There’s no second guessing blueskin tech, Iverson thought bitterly. It moves too fast for us.
Machen threw up a gauntlet to protect his faceplate as the tau retaliated with a volley of pulse rounds. Even his tank-like Thundersuit could not withstand such punishment for long, so Machen launched himself across the divide and crashed down onto the barge. With his head bowed like a raging bull he charged the xenos squad, scattering soldiers of both camps while the Fire Warriors tracked him smoothly, chewing deep craters into his armour. His left knee guard ruptured and spurted steam, but he was moving too fast to stop. He smashed into the wall of the upper deck with a concussion that shook the whole barge and sent one of the tau tumbling towards him. He batted it overboard with his stubber and plunged the whirring bit of his drill attachment into the wall, tearing through the metal like paper.
‘Wait! We need the ship!’ Iverson shouted into his vox-bead, but Machen paid no heed. Cursing, the commissar fought his way towards him, hacking down rebels and shouldering aside greybacks. The battle was raging across the entire deck now, but the turncoats had little heart for it and were going down fast.
They don’t know what’s hit them, Iverson reflected grimly. This deep inside the Coil they thought they were safe.
With a shriek of tortured metal the upper deck lurched and canted downwards, spilling four of the tau from their perch. Machen caught one on his drill and stamped down on the others. The impaled alien spun about on the drill like a broken doll as its chest was liquidised. A moment later it whirled away in two pieces, trailing streamers of gore. The last Fire Warrior clung to the deck above, scrabbling for purchase. Machen tore him down and slung him to the mob. A dozen bayonets pierced the xenos before it could rise.
‘We need the damn ship!’ Iverson bawled into Machen’s faceplate as he came up alongside.
The captain grinned, his face glistening with sweat behind the glass. ‘And you have it!’
It was true. The fighting was over. Most of the rebels were dead and the survivors were on their knees with their hands over their heads.
‘Move on to the second ship,’ Iverson ordered.
‘What about them?’ Lieutenant Grayburn asked, indicating the prisoners. Bierce was standing by his side, watching his protégé expectantly. Iverson threw him a curt nod. ‘Kill them,’ he said.
‘Please…’ The rebel’s plea was torn into a wet gurgle by Joyce’s buzzsaws. His head spun away and his body slipped to its knees, offering up a fountain of blood. Joyce leaned forward, breathing deeply as he bathed his armour in the sacrificial spray.
‘What in the Hells are you doing, boy?’ Wade said as he marched out of the smoke. ‘We’re not bloody savages!’
Dripping gore, Joyce regarded his fellow Zouave. Wade was Machen’s creature and an unbeliever to the core, but still… The boy hesitated, biting his lip uncertainly. Then he remembered how the saint had purged old Elias Waite and knew he had to be strong.
‘You’re a disgrace to the brotherhood,’ Wade went on. ‘When Captain Machen hears–’
Joyce thrust a buzzsaw into his fellow knight’s visor. The glass shattered and Wade jerked about as his skull was bisected at the eye line. The preacher tugged his blade free and the heretic toppled over with a heavy clang.
‘The Emperor condemns,’ Joyce whispered reverently. He heard the other Zouaves approaching and turned to greet them as they emerged from the smoke. Together they had turned the barge into a floating abattoir.
But it won’t float much longer, Joyce realised as another explosion rocked the deck. ‘We need to move on,’ he said. ‘Brother Ellis gut-shot this tug good and proper when he came down.’
‘The lieutenant…’ Lascelles began, pointing at Wade’s body.
‘He died for the God-Emperor,’ Joyce said. ‘His penance is all done now.’
None of them questioned him.
The Last Day: Lake Amrythaa
The convoy is ours, what’s left of it anyway. We lost one of the barges and that fool Machen almost wrecked another, so I’ve decided to take the Triton along. We need the capacity and the firepower. It’s a gamble, but if Abel’s clearance codes are good I doubt the rebels will question it. Certainly the codes have worked so far. We cancelled the convoy’s distress calls and the rebels bought it. Of course they might be bluffing, hoping to lure us into a trap, but we’ll have to take that chance.
We picked up the Sentinels an hour ago. Vendrake’s burning Glory again, but at least he’s got his squad running like clockwork, which is more than I can say for the Zouaves. There’s an unspoken power struggle going on amongst them that makes me uneasy. I hope Machen can hold them together a little longer because we’re going to need his knights on the Diadem. My kinsmen fought well this morning, but there’s no telling what’s waiting for them on that old rig. We’re coming up on Lake Amrythaa now…
Iverson’s Journal
The witch opened her eyes. ‘It has begun,’ she said. ‘Abel has made his play and cast the Sky Marshall’s dominion into disorder.’
‘What about our infiltrators?’ Iverson asked. He was standing at the porthole of his cabin, staring out at the mist wreathed lake.
‘I have sent the signal. They will move within the hour.’
‘Then we’re set.’ He shoved a battered journal into his pocket and turned. As she unravelled from her lotus position on the floor he stepped over to help her rise, but she flinched away.
‘Why are you so afraid of me?’ he asked.
Her green eyes narrowed. ‘Now is not the time to talk of it.’
‘It might be the only time we’ll get.’
She got up stiffly. ‘Do not go home, commissar.’
‘What?’
‘You must never return to Providence,’ she urged.
‘And how in the Hells would I ever manage such a thing?’
Perhaps only through the Hells, Skjoldis realised with a flash of insight. She shivered and backed towards the cabin door.
‘You should seek a clean death today, Iverson,’ she said gravely.
‘Don’t play games with me, witch.’ Suddenly he seemed every inch the Imperial commissar. ‘You’re hiding something.’
‘Your shadows are real, Iverson.’ She turned then hesitated at the threshold. ‘Even if they are not what you think they are.’
The blood drained from his face. ‘What are you talking about?’
But she was already gone.
The door of the holding cell slid open and Ambassador O’Seishin glided in on his throne drone. As always, the prisoner was waiting for him behind the force barrier, his expression watchful.
‘You asked to see me,’ O’Seishin said, concealing the eagerness in his voice. He was certain the moment had finally come. The prisoner was going to turn.
‘Here’s how it’s going to go down,’ Cutler said. ‘You give me the truth and I’ll give you Abel.’
The doors of the turbolift hissed open and Cristobal Olim ushered his charges out into a dimly lit corridor. There wasn’t much call for illumination on the upper levels of the Diadem; they were the domain of the tech-priests and their augmented servants, none of whom required light to see. Only a handful of rebel janissaries had any business up here: men with the aptitude to assist the tau engineers who monitored the Eye.
‘Are you quite certain this is a good idea, Friend Roach?’ Olim asked yet again. ‘The Eye is the nerve centre of the Diadem and access is highly restricted. This information you have uncovered… perhaps I could pass it on to the tech-priests…’
Roach shook his head regretfully. ‘That’s real decent of you, Cristo, but it’s ugly news. Trust me, you don’t want to be the man telling it.’
And I don’t want to be the man doing this, Roach thought bitterly. He felt like he’d signed up to a one-way voyage on a sinking ship.
Olim licked h
is lips nervously. ‘Perhaps you are right. I would not wish to endanger my imminent elevation to the Eye.’
‘Exactly!’ Roach gave the chubby janissary a slap on the back. ‘I just hope you won’t forget your friends when you move on.’
Like I’ve forgotten Alvarez and Estrada and all the others in my cluster…
‘A nobleman never neglects his allies,’ Olim preened, ‘but my talents would be wasted in the Mire. I am a master conjoiner of communications.’
A halfway-decent vox-operator, Roach translated. Olim wasn’t the dumbest blueblood he’d ever met, but he was mighty close. He was also so full of himself it was a miracle he didn’t burst open at the seams. Someone with serious muscle had been pulling strings to get Olim a shift up in the Eye while keeping his feet down among the grunts – where he needed a buddy like Roach to look out for him. It was all part of The Plan.
And this is where The Plan really kicks in…
The infiltrators had received the go ahead from the witch a couple of hours ago and Roach had gone to Olim with ‘The Story’, saying he’d found out something so big they had to take it straight to the Eye. The rig’s control room was located at its crown, right under the beacon tower. The whole level was locked down with security codes and patrolled by combat servitors, but Olim had the clearance. Whoever his mysterious backer was, he was certainly a major player.
I’d lay odds of ten-to-one we’re talking the same player who’s backing the Whitecrow, Roach guessed. Whoever that sneaky son-of-a-bitch is, he’s in deep.
‘You’re doing the right thing here, Cristo,’ he said cheerily, swallowing his own doubts. ‘It might even speed up your promotion, but if you’re worried I can always go through First Friend Alvarez.’
‘No, no… that won’t be necessary! But must these other gentlemen really accompany us?’ Olim indicated Roach’s three companions. ‘Even one of you is a frightful breach of protocol.’
‘I hear you, but they’re part of the story,’ Roach said. Dix and Tuggs nodded vigorously. Mister Fish smiled.
‘Very well,’ Olim said, sounding as if the weight of the war was on his shoulders, ‘but I do hope this story of yours is a good one.’
‘Hey, you got nothing to worry about, fatboy,’ Dix said with a chuckle. ‘It’s gonna blow things wide open!’
‘I have already told you the truth about the war,’ O’Seishin said.
‘Then tell me about Wintertide,’ Cutler urged. ‘If I’m going to sign up to your army I’ll want to meet the general.’
O’Seishin’s nostrils dilated in a smirk. ‘You have met him, Ensor Cutler. Many times.’
‘You.’ Cutler nodded, unsurprised. ‘You’re Wintertide.’
‘There is no Wintertide,’ O’Seishin corrected. ‘A mythical figurehead is infinitely more versatile than the reality could ever be. Wintertide is nowhere, so the enemy believes he is everywhere. Wintertide is nothing, so the enemy believes he is everything they fear.’
‘But you’re the man pulling the strings?’
‘Following the lamentable fall of our revered Ethereal, Aun O’Hamaan, the honour of supreme administration has been mine, yes.’
‘I thought war was Fire Warrior business.’
‘Phaedra shall herald a new way of war that lies beyond the faculties of the Fire Caste,’ O’Seishin crowed. ‘The true craft of war lies in conquering your opponent without engaging him in battle.’
‘You’re telling me you’re not up to the fight?’
‘The Tau Empire is potent, but its enemies are legion. We cannot prosper through force of arms alone.’
‘Like I said before, this is all a game to you.’
‘Perhaps,’ O’Seishin conceded, ‘but if so, it is the noblest game of all.’
Olim brought his party to a halt outside a sealed metal hatch embossed with a stylised eye. The reinforced plasteel looked solid enough to stop a lascannon at close range. Nervously, the nobleman raised a podgy hand to the keypad by the door.
‘Hold-up a moment, Friends,’ said a familiar voice behind them. They turned and saw Ricardo Alvarez step from the shadows.
He’s been following us all along, Roach realised with a start.
‘Ah… Cluster Leader Alvarez,’ Olim stuttered. ‘I was just assisting…’
‘Shut up, aristo.’ The janissary commander’s gaze bored into Roach. ‘What’s going on here, Friend Roach?’
Roach stared back dumbly, as if betrayal had strangled his words.
‘Give me a good reason not to call this in, Claiborne,’ Alvarez said quietly.
He’s giving us a chance, Roach realised. Maybe I can still turn this around...
‘I got plenty,’ Dix blurted out. His friendly grin never slipped as he opened fire. Alvarez was thrown against the wall, leaking smoke from his scorched chest. An alarm blared into life before his corpse hit the ground.
The wail of the klaxon startled O’Seishin so badly he almost slipped from his perch. Flustered, he activated his drone’s data array and began scouring for information.
‘I’ll save you the bother,’ Cutler said. ‘That will be our friend Abel.’
A moment later the muffled cacophony of gunfire exploded in the corridor outside. O’Seishin glanced up anxiously, but his fingers continued to flutter across his data array, as if with a life of their own. The door slid open and a pair of janissaries entered.
‘Your report,’ the ambassador demanded.
‘Counterweight,’ one of the newcomers said. He tapped a switch on the wall and the force barrier imprisoning Cutler vanished.
‘Impeccable timing, Lieutenant Sandefur,’ Cutler said as he loped forward. He threw O’Seishin a wolfish grin and yanked him from his throne. ‘See, you’re not the only player in this game, Si.’
Shas’vre Jhi’kaara was meditating in her quarters when the klaxon sounded. The tau veteran rose nimbly from her unity mat and activated her comms band.
‘Fire Watch, status report?’ she demanded.
‘Unspecified security breach in the Watchtower, shas’vre,’ the clipped voice of a Fire Warrior answered. ‘Shas’ui Obihara’s squad is en route now.’
Jhi’kaara paused, considering. A genuine breach in the eyrie of the tech-priests was doubtful. How could an enemy have penetrated to the highest levels of the Diadem? The duty officer had come to the same conclusion. ‘I suspect a system error, shas’vre,’ he ventured.
She frowned, knowing he was almost certainly correct. Despite the tech-priests devotions the refinery was in a state of decay and system errors were not uncommon. And yet…
‘Prime the Crisis team,’ she ordered.
‘I don’t understand,’ Olim blubbered as Dix loomed over him.
‘Open the door,’ the Badlander said, ‘or I’ll open you.’
The terrified nobleman punched a code into the keypad and the hatch swivelled open with a whirr of hydraulics. A hulking combat servitor glided into their path from the chamber beyond, its bionic arms extended to cover them with a pair of burst cannons. Dix shoved Olim into its arms as Mister Fish leapt forward and rammed his EMP dagger between its jaws. The heretical blade pulsed and fried the cyborg’s lobotomised brain with a surge of current. As the servitor jerked backwards Mister Fish vaulted onto its shoulders and opened fire on the surprised rebels beyond.
‘Go!’ Dix shouted as he stormed into the cavernous chamber. He and Tuggs blazed away with their carbines, gleefully mowing down charging skitarii guards and fleeing operators while Roach swung back to cover the corridor.
Chattering manically, the EMP scarred combat servitor began to whirl about on its hover skirt. Its arms flailed out and spat plasma around the room. Mister Fish leapt from its shoulders and Olim was flung away, catching several bursts of fire as he tumbled. Each one gouged a burning crater into his flesh and propelled him another step, keeping him on hi
s feet by sheer kinetic force. When his corpse finally hit the ground it was little more than a charred husk.
‘Hellfire, Dix! We needed him!’ Roach yelled as he peered at the hatch mechanism. ‘We got to lock this place down!’
‘He had it coming,’ Dix chuckled as he hurled a frag grenade across the chamber.
Roach’s gaze drifted out to the access corridor and found Alvarez’s corpse. The deserter’s eyes were wide with the shock of betrayal and sudden death and they were staring straight at Claiborne Roach. The scout fought down the urge to go back and close them.
It won’t make any difference. All my chances are used up. There’s no getting off this ride now, even if it takes me all the way to the Hells.
The only thing going for the transport shuttle was its size, Guido Ortega decided as he approached the landing pad. To his pilot’s eye the ship was a blocky, brutal monstrosity that looked like it had been patched up so many times there was nothing of the original left over. Still, he had no doubt it would fly well enough. The tech-priests might be blind to aesthetics, but they’d keep their precious machines ticking over.
He flinched as a squad of janissaries rushed past him. The whole rig was on alert now and the alarm was drawing security away from the outer platforms. Heading in the opposite direction, Ortega kept his pace swift and confident, trying to look like a man on official business. Unfortunately Verne Loomis wasn’t doing so well. Ortega glanced back at his comrade and frowned at his blanched face and bloodshot eyes. The scraggy greyback had always been a strange one, but his last communion with the witch had really pushed him over the edge. He was muttering to himself as he jogged along at Ortega’s heels, his lips twisting around the words as if they were broken glass. Ortega couldn’t make out what he was saying and didn’t want to know.
‘You must get a grip, Señor Loomis,’ he said as they reached the landing pad. ‘With the alarm ringing the sentries will be watchful.’
Loomis gawped, showing black stubs of teeth. Neither of his skewed eyes met the pilot’s gaze. ‘Then they hear the bell too?’ he asked eagerly. A trickle of drool oozed from his lips.
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