1_For_The_Emperor

by Sandy Mitchel

  Cain makes frequent references throughout the archive to having spent his early years on a hive world, but never specifies which one; which, in turn, makes the verification of any such claims virtually impossible. However, no hive world of which I'm aware raised a mixed Guard regiment in the timeframe consistent with his narrative.

  We should also bear in mind that, by his own admission, the man was a pathological liar; given to saving anything he judged would be effective in manipulating his listeners.

  FOUR

  It's often remarked that diplomacy is just warfare by other means. Our battles are no less desperate for being bloodless, but at least we get wine and finger food.

  – Tollen Ferlang, Imperial Envoy to the Realm of Ultramar, 564-603 M41.

  'Are you sure you're fit enough?' Kasteen asked, a faint frown of concern appearing between her eyebrows. I nodded, and adjusted die sling I'd adopted for dramatic effect. It was black silk, matching the ebony hues of my dress uniform, and made me look tolerably dashing, I thought.

  'I'm fine/ I said, smiling bravely. 'The other fellows got the worst of it, thank the Emperor.' In the day or two since the brawl with the heretics, my

  arm had more or less healed, the medicae assuring me that I'd suffered nothing worse than severe bruising. It was still stiff, and ached a little, but all in all I thought I'd come off lightly. Far better than Divas had, anyway. He'd spent the night in the infirmary, and still walked with a stick. For all that, though, he was as irritatingly cheerful as ever, and I'd been finding as many duties as I could to keep me out of the way whenever he suggested socialising again.

  Luckily for me, he'd lost consciousness before the kroot turned up, so my reputation had received another unmerited embellishment. He assumed I'd seen off our assailants single-handed, and I saw no good reason to disabuse him. Besides, the conversation I'd had with the creature had been curiously unsettling, and I found myself reluctant to think about it too hard. I noticed Divas's account had tactfully glossed over the reason why we were in the thick of the tau sympathizers' heartland, so maybe they'd finally knocked a little common sense into him. Knowing Divas, though, I doubted it.

  'Well, that's what they get for picking on the Imperium's finest/ Kasteen said, eager to buy the generally accepted version of events, as the latest evidence of my exceptional martial abilities reflected well on the regiment she led. She adjusted her own dress uniform, tugging the ochre greatcoat into place with every sign of discomfort. Like most Valhallans, she had an iceworlder's

  tolerance for cold, and found even the mildest of temperate climates a little uncomfortable. Having spent most of my service with Valhallan regiments, I'd long become inured to their habit of air conditioning their quarters to temperatures which left the breath smoking, and tended to wear my com-missarial greatcoat at all times, but they were still adjusting to the local conditions here with some difficulty.

  'If I might suggest, colonel,' I said, 'tropical order would be perfectly acceptable/

  'Would it?' She hovered indecisively, reminding me again how young she was to be in such an elevated position, and I felt an unaccustomed pang of sympathy. The prestige of the regiment was in her hands, and it was easy to forget how heavily the responsibility weighed on her.

  'It would/ I assured her. She discarded the heavy fur cap, disordering her hair, and began to unfasten the coat. Then she hesitated.

  'I don't know/ she said. 'If they think I'm too informal it'll reflect badly on all of us/

  'For the Emperor's sake, Regina/ Broklaw said, his voice amused. 'What sort of impression do you think you'll make if you're sweating like an ork all evening?' I noted his use of her given name, the first time I'd heard him do so, with quiet satisfaction. Another milestone on the 597th's march towards full integration. The real test would come with their first taste of combat, of course, and all too soon at that, but it was a good omen. 'The commissar's right/

  The commissar's always right/ I said, smiling. 'It says so in the regulations.'

  Well, I can't argue with that.' Kasteen pulled off the coat with evident relief, and smoothed the jacket beneath it. It was severely cut, emphasising her figure in ways that I was sure would attract the attention of most of the men in the room. Broklaw nodded approvingly.

  'I don't think you need to worry about making an impression,' he said, proffering a comb.

  'So long as it's a good one.' She smoothed her hair into place, and began buckling her weapon belt. Like mine it held a chainsword, but hers was ornately gilded, and worked with devotional scenes that decorated scabbard and hilt alike. The contrast with my own functional model, chipped and battered with far too much use for my liking, was striking. The holster at her other hip was immaculate too, the glossy black leather holding a bolt pistol which also gleamed from every highly polished surface and which was intricately engraved with icons of the saints.

  'No doubt about that/ I assured her.

  Her nervousness was quite understandable, as we'd been invited to a diplomatic reception at the governor's palace. At least I had, and in the interests of protocol, the colonel of my regiment and an appropriate honour guard would also be expected. This sort of soiree was quite beyond her experience, and she was all too acutely aware that she was out of her depth.

  I, on the other hand, was well within mine. One of the many benefits of being a Hero of the Imperium is that you're regarded as a prime catch by a certain type of society hostess, which meant that I'd had plenty of opportunity to enjoy the homes, wine cellars, and daughters of the idle rich over the years, and had developed an easy familiarity with the world in which they moved. The main thing to remember, as I confided to Kasteen, was that they had their own idea of what soldiers were like, which had very little to do with the reality.

  The best thing you can do/ I said, 'is not to get sucked in to all that protocol nonsense in the first place. They'll expect us to get it wrong anyway, so to the warp with them/ She smiled in spite of herself, and settled a little more comfortably into the upholstery of the staff car Jurgen had found somewhere. Armed with my commissarial authority, which let him requisition practically anything short of a battleship without argument, he'd developed quite a talent for acquiring anything I considered necessary for my comfort or convenience over the years. I never asked too many questions about where they'd come from, as I suspected some of the answers might have complicated my life.

  That's easy for you to say/ she said. 'You're a hero. I'm just-'

  'One of the youngest regimental commanders in the entire Guard/ I said. 'A position that, in my opinion, you hold entirely on merit/ I smiled. 'And my confidence is not lightly earned/ It was what she

  needed to hear, of course; I've always been good at manipulating people. That's one of the reasons I'm so good at my job. She began to look a little happier.

  'So what do you suggest?' she said. I shrugged.

  'They might be rich and powerful, but they're only civilians. However hard they try to hide it, they'll be in awe of you. I've always found it best at these things just to be a plain, simple military man, with no interest in politics. The Emperor points, and we obey…'

  'Through the warp and far away' She finished the old song line with a smile. 'So we shouldn't offer any opinions, or answer questions about policy.'

  'Exactly/ I said. 'If they want to talk, tell them a few stories about your old campaigns. That's all they're interested in anyway/ That was certainly true in my case. I was sure I'd only been invited as patriotic window-dressing, to impress the tau with the calibre of the opposition they'd be facing if they were foolish enough to try and make a fight of it with us. Of course, in my case, that meant they could pretty much run their flag up the pole of the governor's palace any time they felt like it, but that was beside the point.

  'Thank you, Ciaphas/ Kasteen put her chin on her hand, and watched the street lights flicker past outside the window. That was the first time anyone in the regiment had addressed me in personal terms since I joined it
. It felt strange, but curiously pleasant.

  'You're welcome… Regina/ I said, and she smiled.

  (I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. I did come to think of her as a friend in the end, and Broklaw too, but that's as far as it went. Anything else would have made both our positions untenable. Sometimes, looking back, I think that's a shame, but there it is.)

  The governor's palace was in what the locals called the Old Quarter, where the fad for tau-influenced architecture which had infected the rest of the city had failed to take hold, so the vague sense of unease which had oppressed me since we arrived began to lift at last. The villas and mansions slipping past outside the car had taken on the familiar blocky contours of the Imperial architecture with which I'd been familiar all my life, and I felt my spirits begin to rise to the point where I almost began to anticipate enjoying the evening ahead of us.

  Jurgen swung the vehicle through an elaborate pair of wrought-iron gates decorated with the Imperial aquila, and our tyres hissed over raked gravel as we progressed down a long, curving drive lit by flickering flambeaux. Behind us the truck with our honour guard followed, no doubt making a terrible mess of things with its heavy duty tyres, the soldiers making the most of the grandstand view afforded by its open rear decking to point and chatter at the sights. Beyond the flickering firelight, we could make out a rolling landscaped lawn, dotted with shrubs and ornamental fountains - automatically, some part of

  my mind was assessing the best way of using them for cover.

  An audible gasp from Kasteen signalled that the palace itself had come into view from her side window, and a moment later, the curve of the drive brought it into my field of vision.

  'Not a bad little billet/ I said, with elaborate casu-alness. Kasteen composed herself, wiping the bumpkin gawp off her face.

  'Reminds me of a bordello we used to visit when I was an officer cadet/ she replied, determined to match my blase exterior. I grinned.

  'Good/ I said. 'Remember we're soldiers. We're not impressed by this sort of thing/

  'Absolutely not/ she agreed, straightening her jacket unnecessarily.

  There was a lot of the building not to be impressed by. It must have covered over a kilometre from end to end, although of course much of that area would be given over to courtyards and interior gardens currently hidden behind the outer wall. Buttresses and crenellations protruded like acne from every surface, encrusted with statuary commemorating previous governors and other local notables no one could now remember the names of, and vast areas had been gilded, reflecting the firelight from outside in a manner which was to prove eerily prophetic had we but known. At the time, though, it simply struck me as one of the most stridently vulgar piles of masonry I'd ever encountered.

  Jurgen pulled up outside the main entrance, halting at the end of a red carpet as skilfully as a shuttle pilot entering a docking port. After a moment the truck pulled up behind us and our honour guard piled out, deploying on either side of it a full squad, five pairs of troopers facing each other across the crimson weave, lasguns at the port.

  'Shall we?' I extended an arm to Kasteen as a flunkey dressed as a wedding cake bustled up to open the door for us.

  'Thank you, commissar/ She took it as we emerged, and I stopped for a moment to have a word with Jurgen.

  'Any further orders, sir?' I shook my head.

  'Just find somewhere to park, and get yourself something to eat/ I said. Strictly speaking I could have had my aide accompany us, but the thought of Jurgen mingling with the cream of the Gravalaxian aristocracy was almost too hideous to contemplate. I turned to the noncom in charge of the honour guard, a Sergeant Lustig, and tapped the combead I'd slipped into my ear. 'You too/ I added. 'You might as well be comfortable while you wait for us. I'll contact you when we're ready to leave/

  Yes sir/ A faint smile tried to form on his broad face before discipline reasserted itself, and he inhaled.

  'Squad… Atten… Shun!' he bellowed, and they snapped to it with nanosecond precision. No surprise that they'd won the extra drink ration this week, I thought. The crash of synchronised heels caused

  heads to turn all around us, minor local nobles looking mightily impressed, and their chauffeurs even more so.

  'I think we've made an impression/ Kasteen murmured as we gained the elaborately carved entrance doors.

  That was the idea/ I agreed.

  Inside, it was exactly as I'd anticipated, the kind of vulgar ostentation too many of the wealthy mistake for good taste, with crystal and gilt and garish tapestries of historic battles and smug-looking primarchs strewn around the place like a pirate's warehouse. The high arched ceiling was supported by pillars artfully carved to mimic the bark of some species of local tree, and my feet sank into the carpet as though it were a swamp. It took me a moment to realise that the weave would form a vast portrait, presumably of the governor himself, if viewed from the upper landing, and I noted with faint amusement that someone had trodden on a dropped canape making it look as though his nose was running. Whether it was a genuine accident, or the act of a disgruntled servant, who could say? Kasteen's lips quirked as she absorbed the full opulence of our surroundings.

  'I take it back/ she said quietly. 'A bordello would have been done out in far better taste/ I suppressed a smile of my own as another flunkey ushered us forward.

  'Commissar Ciaphas Cain/ he announced. 'And Colonel Regina Kasteen/ Which at least established who we were. It was pretty obvious who the

  unhealthy-looking individual sitting on a raised dais at the end of the room was. I've met a good few planetary governors in my day, and they all tend towards inbred imbecility,' but this specimen looked like he should take the prize. He somehow contrived to look both undernourished and flabby at the same time, and his skin was the pallor of a dead fish. Watery eyes of no particular colour goggled at us from under a fringe of thinning grey hair.

  'Governor Grice/ I said, bowing formally. A pleasure/

  'On the contrary/ he said, his voice quivering a little. The pleasure's entirely mine/ Well, he wasn't wrong on that account, but he was ignoring me entirely. He stood, and bowed to Kasteen. 'You honour us all with your presence, colonel/

  Well, that was a new experience, being ignored in favour of a slip of a girl, but I suppose if you'd ever met her you'd understand it. She was pretty striking, if redheads were your thing, and I supposed the old fool didn't get out much. Anyway, it enabled me to fade out of the picture and go looking for some amusement of my own, which I did with all due dispatch.

  1 Like many of Cain's sweeping generalisations, this does contain an element of truth. The majority of planetary governorships are hereditary positions, and many of the incumbents aren't up to the challenge of the job. However, the truly incompetent tend to be weeded out by the ceaseless round of dynastic power struggles and coups d'etat which keep the aristocracy amused, and in cases where Imperial interests are directly threatened, we can always turn to the Officio Assassinoram.

  As was my habit I circulated widely, keeping my eyes and ears open as you never know what useful little snippets of information will come in handy, although the main thing that caught my attention was the entertainment. A young woman was standing on a podium at the end of the room, surrounded by musicians who sounded almost as well rehearsed as our regimental band, but they could have been playing ork wardrums for all I cared because her voice was extraordinary. She was singing old sentimental favourites, like The Night Before You Left and The Love We Share, and even an old cynic like me could appreciate the emotion she put into them, and feel that, just this once, the trite words were ringing true. Snatches of her husky contralto carried through the room wherever I was, cutting through the backbiting and the small talk, and I felt my eyes drifting in her direction every time the crowd parted enough to afford me a view.

  And the view was well worth it. She was tail and slim, with shoulder-length hair of a shade of blonde I've never seen on anyone else before or since, hanging loose to fra
me a face which nearly stopped my heart. Her eyes were the hazy blue of a far horizon, and seemed to transfix me whenever I looked in her direction. Her dress was the same colour, almost exactly, and clung to her figure like mist.

  Now, I've never believed in sentimental nonsense like love at first sight, but I can say without a word of a lie that, even now, after almost a century, I can close my eyes and picture her as she was then, and hear those songs as though she's still in the same room.

  But I wasn't there to listen to cabaret singers, however enchanting, so I tried my best to mingle and pick up whatever gossip I could that would help us fight the tau if we had to, and keep me out of it, if at all possible.

  'So you're the famous Commissar Cain,' someone said, passing me a fresh drink. I took it automatically, turning a little to use my right hand and emphasize the sling, and found myself looking at a narrow-faced fellow in an expensive but understated robe which positively screamed diplomat. He glanced at the sling. 'I hear you nearly started the war early'

  'Not from choice, I can assure you,' I said. 'Just defending an officer who lacked the self-restraint to ignore a blatant piece of sedition.'