by William King
“Cezare is a dangerous man,” Valkoth studied him carefully and Ragnar knew he was being measured and judged.
“In what way?”
“He is cunning, a schemer. He chose the location and the subject of the interview to throw us off balance. He conceals his emotions well. I find all Navigators difficult to read but he seemed even less human than normal.”
“I don’t think you would find many people who would disagree with you, at least in private. People who speak out against the Lord Feracci in public tend to have short unpleasant lives.”
“That does not surprise me.”
“The Feracci are not sane in the way we define it, Ragnar. Most Navigators cannot be measured by any human standard, more so they. There is a streak of madness in them.”
“Why are they not put down like mad dogs?”
“Because that very streak of madness is what makes them superb Navigators. Feracci ships can travel further and faster than almost any others thanks to their Navigators’ prowess. Only Belisarius, Helmsburg and True produce Navigators as good. The Imperium needs them. It needs all the Navigator Houses. It tolerates them as long as it goes on behind closed doors.”
On the training area, the men were engaged in mock skirmishes now. They had been divided into two sides and were armed with guns that fired pellets of dye. The dye contained an astringent which would cause pain but no permanent harm. They moved around obstacles that had been apparently set at random, towards goals at either end of the field.
“Anything else?”
“I have no doubt that we were observed with deep penetration scanners from the moment we entered the place. There was all manner of surveillance — from servants who followed us, to suspensor mounted televisors. I am equally sure our route was chosen so that we passed through sensor arches. I also believe there was some sort of psyker nearby.”
“It is rumoured that Cezare has a tame witch. A very powerful one. Perhaps several.”
“Bonded, of course.”
“Not even he would be mad enough to keep a potential heretic in his palace. Anything else?”
“The man intends harm to us all.”
“Of course he does. The two Houses are hereditary enemies. But they are also heads of the two largest and most powerful rival factions among the Navigators.”
“You do not think his offer of mutual aid was serious then?”
“Perhaps, but only if in the long run there is more advantage in it for him than us. We should be asking what he experts to gain from this.”
“All I know is he wants something,” said Ragnar. “And I suspect he has planned something nasty for the very near future.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Instinct.”
“You would do very well to trust that instinct, Ragnar. I am certain that Cezare is setting a trap. We just need to make sure we do not set our heads in the noose.”
“What about the betrothal?”
“It might be serious. Gabriella is a superb Navigator which is why we got her. If her children receive her talent, they too will be great. Such children are a House’s greatest resource.”
“So Cezare wants Gabriella then?”
“Maybe, or perhaps he wants to place his son within Belisarius. Who is taken in by whom would depend on the marriage contract.”
“Isn’t that dangerous? It would be like having a spy within the House.”
“Perhaps. Adopted sons and daughters become members of their new House. They are supposed to be loyal to it. And they are closely monitored.”
“It sounds like madness.”
“It is their way. Some might consider them hostages. It depends on relations between parent and child.”
“From what I saw of Cezare I doubt he would hesitate to sacrifice a son.”
“He might surprise you, but I doubt it. Still, don’t you think he must know that the Lady Juliana would be aware this?”
“I know that thinking about it is making my head spin.”
“Then I have something for you that will be more to your taste.”
“What?”
“We have a lead on the zealots who killed Adrian Belisarius.”
“How?”
“From the Lady Elanor.”
“What?”
“She passed her message on while you were with her,” Ragnar reflected on this. He had seen nothing change hands, but he knew there were ways. Dermal patches, microspores. The two women had probably been talking in a complex code as he had considered earlier. Alternatively, there could be a subtle psychic bond between kindred Navigators.
“How was that done?”
“They have their ways, and they choose not to share them with us. Nonetheless, the information was exchanged.”
“Under the very nose of Cezare! That seems rather too fortuitous.”
“Quite,” said Valkoth. “Nonetheless, it corroborates information from Alarik’s other sources.”
“How did she find this information? Why would she risk communicating it to us? I would take it all with a pinch of salt. It could easily be a false lead.”
“Indeed. The fact that she told us anything at all, means she is quite desperate. She appears to think that the survival of House Belisarius itself is at risk.”
“Could she not have waited for two weeks?”
“It’s good to see that you use your brain more than Haegr. However, even if it were the case, the fact itself tells us something.”
Ragnar was intrigued now. “Like what?”
“Like if the information is false we will have a chance to go over it in more depth when the Lady Elanor is returned to the Vaults in the next two weeks. Like the fact that she does not think we have two weeks.”
Ragnar turned this over in his mind briefly before saying, “It sets a deadline. It tells us that if this is all part of some greater scheme, Cezare is expecting it to be done within the next couple of weeks.”
“Torin is right: you do have a brain. Also consider the fact that the information may be useful and true.”
“A sprat to catch a sea-dragon.”
“Precisely. The Feracci might be trying to suck us in to something bigger with useful information.”
“Is it really likely that Cezare would allow her to return to the Vaults when the time comes?”
“Yes,” There was absolute certainty in his voice.
“You seem very definite.”
“Ragnar, there are certain things that are sacred to the Navigators and limits that even Cezare will not transgress. The return of someone like Elanor is one of those things.”
“Why?”
“When you need to know, I will tell you.”
Ragnar was shocked. Valkoth appeared to be siding with Belisarius over his own Wolf brothers. What was the secret? What was so important about returning a sick woman to her family for burial? It seemed obvious that Valkoth was not going to share this with him, so he decided to try a different tack.
“What is this information?”
“There is a merchant, Pantheus, who fronts money for the various zealot Brotherhoods. There is a connection between him and House Feracci.”
“Which is?”
“Money. Power. Influence. We have had our eye on him for sometime. We believe he is the link between Feracci and certain zealot Brotherhoods.”
“If you have had your eye on him all this time, then Cezare must know he is compromised. He loses nothing by handing him to us.”
“Again, you are thinking, Ragnar. Pantheus disappeared some time ago. He went to ground just before the assassination of Adrian Belisarius. We believe we know where he is now. Elanor gave us the last piece of the puzzle.”
“Or some fine bait for a trap.”
“Once you close your jaws on something, you don’t let go, do you, Ragnar? It’s an admirable trait in a Space Wolf.”
“Where can we find this merchant?”
“He has what he believes to be a secure mansion in the asteroi
d belt. We are going to prove that it’s not secure. We will take off this evening. You will be there.”
Ragnar nodded. Trap or no trap, this was more like it. He was suddenly excited. The prospect of combat was appealing. At least now the enemy was clear and the goals straightforward.
The briefing room was small, which was hardly surprising, since it was located in a small, sleek courier ship belonging to the Belisarians. Present were Valkoth, Torin, Haegr and Ragnar along with a group of guards. Alarik, the House’s Chief Intelligencer and chamberlain was also there. At the moment, he stood stage centre at the holo-pit, dressed the same as he had been when Ragnar had first seen him in the Celestarch’s throne room. “Pantheus is a rich man, because he fronts for various religious Brotherhoods on Earth. We have gained access to certain Inquisition reports that suggest some of these Brotherhoods are recruiting grounds for our enemies. All of them have access to clandestine funding networks that they use to buy arms and equipment for their missions. Some run a nice sideline in extortion.
“Pantheus also has a lot of dealings with the Feracci. He started out with them in Gellan system fifty years ago, before branching out on his own. We believe his initial seed money came from Feracci. Interestingly, he worked directly with Cezare when the Lord Feracci was senior House representative in the sector.”
“There is a direct connection between Cezare Feracci and the Brotherhoods?” Valkoth asked.
“Almost certainly he has infiltrated agents into them. Most of the Houses have,” By implication, Ragnar thought, so have the Belisarians. Power, money, religion, and politics. They made a strange mix.
“In any case, Pantheus is not a nice man. He also deals in a number of illicit substances: narcotics, combat alchemics, as well as weapons. Every man is entitled to make a living, but this is going too far. We are going to pay Pantheus a little visit and administer suitable chastisement. I will be responsible for the interrogation,” Ragnar sensed there was a real personal animosity between the chamberlain and this merchant. He appeared to be looking forward to the questioning.
“We shall forcibly board his asteroid mansion. We shall kill his guards, and then seize him and his records. On departure we shall destroy the asteroid and any evidence of our visit. The main security datacore must be seized before we go. Jammers will prevent any comm-net transmissions so, unless Pantheus has an astropath with him, no one will ever know what happened.”
“You are certain he is there?” said Valkoth.
“The Lady Elanor has confirmed our suspicions. We have had a shielded monitor at the asteroid itself for some time. His ship arrived a day after Adrian Belisarius’s assassination. It appears logical to assume that Pantheus himself was on board. The Lady Elanor seems to indicate that we must find out what he knows quickly if it is to be useful to us.”
“Guards?” asked Torin.
“He has a security detail recruited from Brotherhood thugs. They are tough and well armed. Some have bionic enhancements. All have access to military weapons and a supply of proscribed alchemics. They are all fanatical. It may be hypno-conditioning but I doubt it. I believe they are the genuine article.”
“How many guards?” asked Ragnar.
“One hundred and five.”
“That’s a lot of security.”
“This assignment is a reward for loyalty. Many pleasures are available on the asteroid. Not all of the men will be on duty, although all will be capable of fighting at a moment’s notice.”
“Defensive systems?”
“The asteroid has the usual anti-piracy defences. They will be neutralised before you go in. This ship has the capability.”
Ragnar did not ask why they were so sure. Normally in a battle between a ship and a fortified asteroid there could be only one winner. It was possible to mount more firepower on a hollowed out rock than in most small ships. The others seemed certain though. Presumably Belisarius’s sources must be reliable. Or this ship must be a lot better armed than it looked.
“Gravity?” asked Torin. It could be important.
“No artificial sources. It comes from spin.”
Ragnar considered this. It meant the deeper they went into the core of the asteroid the less centripetal force there would be. This could create sudden fluctuations in apparent weight. Such things could be important in zero G combat.
“What about survivors?” Ragnar asked.
“There will be none. When you leave it will look like there has been an unfortunate but catastrophic collision with a stray meteor. Such things happen.”
The other Wolves grinned. Ragnar considered the odds. There were just the four of them but, as the plan was outlined, he considered that it would most likely work. They would fly in from the shielded ship using jump packs. Once down, they would use thermal charges to blow out a large section of the wall and let themselves into the tunnels. There was no point in being subtle. Any opening of an airlock would be noticed, and airlocks could easily become deathtraps if you were sealed in one.
Explosive decompression would cause the mansion’s safety systems to kick in. Under the circumstances there would be confusion inside as the cause of the system failure was tracked. The enemy would waste time suiting up and going through standard decompression drills. The closing of bulkheads would divide their foes and isolate them in portioned sections, so it would be easier to dispose of them. The Wolves would move inwards towards the central datacore killing anything that got in their way. They would secure the record core, acquire the data and depart.
It was a simple enough plan, which was good. But Ragnar had enough experience to know that no matter how simple, no plan ever went smoothly even when executed by Space Wolves.
Ragnar grasped the controls of the jump pack and applied power. A jet of compressed gas from the attachment pushed it away from the side of the shielded ship. He was on the long slow trajectory towards the distant asteroid. He could hear nothing but felt a slight tremor in the pack as he moved.
The gas jet would give out no heat signature. And no power was being used so it should not be traceable by sensor divination. They were carrying too little metal to show up on magnetics. A human being would be too small to set off a standard proximity detector designed to warn of collisions with ships and large asteroids.
There was a slight chance that if someone was looking closely, they would notice the occlusion of the stars but here in the asteroid belt that would happen often enough with tumbling rocks and space debris. The chances that objects of their size could be spotted were infinitesimal, but the chance remained. It was enough of a possibility to send little shivers of controlled fear through Ragnar. It was one thing to die in battle in the fury of hand to hand combat. It was another to be blasted into nonexistence by a defence laser in the cold, silent void of space.
His helmet was down and in position. His recyclers were working perfectly. If need be he could live for weeks out here in the void. Like all of his battle-brothers he was virtually a small, self-contained spaceship. Not that it would make much difference if they got this wrong. There was no way to drift anywhere close to civilisation if they could not make it back to the ship. If anything went badly wrong he would become just another piece of tumbling debris in endless orbit around the sun.
He wondered how many others were out there already. When he considered all the battles that had been fought in this system since long before the Imperium and the Horus Heresy, he was sure it was not a few.
The asteroid grew larger in his field of vision. He could see lights winking on its side. He could make out the huge crystal geodesic dome of the gardens that provided the mansion with some of its atmosphere. At one end of the asteroid was a forest of antennae and dishes that connected the asteroid to the comm-net. In a few minutes they would be jammed and shot out by the Belisarius courier. He wondered if there was anyone down there looking at him now, unaware of how little time he had left to live.
It is amazing how old ideas stay with you, he thought. In the i
mmense void of space, down was a meaningless concept. The asteroid’s gravity was insufficient to draw him in. From the outside a man could leap into space, its escape velocity was so low. Any direction could just as easily be up or down. Yet his brain insisted on imposing a framework on it. The asteroid was down. The ship was up. He told himself such preconceptions could be dangerous because in space combat you had to be able to think in three dimensions. Limiting yourself with concepts like down and up could be fatal.
The asteroid swelled, becoming first the size of an apple, then a boulder, then a house. It was as large as the icebergs in the Sea of Dragons in winter. Tunnels extended below its surface. He had the plans the Belisarian spies had managed to provide him with locked in his suit’s systems.
He wondered how accurate they were. Presumably they were good for the Navigators to be risking so much on this raid, but you could not always be certain. All it would take would be for the informant to have missed one section or one hidden defence and the outcome could be terrible. Still, these were the risks you took. Ragnar was confident that he could overcome anything thrown in his path. He was one of the Chosen of Russ, after all. Be careful, he told himself. Overconfidence has killed more men than bolter shells. This was a hellishly inhospitable environment, and any mistake could easily be your last.
He glanced over and saw his comrades making the long drop. Somehow each looked exactly as Ragnar had imagined they would. Torin had his arms folded across his chest, holding the demolition charges, and a heavy bolter dangled in a sling at stomach level. He suggested relaxed confidence.
Haegr looked odd with his helmet on and his custom armour. His bulky silhouette was nothing like that of a normal Space Wolf. A huge hammer was strapped to his chest. Valkoth looked stern and forbidding even in freefall. His back was straight, his hands firm on the controls.
Ragnar turned back to the asteroid. He knew that perfect timing would be called for. It would take a five second burst of gas to kill his velocity before he impacted. A hard landing might result in injury, armour breach or even death. It would not be a glorious way to go. Ragnar did not want to be inscribed in the annals of the Chapter as the man who lost the Spear of Russ and then killed himself by banging into a rock.