For The Emperor, page 10
‘There.’ Donali pointed, his outstretched finger tracking the curved metal hull as it swept over us and swung around to align itself on the headlights of our truck. I breathed a quiet word of thanks to the Emperor, even though I was sure he wouldn’t be listening, and turned to El’sorath.
‘Bring them in,’ I said, and watched while Lustig’s troopers moved quickly and smoothly to cover the area of lawn next to us. ‘It looks safe enough.’
One day, I’m going to learn not to say things like that. No sooner had the words left my lips, and the tau diplomat raised his vox to contact the pilot, than a streak of light rose from the streets beyond the perimeter wall.
‘Holy Emperor!’ Kasteen breathed, and I spat out something considerably less polite. I snatched the smooth plastic box from an astonished El’sorath.
‘Evade!’ I screamed, not even sure if the pilot spoke Gothic. Within seconds it was academic anyway. The missile impacted on the underside of the vehicle, punching through the thin metal plating, and exploded in a vivid orange fireball. Flaming debris began to patter down around us, but the burning wreck of the fuselage carried on moving, trailing down to impact harmlessly on one of the wings of the palace. As it struck, tearing through the walls, it set off a secondary explosion, probably the fuel or the powercells. The noise was incredible, making us flinch almost as though it were a physical thing, and I was blinking the afterimages clear of my retina for some moments to follow.
‘What happened?’ Donali stared in bewilderment, as screaming figures erupted from what was left of the palace.
‘More gue’la treachery!’ El’hassai screamed, glaring around as though he expected us to turn on him any second now. To tell the truth, it was getting more and more tempting every time he opened his mouth, but that wasn’t going to get my skin out of here intact. My best chance of doing that depended on keeping Donali and the xenos sweet.
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ I said, shutting him up through sheer astonishment. ‘It seems our assassin has confederates in the PDF.’
‘How can you be sure?’ Donali asked, clearly not wanting to believe it.
‘That was a krak missile,’ Kasteen explained. ‘We’re the only Guard unit in the city, and we didn’t fire it. Who else does that leave?’
Well, too many possibilities for my liking, but there wasn’t time to go into that now. I cut into the tactical net, using my commissarial override code.
‘Krak missile fired in the vicinity of the governor’s palace,’ I snapped. ‘Who’s responsible?’
‘I’m sorry, commissar, that information isn’t available.’
‘Then find out, and have the brainless frakker shot!’ I was suddenly aware that my voice had risen. Kasteen, Donali, and the little group of tau were staring at me, their faces flickering yellow in the light of the burning palace. I hesitated, more considered courses of action beginning to suggest themselves. ‘No, wait,’ I corrected myself, to the evident relief of the unseen vox operator. ‘Have everyone in that squad arrested and held for interrogation.’ I bounced off Donali’s questioning look.
‘We don’t know yet if it was someone panicking, a deliberate attack on the surviving tau, or just sheer stupidity,’ I explained. ‘But if it was an attempt to finish what the assassin started, it might lead us to the conspirators.’
‘If you are able to identify the assailants.’ El’sorath nodded, the human gesture strangely unsettling.
‘If it is a conspiracy they’ll have covered their tracks,’ Donali predicted gloomily. ‘But I suppose it’s worth a try.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ Kasteen said, frowning, ‘is why they didn’t wait until the aircar took off again. Surely if they wanted to kill the other tau, downing it on the run in was pointless.’
‘No, colonel. It was exactly the point.’ Sudden realisation hit me like a punch to the gut. One thing to be said for being paranoid is that sometimes you begin to see patterns no one else can. ‘Killing the ambassador was meant to make them run. The mobs in the streets were meant to leave them with nowhere to go. They’re supposed to have only one option now.’
‘Call in their military to extract them.’ She nodded, following my chain of reasoning. Donali put the last link in place.
‘Bringing them into direct conflict with Imperial forces. The one thing we can’t allow to happen if we’re to have any hope of avoiding a full-scale war over this miserable mudball.’
‘Then we must die.’ El’sorath said, as though he’d been suggesting a stroll through the park. ‘The greater good demands it.’ His companions looked sober, but none of them argued.
‘No.’ Donali did, though; he wasn’t about to have any little blue martyrs offing themselves on his watch. ‘It demands that you live, to continue the negotiations in good faith.’
‘That would be preferable,’ El’sorath said. I was beginning to suspect that the tau had a sense of humour. ‘But I see no way to effect so desirable an outcome.’
‘Colonel. Commissar.’ Donali looked at Kasteen and me a moment after a sudden sinking feeling in my gut warned me that this was about to happen. ‘You have a vehicle, and a squad of soldiers. Will you try and get these people home?’ For a moment, I struggled with the idea of the xenos as people. I suppose Donali’s diplomatic training made him think a little differently from the rest of us[21], but I couldn’t think of an excuse to refuse, try as I might. ‘Not just for the good of the planet. For the Emperor Himself.’
Well, I’d pulled that one on enough people in my time to be aware of the irony, but it was an appeal I couldn’t turn my back on without sacrificing my hard-won reputation, and even though I’d be the first to admit it’s completely undeserved, it’s proven its worth to me far too often to be casually discarded.
Besides, however unhealthy trying to smuggle a truck full of xenos through a city in flames was likely to be, staying here to be caught in the crossfire between rioters and the PDF looked like being a whole lot worse. So I smiled my best heroic smile, and nodded.
‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You can count on us.’
Editorial Note:
Once again, as we might expect, Cain’s account of this crucial night’s events is completely self-centred and lacking in any wider perspective. I’ve therefore taken the liberty of inserting another extract from Logar’s history of the Gravalax incident, which, like the one quoted earlier, provides a moderately accurate summary of the overall situation despite his manifest shortcomings as a historian in almost every other respect. Hopefully it may prove useful in placing Cain’s narrative into some kind of context.
From Purge the Guilty! An impartial account of the liberation of Gravalax, by Stententious Logar. 085.M42
With the advantage of hindsight, we can see how the conspirators had prepared the ground carefully for their coup d’etat, spreading rumours of the assassination so far in advance of its execution that few, if any, thought to demand proof of these claims when the deed was actually accomplished. Tension between the loyal subjects of His Divine Majesty and the turncoat dupes of the alien interlopers had by now become so pervasive that only the tiniest spark was needed to ignite an inferno of lawlessness which threw the entire city into disarray.
The greatest bloodshed of the night was to occur around the governor’s residence, as the heroic palace guard held off a rampaging mob of turncoats with the aid of the most loyal cadre of PDF volunteers. Despite the appalling losses they endured, which were exacerbated by the treacherous defection of those perfidious PDF units who turned their weapons against their erstwhile comrades, these brave souls were able to hold out until daybreak brought relief in the shape of a loyalist armoured unit.
By the cruellest stroke of irony, it was later to transpire that one of the guests at the governor’s reception earlier that evening had been none other than Commissar Cain, the paladin of martial virtues against whom no enemy could possibly have prevailed, but he had left shortly before the fighting broke out. This was a tragedy indeed, since his inspiring leadership would surely have turned the tide of battle, routing the unrighteous in short order! But alas, it was not to be, and those gallant warriors were left to their own, far from inconsiderable, resources.
Elsewhere, the situation proved equally grave. Widespread rioting choked the city centre, overwhelming the Arbites units posted there, until they had no option but to call in PDF units for support. Some responded loyally, while others, perfidious as their fellow traitors in the Old Quarter, revealed their true colours, turning against all that they had professed to hold dear, the insidious influence of the alien corrupting them utterly. Small wonder, then, that ordinary citizens took to the streets in their thousands, incensed at the sheer magnitude of this betrayal, armed only with their faith in the Emperor and such makeshift weapons as they could lay their hands on to wreak bloody revenge on the traitors in their midst.
The worst of the fighting took place in the Old Quarter, as we have previously noted, and, predictably, in the Heights, the most poisonous nest of pro-alien sentiment in the city, but in truth, no street was safe.
As the unrest continued, one question was paramount. Where were the Guard? Why did the Emperor’s finest continue to sit in their barracks and staging areas while his loyal subjects bled and died in his name?
It was, and still is, clear that some hidden cabal was directing events, hindering the decisive action the situation manifestly called for, in pursuit of their own selfish agenda. In the years since, many theories have been put forward as to the true identities of those responsible, the vast majority of them laughably paranoid, but a careful sifting of the evidence can lead to only one conclusion; the unseen hand behind so much mayhem and treachery is unquestionably that of the rogue traders.
[At this point the narrative diverges, albeit quite amusingly, from anything resembling scholarship, or, indeed, historical accuracy.]
SIX
When in deadly danger,
When beset by doubt,
Run in little circles,
Wave your arms and shout.
– Parody of the Litany of Command, popular among Commissar cadets.
Well, I’ve seen my share of city fighting over the years, and given my choice of battlefield, an urban area’s about the last one I’d pick. The streets channel you into firelanes, every window or doorway can conceal a sniper, and the buildings around you frak up your tactical awareness – if they’re not blocking your line of sight they’re distorting sounds, the overlapping echoes making it virtually impossible to pinpoint where the enemy fire is coming from. In most cases the best thing you can say for it is that at least there aren’t any civilians around to get caught in the crossfire, as by the time the Guard gets sent in they’re either dead or have fled from the airstrikes and the artillery bombardments.
Mayoh that night was different. Instead of the piles of rubble I’d normally expect to find in an urban warzone, the buildings were, for the time being at least, intact. (Although the ominous orange glow in the distance suggested that wasn’t going to be true for much longer.[22]) And the streets were full. Not bustling, exactly, but by no means deserted either. As the truck gathered pace, we caught sight of civilians running for cover, to join or avoid the swelling groups of shouting rioters who seemed to be congregating at every corner. Some wore the xenoist braids, others symbols of Imperial loyalty. Aquilae were common, of course, and several of the loudest and most militant sported scarlet sashes, like the one which marked my own commissarial authority. Regardless of their nominal allegiance, however, most of the groups we passed were energetically engaged in breaking open the nearest storefronts and looting the contents.
‘Not much of an advertisement for the Imperial cause,’ Kasteen muttered acidly in my ear. She was crammed in the cab with me, jammed up against the passenger door, as far from Jurgen as she could get. The wind of our passage ruffled her hair, the window wide open. Well, why not? The glass wasn’t going to stop a las-bolt anyway, and I was even closer to our pungent driver than she was, so I wasn’t about to object.
‘Or theirs.’ I indicated a mob of scalplocked xenoists running from a burning pawnbroker’s, their pockets bulging with currency.
‘Must be something to do with the greater greed,’ she joked grimly.
As we approached, the xenoists recognised our truck as an Imperial military model and began to shout abuse. A few bottles and other makeshift missiles flew in our direction.
‘Over their heads, Lustig,’ I ordered. The squad of troopers in the cargo space behind us fired, just low enough to make the troublemakers flinch away from the crackling las-bolts, and they scattered as Jurgen put his foot down.
‘Very restrained,’ Kasteen commented. I shrugged. I couldn’t have given a damn if the troopers had killed the lot of them, to be honest, but I was trying to make a good impression on our little blue guests, and there was always that reputation to consider.
We’d left the governor’s palace as soon as we could get the tau aboard the truck, scrambling over the tailgate in the flickering light from the burning building. Lustig’s squad split into teams again, five on each side, leaving the xeno diplomats in the middle. It wasn’t exactly high security, but it was the best we could do under the circumstances, and I hoped it would be enough.
‘Good luck, commissar.’ Donali’s sober tone told me he thought we’d need it as he grasped my hand. I shook it firmly, thankful for the augmetics that prevented the tremors in my bowels from transmitting themselves as far as my fingers, and nodded gravely.
‘The Emperor protects,’ I intoned with pious hypocrisy, and climbed into the cab. At least with a box of metal and glass around me I was afforded some degree of shelter, and with Kasteen and Jurgen on either side to absorb any incoming fire, I’d be safer there than anywhere else. The Emperor, as I’d noted on more than one occasion, tends to extend his protection more readily to those who take as many precautions as possible for themselves.
Donali stood and watched us leave, silhouetted in the flickering light from the flames, and turned back towards the burning building as he passed out of sight. To my vague surprise, I found myself hoping he survived the night. I don’t normally have much time for diplomats, but he struck me as a decent sort, and he seemed to be going to a lot of trouble to keep me from getting shot.
At least in the abstract; preventing a war wasn’t going to do me a damn bit of good if some xenoist rioter stove my skull in with a paving slab this evening, so I was alert for any potential threat as we made our way through the troubled city.
‘Left here.’ Kasteen was guiding Jurgen with the aid of the tactical net, hoping to avoid the worst of the trouble. We passed a couple of street brawls, but the worst of the rioting appeared to be happening elsewhere.
‘So far so good,’ I said, tempting fate once more, and, typically, fate obliged. As we turned out of the alleyway into one of those broad thoroughfares which had so excited my unease on the journey into the city from the starport, I could see figures up ahead through the windscreen. Metal barrels had been pushed into the roadway, forming the spine of a makeshift barricade, and fires had been set inside a couple of them.
‘Roadblock,’ Jurgen said unnecessarily, and glanced at me for orders.
‘Ease off,’ I said, considering the situation. ‘No point drawing their fire unless we have to.’ Figures were moving slowly towards us, lasguns levelled, silhouetted against the firelight. I squinted, trying to identify them. They wore plain fatigues, of a colour I couldn’t quite identify in the yellowish glow, but which looked grey or blue, and light flak armour of an even darker shade[23].
‘PDF,’ Kasteen confirmed after a moment listening to the tactical net. ‘Loyalist, supporting the Arbites.’
‘Thank the Emperor for that,’ I said, and voxed Lustig. ‘They’re friendlies. Apparently.’
‘Understood.’ The sergeant’s voice was calm, picking up on my qualification, and I was pretty sure the troopers would be ready if we turned out to be mistaken. Call me paranoid if you like, and I’ll cheerfully admit to it, but I didn’t get to an honourable retirement by having a trusting nature.
A single figure was stepping out in front of the truck now, a hand raised, and Jurgen coasted to a halt. I straightened my uniform cap, and tried to look as commissarial as I could manage.
‘Who goes there?’ He was young, I noticed, his face still pitted with acne scars, and his helmet looked too big for his head. A lieutenant’s rank insignia had been painted in the centre of it, clearly visible; typical PDF sloppiness. The last thing you want in a firefight is an obvious sign saying, ‘Shoot me, I’m an officer.’ But then no one in the PDF ever really expects to go into combat, unless they make the grade the next time the Guard come recruiting, and that hadn’t happened on Gravalax in generations.
‘Colonel Kasteen, Valhallan 597th. And Commissar Cain.’ Kasteen leaned out of the cab window to talk to him. ‘Order your men aside.’
‘I can’t do that.’ His jaw took on a stubborn set. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Really?’ Kasteen looked at him as though she’d just found him on the sole of her boot. ‘I was under the impression that a colonel outranks a lieutenant. Isn’t that so, commissar?’
‘In my experience,’ I agreed. I leaned past her to address the young pup directly. ‘Or do you do things differently on Gravalax?’ He paled visibly as I raked him with the number two glare.
‘No, commissar. But I’ve been ordered not to let anyone past under any circumstances.’
‘I think you’ll find my authority supersedes any orders you may have been given,’ I said confidently. His jaw worked convulsively.
