[Rogue Trader 02] - Star of Damocles

by Andy Hoare - (ebook by Undead)

  “And so,” Cardinal Gurney continued, casting a smug glance Lucian’s way, “we must devise our plan of conquest.”

  “We know precious little of this region.” Admiral Jellaqua spoke up. “We have entered an area of space of a quite singular nature, and have little idea where our foe lies within it.”

  “Then he must come to us!” Gurney replied, leaning forward across the table as he spoke. “We must compel these xenos filth to commit their entire force against us.”

  Lucian sighed in outright disgust. What had started out as an opportunity to lead a glorious conquest was rapidly turning into a chance to commit suicide following a megalomaniac on a vainglorious xenocide. Prior to Brielle’s attack on the inquisitor, he had been gathering council members to his cause, garnering support for his own approach to the crusade. But now…

  “And how do you propose to draw them out?” Lucian asked. He made no attempt to disguise his contempt for Gurney’s plan.

  “We find the nearest population centre and descend upon it. We visit upon them the full extent of the Emperor’s wrath. Leave no stone standing upon another.”

  “You hope,” Lucian replied, “to draw the tau into launching an all-out counter-attack.”

  “I do, Lucian,” the Cardinal replied. “Surely, you can see how this must work?”

  “We do not yet comprehend,” Admiral Jellaqua interjected, “the full extent of the tau’s holdings. They may be limited to a single star system, though I doubt that, or they might occupy every system out there.”

  The council fell silent for a moment, as each member appeared to mull over the admiral’s words. Then, a voice spoke up. Lucian turned, though he knew from the voice’s mechanical tones that it was Captain Rumann who spoke.

  “Though I accept the view that the region is an unknown,” the captain said, nodding first to Jellaqua and then to Lucian, “I do believe that a sudden strike with all available force is a doctrinally sound course of action. It is consistent with the mission of the Adeptus Astartes on this crusade, and may win a war before it has truly begun.”

  “I agree.” It was Sarik of the White Scars, his eyes alight with feral glee as he spoke. “My men and I have been cooped up for too long. We need the ground beneath our feet, a bolter in hand and an enemy to the fore.”

  “Nonetheless,” replied Lucian, “we must perform a proper reconnoitre first.”

  “I agree!” said Admiral Jellaqua. “I will not order my command into harm’s way on the word of a captive. There is simply too much at stake.”

  Gurney rounded on Jellaqua, leaning forward over the polished wooden table. “Admiral, might I remind you that I am granted titular authority—”

  “And might I remind you,” the stout admiral bellowed as he struggled to his feet, “that I command the Imperial Navy. If any wish to continue without the support of my vessels, then they are welcome to do so!”

  The admiral stood, red faced with rage, locked in confrontation with the cardinal. The council went silent, many around the table simply looking elsewhere for fear of setting either man off again. Lucian saw his chance.

  “Gentlemen,” he said as he stood and walked around the table to stand between them. “Clearly, this will get us nowhere. Such division plays into our enemy’s hands, and we can scarcely afford to squander any edge we might have.”

  “Quite so,” Jellaqua replied, nodding his thanks to Lucian.

  The cardinal, however, was less magnanimous. “To withdraw now would be treason,” he growled, his voice dangerously low where Lucian was more used to it being shrill. Jellaqua stiffened.

  “No one is accusing anyone of treason,” Lucian interjected.

  “Who among us,” the cardinal replied, “is more fit to judge such a matter?” Gurney turned to his compatriot seated next to him. Inquisitor Grand nodded, his face barely visible beneath his dark hood.

  “Indeed,” Grand rasped, “treason is a word so easily applied, and yet one so difficult to take back.”

  Lucian felt the inquisitor’s gaze boring into him from beneath the hood, a queasy sensation rising in his stomach. A vision flashed across his mind’s eye, a vivid image of his daughter, in pain and in desperate need. He knew stark dread for a moment, and knew then that he had made a terrible enemy in Inquisitor Grand. He recognised the touch of the psyker, and knew that Grand had placed the vision within his mind. The inquisitor, he had no doubt, was a psyker of some ability.

  From where Lucian stood, interposed between the cardinal and the admiral, he noticed that Korvane was staring right at Inquisitor Grand. Had his son shared the vision? Had the bastard inquisitor shown to all of the council that he might truly crush any power that remained within Lucian’s grasp? He looked around the various faces, but saw nothing unusual. It was just him and his son, then.

  “How shall we settle this matter?” Admiral Jellaqua asked, sitting once more with evident frustration.

  “I’ll do it,” said a voice from across the chamber. Lucian’s heart sank. It was Korvane who had spoken up.

  “What?” asked Jellaqua, seeking to locate the speaker.

  Lucian saw his son rise and approach the council table.

  “Korvane, please sit,” Lucian started.

  “No,” interjected Inquisitor Grand, his relish all too evident. “Let him speak.”

  Korvane nodded his thanks to the inquisitor. Lucian felt a bitter stab of resentment. “I propose,” Korvane continued, “that I lead a scouting mission to locate a suitable target.”

  “And why would you do such a thing?” Inquisitor Grand rasped.

  “Because I believe such a course of action is in the best interests of the crusade,” Korvane replied.

  “The Rosetta is no scouting vessel,” Lucian said, hating that circumstance had set him against his own son in such a manner, yet knowing he must intervene. “She’s not fast enough and she’ll be detected within hours of breaking warp.”

  “I know that, father,” Korvane replied, an unfamiliar edge in his voice. “I’ll lead a Navy deep space recon patrol. If there’s a decent target within range, I’ll find it.” He turned to the council at large. “You have my word.”

  “Can this be done?” Gurney asked no one in particular.

  “Aye,” Jellaqua replied, “it can be done, if it is agreed.” Here the admiral looked to Lucian. Lucian caught the hint of sympathy in the other man’s eye, and appreciated it for the gesture it was no doubt intended to be. Though he seethed inside, Lucian knew that now was the time to show unity, to shore up what influence he still had within the council. To oppose his son’s proposal would spell the end of any such influence, of that he was quite sure. Just what his son hoped to achieve by absenting himself from the crusade fleet at such a vital juncture, he had no clue.

  “I propose,” Korvane went on, “to proceed rimward thirty-eight by one-one-seven.” As he spoke, Korvane touched a polished brass control console mounted in the great wooden table. The vaulted ceiling space was filled with light all of a sudden, which gradually resolved itself into a representation of the surrounding space. The blue nebulae glowed serenely, casting their luminescence over the councillors as each craned his neck to look up. Lucian sighed inwardly, realising that his son’s proposal had not been as spontaneous as it had at first appeared. No, Lucian mused bitterly, his son had planned this, and kept it from him.

  The heading Korvane had prepared was scribed across the projection as the council watched, warp time differentials labelled at each waypoint. He’s wasted no time, Lucian thought, seeing that the course led towards a system that Lucian would have chosen were he proposing the course of action, and not his son.

  “This system,” Korvane announced, “is, I believe, a viable target.”

  “Not according to my data.” All eyes turned from the swirling blue eddies above, to Magos Explorator Jaakho, who had spoken. “That cluster was subject to a delta seven survey when last my order passed through this region. I do not believe the tau would settle there, f
or it holds no worlds capable of supporting life.”

  “And yet,” Lucian said, supporting his son’s choice of target despite himself, “the tau have developed into a highly proficient spacefaring race, capable of crossing the Gulf and spreading Emperor only knows how far into the stars. With respect, lord explorator, that cluster occupies a strategically important position within the region. It provides an ideal staging post for expansion across the Gulf, or a bridgehead for any wishing to invade. Were we in the tau’s position, we would occupy in force.”

  Lucian’s statement caused Gurney to simmer with barely contained outrage at the comparison of human and tau. Let him choke on his own bile, Lucian thought.

  “Thank you, father,” Korvane said, nodding his head towards Lucian.

  “You will need a strong recon element,” Lucian said. Though uncertain of his son’s agenda, he was already calculating ways in which the situation could be turned to the Arcadius’ advantage, “Admiral?”

  “Indeed,” replied Admiral Jellaqua, who had remained thoughtful as the discussion had taken this odd turn, “I would not be averse to detaching a deep space reconnaissance wing to your son’s command. I believe the 344th will suffice. I can order the necessary arrangements, if the council agrees.”

  “You formally propose this course of action, admiral?” Explorator Jaakho asked.

  “I do,” replied Admiral Jellaqua, tabling the motion that Korvane be allowed to lead a scouting mission to ascertain the crusade’s first target.

  “Who here will second this motion?” The explorator lord asked.

  “I will,” replied Lucian. “I will second the motion.”

  Lucian and Korvane stood upon the vast crowded main flight deck of the Blade of Woe. A navy lighter waited nearby to shuttle Korvane to the scout wing patrolling the crusade’s outer perimeter. The whine of the small vessel’s idling engines was almost lost amidst the clamour of the bustling deck.

  Lucian watched as his son’s effects were loaded onto the waiting lighter, waiting for Korvane to offer him some form of explanation. He had been waiting since the council had broken up some hours before, and had yet to hear Korvane’s account of his actions.

  “So, you’ll leave without telling me what’s going on?” he finally asked, growing impatient with his son’s silence.

  “I believe it’s for the best, father. I can do this.”

  “Whether you can do this or not is beside the point,” Lucian growled, turning his back on his son and looking out across the busy flight deck. Small vessels arrived and departed by the minute, ferrying personnel and equipment between the capital vessels of the crusade fleet. “That you chose to inform me of your plan of action in the manner you did was unforgivable.”

  “I intended no disrespect, father. I sought merely to take the initiative in council.”

  “That you did,” Lucian replied, turning towards his son once more, “and you may have done our cause enormous benefit in the process.” Lucian grinned, unable to bear any malice towards his son, and certainly not when Korvane was about to depart into an unknown and hostile region of space.

  Korvane however, remained impassive, his features dark and sullen. “You would not have heard me out were I to propose such a course to you, in private.”

  Lucian was stunned. “You think…”

  “I know,” Korvane said. “I saw the council turning against you, and I acted.”

  Not entirely true, Lucian thought, for Korvane had evidently prepared a plot of the region prior to speaking up in council. He decided to leave it. “What’s done is done, Korvane. I do not wish us to part on ill terms.” He spread his arms wide, inviting his son to embrace him at his departing.

  Korvane turned his head, his rejection of Lucian’s gesture all too obvious and painful to behold.

  “Go then,” Lucian said. “Prove whatever it is you need to prove.”

  Korvane turned towards the lighter’s lowered access ramp and took a step up it.

  “But Korvane,” Lucian said, his son halting, and turning his head towards him.

  “Yes, father?”

  “Try not to get yourself killed.”

  “Yes, father,” Korvane said, and ducked into the lighter’s small passenger bay.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The tau shuttle touched down with a barely perceptible jolt. Brielle looked across the small passenger bay at Naal, who nodded back at her. She touched the clasp holding the acceleration harness across her body, and it disengaged before retracting into its mounting on the wall behind her.

  “Will there be much…” Brielle began.

  “Ceremony?” Naal finished for her. “No. Our host will wish to keep things low key, at least to begin with.”

  “Until he’s decided how much use I might be to him,” Brielle said. She really did not care that she sounded like a petulant child. She felt like one.

  Naal smiled in a manner Brielle was coming to find somewhat patronising. “To a point, yes, but don’t forget, Brielle, that the tau do not mount grandiose ceremonies for the glorification of individuals. They may do so for the benefit of all, but this is not such an occasion.”

  Brielle stood from the acceleration couch, stretching as she did so. The interface had taken less than an hour, and was far gentler than an atmospheric entry in many human vessels, but she felt cramped and tense nonetheless.

  “So, I’m not important enough to make a fuss over?” she asked, a sly grin at her lips.

  “Quite the…” Naal began, before he realised Brielle was toying with him.

  “So, who is important enough?” she continued. “Who’s in charge around here?”

  When Naal failed to answer her, Brielle turned and regarded him squarely. “What?” she asked, instantly suspicious.

  “The tau govern in a manner quite unlike the Imperium,” Naal answered. Brielle noted that he did not meet her eye as he spoke. Her suspicion was piqued.

  “I know that, Naal,” she responded testily, “the envoy briefed me. But I could tell that there was plenty he didn’t tell me about.”

  “It’s true, Brielle, there is much more to learn,” Naal answered, ducking past her towards the boarding hatch. “Please, be patient. The tau are in, many ways a straightforward people, they shun affectation and pretence and are entirely selfless in the pursuit of the Greater Good.” Naal turned and looked Brielle straight in the eye. “But there are some things they entrust only to friends. If you become their friend, you will be rewarded greatly.”

  And if I don’t? Brielle thought to herself as she held Naal’s gaze for a long moment.

  “As to your other question,” Naal continued, his tone light and conversational, “no one is ‘in charge around here’.”

  She gave him her best incredullous look, and he continued.

  “The tau practice a form of collective government. It’s complex, but you’ll come to see that it works.”

  “Wait,” Brielle said, “you mean too tell me there’s no single tau in charge?”

  “I do,” Naal replied. “Various individuals may attain preeminence, enjoying great influence for a stretch, but they always accede to others when appropriate. Therefore, no one individual has total control, and he who may do so best exercises his influence while he may.”

  “And this works?” Brielle asked, genuinely incredulous.

  “It does, and very well,” Naal said, smiling. “You’ll come to realise, Brielle, that the tau display a distinct lack of ego. It takes some getting used to, but once you do, it all makes sense.”

  Taking this in, Brielle gave Naal one last look, just to ensure that he was not toying with her. His continued smile told her that he was not. It all seemed incredibly implausible, but then, the tau was an alien race, quite outside the human frame of reference. She approached the hatch, and stood at Naal’s side as he reached out to activate the control at its side. With a barely audible hiss, the hatch began to open outward. The shuttle’s small passenger compartment was flooded with the lig
ht that appeared around the lowering ramp.

  Such moments always reminded her of a lesson she had been taught upon her first planetfall. Standing at her father’s side in the equally cramped passenger bay of a human shuttle, he had told her that nothing could match the first breath of a new world. The memory was a precious one from her early adulthood, but it was sullied by the fact that the world in question had been Nankirk, where she had been introduced to her future stepbrother. Korvane had come into the Clan Arcadius that day, the result of a perspicacious joining of dynasties. Brielle, however, had lost her position as heritor of the clan, and, in her view, had lived in Korvane’s shadow ever since.

  Forcing such thoughts to the back of her mind, Brielle repeated the ritual she had first carried out on that day years before. She closed her eyes, and felt the gentle breeze on her face of the outside air as it rushed into the shuttle. Her eyes still closed, she took a deep breath. She savoured, as her father had taught her, the myriad subtle tastes and scents of this new world. The air was clean, with a faint undertone of some exotic spice. Something else was carried on the air too, the scent of artificial compounds, plastics, resins and the like. However, they were not the raw, harsh fumes belched out on many worlds of the Imperium, but something far more integrated into the society it served.

  She breathed out and opened her eyes, to find the ramp entirely lowered before her. The bright light of the world’s sun dazzled her for an instant, before the photochromatic lenses she wore in her eyes adjusted the light to tolerable levels. As her vision resolved, the view settled into a sight of breathtaking proportions.

  The shuttle in which she had arrived was perched upon a small landing pad, which was itself an offshoot of a far larger, narrow, fin-shaped structure. A narrow walkway led from the landing pad to the larger building, although Brielle could see no obvious entrance in its surface. She looked around the landing pad for any form of welcoming party, but saw none. Despite what Naal had said about the tau not standing on ceremony, she felt mildly snubbed. Perhaps that was the point, she thought. It would hardly have been the first time a host had attempted to put an unwelcome guest at a disadvantage by affecting disinterest in their presence.