by Dan Abnett
'Calm down/1 said.
'Who are you? Oh, crap, don't hurt me!'
'I'm not going to. My name is Horn. Who are you?'
'Bandelbi... Fyn Bandelbi... mining superintendant second class, Ortog Promethium... crap, don't hurt me!'
I'm not going to/ I repeated firmly. At least the frayed nametag on his dungarees agreed with him: 'BANDELBI, F. SUPER 2nd O.P.'
'Put your hands down/ I said. 'Why did you think I was going to hurt you?'
He lowered his hands and shrugged. 'I didn't... sort of... I don't know...'
He regained a little composure and squinted at me. Where did you come from?' he asked. He was an ugly, lantern-jawed fellow with unkempt
greasy hair and stubble. There was the hint of a raw pink birthmark on the side of his throat.
'Off rock. Just got here. I was wondering why there was no one around.'
'Everyone's gone.'
'Gone?'
'Gone. Shipped out. Left. Because of the Gravs.'
'The Gravs?'
I don't know if he was going to answer. My motion tracker suddenly flashed an alert up on my lens and I wheeled around to find a man standing in the registry's entrance. He was a big man with dark skin and a white stubble of hair and beard. The autopistol in his right hand was aimed at my face.
'Nice and slow/ he said. 'Lose the guns. And the mask.'
"What's going on? Who's in charge here?' demanded a voice from outside. It was Aemos.
The man with the gun glanced outside and then waved me ahead of him. Aemos, looking very haughty and dignified, stood in the streetway behind the parked buggy.
'Well? I am Doctor Savine, from the Royal Scholam Geologicus on Men-dalin. Is this the way Cinchare Minehead greets its guests?' I was impressed. There was a querulous tone of piqued authority. Aemos had acting talents I had never imagined.
You got papers?' asked the man with the gun, still covering me. Ban-delbi had emerged and was watching the exchange.
'Of course!' Aemos snapped. 'And I'll show them to someone in authority/
The man with the gun reached his free hand down into the neck of his mesh-reinforced coat and pulled out a polished silver badge on a neck chain. 'Enforcer Kaleil, Cinchare Minehead Security Service. I'm the only authority you'll find round here/
Aemos tutted and rapped the tip of his data-cane down on the rockcrete ground. The cane-head clicked around and cast a small hologram into the air above it: identity details, the seal of the Royal Scholam Geographicus, and a slowly revolving 3-D scan of Aemos's head.
'Okay, doctor/ nodded Kaleil. He gestured to me with the gun. 'What about this goon?'
"You think I'd travel out to this misbegotten rock without a bodyguard? This goon is Mr Horn/
This goon was putting the squeeze on my friend Bandelbi/
Aemos looked at me sternly. 'I've warned you about that, Horn! Dammit! You're not in the Mordian gang-wars now!'
Aemos turned back to Kaleil. 'He is somewhat enthusiastic. One testosterone-stimm too many, somewhere along the line. But I needed muscle, not brains, and he was cheaper than a cyber-mastiff/
Be thankful you can't see my face behind this mask, old friend, I thought.
'Okay. But keep him on a leash/ said Kaleil, bolstering his weapon. 'Let's go to the security station and you can tell me what the hell you're doing here/
'And you can tell me where the hell everyone is/ replied Aemos. Kaleil nodded and gestured for us to lead the way down the street.
'So you don't need me to detonate anyone's skull, Doctor Savine?' said a voice.
Kaleil and Bandelbi froze. Medea slunk from cover in a shutterway across the street, a Glavian needle pistol held in an unwavering two-handed grip and aimed at Kaleil's head.
'Crap!' Bandelbi gasped.
'My pilot/ Aemos said, deadpan. He flapped a hand sidelong at Medea. 'No, Cora. We're all friends here now/
Medea grinned and winked at Kaleil, sliding her weapon away inside her flight suit.
'Had you cold, Enforcer Kaleil/
Kaleil gave her a murderous glare and led us towards the security station.
The station was on the second floor of a round building on the corner of the deserted plaza. A guard-rail ran at hip-height around the office, and beyond that, inwardly-raked windows permitted a wide view down into the plaza area. Kaleil thumbed a wall-control that reduced the tinting in the glass and made the room a little brighter.
Seats were arranged around a central, circular workstation, above which glowed a holo-display. Empty ration pouches and ale bottles cluttered the surfaces of the workstation, and handwritten notes and memos had been taped along the edges of the console. Around the room were couch seats with splitting upholstery, and piles of junk. A door in the rear led through to an armoury and a ready room. The air was humid and smelled of sweat and unwashed clothes.
Kaleil took off his mesh jacket and tossed it onto a couch. He wore a grubby vest that showed off his physique and the Imperial Guard tattoos on his upper arms.
His badge of office hung down over his chest like an athlete's medal.
'Get 'em refreshment/ he told Bandelbi. The miner began swishing each of the ale bottles standing on the cowling of the workstation to find one with some contents left.
'Fresh ones/ Kaleil scolded. 'And I'm sure the doctor would prefer something softer... or harder/
'Amasec, if you have it/ said Aemos.
'Ale's fine/ smiled Medea, flopping onto a couch and folding her legs up under her.
I shook my head. 'Nothing/
Bandelbi disappeared.
Kaleil sat down backwards on one of the workstation chairs so he could fold his arms on the top of the backrest.
'Okay, doctor. What's the story?'
'I am the head of the metallurgy department at the Royal Scholam. Do you know Mendalin?'
Kaleil shook his head. 'Never been there.'
'A fine world, a noble world. Famed for its academia.' Aemos carefully took a seat next to Medea.
I stood back, by the windows. I could tell Kaleil had one eye on me.
'We are engaged in a twenty year program, commissioned by Archduke Frederik himself, to investigate the inner transition qualities of the rarest metals for... well, the applications are classified, actually. The results may improve the industrial health of Mendalin's engine yards. The archduke is a keen amateur metallurgist. He's the patron of the Royal Scholam, in fact.'
'Do tell,' murmured Kaleil.
'Phorydnum is one of the metals to be covered in our program. And this planetoid is one of the nearest sources of it. The Administratum has kindly issued me with a bond to visit Cinchare and obtain samples, and I have letters from the Lord Director of Imperial Allied to inspect the phorydnum workings. Do you wish to see them?'
Kaleil waved a dismissive hand.
'I also hoped to meet with the tech-priests stationed here in order to discuss their understanding of the properties of this precious substance.'
'You're on a fact-finding trip?'
A research mission/ said Aemos.
Bandelbi returned with three ales and an enamel cup. He carried them on a dented locker door which he was using as a tray.
'It's not good stuff,' he told Aemos, handing him the cup. 'Just ration issue grade.'
Aemos sipped it without the hint of a shudder. 'Rough, but bracing/ he announced.
Kaleil took his bottle and tugged a swig from the neck.
'You've had a wasted journey, I'm afraid/ he said. 'Emperor knows what Imperial Allied were playing at when they gave you those letters. They must know their people have pulled out/
'Explain/1 said. Kaleil shot me a glance.
'This rock's been worked pretty consistently for the last nine centuries. It's hazardous work, but the rewards are great. As you said, Cinchare's a rich source of many metals that are very hard to come by/
He took another swig.
'These last twenty years, the authorities here have been getting worried
about the conditions. The gravity distortions. Cinchare moving ever closer into the grav fields of Pymbyle. Reckoning was that the place would be unviable in another eighty, ninety years. Imperial Allied and Ortog stepped up their work, trying to strip out as much as they could before Cinchare passed into a gravity envelope that would make it untouchable for the next few thousand years. The indie prospectors too... they came flocking. Regular old fashioned ore-rush, the past few years/
'So what happened?' asked Medea.
The Gravs/ said Bandelbi. He was clearing a seat for himself on one of the paper-stacked couches. He looked up and saw Medea's quizzically raised eyebrow.
'Gravity sickness/ he said at once in response to her unasked question. He scratched the birthmark on his neck nervously. He'd been keeping a keen eye on her. She was probably the first woman he'd seen in a while. Kaleil was more composed.
'Gravity sickness/ Bandelbi continued, 'weight distemper, lead-head, the Gravs... you know/
'Chronic Gravitisthesia, also known as Mazbur's Syndrome. A progressive disorder caused by exotic gravitational flux. Symptoms include paranoia, loss of co-ordination, bursts of anxiety or rapture, memory loss, hallucination and sometimes, in extremis, homicidal urges. The condition is usually accompanied by myasthenia gravis, osteochondritis, osteoporosis, scoliosis and leukaemia/ Aemos finished.
Kaleil widened his eyes. 'I thought you were a doctor of metals, doctor, not a medicae/
'I am. But gravity, that invisible power, is a fundamental part of the life of all elements. So I take an interest in it/
'Yeah, well... the predictions said Cinchare might become unviable due to gravity in ninety years. But the human body is softer than a hunk of mineral ore. The Gravs first showed up about two years back. Workers getting sick. A few cases of violence and insanity. Then we realised what was going on. Imperial Allied pulled out nine months ago. Ortog seven/
'It's ironic/ Aemos said. 'Cinchare is mineral rich precisely because of the exotic gravities it has been subjected to in its billion year life. Elements have been transmuted and rearranged here in ways that may be unique. Cinchare is a precious philosopher's stone, my friends, an alchemist's dream! And now mankind cannot benefit from its gifts for precisely the same reason they exist in the first place!'
'Yeah, doc, ironic is what it is/ said Bandelbi, knocking back his ale.
That doesn't explain why you're still here/ I said.
'Skeleton crew/ said Kaleil in a tone that said it was none of my business. The Adeptus Mechanicus pulled out too, about three months ago. But one of theirs stayed behind. Some sort of vital research that had to be finished. And we were ordered to stay behind and keep Cinchare Minehead open until he finished/
I moved round and looked out of the station windows. The plaza was empty of everything except trash. 'And how many is "we", Enforcer?'
'Service crew of twenty. I'm in charge. All volunteers/
The techlords promised us triple pay!' Bandelbi told Medea, clearly trying to impress her.
'Gee whiz/ she smiled.
'Where are the others? The other eighteen?' I pressed.
Kaleil got up off his chair and tossed his empty bottle at an overflowing litter basket in the corner. It bounced off and broke on the floor. 'Around about. This is a big place. What you see is just the tip. Like a... what's it called, those frozen lumps of water they have in the sea on some planets?'
'Iceberg?' Medea suggested.
'Yeah, like one of those. Ninety per cent of Cinchare Minehead is subsoil. That's a crap of a lot of space to patrol, maintain and keep ticking over.'
'You're in vox contact with the rest of the skeleton crew?'
"We keep in touch. Some I don't see for weeks/
This tech-priest, the one who remained?' Aemos said. 'Where is he?'
Kaleil shrugged. 'Gone rockside. Into the karsts and the mines. I've not seen him for two months.'
'When do you expect him back?' Aemos said, as if it didn't matter.
Kaleil shrugged again. 'Never/
"What was his name?' I asked, turning to look directly into the enforcer's dark eyes.
'Bure/ he said. 'Why?'
'Well, this is all most perturbatory!' Aemos blurted, rising from his seat. The archduke will be very put out. It has cost a deal of time and money to venture this mission. Mr Kaleil... since we've come this far, I'd like to do what little I can/
'Like what, doctor?'
'Obtain some samples, inspect the phorydnum workings, study the mineralogy ledgers?'
'I don't know... Cinchare Minehead's meant to be closed up now. Officially/
Would it really be too much to ask? I'm sure the Lord Director of Imperial Allied would be pleased if you co-operated with me. Pleased enough to proffer a bonus if I made a report to him/
Kaleil frowned. 'Uh huh. What are we talking about?'
'A day to overview the ledgers and the mineralogy database, perhaps another day to examine the sample archives from the quarries. And... well, how long would it take to arrange a visit to the phorydnum face? The latest one?'
'I call my staff in, maybe two days round trip/
'So... excellent! Four days total and we'll be gone/
'I dunno...'said Bandelbi.
'Don't you want me hanging around for a few days?' asked Medea, reading Bandelbi's body language as acutely as any trained inquisitor, and revealing as much latent acting ability as Aemos.
'I shouldn't allow it/ said Kaleil. This place is off limits now. Company orders. You didn't ought to stay here/
'You stay here/ I pointed out.
'I get danger money/ he said.
And you could get more/ said Aemos. 'I promise you, I'll speak highly of your co-operation to the Lord Director of Imperial Allied... and my old
friends at the Adeptus. They would reward well anyone assisting a servant of the archduke/
'Get me an ale/ Kaleil told Bandelbi. He looked at us, rolling his chin. Til talk to my staff, see what they think/
'Good, good/ said Aemos. 'I do hope we can reach an arrangement. In the meantime, we'll need quarters. Are there spare beds here?'
'Cinchare's been fulla empty beds since the workforce moved out/ Bandelbi told Medea through a nasty smile.
'Find them a hab/ Kaleil told the miner. Til get on to the crew/
'Something's not right,' I said, pulling off my mask and tossing it onto the floor.
These cots are really rather cosy/ Aemos replied, adjusting the tension of his exo-frame and reclining on the mattress.
We were in a dry, stuffy rec-room above the miners' welfare. The artificial lamplight from the plaza outside slanted in through sagging blinds. Bandelbi had provided three metal cots with subsiding mattresses and sleeping bags that smelled like they had been used to sieve motor fuel and cabbage.
"You always worry/ Medea said, uninhibitedly shrugging off her flight suit and kicking it into a corner. She was clad in nothing but her vest and briefs, and her shoulder holster, which she was now unclasping.
Aemos rolled over and looked the other way.
'It's my job to worry. And stop getting undressed. We're not finished/
Medea looked at me, and rebuckled her gun rig with a dark frown.
'Okay, my lord and master... what? What's not right?'
'I can't quite put my finger on it...' I began.
Medea tutted and flopped down on her cot.
Yes, you can, Gregor/ Aemos said.
'Maybe I can/
Try/
This stuff about the Gravs. Even if the corporations were suckered, it's not like the Adeptus Mechanicus to fail in a prediction. Any cosmologist would know if Cinchare was entering a gravitation wilderness that would be harmful to humans. They'd know it years in advance. Emperor protect me, stellar objects move far slower and more predictably than human minds!'
'A good point/ said Aemos.
'And one that you'd already thought of, I'm sure/ I said.
'Yes/ he confirmed. 'Kaleil is clearly
lying about something/
'And you don't think anything's wrong?'
'Of course I do/ Aemos muttered. 'But I'm tired/
'Get up/ I told him brusquely.
He sat up.
'At least we know Bure's still here/ I said.
This is the guy we came to find?' Medea asked.
I nodded. 'Magos Bure.'
'So how do you two know him? A tech-priest magos?'
'Old story, my dear/ said Aemos.
'I've got time.'
'He was a loyal ally of my master, Inquisitor Hapshant, Aemos's old boss,' I said, cutting to the chase before Aemos could get going.
'A blast from the past, huh?' she grinned.
'Something like that.'
'Still, it's a lo-o-ong way to come just to catch up with an old friend/ she added.
'Enough, Medea!' I said. 'You don't need to know the particulars yet. Maybe better for you if you don't/
She blew a raspberry at me and began to pull her flight suit back on.
'You tried to reach the Essene recently?' I asked.
'My vox hasn't got the range/ she sulked back, fiddling with the zipper. 'Gravity distortions are too much. We expected that. I could go back to the cutter and use the main 'caster/
'I need you here. We need to scare up some answers fast. I want you to sneak Aemos down to the Administratum archive, and see if you can coax anything out of the data banks, if they're still functioning/
'While you...'
'I'm going to the annex of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Meet back here in three hours. We're looking for any clues, but particularly any traces of Bure's whereabouts/
Aemos nodded. 'What if we're challenged?'
You couldn't sleep, you went for a walk, and you got lost/
And if they don't believe me?'
'That's why Medea's going with you/ I said.
The annex of the tech-priesthood lay in the western sector of Cinchare Mine-head's jumbled maze of pressurised habs and processing sheds, about two kilometres from the plaza. At first, I hadn't known where I was going, but the tunnels and transit ways were marked with numbered signs and symbol-coded notices, and after a while I found a large, etched-metal directory map screwed to a pillar beside a bank of dusty public drinking fountains.
A twist of the faucet on one of the fountains produced nothing but a dry rasp.