Choose Your Enemies, page 13
ELEVEN
My first impression of the governor being a man far more astute than he liked to pretend was borne out the following day, in the form of a summons to brief him properly about our plans for the defence of his planet. Although it was worded as a polite invitation, there was no question that he expected anything other than a prompt acceptance. I could have told him to go frak himself, of course, but under the circumstances I decided to go along with it; there was nothing to be gained from hacking the man off, and after the gubernatorial indifference we’d faced on Drechia, dealing with a specimen of the Emperor’s anointed who actually seemed to be taking an interest was a welcome novelty. Besides which, I’d been favourably impressed by both his cellar and his kitchen the previous evening, and welcomed the excuse to explore both in greater depth.
‘I could go,’ I said, raising my voice over the clamour of our new command centre, which was still in the process of being set up. A gaggle of cogboys was bustling about plugging equipment in, stringing cables which were not so much trip hazards as potential booby traps, and occasionally electrocuting themselves (which, to be fair, didn’t seem to discommode them much, given how high a proportion of the average tech-priest tends to be metal – some even seemed to enjoy the experience), while others chanted benedictions, affixed the appropriate prayer scrolls to the control lecterns, dripped sanctified lubricants into the brass cogs of their cogitator banks, and disappeared behind clouds of choking incense. Around them, the troopers supposed to be manning the place were doing their best to get their own jobs done, firing up the newly installed vox and auspex equipment, lugging boxes and furniture about, drinking tanna and recaff, and arguing about whose fault it was something still wasn’t ready yet.
In other words, business as usual at this stage of a deployment, and, despite the noise and untidiness, one I found strangely reassuring. I knew from experience that before long order would emerge from the chaos around us, and the information we needed to face the enemy and, Throne willing, prevent them from gaining a foothold on Ironfound, would begin to flow. In the meantime there wasn’t a lot I could do here, beyond routine paperwork I’d already delegated to Jurgen.
‘I’d be grateful,’ Kasteen said, gulping recaff with the air of someone who was tired but still relishing the process of having got that way. ‘The regiment needs a representative, and you’re good at all that diplomacy stuff.’ She and Broklaw had also been invited to attend by the governor, but that simply wasn’t going to happen now we were properly stuck in to the process of getting combat ready. (Not that we ever weren’t, really, but the whole thing would be a lot easier with the command centre up and running, and the sooner that was sorted out the better.)
‘Consider it done,’ I said. ‘I’m only getting underfoot here anyway.’ I surveyed the cavernous space, which had once formed part of a manufactorum if I was any judge, an impression confirmed by the faint vibration which pervaded the place from whatever processes continued nearby, with a wry smile. ‘You and Ruput seem to be doing all the hard work.’
‘If you say so,’ Kasteen said, with a glance across the huge chamber to where the major was arguing with one of the more senior tech-priests. ‘I’d like to send him with you, but until we have our own eyes and ears we’re going to be reliant on the planetary defence force to track the enemy’s movements, and he’s the designated liaison.’ A faint moue of distaste and the tone of her voice were enough to tell me just how much she didn’t like that state of affairs. ‘Protocol dictates you should be accompanied by someone in the chain of command, though.’
‘Then protocol can go kiss an ork,’ I said. ‘We’re here to give the eldar a bloody nose, not mince about ticking off instructions from an etiquette manual.’
Kasteen laughed, sending a spurt of dark brown liquid sloshing over the rim of her mug. ‘Fair point,’ she said, ‘made with your usual tact and eloquence. Let’s hope it works on the governor.’
A hope I must confess I shared, as I began my journey back to the tip of the spire. Our new command centre was situated in what I felt to be the optimum position – although I’d had nothing to do with selecting it, and had no idea who to thank[95] – on one of the upper levels of the manufactorum tiers. This gave us good access to the rest of the hab zones above through the hive’s own internal transport system, while leaving us well placed to counter any upward attacks the xenos might make from the depths of the underhive as well. Or mount our own patrols down into it, as I strongly suspected Kasteen was going to order as soon as we were ready to do so.
The one thing about our location which I found faintly disquieting was that, although it was near the centre of the hive, some dozen kilometres from the nearest external wall, it was perfectly placed to be caught between eldar descending from the spire and rising from the underhive, if the invasion force was able to breach our outer defences and gain access to the interior at the same time as they got the webway portal dug out.
Not a thought I was comfortable with, so I pushed it to the back of my mind as I boarded the flyer the governor had sent down for me. I could have made my way up the spire on the funicular which connected many of the levels, or simply driven up the interconnecting network of roads, ramps and tunnels which riddled the structure like veins and arteries, and had I realised how eventful the short hop was going to be I would certainly have done so – but I remained in blissful ignorance, and opted for the fast route. If I’m entirely honest, this choice was also influenced by an element of egotism;[96] I was flattered that the governor had put the flyer at my disposal, and felt it would be diplomatically expedient to accept the offer. Not to mention the fact that, in my experience, the personal transports of the rich and powerful tended to be a good deal more comfortable than being rattled about in the back of a Salamander by Jurgen. Which, of course, turned out to be a necessary precursor for getting to the landing pad in any case – a task he accomplished in a little over five minutes, without causing too much damage on the way.
‘Will that be all?’ he asked, in a faintly pointed manner as I clambered out and straightened my cap, gunning the engine as he spoke. He clearly felt that my position and status would be weakened by his absence, the presence of an aide being a universal signifier of importance, and would probably sulk for days about the perceived slight if I didn’t do something to smooth his ruffled feelings.
So I nodded, in a confidential fashion. ‘I’m afraid so,’ I said, ‘much as I’d prefer you to accompany me. But I’d feel a lot happier knowing that at least one of us will be instantly available if Inquisitor Vail needs our assistance.’
‘Of course, sir.’ He nodded too, in a faintly proud way. ‘You can rely on me to give her any help she needs.’
‘I don’t doubt that,’ I said. ‘There’s no one I trust more.’ Which happened to be true, as well as the most expedient thing to say at the time.
Thoroughly mollified, Jurgen roared off to terrorise the innocent motorists of downhive Holdvast again, leaving me to make my way over to the landing pad on foot.
As I’d expected, this turned out to be an enclosed space: the air outside was no more breathable than on most Imperial manufacturing worlds, so the air car that had been sent to collect me squatted in the centre of a lift platform large enough to have accommodated a heavy cargo shuttle[97] with room to spare, shrunken by its surroundings to the apparent dimensions of a child’s toy. As I approached it, however, my boot soles ringing on the scorched metal mesh of the platform’s surface, it grew to something large enough to have accommodated three people in comfort. The passenger door was open, the ducted fan at each corner of the vehicle humming idly, punctuated by the occasional screech of an inadequately greased bearing, keeping it hovering a dozen centimetres or so above the floor.
‘Good morning.’ I clambered in, with a nod to the chauffeur, isolated behind a transparent partition, but I might as well have saved my breath for all the response I got. Only later did it occur to me that it must have been soundproofed, so that whoever was being ferried about could discuss their affairs, either of state or of a personal nature, without being overheard by the hired help.[98] He must have seen me embark, however, for he poked at something the moment I was seated; the door swung closed with a solidly reassuring thunk, the whine of the fans increased in pitch and the whole vehicle lurched into motion. Used to Jurgen’s robust approach to driving I adjusted my balance instinctively, although I have to confess to feeling faintly surprised: I would have thought the governor’s personal chauffeur would have had a far lighter touch on the controls. The air car soon steadied, however, and the roof above our heads began to retract, splitting down the middle as it did so. Thick yellow smog began to curl its way through the widening gap, nothing of the sky beyond being visible – which, to be honest, I suspected was probably the usual state of affairs where Ironfound was concerned.
‘Ciaphas.’ Kasteen’s voice cut into my earpiece. ‘Are you airborne yet?’
‘Pretty much,’ I said, as another sudden lurch shook the air car. ‘Steady on!’
‘Say again?’ Kasteen said, a note of puzzlement entering her voice.
‘Not you, sorry.’ I leaned forward, rapping sharply on the glass, but the chauffeur didn’t respond, merely reaching out for the lever which controlled the pitch of the fan. This time the jerk[99] pinned me back in my seat as he lifted the nose and sent us barrelling skyward through the still widening gap. I glanced round, seeing no more of our surroundings than I expected to, vague glimpses of towering structures and hurtling aerial traffic flaring into view before vanishing back into the murk, which glowed orange in the light it was swallowing from waylights, luminators and the occasional burst of flame or electrical discharge. ‘You can tell the governor I’m on my way.’
‘I’d rather you turned back,’ Kasteen said. ‘We’ve got the augurs up and running, and connected to a feed from local traffic control.’
‘Good,’ I said, still not quite grasping what she was driving at. ‘Picking up anything interesting?’
‘You might say that,’ Kasteen said. ‘We’ve got some contacts inbound at a hell of a lick. No transponder signal, so they’re not military, and moving far too fast for civilian traffic.’
‘Missiles?’ I asked, jumping to the obvious conclusion. If they were, and the eldar were hoping to crack the hive with them, any payload they carried had to be so big there was no point in running for cover in any case.
‘Profile looks more like jetbikes,’ Broklaw said. ‘Three of them, moving in formation. Throne alone knows where they could have come from, though.’
‘The eldar ships that followed us in,’ I said. ‘They weren’t after us at all, they were dropping scouts.’
‘Sounds reasonable,’ Kasteen agreed. ‘I never really bought the idea that they’d go to all that trouble just to take out a couple of batteries on one of the orbital docks.’
‘I really think you should get back inside,’ Broklaw said. ‘If they realise you’re out in the open, you’ll go straight to the top of their target list.’
A thought, I’m bound to say, which had already occurred to me.
I leaned forward, and knocked on the partition separating me from the chauffeur. ‘Turn round,’ I instructed, with all the calm authority I could muster. The fellow ignored me, and I knocked a little harder. ‘Turn this thing around, or by the Emperor and all His saints, I’ll have words with the governor about you.’
He continued to stare forward, ignoring everything I said. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d started off without being instructed to, I’d probably have thought he was a servitor by now. My palms began to tingle. This definitely wasn’t right. I found my hands hovering instinctively close to my weapons. One last try, I thought, and drew the laspistol, using the heavy butt to hammer against the fragile-seeming barrier between us. It starred and began to fracture, and I found myself wondering how I was going to explain the damage to Fulcher when I saw him.
This time I did get a reaction, though not the one I’d been expecting. Without any change of expression, the chauffeur simply reached down under the dashboard and pulled out a bolt pistol. Nothing fancy, like the mastercrafted one I’d gifted to Amberley, just plain dull metal without any ornate engraving on it, but it certainly looked capable of doing the job. Still without a word he turned, and fired at me through the armourcrys.
Which was a mistake on his part, the crazing I’d inflicted on it with the butt of my own weapon no doubt blurring the image from his side; if he’d taken the time to retract it first he’d have had a clear shot at me. Perhaps he thought he’d be giving me too much warning if he did that, though, and perhaps he’d even have been right, but the point was moot in any case. The transparent screen was, despite the damage, still strong enough for the bolt to detonate against it. The sharp crack of the explosion jolted my eardrums in the confined space, and the partition shattered, filling the interior of the car with razor-edged shards. I ducked my head instinctively, letting the peak of my cap protect my eyes and most of my face, although a few fragments still stung my cheeks, scoring bloody trails as they impacted.
Even so, I’d fared better than my would-be assassin. His face was now a bloody mask, in which his remaining eye gleamed with an unhealthy fervour. He raised the weapon again, but I was quicker, and put a las-bolt through his brain before he had a chance to retaliate. My assailant slumped back against the controls, the air car lurched, and began to plummet towards the ground.
‘Ciaphas! What’s going on?’ Kasteen’s voice was tight with tension. ‘That sounded like shots.’
‘They were,’ I responded tersely, reaching through the gap in the partition and heaving at the now literally dead weight of the chauffeur. His body slumped to one side, the sleeve of his jacket catching on something, and the air car began to rotate in the air as well as plunging towards the ground. Better and better.
Giving up on the futile attempt to manipulate the chauffeur’s cadaver through such a narrow gap I drew my chainsword and attacked the thin sheet of metal dividing the car. It tore open under the whirling teeth with a screech of metal and a shower of sparks, not to mention the odd gobbet of deceased assassin; within seconds I’d made enough of a gap to pull a large section of it out of the way.
‘Come on, you festering ratbag.’ I heaved at the deceased assassin again, the muscles in my back cracking as I fought to lift him off the dashboard and the control column. By great good fortune the latch of the pilot’s door was just within reach, and I managed to trip it just as the plummeting air car twisted in that direction. A gush of lung-searing effluvia burst into the compartment, blurring my vision, and the fellow vanished, aided on his way by gravity, centrifugal force and a last heave from me to bring him clear of the controls. In fact, so abrupt was his departure that I almost followed him, and probably would have done if I hadn’t managed to grab the headrest of the pilot’s seat for long enough to smack the door control again.[100] It closed, the air recirculators gradually mitigating the worst effects of the filth I was trying to breathe, although they seemed to be working flat out to do so, and I scrambled into the pilot’s seat – though not without some degree of difficulty, my greatcoat catching on some jagged edge of the demolished partition before giving way with a loud ripping sound.
‘Ciaphas. Can you hear me?’ Kasteen asked, an almost flattering amount of concern in her voice. ‘What’s happening?’
‘I’ve just dropped the pilot,’ I said, grabbing the control column and pulling it back. The flyer’s nose came up, just in time for me to see the vast slab of a cargo shuttle’s hull slipping past far too close for comfort, its engines burning brightly through the all-encompassing fog. I missed the wall of metal by what seemed like millimetres, although it was probably a bit more than that, and glanced round frantically for the next thing I was about to hit. ‘He tried to shoot me.’
‘Are you all right?’ Broklaw asked.
‘For the moment,’ I assured him. ‘But I’m still crashing a bit.’
I scanned the controls, trying to get the measure of them. It was scant consolation, but the vehicle’s machine-spirit seemed to be panicking almost as much as I was, lights flickering all across the dashboard, accompanied by a cacophony of squeaks and chirruping. A pict display seemed to be urging me to feed more power to a couple of the fans and throttle back the other two, so I complied as best I could, reasoning that the array of four levers next to the control column was probably linked to them in some way.
To my immense relief this proved to be the case, and after a bit of poking and prodding I managed to level out and stop spinning, which did my stomach and inner ear no end of good; I’d have hated to have to present myself at the Golden Throne with the last couple of meals staining my greatcoat. The cascade of rapidly diminishing numbers in the altimeter slowed, steadied and began to inch upwards again as I pulled back cautiously on the control column; it seemed I’d regained control with only a couple of hundred metres left to spare before making a dent in whatever was immediately below. I tried to work out how much time that would have been, then gave up, because it was far too low to be comforting.
‘I’m all right,’ I voxed, still feeling faintly surprised by my own words. I had no idea where I was, but a course to the governor’s palace seemed to have been given to the machine-spirit, which was dutifully displaying it on the pict screen in front of me. Since I didn’t have a clue how to find the command centre from here, and Fulcher was certain to have a better class of amasec than the bottle currently waiting for me in my quarters, I decided I might as well follow the directions I was being given. ‘If someone could apologise to the governor for the delay, I ought not to be too late arriving.’
‘Are you sure?’ Kasteen sounded both relieved and surprised. ‘We still don’t know what those eldar contacts are up to.’
