Seeing my shape in the doorway, a man ran towards me.
'Wylk! Wylk! They've found us! They've-'
A moment before he realised I was not Wylk, I decked him with the butt of my weapon. He fell hard.
Two solid shots raked the doorframe next to me.
I ducked back in, sliding back the grip of the shotgun.
Shots punched through the wall above the bed-head. Bequin screamed and rolled off the bed.
I blasted back, punching two more large holes in the door.
Two men slammed into the room, wild-eyed and desperate. Both were dressed in light interior clothes. One had a laspistol, the other an autorifle.
I dropped the lasgunner with one direct shot that hurled his body against the wall. The man with the autorifle opened fire, his shots chewing through one of the bed-posts.
I dived for cover as the automatic fire ripped up tufts of carpet, shattered mirrors and demolished furnishings.
Rolling, I frantically sought cover.
My would-be killer dropped face-down onto the bed. The girl pulled a long retractable knife out of the back of his neck.
'I saved your life/ she told me. 'That'll make it better for me, right?'
I told the girl to stay put in the bedroom, and from her nod I was pretty sure she would.
I stepped out into the gloomy hall. The level below had fallen silent.
'Fischig?' I voxed.
'Come down/ his reply crackled back.
A spiral stairway led down into a large, split-level lounge area. The air was thick with smoke, which coiled out of the terrace window-doors we had opened. The hard daylight of the Sun-dome streamed in, making ladder-bars of light in the drifting haze. The opposite wall of the room
was a wide segmented shutter. If opened, it would reveal a view over the freezing wastes beyond the dome.
A storm of gunfire had ruined the expensive furniture and decorative fittings. Five corpses lay twisted at various points on the floor. Fischig, his visor raised, was hauling a sixth man up into a high-backed chair. The man, wounded in the right shoulder, was wailing and crying. Fischig cuffed him into place.
'Upstairs?' Fischig asked me without looking round.
'Clear/1 reported.
I walked round the room, eyeing the dead and examining items left scattered on tabletops and bureaux.
'I know some of these men/ the chastener added, unsolicited. 'Those two by the window. Locals, low-grade labourers. Long list of petty convictions on both/
'Hired muscle/
'Seems to be your man's way. The others are off-worlders/
'You've found papers?'
'No, it's just a hunch. None of them have got any ID or markers, and I haven't found a cache anywhere/