“I suspect so,” Vex said, “although I can’t be completely certain. This is, after all, a fresh area of inquiry for me, so I’m unfamiliar with much of the extant information.” He’d been asked to assist Inquisitor Grynner’s team of analysts almost as soon as they’d arrived on the Emperor’s Justice, although Horst had no idea why they didn’t just give the job of filtering the data to one of their own techpriests. He was certain that Grynner must have some among his acolytes. Perhaps it was just intended to make the Angelae feel valued members of the partnership; unless the opposite was true, and they were being subtly directed away from the main investigation. “However, I’m given to understand that at least one reported sighting of the Voidwraith in the new material is unmatched in any of the other sources. If so, that may well be significant.”
“Significant how?” Grynner asked.
“It may complete a pattern,” Vex said. “It’s too early to be certain, but if I’m correct, it might be possible for a sufficiently skilled Navigator to narrow down its potential location significantly. If, of course, it actually exists at all.”
“I think we should assume that it does,” Inquisitor Grynner said thoughtfully, “if only because the Faxlignae are clearly operating on that basis. And if they turn out to be right, they’ll be able to recover as much wraithbone as they need.” Apparently remembering that not everyone present shared his knowledge of such esoteric matters, he added, “It would appear to be used as a structural material aboard the eldar craftworlds.”
“Which means they could find tonnes of the stuff lying around for the taking,” Quillem said, looking visibly apprehensive. Remembering how much havoc Tonis had been able to wreak with a mere sliver of the stuff, Horst could understand his concern.
“I’ll continue with the analysis,” Vex said. “That being so, it might be prudent to arrive ahead of them, if at all possible.”
“None of which addresses the problem of the Enslavers,” Karnaki put in from the foot of the table. His servo-skulls circled warily below the ceiling, as if competing for the best view of the proceedings, and Horst became uncomfortably aware that many of them bore visible weapons.
“No, it doesn’t,” Inquisitor Grynner agreed. “So, with that in mind, I’ve invited another expert to join us.” He glanced expectantly at the door. A moment later, as if on cue, it opened.
Horst’s first impression was that the space beyond had been blocked by a fresh bulkhead, erected while the debate had been going on, but then it moved, and he felt the breath still for a moment in his throat. Well over two metres of glossy black ceramite armour squeezed through the gap, and straightened, the shaven head surmounting it almost brushing the low ceiling typical of the corridors and chambers Horst had so far seen aboard the starship. The armour was surmounted by a surcoat, of the same sable hue, in which intertwining phrases of High Gothic had been painstakingly worked in gold thread, along with arcane sigils which meant nothing to Horst. Thin scraps of parchment, for the most part obscured by the surcoat, had been fixed to the armour with seals of wax, as red as clotting blood; with the exception of the Space Marine’s left shoulder guard, which had been bordered in silver, and on which a stylised human skull had been etched in the same gleaming material, these were the only splashes of colour visible anywhere. Even his face was dark, the skin as black as Vex’s, although the techpriest’s bore far fewer visible scars.
Grynner nodded affably at the towering figure, which loomed over Karnaki, leaving the Ordo Malleus inquisitor looking curiously shrunken. “Brother Paulus,” he said. “Good of you to join us.”
“I go where my duty demands,” the giant said, remaining where he was; which was probably just as well, Horst thought. None of the chairs looked remotely big enough to support him, let alone sufficiently robust. His voice resonated through the room, making Horst’s ribs vibrate within his chest.
“Quite so.” Grynner looked at Karnaki, his head cocked quizzically to one side, assessing the other man’s reaction. “Brother Paulus is the Librarian of the Deathwatch team assigned to this vessel. Accordingly, I felt his expertise in both tactics and matters of the warp would prove helpful to us.”
“No doubt,” Karnaki said. If he was surprised at being confronted by another powerful psyker, he gave no sign of the fact. He glanced at the towering figure behind him with no more than mild curiosity. “Are you aware of the matters being discussed here?”
“I am,” Paulus confirmed, in the tones of a small avalanche. “My battle-brothers and I have been assessing the feasibility of an assault on the heretics’ location. It would be a straightforward undertaking.”
“Then it should be done,” Karnaki urged again. “If any of the psykers it harbours are possessed by Enslavers, this entire system is in danger.”
“I concur,” Paulus said, to the evident surprise of both inquisitors. “The Silver Skulls took part in the initial stages of the Gadarine operation.”
Clearly noticing Horst’s confusion, Quillem leaned across the table. “His home Chapter,” he explained in an undertone. “The Deathwatch recruits from all of them.”
“By the time it became clear that we were facing something more than a mere civil insurrection, the world was already lost,” Paulus continued, “and many of my battle-brothers with it.” He paused, letting the magnitude of that sink in; threats potent enough to cause the loss of a significant number of Space Marines were few and far between, and not to be taken lightly. “I do not wish to see Scintilla go the same way.”
“There, you have it,” Karnaki said, recovering his composure first. “Your own expert confirms my assessment.”
“Which lends a great deal of weight to it,” Grynner agreed, blinking in apparent perplexity. “I’m still concerned about losing our best lead to the Faxlignae, however.”
“You have a fresh one, in this phantom craftworld,” Karnaki pointed out. “And your agent might well have discovered their location herself by now.”
“That’s possible,” Horst agreed. “Elyra’s very resourceful.” If he was honest with himself he didn’t think it all that likely, but showing his support for a raid looked like the best chance of getting her to safety. He shrugged. “And we may find physical evidence of the next step in the chain anyway.”
“Unlikely, given how well they covered their tracks the last time we tried that,” Quillem said, an unexpected edge of bitterness in his voice, and Horst belatedly remembered what he’d read in the data-slate he’d been given. Quillem had lost most of his team in the last attempt to raid a Faxlignae facility.
“Nevertheless,” Inquisitor Grynner said, his reluctance palpable, “given the circumstances, I don’t think we have a choice. Ignoring a clear and present danger in the hope of uncovering a more deeply laid plot at a later date would hardly be prudent.”
“Then I will instruct my battle-brothers to prepare,” Paulus rumbled.
“Please do so,” Grynner agreed, and swept his gaze the length of the table. “I suggest we follow their example. And may the Emperor watch over us all.”
Twenty-One
Tarsus High Orbital Docks, Scintilla System
260.993.M41
Elyra woke slowly, and stretched. The bedroll was empty beside her, but a faint residue of warmth still lingered in the blankets, along with the rich, earthy scent of spent passion. Her ostensible celebration with Voyle had perhaps gone a little further than she’d anticipated, but she couldn’t bring herself to regret it; if nothing else, sharing a bed with a geist, who could touch her in more ways than the merely physical, had been an interesting and enjoyable novelty.
On the purely practical level, it had also created a bond between them she knew she’d be able to exploit; now Voyle would be even more useful as a source of information, and a far more effective shield against the suspicions of his colleagues in the Sanctuary when they finally reached the mysterious refuge.
“You’re awake then,” he said, and she opened her eyes, squinting at the sunlight beginni
ng to filter through the fringe of vegetation above her face. They’d chosen a secluded corner of the agridome for their tryst, surrounded by vines of some kind, and the shade it created was dappled across her skin. Voyle was sitting nearby, chewing a protein bar; as she sat up, he threw another across to her.
“Thanks.” Elyra plucked it from the air, and bit into it as she began to get dressed. “I’m ravenous.”
“Then you’d better eat while you can,” Voyle said.
She smiled flirtatiously, although she supposed they were a long way beyond mere flirtation by this time, and started lacing up her boots. “Why? Do you think I’m going to need the energy?”
“Yes.” Voyle returned the smile for a moment, before his expression became businesslike again. “But not for what you’re thinking. I just got word, our escort’s on the way to pick us up.”
“Are you sure?” Elyra said, trying to mask her dismay. She’d known this was bound to happen, but part of her had always clung to the hope that Carolus would find a way to extract her before it did. Well, that hope was now gone, and she’d just have to do whatever it took to complete her mission alone.
Voyle nodded, and tapped the comm-bead in his ear. “Sure as the Powers protect. The shuttle’s already inbound, and should be docking any time now.”
“Where?” Elyra began packing her belongings. “The same bay we used before?” They’d ridden down to Hive Tarsus in the back of a cargo shuttle, and returned the same way, blending into the general bustle of a busy commercial hangar completely unnoticed, but she couldn’t see an entire contingent of fugitive wyrds being able to pull off the same trick.
Voyle shook his head. “Not this time,” he said. “There’s a maintenance airlock a few levels down…” Before he was able to elaborate further a streak of fire appeared in the firmament beyond the armourcrys dome, impacting against it an instant later with an explosion which shook the deck plating beneath their feet, and he broke off in surprise. “What the hell was that?”
“Shuttle crash?” Elyra hazarded, hoping that was all it was. Carolus wouldn’t have ordered a direct assault, she knew him well enough to be certain of that. But there were clearly other players in the game she was unaware of; someone must have ordered the raid on Voyle’s warehouse aboard the void station. If whoever that had been was repeating the tactic here, she was in as much danger as the rest of the psykers; the raiders wouldn’t know she was an Inquisition agent, and would gun her down as casually as any of the others. She drew her laspistol, and slung her pack across her shoulders.
“No.” Voyle was listening to the voices in his earpiece, his expression grave. “It’s an attack.” There could be no doubt of that now. The first explosion had been followed by a second, then a third. Directly above them, a section of the dome shuddered visibly, and began to tear free of the structural beams supporting it, the heavy girders twisting like overwarmed sugarsticks.
Elyra felt her heart stop for a moment. If that vast mass of steel and armourcrys fell, it would obliterate them all. But to her relief it turned out to be beyond the reach of the gravity generators; as she watched, in horrified fascination, it began to peel away, drifting out into the void instead.
Abruptly, a gale swept across the tangle of vegetation, ripping leaves from plants, and rippling the grass like the waters of a storm-lashed sea.
“They’ve breached the dome!” Elyra shouted, raising her voice above the screaming of the wind. “We have to get back to the service ducts!”
“Yes,” Voyle agreed, surprisingly calm under the circumstances; heretic he might be, but, at least for the present, Elyra instinctively felt that she could trust his judgement. “Got everything you need?”
“Right here.” Elyra hefted her laspistol, then, belatedly remembering to stay in character, added, “What about my money?”
“Trust me,” Voyle said, “if we get out of here alive, I’ll make sure you get paid.”
“Good enough,” Elyra agreed. “Can’t spend it anyway if I’m dead.”
“That’s my girl,” Voyle said, narrowing his eyes against the storm of dust and debris raised by the howling wind. He gestured in the direction of the service hatch, raising his voice a little to be heard above the noise. “Ladies first: you’ve got the gun.”
From space, the rent in the dome looked like a geyser of mist, the plume of escaping atmosphere freezing instantly into crystals of ice, which slowly dissipated into the surrounding void. Barda watched the drop-pod of the Deathwatch plunge into the boiling vortex, and followed without hesitation, feeling the airframe of his own craft shudder as it entered the turbulent stream of solidifying gas.
There could be no question of taking the same route as the Astartes; their lander could tolerate stresses which would rip the vessel he piloted apart. Instead, he took a shallower angle of approach, riding the fringes of the maelstrom as he would a storm system in the atmosphere of a planet, descending in a wide, slow spiral to the surface of the dome below.
“Hang on,” he voxed, mindful that his passengers would probably appreciate a few reassuring words, “things are going to be a little rough for the next few minutes.” Then he forgot about everything, except the business of keeping the quivering shuttle in the air.
“No kidding,” Drake said, clutching the arms of his seat, and wishing that he’d pulled the crash webbing a little more tightly while he’d had the chance. His lasgun was braced across his knees, and he checked the charge in the powercells reflexively, murmuring the litany he’d memorised from the Uplifting Primer. Belatedly he wondered if he should have asked Vex to bless the weapon for him again, but it had performed well enough against the mutants aboard the Misericord, so he supposed it was still pretty well sanctified. Killing the Enslaver in Adrin’s mansion would have left its own mark on the gun, he knew, leaving it imbued with holy purpose, and it wouldn’t be prudent to meddle with that.
“Here we go again,” Kyrlock said, with heavy irony, and grinned at his friend across the narrow aisle. “Just like outside the Citadel.”
“Except this time we’re the attackers,” Drake said, with more confidence than he felt, “and there’s only a handful of wyrds down there.” Even so, the memory of the rogue psykers they’d faced in the blizzard on Sepheris Secundus, the night they’d met Inquisitor Finurbi and his agents, was strong, and filled him with a nameless dread.
“I don’t care how many there are,” Kyrlock said. He patted his chainaxe as though it was a favourite pet. “They won’t be hexing anyone if they haven’t got a head.”
“Quite so,” the black-garbed inquisitor said evenly, from his seat at the rear of the compartment. “I’d recommend terminating any psykers you see on sight. If they are possessed, that will either banish the Enslaver within at once, or force it into the open.”
“Except for Elyra,” Keira said, from her seat at the front; Karnaki nodded slowly, but said nothing, his expression thoughtful.
Quillem was sitting at the front too, just across the narrow aisle from the young assassin, but had said virtually nothing since they’d left the hanger bay of the Emperor’s Justice. Drake had found that a little strange at first, until he’d realised that the interrogator was suffering from void sickness, and suppressed a wry smile. It seemed he did have something in common with Horst after all.
That thought brought its own flare of disquiet with it. In the relatively short time he’d been a member of the Angelae, Drake had grown to trust Horst’s leadership, and found it faintly unnerving to be going into action without him. Quillem could take care of himself, he had no doubt, his position as Grynner’s principal aide made that more than obvious, and he’d certainly saved Vex’s life; but if push came to shove, he’d follow his patron’s agenda, and if that meant abandoning Elyra, he undoubtedly would. At least he didn’t seem to consider her completely expendable, like the man from the Ordo Malleus plainly did.
In the end, Drake supposed, it had come down to politics, and the preservation of the fragile alliance
they now found themselves a part of. Quillem was there to keep an eye on the Angelae, and probably Karnaki, at Grynner’s behest, while Horst stayed behind to keep an eye on the inquisitor. He sighed, and checked the lasgun again. That, at least, was something he knew he could rely on.
The Emperor’s Justice, Scintilla System
260.993.M41
Vex had never seen the bridge of a starship before, and hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, but he had to admit to being quietly impressed. He’d never seen so many fine examples of the Omnissiah’s bounty in one place before, outside the precincts of an Adeptus Mechanicus shrine, and would probably have allowed himself the luxury of stopping in the doorway to marvel at it had such a thing not been unseemly in the presence of an inquisitor.
“Master Castafiore,” Grynner said. “Good of you to join us.”
Vex tore his attention away from the serried ranks of polished wooden consoles, the brass switches mounted in them burnished by the touch of generations of hands, and the glass faces of their dials dulled by a myriad of faint scratches. The vast room was dimly lit, as befitted so sanctified a space, and the glow of the instrumentation made pale wraiths of the crew members ministering to the needs of the machine-spirits, a number of them wearing the robes of his own calling. Horst was gazing at their surroundings with an expression of awestruck wonderment on his face, too distracted for the moment to even register the presence of the little man in the red satin jacket, who nodded dismissively at the inquisitor’s greeting.
“It’s your own time you’re wasting as well as mine,” he said. Horst glanced in his direction, his attention caught by the sound of the man’s voice, and the expression on his face changed to one of complete astonishment as he registered the silk bandana tied around the newcomer’s forehead. An eye had been embroidered on it, right in the centre, the unmistakable badge of a member of the Navis Nobilite.
[Dark Heresy 02] - Innocence Proves Nothing Page 36