by Dan Abnett
'No.' He got to his feet and squinted out of the car window, trying to see something, anything, in the blizzard. 'We've had this conversation before, or at least one like it. About Cherubael'
He turned to look at me. He was so very old. 'You are an inquisitor of the Glorious Imperium of Mankind. You are dedicated to the destruction of evil in any facet of its three classic forms: Xenos, Malleus, Hereticus. You face unimaginable hazards. Yours is the most arduous task undertaken by any Imperial servant. You must use every weapon at your disposal to protect our culture. Even the arsenal of the enemy. And you know full well that sometimes such uses have consequences. We may now regret your actions with Pontius Glaw, but without those, Quixos would not have been brought down. We can play the "if only" game all day. The simple truth is that victory comes at a price, and we are paying that price now. The true measure of your character is what you do about it/
'I correct my mistakes. I bring down Pontius Glaw/
'I have no doubt of that/
Thank you, Aemos/
He sat down again. This Tarray woman. How does she fit in?'
I showed him the census record. The Tarrays were a low caste family on Gudrun during Glaw's organic lifetime. Then the line stops abruptly, but reappears on Quenthus. I think the Tarrays, or at least a Tarray, was amongst Glaw's retinue, and he took them to Quenthus. I need you to look into mat at Locastre/
'Locastre? But we're only going to be stopping there for forty-five minutes/
I gestured to the window. 'It'll probably be longer given the weather, but you'll have to move fast. I'm going to use the time to access the Aegis account/
The handle of the locked connecting door ratcheted back and forth.
'Gregor?' It was Crezia.
'What are you doing locked in there?' she called through the door.
'Just discussing things with Aemos/
They're serving hot punch in the salon. I thought we might mingle/
'In a minute/1 called out in reply. There was a lurch and the train started to move again.
I looked at Aemos. 'The things we've spoken about... they don't go any further. Not yet. Crezia doesn't need to know, neither does Eleena, come to that.'
'My lips are sealed/ he said.
We came out of the blizzard and down a comfortable gradient into Locas-tre. It was nearly midday. The bad weather lurked like a grey wall behind us, veiling the Uttes, but reports suggested it was moving into the valley.
At Locastre, the porters announced a ninety minute stop.
I told Eleena to make sure the express didn't leave until Aemos and 1 were safely back.
Locastre occupies a cleft valley gouged by glaciers. The old buildings are dark grey - granite stands in for the traditional Gudrun ouslite used in the lowlands - and the altitude and climate is such that pressurised, heated tunnels of armourglas sheath the streets. I hired a servitor litter and had it scurry me through the warm, damp street tunnels, as ominous squalls of snow peppered the transparent roof above.
Outside the office of the Astropathic Guild, I told it to wait and left my credit bar locked into its fare-meter as good faith. It settled low on its spider-limbed chassis, venting steam from its hydraulics.
There was a message from Nayl waiting for me in the Aegis account. He had made good time, and was already in New Gevae. Passage off-world had been arranged with a freighter called the Caucus. He was eager to see me.
Nayl's communique was in Glossia and I phrased my reply the same way. Weather permitting, we would be in New Gevae in two days. On arrival, I would arrange a meeting with him.
'Is that all, sir?' asked the adept attending me.
I remembered Crezia's comments over dinner about Nayl being trustworthy. I added another line, suggesting that the situation reminded me of the tight spot we'd been in on Eechan, years before, facing Beldame Sadia.
'Send it, please/ I said.
Up at the station, the express sounded its horn.
The express rumbled up into the Central Atens, chased by the weather. Despite the fact that we were now scaling some of the steepest and longest gradients in the route, the locomotive was running at full power, trying to outpace the snows for as long as it could.
The main range of the Atens, through which we now travelled, included the greatest mountains on Gudrun: Scarno, Dorpaline, The Heledgae, Vesper, Mount Atena. Each one dwarfed the peaks like Mons Fulco that we had encountered earlier. They seemed as dark and cyclopean as tilted continents.
They were also beautiful. Peerless tracts of blue-white ice, unblemished leagues of snow, sharp sunshine that almost twinkled like starlight in a vacuum.
Until, before nightfall, it all vanished. Freezing fog and vapour descended like a stage curtain, sealing out the light and dropping visibility to a few dozen metres. Then snow began to flutter again and our speed decreased. The weather had caught up with us.
'Gregor?' I had been watching the snowstorm. 'Come in here/
Crezia beckoned me through the connecting door. Medea was awake.
The cyberskulls hovered back to give me room as I sat down beside her cot. She looked tired and drawn, faded almost. But her eyes were half open and she managed a thin smile as she saw me.
'Everything's okay. You're in safe hands/
Her mouth moved, but no sound came out.
'Don't try to speak/ Crezia whispered.
I saw curiosity in Medea's eyes as she focused on Crezia.
'This is Doctor Berschilde. A good friend. She saved your life/
'...long...'
'What?'
'How long been sleep?'
'The best part of a week. You were wounded in the back/
'Ribs sore/
'That will pass/ said Crezia.
'They... they get us?'
'No, they didn't get us/ I said. And they're not going to get us either/
Shrouded by the bitter blizzards and maintaining no more than sixty kilometres an hour, we journeyed on across the roof of the world. I ventured out into the public areas and even to the salon a few times, and found that diverting entertainments had been laid on: buffet meals, music, card schools, a regicide tournament, screenings of popular hololithic extravaganzas. Uniformed Trans-Continental personnel were out in force, keeping everybody happy and volubly disseminating the notion that being caught in an Atenate icestorm was all part of the romance of the famous rail line.
And not a potentially lethal misfortune.
If the locomotive derailed, or the power plant malfunctioned, and the train became stranded in the midst of a blizzard that lasted more than a couple of days, we'd freeze to death and they'd have to wait until spring to dig us out.
Of course, in the nine hundred and ninety years of the Trans-Atenate Express's operation, that had never happened. The train had always got through. It was a remarkably secure form of transport, given the terrain it crossed.
But there is a first time for anything, as people can be forgiven for thinking. Years of experience warned the train staff to start reassuring and distracting the passengers the moment weather closed in, or they'd have a panic on their hands. The idle rich can be such worriers.
* * *
We came to a halt four times before dawn the next day. The first time was at about ten in the evening. The tannoy informed us that we were waiting for wind speeds to ease before crossing the Scarno Gorge Bridge and that there was no cause for concern. Less than five minutes later, we were on our way again.
I was still awake at one when we gently coasted to a stop again. I felt uneasy, and after fifteen minutes, tucked the autopistol into my belt, strapped Barbarisater to my hip and covered them both with Aemos's long green over-robe.
The hallway was dark, the lights dimmed to an auxiliary amber. Little green cue lights glowed on the staff-only monitor display that was set in the panelled wall at the end of the car.
I heard someone coming up the spiral stairs from the car's lower deck and turned to see a steward who regarded me quizzically.
'Is everything all right, sir?' he asked.
'That was my question. I was wondering why we'd stopped.'
'It's just routine, sir. We're just coming over the Scarno Gradient and the Master Engineman has ordered a check of the braking elements in case of excess icing.'
'I see. Just routine.'
'Everything's perfectly safe, sir/ he said with well-rehearsed assurance.
As if to prove him right, the lights flickered and we were moving again. He smiled. 'There we are, sir.'
I went back to my cabin. I barely marked the two further stops we made that night. But I kept my weapons to hand.
The second full day of travel passed without incident. The weather alternated between long, furious blizzards and quick, glorious episodes of sunlit calm. We stopped five more times before supper. Five more routine hesitations. The tannoy whispered that though we were behind schedule, we were likely to make up time once we were clear of the mountains and crossing the Southern Plateau in the latter part of the following day.
I was growing impatient. I found myself pacing the train a lot, end to end. I even took Crezia to the salon for lunch and stayed long enough to play a board or two of regicide with her.
Medea was gaining strength. By the afternoon, she was sitting up and eating for herself. The cyber-skulls disconnected all her drips except the vital monitor. We took turns to sit with her. I let Eleena tell her the details of what had happened since the attack on Spaeton House. Medea listened intently, increasingly dismayed.
When it was my turn to spend an hour at her side, she said, 'You came back for me.'
'Yes.'
'You might have been killed.'
You would have been.'
They killed Jekud,' she said after a pause. 'We were running across the paddocks and they cut him down/
'I know. I felt it/
'I couldn't help him/
'I know/
'I felt terrible. After all he had done to show me my father. And I couldn't save him/
'It was probably quick. The Vessorine are ruthless killers/
'I thought I heard him call out, after he had fallen. I was going to turn back for him, but they were everywhere/
'It's alright/
She took a beaker from the bedstand and sipped. 'Eleena says they killed everyone/
'I'm afraid they might have/
'I mean, not just here. The Distaff. Nayl. Inshabel/
I nodded. 'Someone was very thorough that night. But here's a thought to cheer you: Nayl's alive, and so's Fischig. We're going to meet up with both of them/
That made her smile. 'How did Nayl get away?'
'I don't know. He hasn't given me any details. It would seem he got wind of something and left Messina before the attack. I'm looking forward to finding out what he knows/
'Like who's behind this, you mean?'
I winked. That, Medea, I already know/
Her eyes widened. 'Who?'
'I'll tell you when I've confirmed my suspicions. I don't want you worrying unnecessarily/
'Now that's just cruel/ she scolded. 'I won't be able to think about anything else now/
Then see what you come up with/1 suggested. Medea was privy to most of my operation, and I thought it might be interesting to see if she arrived at any conclusion herself.
The jolt made me strike my head against the side panel of the bed and woke me up in time to feel two more hard judders before the train came to a complete stop.
It was nearly three in the morning and pitch black. I could hear the ice flakes pattering like small arms fire off the window of the cabin.
Every halt we had made so far had been smooth and gentle. Not like this.
Aemos had woken too, and sat up as I turned on the sidelight and strapped on Barbarisater.
'What is it?' he asked.
Nothing, I hope/ The inter-cabin door opened and Eleena looked in.
'Did you feel that?' she asked sleepily.
'Find your pistol/1 told her.
We woke Crezia and got all three of them into Medea's cabin. Crezia looked befuddled and worried. Eleena was wide awake by then and checking the cell of her weapon.
I pulled on Aemos's over-robe to conceal my own armaments.
'Stay here and be vigilant,' I said and then left the connecting suite via the door to my cabin.
In the gloomy hall, I could hear movement in the other cabins, low voices and the occasional pip of a summoning alarm as worried passengers tried to call the stewards.
I went back down the car to the monitor display the moment I saw the two red lights shining amongst the green ones.
I slid open the display's glass cover and fitted my signet ring to the optical reader. The potent Inquisitorial authority codes loaded into my signet ring rapidly overcame Trans-Continental Line's confidence software and gave me access to the express's master system.
The monitor's little screen woke up, and flickered with user-friendly graphics and bars of data. I requested clarification of the red warning lights.
Alert code 88 decimal 508 - a systematic trigger of active brake units, cars seven through ten, forcing main brake arrest.
Alert code 521 decimal 6911 - irregular breach of door seal, door 34, car eight, lower.
I hurried along the upper deck of the train, heading for the rear. Some cabin doors opened and anxious faces looked out. 'No need for concern!' I called in my best Trans-Continental tone, backing it up with a gentle surge of will that slammed doors after me like a drum roll.
At car six, I had to go down to the lower deck because of the dining salon. Passing into car seven, I saw three train staffers hurrying down the companionway in the direction of car eight.
The lower hallway of car eight was bitterly cold and a gale was blowing down it. I saw six or seven rail employees pulling on foul weather gear and lighting flares as they jumped down out of the open wagon door into the night. Several more were grouped around the monitor display and one, a steward, saw me approach.
'Please go back to your cabin, sir. Everything's fine.'
"What seems to be the problem?'
'Just hurry back, sir. What is your cabin number? I'll bring along complimentary liqueurs in a few minutes.'
'The rear brakes have just thrown and door 34 is open/ I said.
He blinked. 'How did you-'
What's going on?'
'Sir, I want to guarantee your comfort, so if you'd just like to-'
I didn't have time for a debate. 'What's going on, Inex?' I asked, reading his name off his brass lapel badge and juicing my words with just a touch of will. A name always helped to enhance the mental coercion.
He blinked. The brake systems in the rear four wagons have engaged, which triggered an overall braking incident/ he said, quickly and obediently.
'Did someone pull the emergency rope?'
'No, sir. We'd have a source for that, and anyway the train's entire brake system would have fired simultaneously. We believe it's ice in the aft units/
That would cause a partial brake lock?'
'Yes, sir/
'What about the door?'
'It opened just after we stopped. The chief steward thinks it was one of the engineers, opening the door to get out and check the brakes without informing the system he was unlocking the door/
'It wasn't forced?'
'It was opened from inside. With a key/ The effects of my will were ebbing and his jocular tone returned. We've got personnel out lineside now, sir, checking the brakes/
'Including this engineer who supposedly opened the door in his eagerness to find the fault?'
'I'm sure, sir/
'Find out/ I said, using the will more forcefully.
He ran back to the monitor panel, and his colleagues stood back, puzzled, as he operated the device.
Who has access to door keys?'
Who the hell are you?' one of the others asked.
'A concerned member of the public/ I said, blanketing them all with will power. Who
has keys?'
'Only engineers of level two and higher, class one stewards and the guards/ said another, stammering in his desperation to tell me.
'How many people is that?'
Twenty-three/
'Are they all accounted for?'
'I don't know/ said Inex.
'Stand aside/ I ordered, and used my ring on the monitor. The train had a staff and crew of eighty-four. Each one had a sub-dermal tracker implant so that the train master could account for the location of his people at all times. The display showed a graphic map of the train, but the screen was so small I had to scroll along it, looking at the schematic bit by bit. Master personnel were shown in red, engineers in amber, stewards in green and guards in blue. Ancilliary staff like chefs, waiters, porters and cleaners were pink.
Red and amber dots clustered in the locomotive section, and blue and green ones were speckled throughout the wagons. The upper deck of car nine, the crew quarters, was full of pink lights. I saw a cluster of green and blue cursors that represented the men grouped around me at the back of car eight's lower deck, near door 34. A sub-menu listed the amber and blue lights that had left the train to inspect the running gear.
There was one green light amongst the pink ones in car nine. I called up more information. The green light belonged to Steward Class One Rebert Awins. He was in his quarters.
The express had made an emergency stop and all the staff apart from the ancilliaries were moving to secure the train. Except Awins.
Awins is class one. He'd have keys.'
'Yes, sir/ said Inex.
'Why isn't he assisting?'
They all looked at each other.
'When did you last see him?'
'He was on the morning shift today,' said one of them.
'I saw him in the rec room at shift change having his lunch,' added another.
'Since then?'
They shook their heads.
'He should have come on again at nine/ said Inex. 'Shall I check on him.'
No, I was going to say. Because he's dead. But there was no point scaring them.
I changed my mind. 'Do that, Inex/ I reached over and took the intercom headset off the man nearest me. He didn't protest. He didn't even notice.
'Go to his room and tell me what you find. Vox channel../ I studied the headset's small ear piece and adjusted the responder. '...six/
