Anarch - Dan Abnett

by Warhammer 40K

  ‘By your father,’ said Tzara. ‘The Guard operates through excellence. Training, experience, and hard-won seniority. Not nepotism.’

  Merity felt her cheeks flush hot.

  ‘I’m sure it does, ma’am,’ she replied. ‘I’m sure that’s why the third, ninth and fourteenth companies of the Keyzon host are commanded by your sons.’

  Tzara blinked. Her mouth formed a sharp, pursed, horizontal line.

  ‘Ballsy,’ she remarked, and turned back to Biota.

  Biota had removed his spectacles and was looking at Merity with a frown.

  ‘We reviewed the disposition of the Keyzon about four hours ago,’ he said. ‘You remembered that detail?’

  ‘I’m trying to remember everything I can, sir,’ said Merity. ‘So there’s some point in me being here.’

  Biota raised his eyebrows, put his spectacles back on and turned back to the table.

  ‘Right, let’s continue,’ he said. ‘Marshal, kindly run us through–’

  There was another knock at the chamber door.

  ‘If that’s Lugo, he’s an hour early,’ snapped Biota.

  Relf answered the door. ‘It’s a commissar,’ she reported stiffly. ‘Requesting my lady Chass.’

  ‘I’ll step out so you can carry on,’ said Merity, getting up. She went to the door as Tzara began her report.

  It was Fazekiel.

  Merity stepped into the hallway. Relf followed.

  ‘No need,’ Merity said.

  ‘I’ll say what’s needed,’ Relf replied. She closed the door behind them, then stood with her back to it, gazing at the wall opposite.

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt,’ said Fazekiel. ‘I see you’re busy.’

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘I’m still conducting the investigation. I want to re-interview everybody involved. Blenner, Meryn, you. Just go over it again.’

  ‘There’s nothing much I can add that you don’t already have,’ Merity replied. ‘I was unconscious during the… the murders.’

  ‘Well,’ said Fazekiel, ‘your memory might throw up something, even if it doesn’t seem pertinent to you.’

  ‘Her memory’s very good, it seems,’ said Relf from behind them.

  ‘I don’t know, commissar,’ said Merity.

  ‘Well, think about it,’ said Fazekiel. ‘I’m based in the undercroft with the regiment billet. If you think of anything, come and find me. Anything at all, all right?’

  Merity nodded.

  ‘And maybe tomorrow, when you’re not tied up, we can run another interview just for the record.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Merity.

  Fazekiel nodded.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ she said. ‘I won’t keep you.’

  An air battle was underway to the south. Most of it was hidden by the low cloud cover of the rainstorm, but they could hear the blow-torch growl of thrusters and odd pops and crackles. Occasionally, a white dart would become visible, rolling and swooping against the black clouds, a canopy briefly catching the sun. Varl had told her they were Lightnings, probably out of Zarak East, running an interdiction patrol to maintain Eltath airspace. Curth didn’t know anything about that, but she knew that a skirmish was underway. She sat in the cab of the cargo-10, reviewing her medical reports, but the sporadic noise of the battle kept drawing her attention.

  Something flashed. A silver dot, about five kilometres west. She saw it screw-roll down out of a great dark, buttress of low cloud, blurred by the rain. A flurry of tiny lights suddenly surrounded it, a cloud like fireflies or sparks cast up by a bonfire. They swirled for a second, then streaked away, lost in the cloud. A moment later, the entire cloud bank was back-lit by a fierce series of yellow flashes, flames blooming behind the dark vapour. The staggered pops of the multiple detonations reached her after a second. By then, the silver dot had gone. She saw something drop out of the cloudbank. A streak of fire that fell straight down, the sunlight flashing off wing panels as they folded around the fireball and fluttered away. The streak of fire vanished behind the rooftops.

  Someone rapped at the window of the cab door.

  Curth got out and climbed down. The rain was worse than before.

  ‘They’re all loaded and secure,’ Kolding told her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘I can go with them,’ Kolding offered.

  ‘Colonel Rawne’s ordered me to do it, so…’ she shrugged.

  Curth’s inclination was to move with the main force, but they were carrying forty casualties from the action at the Tulkar Batteries, and nine were critical. Her oath as a doctor made those souls her responsibility, and her position as the regiment’s chief medicae landed the duty firmly in her lap. Rawne knew that. The casualties needed more than a field station. They needed the surgical and intensive facilities of the Urdeshic Palace.

  Across the shattered street, beyond the line of waiting transports, Rawne was briefing the officers. The Ghost companies were drawn up along the length of the street, standing at loose order, resting, and using the blown-out shop fronts as partial cover from the downpour.

  ‘Major Pasha has command of the primary group,’ Rawne said.

  ‘We can move at once, sir,’ Yve Petrushkevskaya replied confidently. ‘Three hours to the location, barring mishaps.’

  Rawne nodded. ‘Asa Elam and Ferdy Kolosim are your line officers. Chain of command flows through them. Pasha gets final operational say. All clear?’

  The company commanders all nodded.

  ‘First section, B Company, goes with me to the secondary,’ Rawne continued.

  ‘Just one section?’ asked Obel.

  ‘Don’t question me,’ Rawne replied.

  ‘But it’s a fair question,’ said Criid.

  ‘We’re stretched as it is,’ Rawne replied. ‘The primary objective needs everything we can throw at it, which is fething little as it stands. The Suicide Kings have handled him before, so we can handle him now. In and out.’

  First section, B Company had become known as the Suicide Kings when the regiment first took custody of the enemy asset known as the pheguth. No one doubted they had the best level of experience.

  ‘But if there’s trouble…’ Kolosim began.

  ‘Trouble can kiss my Tanith arse,’ Rawne replied. ‘Get your companies up and ready to move. That’s it.’

  ‘No cheery words of inspiration, sir?’ asked Theiss.

  Rawne paused. ‘Am I known for that sort of thing?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Theiss admitted with a grin.

  ‘Then imagine me sending you thoughts and prayers,’ Rawne said.

  The officers laughed.

  ‘I tell you what,’ said Rawne. ‘These orders come directly from Gaunt. That should be enough for all of you. Feth, imagine it’s him standing here briefing you in this fething rain. I’d prefer that. I’d be much happier sitting in the palace with my boots up on a desk. Get on with it.’

  The group broke up. The company officers – Criid, Kolosim, Theiss, Arcuda, Elam, Obel, Spetnin and the rest – strode back to their waiting men, shouting brisk orders. The drenched Ghosts began getting to their feet and shouldering their packs. Ludd moved among them, yelling strong words of encouragement.

  Rawne turned and saw Curth waiting.

  ‘Ready to go?’ he asked.

  ‘Honestly,’ she said, ‘I’d be happier going with Pasha’s formation. It’s bound to get ugly.’

  ‘Pasha will have Kolding and the corpsmen,’ said Rawne. ‘Besides, this isn’t about your preference. I gave you an order.’

  ‘You did.’

  ‘No disrespect to Kolding, but I think you’re the only one who can get them to the palace alive.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Now, about an escort,’ he said.

 
Curth shook her head. ‘You need everyone you can get. Don’t waste anyone on a guard duty. We can get there.’

  He looked at her.

  ‘I’m serious,’ she said. ‘We’re making a run to the palace through what should be friendly territory. We’re not heading into danger. You are.’

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  Curth turned away, then looked back at him, wiping rain off her face.

  ‘I don’t know what this is about,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting into…’

  ‘Join the club,’ Rawne replied.

  She rested her hand on his arm gently.

  ‘Just don’t die,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll see how that goes,’ he replied.

  She turned and walked back to the waiting transports.

  ‘Start them up!’ he heard her shout.

  The heat was fierce. Jan Jerik could feel the sweat pooling in his boots. He paused, wiping the visor of his mask, to check the duct number stencilled on the wall.

  ‘This way,’ he said, his voice muffled.

  There was a junction ahead. The main shaft of the vent continued north-west. To the left was a grating mouth that had rusted open. The geotherm network had been built a long time ago, and the secondary ducts were not well-maintained. Only the grates of the principal ducts still operated, opening and closing huge iris valves in response to over- and under-pressure demands.

  Jan Jerik sloshed to a halt in the soup of mineral swill that flowed along the base of the duct. He raised his lantern, and the light illuminated the old grating through the rolling steam.

  ‘Here is your division,’ he said.

  Corrod and Hadrel stepped forward. The sirdar consulted his chart. Jan Jerik could hear the wet, rasping respiration of their mucus-thick snouts.

  ‘This runs to the secondary?’ Corrod asked him.

  ‘All the way,’ Jan Jerik nodded.

  Corrod and Hadrel faced each other.

  ‘Select your team,’ Corrod said.

  Hadrel nodded, and began pointing at packsons in the line behind him. Seven of the Archenemy warriors split from the main group and came to stand with Hadrel.

  ‘He dies,’ said Corrod.

  ‘He dies,’ Hadrel agreed.

  They both raised a palm to their mouths in a brief salute.

  Corrod turned to Jan Jerik.

  ‘The main duct takes us to the primary?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ said Jan Jerik. ‘I’ll show you–’

  ‘No,’ said Corrod. ‘You, and your men, you are no longer needed. We will find the way from here.’

  ‘But we’ve not yet–’ Jan Jerik began.

  ‘Go back. You’ve done your part. Forget us. Say nothing. If the warp approves our endeavour, then we will return, and the voice of our lord will reward those who have served him in this. The courage of House Ghentethi will not be forgotten.’

  ‘Well,’ the ordinate wavered. ‘His voice… his voice drowns out all others.’

  ‘Go back now,’ said Corrod.

  Jan Jerik nodded. He signalled his men and they began sloshing their way back down the line, returning the way they had come. He looked over his shoulder, and saw Hadrel leading his team into the rusted grating.

  He kept walking. At every step, he expected Corrod’s daemon-men to fall on him from behind, to butcher him and his subordinates to ensure their silence.

  No strikes came, but he would never shake the feeling of death at his heels, not for the rest of his life.

  He looked back again. Through the darkness and steam, neon eyes watched his departure.

  ‘You’re all right then?’ Kolea asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Dalin nodded. ‘You?’

  ‘It’s been eventful,’ said Kolea. ‘Yoncy?’

  ‘She’s around here somewhere,’ said Dalin. ‘She’s a little shaken.’

  ‘I’d like to see her,’ said Kolea. ‘She’ll be scared, especially as Tona’s not here. Look…’

  ‘What?’

  Kolea looked uncomfortable. ‘Dal, I’ve… I’ve never been much of a father to you, to either of you–’

  Dalin laughed and held up a hand. ‘Seriously?’ he said. ‘Where’s all this sentimental crap coming from? This isn’t the time or the place, and it probably never will be. We’re Ghosts. This is our life–’

  ‘I just wanted to say–’ Kolea insisted, quietly urgent.

  ‘You don’t need to,’ said Dalin. ‘What’s brought this on? It’s not the end of the world… well, no more than it ever is.’

  Kolea smiled. ‘Things just don’t get said, you know?’ he replied. ‘Not the things that matter. It’s always too late. A day goes by and suddenly, someone’s not there to speak to any more. So many times over the years, I’ve realised it’s too late to talk to somebody.’

  ‘Are you expecting to die?’ Dalin asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are you expecting me to die?’

  ‘No,’ said Kolea. He shrugged. ‘My mind’s been a jumble for a few weeks now. Gaunt helped me get it straight. Yoncy’s really all right?’

  ‘Seems to be.’

  ‘Dal, have you ever thought there’s something different about her?’

  ‘She’s my sister. She drives me mad.’

  ‘I’d better find her,’ said Kolea. ‘She’ll probably hear me out with more patience than you.’

  ‘Look, I appreciate what you were trying–’

  ‘Dal, feth take the sentiment of it, I want you to know… you and your sister… I’d walk into hell for you both. I mean it. While there’s breath in me, I’ll stand between you and anything–’

  ‘I know,’ said Dalin.

  ‘Good then.’

  ‘Can we go back to being normal now? This is awkward.’

  Kolea laughed.

  ‘Gol!’ Baskevyl’s voice echoed down the hallway. Kolea turned and, past two Munitorum workmen rolling out flexible piping for a pump unit, he saw Baskevyl wave to him and brandish a bottle.

  ‘Come and join us!’ Baskevyl called out.

  Kolea shrugged a ‘maybe’.

  ‘Go on,’ said Dalin. ‘Do you good. I’ll go and find Yoncy and bring her round to you.’

  ‘All right. I really want to see her.’

  Fazekiel appeared, striding down the hallway, stepping neatly over the unrolling pipes.

  The smell hasn’t got any better, then?’ she said.

  ‘They’re working on it,’ said Kolea.

  ‘Nice to have you back, major,’ she said. ‘Trooper Dalin?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am?’

  ‘I’d like some time with you. In half an hour or so?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am. Concerning?’

  ‘The incident at the billet. You were the last one with… Felyx before the attack.’

  ‘Is she all right?’ Dalin asked. ‘Merity, I mean?’

  ‘She seems fine.’

  ‘I’ve got an errand to run. Half an hour, then?’

  Fazekiel nodded. The three of them went their separate ways.

  In a side room nearby, Meryn leaned against the cold stone wall beside the open door.

  ‘She’s relentless,’ he said quietly.

  Blenner didn’t reply. He sat on the dirty cot, and knocked back a pill with a swig of Meryn’s amasec.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Meryn. ‘You swallow it. Keep calm.’

  Blenner looked at him with poorly disguised contempt.

  ‘We’re good, Vaynom,’ said Meryn. ‘For now. But she’ll come back to both of us too. More questions. So keep the story straight and keep it simple.’

  Blenner rose to his feet. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘you have to ask yourself if it’s worth it. Throne knows, I don’t want to lose what I have. And forget a shit-duty posting or a de
motion. This? It’d be a headshot for me.’

  He looked at Meryn.

  ‘But Luna’s good. She’s got a ferocious eye for detail,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she can catch anything, but if she does–’

  ‘We stick to the story.’

  ‘And live with the guilt? I’ve lived with shame most of my career, Flyn, one way or another. But guilt? Guilt this heavy?’

  ‘Take another pill, Blenner,’ said Meryn.

  ‘Don’t you just ever want to let it go?’ Blenner asked. ‘No matter the consequences, just let it all out? Get that weight off you?’

  ‘No,’ said Meryn. ‘Because I’m not a fething idiot.’

  Blenner smiled sadly. ‘No, I don’t suppose you are.’

  ‘Are you going to crack on me?’ asked Meryn. ‘You sound like a coward who’s close to giving up. But then, you always have. You suddenly going to grow a fething spine and face the music?’

  Blenner shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’m not worried about me. It’s you that bothers me.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘You shift stories like you change clothes, and you’ve got the wit to sell them too,’ said Blenner. ‘I think if it gets close, you’d throw me under the wheels to save yourself. Feth, you did it to that idiot Wilder. Whatever it takes to cover your arse. Throne, I can imagine it.’

  Blenner put on an earnest but wheedling voice.

  ‘“It was all Blenner’s plan. We had to go along with it because he’s a commissar. He threatened us with the brute force of the Prefectus. Summary execution if we didn’t go along with him. And he’s hooked on pills too. I was too afraid to speak up, sir, but I need to clear my conscience now…”’

  Blenner smiled at Meryn.

  ‘I can hear you doing it. Blinking those wide, handsome eyes. I mean, no one likes you, Meryn, but they all just think you’re a snake. A self-serving creep. They have no idea how truly toxic you are.’

  ‘And they won’t,’ said Meryn. ‘Will they?’

  ‘No,’ said Blenner. He put his cap back on. ‘I’ll keep to the story. But you keep leaning on me, I might decide the guilt and all that shit just isn’t worth it.’

  He patted Meryn on the shoulder.

  ‘Feth,’ he grinned, ‘maybe I am growing a spine after all. How about that?’

  Luna Fazekiel had a small room at the north end of the undercroft. Just enough space for a cot and a folding desk. She had the picts laid out there, all the images she’d captured on site at Low Keen. It was a damned shame they hadn’t been able to preserve the scene, and an exam of the bodies brought back from Low Keen – Gendler, Wilder and Ezra – had revealed nothing useful.