Choose Your Enemies, page 15
‘Just doing our job, sir.’ The flight commander shrugged, clearly no novice at that game herself, and turned towards the main door leading to the spire’s interior, coming to attention as she did so. This was, of course, large enough to admit cargoes and whatever heavy equipment might be required to attend to the resident vehicles, so Fulcher and his retinue were able to surge through it pretty much en masse – although no one, I noted, came through ahead of the governor himself.
‘Commissar. We meet again.’ Fulcher bowed formally, to which I responded with a nod, which I judged would be an acceptable response in keeping with my exaggerated reputation. ‘My profound apologies for the incivility of your welcome.’
‘Hardly your fault, your excellency,’ I said, noting the more formal manner in which he was conducting himself in front of the overdressed rabble, among which his own gold-and-blue robes stood out like a beacon of modesty and restraint, and pitching my reply accordingly.
He shook his head with an artistic touch of ruefulness. ‘I beg to differ, commissar. My position makes me responsible for everything which happens here.’ He turned to a grim-visaged man of apparent middle age, whose blue uniform with gold trim marked him out as someone of high rank among the household troops, probably their commander. ‘What happened, exactly?’
To his credit, the fellow didn’t seem particularly put out by the question. ‘Our investigation is continuing, your excellency. We’re keeping an open mind at this stage, but I suspect our guest was targeted in revenge for having uncovered the heretic conspiracy on Drechia.’
‘Preposterous,’ a woman of about the same age, in a dun uniform I didn’t recognise – but which I suspected marked her out as someone senior in the local law enforcers, judging by how close she was standing to the local arbitrator – put in. ‘That would imply collusion between heretics and someone in the governor’s own household.’
‘A possibility we must consider,’ Fulcher said evenly, ‘however distasteful we may find it. No one can be above suspicion in matters of this kind.’ He glanced in my direction. ‘Apart from Commissar Cain here, of course.’ His gaze moved on to the man in the Adeptus Arbites uniform, regarding him with a faintly sardonic air. ‘And you, I suppose, Osric. If these rumours I’ve been hearing about you consorting with an inquisitor have any foundation at all, I’m sure he’d have uncovered any heretical tendencies you might have by now.’
The arbitrator’s face remained impassive, and his voice conversational; used to concealing my own feelings, I must confess I was quietly impressed by his delivery, being probably the only person present who fully appreciated the artistry of his performance. ‘You must be aware, your excellency, that were such an improbable circumstance ever to arise, I would be unable to discuss the matter.’
‘Of course.’ Fulcher clearly had enough sense to heed the thinly veiled warning, settling instead for clapping the man in the blue-and-gold uniform on the back, making him the centre of attention instead. ‘Looks like it’s over to you, Defroy. I’m sure Clarys and Osric will be happy to aid your investigation in any way they can.’
‘Right,’ the woman agreed, while the arbitrator merely nodded, being careful not to say anything that could be construed as acquiescence, and with Vekkman breathing down his neck, who could blame him?
‘Well then,’ Fulcher said, sounding about as enthusiastic at the prospect of discussing an eldar invasion of his world as might be expected, which is to say not very, ‘I suppose we ought to be getting started.’ He glanced in my direction, then back at the somewhat battered air car, with a faint frown of puzzlement. ‘Are you alone, commissar? I was given to understand that you have an aide.’
‘That’s perfectly true, your excellency,’ I agreed, in as bland a fashion as I could contrive, ‘who is unfortunately detained with pressing duties back at our command centre. Colonel Kasteen and Major Broklaw also send their apologies.’
‘Of course.’ Whether Fulcher was relieved or disappointed by their absence was hard to tell. ‘I take it you’d appreciate some refreshment?’
‘I would indeed,’ I agreed.
To my unspoken relief, it seemed most of the hangers-on weren’t going to attend the meeting after all, small groups of them breaking off every time we passed one of the richly carpeted side corridors, muttering among themselves as they went. In fact, by the time we’d passed through the doors of the conference room, only myself, the governor and the arbitrator were left, which came as a bit of a surprise; I’d expected Defroy, the commander of the household troops, to be joining us. His people seemed competent enough, if the grav-speeder pilots I’d already met were anything to go by, and would be among the first to respond if the xenos launched an attack against the upper docks. In fact he’d shown every sign of intending to remain with us until we were within a handful of metres of the imposing bronze doors (embossed, like pretty much everything, with the family crest I’d first noticed when I parked the air car on it – perhaps Fulcher was worried about his visitors pilfering stuff), at which point he received a message on his vox-bead. After listening for a moment he gestured to Clarys, and the two of them disappeared down the corridor after a perfunctory and non-committal apology, conferring in an urgent undertone as they went.
I wasn’t too sure about this; clearly something was going on which I wasn’t privy to, a circumstance I was never happy about. Moreover, it would have been useful to get his perspective on the eldar invasion and how the resources he commanded could best be utilised to counter it.
‘This looks comfortable enough,’ I said, with a nod of greeting to the senior planetary defence force officers already seated around the polished stone table, the partial fossils of the occasional aeon-old aquatic invertebrate visible here and there in the reflective surface. Most of my attention, however, was on the display of refreshments laid out at the far end of the room; not for the first time after escaping death by millimetres, I suddenly found I was famished.
‘Let me introduce General Porten,’ Fulcher said, with a wave in the direction of the most braid-bedecked member of the contingent, whose greying moustache would have impressed a Vostroyan with its size and luxuriance, ‘commander of the Ironfound Defence Force.’
‘An honour, commissar.’ Despite the abundance of facial hair, which effectively hid much of his expression, he sounded genuinely impressed, no doubt suitably primed by the exaggerated stories he’d heard about my supposedly heroic exploits. He nodded cordially at me, a positively restrained greeting by the standards of the system we were in, and I found myself warming to him at once. Here, at least, was a man for whom protocol clearly came a distant second to the practical considerations.
‘Likewise,’ I said, helping myself to a cyna bun and a mug of recaff as I spoke. Given the highly confidential nature of what we were about to discuss there were none of the servants I’d normally expect to find hanging about the place, so in the absence of Jurgen I’d just have to shift for myself. ‘Anyone hungry or thirsty while I’m up?’ An offer I fully expected to be refused, of course, given my status, but which I knew would go down well, cementing my undeserved reputation for the consideration of others.
‘Wouldn’t mind another recaff,’ Porten said, rising another notch or two in my estimation, not least because of the audible intake of breath around the table in response to his reply. I poured the requested drink with a friendly smile, and placed it on the slab of stone between us as I took the seat opposite him, keeping my own provisions in front of me. ‘Thank you. Much appreciated.’ He picked up the porcelain cup with surprising delicacy, and strained a mouthful of its contents through his moustache.
‘Everyone here knows Osric, of course,’ Fulcher said, although I doubted that, given the blank expressions of the clutch of senior aides and officers in the seats adjoining the general. Porten evidently did, however, as the arbitrator smiled at him in an affable fashion, and settled into the well-padded chair next to mine. The adjacent seat remained empty, no doubt earmarked for Defroy if his presence was required, or whatever business he’d hurried off on was successfully concluded before the meeting ended. Fulcher seated himself too, at the head of the table, and waved an introduction to a cadaverous fellow whose Navy-styled uniform was almost as lavishly ornamented as Porten’s. ‘Admiral Herren, C in C[111] of our system defences.’
‘What’s left of them,’ the man remarked dryly, presumably before anyone else did. A faintly awkward silence fell, before being broken by Porten, who coughed apologetically.
‘The fighters have lost contact with the eldar,’ he said, apparently in response to a voice in his comm-bead. ‘They were forced to break off by the volume of civilian traffic around the orbital docks.’ Which made sense to me, even though most of the faces around the table seemed to share Porten’s disappointed bafflement. The Vypers were smaller, and far more manoeuvrable than their pursuers; once they got into the main traffic lanes, the relatively cumbersome Lightnings would find them a good deal more difficult to track, not to mention having their lines of fire impeded by innumerable cargo shuttles and the like. ‘They were last confirmed in the vicinity of Skyside Seventeen.’
Herren nodded, apparently listening to something in his own earpiece. ‘I can confirm that,’ he said. ‘They were engaged by the point defences, and shot up a few of the surface structures on their way past.’ He nodded towards the head of the table. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that your estates up there escaped unscathed, however.’
‘Not really the issue,’ Fulcher said. ‘I’m rather more concerned with what was damaged, and how many casualties we took in the process.’
‘Point taken, governor.’ If Herren was abashed at being caught out in quite such a blatant attempt at toadying he hid it well, simply moving on as if the exchange had never happened. ‘Most of the damage appears superficial, which is only to be expected given how quickly the xenos passed the void station. No deaths or injuries reported yet, although that might change – if it does I’ll let you know.’
‘So they’re beyond the atmosphere now,’ I said, more to show that I was paying attention than because I was particularly interested. Eldar going away wasn’t a problem; it was the ones still coming at us that worried me. ‘Anything at all on the long-range augurs?’
‘Nothing we can target reliably,’ Herren said, with a touch of exasperation. ‘They’re moving too fast, and almost out of range in any case.’
‘Have you got anything up there that can intercept them?’ Fulcher asked, which seemed reasonable enough for a civilian unversed in strategic or tactical thinking.
Herren shook his head. ‘We’re deploying what assets we have left to defend the planet,’ he said. ‘None of our boats can accelerate fast enough, and if we tried we’d leave a gap in our picket line. Which may be precisely what they’re hoping to achieve, of course.’
‘I agree,’ I said, more or less accurately. It sounded pretty tenuous, but it wouldn’t be the first time that someone launched a feint attack to try to lure an impetuous defender out of position – in fact I’d employed precisely that stratagem myself on more than one occasion, finding it particularly effective against the orks. The eldar must have realised we were unlikely to fall for it, but offhand I couldn’t see any other reason for such a risky and apparently fruitless endeavour. ‘Unless they were reconnoitring some potential target on the ground. Anything of strategic value along their flight path?’
‘Just the hive itself,’ Porten said, after consulting the data-slate in front of him for a moment. ‘And I hardly think they’d need to get that close to be aware of its existence.’
‘Quite,’ Fulcher said, and glanced in my direction. ‘Any of your people out on the surface around there?’
‘No,’ I told him, with complete confidence. Kasteen and Broklaw had been adamant that if there was any grubbing around in an environment requiring the use of respirators to be done, it could be done by the local defence force, who’d been trained for this sort of thing; at least until an Imperial Guard unit with the appropriate expertise turned up. Our request for reinforcements had been acknowledged, but we still had no idea how long it would take a task force to get here, other than too long, and its constituent elements were a mystery known only to the Munitorum bureaucrats. A company or two of Death Korps would be ideal, given the environment, but if their past record was anything to go by we were just as likely to get Catachan jungle fighters and a ratling marching band.[112] ‘Our primary mission remains to secure Holdvast against eldar incursion, which we can best do from within it.’
‘What about the other hives?’ Osric asked, reasonably enough under the circumstances. ‘Are you just leaving them to fend for themselves?’
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that,’ I said, which was true, even though he’d pretty much hit the nail on the head; I’d have been a bit more tactful. ‘We discussed detaching a company or two to reinforce the Ironfound Defence in other hives,’ which was also true, although we’d only done so for a few seconds before coming to the unanimous conclusion that it was a truly terrible idea, ‘but even an entire regiment would be barely adequate to the task. Our assessment is that Holdvast will be the eldar’s primary target – it’s the largest, most populous, and most productive, not to mention the centre of planetary government. If it falls, the world falls.’ Not to mention the main reason for us being here, the webway entrance deep in the bowels of the underhive, through which the xenos were undoubtedly already swarming to gnaw away at the foundations. A secret everyone here was now privy to, despite Amberley’s reservations in that regard, as we could hardly be expected to coordinate defences against an attack none of our allies even knew was coming.
‘We can expect to see some activity in the underhive too,’ Porten said, obligingly bringing the matter up for me. ‘Probably a coordinated attack against the lower levels as the main fleet launches its orbital assault.’
‘That’s our thinking too,’ I agreed. ‘But at the moment we’re completely lacking intel on the enemy strength down there.’
‘Pretty near infinite, I’d say,’ a new voice chimed in from the doorway, and with a carefully suppressed sigh of heartfelt relief I glanced up to see Amberley strolling in, the huge bronze doors whispering closed behind her. She smiled at Fulcher, who was doing a pretty good imitation of a recently landed fish. ‘No need to get up, Septimus.’
‘Milady Vail.’ Though completely taken aback by her sudden appearance, the governor rallied fast. ‘I’m afraid this is a highly confidential meeting.’ A trace of puzzlement appeared on his face. ‘There were guards…’
‘Yes, there were,’ Amberley agreed cheerfully, settling into the vacant seat I’d assumed to be reserved for Defroy. If he turned up now he’d just have to stand, unless one of the defence force staffers did the decent thing, or was ordered to. ‘But they got out of the way when I showed them this.’ She held up her hand, allowing its electoo of the Inquisitorial sigil to flash into visibility. ‘People tend to do that.’ As usual after revealing her real identity she’d dispensed with the dressing up box, reverting to the plain crimson bodyglove and grey tabard she favoured when expecting trouble. Her bolt pistol was visible too, holstered in plain sight on the belt around her waist, along with a number of pouches, the contents of which I didn’t want to speculate too much about.[113]
‘You’re the inquisitor?’ Fulcher turned to Osric, who was looking even more taken aback, and who bit off whatever he was about to say with an audible snap of the jaw. ‘Is she really?’
‘I’m an inquisitor,’ Amberley said, coming to the arbitrator’s rescue before he could reveal Vekkman’s real identity as well, either directly or by a poorly executed attempt at evasion, ‘and that should be enough to be going on with. It was me who discovered the existence of the portal in the first place, and called the Militarum in to take care of it.’ She smiled around the table, in the puckishly disarming fashion that got people (all right, me) to do whatever she wanted, regardless of their own best interests.[114] ‘Ooh, is that a cyna bun?’
‘Allow me,’ I said, rising to fetch her some refreshment and enjoy the general air of consternation without having to work too hard at keeping my face straight. ‘Would you like some recaff too?’
She would, of course, but Fulcher was no fool, and pouring her one without asking would probably start him wondering how I knew so much about her personal tastes.
‘Please. With a sprinkle of cyna.’ She favoured me with a smile as I placed the delicate china cup on the table in front of her with a faintly audible clink of ceramic against stone, which was echoed a heartbeat later as the plate containing her bun followed. ‘Thank you.’
‘When you say pretty near infinite,’ Porten said, with the air of a man determined to get all the bad news out of the way as quickly as possible, ‘what exactly do you mean?’
‘Precisely what it sounds like,’ Amberley said. ‘The webway entrance in the underhive leads to a craftworld, along with uncountable other destinations. Think of a spacecraft the size of this hive, or larger. Then give it almost instant access to whatever resources they want, anywhere in the galaxy.’ From the expressions around the table, and the visible pallor on several of them, it was pretty obvious that this was not a picture anyone was happy with, least of all me. She took a bite out of her bun, and chewed for a moment with every sign of relish. ‘Of course the same thing applies to the portal in the Avernus subsystem as well. They can pop out there pretty much at will too, although given the travel time, I’d say they’re unlikely to bother once they’ve got a beachhead in the lower hive. Quicker and easier for them to get reinforcements in that way.’
