As if in answer to Brielle’s musings, the inquisitor drew himself up to his full height. He lifted his hands and placed them on either side of the apparatus behind the tau’s head, lowering the crown of needles and probes. The wires writhing at Grand’s wrists snaked out of his voluminous sleeves, each linking up, and melding to a tiny port on the device.
Brielle realised that the inquisitor meant to undertake something other than a verbal interrogation.
The rise and fall of the prisoner’s chest became faster and shallower, yet he closed his eyes as if in noble resignation of his fate. Brielle felt a prickling sensation crawl over her skin, realising that the feeling was more than one of simple unease at the scene unfolding before her. Her skin itched, and it took a supreme effort to resist the urge to scratch it with raking nails. She forced her attention onto the centre of the chamber, seeing that the inquisitor’s hands were clamped around the prisoner’s forehead, a halo of writhing, hair-thin wires joining human and tau in some cruel, blasphemous union.
Brielle watched as Inquisitor Grand used some form of witchery. He was tearing into the prisoner’s psyche, using the wires to bridge the gulf between human and xenos. She felt revulsion well up within her; she felt unclean. She felt spiritually soiled by the psychic taint radiating from the scene before her. She felt literally revolted, as if she had not washed in a month, as if her skin, her organs were contagious, and to wear her own body was to wallow in corruption.
Brielle caught herself, shaking free of the sensation with a supreme effort of will. She leant against the wall behind her, realising that she was reacting to the inquisitor’s use of his powers. She took a deep breath and gathered herself, before walking from the chamber in as controlled a manner as she could manage.
Ever-increasing waves of actinic corruption snapped at her heels as she walked through the chamber’s armoured portal, the prisoner’s alien screams echoing behind her before being abruptly cut off as the door rolled shut at her passing.
Having left the interrogation chamber, Brielle paced back and forth in the brightly lit, sparsely appointed atrium. She could not physically be in the room, sharing the space with the inquisitor as he went about his terrible business. Yet she feared the impression her leaving might create, and so she impatiently awaited the end of Grand’s bloody interrogation. All the while, she was able to hear the prisoner’s screaming, faint and muffled by the heavy armour of the chamber’s entrance. Worse still, she could feel the psychic backwash of the inquisitor’s probing, though thankfully the effect was but a shadow of what she had experienced within.
After an hour or more had passed, the portal rolled open with a heavy grinding, the deep red, infernal light washing through. Standing in the portal was the cardinal. He beckoned her to follow with a silent gesture.
Stepping across the chamber’s threshold once more, Brielle was greeted with the overpowering stench of burned meat. As revolting as the odour was, more disturbing was the realisation that the taint was also spiritual, a stain upon the soul and upon the ether that would remain within the chamber even were it scoured with the cleansing flames of holy promethium.
“Be not shy, child,” the cardinal said as he turned to address Brielle, his voice low and threatening. “We do the Emperor’s work.”
“But you wanted them all dead,” she blurted, unable to comprehend why the cardinal and the inquisitor had interrogated the suspect when, by all accounts, they had opposed doing so in the recent council session.
“Oh, I do,” the cardinal replied, a twitching grin touching the corner of his mouth, “I very much do, but the council has decided that we should know our foe, and so we shall.” With a slow flourish of his right arm, the cardinal stepped to one side to afford Brielle a view of the centre of the chamber.
She looked to the surgical chair, gave an involuntary gasp and spun around, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth. What she had seen upon, and scattered around, the chair filled her with utter horror.
“I understand,” the cardinal said from behind her. “The xenos is a filthy creature, its form so different from the consecrated body of Man.”
She caught her breath as the cardinal spoke, feeling her heart beat return to something approaching a normal rate. She turned to face him, but pointedly avoided looking towards the chamber’s centre.
“I thought…”
“Speak child, for you are among friends.”
“I thought,” she continued, “you were going to question him.” She felt foolish even as she spoke, but went on regardless. “Why did you…”
“Kill it?” the cardinal asked, his voice loud. “The xenos has no right to live in the galaxy. The stars belong to mankind. The council would have us question the prisoner, and so we did. Once questioned, it was disposed of, as is only fitting.”
Brielle felt cold dread at the cardinal’s words, not that he should act in so callous a fashion, for such deeds were the price of humanity’s survival in a galaxy of a million threats.
No, she was filled with the notion that here was a man who would manipulate the entire crusade to achieve his own ends, and it mattered not a bit who suffered along the way. She saw in her mind’s eye the course the crusade would take if the cardinal were to become the dominant figure on the council. The entire region, the Damocles Gulf and beyond would be reduced to ashes. None would survive to profit, whether from conquest or conflict.
“But,” the cardinal continued, “the beast’s death was not in vain.” Brielle looked up to see that Inquisitor Grand had come silently upon the pair, and was standing at the cardinal’s shoulder.
“Indeed,” the inquisitor whispered, his eyes seeming to Brielle to flash crimson for just an instant, before being swallowed up beneath the shadows of his hood. “I discovered much of interest before the prisoner expired.”
“What did he tell you?” Brielle asked, playing along with what she saw as the inquisitor’s theatre.
Grand chuckled by way of explanation, a sound Brielle scarcely believed could have issued from a human throat.
“He told me nothing,” the inquisitor replied. “I saw what I needed to see, but no words were exchanged between me and the prisoner.”
“So what did you see?” Brielle asked, annoyance spiced with fear rising within her.
“I saw a race entirely consumed with a false ideology. They believe they expand for the good of all, but I saw where they fear to look, and I saw it is fear that drives the tau ever outwards, and it is fear that will ultimately drive them to destruction as they are dashed against the ancient forces at large in the galaxy.”
Brielle felt confusion at the inquisitor’s words. She had gleaned a little of the tau’s philosophies, and did not recognise the drives that Grand described. So far as she understood, the tau sought to unite every race they came into contact with, through a desire for mutually constructive cooperation.
The inquisitor was studying her, Brielle realised, and she returned her attention to him, locking her thoughts away.
“I saw a race that believes the galaxy is a small place. A place they believe they can tame with childish ideologies and cold technologies. They hurl themselves across the void without an inkling of who or what awaits them. If they only knew…”
“They would run and hide,” said the cardinal. “And so they should, for even now a force is being gathered to seek out and destroy a nearby colony that the inquisitor learned of from the prisoner’s mind. Even as the battle rages below us, we shall send out our forces and destroy these aliens wherever they may be found. When every tau on this side of the Gulf is dead, we shall cross the void and raze to ashes every last world in their pathetic little empire.”
Brielle knew then that the crusade could not be allowed to continue if these two were to be its leaders. What had begun as an opportunity was rapidly descending into utter madness. Her mind reeled as she considered the scale of the disaster about to descend upon the Eastern Rim, upon man and tau both. She looked up and saw that the in
quisitor’s armoured guards were escorting in the next prisoner, and the Mechanicus attendants were shovelling the previous one into a large containment drum, to be jettisoned, no doubt, with the station’s waste. As the cardinal and the inquisitor turned their backs on her, their attentions entirely shifted to their new task, she turned and walked on unsteady legs out of the chamber.
She maintained her composure almost the entire way back to her ship. It was not until she had boarded once more that she gave in to the urge to throw up violently across the deck. The confrontation had left her soiled. She was sure that it was not merely the exposure to Grand’s witchery that left her feeling so compromised. It was the rank insanity that made her so ill, an epic lunacy that would spell the doom of the entire fleet and, perhaps, an entire race, if she did not act.
Later, Brielle lounged in her quarters aboard the Fairlight. She had welcomed the return to the familiar surroundings of her vessel. It might be cramped and ill lit compared to the tau station, but it was her home. The lighting was turned low, and a shadowed figure sat opposite her.
“I know enough of the Imperium,” the man said, “to know that they will carry out their threat.”
Brielle sighed and took a sip of liqueur. Despite the fact that she had bathed, for hours, and scrubbed her skin raw, she still felt the horrific stain that had touched her in the interrogation chamber.
“I know that, Naal.”
“And you must act.”
“I know that too.”
Naal leant forward in his seat, his face, tattooed with an Imperial Aquila and lines of spidery text, came into the light. “My masters aided you when you called upon them. They, in turn, require your aid.”
“I know,” Brielle replied.
CHAPTER FOUR
“The council is in session,” the orderly announced, the iron shod end of his ceremonial staff striking the floor. “General Gauge has the chair.”
Lucian settled into the high-backed chair, still unused to the shape, for it was manufactured not for the comfort of the human council, but for the tau whose station they occupied. At least his eyes were adapting to the stark light, he mused, and he was getting used to the alien contours of the station’s design. Thank the Emperor it was the general’s turn to serve as chair of the crusade council, Lucian thought, for Wendall Gauge was a man that Lucian could respect.
“Please, gentlemen,” Gauge said as he sat, “make yourselves comfortable. We have much to discuss.”
Lucian watched as the members of the council settled themselves in for what they all knew would be the final session before the crusade embarked upon its most ambitious phase. All members were present, including the huge figures of the two Space Marines who sat on the council, each barely fitting in the alien-made seats. Captain Rumann, the most senior Space Marine in the fleet, showed no apparent emotion at the victories he had commanded during the still-raging ground war on the world below. Sergeant Sarik however, sitting on Lucian’s left, radiated steely martial pride at the actions he had personally led.
“I suggest we begin with reports to council. Who will speak first?” the general asked, casting his stern gaze around the table.
“I would address the council.” Admiral Jellaqua spoke up, straightening his jacket and clearing his throat. “My command stands at eight capital vessels and nine escort squadrons.” the admiral stated, his tone matter of fact, but professional pride glinting in his eyes. “In addition, I have three deep space support echelons in place, each with the capacity to carry the fleet to the other side of the galaxy and back.”
Lucian allowed himself a small grin. He saw the truth through Jellaqua’s boast. He knew that the admiral had put in place a formidable auxiliary fleet, a vast force of long-range tankers, freighters, service vessels and transports. It was an impressive achievement, and the admiral had Lucian’s genuine admiration.
“All ships of the line are approaching readiness, and I estimate full capacity within three days. The Regent Lakshimbal has undergone a significant refit of her port drive section following the damage sustained during the Sy’l’Kell action. By bringing forward her major centennial service, we have significantly improved her combat potential. In addition, the Duchess Mclntyre has a full complement following the mutinies she suffered at Garrus. The new crew is veteran and trustworthy and unlike the last lot, they know how the Navy deals with mutinous bastards that try to take over one of the Emperor’s warships.”
As the admiral sat, the council members nodded sagely at his last remark. The admiral referred, Lucian knew, to the fate of the several thousand mutineers who had been ejected, in long, flailing lines, from the Duchess Mclntyre’s torpedo tubes once the commissars and naval provost parties had regained control of the vessel. Lucian had thought it an imaginative form of execution, and certainly one that would give pause to any more such plots lurking within the fleet’s enlisted ranks.
“Thank you, admiral,” said General Gauge. “Captain Rumann, might we hear of your victories?”
The Space Marine nodded in response to the general’s invitation, and stood. Captain Rumann made for an imposing figure, towering over the table and the other councillors sitting around it. When he spoke, his baritone voice was cold and mechanical, his vocal cords having been replaced by a bionic vox unit.
“Council,” the Space Marine said, his cybernetic eyes scanning each member in turn, “I have to report that the assault on the target world went according to plan. As you know, the assault on the orbital in which we reside was enacted by my forces, and spearheaded by three squads under Sergeant Sarik.” At the mention of his name, the White Scar grinned savagely. The Iron Hands captain continued. “The station was cleansed within three point five hours, though no significant resistance was met. We believe that only a token defence force was left in place, while senior xenos were evacuated to the world below.”
Sarik snorted at the captain’s assessment of the quality of the resistance, though Rumann showed no reaction.
“The planetary assault operation is still ongoing. Our forces, spearheaded by the Scythes of the Emperor have made contact with a number of xenos troop types that we have not encountered before. It appears this race makes extensive use of anti-grav technology, manifested in heavy armour and jump infantry. Casualties amongst the Guard are running at twelve per cent, with a commensurate drop in combat effectiveness. Casualties amongst Astartes units are at less than five per cent, with no drop in effectiveness.”
The Space Marine showed no emotion as he spoke of the first encounters with the tau armoured units, which had cost the crusade forces dear. The price had been paid in the blood and machines of the 17th Brimlock Dragoons, and Lucian had seen the pict captures of the Imperial Guard tank columns being ambushed by the fast moving tau vehicles. He knew that only the timely intervention of the crusade’s army reserve units had averted the massacre of the entire regiment and a humiliating defeat at the hands of the aliens.
“Having secured the primary drop zone, Sergeant Sarik affected the capture of the tau high command facility. We believe the enemy’s command and control capabilities are rendered entirely ineffectual. The 9th Brimlock Fusiliers are supporting a general advance on objectives 23 delta through 67 gamma. I expect all resistance to have collapsed within twelve hours.”
Polite applause rippled around the council chamber as the captain sat once more. Lucian leaned back in his seat, the reality that the crusade was really underway and achieving its ends beginning to sink in. He knew they had a very long way to go, for they had yet to even breach the Damocles Gulf, yet Lucian could not help but nurture a spark of hope, of ambition and of expectation at what might lie ahead. Yet, he knew too that this first battle would in all likelihood prove little more than an opening skirmish. The crusade had yet to utilise more than a portion of its strength, which included many more regiments of Imperial Guard and the towering, awesomely destructive war machines of the Adeptus Titanicus.
Lucian watched as the orderly who had ann
ounced the council session convened approached General Gauge and spoke to him in a muted voice. Lucian took the opportunity to turn to his son, who sat in a second tier of seats behind that positioned around the table.
Lucian leaned in towards Korvane. “Our status?”
“Ninety nine per cent, father,” Korvane replied. Lucian caught the intonation straight away and leaned in closer to speak.
“What is it, Korvane? I need to know if something’s wrong.” As if to prove the truth of his comment, Lucian saw the orderly out of the corner of his eye as he moved from General Gauge and bent down to speak to Inquisitor Grand.
“Well,” Korvane said, “I can vouch for the Rosetta, as you can the Oceanid, but I fear I cannot vouch for the Fairlight.”
Lucian looked his son straight in the eye. He noted as he did so that the rejuve treatments Korvane had undergone, following the terrible injuries he had received at the hands of the tau fleet at Arrikis Epsilon, had not been entirely successful. Lucian knew that his son would bear the marks of that battle for the remainder of his life.
“What of Brielle?” Lucian asked. “Has she not made ready her vessel?” Even as he asked, he knew that even if Brielle had completed the preparations for her ship to cross the Damocles Gulf, she would not have volunteered such details to her stepbrother. She was becoming increasingly withdrawn, and had been for some time.
“I have spoken with her officers, father.” Korvane’s expression became dark and brooding as he spoke of his stepsister. “It appears that she delegated the task to her bridge crew and went aboard the orbital for some length of time. At that point, she had not returned.”
Lucian released a long sigh. This news did not surprise him, yet he could not help but be disappointed. He wished he could get up and leave, to track down his truculent daughter and shake some sense into her. But he could not, for even as he pondered the issue, he heard his name spoken as the general requested he apprise the council of his fleet’s state of readiness.
[Rogue Trader 02] - Star of Damocles Page 6
