Rogue Trader

by Andy Hoare

  ‘I know,’ Brielle replied.

  Chapter Four

  ‘The council is in session,’ the orderly announced, the iron shod end of his ceremonial staff striking the floor. ‘General Gauge has the chair.’

  Lucian settled into the high-backed chair, still unused to the shape, for it was manufactured not for the comfort of the human council, but for the tau whose station they occupied. At least his eyes were adapting to the stark light, he mused, and he was getting used to the alien contours of the station’s design. Thank the Emperor it was the general’s turn to serve as chair of the crusade council, Lucian thought, for Wendall Gauge was a man that Lucian could respect.

  ‘Please, gentlemen,’ Gauge said as he sat, ‘make yourselves comfortable. We have much to discuss.’

  Lucian watched as the members of the council settled themselves in for what they all knew would be the final session before the crusade embarked upon its most ambitious phase. All members were present, including the huge figures of the two Space Marines who sat on the council, each barely fitting in the alien-made seats. Captain Rumann, the most senior Space Marine in the fleet, showed no apparent emotion at the victories he had commanded during the still-raging ground war on the world below. Sergeant Sarik however, sitting on Lucian’s left, radiated steely martial pride at the actions he had personally led.

  ‘I suggest we begin with reports to council. Who will speak first?’ the general asked, casting his stern gaze around the table.

  ‘I would address the council.’ Admiral Jellaqua spoke up, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat. ‘My command stands at eight capital vessels and nine escort squadrons,’ the admiral stated, his tone matter of fact, but professional pride glinting in his eyes. ‘In addition, I have three deep space support echelons in place, each with the capacity to carry the fleet to the other side of the galaxy and back.’

  Lucian allowed himself a small grin. He saw the truth through Jellaqua’s boast. He knew that the admiral had put in place a formidable auxiliary fleet, a vast force of long-range tankers, freighters, service vessels and transports. It was an impressive achievement, and the admiral had Lucian’s genuine admiration.

  ‘All ships of the line are approaching readiness, and I estimate full capacity within three days. The Regent Lakshimbal has undergone a significant refit of her port drive section following the damage sustained during the Sy’l’Kell action. By bringing forward her major centennial service, we have significantly improved her combat potential. In addition, the Duchess McIntyre has a full complement following the mutinies she suffered at Garrus. The new crew is veteran and trustworthy, and unlike the last lot, they know how the Navy deals with mutinous bastards that try to take over one of the Emperor’s warships.’

  As the admiral sat, the council members nodded sagely at his last remark. The admiral referred, Lucian knew, to the fate of the several thousand mutineers who had been ejected, in long, flailing lines, from the Duchess McIntyre’s torpedo tubes once the commissars and naval provost parties had regained control of the vessel. Lucian had thought it an imaginative form of execution, and certainly one that would give pause to any more such plots lurking within the fleet’s enlisted ranks.

  ‘Thank you, admiral,’ said General Gauge. ‘Captain Rumann, might we hear of your victories?’

  The Space Marine nodded in response to the general’s invitation, and stood. Captain Rumann made for an imposing figure, towering over the table and the other councillors sitting around it. When he spoke, his baritone voice was cold and mechanical, his vocal cords having been replaced by a bionic vox unit.

  ‘Council,’ the Space Marine said, his cybernetic eyes scanning each member in turn, ‘I have to report that the assault on the target world went according to plan. As you know, the assault on the orbital in which we reside was enacted by my forces, and spearheaded by three squads under Sergeant Sarik.’ At the mention of his name, the White Scar grinned savagely. The Iron Hands captain continued. ‘The station was cleansed within three point five hours, though no significant resistance was met. We believe that only a token defence force was left in place, while senior xenos were evacuated to the world below.’

  Sarik snorted at the captain’s assessment of the quality of the resistance, though Rumann showed no reaction.

  ‘The planetary assault operation is still ongoing. Our forces, spearheaded by the Scythes of the Emperor have made contact with a number of xenos troop types that we have not encountered before. It appears this race makes extensive use of anti-grav technology, manifested in heavy armour and jump infantry. Casualties amongst the Guard are running at twelve percent, with a commensurate drop in combat effectiveness. Casualties amongst Astartes units are at less than five percent, with no drop in effectiveness.’

  The Space Marine showed no emotion as he spoke of the first encounters with the tau armoured units, which had cost the crusade forces dear. The price had been paid in the blood and machines of the 17th Brimlock Dragoons, and Lucian had seen the pict captures of the Imperial Guard tank columns being ambushed by the fast moving tau vehicles. He knew that only the timely intervention of the crusade’s army reserve units had averted the massacre of the entire regiment and a humiliating defeat at the hands of the aliens.

  ‘Having secured the primary drop zone, Sergeant Sarik affected the capture of the tau high command facility. We believe the enemy’s­ command and control capabilities are rendered entirely ineffectual. The 9th Brimlock Fusiliers are supporting a general advance on objectives 23 delta through 67 gamma. I expect all resistance to have collapsed within twelve hours.’

  Polite applause rippled around the council chamber as the captain sat once more. Lucian leaned back in his seat, the reality that the crusade was really underway and achieving its ends beginning to sink in. He knew they had a very long way to go, for they had yet to even breach the Damocles Gulf, yet Lucian could not help but nurture a spark of hope, of ambition and of expectation at what might lie ahead. Yet, he knew too that this first battle would in all likelihood prove little more than an opening skirmish. The crusade had yet to utilise more than a portion of its strength, which included many more regiments of Imperial Guard and the towering, awesomely destructive war machines of the Adeptus Titanicus.

  Lucian watched as the orderly who had announced the council session convened approached General Gauge and spoke to him in a muted voice. Lucian took the opportunity to turn to his son, who sat in a second tier of seats behind that positioned around the table.

  Lucian leaned in towards Korvane. ‘Our status?’

  ‘Ninety nine percent, father,’ Korvane replied. Lucian caught the intonation straight away and leaned in closer to speak.

  ‘What is it, Korvane? I need to know if something’s wrong.’ As if to prove the truth of his comment, Lucian saw the orderly out of the corner of his eye as he moved from General Gauge and bent down to speak to Inquisitor Grand.

  ‘Well,’ Korvane said, ‘I can vouch for the Rosetta, as you can the Oceanid, but I fear I cannot vouch for the Fairlight.’

  Lucian looked his son straight in the eye. He noted as he did so that the rejuve treatments Korvane had undergone, following the terrible injuries he had received at the hands of the tau fleet at Arrikis Epsilon, had not been entirely successful. Lucian knew that his son would bear the marks of that battle for the remainder of his life.

  ‘What of Brielle?’ Lucian asked. ‘Has she not made ready her vessel?’ Even as he asked, he knew that even if Brielle had completed the preparations for her ship to cross the Damocles Gulf, she would not have volunteered such details to her stepbrother. She was becoming increasingly withdrawn, and had been for some time.

  ‘I have spoken with her officers, father.’ Korvane’s expression became dark and brooding as he spoke of his stepsister. ‘It appears that she delegated the task to her bridge crew and went aboard the orbital for some length of time. At that point, she
had not returned.’

  Lucian released a long sigh. This news did not surprise him, yet he could not help but be disappointed. He wished he could get up and leave, to track down his truculent daughter and shake some sense into her. But he could not, for even as he pondered the issue, he heard his name spoken as the general requested he apprise the council of his fleet’s state of readiness.

  Brielle would have to wait, he thought, standing to address the council.

  ‘It’s this way,’ Brielle said, her voice hushed, but urgent. ‘Three blocks in from the primary conduit.’

  Brielle scanned the dark corridor ahead of her, satisfied that the way was clear, for now at least. She turned her head to the figure trailing her, the man who had got her mixed up in the affairs of the tau back on Mundus Chasmata.

  ‘This had better be worth it, Naal. If anyone catches us I’m not sure even my father can protect me.’

  ‘My lady,’ Naal replied, ‘please, rest assured my masters will reward you for your aid. The prisoners are senior members of their caste, and what they know of the Empire cannot be allowed to fall into the crusade’s hands.’

  Brielle paused, momentarily paralysed by the weight of her actions. She was faced, as she had been so many times before, with awful duplicity. She knew that the crusade had embarked upon an evil folly of epic proportion, its course set upon the destruction of a culture it had no knowledge of. She, however, did have some knowledge of the tau, and was rapidly coming to the conclusion that they offered far more even than life as a rogue trader held for her. Yet, she was born and raised a scion of a mighty dynasty, and loath to throw away millennia of prosperity, and the status that came with it.

  ‘I understand that, and I agree that Grand and the cardinal must not be allowed to do to the other prisoners what they did to the first.’ She felt her gorge rise as she pictured the tau prisoner after his interrogation, and recalled the inquisitor’s scathing rant about the tau race. ‘If the inquisitor could extract that much information from just one prisoner, I dread to think what he might find out from all of them.’

  ‘Quite so, my lady,’ replied Naal, ‘and I offer you my personal thanks for your aid.’

  Brielle did not reply, concentrating instead upon negotiating the warren of tunnels leading to the detention block. This section of the station was at present ill-lit, the tech-priests having shut down entire swathes of the station’s systems while they installed generatoria of more appropriate, human-made, design. Brielle had noted how the station was already beginning to feel like a manmade, rather than alien-made, installation. Formerly bright-lit passages were now dark. Where the air had been filtered and clear, now holy incense circulated through the conduits, and where clean lines and unadorned surfaces met the eye, crudely draped cabling snaked along the walls, votive parchments fluttering in the camphor scented breeze.

  She continued down the corridor, indicating with a glance that Naal should follow. The pair walked openly rather than sneaking in the shadows, yet neither wanted to be noticed. Brielle knew that questions would be asked were she to be observed and reported on. She also knew that Naal would be arrested instantly were he to be questioned by one of the Guard provosts or munitorum bully-boys who maintained order on the station. Naal had no official standing in the crusade, no provable rank or identity, and so would come under grave suspicion were he to be found in the vicinity of the detention block. Brielle knew that even her influence would do little do aid Naal should he be caught. She had already decided what she would do were that to happen, though she had yet to admit it fully to herself.

  The pair came to a junction, and Brielle peered around one corner, while Naal craned his neck around the other. ‘All clear, my lady,’ Naal said, awaiting her lead. Funny, Brielle mused, that Naal, human envoy of the tau and therefore traitor to his race, should continue to address her in so formal a manner. They had shared the risks of battle at Arrikis Epsilon, and she had shared her bed with him many times since, yet still he maintained the role of servant or advisor, exactly the role he had performed under his previous human master, the traitor Imperial Commander of Mundus Chasmata.

  ‘Which way, my lady?’ Naal asked. Brielle knew that he was fully aware of the route to the detention block.

  ‘This way,’ she nodded to the left. ‘We’re on top of the conduit now, so get ready.’

  Brielle saw Naal pat a concealed weapon under his left arm. Brielle drew her own, a laspistol of archaic design and priceless heritage, checked the charge, and returned it to its holster. She would rather settle this by stealth and subterfuge, but if she had to resort to violence she would do so. It was, after all, for the greater good, she mused, setting off along the corridor, the entrance to the detention block visible at its end.

  ‘Thank you gentlemen,’ General Gauge said, standing as the last of the councillors completed his address. ‘Now, onto the real meat of the matter,’ he said, activating a stud on his console, raising a triangle of three large pict screens from the centre of the table that flickered into life as they rose. ‘Strategy.’

  The general looked around the table, his scarred face turning to each councillor in turn. Lucian had heard the tales of how those scars had been attained, though he scarcely believed that a man could survive some of the encounters the old Catachan Guardsman was said to have won.

  ‘Our plans to this point have assumed a jump off point here,’ he said, pointing to a region of local space displayed on one of the screens. ‘The fleet crosses the Gulf and musters here,’ he continued, pointing to another grid, ‘ready for further action. Comments?’

  ‘That plan,’ Lucian spoke up before the likes of the cardinal could interrupt, ‘assumes we face no more than a handful of occupied and defended systems. I still say that if we go in all guns blazing and find ourselves up against well-defended systems we will have the worse of it.’ Lucian saw the cardinal bristle at his words, but continued, ‘We must offer them terms the instant we cross the gulf, and give them the impression we’re just the spearhead. Then, they’ll be ours.’

  Cardinal Gurney surged to his feet. ‘Nonsense! To show them mercy is to admit weakness, and thereby to blaspheme the Emperor! I will have no part in a scheme to pacify, where our mission is to decimate.’

  ‘And pray remind me,’ Lucian replied, feeling his blood rise, ‘where in our charter does it state we are to exterminate the tau out of hand?’

  ‘I care not for legal niceties, Gerrit,’ the cardinal spat back. ‘I can see no other course, and believe such an action would be entirely justified and ratified.’ The cardinal looked pointedly towards Inquisitor Grand as he said the last, who nodded almost imperceptibly by way of affirmation.

  Lucian had wondered at what point the cardinal would play his best card: his alliance with the inquisitor. He doubted that this was the last time Gurney would do so. Lucian had gone up against some powerful enemies before, from Imperial Commanders to retired High Lords of Terra, but had yet to cross swords with the Inquisition. He knew that to do so was madness, for the inquisitors had the licence to perform any act in the name of the Emperor, to command entire armies and to order the destruction of worlds. That Grand was apparently so subtle in exercising his power spoke to Lucian of a greater game, perhaps one in which the inquisitor was but the pawn of higher members of his order. Whatever the truth, Lucian resolved to tread carefully, to engage only the cardinal in open dispute.

  ‘Gentlemen, please,’ growled the general, ‘we agreed at the outset that we would resolve the issue upon crossing the Gulf, for we have no idea what lies beyond it. The tau might only occupy a single system, in which case we can expect little trouble. They might occupy more, perhaps as many as five, but as yet we simply do not know what we face.’

  ‘This is indeed the case.’ Magos Jaakho stood as he spoke, the general sitting in response. ‘This entire region is anathema to my order, for it bears no resemblance to the surveys submitted
when last an explorator fleet passed through.’ Lucian had read of that last survey, which took place almost six millennia past, but had yet to hear the magos speak of it.

  ‘If it weren’t for the stringent rites and procedures of my order, I would have concluded upon my arrival that those ancient charts were incorrect, for they bear no resemblance to what we see here before us.’ The magos indicated one of the pict screens before the council with a sweep of his arm, a metallic finger emerging from a voluminous red sleeve to point out the swirling eddies of stellar matter that made up the entire region. Within that cauldron of stars lay the Tau Empire, and before it, the Damocles Gulf.

  ‘According to the records in my possession, this region should bear no significant dissimilarity to any nearby cluster. Yet, it seethes with energies the natures of which I can only guess at. I would cross the Gulf, and discover what lays beyond, tau or no tau.’

  ‘Well said,’ said Lucian, seizing the half of the statement he agreed with. ‘If we exterminate the tau we may never know what’s behind the phenomenon. No doubt they have studied the matter in some depth.’

  The magos nodded, giving Lucian some hope that he might have swung the explorator lord to his point of view, and in so doing, against the cardinal’s.

  ‘So then,’ Lucian said, ‘can we agree that upon crossing the Gulf, the fleet is to muster as previously agreed, whereupon the council will convene to decide the next course of action?’

  The cardinal fixed Lucian with a venomous stare. ‘What possible course of action could possibly face us, other than war?’

  ‘I fully expect war,’ Lucian replied, his voice low and dangerous. ‘I am prepared for it, but I also wish to be prepared for what comes after it.’

  Gurney smiled, his face taking on the leer of some daemonic gargoyle. ‘What comes after, Gerrit? Nothing comes after. All that will remain of them, of the tau, will be bones and ashes.’