Choose Your Enemies, page 21
‘Human or eldar?’ I asked, although I didn’t suppose the little device’s machine-spirit could tell them apart, or would care that much even if it were able to.
‘Both, probably,’ Amberley said, as the distant crackle of lasgun fire began to echo down the tunnel, underscored by the sinister hiss of eldar shuriken. I drew my chainsword again, having scabbarded the relatively unwieldy weapon after our little run-in with the face-eaters, and silently blessed the foresight[145] which had led me to keep the laspistol ready for use in my other hand. Jurgen, of course, had kept the melta pointed ahead of us the whole way, and I moved up to join him, determined to get the full benefit of its protection if he needed to use it in a hurry.
‘Douse the luminators,’ I said, and darkness fell around us at once, in spite of my apprehension that I’d have to argue the point. For a moment or two the surrounding blackness seemed impenetrable; then, as I’d expected, my eyes began to pick up a diffuse glow in the distance, flickering faintly as the sounds of combat ebbed and flowed. ‘Good. At least we know where the enemy are.’
‘Coming this way, by the look of it,’ Jurgen said, aiming the melta carefully down the tunnel ahead of us. He was right, too; the glow was growing perceptibly brighter, while the echoing crackles and susurration of the firefight became correspondingly louder. ‘Looks like the locals have the eldar on the run.’
‘Or the other way round,’ I said, not quite willing to believe that we’d ever be that lucky.
‘Weapons ready,’ Amberley ordered crisply, ‘but don’t fire until you’re sure of a target.’
My aide emitted a phlegm-laden chuckle, and patted the melta. ‘I’m always sure of a target with this.’
‘Stay quiet,’ I said, as the rustling and clicking of guns being drawn and made ready to fire echoed in the air around me. I was under no illusion that whoever was approaching would pass by without noticing us, but the longer they remained unaware of our presence, the better I liked it. I listened to the voices in my comm-bead, which were growing clearer, and a little more excited than would be permitted by Imperial Guard vox discipline, but that was perfectly understandable given the circumstances. Lacking anything to orientate the combatants by, however, it was still impossible to tell yet whether we were being approached by planetary defence force troopers retreating from the eldar, or xenos interlopers being pushed back in the direction they’d attacked from. As the approaching lights grew brighter, however, I began to apprehend shadows in front of them, ducking and weaving, distorted by the wavering glow and the intervening distance as well as the rapid movements of people in combat trying to present as small a target as possible. After a while the shadows began to solidify, the profile of their crested helmets unmistakable.
‘Pointy-ears,’ Jurgen growled, all but inaudibly, and I nodded, responding with a few words of caution, almost as quietly as he’d spoken, hoping I’d still be heard by the others without giving our position away to the approaching eldar. As it turned out, though, I needn’t have worried; their attention was entirely on the local troops they were engaging, and any noises we might have made were being drowned out by the sounds of their own weapons.
‘Wait for it,’ I murmured, ‘wait for it… Fire!’
A withering barrage of las-bolts, pistol bolts and the actinic flare of the melta scythed out ahead of us, felling the scurrying eldar, who had no chance to register our presence or retaliate before they were mown down – which might strike some of you as a trifle unsporting, but which was fine by me. Still is, come to think of it; they’d have done the same to us in a heartbeat if they’d had the chance. One, a little luckier than the rest, survived long enough to bring his shuriken launcher round towards the general direction the barrage of fire had come from, only to be felled by a pistol bolt which detonated inside his helmet, pureeing his head, before he had the chance to pull the trigger.
‘Good shot,’ I said, unsure whether Amberley or Pelton had made the kill, and the former arbitrator accepted the compliment with a modest nod, slowly becoming more visible as the approaching light grew in intensity. There appeared to be several luminators fixed to the barrels of lasguns being carried, so far as I could tell behind their dazzling flare, by close to a full squad of the local defence force.
‘Who goes there?’ their leader called, a hint of nervousness trying to elbow its way past his business-like tone, and I was pleased to note that the front rank of troopers kept us covered as we emerged into the light. True, we’d just gunned down their enemies, but I wouldn’t have assumed our good intentions if I were in his shoes either. For all he knew we might have been a displaced scavvy gang, with designs on their weapons and ration packs.
‘Commissar Cain,’ I said, stepping forward fully into the light where they’d get a good look at me and, with any luck, not take too much notice of my companions. I gestured in Jurgen’s direction, reflecting that once they caught sight of him, none of the others would make much of an impression by comparison. ‘And my aide, Gunner Jurgen. We’re on a recon sweep, with a special ops team from our regiment.’ All right, the inquisitor and her retinue didn’t look much like any Guard troopers I’d ever seen, but Amberley’s dark grey bodyglove and the soberly hued utility clothing of her acolytes made them look similar enough to have possibly been in some kind of uniform intended to be used down holes like this, and I was pretty sure the sergeant in charge wasn’t going to be too familiar with Astra Militarum protocols anyway – especially as pretty much every regiment in the Guard has its own way of doing things.
I glanced at Amberley as I spoke, receiving an almost imperceptible nod, which reassured me I’d done the right thing in not revealing her true identity. No doubt the news that an inquisitor was active on Ironfound had spread through the ranks like a dose of the pox, but no one had to know just where she was and what she was up to.
‘Commissar.’ A young corporal, who looked about twelve to my jaded eyes, but was probably at least twice that, saluted smartly. ‘No one told us you were down here.’
‘That was the idea,’ I said, smiling confidentially. ‘If I’d gone through channels I’d just have been shown what the rear echelon chair warmers wanted me to see, instead of finding out what things are really like at the sharp end.’ Which was the right thing to say, of course. Long experience had shown me that the best way to get the squaddies on your side was to imply, without actually saying so, that you were more concerned about them than the officers further up the command chain.
‘We’re holding our own,’ the corporal told me, with a glance at the four eldar corpses on the floor at his feet, ‘but we’re grateful for your assistance all the same.’
I smiled again, calibrating it for just the right amount of warm approval. ‘Not that you seem to need it,’ I said. ‘But I’m pleased to have seen for myself that nothing I’ve heard about the fighting spirit of the…’ I squinted at his unit patch, which fortunately was perfectly visible from this angle, ‘Midfoundry Twenty-Third has been exaggerated.’ Which was true enough, as I’d never even been aware of the regiment’s existence before. Nevertheless, the implied compliment had the desired effect of boosting the morale of everyone present, who seemed to inflate a little at having been singled out by a Hero of the Imperium for their exceptional devotion to duty.
‘What are they doing?’ Amberley asked, a hard edge coming into her voice, and I have to admit to some puzzlement myself. Four of the troopers were kneeling over the eldar corpses, a little gingerly in the case of the one Jurgen had barbequed, prising the spirit stones away from their armour with the points of their combat knives.
A faintly puzzled frown appeared on the corporal’s face. ‘Collecting the stones,’ he said. ‘We’ve had orders to bring back as many as we can.’
‘Why?’ Amberley asked, and the young man shrugged.
‘No idea. They’re pretty enough, but they’re just dead weight on top of our kit, and if the pointy-ears know you’re carrying one they’ll fight like daemons to get to it instead of backing off when anyone with any tactical sense would just withdraw.’
‘And where do these orders come from?’ I asked, and, once again, the corporal shrugged.
‘Right from the top,’ he said, ‘that’s all the lieutenant said. One of those need to know things.’
‘Of course,’ I said.
The young man dropped his voice confidentially. ‘If you ask me, it’s that inquisitor everyone’s been talking about. No one knows why they do anything, but it’s bound to be important.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Amberley nodded, with a decisive glance up the tunnel behind the planetary defence force squad. ‘Is the way to the nearest gate still clear?’
‘Pretty much,’ the corporal confirmed, while I tried not to let my sudden surge of relief show on my face. ‘We’re holding the line for now, although a few of the eldar are managing to filter through.’ He nodded, with rather more confidence than tactical acumen. ‘Plenty more of our lads further up hive to stop ’em, though.’
‘Good.’ Amberley gestured us forward, past the troopers, who watched us go with politely restrained curiosity. ‘Then the quicker we get back the better.’
‘What happened to trying to close down the webway?’ I asked, once I was sure we were no longer in earshot of the local militia. Not that I was keen to resume trying to get to it, quite the contrary, but it wasn’t like Amberley to change her mind about mission objectives once we were out in the field.[146] Fortunately, however, she seemed at least as focused on this new one as she had been on the old, which was fine by me.
‘This business with the spirit stones changes everything,’ she said. ‘I want a word with Vekkman, about what in the warp he thinks he’s up to.’
NINETEEN
‘Spirit stones?’ Vekkman looked at the little pile of shimmering objects that had just clattered onto the polished steel surface of the conference table in the Adeptus Arbites office, where, exactly as Fulcher had intimated, he’d set up shop alongside Osric and his staff. ‘An interesting collection of gewgaws, but I don’t see what they have to do with the matter at hand.’
He picked one up, gingerly, staring at the pattern of lights rippling across its surface. Amberley and I glanced at one another in mutual surprise. I’d pictured a number of possible reactions from him during our long and relatively uneventful[147] trudge up from the depths of the underhive, but apparently genuine bemusement hadn’t been among them.
‘In that case,’ I said, already sure of the answer, but determined to go through with it because somebody had to, ‘why did you order the planetary defence force to collect as many as they could?’
This time there was no mistaking his astonishment. His eyebrows rose, and the spirit stone in his hand abruptly joined the others with an emphatic and resonant clunk! ‘I did no such thing. What would be the point?’
‘Precisely what we were asking ourselves,’ Amberley said dryly.
The conference room was small as such things went, and her voice carried easily across it. There were no external windows, which suited our requirement for privacy, and precious little furnishing beyond the table, the chairs around it and the inevitable aquila symbol of the Adeptus Arbites – which in this case bore a pair of scales heavily tilted in the direction of fealty to the Emperor in one talon, and a gout of flame in the other – dominating the wall. Pelton and Jurgen stood either side of the firmly closed door, bolt pistol and lasgun in hand respectively, ensuring our discussion remained uninterrupted. At least that was what we were pretending; Amberley still didn’t trust her Ordo Malleus colleague any further than she could drop kick a Titan, and I didn’t trust anybody apart from my aide, whose pervasive aroma was beginning to seep over to our side of the room, a reassuring olfactory presence. More specifically, given that most of the inquisitors I’d encountered apart from Amberley had been nuttier than a caba plantation, if I was going to be stuck with one in a room that had only one exit I’d be a lot happier knowing that Jurgen was standing beside it with a gun in his hands.
Vekkman shrugged. ‘If someone’s stockpiling them, they must have a reason. But it isn’t me, and I doubt very much that it’s Osric. You say the defence force troopers are collecting these things?’
‘That’s what the people we spoke to said,’ I confirmed, and Vekkman nodded brusquely.
‘Then I suggest you direct your enquiries to General Porten,’ he said. ‘Although what tactical reason he might have for accumulating these things, I can’t imagine.’
‘Ciaphas?’ Amberley asked, and I shook my head.
‘None that I can see,’ I admitted. Then, for courtesy’s sake more than anything, I turned back to Vekkman. ‘I hope your heretic hunt’s having better results.’
‘Making slow progress,’ he replied, with a barely suppressed air of frustration. ‘I’ve narrowed down the orbitals the cult might be active on, but until the xenos are dealt with pursuing my enquiries there would be difficult, to say the least.’
‘Quite,’ I said, as sympathetically as I could. By this point the war in space had become something of a stalemate. The larger orbitals were big enough to soak up an immense amount of damage and well enough armed to make the eldar think twice about coming within weapons range to invest them, as the risk of their ships taking enough of a pounding in the process to degrade their combat effectiveness was still great enough to be worth avoiding, while the system defence force had practically nothing left capable of challenging them. The upshot of which was that the eldar fighters and the Ironfound Defence Force air corps were fighting a grim war of attrition in the upper atmosphere – meanwhile, the risk of being caught in the crossfire, or downed by an eldar pilot with nothing better to shoot at, was keeping civilian traffic grounded.
After which there was little more to say, so, after a few conventional pleasantries, Amberley and I took our leave, even more perplexed than when we’d arrived.
Porten greeted us with a similar air of bemusement, exacerbated by an evident lack of sleep, which recaff and stimms had only been able to redress up to a point.
‘I’ve never seen one of these things before in my life,’ he said, turning the spirit stone Amberley had handed to him over and over in his hand, as though it might make sense if he could just see it from the right angle. ‘Quite pretty, though. Might need to get one for the wife.’ He yawned, in a jaw-cracking manner, which made his luxuriant moustache resemble nothing so much as a sump rat darting for the safety of its hole. ‘If she even remembers what I look like these days.’ He blinked, like something emerging from hibernation, and handed the glowing stone back to Amberley. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a briefing to give. Or listen to. One or the other.’
‘Get some sleep,’ I said. ‘For the good of the Emperor, we must all keep ourselves at peak fighting efficiency.’ Which was the sort of thing I was supposed to say, of course, but that didn’t make it any the less true. Porten had turned out to be pretty good at the job of defending the planet, or this particular corner of it at least, and his loss would undoubtedly put a crimp in the operational efficiency of the Ironfound Defence Force. So far, the invaders from the sump were stalled downhive of the gates, while their counterparts from space had only succeeded in breaching the upper part of the hive a handful of times, being beaten back successfully on each occasion. No doubt he had subordinates with a reasonable amount of tactical acumen, but Porten possessed the rare ability to hold both the detail and the bigger picture in mind which marks out an exceptional leader on the battlefield. Zyvan had it, and Macharius had it, according to my tutors at the schola progenium, but precious few others do.[148]
‘Maybe you’re right,’ Porten said, meaning he’d ignore the advice until it was almost too late, or was ordered to listen to it by a medicae.
Amberley, however, wasn’t to be deflected. ‘Then why are your troopers collecting them from the battlefield?’ she asked, with some asperity. ‘The ones we spoke to were adamant that they’d been ordered to gather them up.’
‘Not by me,’ Porten said, no doubt too exhausted to reflect that getting stroppy with an inquisitor wasn’t the wisest thing to be doing. He yawned again. ‘I’ll get some of my staff on it, find out where the instruction came from.’
‘That would be very helpful,’ Amberley said, sliding off the desk on which she’d been perching while we spoke. Porten’s office wasn’t large, especially with Jurgen and Pelton looming by the door, and floor space had been at a premium. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ Porten said, with rather more evident sarcasm than I suspected he intended. ‘Good luck with your enquiries.’
Amberley smiled, in the manner I’d learned to be wary of. ‘I don’t need luck,’ she said evenly. ‘But the people I investigate do.’
Despite which fine sentiments, we found ourselves in a sober mood as we reconvened in the villa Amberley had rented near the top of the spire soon after her arrival on Ironfound, which was just as opulent as I would have expected given her usual cover identity.
‘Somebody’s lying,’ Zemelda said, sprawling on a couch and stuffing palovine pastries into her mouth with her functioning hand. The other arm, now professionally trussed up by a medicae, was pretty much immobilised by bandages and a sling, but it seemed her mouth was still functioning normally at any rate.
‘Somebody’s always lying,’ Pelton said, which I suppose, given his current and former occupations, was a reasonable assumption to make. ‘The question is, who? Vekkman or Porten?’
