her throw the grenade after all. “She’s a fraggin’ undercover Div’!”
The crowd buffeted Sapphira as she blitzed through them, but only one man acted fast enough to snatch at her robes, and he let go with a yelp as Glabrio appeared beside her and cracked his mask in two with the butt of his pistol.
The mob surged, and people went down hard as they lost their balance. Sapphira heard the throaty roar of the cargo-8 become a skidding squeal as Osada jack-knifed the lorry and sent it crashing side-on into the lifter columns either side of the gate. Pale smoke fouled the air. A lasgun discharged accidentally, and a woman shrieked as she spun to the ground, one arm hanging by red threads. Sapphira dropped her last two grenades behind her and sprinted for the lift.
The barred gate of the elevator cage squealed open under Gavin’s will, swinging wide as Osada leapt from the crumpled driver cab. Glabrio vaulted the front end and skidded over the bonnet into the cage, landing with a metallic crash on the chequer plate flooring. He glanced round to check that Sapphira was safely inside, then lunged back to drag Gavin after him.
“Close it!” he yelled at the psyker.
The gate clanged back just as the first underhivers came flailing over and around the cargo-8, oblivious to the choking grenade smoke. One man managed to thrust his arm into the gap, and his scream sounded like nothing human as his hand was crushed between the gate and its frame. The scream rose in pitch as another underhiver slammed into him from behind, clawing at the bars.
“Out of the fraggin’ way!” a voice roared, and a man wielding a captured lasrifle fought his way to the opposite door of the cargo-8 cabin. He smashed in the window and thrust the gun through the open cab towards the four agents, but a glance from Gavin drained the lasgun’s power cell, leaving the man to scream denial as he hammered the unresponsive trigger.
Glabrio and the others found themselves isolated in a steel cage that was twenty metres square and half that high, an island of panting, sweating calm beyond a cacophony of voices and reaching, pleading hands. Masks pressed against the bars, the eyes behind them wide with anger and desperation.
“What are you doing?” a young man demanded, looking utterly lost. “What are you doing?”
Next to him, a woman tried to press a squalling, swaddled infant through the bars towards Sapphira, but was forced to fall back as the huge lifter plants rumbled into action.
Glabrio had lost one of his autopistols in the crush. He lowered the other and returned it to its concealed holster as they rose up into the gantry tower, leaving the grasping hands and cursing voices behind. Pools of light and darkness washed by as they passed strip-lights studded into the inside of the lift shaft.
The dented vox in Sapphira’s hand was silent, the tuning dial having apparently been knocked out of alignment when its unfortunate former owner was tackled to the ground. One of Raechel’s machine prayers and some fiddling caused the caster to blurt out orbital launch traffic, and then what sounded like emergency services. Neither carried the clipped, calm procedure-words of a PDF frequency.
“...care what’s in orbit, we’ve got Imperial tanks rolling up Arterial Six and I need launch clearance n-...”
“Negative, adept! The whole Skaltine district’s a warzone, I need your ambulances to stay clear!”
The third channel she came to was was a much fainter signal, and to Sapphira’s surprise wasn’t even in Baraspini standard. All she could make out was a woman’s voice, followed by a man chuckling darkly as he replied.
“Got the PDF frequency?” Glabrio queried as the rumbling of the elevator began to slow to a stop.
Bookmarks