by Andy Hoare
Where was she, Lucian pondered as he stepped out into the passageway? The ancient wood panelling on this deck appeared like the colour of blood under the red lighting of ship’s night, and the brass fittings lining the bulkheads gleamed in the dark. Only the ever-present rumble of the Oceanid’s warp drive disturbed the silence, and few crew were to be seen at this hour. It was Lucian’s favourite time, when the third watch were the only men on duty, the remainder fast asleep, or gambling and whoring in the lower decks.
He chose a direction at random and set off along the companionway. As he walked, he considered the problem at hand. Brielle, his daughter whom he loved dearly, had undertaken a course of action that he had no understanding of at all. It appeared that she had taken it upon herself to free the tau prisoners, but why would she do such a thing? Though he loved her, Lucian knew that Brielle could be selfish in the extreme, so he could not fathom what had caused her to attempt to free the tau prisoners. More to the point, what had she hoped to achieve in doing so?
As he passed through a wide bulkhead door into the Oceanid’s central thoroughfare, a thought occurred to Lucian. Had his daughter hoped to use the prisoners to gain some leverage within the crusade’s command structure? Perhaps she hoped to help him, seeking some advantage that the Arcadius might bring to bear upon their rivals.
No, Lucian thought with a wry smile. He knew his daughter better than that. Though she would act for the benefit of the Arcadius, he did not believe she would have acted quite so selflessly as to put herself so squarely in harm’s way, not unless she stood to gain enormous benefits from doing so.
And what of her fate now that she had fled the crusade? She was out there, somewhere, far beyond his capacity to aid her. She had fled in a tau shuttle, not even attempting to regain the Fairlight. That in itself posed yet more questions. How had she piloted the alien vessel – had she coerced the aid of a tau pilot not captured in the initial assault upon the station? Did she intend to return at some point, and if she did, what could Lucian do to protect her against the wrath of Inquisitor Grand?
The thought of the inquisitor brought a silent shiver of revulsion. Lucian had met with the agents of the Inquisition before, indeed, he had worked closely with the Ordos of the Emperor’s Holy Inquisition on several occasions, but Grand somehow stood out amongst its widely individual men and women. There was something deeply… unwholesome about Inquisitor Grand. For a start, he was clearly a political creature where many of his peers considered themselves far above such petty concerns. Grand, it seemed, was content to work within the crusade’s power structures, lending the weight of his authority to its ends without bringing to bear the full power he was entitled to wield. Clearly, Lucian mused, the inquisitor and Cardinal Gurney shared some agenda, had some arrangement, or were perhaps both enamoured of some higher power. There were not many above a cardinal and an inquisitor, but the parent organisations of each man were notoriously complex, so anything might be possible.
Lucian wandered on, drawn along the central spine of his vessel. The companionways were still deserted, though he did catch sight of the occasional servitor engaged upon the endless tasks the constructs enacted upon his vessel. Many such tasks, routine maintenance of non-essential systems, were best performed at such a late hour, so as not to inconvenience the crew as they went about their duties during ship’s day. Passing the central armoury, Lucian felt a faint tension in the air, and realised that the feeling had been with him for quite some time.
Lucian halted in the centre of the passageway. He told himself that it was the warp and the Damocles Gulf. He’d seen men driven mad by even the briefest voyage through the weirdling depths of the empyrean, and this journey had been particularly taxing. The entire region still pulsed and writhed with formless energy, entirely beyond the understanding of the fleet’s most learned tech-priests. What effects, both physical and spiritual, those energies might be exerting upon the hundreds of thousands of crusaders none could tell. What Lucian did know, was that he, and others, were growing steadily more concerned as the crossing of the Damocles Gulf proceeded.
A distant sound drew Lucian’s attention, breaking his chain of thought. From a junction up ahead, one passage from which led to the Oceanid’s cargo decks, he heard an odd chanting. The song was atonal, the voice cracked, but he recognised its owner straight away. He set off in the direction of the sound.
Turning starboard at the first junction, Lucian climbed down a short ladder, taking him onto the main cargo deck. There was a long corridor before him, which receded into the distance as it ran the length of the vessel. Large blast doors mounted in the bulkhead every twenty metres or so denoted the entrances to the smaller cargo holds. In front of him, the blast door leading to the primary hold was ajar, the wan crimson illumination of ship’s night spilling forth. The chanting was clearly audible; it was coming from the primary hold.
His curiosity piqued, Lucian stepped through the open portal and out onto the vast cargo space. The bay was so large that its ceiling was lost to darkness, and even the outer hull doors were shrouded in distant shadow, several hundred metres away. The hold was nigh empty, the goods that the Oceanid transported kept in the many secondary holds, or held in deeper storage in the stasis chambers. Lucian fully intended the hold to be entirely filled on the return however, whether with trade goods or with booty.
As the chanting grew clearer, Lucian saw its source. A spindly, emaciated figure sat cross-legged in the very centre of the hold. It was, as Lucian had guessed, his astropath, Adept Karaldi.
Lucian approached cautiously, wary of the man’s mental state following his encounter, and not entirely certain that Karaldi should even be out of the medicae bay. As he approached, he saw that the astropath still wore the blood-specked surgical gown that he had worn the last time they had met. Furthermore, catheters trailed from his twig-like arms, which were bruised and pinpricked with all the syringes that had impaled them.
Standing over the cross-legged astropath, Lucian cleared his throat. The man’s chanting ceased, and after a long, drawn out moment, Karaldi craned his neck to look up at his master through empty eye sockets.
‘My master,’ the astropath said through dried and cracked lips.
‘Adept. What is occurring? Why are you out of the medicae bay?’
The astropath’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, before he replied. ‘Please, my master, sit with me a while.’
Hesitating to do the bidding of a man obviously pushed way past the boundaries of sanity, Lucian squatted in front of the astropath.
‘Speak, Karaldi. What ever transpires, I am your master, and you are my astropath. This vessel needs us both or all is lost.’
‘Indeed,’ Karaldi replied, a smirk creasing his purple lips. ‘Right now, you need me more than you could know. That’s what I was trying to tell them…’
‘Tell who, adept. Please, speak clearly.’ Lucian suppressed a growing impatience, knowing that the astropath could read his surface emotions only too well.
‘The chirurgeon and his sisters of mercy,’ Karaldi replied, his cracked voice straining with a fear that Lucian could not place. ‘Something’s coming, master. Something’s already here, and I don’t think I can do anything to keep it out.’
‘What’s here, adept? What’s among us?’ Lucian fought to keep his voice steady, feeling the strain of the voyage weighing down upon his shoulders as never before. ‘What can I do, adept. How can I help you?’
At that the astropath merely smiled, though his expression was entirely devoid of mirth. ‘It is not me you must help, my lord, not me.’
‘What must I do then, who must I help?’
‘You will know, my lord, when the moment is upon you. You will know what you must do.’
With that, the astropath lowered his head and resumed his chant. Lucian lingered a moment longer, before standing up straight and slowly looking around the vast cargo ba
y. The shadows appeared all the darker, as if formless horrors lurked within each, ready to snatch at any who passed too near. He shook his head, as if he might shake off the weird feeling that had stolen over him with the astropath’s words. He could not of course, for only when the Oceanid had crossed the Damocles Gulf would he be free of the oppressive taint that enshrouded his very soul.
In the meantime, he had the astropath’s warning to contend with. Some new threat evidently stalked the corridors of his vessel, or awaited it deeper within the Damocles Gulf.
Chapter Ten
‘May I?’ Brielle asked her tau host, indicating the bowl of purple fruit on the low table between them.
‘Please do,’ the envoy replied. ‘The Tau Empire is both bountiful and generous.’
Brielle smiled demurely, though inside she considered the alien’s words hollow and unsubtle. She took one of the round fruits and bit deep into it, considering her situation as she chewed. She cast her eyes around the chamber. It was the same, stark white she had come to associate with the tau. The lighting was diffuse and the furniture low and typically spartan. The only visible decoration was a round icon dominating one, otherwise plain, white wall; an icon she had seen repeated across the ship, and one she had come to regard as some form of national emblem.
This was her fourth meeting with the water caste envoy. He had introduced himself with a long and intricate name consisting of many interlinked parts, but she had come to call him by the first segment of that name, Por’el, and he had appeared quite content with that. After the initial, highly formal meetings, Por’el had appeared to take a more relaxed approach to his dealings with her. The envoy had appeared content merely to talk, to enquire informally on a whole range of subjects, but had not, as yet, made any solid proposal or proposition. Brielle knew that would not last; the tau wanted something from her, that much was obvious, and at some point she would have to decide exactly what it was that she wanted from them. Circumstance had driven her here, but, she knew, fate still had a lot more to reveal before her course would become clear.
‘Por’el,’ Brielle said as she finished her fruit, ‘I am, as ever, grateful for your ongoing hospitality. May I enquire how I might serve you today?’
Por’el bowed his head, his black, oval eyes glinting in the stark white light of the small, but comfortably furnished chamber. Brielle had found him incredibly well informed regarding human social mores, though she suspected he had only the somewhat quaint, by high court standards, manners of the eastern rim sectors to go by. Nevertheless, Por’el seemed highly skilled at assimilating new social forms, and had adapted quickly to Brielle’s more relaxed style. She knew that it was the sign of a highly accomplished diplomat, and she had resolved to be especially cautious in her dealings with him.
‘Today, Lady Brielle, I had thought to tell you some more of our empire, that you might be more informed of our ways, and of our intentions.’
Brielle’s guard was instantly up. She had guessed that the envoy was building towards something, and perhaps now, she might get some idea as to what. Perhaps, after weeks aboard the water caste vessel, there might finally be some form of deal on the table. She sat back in the recliner, catching herself before she placed her feet on the low table before her.
‘I would be honoured to hear your words,’ Brielle replied, determining to listen very carefully indeed to what the envoy had to say.
‘I would tell you,’ the envoy began, ‘of our society. I and my masters wish you to see some of the perfection that comes from the Greater Good, that you might spread such knowledge amongst your own people, for the profit of all.’
Brielle nodded, her mind analysing Por’el’s intentions even as he spoke. Did he expect her to return to the Imperium and proselytise the Greater Good?
‘You see,’ Por’el continued, ‘the Imperium, as encountered by my people, appears to us fractured and disparate. It is spread across a wide area of space, so I am informed, yet each small group of worlds is almost entirely cut off from the greater community, or at least cut off from it for long stretches.’
The envoy looked to Brielle as if affording her the opportunity to correct him should he prove misinformed. She nodded that he should continue, for his words were true, even if he appeared more than a little ignorant of the Imperium’s size.
‘You enjoy mastery of many technologies still unknown to us. Yet, you have little understanding of the elementary forces at work in the universe. Instead of seeking such understanding, you indulge in needless ceremony and superstition, believing the cosmos populated by creatures that, in fact, exist only in your nightmares.’
Brielle raised an eyebrow at this, but allowed the envoy to continue without interruption.
‘When you make contact with other races, you rarely open any form of dialogue with them. Instead, the human race sees enemies in every corner of the galaxy.’
Again, the envoy paused, giving Brielle the chance to correct him. She considered his words, judging them essentially true, even if they did not necessarily apply to rogue traders such as her.
‘There exists among the ranks of humanity, however,’ Por’el went on, ‘those who do not share this view. Others such as I have established links with a number of planetary rulers, each of whom appeared quite content to have dealings with us, even though such a thing was proscribed by their own laws.’
‘Those rulers,’ Brielle interjected, ‘have been replaced.’
‘Of that I have no doubt,’ Por’el replied, ‘but the seed has been planted, for you are here, now, are you not?’
‘I am,’ Brielle said, ‘though I am doubtful as to how that might serve your aims.’
The envoy smiled, though Brielle suspected the expression was for her benefit, for his wide, flat mouth appeared unfamiliar with the movement. ‘Therein lies the path to the Greater Good we must all follow. Lady Brielle, it is quite beyond my station to decide how you might serve the aims of the Tau Empire. I am merely a servant, whose role it is to facilitate your journey. Therein lies the dialectic through which a resolution may be found.’
‘Might I ask, Por’el, how you intend to do so?’
‘Indeed, Lady Brielle. I propose to bring you before a council of my masters. I propose to take you to my homeworld, to show you everything the Tau Empire has built, that you might compare its glory to that of the Imperium, and make your own decision as to your true calling. Should you decide to act on behalf of the empire, then you will have all the support you require to do so.’
Brielle took a deep breath, seeking to steady her nerves lest she show any outward reaction to the envoy’s words. What Por’el proposed could lead her to a position of enormous influence, perhaps one from which she could profit enormously. But it might also lead to her being labelled a grand heretic. The Damocles Gulf Crusade might throw its entire effort into bringing her to justice. But, she considered, perhaps there was a middle way. Perhaps, she could accomplish her original aim and stymie the insane ambitions of Cardinal Gurney and his tame inquisitor. Perhaps she could do so in such a way that she might return to her clan in a position of power, one from which her runt of a stepbrother could never assail her. Perhaps, she smiled as the idea formed, she could lead the Arcadius to glory, forcing her father to hand the dynasty to her, and her alone.
She realised that Por’el was watching her, his face returning to its normal, inscrutable expression. ‘I thank you for the opportunity to serve,’ Brielle said.
‘That,’ Por’el replied, ‘is all any of us can ask for.’
Lucian was reaching for the decanter to pour a third glass of svort when the intercom by the cabin door buzzed. He considered ignoring the irritating sound, but decided to answer it. Too many unsettling events were occurring on his vessel for him to ignore even a routine communication.
He stood, and crossed to the intercom.
‘What!’ He spoke into the brass horn pr
otruding from the ornate console. This had better be good, he thought, casting a glance back at the half empty decanter.
‘My lord,’ a female voice he did not recognise came from the horn, ‘this is the medicae bay.’ It was one of Estaban’s assistants. ‘The Chirurgeon, sir, he requests your presence, urgently.’
Lucian could hear an obvious element of panic in the woman’s voice. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. If the chirurgeon was unable to speak, then something very wrong was occurring.
‘It’s Master Karaldi,’ she continued, her voice cracking even more. A voice raised in obvious anger interrupted her, before she continued. ‘My lord, Master Karaldi has gone mad! He’s ranting and raving that something is on the ship, that you are in great danger!’
‘Well enough,’ replied Lucian, the last effects of the two glasses of svort vanishing entirely. ‘Inform Chirurgeon Estaban that I’ll be with him shortly.’
‘Thank you, my lord,’ the woman replied, relief evident in her voice.
‘And please,’ Lucian added, ‘ensure that no harm comes to Master Karaldi. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir, but he does not respond to any of the sedatives we have administered, we fear he may…’
‘Good!’ Lucian cut in. ‘We may need him, mad or not. Do not, under any circumstances, attempt to sedate him, that is a direct order.’
‘Yes, my lord,’ the woman replied, raising her voice over a background din of shouting. ‘Please hurry!’
Lucian cut the channel and made to open the door. Something gave him pause, and he looked back into his cabin. He saw his holster lying over a high backed chair, and considered for a moment taking up his arms. No time, he thought, and besides, he would hardly have need of his plasma pistol or his power sword in the medicae bay, no matter how out of control the astropath had become.
