I glanced round the high-ceilinged room as we entered, picking out the centre of the disturbance easily from among the bustle of troopers hurrying to and fro about their business beneath the glittering chandeliers. To my complete lack of surprise it was centred around the hololith, from where Broklaw glanced up as we entered, with a distinct air of relief. Clothilde was talking to him, her usual constellation of hangers-on supplemented by the unexpected presence of a man (so far as I could tell under the hood of his robe, and the usual encrustation of augmetics) in the russet robes of a senior member of the Adeptus Mechanicus56.
Before I could take in any further details of his appearance my eye skipped past him, caught instead by the unmistakable black greatcoat of a fellow commissar. ‘What’s Forres doing here?’ I wondered aloud.
‘Holding Brecca’s hand in case she starts showing a bit of common sense, probably,’ Kasteen replied, which at least told me the name of the Nusquan colonel, who seemed to be conferring animatedly with Broklaw and the governor, a conversation which involved a great deal of gesticulation in the direction of the hololith. Wondering what could be so fascinating, I tried to catch a glimpse of the display, only to find my view blocked by the milling crowd of courtiers and a selection of Nusquan uniforms; the PDF had turned out in force as well, which, given the hour of the night, could hardly be a good sign either. ‘What worries me is what he wants.’ She nodded in the direction of the tech-priest
Before I could hazard a guess, Clothilde had swooped across the room like an expensively-coutured eldar pirate vessel, grappling my arm and steering me towards the hololith. ‘Thank the Throne you’re here, Ciaphas,’ she said, oblivious to the black look that Forres aimed in our direction, no doubt inferring something scandalous from her use of my given name.
‘It’s no more than my duty,’ I assured her, which happened to be true, although I’d probably have been there in any case; whatever was going on seemed pretty dire, and if I was going to get out of it with life and reputation intact, the more I knew the better. ‘What’s going on, exactly?’
‘The orks have attacked two installations well behind our front line,’ the governor told me, leading me across to the hololith, and pointing dramatically to the three-dimensional map being projected in the air above it. Two contact icons flared, worryingly close to Primadelving, and even more worryingly far from the fuzzy blobs marking the areas known to be infested. ‘How could they have got through our defences without being detected?’
‘A very good question,’ Forres interjected, directing a withering look at Kasteen from beneath the brim of her cap. ‘The Valhallans are supposed to be patrolling that area, are they not?’
‘There’s nothing supposed about it!’ Kasteen snapped. ‘Our people are all in place and doing their jobs.’ She strode to the control lectern, and punched a few keys, bringing up the locations of our forward outposts. The line seemed firm enough to me, a reassuring bulwark against the massing warbands in the foothills.
‘Then someone has clearly been negligent,’ Forres shot back. ‘Unless you seriously expect us to believe that the greenskins just slipped past your sentries without anyone noticing?’ Brecca and a couple of the senior PDF officers laughed humourlessly, underlining the point, and no doubt hoping to curry favour.
‘They’re not exactly subtle most of the time,’ I said, with the quiet authority of experience, ‘but orks can and do use guile if it suits them. They have specialists highly skilled in the art of infiltration, and quite capable of getting through even a heavily patrolled area unnoticed.’ Not that I believed that in this case, any more than Kasteen clearly did; in my experience any infiltrators in the horde we were facing would be more interested in eliminating one or two of our front line units, opening up a hole for the rest of the warband to pour through. If they’d penetrated deeply enough behind our lines to mount the attacks highlighted on the hololith, they’d almost certainly have been distracted by targets of opportunity on the way in, and forgotten all about the mission objective. Unless there was something here I was missing...
Forres’s face was a mask of scepticism, but the governor was nodding in agreement with me. ‘They took us by surprise several times during the invasion,’ she recalled, ‘so it’s certainly possible.’ The young commissar scowled, but had enough sense not to contradict her.
‘No doubt the truth of how they got there will emerge once the shrine is retaken,’ the tech-priest put in, which at least explained his interest in the matter; one of the sites must belong to the Adeptus Mechanicus, who, lacking skitarii of their own in this desolate backwater, would naturally want the Guard to sort out the problem on their behalf.
‘Quite so,’ I agreed, eager to prevent matters from getting bogged down in fruitless discussion. ‘The important thing now is to retake both objectives as soon as possible.’ I glanced at the hololith again. ‘What exactly are we dealing with here? Major?’
Broklaw cleared his throat, addressing Kasteen and I directly, but pitching his voice so that it carried to the rest of the group around the flickering insubstantial image. ‘Around two hours ago,’ he said, ‘the civic authorities lost contact with the agricultural caverns in South Rising.’ He indicated one of the icons, pulsing a deep, ominous red. ‘Garbled vox messages were received, leading them to believe that the cavern complex was being overrun with orks, but before anything else could be determined the link went dead.’
‘So we’ve no reliable estimate of numbers,’ Kasteen said, in even tones; only Broklaw and I knew her well enough to be aware of how very much that idea disturbed her.
‘None at all,’ Broklaw confirmed, ‘but there were a couple of PDF squads on site, who seem to have been overwhelmed almost at once. And given the size and extent of the cavern system, I reckon we’ll need at least a platoon to be sure of retaking it.’
‘Get Lustig in here,’ Kasteen said, and I nodded my agreement.
‘Good choice,’ I concurred. Sulla’s former platoon sergeant had inherited her old command when she’d been given First Company to look after, and was one of the most reliable and experienced warriors in the 597th. Though he’d accepted the concomitant promotion to lieutenant with some reluctance, he’d proven to be just as capable an officer as he’d been a non-com, and I couldn’t think of a safer pair of hands in which to leave the matter.
‘Our Second Company are closer,’ Brecca pointed out, indicating a small rash of Imperial icons between South Rising and the Lower Barrens57. ‘If I order Fifth Platoon in right away they should catch the greenskins before they’re ready for a counter-attack.’
In my experience greenskins were always ready for a counter-attack, but I cut off the thought before it could reach my tongue. If the Nusquans were willing to get stuck in, leaving an extra platoon of our troopers standing between me and the bulk of the warband, I had no objections at all. Noticing Kasteen bristle, and almost certainly on the verge of disputing the point, I nodded quickly. ‘That makes sense,’ I agreed, to the poorly concealed surprise of most of those present.
‘Then we’ll leave you to it,’ Kasteen said, as wrongfooted as anyone else, but willing to follow my lead after all those years of campaigning together. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but we trusted each other’s judgement, and the matter didn’t seem important enough to argue over. ‘If your people need backup, we’ll be standing by to assist.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Forres assured us. ‘I’ll accompany the first wave myself to ensure everything goes smoothly.’
‘I’d have expected nothing else,’ I said, accurately, although she seemed to take it as a sign of approval, and nodded at me in reply.
‘Then by your leave, milady, we’ll return to our regiment and commence operations at once,’ Brecca said, inclining her head to Clothilde.
‘By all means.’ Clothilde gave an airy wave of dismissal, and Brecca, Forres, and about half the PDF staffers swept out at once, surrounded by the aura of their own good opinion of themselves.
‘So no change there, then,’ I said, earning a swiftly-suppressed smile from each of them. ‘But if they insist on sticking their hands in the grinder to see how sharp the blades are, at least they’ll blunt them for whoever goes in afterwards to clean up the mess.’
‘Good point,’ Kasteen said, nodding. She turned to Broklaw. ‘Get Lustig briefed, and his people ready to move. If the Nusquans manage to handle it on their own, fine, but if they don’t, I’m not giving the greenskins the chance to scatter.’
‘They’d cause havoc this far behind our lines,’ Broklaw agreed. He turned to one of the PDF rankers, a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a prominent facial scar. ‘Can your people lay on a few Valkyries for transport?’
They wandered off to discuss the details in a quieter corner, leaving Kasteen and I to talk to Clothilde and the tech-priest, who finally introduced himself as Magos Izembard, one of the senior Adeptus Mechanicus on the planet. Which meant that the second installation the orks had attacked was probably the one we should really be worrying about. I looked at the hololith again, where the contact rune was still glowing an ominous red, then back to the Magos.
‘What’s so important about this shrine?’ I asked, trying to conceal my puzzlement. It didn’t seem to be sited anywhere strategic; just smack in the middle of a great deal of snow.
‘All the blessings of the Omnissiah are important,’ Izembard chided me, through a droning vox-coder uncomfortably reminiscent of the possessed servitor, ‘but on a world such as this, the genetoria particularly so.’
‘Indeed,’ I said, understanding at once. The power stations were probably the most vital installations on the entire planet: without the energy they provided, the habs would freeze, condemning everyone to a slow and uncomfortable death. ‘Are we in imminent danger from this one failing?’
Izembard shook his head, to my great relief. ‘There is a considerable degree of redundancy built into the system,’ he assured me. ‘We wouldn’t notice much difference if the supply of energy it provides were curtailed.’
‘It’s still running, then?’ Kasteen interjected, in some surprise.
The colonel and I exchanged puzzled glances. Greenskins would hardly have bothered to keep the systems intact; in our experience they were more likely to have smashed anything left functioning after they took the place for the sheer joy of wanton destruction, or begun ripping out anything that looked vaguely useful in the hope of selling it to one of their mechanics59.
‘For the moment,’ Izembard said, in a manner which, in someone whose voice was capable of emotional resonance, I would have to describe as evasive. ‘But that may not continue for long.’
Although I couldn’t have said why, I felt a deep disquiet stirring in me at those words, and it was plain that Kasteen shared my misgivings.
‘And why would that be?’ Clothilde asked, abruptly reminding me that she was still attached to my arm, apparently for the foreseeable future.
‘Because of the nature of the generators,’ Izembard explained; if he was at all put out by having attracted the governor’s attention, he gave no sign of it, just droning on in the same mechanical monotone. ‘Like almost all in the province they use geothermal energy to create power.’
‘That was in the briefing slates we got with the assignment,’ I said, omitting to add that I hadn’t bothered reading any of them. No harm in at least appearing to be on top of the situation.
‘I doubt that they will have gone into the details of the process,’ Izembard said evenly, about as willing to be deflected from his prepared lecture as a charging Khorne cultist from thoughts of massacre. ‘Essentially simple, it requires stringent monitoring to remain safe.’
‘What do you mean, “remain safe?”’ Kasteen asked, in tones which made it abundantly clear that she liked the sound of the phrase no more than I did.
‘Without entering into the subtle complexities of the technotheology,’ Izembard droned, showing no sign of irritation at having been so cavalierly interrupted, ‘water is pumped down to the lava flow, which is quite close to the surface at that point. The intense heat converts it instantly into steam, which powers the turbines.’
‘Are we getting to the “but” any time soon?’ Kasteen asked, not bothering to conceal her impatience. ‘Because we need to get the orks contained before they do any more damage, and I’m not sending my people in blind if I can help it.’
‘The “but,” as you put it, is that unless the flow of incoming water is kept to a constant rate, excess steam can build up, creating extreme pressure in the magma chamber,’ Izembard explained, as imperturbable as ever. ‘Unless relieved by the proper rituals, it will eventually vent itself uncontrollably.’
‘You mean it’ll blow up?’ I interjected, unable to keep the consternation out of my voice.
‘Blow up would be something of a misnomer,’ Izembard said, after a moment’s cogitation. ‘Erupt would be a more accurate description.’
‘How big a bang are we talking about?’ I demanded, hardly in the mood to split hairs.
‘It’s hard to be precise, ‘ Izembard said, ‘without accurate figures for the rate of flow, temperature fluctuations, and the porosity of the rock, but somewhere in the low kilotonne range seems the most likely.’
‘And how soon?’ Kasteen asked, looking as shocked as I felt.
‘Again, it’s hard to be accurate.’ Izembard mused for a moment. ‘But I would estimate somewhere in the region of four to five hours.’
‘Plenty of time to get in there,’ I said. ‘Can the process be stopped?’ Because if it couldn’t, going in to tackle the orks would be a huge waste of time. Better to just cordon off the area, keep them penned in, and mop up any survivors after the bang.
‘Indeed it can,’ Izembard assured me, with a smile I found deeply disturbing. ‘A man of your intellect should find the instructions for stablising the geothermal reaction perfectly easy to follow.’ He and Clothilde looked at me expectantly, and, with an all-too-familiar sinking feeling, I realised they were expecting me to take care of the matter myself. ‘It would, of course, be preferable to send a tech-priest with the requisite knowledge, but their chances of survival would not be high under the circumstances. Far better to restaff the shrine once the orks are out of the way.’
‘Can’t fault the logic of that,’ I agreed, wishing that I could. Once again, it seemed, my unwanted reputation was about to frogmarch me into harm’s way, and there didn’t seem to be a thing I could do to avoid it.
TWELVE
Which didn’t stop me from trying, of course, but every reason I could come up with to palm the job off on somebody else sounded hollow even to me; and besides, Forres had been seen to be leading her contingent from the front, so I could hardly appear reluctant to do the same. I’d just have to go through with it, and hope the troopers with me would keep the greenskins off my back.
Accordingly, I found myself in the passenger compartment of the antiquated-looking Valkyrie Broklaw’s friend in the PDF had found for us, battling our way through another of the blizzards so common on the surface of Nusquam Fundumentibus. The airframe groaned audibly as the seat beneath me lurched, and I checked my chronograph anxiously, hoping that Izembard had erred on the side of caution in his estimate of the time left until the power plant vaporised. Assuming we arrived at all.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Jurgen asked, his face beneath its habitual patina of grime a little paler than usual, and I nodded grimly.
‘We are,’ I reassured him, gripping the arms of my seat a little more tightly as the Valkyrie hit another crosswind. If the Leeward Barrens were supposed to be the sheltered part of the hemisphere, I shuddered to think what conditions would have been like on the far side of the mountain range. No wonder the Nusquans had so few aircraft.
‘Good,’ Jurgen said, b
usying himself with the tenth unnecessary inspection of his melta since we’d taken off. Reassured that the powerpack was fully charged, and the emitters properly aligned, he began mumbling something under his breath that might have been the Litany of Accuracy, but which, knowing him as I did, I strongly suspected to be an inventively unfounded slander of our pilot’s abilities and antecedents.
‘We have a visual,’ the pilot informed me, his voice echoing tinnily in my comm-bead, and I glanced out of the viewport, grateful that the movement took my nose as far away as possible from my aide.
‘Take us round,’ I said, ‘wide and slow.’ I wanted a good look at the objective before we set foot in it, in so far as it was possible to get a good look at anything with visibility so drastically obscured by the flurrying snow. ‘And be prepared to suppress any sign of resistance.’ Given their indifference to physical hardship, it was more than likely that there were orks on the surface, and if there were they were bound to start taking potshots at us. Then, struck by another thought, I added, ‘Don’t use the Hellstrikes unless you have to. Stick to the multi-laser.’
‘Roger that,’ the pilot responded, not quite managing to conceal his irritation at being told how to do his job. To be honest, I didn’t think the heavy missiles slung under the wings were all that likely to spark off the explosion we were here to prevent, but you never could tell. Even if it didn’t, I was pretty sure the Adeptus Mechanicus would take a dim view of their precious shrine being knocked about even more badly than the orks had already managed to do.
But, as we continued to circle, no enemy fire rose to challenge us.
‘They must be inside, out of the cold,’ Jurgen said, his airsickness apparently forgotten with the prospect of action so close, craning his head for a better look, and coming too close to my nose for comfort.
‘We’ll warm ’em up,’ Magot said from the seat behind me, and snapped a fresh powercell into her lasgun with every sign of relish. ‘Right, sarge?’
The Last Ditch Page 11