by Dan Abnett
‘Then you’ll see the truth. This isn’t one of my men.’
Senior Medicae Ida sighed. ‘I know that, het. I just wanted you to confirm it, before I—’
‘Before you what?’ Bronzi demanded.
‘Before I alert the Chiliad uxors. Hetman Soneka, is there any reason you can think of why one of your men would have no heart?’
‘What?’
‘No heart?’ Ida repeated emphatically. ‘What the fug did he have in there then?’ Bronzi asked, nodding at the corpse’s covered chest.
‘A cadmium centrifuge,’ replied Senior Medicae Ida gently. ‘The subject has undergone some extreme and non-standard organ modification. His liver was… well, I’ve never seen anything like it.’
‘What is going on here?’ asked Soneka.
‘I don’t know,’ Ida replied. ‘I was hoping you might.’
‘There’s something else,’ she added. She pulled back the surgical cloth.
For a moment, all they could see was the scissor-snapped sternum and the splayed ribs, caked black with blood.
‘Here,’ she said, pointing.
On the dead flesh of the corpse’s hip there was a small brand, partially obliterated by a shrapnel puncture.
‘What is that?’ asked Soneka, squinting at it. ‘Is that a snake?’
‘Maybe,’ said Bronzi, bending down to look for himself. ‘A snake… or some kind of reptile.’
SONEKA TOLD THE medicae to place a guard on the corpse and send someone to wake up the post commander. He went back outside with Bronzi.
‘Insurgent?’ Soneka asked.
Bronzi nodded. ‘Has to be. That mark.’
Soneka didn’t reply. Crocodilia and other forms of aggressive reptile were the most persistently recurring of all Nurthene emblems.
‘Have they the art to change a man inside like that?’ Bronzi asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Soneka replied, ‘but since that night outside Tel Utan, I could believe them capable of anything.’
Bronzi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Listen, Peto, the reason I came here today, it’s about that night. I wanted you to know that I didn’t hang you out to dry.’
‘I never thought you did, Hurt.’
‘Really, though. I was all for taking a force out to support you. I was warned off.’
‘I can imagine,’ said Soneka.
Bronzi looked at him strangely. ‘What does that mean?’
Soneka walked a few steps away and stared out into the great bowl of the moonlit desert. Sky and land alike, both dark, had a sheen across them, a haze produced by airborne dust. ‘My men were used as a tactical sacrifice to break Tel Utan open. Lon and a few others know, but I’ve told them to stay tight-lipped. I’ve kept the information quiet for reasons of morale.’
‘How do you know this?’ asked Bronzi.
‘Because the men who sacrificed us told me to my face,’ said Soneka.
‘And me,’ Bronzi replied. ‘You saw them, then? The specialists?’
‘The Alpha Legion,’ said Soneka. He looked at Bronzi. ‘So many stories, over the years, and then to meet them, the most secret and cunning of all the Astartes.’
‘I was this close to him,’ Bronzi said, ‘as close as I am to you. He warned me off, and told me why, and then told me to keep my mouth shut about the whole thing.’
‘Who?’
‘Alpharius!’
Soneka smiled. ‘They were all called Alpharius, Hurt.’
Bronzi shook his head. ‘This was the primarch, Peto. I swear it! I saw his face.’
‘I believe you,’ said Soneka. ‘Terra, but what kind of war are we fighting here?’
‘A war of lies and disguise and dissembling,’ Bronzi answered. ‘Why else would that Legion be involved?’
‘I’M NOT ENTIRELY sure of the significance,’ said Koslov, the post commander. He was a brigadier in one of the Crimean support regiments charged with running the campaign’s rear party operations.
‘Neither are we,’ said Bronzi, ‘but the fact remains that we have the body of an unidentified combatant showing signs of non-standard anatomical work and a brand mark like a reptile.’
‘We know that subversive and covert tactics are being employed in this zone,’ said Soneka.
‘How do you know that?’ asked Koslov.
‘That’s classified,’ Bronzi said carefully.
‘If the Nurthene have infiltrated our companies, high command needs to know about it,’ Soneka went on. ‘The body needs to be examined, so that others like it can be identified. This could break the war, man. This could be one of the key reasons those devils have us on the back foot all the time.’
Koslov took a deep breath and stood up behind his camp desk. The habitent was sparsely equipped, and lit only by a pair of lumen packs.
‘Far be it from me to argue with two frontline hets,’ he said. ‘What do we do?’
SONEKA AND BRONZI agreed that Honen Mu was the first point of contact. If infiltration was widespread, they had to tread carefully. They had to start with someone they knew they could trust; someone, as Bronzi pointed out, who had dealt with the specialists and therefore understood the gravity of the matter.
Koslov granted them access to the Visages post’s main vox transmitter, and personally activated the command-grade cryptogrammics using a biometric key he carried around his wrist.
‘The channel is secure,’ he told them, and left the chamber.
Bronzi picked up the speaker horn and threw the transmit switch.
‘CR23, CR23, this is Joker Lord broadcasting in encrypt, stop.’
The vox speaker emitted a series of dull, metallic clicks, and then settled into a deep background hiss. Bronzi repeated his signal.
Ten seconds passed and then the answer came. ‘Joker Lord, Joker Lord, this is CR23 reading you encrypted, stop.’ The voice was cold and clear, as if the speaker was standing in the next room. Apart from a slight trebly quality caused by the cryptogrammic coding, they couldn’t have asked for a stronger, purer link.
‘CR23, I need to speak to Uxor Mu urgently, Code Janibeg 5, stop.’
‘Confirm code, please, stop,’ the vox answered him. The connection was so clean, the words sounded as if they were polished.
‘Confirm Code Janibeg 5, stop.’
‘One moment, Joker Lord, stop.’
Another wait. Two minutes of liquid hiss this time. Bronzi glanced at Soneka.
‘Joker Lord, Joker Lord. This is Honen. Bronzi, this had better not be one of your entertainments, stop.’ The tone was sharpened by the digital overlay of the cryptogrammics, but there was no mistaking Honen Mu’s spiky attitude.
‘It’s not, uxor. Trust me and listen. I’ve got a body here. I’m pretty convinced it’s a Nurthene infiltrator, surgically altered. I think we’ve been compromised. Requesting your advice, stop.’
A pause. ‘Give me more information to work with, Bronzi, stop.’
‘Uxor, I think this stiff needs to be examined by tech-adepts, a full work-up. We could be looking at a huge security breach. I’m thinking, maybe to scare up a lifter to my position, and I’ll baby-sit the specimen up to the fleet, stop.’
‘Stand by, Joker Lord, stop.’
Bronzi lowered the speaker horn. ‘She’s wary,’ he said.
‘Can you blame her, Hurt?’ Soneka asked. ‘The number of pranks you’ve pulled over the years?’
They were both beginning to sweat, despite the night chill. The massive voxcaster rig kicked out a fug of heat exhaust, and the air in the chamber was close.
They waited for over five minutes, so long that Soneka began to pace. Then the vox cycled up again.
‘Joker Lord, Joker Lord, this is CR23, respond, stop.’
Bronzi picked up the horn and waited until all five green lights on the console had re-lit, indicating full-strength cryptogrammics.
‘CR23, this is Joker Lord, stop.’
‘What is your position, Bronzi, stop?’
�
��CR345, uxor, stop.’
‘Listen to me, Bronzi. I can’t risk an air extraction from where you are. There are some details I can’t go into, even via encrypt. Suggest you get transport and move fast and light. I’m checking the charts now… Yes, leave Tel Khat and head west along the Sarmak Trail. If you don’t mess around, you should be able to get to CR8291 by dawn. I’ll divert a cavalry squadron to pick you up there and escort you in. Did you get all that, stop?’
Bronzi nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. ‘Understood, uxor, stop.’
‘Is this workable, Bronzi, stop?’
‘Absolutely, stop,’ Bronzi replied.
The link leaked out an ambient hiss for a moment. ‘CR23? Bronzi? I need you to tell me who knows about this, stop.’
‘Say again, stop?’
‘Who knows the details of this incident, het, stop?’
Bronzi frowned. ‘Me, the post commander, the duty medicae, maybe a couple of staffers, stop.’
‘Understood, thank you. I’m sorry, Bronzi, but we need to keep this close for now. Are you ready to move, stop?’
‘Yes, uxor. Joker Lord out.’
The lights went out and the hissing died away. Bronzi threw the voxcaster’s power-down switches and got up.
‘All right then,’ he said.
‘Why didn’t you mention me?’ Soneka asked.
‘What?’
‘When she asked who knew, why didn’t you mention my name?’
‘Because you’re staying here,’ Bronzi told him.
BRONZI HAD A few words with Koslov, and a pair of Crimean noncombatants were sent to bring a transport up from the hard standing behind the main dwelling cluster of Visages. Then Bronzi strode off to the billet he’d been given. Soneka followed him.
‘What do you mean I’m staying here?’ Soneka asked as Bronzi quickly repacked his haversack. ‘Don’t start.’
‘Bronzi?’ There was a warning tone in Soneka’s inflection. Bronzi stopped what he was doing and looked around at his old friend.
‘Was it just me, or did Mu sound seriously weird?’
‘She was just being wary. I said that.’
Bronzi shook his head. ‘Something’s up. I need you to be my joker, Peto.’
‘What?’
‘My ace in the hole. If anything goes wrong, you’ll still know what I know. That’s why you’re staying here.’
‘Nothing’s going to go wrong,’ said Soneka.
Bronzi laughed. ‘How many years have we been soldiers, Peto?’
‘Enough to know that covering your arse is never a waste of time,’ Soneka replied. He shook his head. ‘We’re worrying about nothing.’
‘No,’ said Bronzi. ‘We’ve found ourselves in a war of lies, disguise and dissembling. We’re worrying about everything.’
Soneka didn’t look convinced.
‘Come on,’ Bronzi rumbled. ‘That’s why the Geno Five-Two has survived this long. We fight smart, we always have. Brains have got us out of more scrapes than balls.’
‘In your case, I’d hardly trust either.’
Bronzi winked. He wasn’t going to rise to the bait. He lashed up his haversack and swung it onto his shoulder.
‘Don’t go alone,’ Soneka said.
‘I won’t. I’ll take Dimi Shiban with me. I can trust him, and he knows how to handle himself if there’s an outbreak of stupid.’
‘Good. All right.’
‘Let’s be off, then,’ said Bronzi.
THE TRANSPORT KOSLOV provided was a Scarab-pattern carrier, a medium-sized armoured speeder with a troop hold for stowage and a stern-mounted auto turret. Its long, gently curved hull had been sprayed in a desert tan, but as it slid towards them out of the night on its powerful suspension fields, it looked like a desert phantom, cold and moonlight blue. The delivery crew dismounted, leaving the engines running. Medicae Ida loaded the wrapped body into the hold and made it secure.
‘I can provide a driver,’ Koslov offered.
‘No need,’ Bronzi replied, tossing his haversack in through the open hold hatch. ‘I can handle one of these babies.’
‘You’re infantry,’ Koslov said.
‘I’m a Renaissance man,’ Bronzi replied. ‘There are few things in this galaxy I can’t turn my hand to.’
‘And entirely mess up,’ Soneka said.
Shiban ran up to join them out of the cold darkness. He was lugging a pack and a twin-barrelled las carbine.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked.
‘I’ll tell you once we’re moving,’ Bronzi said. ‘All secure, doc?’
Medicae Ida jumped down from the hold and sealed the hatch behind her.
‘I’ve secured it in ice blocks, but it will deteriorate. Get it into stasis as quickly as you can.’
‘The organs?’
‘Individually packed in vacuum sealed bags in the hopper under the gurney.’
‘Thanks, doc,’ Bronzi smiled. Shiban was already climbing aboard through the cabin hatch.
Bronzi looked back at Soneka. ‘I hate goodbyes,’ he said, ‘so fug off.’
Soneka laughed. Bronzi turned away, and then swung back round to face Soneka. His face was solemn. ‘Look, Peto, there is one thing. One thing I just want to say.’
‘What is it, Hurt?’
Bronzi looked him in the eyes, all seriousness. ‘Peto, have you got that money you owe me?’
THE SPEEDER KICKED up dust like a gauzy bridal train and slipped away into the cold desert night. Koslov, Ida and the noncombatants turned away and walked back into the post.
Soneka stood out in the chilly darkness, under the enveloping cloak of the sky, and watched until all traces of the speeder had vanished into the endless black.
THEY RAN THE Scarab into the west, along the old trail, using only auspex and the low-light viewers wired to the dashboard. The viewers showed the world like a green moonscape, but they had only a one hundred and ten degree forward spread, so when Bronzi or Shiban turned their heads too far left or right, the ghostly view vanished in a wash of fizzle and telemetry junk.
The Scarab coasted well, and made eighty kilometres per hour over the clearest terrain. Bronzi loved grav-effect transports, and always tried to secure them for his Jokers when dismount assaults were on the cards. He let Shiban drive for the first three hours, through the tipping point of midnight. The stars came out over the desert rim with a rare magnificence, heightened by their viewers.
‘You ever going to tell me what this is about?’ Shiban asked.
‘No,’ said Bronzi.
THREE HOURS BEFORE sunrise, Bronzi took the stick. The world ahead of him was a jumbled, fast-moving path of lime-cast furrows, with the occasional emerald crag looming for a moment before it was lost behind them. Shiban sat back, reclining in the shotgun seat, and took a pinch from his box. Then he played with the auto-turret controls, impelling the sense-net to target the stern guns at passing rocks and crumbling slopes of sand rock.
‘Set it on auto-serve and get some kip, Dimi,’ Bronzi suggested.
Shiban yawned, and promptly fell asleep, rocking in his leather cradle.
Bronzi envied him. It had been years since he’d been able to manage the old geno trick of crash-sleep, the hypno-suggestive shut-down that allowed a man to catch a wink under any circumstances. Bronzi had been trained that way, but the knack had left him.
He kept his hand closed around the bucking stick and watched the ghost-green world outside flash by.
THE SUN CAME up, a slow, terrible firestorm rising from the south. All of the landscape’s shadows stretched out, long and painful, and Bronzi took off the viewer. White light filtered in through the cabin’s chipped and crazed windows, and he decided to rely on auspex alone. Twenty kilometres now. The cursor on the cab’s lightmap display moved slowly towards its destination.
SONEKA WOKE WITH a start. Nothing special there. The dull, afterglow of pain in his hand had woken him that way every morning since he’d arrived at Visages.
; He sat up on his bunk. Dawn light, already hot and bright, speared in through the gaps around his rattan blind. He’d been having the strangest dream. He’d been playing the head game with Dimi, and Lon had brought him a good piece. He’d taken the diorite head out of Lon’s calloused hands, and looked down at it to judge it.
The carved face had been Hurtado’s. It had grinned up at him.
‘Tell me this, Peto,’ the head had said, ‘all these broken heads, are any two faces alike, or are they all different?’
‘I don’t know, Hurt. Get out of my dream.’
‘It’s important. Do they all look the same? Are they all different? Doesn’t that matter? Doesn’t it?’
Soneka had lobbed the head away into the wide scree field of broken heads. He’d done it with his left hand. His left hand had had fingers and a thumb.
‘Fug,’ Soneka said, coughing. He had dust in his throat. That was par for the course at Visages.
He looked down at his incomplete hand and felt the missing fingers waggle.
He had slept naked. He pulled on his breeches, socks and boots, and went out into the early light bare-chested. A hard rind of sun was cresting the edge of the crags. The sky was off-white, like old ivory, and the landscape was a pink wash, broken by hard black shadows bending to evade the sun. It was going to be a hot one. He could already feel the air baking. The local livestock, some of them still saddled from the previous day’s racing, wandered free, grazing the patchy grasses. Soneka walked towards the well, rubbing his face with his good hand. He needed a shave; a shave and a grapefruit.
The livestock all looked up at the same time. They stared in the same direction, some of them still chewing, and then broke and scattered.
Geno instinct pulled Soneka back into the cold shadows of one of the terracotta huts. He looked around, suddenly very alert. Where were the sentries, the perimeter guard, the overnight patrols?
The pink wash of the landscape moved. Semi-visible figures scurried forwards out of the desert rim.
Soneka swallowed hard. He turned and ran back through the shaded maze of dwellings towards the post commander’s habitent. He wanted to raise the alarm, but he didn’t want the enemy to know he’d raised the alarm. Koslov had a silent signal device that trembled every post resident’s wrist cuff.
