'Don't "girl" me, you bastard! He's one of us. One of the band. He kept sending to the ship. Sending and sending. You wouldn't listen to him, so I replied.'
'Nayl told me he'd sent one message.'
'Yeah/ she said snidely. 'And Nayl told me what you'd sent back. The big brush-off. To a man who's devoted his life to you. A man who got a bit angry with you and then thought about it and regretted it. Fischig wants to make amends. He wants to be with us again. Haven't you ever regretted anything?'
'More than you can possibly imagine, Medea. But you should have told me.'
'I asked her not to/ Fischig said. 'I imagined how you'd react. I'm grateful Medea thought so highly of me. Could you not find it in you to trust me again? Trust me like she does?'
'Quite possibly. But I wanted to do it on my terms, when I was ready. There's too much going on just now/
'Oh, come on/ implored Medea.
'How did you get here?' I asked Fischig sharply.
'I got passage on a tramp trader. It dropped me off here a week ago/
I'd asked the question so I could test his reply and get a measure of his veracity. As he answered, and I probed delicately out with my mind, I found the last thing I was expecting.
'Why are you psi-shielded?' I asked.
'Just a precaution/ he said.
Against what?' I demanded.
Against this moment/ Fischig said. There was true anguish in his eyes. He drew the compact bolt pistol out from under his cape.
'Fischig!' Medea howled in horror.
Barbarisater was already in my hands, humming. 'Don't be a fool/ I said.
He'd only be a fool if he was doing this alone.
The words were not vocal. They were burning wires of psychic venom wrapped around a monstrous cudgel of mental force that smashed into the back of my skull. I stumbled forward, half-blind. Medea fell over hard, totally unconscious.
I saw figures emerging from the doorways off the lounge space all around. Five, six, more. Men dressed in the hooded, burgundy armour of an inquisitor's personal retinue, their chest plates decorated with gold leaf in the form of the Inquisition's crest. Two of them grabbed me and ripped the force sword from my slack fingers. The others aimed their weapons at me.
Don t hurt him! Don't hurt him!' Fischig cried.
The guards dragged me round to face an individual emerging from the lounge's greasy kitchenette area. I saw a tall man in black armour and robes, with a monstrous face that had been surgically deformed to inspire fear and loathing. It was equine, snouted, with a mouth full of blunt teeth and dark pools for eyes. Fibre-wire and fluid-tubes formed gleaming ropes across the back of his skull.