[Dark Heresy 01] - Scourge the Heretic

by Sandy Mitchell - (ebook by Undead)

  “I imagine so,” Keira agreed, taking a cautious spoonful of her own portion. It tasted better than it looked, to her well-concealed relief, and she suddenly realised how hungry she was getting. “Do you have any particular favourites?”

  Adrin nodded, and swallowed hastily. “A couple. A friend of mine runs… used to run an archeotech group. He died recently, though, so it’s probably going to fold. No one else in the Conclave has the necessary expertise.” He licked his spoon thoughtfully. “We do have a couple of other tech-priests among the membership, but they never made any secret of the fact that they thought Tonis was being frivolous, so I don’t suppose any of them will be willing to take it over. And there’s the philosophy group, of course. If I’m honest, most of the discussion there goes over my head, but the debates are never less than stimulating.”

  “I can imagine,” Keira said, and waited for a hovering servant to remove her empty plate. The wine accompanying the meal was rich and dark, far more to her taste than the one she’d been drinking in the library, and she sipped at it thoughtfully. “Perhaps I’ll sit in on a session while I’m here.” If there were any hidden heretics among the conclave’s membership, that seemed the most likely place for them to show their hands openly, hoping to entice additional moral weaklings into their web of deceit.

  “You’d be very welcome,” Adrin assured her, with a hint of eagerness. It seemed Drake wasn’t the only one to find her alluring that evening. Feeling unexpectedly flattered, despite her disapproval of Lustful Thoughts on principle, Keira nodded, and turned her attention to the main course, which proved to be braised grox in a rich mushroom sauce. “I’m sure you’d find it interesting.”

  “I’m sure I would,” Keira agreed.

  The Fathomsound Mine, Sepheris Secundus

  099.993.M41

  They entered the cavern cautiously, guns at the ready, keeping to the deepest patches of shadow they could find. There was no sign of movement in the brightly-lit space beyond, but Horst was too seasoned a field operative to let that count for much, the habit of caution too deeply ingrained to ignore. Crouching behind a boulder next to the entrance of the cavern, he steadied the bolt pistol in his hand and swept the area in front of him, searching for a target.

  At first sight it seemed little different from any of the other worked-out faces they’d travelled through to get here, the broken walls still showing signs of the tools that had gouged them from the stone beneath the ever-present film of moisture. None of the other caverns they’d seen had been as brightly illuminated as this one, however, the arc globes on scaffolding posts ranged around the centre of it seeming almost dazzling by comparison. And none had had a small prefabricated habdome erected in the middle of them.

  “That must be it,” Horst said, and Vex nodded tightly, his autopistol levelled at the entrance to the dome. It was a standard model, perhaps half a dozen metres in diameter, and generally, ones of that size only had a single doorway. Neither man would take that for granted, though, and by common consent they began to circle the structure, keeping a close watch on it, but remaining equally wary of the shadows beyond the circle of arclight.

  “No visible security systems,” Vex said, as they returned to their starting point.

  Horst nodded. “But it’s the ones you don’t see that kill you.”

  “True,” Vex agreed, before coughing loudly again, and slapping his respirator unit irritably with the heel of his empty hand. Cautiously, the two Inquisition operatives began to move towards the incongruous edifice, their weapons held ready for use. “I assume you wish to enter first?”

  “Of course,” Horst said evenly. He’d carried out this kind of manoeuvre innumerable times as an arbitrator, both in training and in earnest, and as the team leader it was his place to take point. Nevertheless, he glanced briefly at Vex as they advanced. “Unless you’d rather, in case there’s some special system rigged you think you might recognise.”

  “An unlikely possibility,” Vex said.

  Horst sighed. “I knew you’d say that,” he said, flattening himself against the gently curving wall.

  Vex followed suit on the other side of the door, reaching out slowly to grasp the handle. It turned as he twisted it, and he braced himself, nodding at Horst. Silently he mouthed the words, “On three.”

  Horst returned the nod, and the tech-priest counted off the seconds as noiselessly as before. Just as his lips finished shaping the third and final number, he jerked the door open. It slid awkwardly on corroded runners, squealing loudly, and Horst dived through the widening gap, rolling to cover as much distance as possible, his weapon seeking a target as he rose to a crouch. An instant later, Vex appeared in the doorway behind him, his autopistol levelled.

  “Clear,” Horst said, and the tech-priest nodded.

  “I deduced as much from the fact of you not getting shot,” he agreed cheerfully.

  Letting the remark go, Horst walked a little further into the dome. It was completely open, uncluttered by any partitions, and he was able to see across to the other side with little difficulty. The habitation module was warm and dry inside, in stark contrast to the mine in which it stood, and the sudden change of environment was making him feel even more uncomfortable than he had been outside, his steaming clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin, leaching any residual warmth from it.

  “Someone’s been staying here,” he said, stepping around a bedroll. Several of them had been laid out around the perimeter of the dome, and he bent down to examine the nearest one, hoping to find some clue as to who’d occupied it, but the blankets were empty.

  An idea struck him, and he glanced up at Vex. “The Franchise, do you think? It’s the ideal place to hide the people they’re smuggling.”

  “Possible, but unlikely,” Vex replied, his attention almost fully engaged with the tangle of equipment he’d discovered in the centre of the dome. “That would imply some connection between them and either Tonis or Avia, which we have no cause to suspect at this time.”

  “True,” Horst conceded. “What do you make of it, then?”

  “I lack sufficient data to draw any firm conclusions,” Vex said, a trifle primly, “but I would venture to suggest that Tonis was engaged in some highly unorthodox research; research that may have involved the cooperation of psykers.”

  “Psykers?” Horst echoed, surprised. “Why would you think that?”

  By way of reply, the tech-priest indicated the jumble of devices filling the centre of the dome. Cogitator banks and data lecterns formed an outer ring, pierced by gaps in which tangles of cabling snaked in all directions, connecting them in some manner beyond Horst’s comprehension. Stepping cautiously over the nearest potential trip hazard, he found his colleague staring intently at something laid out on a metal table in the middle of the torus.

  “This looks like one of the psy dampers they use at the Citadel,” Vex said, an unfamiliar tone of confusion seeping into his voice. “But it’s been heavily modified.”

  “Modified how, exactly?” Horst asked, and then corrected himself hastily. Carried away with enthusiasm for some unfamiliar device, Vex was quite likely to answer the question in minute and incomprehensible detail. “I mean, what’s it meant to do?”

  “I really have no idea,” Vex said, intrigued, poking a damp and grubby finger into the guts of the machine as he spoke. “It certainly wouldn’t dampen a psy field in this state.” He glanced at the nearest cogitator bank with the sort of expression Horst was more used to seeing on the face of a hungry hound spotting a bowl of food, or Keira catching sight of a heretic she’d been given permission to terminate. “I’ll have to download as much of his data as I can access, and analyse it properly when we get back. I just hope there’s enough storage space left on my slate.” His expression changed to one of profound surprise, as he removed a subassembly of brass cogs and vacuum tubes, and peered into the cavity. “Omnissiah’s cogs, what’s that?”

  Horst craned his neck to look, as the tech-priest lift
ed something from the bowels of the device. It looked like a small piece of polished ivory, so smooth that the light seemed to hang around it in a faint nimbus rather than being merely reflected. Its surface was scratched, in a manner that suggested careful carving rather than accidental wear, although Horst couldn’t discern any recognisable pattern in the marks.

  “I haven’t the faintest idea,” he said. “But you’d better hang on to it.”

  Vex nodded in agreement, slipping the strange object into a pocket inside his robe, and bent his head again to take another look at the housing he’d opened. Then he looked up, an uncharacteristic expression of alarm on his face. “I think we’d better run,” he said, before hurdling the nearest tangle of cable and pelting towards the door.

  Horst followed hard on his heels, slipping on the wet rock underfoot as he left the sanctuary of the dome. As he recovered his balance he could see Vex’s white robe flapping in the distance, like a child’s drawing of a ghost, already halfway to the tunnel they’d come in by. “What is it?” he called, hitting his stride and catching up fast.

  “Timer,” Vex said breathlessly, vanishing into the tunnel mouth. “Counting down. And a genecode scanner.”

  “That’s insane,” Horst said, glancing back, but disinclined to slacken his pace. The cavern was out of sight already, the brighter glow of its arcglobes attenuated by distance and the intervening twists of the narrow passage.

  “No,” Vex panted. “Clever. It must start whenever someone handles the device. Only an authorised user can abort the countdown. If I hadn’t taken that trinket out to examine it, I’d never even have known the trap was there.”

  “How long have we got?” Horst asked, not bothering to inquire why they were still running. Even a moderate explosion would be magnified and channelled by the confined space, endangering them far beyond what would normally seem like a safe distance. There was no telling how large a charge Tonis had left behind to ensure the security of his heretical endeavours either.

  “We haven’t,” Vex gasped, an instant before the moisture slick rock beneath Horst’s boots seemed to shudder. A moment later both Angelae lost their footing entirely, as a massive hand seemed to strike them between the shoulderblades, sending them sprawling.

  “Up! Quickly!” Horst yelled, scrambling to his feet, heedless of the slick of mud plastering the front of his clothes. He seized a handful of Vex’s robe, yanking him upright, and forcing the tech-priest into a stumbling run. A faint rumbling sound could be heard in the depths of the mine, and a cold, wet wind began to blow from somewhere behind them, the stale air of the cavern being displaced by a rush of incoming water. “The shaft’s been breached!”

  It was like running in a nightmare, the arbitrator thought, unconsciously anticipating the dreams that would wake him on occasion for the rest of his life. The faster he tried to move, the more his bootsoles seemed to slip on the wet stone of the passage floor, and Vex was stumbling, still winded from the effects of the explosion, yanking him off balance with almost every step. The rumbling behind them and the unnatural wind were constantly increasing, and he fought down the impulse to turn and look behind, knowing that giving way to it would cost a vital second or two, and that if the roaring death was close enough to see it was already too late in any case.

  “There!” Vex cried, pointing, as they rounded an outcrop of dull grey rock, and with a sudden flare of hope Horst caught sight of the last of the bulkhead doors they’d passed through on their descent. It was no more than a score of metres away, the rising passage beyond it still lit by the flickering lux globes, and he breathed a silent prayer of thanks to the Emperor that they’d left the portals open as they’d made their way down the shaft.

  Horst nodded, feeling a sudden burst of renewed energy at the prospect of their imminent deliverance, and picked up the pace a little in spite of his fatigue. The cold wind of death was almost a gale against his back, and as he half helped, half threw the dazed tech-priest across the rust pitted threshold, he felt his boots splashing in a deepening film of water. Leaping through the gap after Vex, he turned, seizing the handle, and almost froze in terror as he began to pull the door closed.

  The passageway behind them was gone, replaced by a moving wall of water, which filled it completely, bearing down on them as rapidly and unstoppably as a rut-frenzied bull grox. Horst strained against the corroded hinges, the muscles of his back cracking with the effort, and with a reluctant shriek the door began to move. Too slow, he thought, too late.

  “Let me help.” Vex leaned across him, grabbing a reinforcing bar, and pulled too. Howling like a damned soul, the portal began to swing shut. Then the wall of water reached it, and with a bang which reverberated painfully in the confined space, reminding Horst uncomfortably of the moment Barda’s Aquila had hit the permafrost, the door slammed, propelled by the force of Emperor alone knew how many tonnes of water crashing into it from the other side.

  Both men were thrown through the air by the shock of impact, and Horst fell bruisingly against the hilt of his power sword, which jammed painfully into his hip. Fortunately, the force of the blow didn’t activate the weapon, or he might have lost a limb, instead of just his dignity and a layer or two of skin. A thin storm of rust particles whirled in the air around them, forming an itchy slurry with the film of water on their clothes and bodies, making them look uncannily as though they were both caked in drying blood.

  “Are you all right?” Horst asked, staggering to his feet.

  “I believe so,” Vex confirmed, catching his breath. He kicked a nearby chunk of rubble, the first time Horst had ever seen him give way to visible anger. “No thanks to my own stupidity. If I hadn’t tried to meddle with that device, we’d have all Tonis’ records to examine.”

  “I doubt it,” Horst consoled him. “If the cogitators weren’t rigged as well, you can call me a heretic. From the moment we set foot in there, it was only a question of which trap we set off first.”

  “Then it seems you were right,” Vex said ruefully. “It is the ones you don’t see that kill you.”

  “But you did see it,” Horst said, clapping the disconsolate tech-priest on the back, and trying to sound encouraging. “And it’s only thanks to you that we’re both still alive.” He turned resolutely towards the passageway leading up to the entrance chamber. “We may not know exactly what Tonis was up to down here, but we do know it had something to do with psykers. Inquisitor Finurbi was right.”

  “That may be so,” Vex said, turning to trudge wearily after him, “but we still don’t know nearly as much as we might have done.”

  The Tumble, Gorgonid Mine, Sepheris Secundus

  100.993.M41

  The bottle was almost empty before Kantris returned, but Kyrlock felt as sober as ever, his unease at the situation he found himself in too acute to allow the alcohol to dull the edge of it. Elyra had remained where she was, occasionally sipping at her drink, but the conversation between the two of them had been stilted, and largely fictional, intended to be overheard by the other patrons, many of whom would undoubtedly repeat the carefully seeded nuggets of verisimilitudinous detail to Kantris or his associates before the night was over. The psyker might know her business when it came to hunting heretics, but he knew the teeming underworld of the Tumble, and he knew she’d made a mistake in her handling of the expeditor. Kantris was a weasel, everyone knew that.

  The only reason he was still walking around was because he was a useful one, to all sorts of people, for all sorts of reasons.

  “It’s all set,” Kantris said, lowering his voice as he approached their corner of the barroom. “There’s a group leaving on an ore barge the night after next, and they’ve got room for two more.”

  “Good,” Kyrlock said, reflecting that for a prize like the one Elyra had dangled in front of them, the smugglers probably wouldn’t have thought twice about freeing up some additional space with a couple of bullets if necessary. “When and where?”

  “Not here,” Kantris s
aid, with a suspicious glance round at the other patrons, who pretended a sudden deep interest in the contents of their glasses. “There’s a safe house I can take you to.”

  “We’re safe here,” Elyra said, and Kantris shook his head pityingly.

  “Of course you’re not.” He glanced at Kyrlock for confirmation. “If the de Granbie bitch really has got a bounty hunter on your tail, he’ll be working the drink-holes for sure.”

  “He will,” Kyrlock agreed. That much was obvious, and insisting on staying here would only tip Kantris off that they didn’t really fear pursuit, which would beg the obvious question of why. He grinned mirthlessly at the red-haired expeditor, and shrugged. “City girl.”

  “Fine.” Elyra stood, and hefted her pack, letting it hang casually from one shoulder. “Let’s go.”

  “Might as well,” Kyrlock agreed, hiding his disquiet as best he could. He rose slowly, collecting his gear, and unobtrusively ensured that the chain axe was loose enough in its sling to draw one-handed. “Back in a moment.”

  “Where are you going?” Elyra asked, although whether the note of unease in her voice was genuine, or being assumed for Kantris’ benefit, he couldn’t be sure.

  “We still owe Mung,” Kyrlock reminded her, making for the bar. So far, it seemed, the people Kantris worked for hadn’t been able to poke any holes in their story, but he didn’t think they’d stop trying.

  “You’re off, then?” Mung said, glancing up from rearranging the dirt on the countertop with a damp and filthy rag as his brother approached.

  Kyrlock nodded. “Five creds for the room,” he said, dropping a handful of clattering change on the metal surface, “and something for the drinks.”

  “More than fair,” Mung agreed, scooping up the coins, and flashing a brief grin as he registered the two extra credits his brother had added in. Far more than the raw distilate had been worth, but Kyrlock reckoned the Inquisition could afford it, and they were unlikely ever to meet again. “So you’re off, then?”