[Ravenor 03] Ravenor Rogue - Dan Abnett

by Dan Abnett

  He waited while she untied her long, sheathed sabre from the war-bike's frame.

  "Let's go in," he said.

  "Let's."

  "If you don't mind me asking... what's its name?"

  She cinched the sword harness tighter around her shoulder.

  "Evisorex," she replied.

  THREE

  I sit waiting for them, in a pool of sunlight in the drawing room. I have banished my party to the far corners of the house, just in case. The only ones I allow to be present are Carl Thonius, leading the visitors in, and Harlon Nayl, bringing up the rear.

  Nayl is walking with the woman Angharad. I find I am insanely jealous. Arianhrod was the only woman I ever loved, in my physical life. She died just a few short months before I was maimed and reduced to this state, and somehow, tragically, that had made it better. If Arianhrod had still been there, I would have...

  Killed myself. Killed myself, without a doubt.

  But she had died first. I had coped with all of my loss.

  And now... her doppelganger appears. A Carthaen swordswoman so physically reminiscent of my long lost love it is painful.

  I turn my chair to face Myzard.

  "Gideon," she announces. "Good to see you."

  +And you, Ermina. Do you have any objections to thought conference? I can kick in my voxponder.+

  "Mind's fine," she says, and sits down on a tub chair that groans.

  "Meet the others," she says. "D'mal Singh."

  The tiny woman with the gun hounds nods. The hounds snuffle and whine.

  "Tarkos Mentator."

  The old savant, bent on his cane, also nods.

  "Shugurth."

  The ogryn bows.

  "Interrogator Claudel and Interrogator Gonzale. Interrogator Ballack."

  The man and the woman in the long coats snap to attention. Ballack inclines his head with a smile, his face framed by his long white hair.

  "Angharad Esw Sweydyr."

  The towering swordswoman beside Nayl makes no movement whatsoever.

  "Inquisitor Fenx."

  The man in the black body armour makes the sign of the aquila.

  "And this is Inquisitor Lilith."

  The woman in the ochre gown with the ash-blonde hair offers me a respectful nod.

  +Lilith. I've read your work and admired it. You have, I understand, a particular interest in the eldar xenotype.+

  "I have, sir. And I have read your work too, and adored it," she answered.

  +Thank you.+

  "Well, now every one loves every one else," says Myzard, "let's get to business. Gideon, you have to stop. You are this close to being branded a rogue." She holds up her left hand and pinches the forefinger towards the thumb to indicate the distance.

  I open the slot on the fore casing of my chair and display my blue rosette. +I am operating under Special Condition, and my Lord Rorken knows this.+

  Myzard folds her hands. "Such an understanding goes only so far. It's time to stop."

  "Molotch is still out there." Thonius says.

  +My own interrogator, Carl Thonius,+ I send.

  "We've met," says Myzard. "Yes, Molotch is out there. But he's a loose end that others can deal with. You are requested to stop."

  +Requested?+

  Myzard sniffs. "Ordered. Requested is so much more mealy-mouthed. We've been requesting you for months and you've been avoiding us. Now it's an order."

  +From my lord?+

  The senior envoy nods her head. Fenx steps forward and draws a sealed data-slate from his belt pouch. He holds it awkwardly for a moment and stares at my chair.

  "Is there somewhere... somewhere I can insert this?"

  "I've an idea," mutters Nayl from the back of the room.

  Myzard sniggers. "Play nice, Gideon. Dataport?"

  I open a dataport on the side of my chair unit and Fenx loads the slate. I open it, spin it out, and extend the hololithic display around me in my dark cocoon of virtual light. The missive has been recorded by my Lord Rorken personally. It is as if I was standing next to him. He looks tired, frustrated. He says my name. I kill the rest of the sequence. I don't need to see any more. Rorken is the only man I answer to, and he has spoken.

  +All right. I'll come back in. There, it wasn't so painful, was it, Ermina?+

  "Thankfully no, Gideon. Look, you have to understand you're not about to be censured. Rorken is pleased with your work. So am I, dammit. On Eustis, you did an extraordinary thing. You stopped something that could have destroyed everything. All of us."

  +Oh, so you have read my report?+

  "Cover to cover," says Lilith. "But it is the very magnitude of the event that forces your recall, sir. Enuncia alone, and the collective knowledge of it gathered by your team, must be examined in forensic detail. A - forgive me - curt report is not enough."

  "And there is the matter of Eustis Majoris itself," says the savant Mentator. His voice is as involved and thready as old, fused wiring.

  "What matter might that be?" Thonius asks.

  "The damage," says Mentator. "The destruction. The deaths."

  +Am I to be held responsible?+

  "Oh, for goodness sake, Gideon," Myzard says, getting to her feet and looking around the room. "It's going to take years to rebuild the subsector capital. This whole region is in crisis, you understand? Crisis?"

  +I know what crisis means.+

  "Eighteen planetary governments about to fall. There are currency issues. Faith issues." Interrogator Ballack was speaking fast, quietly. "A loss of belief in Imperial rule. General unrest. Strikes and civil disobedience on nine major planets. A mutiny at the Navy yards on Lenk. The list is extensive. I won't bother you with every detail, but you need to understand... if Molotch had succeeded, he would have busted this subsector, this sector even, apart at the seams. You stopped him. But the price of you stopping him was still extensive. Scarus sector is damaged and fragile. Repairing the infrastructure will take generations. We need your help."

  +My help?+

  "It is essential that you and every member of your team is extensively debriefed," says Interrogator Gonzale. "That process might take months. We can learn from you, inquisitor. And what we learn from you may save us years in the rebuilding process."

  "Put simply," says Myzard, "you can't just make a big old mess and leave others to clean it up."

  I know this. I have been avoiding it. It is a necessary part of any inquisitor's work. After the Gomek Violation, I spent three years in restorative, cooperative study with the planetary government. After the Nassar case, my old master Gregor Eisenhorn devoted the better part of a decade on Messina, tidying up behind himself. After the Necron Wars, Inquisitor Bilocke, blessed be his memory, set aside the remainder of his life to repairing the governments and substrate of the Tarquin Stars. Myzard is still looking around.

  +Carl, perhaps you could rustle up some wine and some food for our guests?+

  Carl nods. "No problem, sir."

  "That's very kind of you, Gideon," Myzard says, sitting down again.

  "What about Molotch?" Nayl asks. Everyone looks around at him.

  "Did I say that out loud?" he adds. "Good. What about Molotch?"

  "What about him?" asks Fenx.

  "He's loose. He's free. He's out there."

  "Out where?" asks Inquisitor Lilith.

  Nayl shrugs a shoulder. "Out there. In Basteen."

  "We've no reason to suppose he's here," says Fenx.

  "Haven't you?" Nayl asks. "We have."

  "Evidence it," demands Claudel.

  Nayl pauses. I feel for him. He is so loyal. "I can't just do that. It's-"

  +It's a hunch.+

  Myzard stares at my chair. "A hunch?"

  +Don't look at me like that, Ermina. A hunch. Yes, a hunch. I do that, and look what I do.+

  "So noted. I trust you. But a hunch?"

  +He's here.+

  "A hunch is not enough."

  +I have... faith.+

  Myzard and Fenx
exchange looks.

  +Molotch must be brought in. He's been at large for too many years. He's rabidly dangerous. That's why I've stayed out so long, ignoring your calls. I have to bring him in.+

  "You're too close, Gideon."

  +That's why I'm the one to do it.+

  "No, you're too close, Gideon," Myzard repeats. Carl comes back in with a tray of drinks, and Myzard takes one. "Molotch is your nemesis. You're twinned in destiny. Such a long, involved duel you've fought, down the years. You're too close. It's becoming a disadvantage."

  +I don't believe so.+

  She sips her drink. "That's your prerogative. But I'm telling you this, Gideon, in all frankness... the reason you've never brought Molotch down is that you're too close and therefore not the man to do it."

  +Rubbish.+

  "How many times have you killed him now?" Lilith asks. "Two? Three?"

  +He's tenacious.+

  "He's nigh-on bloody invulnerable to you." Myzard smiles. "Molotch isn't here, Gideon. He's fled. You're obsessed, and tired, and too long on the chase. You're needed elsewhere. Let other, fresher minds hunt Molotch down."

  +You might be right,+ I concede.

  "I am right. Good wine, by the way." Myzard puts her glass down.

  +I'll take your word for it.+

  "We are very able, inquisitor," says Fenx.

  +I'm sure you are, sir.+

  "We will find Molotch and bring him to justice," says Lilith.

  +Am I allowed to ask how?+

  Myzard nods. "We have agents active all across the subsector. Some are uncovering strong leads. Fenx and his team leave Tancred tonight for Sancour. In two days, Lilith and her party head out for Ingeran. Six hours later, my interrogator here, Ballack, commands a party to the Halo Stars."

  +You say you have leads?+

  "Currency accounts on Sancour have been traced to Molotch," says Fenx. "They've been accessed in the last month. That's a strong lead."

  "I have sourced Cognitae holdings on Ingeran to Molotch," says Lilith. "Orfeo Culzean has territory there. Someone is trying to dissolve those assets. That's also a strong lead."

  "Orfeo Culzean's collection of deodands was shipped out, via an unnamed cash wafer, to Encage, three weeks ago," says Ballack. "The collection had been held by the hotel at Petropolis. They were routed as cargo on a bulk trader."

  +I know. Don't waste your time. It's a double blind.+

  Ballack shrugs. "We'll see."

  "It's over, Gideon. You can stop now, and rest." Myzard says.

  +All right,+ I sent. +He's your problem now. Just don't come crying to me when-+

  "Might I have some more wine?" Myzard asks, holding up her glass.

  "You're just going to roll over on this?" Kara asks after Myzard has gone.

  +I think so. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life hunting Molotch?+

  She stands beside me in the courtyard of the house. Evening has stretched the shadows out into long, grey lines.

  "No," she answers. She looks at me. "Because I don't believe it will take the rest of our lives."

  +Because we're close?+

  "Because we're close. You believe so, so does Patience. You feel it."

  +It's still just a hunch. I have no solid proof. I felt quite embarrassed trying to explain it to Myzard and her people. Trying to justify...+

  "What?"

  +Gregor trained me to follow my instinct. But he also warned me against obsession.+

  "He should talk," she smiles.

  +I've been sparring with Zygmunt Molotch for a lifetime, Kara. Myzard's right. It's become too personal. I can't see past it. So I have to let it go. The repair of Eustis Majoris is an obligation I cannot ignore. Every word they spoke was correct. In fact, I think they were quite diplomatic about it, all things considered. I have a duty to the rank I hold. I bested Molotch soundly and should content myself with that. For Throne's sake, let others waste their days hunting the mad bastard to his doom.+

  Kara shakes her head and sits down on one of the stone benches. Over the years I have come to appreciate how gorgeous she is. Not beautiful like Kys, but warm and curved and appealing. I have known her physicality from inside, waring her on so many occasions. She is the closest thing to a lover I can claim any more, although only in the most tenuous, perverse sense. And now she has another in her life. A man who can provide her the simple, human consolations I will never manage. I know she feels this too. She has been far more unwilling to let me ware her lately. I chide myself that I am a fool for feeling cuckolded.

  I am surprised and, I hate to admit it, delighted by her persistence.

  "What about closure?" she asks.

  +It's overrated.+

  Kara snorts. "Since when? Gregor always chased proper closure."

  +And look where he ended up. That's not for me. I have strayed as radically as I am comfortable with. I will not plunge on and become a rogue.+

  I can taste the disappointment in her suddenly, even though I am not touching her mind. She cannot hide it. "What about the rest of us, Gideon?" she asks.

  +What about you?+

  "Did you not consider that we might need closure too? For Majeskus? For Norah and Will and Eleena? For Zeph?"

  +That's low.+

  "But it's true."

  +Service is its own reward.+

  "Not actually," she says, getting to her feet. "For you, maybe."

  +I thought you'd be pleased.+

  "Pleased?"

  +We'll be here another week while I get my affairs in order. Then we'll return to Eustis Majoris. Once there, it will be a long and forensic process of evaluation and report. The team will be non-active. It would be a good time for self-review and reorganisation. For changes. I thought you would be pleased at the opportunity.+

  "Again, 'pleased'?"

  +I have sensed there is something on your mind, Kara. I think I know what it is.+

  "There's nothing on my mind."

  +There is-+

  "There's nothing! Get into my head if you want to! Take a look! But stop inferring from my surface moods! There's nothing!"

  +Very well.+

  "I mean it."

  +I can tell.+

  She stares at me. She seems angry. Or is it guilty?

  +I won't probe. I trust you.+

  For a fleeting moment, Kara looks let down. She begins to walk away. "We need closure," she says.

  +We got it. On Eustis Majoris, we got it. The rest is just housework.+

  "But you had a hunch," she says. "Your instinct told you he was here."

  +Kara, I hate to diminish myself in your eyes, but it's quite possible I have been fooling myself. History makes me want to finish the business with Molotch and, moreover, I have little appetite for the arduous chores awaiting me on Eustis. This chase has become displacement activity, putting off the inevitable. Yes, I had a hunch. Just a hunch, and sometimes they don't pay out.+

  "Yours always do," she says. Throne, how those words will come to haunt me.

  +Not this time. Molotch isn't here. My hunch is empty air. It's time we stopped this and got on with something useful.+

  FOUR

  Naked, Orfeo Culzean lay face down on a suspensor couch, and allowed the inker to finish composing the final deed across the small of his back. Culzean found the tiny prickle and pinch of the inker's needles quite stimulating. The quiet gave him time to think, space to think. The tiny pain kept his thoughts sharp. His mind was a huge, purring engine, always active, and it benefited from reflection. Time to think, to consider, to pace around a problem and survey it, end to end.

  "In my experience," he said out loud, "the Imperium is full of holes, and the trick is to identify those holes and exploit them."

  Working tightly with his steel needles, dabbing them occasionally into the ink pots spread out on the floor beside his knees, the inker grunted acknowledgement. He did not understand Culzean's words, because Culzean was speaking idrish, a Halo Star dialect he'd picked up in his formative yea
rs. The inker assumed his client was murmuring some pain-relieving mantra. People often found the needle work excruciating.

  "I mean, billions and billions of lives, all herded and ordered by a vast bureaucracy. You find the spaces in that, you see. The gaps. You don't disrupt the system, for that makes you visible. You inhabit the voids within its structure and disappear." The inker grunted again.

  Culzean shook his head. Fools, idiots. They were all fools and idiots. Except Molotch and Ravenor. And for the benefit of the former and the beguiling of the latter, he was engaged in this present business. It was a task few men could have risen to. But he was singular. And there would be rewards. My, what rewards there would be.

  The exclave's perimeter alarm buzzed quietly. Lucius Worna got up to see to it. The huge, scar-faced bounty hunter, brought into Culzean's employ by fate and circumstances, had been sitting silently in a dark corner of the room like a stone idol. Culzean thought Worna an impressive specimen, though he preferred to work with more subtle, delicate tools. But there were times when the crude muscle and firepower of a beast like Worna were indispensable.

  After a minute or so, Worna reappeared through the door at the end of the long room, followed by Leyla Slade and Molotch himself. The candles flickered in the draft. "Leyla! Zygmunt!" Culzean called, looking up. "Busy?" she asked, grinning. "Naked busy?"

  "You are a tease, Leyla Slade." Culzean chuckled. "The nice man with the needles is almost done."

  The exchange had been made in Low Gothic, and the inker understood it. "I am almost completed," he said.

  Leyla nodded. "Making us legal?" she asked her master in idrish. Molotch looked on.

  "Just so." Culzean replied in the same dialect. "The deeds to the exclave, transferred to my skin. All legal and above board. This work makes us invisible to the system."

  Tancred's properly laws were obtuse and ancient. Ownership of land, dwellings, estates and slaves were considered binding only when they were tattooed onto flesh. A man had to have the deeds of his legacy pricked into his skin before the legislature would regard him with any genuine authority. The Guild of Inkers was an ancient and trusted office, and plied their trade in the merchant quarters. When deeds were transferred, existing tattoos were blacked out. To be blacked was to be disowned or disinherited. Certain ruthless and prosperous landowners entered the legislature wearing the dry, rustling skins of those they had inherited from, like capes.