Slvasta fired the carbine. It wasn’t even aimed at her to start with, more like panic shooting. The recoil shoved him about, and he brought the carbine back under control. A couple of shots must have hit her as she raced forwards. They didn’t get through her shell. The magazine ran out of bullets. He turned, lunging away desperately. Her fist lashed out, and he wasn’t quite out of reach. His shell saved him from the worst of the blow, but it was still strong enough to send him sprawling. One of the mod-apes loomed above him, its thick muscular arm raised ready to hammer smash . . . ‘Crud!’

A jet of flame seared into the mod-ape’s head, flowing like liquid down its torso. It shrieked, radiating its pain in a pulse which made Slvasta groan. Tears flooded his eyes as he tried to tighten his shell against the outpouring of agony.

The mod-dwarf was standing firm, playing the flamethrower over the mod-ape as it thrashed about, legs collapsing. And Ingmar was standing a little behind it, hands pressed to his temples, eyes shut tight in concentration as his ’path directed the mod-dwarf. Concentrating so hard he didn’t see one of the mod-horses charging.

‘No!’ Slvasta yelled with voice and ’path. ‘Ingmar, look ou—’

The great beast was going fast, lowering its head like a battering ram. It struck Ingmar in the small of his back, launching him into the air. Slvasta felt his pain and shock at the crippling blow. Even that faded as Ingmar lost consciousness. Then Slvasta was instinctively rolling over himself as Quanda’s booted foot kicked at his head. She missed, and he rolled again. A smeared image of Jamenk lying on his back, with one of the mod-apes pummelling him, its hoof-fist smashing his face again and again. The semi-conscious corporal’s blood running everywhere – over his cheeks, chin, nose, mouth, neck – soaking into the ground.

Slvasta just managed to get to his feet, swaying about. He slapped an order into the mod-dwarf’s mind, telling it to aim the flamethrower at Quanda. But it simply stood there, then slowly brought the nozzle round until it was lined up on him. And Quanda was walking quickly towards him, her face blank. Slvasta charged right at her. He had nothing else. Swinging his fist, ready to follow up with a savage kick.

Her hand grabbed his. She was so fast. They’d told him Fallers were quick, but he never expected anything like this! Strong, too. It was like being clamped in an iron vice. Then she twisted. Slvasta was spun round by the incredible force. Quanda’s heel smashed into the back of his knee.

He thought the bone had broken. Certainly something tore. The pain was horrifying. He dropped to the ground, wailing.

‘This is what they send?’ Quanda asked in a mocking tone. ‘The finest warriors on the planet?’

‘Fuck you,’ he managed to croak.

Sunlight was in his eyes. It vanished as she walked round him. He blinked up fearfully. Is she going to eat me?

‘No. I’m not.’

A hand grasped the front of his shirt and tugged him up to his knees. Her beautiful face was centimetres from his. She studied him intently. ‘I’m not hungry. Not right now.’

He tried to strike out with his teekay, going for her eyes just as he had with the mod-ape. But the blow rebounded from her shell, and she didn’t even flinch. Still her eyes were looking into his. He felt the toe of her boot shove at his good knee, pushing his legs apart.

‘You things barely have thoughts,’ she said in a dry growl. ‘Just instincts. You are animal. I almost pity the one who will absorb you.’

He had to concentrate to understand her voice – Fallers had broken, gravelly voices, it was right there on page five of the Institute manual. ‘We will burn you from our world,’ he snarled defiantly. ‘I swear it. No matter what the cost.’

Her free arm swung back, then powered forward. Slvasta saw her eyes widen in anticipation just as her fist slammed into his balls. He thought the pain would fracture his skull open, it was so intense. There was nothing else but the pain. He knew he was vomiting. Tumbling down. She stood above him, magnificent and terrible.

Then a mod-ape dragged him across the compound towards the barn he’d been so eager to reach just moments before, his face bumping along the ground, stones shredding his cheek. That pain was infinitesimal compared to the rest. Another mod-ape tugged Ingmar along behind him. Slvasta didn’t care. The pain was too great. His eyes fell shut. And he was in darkness, him and the pain, alone together. Falling.

*

Consciousness was more pain. It also brought the overwhelming misery, a loathing of simply being alive.

That’s not going to last for much longer, he knew.

Slvasta didn’t want to open his eyes. Didn’t want to scan round with his ex-sight. He was too afraid of what might be revealed.

‘Are you awake?’ Ingmar’s ’path asked him softly.

Slvasta opened his eyes, blinking away sticky tear-diluted blood. They were in the barn Quanda had been leading them to, with light filtering in through high windows. There were empty animal stalls, while the floor of the aisle where he lay naked was hard-packed soil covered in filthy straw.

Directly in front of him were two Faller eggs. Slvasta whimpered in dread. All the stories and descriptions were true. The things were spherical, almost three metres in diameter, with a dark crinkled skin. A naked Jamenk was spread eagled against one, like a comedy splat on a wall.

Tears started flowing freely down Slvasta’s torn cheeks at the sight of him. The corporal’s face and chest had already sunk below the surface. Ingmar, also stripped out of his clothes, had been shoved sideways against the second egg. His leg and arm were already inside, with his ribcage just starting to sink in; he was craning his neck to keep his head away from the surface.

‘No!’ Slvasta groaned, and tried to get to his feet despite his ruined knee. He couldn’t move. His bare skin suddenly became ice cold and started sweating. He turned his head. The third Faller egg curved above him. His right arm had sunk in almost up to his elbow. He let his head fall back, and let out a wretched death-howl as he pissed himself.

‘It’s okay,’ Ingmar was saying. ‘It’s okay.’

‘Okay?’ Slvasta burbled hysterically. ‘Oh-fucking-kay? Okay? Okay? How the crud is this okay?’

His friend gave him a sad smile. ‘We can kill each other.’

Slvasta let out a demented giggle.

‘We can,’ Ingmar insisted. ‘We can use a teekay grip on each other’s heart. Squeeze together.’

‘Fuck the Skylords. Ingmar, no!’

‘Please, Slvasta. As soon as my skull reaches the egg, it’ll be over for me. It will have me. I’ll be a Faller. Is that what you want?’

‘No.’

‘Then let us do this. Together.’

Slvasta sent his ex-sight probing into the egg, trying to see what kind of grip it had on him. There wasn’t much he could perceive beyond the surface, just dense shadows. Yet there was some kind of mind in there, steely thoughts he could make no sense of other than a simple glow of expectancy. Nothing like the bright colourful tangle of unguarded human thoughts, forever discordant with emotion.

Although he could sense its outline, he couldn’t feel his lower arm, but it wasn’t cold, or in pain, there was just . . . nothing. He tried pulling. Of course, it didn’t move. He shrank his teekay down to a point, like the tip of an axe, and stabbed repeatedly into the shell around his arm. Nothing. The shell didn’t bend or crack. His attack had no effect whatsoever. He realized his arm was slightly deeper inside, the shell was now up to the top of his radius and ulna.

‘We have to do it,’ Ingmar said. He was making no attempt to spin a shell round his thoughts. Sadness and exhaustion were emanating out of him. ‘We can deny them this. We can deny them us. It’s our last weapon.’