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Major Auberon Chalmondelay, or Brash as he was always called by his men, could hear laughter. He pushed open a heavy fire door set into the end wall of large warehouse and stepped into an unlit corridor. He let the door swing shut behind him leaving him in almost total darkness, only a pale green light from a fire alarm casting any illumination. He moved towards the sounds of many voices laughing and cheering and went through another door, which knocked into the backs of two troopers stood on the other side. Turning and seeing him enter both men grinned and shouted his name, one thrusting a mug of the local alcohol into his hand.

There were at least sixty bodies in the main storage space of the warehouse, mainly men and women of the Nizamis, an ancient military order from the world Carnate, or to the Imperium at large, the Carnate 52nd Janissaries but in the crowd Brash could see several of the black and tan uniforms of the Ghursh Yeomanry. Everyone's attention was on the centre of the warehousing space but as Brash pushed forwards many faces turned to greet him with smiles and pats on the back, except for Canna Meentus, one of his akinshilar, or scouts, who gave him a goose and a sly wink before turning away braying with laughter.

At the head of the crowd Brash was finally able to see what was going on. Using an upturned crate to lean on, an arm wrestling match was underway. A dogpile of troopers were on one side of the crate, with at least seven hands gripping the thickly muscled arm of the man who faced them. 'Man', might not quite have been the right term though for this was actually a brother of the Adeptus Astartes. The Space Marine was wearing plain fatigues and a vest top but even so he was a giant compared to the soldiers surrounding him. His wide, post-human features were creased in a silent laugh and Brash was almost amazed to see a tear run down his cheek. No matter how hard they tugged the Marine's arm didn't move and then, muscles bulging, the Astartes finally began to pull his arm down, standard issue boots squealing and squeaking as the scrum of soldiers were inexorably dragged across the floor. Before the Marine could claim his victory a massive hairy fist gripped his arm, and slammed it back the other way.

"That's cheating!" The Astartes roared amidst fresh gales of laughter. The ogryn, Gongar, hooted and bellowed, pleased with his victory over the superhuman warrior. Brash went over to the Space Marine with one eyebrow raised.

"Brother Rex?" Brash said.

"Ah, Brash, glad to see you, it's been a while." The Marine leant back against a support beam and took a tentative sip of a drink that had appeared in his hand.

"Three years since Morten." Brash said. Jector Rex, wrinkled his nose at the drink and then frowned at Brash.

"Three years? More like twenty-three. Morten was back in Nine-Ninety-One, it's Zero-Fourteen now."

"It's Nine-Ninety-Four Jector, last I checked."

"Does that mean there's another me out there killing Tau or has that not happened yet? Damned Warp Dilations! No wonder the Emperor's Wars never end Brash, we have ten versions of ourselves fighting the buggers at the same time!"

Before Brash could reply a muffled but insistent siren began to wail. The laughter and hubbub of the warehouse died instantly as troopers listened. It was the attack alarm.

"Right then Ladies and Gents, the party's over! Get kitted up and head to your positions, you know the drill!" Brash bawled his orders and the men and women around him quickly and efficiently began to file out, returning to their billets to pick up weapons and kit. "And you Jector, I didn't even know the Prophets were with us?"

"Some of us are. We heard about the shitstorm going on here and decided to mob up with you boys."

Brash nodded at this and began to follow his troops out, Jector walking beside him. "You'd best come with me to command so we can see just what's heading our way this time and then you can decide where you need to be."

The head office of the East Star Haulage Company was a five storey red brick and chrome building with a large glass frontage that looked out over five square miles of docks and wharves. The premises had been locked up by the official receivers after the company had ceased trading but all of the office equipment, including banks of cogitators, master vox sets and a detailed mapping system not only for so called 'City of Lights' but the near orbit and in-system shipping routes was all still in place. Commandeered by the Munitorum for the duration of the current conflict it served perfectly as the Imperial Guard Headquarters.

Two guardsmen guarding the double doors to the building stood aside as Brash and Jector Rex approached. The men saluted as they passed but only half-heartedly as they watched the Astartes with open mouths. Brash chuckled to himself and lead Jector up a flight of stairs that lead up to an open plan office that was choked with analyticae, comms officers and several members of the Mechanicus who were walking circuits around the equipment to ensure the continued cooperation of the machine spirits.

Lord General Brant, the overall commanding officer of the Imperial forces fighting in the city, was stood in front of a colossal holo-projector. The device was built into the floor and projected a map of the city which could be manipulated to give closer detail but, for all the apparent technological sophistication, it was only a static map, showing nothing of the developing situation or even capable of displaying the position of the various Guard elements. Brant and a dozen other officers were looking at an expanded view of the far end of the dockyards. As Brash joined them he heard Yonas Skith, the senior Imperial Tactician, explain what was happening.

"Here gentlemen is where the enemy have attacked with both infantry and armour units. As you know, that means they have passed through sector one which was supposedly secure. I believe the Leasic 212th have moved to engage Colonel Duranin?"

"They have Mister Skith. I have three Leman Russ moving up from the dockside and four armoured fist squads are already there. I have more infantry moving up to support. The attack is fierce but nothing we cannot handle." Colonel Duranin finished with a half smile that pulled at the square of shiny scar tissue on the left side of his face, a legacy from a plasma wound taken many years before.

"I want this fresh incursion quashed within the hour and I want to know how such a force bypassed our pickets. Major Brash?" Lord General Brant had not looked up from the holo-display once but evidently had seen the Janissary arrive.

"Lord-General?" Brash answered.

"You have scout forces I understand, do you think them capable of tracing these curs back to their lair?"

"Many of them are hive-born sir, tracking the enemy back through the city will be no problem for them."

"Good," Brant eyed Jector for a moment before addressing him directly. "And you lord? I did not know that the Astartes were involved in this theatre. How might we accommodate your forces?"

"At this stage Lord General it might be better to construct your strategies without factoring us into the equation. Once we have determined the situation here for ourselves perhaps then we may wish to coordinate." It was a typical Astartes answer especially coming from a Prophet of Hatred.

"Indeed lord Astartes, that is your prerogative. It may be prudent though to check in with command once you enter the city, it would be unfortunate if any of your men were to come under fire from our forces simply because they did not know your location." Brant had fought alongside Space Marines before and knew how to hold his own with them. Jector just smiled and gave a shallow nod.

"You all know what to do gentlemen, dismissed." The gathered officers saluted the Lord General and made off to see to the disposition of their men.

"Diplomatic as ever Jector." Brash said as they left the command centre.

I'm going to assume they're defending a hive world of some sort. Maybe add a bit in somewhere explaining what's going on?
I'd bump the numbers of Imperial Guard up a bit if it is a hive. Hive's aren't small and you need a significant number of troops to defend them. Several million (Though I imagine there will be a few million local forces)

I have three Leman Russ moving up from the dockside and four armoured fist squads are already there

Maybe make it a few companies accompanied by an armour company?

Otherwise pretty good. I like the opening and the dialogue seems reasonably solid.

Thanks for comments.

So far the Guard have only just established themselves in the city which I will be describing more over the coming posts. I did type up a huge introduction a few days ago but decided to go back and start again with something a little more mundane,

rest assured, there will be lots of boots on the ground although, not enough!

You should probably mention it in the general narrative. Like

Lord General Brant, the overall commanding officer of the Imperial forces fighting in the city, was stood in front of a colossal holo-projector. The device was built into the floor and projected a map of XYZ which could be manipulated to give closer detail but, for all the apparent technological sophistication, it was only a static map,

Aye, true enough, I didn't want to have too many details in each post though, sometimes it can seem a bit much having lots of made up names and the like all jammed in and I wanted to avoid that and spread it out a bit.

Possibly but as long as it's not all in one go then it's not too bad. It helps to seed it into the general narrative rather than to have one massive expository piece.

To cover the distance from Command to the incursion site was no problem for the akinshilar. On Carnate these troops were lightly armed scouts, raiders really, according to the old Nizamis terms, recruited primarily from the western rainforests and the north-eastern hives. Despite the vastly different climates they originated from, culturally, the jungle tribesmen and the urban hivers were very similar. For the Nizamis, the akinshilar were most often deployed on rugged dirt bikes but since the Imperium had claimed Carnate early in .M41 the Nizamis had adopted many of the customs of the Imperial Guard, so that now the akinshilar could also take to the field in Sentinel walkers. In terms of uniform the akinshilar had little, wearing their own clothes and using their own weapons. The same had also been true of the azaps, light infantry who specialised in stealth and infiltration. For nearly two centuries now the Munitorum had been working to bring the Nizamis under its influence and turn the entire army into a single regiment under the generic term of 'Janissary'. To that end the azaps were now outfitted with regulation uniforms and weapons and more and more often called 'scout recon'. The Munitorum had quite successfully infiltrated the high command of the Nizamis and many of the senior staff were of the Munitorum, their influence over the various acemi or military academies, such, that many officers were now adopting these modern Imperial terms and modes of thinking and spreading them to the rest of the army.

Brash was a Janissary in the true sense of the word. Janissary were heavily armoured troops that were now more often referred to as 'grenadiers' in Munitorum nomenclature but they were much more than just carapace armoured elite troopers. Auberon Chalmondelay was not just a name, it was a title, passed on down the generations. Brash was therefore not a nickname as such, it was an earned name, his true name. The Janissary were an elite formation, not just due to their training and equipment but in their very culture. Janissary were almost always men, celibate and dedicated to a martial philosophy. These men, and the very, very occasional woman, were raised from birth in an acemi and would earn retirement after thirty-five years at which point they were given lands and a minor title and would generally marry and raise a family.

A tiny minority earned a higher reward should they wish to accept it. These men would reaffirm their vows and forsake not only any claim they might have to an ordinary life but even to their own identities. At that point they joined the ranks of the Cannah'im. To commence the transition, each returning Janissary would adopt a son from the so called 'boys harvest'; theoretically a daughter could be chosen instead although in practice this had only happened a handful of times and no woman had ever been Cannah'im. Into this boy would be poured all of the experience, knowledge and memories of his adoptive father, transferring his identity to the next generation. In order to complete this process the boy had to recite, from memory, one thousand verses of his father's life. At that point he would become whom his father had once been and the old Janissary would become Cannah'im, a nameless, soldier-fanatic who would serve in the Nizamis until his dying day.

Brash came from a line of such Cannah'im, whose origins were so ancient they were illegible on the Qeburak, a monument to all the Janissary, millennia old. The weight of that history, and the responsibility of it, was a burden Brash carried with increasing difficulty. The Nizamis was changing so quickly and so radically he feared that the ancient customs would become impossible to maintain. Would the name Auberon cease to be with him?

These thoughts whispered through his mind as he clambered onto the bed of a Cargo-2 and set off after the 'roughriders' or whatever the Munitorum would have the akinishalar become; which begged the question, what would the Munitorum rename the Spahk, the Nizamis elite heavy cavalry? Brash banged the edge of his fist on the cab and the truck pulled away and steadily picked up speed as it raced along the docks, a rainbow blur of old containers flashing past. To his left the waters of the Nath gently rolled by. The Nath had been a river at one point but had long since been turned into a giant canal. The increased flow of water from this human interference caused the land five hundred miles downstream to flood but these had been repurposed into vast paddy fields and wetlands. The Nath was then, the greatest waterway on Nathen, the world the Imperium had come to save. The so called 'City of Lights' was a continent spanning city where few buildings were less than ten storeys high; unless one was incredibly wealthy with the very cream of Nathen society living in bungalows on the banks of the Nath. It was, Brash considered, thinking of Carnate, the foundation of a hive, rising level by level into a man made mountain range. In some areas this process was much more advanced with great swathes of habitat, commercial and municipal blocks formed into towers many hundreds of storeys high called enclaves by the locals. Brash had even heard that at the very centre of the city the enclaves had been built into one another creating vast edifices thousands of storeys high.

The city itself had no name locally, it was too big and too fundamental to the lives of its inhabitants to require a name, to them it was the world and few would ever travel ten blocks from their place of birth, less the further one travelled into the centre. In typically imaginative style the Administratum had designated the city Nathen Prime. To offworlders it was often called the City of Lights. The reason for this was two fold. Due to its size some part of the city was always in daylight and the other in darkness. So, on the one hand, much of the city was always bathed in sun that was reflected by a thousand facets and on the other hand it twinkled like a starscape at night. From orbit these twin aspects made for a startlingly beautiful sight. As with many of the works of man that beauty masked a considerable danger and as the cargo-2 came to a halt and Brash surveyed the aftermath of the incursion it was becoming more apparent that the City of Lights was not all it seemed.

This end of the docks had a chain link fence and double gates, long since rusted shut, half buried from the outside by a heap of soil and old rubble that looked as if it had been bulldozed into position. Outside was the remains of a vehicle park, the painted lines for individual bays only just discernible under years of accumulated dirt, weeds and other detritus. The whole area had been swept clear and a perimeter established one kilometre beyond the fence which included two streets of abandoned tenements and industrial units slowly disintegrating beneath the shadow of a gigantic forty lane transitway, the so-called T6 or West-Circular. This area had been declared hostile free because, other than the derelict buildings, it was just scrubland that extended in a two kilometre wide corridor right up to the nearest hab blocks of the city proper. The outermost pickets had not called in any movement and it was unlikely that a force as large as the one Brash was looking at could have got past them across so much open ground.

The chain-link had been pulled down along one corner and the raiders had moved in, right into the teeth of the waiting Guard weapons. Brash estimated a little over a hundred corpses sprawled on the faded tarmac. He glanced at the nearest and saw how emaciated it was, Brash couldn't even tell if it was male or female but the battered autogun was lethal enough in anyone's hands. Leman Russ from the Leasic had pushed out into the perimeter zone and, pulling himself up the spoil heap using the spongy branch of a strangleweed tree, Brash saw a few more bodies messily strewn about there too. Two chimera were prowling the abandoned streets several hundred feet away as their infantry squads cleared the buildings but they had evidently found nothing as men were already wandering the buildings, kicking through the drifts of old rubbish.

Brash glanced behind himself as a heady perfume reached his nostrils. Canna Meentus was surveying the distant Guard through a pair of battered old binoculars. Streaks of green and red ran through her otherwise coal black hair which was loose, hanging almost to her waist though most of the left side of her skull had been given a buzzcut. She had a few small rings and studs in her face and more in her ears and some kind of gang tats checkerboarded her left temple. Her skin was naturally pale, a product of her hiver origins, but she had a healthy pink glow to her. She was cute he thought, with her button nose and her large, dark eyes. He had broken his vow of celibacy just once and he'd never quite made up his mind if he was glad to have been with a woman or whether it was the biggest mistake he had ever made. He wouldn't normally have such thoughts but it was unusual to see Canna made up. He heel walked down the dirt mound to stand next to her.

"What are your thoughts?"

"They used tunnels." Canna was still panning back and forth with her binoculars but she must have sensed the frown on Brash's face as she lowered them to give him her full attention. "Trust me, tunnels, they were always choice finds back in the day."

"We're on open ground Can, what tunnels exactly is it that you're talking about?"

"The transitway, they must have poured this section into wood moulds, you can see the texture of the boards in the 'crete. Over there, on that leg, I can see where they had an airway to help cure the 'crete faster except it's almost buried. Then there's that," She nodded her head towards the Nath. "That used to be a river right? Until they dug it out and turned it into a canal, yeah? Why'd they build it so far down then, it's what, nearly two hundred feet below us?" Canna shook her and sucked her teeth, thinking. "I reckon this whole area is built on the spoil taken from digging out the old river. They heaped it up all along the edge and over the years it just drifted back, used to see the same thing all the time back home, whole domes just full of soil and rubble. I remember once, hearing about a place called Laststop, little town out in the wastes. Turns out, they built the town right in the middle of what was a road, 'cept the road was three hundred feet under 'em. Some time way back they'd demolished the old domes and just filled up the streets between habs with the rubble. Rubble shifted, sinkhole opened up and Laststop went strait down to the bottom. Tunnels," Canna said with a bitter huff, "And you know what Brash, I bet those rich gets over there didn't like seeing ordinary folks working and living so close to the edge, made their homes seem worth less if the peons got a better view yeah? So I bet, they just buried 'em all."

"It's an interesting theory but unless you can prove it?" Canna gave Brash a wink and headed back to her bike.

"I'll get ya proof and then you can buy me a drink to make up for havin' such little faith in me."

Brash watched the akinshilar as they tracked back across the waste ground, stopping and starting in their bikes. The Major was not overly familiar with any of the current batch of scouts but that was normal, the akinshilar had a high turnaround and they could drop out of service regularly. They were not a force to upon which to place too much reliance. Only a few, like the Waigdrel of the Inskah people, were permanent fixtures. Canna Meentus was a more typical example; young, eager and he had to admit, brash. He saw her edge her bike up a low hillock. She dismounted and moved out of view behind a thick gorse bush. She came back into site from the opposite side, walked around to her bike and got down on her hands and knees, peering into the bush. Standing back up she waved to him and even at a distance he could hear her laughter. She must have found her tunnel. Brash raised his arm and gave a single, slow wave of acknowledgement and then turned away and headed to the Cargo-2.

The T-6 was now on his left, and it arced back towards the city, several on/off ramps descending in lazy spirals into the dockyards. Beyond the transitway he saw the Felghat Enclave. It resembled a wedge stood on its shortest face. The incline was green with dense foliage, hundreds of exquisite gardens built into tiers. Glittering like falling diamonds, a waterfall one hundred feet high could just be made out at the summit of the Enclave. The levels the waterfall passed marked the personal suite of the Imperial Commander, Urzhal Gha Uulen. Despite all the wealth of the world being generated by the City the Felghat Enclave, like all the wealthy habs on the outer edge, faced outwards. The Commander literally had his back to the people he governed in the Emperor's name and it was an attitude that extended to the Imperial forces and the reason they were here.

The Nizamis had only been in theatre for three weeks. Due to the vagaries of Warp travel, Brash and his contingent had arrived ahead of the bulk of the Nizamis forces. As a mere Major he had had little contact with any of the Nathenite ruling class, none more accurately. So far he had been mainly kicking his heels while the Guard got on with waging the war.

Brash was just lifting himself onto the bed of the Cargo-2 when something flashed in his peripheral vision. He thought for a moment it was a bird but the explosion put paid to that theory. Dozens more missiles streaked into the docks, dirty yellow fireballs mushrooming into the air with each strike. In the distance the alert siren began to wail again. Several enemy fighter craft zipped overhead, almost too quick for Brash to follow, their scramjets guzzling with a breathless sucking howl, it was one of the most awful sounds Brash had ever heard, a screaming, bronchial serpent hiss. More missiles detonated and the jets flickered past again, gone in seconds.

Another, more immediate sound, made Brash jog for cover, his heavy carapace armour not designed for sprinting. It was the slow buzz of a large insect and several more burbled past. Brash knew it was the sound of solid projectiles passing within a hand's breadth. Behind him, the Leman Russ were returning fire and the Leasic infantry were roaring orders.

The battlefield noises became muffled as Brash snapped shut his helmet's visors and for a moment he was cut off from the outside world. Autosenses came online and sound returned. Superimposed over the terrain his armour's autosenses projected a grid and a targeting suite began to identify friend or foe. Calibrating these systems had been the first thing Brash had done when they had made planetfall. One by one the Leasic armour and infantry toggled green on his display and as he moved across the open scrub so too did the akinshilar. The targeting suite had an effective five hundred metre range and nothing was coming up red. Whoever was shooting at them was beyond that point, judging by the weapons fire he estimated several snipers up on the habs. The rabble that had just attacked them was evidently only a precursor to a more thorough attack.

The Leman Russ lined up, the tanks firing obliquely across the perimeter of the docklands. Further to Brash's right another explosion rumbled.

++Major! Major, respond. Over++

++I hear you Nhulan, report++

++Significant damage to command, moving to area two now++

++Is the Lord General secure Nhulan?++

++Confirmed Major. Lord General Brant is organising withdrawal to area two. Your orders sir?++

++Taking fire here. I want you to pull back with the Lord General and keep in contact. Mogadash will already be mobilizing the Janissaries but tell him to stay there. Confirm orders++

++Confirmed Major. Over and out++

The comm-link pipped as the link was cut. Nhulan was Brash's chief vox-operator and Mogadash his sebadar or sergeant in ordinary Guard ranking. Brash shook his head as he scrambled into cover, only a few dozen paces short of Canna's position. Jets, snipers, cannon fodder and hidden tunnels. So much for the Guard having this place secured and there had been no hint whatsoever that the enemy had anything like the air power they had displayed just now. This world and the war going on here was a mystery to Brash and no-one was talking. He wondered about that. He could still see the Felghat Enclave glittering, why hadn't that place burning and if those jets were available then why hadn't the Commander's seat of power being attacked before. Brash had a terrible feeling that they were in the middle of an almighty shitstorm and he hadn't got a clue what was going on.

Brash elbowed his way over to Canna, keeping as low as he could. Hard rounds came through the dry bush with little fttps, thorny twigs shredding. In cover Brash tried to get a look at the shooters but from this angle the sun was in his eyes and the habs were barely visible silhouettes. Whoever they were, they had timed this attack to perfection.

"Show me this damn tunnel of yours." Brash said, bellying down to the scout.

Canna didn't speak, she used her leather arm guard to push back the tinder dry lower branches of the gorse. Behind that one branch the rest of the bush had been trimmed away, creating a hollow space around a rusted square hatch. The hatch had been lifted from beneath and shoved under the bush, it's top surface thick with accumulated dry soil. In his carapace Brash wasn't bothered by a few thorns and he pushed into the cleared space and peered down the revealed shaft.

Inside, the walls were poured concrete, evidently part of a long abandoned room. The floor of the room had either fallen away or been partly demolished and a rubble heap of concrete chunks fell away for ten metres. Into the rubble, a series of hand made ladders had been lashed into place and with the light coming in from outside, Brash could see evidence of a few cook fires. The dross that had been killed earlier had evidently been here a few days and, using the natural cover of the waste ground had climbed out ready to create a distraction and bring the Imperial forces out into the open or perhaps, Brash considered, to get the officers into the headquarters.

The Leasic tanks and infantry were advancing on the habs but bullets were still whipping into the cover around Brash. Given the easy targets the Leasic were making it was obvious that whoever was out there shooting wanted to discourage anyone hiding in these bushes from doing so. They were probably trying to protect the secrecy of the tunnel. Brash had to roll onto his side to see Canna and the other akinshilar behind her.

"We're going in. Get as many of your people in here as you can and then we move out, see if we can't track these bastards back to where ever they've come from. If anyone is too pinned down to make it to this position tell them to just keep their heads down and let the Guard do the grunt work."

Canna gave Brash a nod and then whistled to her scouts. He watched her scuttle away in a sitting run that would have been funny in any other situation. Brash didn't wait. He lowered himself over the edge and dropped. Despite his bulk he landed steady and then gripped the edge of the rope ladder and began to scoot down the rubble. Once he hit the bottom he moved to the nearest cover quickly and scanned for threats. A grey half light illuminated the underground space for thirty metres or so and then faded into inky blackness. The air was damp and frigid despite the heat on the surface and Brash could see his breath misting.

Flicking his eyes up to the right of their sockets was the signal for the on-board systems of Brash's armour. A drop down menu cascaded down the right of Brash's peripheral vision and infra-red sensors followed his eyes as he looked at the options. He double blinked quickly and selected night vision and then did it again as the armour's temperamental systems failed to register his command. Immediately the entire underground space lit up, the image grainy but bright. Canna must have been at least partially correct about how this place had been made. He was in a cave that had formed in a pocket of semi demolished buildings. The ancient structures lined the right hand side of the cave, the other was a massive wall of rubble. Despite the armour's autosenses a jag of blackness indicated another void, a sheer sided drop who knew how many metres deep. Over head, old roof structures could be seen, buttressed by beams and crumbling rockcrete slabs; it was a wonder an almighty sinkhole hadn't opened up out here. The metal hatch, down through which the akinshilar were now following, looked like it might have lead into some kind of roof space but that must have been levelled along with the rest of this area.

Brash couldn't see any lurking enemies and his targeting reticule was a pale grey at the centre of his helmet display. As he turned back to the scouts it scrolled from man to woman, pale grey then green as it registered the friendlies. Still in a crouch, Canna moved up beside Brash and stared out into the blackness.

"See anything?" She asked.

"Negative." Brash replied with a slight shake of his head. "Nothing within one hundred metres as far as I can be sure. Those buildings don't look as if they can hide anyone but I want the akinshilar to clear each one all the same. We need to be quick but still careful, I don't want to be caught in another ambush." Canna smiled and her eyes flashed like a predator's due to the night vision.

"Reminds me of 'ome this, let's just hope they don't have any scalpers down here eh?"

"Scalpers?" Brash didn't think he had time for anymore of Canna's reminiscences but couldn't help but ask. She snorted as she thought about how to answer.

"Imagine a pair of flying hands," She said, putting her wrists together to demonstrate. "Except about this big," And at this she held her hands nearly a metre apart. "And with a great big mouth full of teeth in the middle and you're almost there." Despite himself Brash looked up into the dark roof space and then shook his head for such foolishness.

"Move out."