[Ciaphas Cain 05] - Duty Calls

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  The two gun-skulls hovered uneasily, apparently unsure of their target now the hunter unit that had led them to me was out of commission, and so many other people in the vicinity were popping off rounds at them. After a moment of frantic bouncing around, which enabled them to avoid vaporisation by something approaching a miracle, they suddenly turned and shot upwards, disappearing through the hole in the skylight.

  “Someone really seems to have it in for you,” Kasteen remarked, descending the staircase again, somewhat gingerly as she tested the treads where the bolts had struck. “First an invisible psyker, and now this.” She stared at me quizzically, the curiosity she was too polite to express openly all too visible on the faces of the troopers surrounding us. Suddenly becoming aware of their scrutiny, she gestured abruptly to the nearest non-com. “Sergeant, get this mess cleaned up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted smartly, and began rounding up everyone who hadn’t taken the hint and found urgent business back at their assigned station quickly enough. “You and you, get a body bag. The cogboys’ll probably want to organise some kind of send off for Sparky, so we’d better keep him fresh.” It seemed our erstwhile enginseer had been popular enough among the troopers to have acquired a nickname, which vaguely surprised me. Struck by an afterthought, the sergeant called the solemn faced troopers back as they turned to comply. “Better get a mop as well, he’s leaking a bit.”

  “They’re determined, all right,” I said, replying to Kasteen. I glanced at the hole in the ceiling through which the automated assassins had fled, an uncomfortable thought forcing its way to the forefront of my mind. “They must be to have found a way through our security here.”

  “We’ll find out how they managed it,” the colonel assured me grimly.

  I nodded, trying to look calm and analytical. “No doubt we will,” I said, “but those things can infiltrate almost anywhere.” Come to that, the ones that had retreated could come back for another go pretty much whenever they felt like it. My only option seemed to be to get the hell out of there before they rallied and tried to complete their programmed assignment, and as I glanced around the command centre the perfect bolthole seemed to present itself. “Whoever’s behind these attempts on my life must know I’m here, and they could try again.”

  “Let them,” Kasteen said, as though looking forward to taking out another would-be assassin in person. “I’ve no objection to helping traitors commit suicide.”

  I smiled, in a self-deprecating manner. “I appreciate the sentiment, Regina, but you’ve got far more important things to worry about than ensuring my safety. Our overriding priority is the defence of this planet, and another attack on our headquarters could undermine that, perhaps fatally” I paused, timing it just long enough to underline the seriousness of our responsibility. “I’m not willing to risk compromising the operational effectiveness of the regiment just to keep myself out of harm’s way.”

  “What have you got in mind?” Kasteen asked, no doubt impressed by my dedication to duty, and veiling her concern behind a thin facade of brusque efficiency.

  I gestured towards the status board I’d noticed before. “We’ve got two platoons sitting out at the aerodrome. I’ll go and join them for the time being.” Whoever sent the servo skulls could turn our headquarters upside down searching for me, so far as I was concerned. Chances were they’d never think of looking among such a small detachment, and even if they did, I’d still have around a hundred troopers to hide behind.

  Kasteen nodded slowly. “Makes sense,” she conceded. She paused. “Anything else we can do before you leave?”

  “Get a complete pict record of those servo skulls,” I said, indicating the debris of the battle, “and have it downloaded to a data-slate. I’ll take it with me when I go.”

  “I see.” Kasteen looked thoughtful. “Do you really think you might be able to get some idea of where they came from by examining the picts?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I said slowly, “but I know a woman who can.” After all, it was her fault in the first place for sticking me in front of the pictcasters, and giving every halfwit insurrectionist on the planet the impression that I was gunning for him in person, so it only seemed fair that she keep them off my back now. I was right too, this would all turn out to be a result of her activities on Periremunda; but in a manner which, at the time, I couldn’t possibly have guessed.

  Editorial Note:

  The following, mercifully short, extract fids in a Brief elision in Cain’s own account of events. After some deliberation I’ve decided to include it purely for the safe of completeness. Readers preferring to skip it are at perfect liberty to do so, if not actively encouraged.

  From Like a Phoenix on the Wing: The Early Campaigns and Glorious Victories of the Valhallan 597th by General Jenit Sulla (retired), 101 M42

  It will come as no surprise to those readers who have followed my account of the heroic exploits of our regiment thus far to hear that the women and men under my command were as eager as ever to confront the monstrous enemy we faced, not least because our gallant comrades in First Company had already been fortunate enough to drive back the inhuman horde on no fewer than three occasions. At last, however, Second Company was placed on standby, ready and waiting to respond to the call to arms, and to our barely concealed delight Third Platoon was one of those selected to wait at the starport in Darien in anticipation of an immediate departure to wherever we were needed to deliver the Emperor’s vengeance to the scuttling hordes that dared to pollute his most blessed demesne.

  I would be somewhat lax in my duties as a chronicler of events, however, if I failed to admit to a degree of trepidation underlying our eagerness to engage the tyranid swarms. For all too many of us, the last time we’d faced these vat-spawned monstrosities had been a nightmare of slaughter in which we’d lost friends and comrades in uncountable numbers, and despite the unshakeable resolve our faith in the Emperor conferred upon us the memories of Corania remained fresh in our minds. Therefore the news that we were to be joined by none other than Commissar Cain was as welcome as it was unexpected, every woman and man of us determined to prove worthy of the leadership of so stalwart an example of the military virtues.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Fascinating,” Lazurus said, his metallic face flickering in the portable hololith aboard third platoon’s command Chimera. I’d arrived at the aerodrome around half an hour before, no further threats to my life having manifested in the interim beyond Jurgen’s habitually uninhibited driving style. After negotiating the obstacle course of the landing field at his usual breakneck pace he’d hurled our Salamander up the loading ramp of the nearest shuttle with almost as much alacrity as we’d boarded Amberley’s Aquila, much to the consternation of the rapidly scattering troopers left on guard around the base of it.

  Only as he brought us to a halt next to the Chimeras already parked in the hold, their noses angled towards the exit ramp for a rapid deployment, did I realise that their markings were those of third platoon, and my heart sank. Lieutenant Sulla was trotting across the cargo bay towards us, positively bristling with the disconcerting enthusiasm she habitually displayed at the prospect of getting into action, and I began to wish I’d told Jurgen to head for the other aircraft instead of simply getting us under cover as quickly as possible. Lieutenant Faril, the officer in charge of fifth platoon, was a good deal less impulsive, and I’d have stood a much better chance of staying in one piece surrounded by the troopers of his command. Sulla was just as likely to take it into her head to order a suicidal charge at the nearest hive tyrant as stay comfortably behind cover potting away at it from a safe distance, and for some reason the troopers under her would just follow her into the fray, screaming their lungs out like maddened orks, and probably reducing the thing to bloody chunks before it even got over its astonishment at their temerity.[1] [1. Despite Cain’s cynicism, Sulla did indeed enjoy the confidence and respect of the troops she led, almost to the extent that he claims. She unden
iably had a tendency to take risks a more cautious commander would think twice about, but as is so often the case her willingness to seize the initiative often proved decisive at a critical juncture, and the concomitant slightly higher casualty rates in her platoon seemed to have been more than offset by its members’ astonishingly high morale.]

  “Commissar.” She saluted smartly, her narrow face, ponytail and toothy grin making her look more like a cartoon horse than ever, positively fizzing with excitement. “I take it your arrival here means we’re about to get stuck in at last?”

  “If the Emperor wills it,” I said, thinking there was never a spore mine around when you really needed one. “There isn’t much for me to do back at HQ at the moment, apart from routine paperwork, so I thought I’d tag along on the next deployment if you or Faril don’t mind hauling a bit of dead weight with you.” As always I spoke with the common troopers in mind, a bevy of which had popped out of their AFV hatches, like snow weasels sniffing for predators, to see what all the fuss was about. No harm in playing up to my image of modest heroism, especially if I was hoping to keep them between me and the ’nids.

  “Happy to have you,” Sulla assured me, edging away from Jurgen as unobtrusively as she could, the aroma of his presence beginning to thicken noticeably in the confined space between the parked vehicles. “Is there anything we can do for you while we’re waiting?”

  “I’d appreciate the use of your command vehicle,” I said, after a moment’s thought. “I’ve some sensitive material to transmit to Principia Mons for analysis, and I may have to discuss it with the lord general. Obviously I trust the discretion of everyone here, but security regulations…”

  “Of course.” Sulla looked even more like a pony being offered a sugar lump than ever, completely bowled over by the prospect of being involved, however peripherally, in the affairs of the high command. I’ve often wondered if, in the years to come, she was disappointed to discover just how tedious most of them actually were.

  Anyhow, the upshot of all this was that I ended up in the platoon command vehicle, comfortably secure from prying eyes and ears, while Jurgen fiddled about with the vox unit and brought me mugs of tanna at regular intervals. I had plenty of leisure to drink them too, as Zyvan took at least twenty minutes to track Amberley down through whatever arcane channels of communication existed between his office and the roving inquisitor, but after what seemed like an interminable wait her face appeared in the hololith, followed almost at once by Lazurus, who had apparently dropped into her hotel suite for another non-exchange of information.

  “That’s very helpful indeed,” the senior techpriest said, amplifying on his original reaction, and glancing slightly to one side of the imager, where, presumably, the pict records of the servo skulls I’d transmitted from the data-slate had just appeared. He and Yanbel had begun to pore over them as soon as they’d come through, exchanging remarks in the peculiar twittering language of their caste.[1] [1. Binary, as it’s apparently known, remains a complete mystery to anyone outside the Adeptus Mechanicus. Despite decades of intensive study, the sisters of the Ordo Dialogous have yet to establish even the most rudimentary rules of grammar and syntax.]

  “Can you tell where they came from?” I asked bluntly.

  Lazurus nodded slowly. “It’s merely the best estimate I can give you, of course, but judging from the configuration of the flux capacitors, I’d say that at least the hunter unit shows signs of having been manufactured on one of the forge worlds in the Hephastus cluster, around six or seven hundred years ago. I could have been a lot more precise if you’d managed to recover one of them intact.”

  “I’ll try to bear that in mind if they come after me again,” I said, but Lazurus merely nodded, as apparently immune to sarcasm as my aide.

  “That would be helpful,” he said, “although I wouldn’t have thought that’s too likely now. Having failed with the servo skulls, he’ll probably try something else next time.”

  “Who will?” I asked, my astonishment at finally getting something akin to a straight answer not too great for me to pounce on it like a kroot spotting a nice juicy corpse. Lazurus looked as surprised as it was possible to with only half a face.

  “Metheius, of course,” he said, as though that was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. “Who else did you think?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” I said, my irritation finally getting the better of my tongue. “The Chaos cult with the invisible psyker? A cell of genestealer hybrids? I seem to have been walking around with a target on my back ever since I arrived on this Emperor-forsaken rock, so why shouldn’t your renegade cogboy join the queue?”

  “He’s obviously afraid we’re getting close to him,” Amberley said speculatively, “and like everyone else on the planet, he must have got the impression that you’re personally co-ordinating the hunt for hidden traitors.” She shrugged, the hint of a mischievous grin quirking at the corners of her mouth. “Just goes to show that you shouldn’t believe everything you read in the printsheets.”

  Refraining from pointing out whose fault it was that every subversive idiot on Periremunda was labouring under that delusion, by what I considered to be something of a heroic effort, I merely nodded curtly.

  “He must have been panicking to send those things after me in the middle of our compound,” I said. “The chances of them getting through several hundred troopers undetected were always going to be slim.”

  “He probably had no idea that’s where you’d be,” Amberley pointed out cheerfully. “Most of the pict-casts have shown you in the capital, standing around in the open, and civilians expect commissars to be with the troopers in the front line, where you’d have been an easy target for a sneak attack. Just his bad luck you happened to be in such a secure location when his little messengers caught up with you.”

  “Quite,” Lazurus agreed. “They could have been homing in on you for days.” He pointed out a lump of something metallic, fused by my lasbolt, in the corner of one of the picts. “That’s a genecode scanner or I’m an ork, and I’d bet a Martian upgrade it was tuned to your DNA.” I shuddered, not entirely due to the Valhallan levels of air-conditioning inside Sulla’s mobile command post. The notion of those silent assassins drifting through the skies of Periremunda, mindlessly intent on striking me down, was an unnerving one.

  “So I assume there’s no way of telling where they were dispatched from?” I asked, already sure of the answer.

  Yanbel shook his head. “None at all,” he said cheerfully. “Those power packs are good for decades. They could have been sent from anywhere on the planet.”

  “Wonderful,” I said, wondering how many more hitherto unsuspected factions were going to crawl out of the woodwork and take a crack at me before all this was over. At least with the ’nids things were straightforward enough: kill or be killed. I began to feel a modicum of sympathy for Sulla’s uncomplicated view of things. “I suppose you still haven’t a clue where he might be hiding?”

  “We’re narrowing it down,” Amberley assured me, which I felt was less helpful than it might have been. After a few more perfunctory words in both directions I broke the link and wandered outside, intending to clear my head by walking around on the landing pad for a few minutes. That should be safe enough, we were too far from any reasonable cover to fear a sniper shot, and the wide open skies around our idling transports would surely prevent any more airborne assassins from sneaking up on me unobserved.

  No sooner had I reached the top of the boarding ramp, though, than I found my progress impeded by Sulla, her eyes shining like a juve who’d just been asked out on a hot date by the captain of the schola scrumball team. A sense of foreboding settled itself in my stomach, like the residue of a stale ration bar. In my experience there was only one thing that got her that excited: the prospect of imminent combat.

  “Commissar, we’ve got a go from the colonel.” She hesitated. “I would have told you before, but given the sensitivity of your discussions…”

&nb
sp; “Thank you, lieutenant.” I nodded gravely, while the last of the pickets from the bottom of the ramp double-timed past us, their bootsoles ringing on the metal mesh, most of them glaring at Jurgen as they passed. “Your discretion does you credit.” I retuned the comm-bead in my ear, hearing Faril’s characteristically breezy tones confirming that all his people were aboard and lifting. A moment later the deck beneath my feet lurched, and a familiar falling sensation in the pit of my stomach confirmed that we too had left the ground. Jurgen’s jaw clenched in mute discomfort as he caught sight of the landing field dropping away beneath us, and then, perhaps mercifully, the rising ramp hid the vertiginous view. “Where are we heading for?”

  “Aceralbaterra,” Sulla informed me, in the briskly efficient fashion of all junior officers who’ve absorbed the briefing slate and relish the chance to prove it. I’d heard the name before somewhere, and after a moment I managed to dredge the context out of the mire of my memory. Amberley’s shuttle pilot had mentioned it, during our eventful little jaunt to Hell’s Edge. I nodded, as though I’d recognised it at once.

  “That’s down near the equator, I believe.”

  “That’s right, sir.” Sulla nodded eagerly. “Fascinating place, by all accounts. One of the largest agricultural zones on the planet, although it’s too low and hot for most conventional crops. Jungle everywhere, apparently, and it just keeps growing like a Catachan grotto, so there’s no point in even trying to plant fields.”