“Anchorwatch, do you see captain and his guard? I want you to put a missile in his path every time they make for one of those gaps. Frag load. Well ahead of the pack, we’re trying to deny him ground, not kill him.” She nodded with satisfaction at their confirmation—missile launchers were certainly not regular Arbites field kit, but the gunnery teams were turning out to be well worth the trouble she had gone through to borrow them off Arbitor Nakayama’s armoury echelon.
The first missile boomed on the rockcrete in the middle distance as she advanced on Symandis again. He was staggering now, on the defensive, unable to face two groups of enemies at once: the Arbites moved in further every time he swung his power axe at the mastiffs, and the mastiffs lunged for his legs every time he tried to snap a shot at the Arbites. One mastiff was missing a leg, and Stohl was bleeding from a bullet-crease to the side of his arm, but Symandis’ legs were gashed in half a dozen places and he was treading his own blood into the ground at every step.
Calpurnia shot another look back. Stroon was being forced towards one of the sheer building walls, pressed by the chasteners, hemmed in by cyber-mastiffs and carefully-placed missile explosions. She would be needed there soon.
She doffed her helmet, switched her maul to her other hand and drew her pistol.
“Are we going to play this out to its finish, Symandis? I can kill you now, or we can take you apart piece by piece. Or you can—”
“Or I can surrender and go to exactly the same fate in your cells that I’m ready to meet here now,” he panted. His voice was hoarse. There was sweat on his eyeglasses and sweat slicking the dark curly mop of his hair. “You want me alive so you won’t shoot me. You’ll keep trying to knock me down while I make sure I damn well take as many of you as uhhh—”
The sentence finished halfway between a grunt and a scream as the mastiffs took advantage of his distraction to scissor through the backs of Symandis’ knees, collapsing him to the ground with his hamstrings severed. The hand with the pistol waved in the air and Stohl clubbed it down with an efficient swing of a gun-butt. The power-axe swung wildly and Calpurnia swung her maul in an elegant twisting stroke that came in behind the axe-blade, blew the circuitry in the haft and knocked the weapon flying. Then the mastiffs clamped onto his wrists, razor-teeth retracted but jaws as powerful as ever, and that, finally, was that.
CHAPTER TWO
The Avenue Solar, Outskirts of
Bosporian Hive, Hydraphur
Stroon, blasphemer and seditionist and the teacher of blasphemers and seditionists, was almost in hand. The mastiffs had broken up the men surrounding him and carefully aimed Executioner rounds had picked off any who got too far from their leader. From inside the clump he was shouting slogans in a voice even more sore and cracked than Symandis’ and waving a combat blade someone must have given him. The running fight had left a trail down the side of the humped bridge-slope: blood-spatter, shell cases, four outlaws sprawling unconscious or dead and two chasteners, one lying on his side cursing softly as blood seeped from the shoulder-joint of his carapace and a companion knelt by him trying to jam a pressure-pack into place. Calpurnia slowed down to make eye contact with the wounded man and give him a nod, then spoke into her tore.
“Calpurnia to lead chasteners. Helmsman is taken. Both Anchor teams are taken. Mastwatch, verify…” she waited for their confirmation. “Mast is taken. All that’s left is Captain. Push them into the wall and let’s finish it.”
It took only minutes. A volley of shot sent low to ricochet made the knot of enemies scramble backwards down the slope with blood starting from their feet and shins. When they had spilled down to the flat pedestrian concourse along the stack wall a choke grenade burst on the rockcrete and filled the space with smothering vapour. None of the Arbites even needed to clip rebreathers into place: the cyber-mastiffs didn’t need air to pull down the three of Stroon’s bodyguards who had managed to stay on their feet, and the grapplehawk didn’t need air to glide in on Captain himself. Jittering from the taser-hooks, hoisted up by the hawk’s suspensor so that his bare toes just scraped the ground, Stroon was dragged forward into the half-circle of chasteners to where Shira Calpurnia waited to put him in chains.
Simova and his priests had not moved from their spot by the time Calpurnia walked back to them. The prayer-songs were over and Simova simply watched her as she had Culann vox a report; she let him wait, grimacing as she rolled her shoulder to try and work the kinks and aches out of it, not letting on that she had noticed the tiny tremor in Simova’s hands from second-hand adrenaline or the quick glances he kept shooting toward the empty space where Stroon’s cage had hung. The fighting seemed to have cowed the other penitents for a while—the air was now clear of cries and excrement.
Finally, she sent Culann down to the roadway level to make sure her Rhino was ready for her and turned to Simova, sweeping her damp hair back from her scarred forehead. It was the end of Hydraphur’s wet season, cool enough to make people want to move around a little to keep warm but humid enough to make you sweat as soon as you did. The sensation was not pleasant.
“You didn’t come here today by accident.” Simova said. He wasn’t asking a question, and Calpurnia didn’t bother to pretend that he was. “That was as careful an ambush as I can imagine,” he went on. “Set up to cancel out every detail of the rescue raid. You knew exactly where those people were going to be and what they were going to do.”
Calpurnia went so far as to nod.
“You knew their plans to the letter. You must have detected their approach, well, how long ago would—”
“A while. Symandis wasn’t as good at keeping his activities secret as Stroon. He was too clumsy about getting hold of his equipment and hijacking the surveillance blimp. Things like that find their way to informers.”
“There were your informers in Stroon’s cell?” demanded Simova. It only took a few moments of Calpurnia’s level ice-green stare for him to think better of the question and try to soften it. “Arbitor, if there had been just a little cooperation, well, we could have removed Stroon from rescue’s way, or had the Adepta Sororitas guard the cages.”
“Symandis was good enough to know exactly how the Ministorum had set up the cages. You don’t think a guard would have alerted him?” Something in Calpurnia’s gaze was making Simova uncomfortable again.
“It, well, arbiter, I realise that this is your own, er…”
“We needed to make sure that Symandis was confident enough to attempt the rescue himself.” Calpurnia continued calmly. “We needed to make sure they believed such a daring exercise would pay off.”
“And look how this turned out!” Simova jabbed a finger at the spot where Stroon had been taken. The choke fumes had left yellow stains on the rockcrete that would take days to fade. “Stroon was on the ground and running before you got to him! Think of what could have happened! If you had arrested them when they showed their faces they would be safely in irons now and we would not have lost a cage from the array!”
“And Symandis would be free, we would not have their collection of henchmen and dupes dead or slung off a Rhino and Stroon would not be in proper custody.” The louder Simova’s protestations got, the quieter Calpurnia’s voice became, to the point where he had to take a step forward to hear her.
“I will not have you talk like that to me, arbiter. Stroon was a prisoner of the holy Adeptus Ministorum, as you might remember if you would like to cast your mind back to seeing him hanging over the Avenue Solar in a cage. In fact, by Eparchal decree those cages represent Ecclesiarchal premises just as much as the altars and nave of the Cathedral itself. Stroon should have been no business of yours while he was incarcerated there.”
“Our grapplehawk did not, you will have noticed, pluck Stroon out of his cage.” Calpurnia said levelly. “In fact, we did not even begin active engagement until Stroon was free of the cage. And a known seditionist running free after exploiting the failures of his captors is most certainly an Arbites matter.”
“It is the role of the Ecclesiarchy to embody and spread the divine word of the Emperor—” Simova began.
“And the role of the Arbites to enforce laws and decrees and to ensure that all of the Emperor’s Adeptus are in full command of and service to their duties,” finished Calpurnia calmly. “Which I am quite sure you and your Ministorum colleagues are, of course. All the same, I do not believe in being less than thorough. Although I myself am called to other business, I have deputised Praetor Imprimis Dastrom to prepare a full dossier of inquiry on the business. I won’t insult you by lecturing you about co-operating, but I will mention that Dastrom will hold you accountable for the co-operation of all external labour you engaged to put up the cages.”
“You let the rescue happen.” Simova had gone pale, his lips very thin. “You knew that they had a plan that would get Stroon free. And you allowed it to happen so that Stroon would be out of his cage and into your own hands.” His words were confident, but the confidence was leaching out of his tone. Calpurnia had found that a steady look could do that.
“The Eparch will hear of this. As will Canoness Theoctista.”
“I shall count on it. The Eparch and I have intended to meet and speak in person for almost six months now, but the opportunity has eluded us. And it will be good to speak with the reverend canoness again. There’s no need to delay on my account if you need to set off for the Augustaeum now, sir, I have my own transport waiting.”
And after that it was just a matter of meeting the curate’s eyes until he turned and walked back the way they had come.
The Wall,
Bosporian Hive, Hydraphur
“It sounds like he took it well, ma’am,” said Culann, “considering.”
“He was smart enough to realise that he didn’t have a choice,” said Calpurnia, “especially not outside the hive and with the Arbites outnumbering him. I should have kept some of you up there, actually, to drive the point home. But never mind.”
The giant fortress known as the Wall formed the Arbites barracks and courts for all of Hydraphur and whole systems around. It began amid the building stacks that crowded the base of the Bosporian and ran up the entire side of the hive-mountain to finish at the great fortified Justice Gate, set into the wall of the Augustaeum high above. Calpurnia didn’t know how long it would take to travel on foot from the lowest entrances at hive bottom to her own rooms in the Wall’s highest bastion, and she didn’t think anyone had ever tried. She and Culann were riding in one of the cable cars that ran the whole length of the great bastion, rattling along in the highest space of the building, just below the vaulted roof. Calpurnia was standing at one of the car windows, looking out and down; Culann sat on a bench along one wall.
“And he didn’t challenge you on the law of it?”
“No. Either he knew we were in the right—and he’s a specialist in religious law, after all - or he wasn’t sure of his ground and didn’t want to force the issue.”
“Do you think the Eparch will? Force the issue, that is?”
“I don’t believe so. I hope not.” Calpurnia sighed. “I don’t like playing law games, especially over vermin like Stroon. The Ecclesiarchy were so rapt at catching him for spreading his schismatic books, but I don’t think they knew the half of what he was up to.”
“Was that why you wanted him personally, ma’am?” Culann gulped. “To personally arrest him, that is.”
The cable car was passing over one of the high-roofed drilling concourses. Sixty metres below her, squares of infantry, a hundred arbitrators to a side, stamped and clashed through a weapon drill, whipping heavy Vox Legi-pattern shotguns out of the scabbards on their backs and aiming from the shoulder, from the hip, kneeling, then into the scabbard, out, kneel, shoulder, turn, kneel, scabbard, turn, hip, kneel… The drill was one so old that it had not changed between here and where Calpurnia had trained in the Ultima Segmentum, and although she wouldn’t have performed it in at least five years she found her muscles twitching along with the remembered moves as if her body still wanted to join in without asking her.
She blinked and realised she owed Culann a reply.
“No. Well, part of the reason, I suppose, but I hope I’m not prideful enough to personally insist on taking in every single outlaw whose warrant declares him dangerous. That’s all of them, for one thing.”
“For symbolism, then?” Culann seemed to be taking the conversation for an examination. Calpurnia smiled. The question was not frivolous—the idea of the symbolism and pageantry of the law, that Imperial justice should be seen by the populace to be bearing down in full and unstoppable force, was a philosophy expounded by generations of distinguished Arbites scholars.
“An object lesson for the populace, well, perhaps,” she said, “although there wasn’t much of an audience there today. To focus the minds of the Ecclesiarchy, too, as you probably picked up. I made it very clear to Simova that Dastrom’s investigation wouldn’t go soft on him because of his office. I don’t think they’ll find anything—I think Stroon’s people got the schematics for the cage anchors and all the rest through their own devices, but I’m uncomfortable with how pushy the Eparch is getting about having Ministorum agents conducting hunts and arrests. The Arbitor Majore and I have been waiting for the right occasion to make a point about knowing their boundaries.”
“A political operation,” said Culann, nodding.
“Not quite,” she corrected him a little stiffly, “just the performance of our duty as Arbites that extends some lessons in more than one direction at once. Anyway, that’s the second reason.”
“Is there another, ma’am?”
“My own peace of mind, since you ask.” At the words “peace of mind” Culann noticed her gloved hand creeping up to touch the scars on her forehead. It didn’t take most people long to notice the mannerism or recognise what it meant. “This rogue trader business is going to swallow up a lot of my time, and I wanted to see Stroon and Symandis scooped up with my own eyes so I didn’t have to fret about them while I’m supposed to be concentrating on this bequesting I’m signing, or presiding over, or whatever the hell I’m doing with it. And in all honesty, Culann, since I know you’re a dependable and discreet adjutant, ‘bequesting’ means taking on those seditionists was the last chance I’ll have for quite a time for some good solid boots-on-ground Arbites work. If I’m only going to have one chance to stretch my muscles and see how I’m healing between here and Candlemas then I’m bloody well going to take it.”
Culann took this in solemnly. Another thing that most people found out quickly about Arbitor Senioris Calpurnia was how much she hated leading from anywhere but the front. Opinion on this in the arbitrator barracks further down the wall had been evenly divided between approval at a commander willing to put themselves on the line with their troops, and disapproval at an Arbitor Senioris who put herself at risk instead of riding in an armoured pulpit in the second rank of Rhinos, reading from the Books of Judgement over an amp-horn as befitted her station. Culann had heard there was a small but vocal third faction who contended that the control-freak bitch wanted to be on hand to make sure the arbitrators kept their boots polished and their kits neat while they were being shot at.
“And if I may ask, ma’am, your injuries…?
The cable car passed from the drill hall into a tunnel, and onto a steeper slope that would take them up to the next bastion level. Four more of those to go before they reached the Justice Gate itself.
“Not bad. Thank you for asking, Culann.” He thought that she perhaps was worse than that: they were passing under a series of light-wells in the thick ceiling above them and the brief bursts of yellow Hydraphur daylight made her look tired and hollow-eyed. He knew that she had been on her feet very soon after the confrontation at the Cathedral had wrecked her shoulder and arm. Cynez Sanja had made it a personal point to have his Magis Biologis work minor miracles on her flesh and bones, but her convalescence since then had not been easy. Culann’s impression
was that Shira Calpurnia did not deal with being a patient very well.
She dropped into a seat opposite him.
“It’s the smaller things that bother me, not the big ones,” she said suddenly as though she had seen his thoughts. “I know I can’t carry a shield, my left arm just isn’t strong enough yet. Well, fine. What gnaws me is things like having trouble buckling my armour because the fingers on that hand won’t quite work the fasteners yet. Or having to spend the time I thought I was going to spend getting back into physical training in the medicae chambers instead, feeling weak and stiff instead of running around a drill-hall like I should have been doing.” Her expression soured. “Anyway, complaining won’t make me heal any faster, even though I know it’s said that I never do anything else.” Culann kept gallantly silent. “Anyway, the Arbitor Majore had a suspicious sort of a ‘let’s see you get into a gunfight on this assignment’ air about him when he gave this rogue trader matter to me.”
“Legal theory work, you mean, ma’am?” Culann felt a twinge of relief at the conversation moving to less personal grounds. He had seen the Arbitor Senioris at her forceful best when she had hunted down plotters and saboteurs just before the great Mass of Balronas, and to hear her sound so worn was oddly disturbing.
“Not even that, as far as I can tell. Ceremonial, more like. This man’s ship, or is there more than one? I think there is. They’re bringing his rogue trader charter back and his son’s being summoned from his home by the Pyrmondine Spur. As far as I can tell most of what we’re doing is providing a nice warm room where the one can meet the other, and clapping everybody on the back afterwards.”
Despite her air of disdained detachment, she already seemed to be more familiar with the basics of the Hoyyon Phrax affair than Culann was, and he was the one who had prepared the briefings for her.
[Shira Calpurnia 02] - Legacy Page 3