Before he could close on the tau, however, Sarik’s enemy launched himself into the air upon flaring blue jets, leaping clear of the screaming chainsword blade as it sliced through the space he had just vacated. Sarik cursed, and rose to his full height, reaching up and grabbing hold of one metallic foot of the battlesuit. The tau’s upward motion was arrested as the Space Marine attempted to pull the suit back down to the floor. In response, the alien pilot increased the power to the jets, searing blue flames scorching Sarik’s left arm and shoulder pad, the white paint peeling off and the metal skin below beginning to blister.
Sarik cursed as his flowing black hair set alight, forcing his right arm up against the jet wash, seeking to use the chainsword against his foe.
The tau, seeing his peril, twisted around in an attempt to use the downdraught created by the powerful jets to topple the Space Marine. But Sarik’s power armour lent him superhuman strength, and he resisted the fierce blast even as his hair burned. He raised the chainsword and thrust it screaming into the battle-suit’s primary thrusters, causing a spectacular chain reaction within the propulsion unit even as the blade melted and fused, its screeching gears jamming entirely.
Sarik threw himself clear as the battlesuit was engulfed in a series of small explosions, the pilot attempting to draw a bead on the Space Marine even as his suit disintegrated, blue bolts streaming from the rapidly spinning barrels of the suit’s primary weapon system.
Drawing himself to his feet and shaking his face clear of his smouldering hair, Sarik could see that he had won. The battlesuit toppled backwards and fell with an almighty crash. The Space Marine watched in mute fascination as a series of tiny discharges popped the suit’s front plates clear and a figure rose from the flaming wreckage and staggered clear, flames licking around its torso, to fall on its face at Sarik’s feet.
Sarik grinned as the tau commander raised his blackened face and looked up at him.
“Surrender accepted,” Sarik said, “you fought with honour.”
“It falls to me,” said the cardinal, addressing the council, “to declare the result of the vote.”
Gurney’s face was a mask of triumph, the cardinal evidently keen to consolidate the power he felt had come to him thanks to the result of the vote. Lucian looked away, unwilling to acknowledge that his gamble had failed. In so doing, he caught sight of his son, who indicated with a tap of his data-slate that Lucian should look to the console placed in the centre of the table.
A flashing light told Lucian that a priority transmission was incoming from the planet’s surface.
“Wait!” Lucian called, standing and reaching across the table to activate the console.
“What is this, Gerrit?” demanded the cardinal. “The vote is defeated. You are defeated.”
Lucian smiled as he pressed the control stud on the console. Three large pict-slates rose up, cables and purity seals snaking after them. The screens flickered to life, and a familiar face appeared for all the council to see.
“I repeat,” said Sarik, his face visible on the screen through banks of drifting smoke, “this is Sarik to the crusade council, do you receive?”
“We receive you Sarik,” replied Lucian, the attention of every councillor glued to the screens. “How do you fare?”
Sarik’s face grinned, a feral glow evident in his eyes. “We fare well, Gerrit. I have to report that the primary objective is secured. The enemy leadership is suppressed, and the world will soon be ours.”
A round of approval swept the council, but Lucian guessed there was more to come.
“I would also report,” continued Sarik, “that I have captured the enemy commander. I recommend his immediate transferral to the fleet. I’m sure he will be of use to us.”
“I think,” said Lucian, turning his back towards the cardinal and addressing the council at large, “that makes it four votes in favour, three against and four abstentions. The vote, by my calculation, is cast.”
CHAPTER THREE
The airlock door opened with an explosive hydraulic hiss. Brielle stepped through to the tau orbital, the first time she had left her vessel, the Fairlight, for many long months. She halted, taking in her surroundings, savouring the novelty after so long aboard ship.
The docking hub’s inner ring was a wide area, its every surface from its deck to the high ceiling a brilliant white, unsullied except where long, crimson smears indicated that a fallen body had been dragged away. In all likelihood, an alien body, Brielle knew, for she had read the reports of the boarding action that had captured the orbital with such brutal efficiency.
Replaying in her head the account of the action, she set out along the lonely, deserted corridors. The White Scars, thanks to her father’s intervention, had closed on the orbital in their wounded frigate Nomad, and had launched themselves in a boarding torpedo at the orbital’s main docking station. The torpedo had breached the orbital’s armoured skin, disgorging its contents of just a single Space Marine squad. That squad, led by veteran sergeant Sarik, had initially encountered few defenders, leading the crusade council to assume that the aliens had abandoned the station in the face of the Imperium’s overwhelming attack.
As the White Scars had advanced further, they had encountered opposition, armoured and well-equipped tau warriors waiting in ambush at key defensive points. These would open fire before falling back to the next, prepared position, initially wounding three of Sarik’s men, though none were put out of the fight permanently. Brielle could see the evidence of the accounts as she passed a junction between major companionways, the site, she saw clearly, of one of the tau defenders’ early ambushes. The wall before her was pockmarked with a line of small craters. Each was surrounded by a dirty halo where a round fired from a Space Marine’s bolter had entered the wall and exploded an instant later. The weapon was intended for use against lightly armoured enemies of flesh and blood, upon which the effect of the exploding bolt was quite lethal. A wide, red stain across the corridor’s deck bore witness to just how potent the weapon was, testament to the price the tau had paid in discovering that fact.
Brielle walked right through the dried blood, a faint sense of revulsion welling up in her as the soles of her boots stuck ever so slightly as she passed. She forced herself to ignore the sensation, knowing she would see a lot more death, and from much closer quarters before this so-called crusade was done.
Passing a work crew of junior tech adepts engaged upon the installation of new, Imperium standard, phasic power transfer coils, Brielle considered just what her role in the crusade might turn out to be, and how she might prosper from it, so long as she could survive it. Her father, upon dealing with the renegade planetary governors of Mundus Chasmata and Arrikis Epsilon, had decided that the rogue traders should remain in the Timbra subsector. He had seen the opportunity to take part in the gathering Damocles Gulf Crusade, to revive some age-old family traditions and generally profit from the great undertaking as it got underway. All had gone well, Brielle mused, until the crusade had caught up with the rogue traders at the twin colonies of Garrus and Kliest, evacuated by small tau forces before the fleet proper could arrive and see them off by force.
The rogue traders had been introduced to the key members of the crusade council at those colonies. Its head, by way of influence rather than title, was the bombastic Cardinal Gurney, and ever lurking in the shadows nearby was his ally, Inquisitor Grand of the Ordo Xenos. The cardinal had held the crusade’s reins, and had launched a series of courts of assize, putting to death hundreds of the liberated colonists whom he had accused of welcoming the recently departed aliens with open arms. The scenes of torture and execution had been etched into Brielle’s memory, her hatred for the likes of the cardinal multiplying a thousandfold that day.
Then, she had heard of the assault on the world below. The tau presence on Sy’l’Kell was small, and like the defenders posted to slow the Space Marines’ boarding action, were limited to warriors. The council had determined that the tau had ev
acuated all of their non-combatant personnel at the first sign of an attack. The cardinal’s faction had declared this to be evidence of the aliens’ inferiority to mankind, for whom every last man, woman and child was a combatant in the war against the xenos.
Brielle had watched the orbital assault as it had unfolded, for the Space Marines allowed a portion of their signals to be routed to the crusade’s command network. She had listened as the blustering Sarik had led his squad in the attack on the tau command bunker, noting how the Space Marine sought to cover himself in the glory of victory, at the expense of his brothers of the other Chapters that had contributed squads to the crusade. She had been brought up around men like Sarik, and regarded them as little more than strutting wilde-dons, determined to prove their dominance over the lower ranked males of the herd.
When Sarik had reported over the command net that he had neutralised the tau bunker, Brielle had felt a stab of distain. When he had boasted that he had captured the alien leader, she had determined to meet this tau, or to look upon him as he was executed at the very least.
Approaching the last junction before the area of the station in which the tau prisoners were being held, Brielle felt a chill run down her spine. She came to an abrupt halt, hearing lowered, conspiratorial voices from around the corner as she did so. Even as she strained to make out the words, the voices stopped in mid sentence. Brielle held her breath for a moment, not really knowing why, her pulse thundering in her ears. Then she broke the spell, and stepped around the corner.
Standing as if interrupted in the midst of treason, Cardinal Gumey and Inquisitor Grand both looked up at her approach. She saw surprise writ across the face of the cardinal, but the inquisitor, from beneath his deep, shadowed hood, appeared to Brielle to have been expecting her. She floundered for words, but the inquisitor addressed her first.
“My lady,” Grand said, nodding as he did so, his voice, as ever, scarcely more than a grating whisper. “What, may I ask, might concern you in a place such as this?” The inquisitor made an expansive gesture with both arms as he spoke. Brielle knew that he referred not to the station as a whole, but to this specific section of it, the section in which the tau prisoners were to be held, to be questioned and, she had little doubt, to be put to death.
“I have come…” Brielle said, her mind racing to justify her presence when she could not entirely explain her reasons for coming, even to herself. “…I have come to look upon the face of our foe, to watch as he dies.” She knew the words were lies even as she spoke them, but hoped it was the sort of statement that the cardinal and the inquisitor might appreciate.
“Indeed?” said the inquisitor. Brielle caught a glimpse of slitted eyes beneath the hood. “You, unlike your father, would see these aliens die?”
“I would see them die, my lord,” Brielle replied, aware of the annoyance evident in her voice at the mention of her father.
“Good!” interrupted the cardinal, stepping forward to stand before Brielle, his arms reaching out to grasp her shoulders. “Perhaps, my child, there is hope for you yet.”
Brielle resisted the urge to squirm at the cardinal’s touch, standing defiant as she caught another glimpse of those eyes beneath the inquisitor’s hood. She felt somehow… unclean in his presence. What is he, she wondered?
“I am an inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos,” Grand said, “and as such it is my duty to persecute the xenos wherever it may be found. My lady, if you too would serve your Emperor in this manner, come and look upon the face of our enemy.”
Brielle stood frozen as the inquisitor turned, hauling open the armoured portal before which he and the cardinal had been standing when she had come upon them. Crimson light washed from the opening, its hue obviously at odds with the brilliant white and pale jade given out by the station’s own illuminations. She knew that the light told of some human wickedness, though she had no idea what machinations of torture the inquisitor might have concocted.
Brielle watched from the shadows of the darkened interrogation chamber, intent upon the scene unfolding before her. She felt a thrill of tension, combined with the queasiness of apprehension at what she might be forced to witness. She had put aside her musings on just what had drawn her to this place; she would find out soon enough.
Brielle found herself in a low, wide chamber, its tau manufacture usurped by arrays of devices of human crafting. Tall banks had been placed against the walls, glass dials and rapidly blinking lights adorning their surfaces. Fat cables, some pulsing with obscene motions, writhed across the floors and connected the machines, paper seals, secured with holy wax, fluttering from each. Such machinery would soon become a common sight across the tau station, now that it was in the hands of the crusade forces, turning the orbital entirely to the function of serving the Imperium’s mighty war machine.
A ring of tall, floor standing lighting rigs stood at the centre of the chamber, each casting its hellish red glow inwards. Brielle could just make out the shuffling figures of Mechanicus attendants within the ring, each making miniscule adjustments to the controls mounted on a further array of machinery. An empty surgical chair stood in the midst of the scene, mighty iron bands mounted where they might secure ankles, wrists and neck. Behind the chair a senior tech-adept tinkered with a device that resembled a crown of incredibly fine needles, each tipped with a tiny point of red glowing light.
Brielle saw clearly that the chair and its associated paraphernalia would be used to extract a confession from a tau prisoner. Sermons she had heard as a child returned to her, reminding her that the xenos must be shown no mercy, it must be sought out and ruthlessly crushed, lest its loathsome presence taint the very soil of the galaxy’s worlds, worlds reserved for mankind by manifest destiny and the blood of the martyrs. Yet, her life as a rogue trader had taught her that such doctrines did not apply to all. Furthermore, at Mundus Chasmata she had caught a glimpse of something more, something offered not by conflict with alien races, but by contact. She had caught a glimpse, and desired to see more.
The heavy thud of an armoured portal swinging open caused Brielle to turn her attention to the centre of the chamber. Emerging from the shadows and into the red light stepped two bulkily armoured, helmeted figures. Each held a long staff, the wicked claw at the end of each shaft securely clamped around the neck of the tau prisoner.
Brielle pushed herself back against the wall, raising herself on her toes and craning her neck to gain a clear view through the jumble of machinery. Then she caught herself and shrank back into the ill-lit corner, not wishing to draw attention to herself, though she had the blessing of the cardinal and the inquisitor to view the proceedings.
Despite the clutter surrounding the scene, Brielle was afforded a clear view of the prisoner, the first tau she had seen in the flesh. He was tall, his limbs spindly and fragile in appearance, his neck forced sharply upwards by the mancatchers held by the guards. Brielle noted that the tau was indeed male, and naked, his blue-grey skin cast in a sickly hue by the red illumination. Despite the indignity of his treatment, Brielle noted that the prisoner bore himself with a degree of pride, not having been reduced to the snivelling creatures even many human convicts would be reduced to in such a position.
The guards shoved their prisoner forwards with a cruel jerk, manoeuvring him to a standing position before the chair, his back facing it. Then they yanked back on the mancatchers, forcing the alien down so that he was lying on the chair. The instant his limbs touched the device, the iron bands snapped shut with a vicious clang, securing him firmly against all hope of escape.
The mancatchers disengaged from the prisoner’s neck with a metallic rasp, and the guards brought their weapons to their sides in parade ground fashion. The two armoured figures then turned and stomped off into the shadows, where Brielle assumed they took up guarding positions, though she could not make them out from where she stood.
Silence settled over the chamber. Brielle became aware of a stark, somehow acidic tension building in the air. Seconds
dragged into minutes, the Mechanicus attendants shuffling around the prostrate alien, making unseen adjustments and mumbling prayers to appease the machine spirits. She watched as the prisoner’s chest rose and fell, a fine sheen of sweat appearing beneath the heat of the lights.
Then, Inquisitor Grand emerged from the shadows, into the harsh red light. He wore his customary black hood and robes, but Brielle could see that he wore some manner of glove, long needles and fine, silvery wires protruding from his robes.
As the inquisitor approached the tau, Brielle saw that the prisoner too had caught sight of Grand. The tau’s breathing increased as he strove to turn his head to look upon the inquisitor. Grand took up his position immediately behind the prisoner, and rested his hands on the device mounted over the tau’s head.
“If the choice were mine,” whispered the inquisitor, his voice plainly audible despite its low tone, “I would incinerate every last one of you. I would reduce you to ashes, and scour clean those worlds you have sullied with your filthy tread.”
The breath caught in Brielle’s throat at the inquisitor’s words, their sheer vehemence making her profoundly grateful that they were not directed at her.
“But, it has been decided that you may be of more use to mankind alive, for a time at least. Although I have the authority and the right to order you and all your kind destroyed,” said the inquisitor looking away from the prisoner and, it felt to Brielle, turning his head in her direction, “I am willing to accede to the will of the whole, for a time at least.”
Brielle looked at the prisoner’s face, to see what his reaction to the inquisitor’s words might be. It occurred to her that the tau, in all likelihood could not understand Grand’s words. She knew that some amongst the aliens had learned to communicate in passable Gothic, gleaned from the many systems throughout the entire region that they had infiltrated, but she had no inkling how widespread this had become. The tau’s face betrayed no specific understanding of Grand’s statement, beyond an evident appreciation of the inherent malice.
[Rogue Trader 02] - Star of Damocles Page 5