‘To return to your own point, magos,’ I said, addressing Kildhar directly, ‘the greatest threat in the short term is likely to come from infiltration, rather than a mass assault. The Navy will, of course, be making continuous auspex sweeps, but tyranid spores are notoriously hard to detect in small numbers. Any advice you could give on enhancing the sensitivity of our instruments would be gratefully received.’
‘Of course.’ She inclined her head. ‘I will make the appropriate arrangements.’
‘The real problem’s the number of other ships in the sky,’ Zyvan said. ‘Every auspex in the fleet is being clogged up with thousands of returns[66]. We need to close the system to civilian traffic for the duration of the emergency.’
‘Out of the question,’ Dysen said, quite predictably. ‘We’re completely reliant on imported foodstuffs. Our protein synthesis plants can only provide enough nutrients for forty-seven per cent of the population.’
‘Then ration it,’ Zyvan snapped.
‘Not an option, I’m afraid,’ Kildhar said, with a passable attempt at a regretful expression. ‘Nutritional intake for the general populace is precisely calculated to maintain the maximum level of health with the minimum expenditure of resources. Even a five per cent reduction will have noticeably deleterious effects, and reducing daily allowances to a level commensurate with equal distribution would starve everyone to death within a month.’
‘That couldn’t happen,’ I said, to her evident surprise. I smiled, without humour. ‘The riots would have levelled the hives long before that.’
‘A good point,’ she agreed. ‘The tithe workers would undoubtedly respond in an emotional manner.’
‘So we can’t reduce the level of shipping,’ Zyvan said, reluctantly, although that was fine by me; the more ships in orbit, the better my chances of making a run for it if the ’nids really did overwhelm our defences.
‘It would appear not,’ I agreed. ‘So we’ll just have to make the best of it.’ I glanced around the room. The undercurrent of unease and suppressed hostility still crackled in the air like distant lightning. ‘And good luck with that,’ I added quietly to myself, thumbing my palm for good measure.
NINE
With relations as strained as they were between the expeditionary force and the Adeptus Mechanicus, it was hardly surprising that the bulk of the liaison work fell on me[67]. Zyvan wanted as little to do with the tech-priests as possible, while Dysen made it abundantly clear that the feeling was entirely mutual. I, on the other hand, was supposed by all parties to be a paragon of the Imperial virtues, so both were inclined to listen to me. More inclined than they were to listen to one another, anyway. Accordingly, I spent the next couple of weeks in a complex gavotte of half-truth and misdirection, intended to give the Lord General and Magos Senioris alike the impression that I considered their view of things the more reasonable, and that with a little more flexibility we’d be able to talk the other one round. No doubt Donali would have made a better fist of it, but he was parsecs away and at least I’d had plenty of practice at that sort of thing, after a lifetime of successfully deflecting blame and taking credit I didn’t deserve.
The biggest disadvantage of all this, so far as I was concerned, was that I was forced to relocate from the comfort of the flagship to the relatively spartan conditions of the forge world, in order to discharge my responsibilities most effectively. Apart from the full-time job of trying to talk some sense into Dysen, there was the small matter of an Imperial Guard army to deploy and get settled in, with all the friction between them and the local civilians which that normally entailed. Even more so in this case, as there were innumerable areas closed to us on the grounds of doctrine, safety, or sheer bloody-mindedness. At least the Death Korps seemed happy enough to rough it out in the wilderness, which would have killed more of the other regiments than the enemy, so they were out from underfoot, but the rest, a motley collection from over a dozen worlds[68], presented me with a constant stream of headaches. More than once I was tempted to pack the whole thing in and recommend our withdrawal, on the grounds that the ’nids were still bearing down on Dr’th’nyr like Jurgen catching sight of an all you can eat smorgasbord, and only the reflection that, if I did, Zyvan would undoubtedly take us off to confront them directly stayed my hand. Besides, we still couldn’t be entirely sure that the world was out of danger yet, and going down in history as the man who lost the Gulf would hardly have been the finest of ends to my undeservedly glittering career.
Fortunately the Mechanicus maintained a number of comfortably furnished suites near their inner sanctum for the convenience of visiting Imperial dignitaries, which they seemed to consider me as, so I was less incommoded than I’d feared, but I certainly missed the artistry of Zyvan’s personal chef, the bland diet of soylens viridians on which I was obliged to subsist for the most part wreaking predictable havoc on my digestion[69]. Jurgen managed to get hold of some spices from somewhere, which preserved my taste buds from terminal atrophy, but if it hadn’t been for my periodic visits to the flagship to liaise with Zyvan in person I don’t suppose I’d have had a decent meal my entire time on Fecundia.
‘How’s the deployment going?’ he asked, having the decency to wait until I’d finished chewing and swallowing. I hadn’t been able to time things to take advantage of his hospitality on this visit, more’s the pity, but Jurgen, reliable as ever, had trotted off to the nearest galley the moment we’d docked, returning with the welcome booty of hot salt grox baps and a steaming mug of recaff, which I’d seized with gratitude.
‘No worse than we’d expected,’ I replied, alternating bites at the food with the conversation as we made our way through the familiar bustle of the command centre. An image of Fecundia was rotating gently in the hololith, looking more like a giant canker than ever, speckled with icons showing our current state of readiness. Far too few were accompanied by the fully operational rune than I liked, and I made no bones about saying so, certain that Zyvan would share that opinion. ‘But I’d be a lot happier if we had more units in position by now.’
‘So would I,’ the Lord General agreed. He looked at the faintly translucent image with a grimace of distaste. ‘At least we’ve got the main habs fortified.’
‘Now I’ve managed to persuade Dysen to go along with it,’ I said, seeing no harm in reminding him of how hard I’d been working down there. ‘He wanted to secure the production facilities first.’
‘No doubt,’ Zyvan said, accepting the mug of recaff Jurgen had procured for him as well with a nod of thanks, and the most barely perceptible of flinches. ‘How did you persuade him?’
‘By pointing out that he wouldn’t be able to produce anything at all if the ’nids ate his workforce,’ I said. In fact it had been Kildhar who’d first seen the logic of that, and helped to talk him round, but as she wasn’t here to dispute the point I didn’t think it was worth confusing matters by saying so.
‘Quite.’ Zyvan took a quick slurp of the warm, bitter drink, and turned back to the hololith. ‘Not that we need his permission to do anything we damn well like.’ Which was technically true now most of our guns were planetside, if you believed force of arms could win any argument. But if it came to that, the machine spirits of Fecundia would be certain to take the side of the affronted tech-priests, which would hardly make our job any easier.
‘Nevertheless, it’s probably better to keep the cogboys happy for as long as we can,’ I said. If war really came, hard choices would have to be made about who and what could be saved, and I knew in my bones that our differing priorities would make that all the harder, particularly if old grievances were still simmering away.
Zyvan sighed. ‘You’re right. Glad that’s your problem, though.’
‘I thought you would be,’ I said, and he smiled for the first time since my arrival.
‘Our main weak spot’s the wilderness,’ he said, studying the slowly rotating globe. ‘We can dig in to defend the hives, but nothing can last out in the open for lon
g. For all we know the ’nids could have a beachhead out there already, and we’d never even know it.’
‘Until they massed for an attack,’ I agreed, liking the idea no more than he did. The hellish conditions on the surface wouldn’t worry the tyranids at all, the ones who couldn’t burrow under it simply growing thicker armour to protect themselves. ‘Trouble is, we don’t have much that can operate effectively in those conditions, so any long-range recon is right out.’ I indicated the few icons outside the fortress-like walls of the hives. ‘The Death Korps are forming an extended picket line, backed up by whatever armour we can get out there, but our tanks and carriers can only run for a few hours before coming in again.’
‘Why?’ Zyvan asked, and I shrugged.
‘Ash. Keeps getting in to the tracks and engines, whatever the cogboys rig up to try and filter it. Every time one of our vehicles goes out, it needs stripping down completely as soon as it gets back, or it’ll seize up solid.’
‘I can see why you want to keep Dysen sweet,’ Zyvan conceded. ‘What about the skitarii?’
‘Patrolling too,’ I said, indicating their icons. The Mechanicus troopers were augmented enough to survive out there too, if not exactly thrive, and were mounting periodic sorties from the hive, although I strongly suspected that was as much to keep an eye on the Death Korps as it was to keep a lookout for tyranids. ‘They’re meant to be liaising, but so far they’ve stuck to their zones and we’ve stuck to ours, so we haven’t had a major conflict of interest. If the ’nids attack, though, they’re just as likely to go their own way. Best not to formulate any strategy which relies on their co-operation.’
Zyvan snorted, and took another slug of recaff. ‘I’d worked that out for myself,’ he told me, to my complete lack of surprise. ‘It’s worse than having a Sororitas contingent to work around[70].’
‘But with fewer hymns,’ I said, eliciting the second smile of the day, before returning to the topic at hand. I studied the necrotic globe as dispassionately as I could. Despite our best efforts, there were still huge swathes of it across which we were all but blind. ‘It seems to me that we’re pretty much reliant on orbital reconnaissance.’
‘We are,’ Zyvan confirmed. ‘The Navy’s scanning the surface for tyranid biosigns, so far as they can through the dust storms, as well as keeping a watch for any incoming spores. Nothing so far, but it doesn’t mean they’re not there.’
‘I thought Kildhar was supposed to be tweaking the auspexes,’ I said. ‘Any luck with that?’
‘A little,’ a new voice put in, and the magos biologis herself crawled out from behind a sensorium suite cluttering up the far corner of the room. Zyvan had evidently forgotten her presence there, judging by his expression, mentally running back through our conversation in the hope that neither of us had said anything too indiscreet. If she had overheard us, she showed no sign of irritation or embarrassment, but then tech-priests seldom did, so it was hard to be sure. No point worrying about it that I could see, though, so I simply shrugged. ‘We’ve installed some new filters,’ she went on, ‘which should refine the data, and help eliminate false positives. We don’t want to go to high alert and turn out the skitarii only to find ourselves chasing an ambull colony when they get there, do we?’
‘There are ambull down there?’ I asked, astonished at the idea that the polluted wasteland could sustain any life at all, let alone the huge, aggressive burrowers.
Kildhar nodded. ‘An entire ecosystem, in fact. My title is far from honorary, I can assure you.’
‘I’m sure it’s not,’ I said. ‘I was just wondering if there’s any chance of a steak when we get back.’
‘It’s possible, I suppose,’ Kildhar said, looking faintly puzzled. ‘Some of the surface workers hunt them if the opportunity arises, but the consumption of animal tissue is a singularly inefficient way of ingesting nutrient.’ She looked disparagingly at the remains of the bap in my hand. ‘Soylens viridiens is far more convenient, and provides everything necessary for continuing good health.’
‘Except flavour,’ I said feelingly. ‘And texture.’ My mouth flooded with saliva at the thought of a sizzling chunk of dead flesh.
‘Oh.’ Kildhar looked more baffled than ever. ‘Those.’
‘I’ll see what I can do, sir,’ Jurgen said, with quiet confidence, and my spirits rose at the prospect of a proper meal at last. My aide’s talent for scrounging bordered on the preternatural, and I was certain that if ambull steak was to be had anywhere in the hive, he’d find it, even if it meant bagging the brute himself.
Then another, more disquieting thought struck, and I turned back to the tech-priest. ‘If there’s an ecosystem, that means the ’nids can find prey if they get through. They’ll be able to build up their strength far quicker than we bargained for.’
‘That would be the case,’ Kildhar admitted. ‘If they get through. We’ll just have to make certain they don’t.’
Easier said than done, if you asked me, but verbalising the thought wouldn’t get us very far, so I just trotted out some platitudes about us all working together to ensure that, and left her to it, moving further out of earshot as I resumed my conversation with the Lord General. ‘Any news from the scout squadrons?’ I asked, and Zyvan shook his head, his expression grave.
‘Nothing yet,’ he said, ‘but the closer they are to the hive fleet, the deeper in its warp shadow they are. Their astropaths won’t be able to send anything until they clear it.’
‘If they ever do,’ I said, the image of the tau explorators’ last moments rising up vividly in my mind’s eye.
Zyvan nodded, clearly thinking the same thing. ‘If they do swing this way, we’ll get very little warning. If any.’
‘Then we’d better hope she knows what she’s doing,’ I said, with a glance at Kildhar, who was back at work by now, poking hopefully at something in the sensorium with her mechadendrites. It responded with a loud pop and the flash of an electrical discharge.
‘Indeed,’ Zyvan agreed, making the sign of the aquila as he spoke.
The rest of my business with Zyvan took some time, as you’d expect with the collated reports of an entire army to summarise, and, by the time I’d finished, my estimable aide had returned to the galley more than once. At last, though, we said our farewells, and plodded back to the hangar bay, where an unpleasant surprise awaited us.
‘What do you mean, there are no shuttles?’ I demanded, more in astonishment than in anger. The Naval non-com[71] who’d broken the news stepped back a pace, and swallowed nervously.
‘The one you came in on’s been reassigned, sir. Medevac. Priority one.’
I felt a chill run down my spine. ‘I was unaware that any of our units were in combat,’ I said, wondering if the ’nids had managed to sneak in under our noses, in spite of Kildhar’s best efforts with soldering irons, coding patches, and incense burners. Then another, more ominous thought struck: a friendly fire incident between the Guardsmen and skitarii would complicate things hideously, if I could even begin to smooth matters over at all…
‘They aren’t, sir,’ the matelot made haste to assure me, much to my relief. ‘It was an industrial accident, in the Rusthill munition works. The Lord General felt it would be good for morale if we were seen to be helping out.’
‘It would,’ I agreed. The injured workers and their colleagues would appreciate the efforts made on their behalf and want to repay the debt by keeping us well supplied, the Mechanicus would get their precious plant working again that little bit faster, and the experience of working together would help to overcome the lingering animosity which was continuing to make my job more difficult than it needed to be. It was a good call, and one I’d probably have made myself in Zyvan’s shoes. On the other hand… ‘How long until a shuttle becomes available?’
‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ the sailor told me, visibly relieved not to be shot on the spot for giving me the bad news. ‘Some time, though, be my guess. Sounds like a real mess down there.’
> ‘What about that one?’ Jurgen asked, pointing a grubby finger in the vague direction of a crimson Aquila, picked out in gold around the feather plates, and bearing a silver cogwheel on its fuselage.
‘That would be mine,’ Kildhar said, striding through the airlock. ‘For the exclusive use of the Adeptus Mechanicus.’ She favoured us with a friendly nod as she spoke, the stiffness of her neck mute testament to the unfamiliarity of the gesture. She could have used some lessons from El’hassai in mimicking normal human responses, but at least she made the effort. ‘I’m surprised to find you still aboard, commissar.’
‘And I you,’ I replied, already wondering if I could turn this to my advantage. There would surely be room for a couple of extra passengers aboard the shuttle, since she seemed to be alone. ‘My consultations with the Lord General took a good deal of time.’
‘As did my adjustments to the sensoria.’ If she was surprised to find Jurgen and I falling into step with her, she gave no sign of it. ‘But I believe they will prove adequate to the task.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ I said. ‘Some excellent news to pass on to the Magos Senioris when I see him.’ I glanced at my chronograph, exaggerating the movement just sufficiently to make sure it was noticed. ‘Which was supposed to be within the hour.’
‘I am sure you will be able to obtain transportation soon,’ Kildhar said, pausing at the foot of the boarding ramp, and pointedly refusing to take the hint.
‘We could come with you,’ Jurgen said, with characteristic bluntness. Subtlety was just something that happened to other people so far as he was concerned. ‘If that would be convenient, miss,’ he added, with a belated attempt at politeness.
‘I’m afraid that would be impossible,’ Kildhar said, doing her best to sound as though she meant it. ‘My pilot servitor has pre-programmed flight instructions, which cannot be overridden. Otherwise this vessel would also be assisting in the current crisis.’
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