1_For_The_Emperor

by Sandy Mitchel

  'He's still alive/ I told Amberley, feeling for the pulse at Jurgen's neck, and taking his weight fully into my arms. After all, I thought, if Grice fired again I should be all right behind that amount of protection.

  'Not for long, if you don't keep him away from me,' Grice threatened.

  'You're one of them/ Amberley stated flatly, as though this merely confirmed her suspicions. She took another step towards him, and Grice shifted his aim to cover her. I watched, with some trepidation, for although she was still protected by the miraculous displacer field, she had told me herself that it was not to be wholly relied upon, and even if it worked its magic again, her sudden absence would leave me wide open to a follow-up shot.

  I sagged a little, as though Jurgen's weight was greater than it was, and tried to work my hand towards the hellgun still slung across his shoulder. The governor grimaced, his mouth working in a manner not entirely human now I came to study it closely, and I berated myself for not having seen the truth sooner. The excessive bulk beneath his robes had not, as I'd assumed on our first meeting, resulted

  from over-indulgence and the commonplace inbreeding of most noble families,1 but from a far more sinister source.

  'The brood will survive/ he said. 'A new patriarch will arise-'

  'But not in your lifetime/ I said, swivelling the hell-gun under Jurgen's pungently damp armpit and squeezing the trigger. The supercharged las-blast screamed through the air between us, blasting a smoking crater through the left side of the governor's chest, and for a moment I felt the exultation of victory. It was short-lived, however, because to my horrified astonishment he didn't drop, just twisted aside with inhuman speed, and switched the aim of the bolt pistol back to me. Thick plates of chitin were visible beneath the ruin of his robes now, and a third deformed arm emerged from the rent in the garment. Through my nausea a sudden shaft of understanding lit up my synapses. 'You were the assassin!' I gasped.

  A vivid mental picture of the events of that fateful night reeled through my brain. With a weapon concealed in that hidden extra hand, he could have shot the tau ambassador before anyone had even the faintest suspicion of his murderous intent, and whatever disarray withdrawing it might have left in his clothing would be put down to the turmoil of the moment. Certainly all I'd seen was two empty hands, and a hysterical El'hassai who, I must reluctantly concede, had been right all along.

  1 Something of an exaggeration, but widely believed nevertheless.

  'What was your first clue?' Amberley snapped, diving for her discarded weapon. I tried to take aim with the hellgun again, but the strap was tangled in Jur-gen's armour, and the dead weight of my unconscious aide was hindering me. As Grice's bolt pistol came up I already knew I wasn't going to make it.

  Then, for a blessed second he hesitated, still moving with preternatural speed, and pointed the gun back at Amberley. I suppose he realised that she would get to her bolt pistol and drop him if he didn't take her down first. I tried to shout a warning, but the first syllable of her name had barely made it through my horror-constricted throat before he fired.

  The bolt detonated against the floor, twisting the gun her fingertips had almost reached into scrap and sending splinters of wood flying into the air, but once again, she was suddenly somewhere else. Some highly unladylike language and the crash of falling china a few metres further up the corridor told me that she'd collided with one of the little tables and its display of porcelain.1

  Grice looked astonished just long enough for me to tug the recalcitrant hellgun around far enough to take another shot at him, which made a terrible mess

  1 The displacer field, as those of you who've used one can no doubt attest, will readily teleport you out of immediate danger. Unfortunately, you rematerialise moving at the same speed and in the same direction as when the field activates, and, as Cain points out, I was diving for a gun on the floor at the time. And it was a stupid place to put a table in any case.

  of that tasteful wood panelling but unfortunately did nothing worse to the tainted governor. He turned, following the sound of Amberley's landing, just in time to see her roll to her feet with the dextrousness of an accomplished martial artist.

  'Consider yourself relieved of your position/ she said, pointing an accusing finger at him like a schola tutor admonishing an unsatisfactory student. He actually started to laugh, bringing the weapon round to bear on her again, when a bright flash erupted from the ornate ring I'd noticed at our first meeting. Grice staggered, falling back, and two hands went to his throat. The third continued to clutch his bolt pistol, which discharged again randomly as he sank to his knees. His face worked, as though gasping for air, and darkened with clotting blood. Pale yellow foam frothed over his engorging lips.

  'Digital needier,' Amberley explained, stepping delicately over the now spasming corpse. The toxin's excruciatingly painful, I'm told/

  'Good/ I said, aiming a bad-tempered kick at the erstwhile governor, and hoping he was still conscious enough to feel it before he expired.

  'How's Jurgen?' She took the weight of his other shoulder, and helped me to get him laid out on the floor. I began to remove the remains of his helmet carefully.

  'Not good/ I said, a surprising amount of concern entering my voice. There was a lot of blood, but most of it seemed to be from superficial wounds caused by the shattered armour. Rather more worrying was the

  clear fluid mixed in with it. 'I think his skull's fractured.'

  'I think you're right.' She began administering first aid with a speed and competence I found astonishing. 'Better call for a medicae unit/

  Cursing myself for my own stupidity, I activated my combead, realising belatedly that I'd be able to get a message through to Kasteen now we'd returned to the surface. To my astonishment, however, the command channels were choked with traffic, and I turned back to Amberley with the bitter taste of failure burning in the back of my throat.

  'We're too late/ I said. 'It sounds as though the war's already started/

  "Then we'll just have to stop it/ she said, matter-of-factly, her attention still on Jurgen. At the time, still not realising his significance, I was simply grateful for her concern for his welfare, even as I found the time to marvel at her indefatigable spirit. If ever a woman seemed capable of stopping an all-out war single-handedly, it was her. I was just on the verge of replying when the wall blew in, throwing me to the floor yet again, and showering what was left of the elegant decor with rubble.

  'What the frak…/ I began, scrabbling for my fallen laspistol. I'd just managed to grab it when human figures in flak armour burst through the new gap, las-guns levelled. Behind them, I noted absently, someone was making a hell of a mess of the garden. I just managed to prevent myself from squeezing the

  trigger in the nick of time as I recognised the armour as Imperial Guard issue.

  'Stand up! Slowly!' a familiar voice barked, then took on a tinge of astonishment. 'Commissar! Is that you?'

  'Right now I'm not entirely sure/ I said. Kasteen looked at me, for a long, searching moment, before taking in the dishevelled state of the inquisitor; then her gaze moved on and down to the prostrate figures of Jurgen and the governor. I indicated my aide. 'He needs a medic/ I said, then for some reason my legs gave way beneath me.

  'There's no doubt at all, then?' Kasteen had listened to our story in silence, or at least to as much of it as Amberley felt like telling her, and I'd spent the last half hour or so alternately nodding, saying 'yes, really/ and similar helpful remarks, and scrounging the largest mug of tanna leaf tea I could find. It was not the most obvious thing to find on a battlefield, you might think, but these were Valhallans after all, and it didn't take me long to discover a fire-team brewing up once the immediate danger was past.

  Broklaw was running around like the good second-in-command he was, detailing troopers to secure the perimeter and clear out the tunnels beneath what was left of the palace, and once I'd seen Jurgen safely on his way back to the aid station, I relished the chanc
e to simply enjoy the feeling of sun on my face and the astonished realisation that, against all the odds, I'd survived again.

  'None/ Amberley said. 'The body's all the proof we need. Grice was a 'stealer hybrid, and killed the ambassador to try to provoke a war. All the death and destruction in the city was just part of the same agenda.'

  'Merciful Emperor/ Kasteen breathed, appalled at the thought. 'His own people, sacrificed in their thousands… The bastard/

  'His own people were the genestealers/ I said. 'The rest of us, humans, tau, even the kroot, were never anything more to him than fodder for the hive fleets/

  'Exactly/ Amberley looked sober for a moment, before the familiar carefree smile was suddenly back on her face; but it was there with an effort, I found myself thinking. And if we hadn't kept our heads, things might have turned out very differently/

  They still might/ I said, indicating the hulking figures of the tau dreadnoughts around the perimeter, and the curiously rounded vehicles hovering over the surface of the grass. Tau troopers were beginning to deploy from some of them, eyeing our own soldiers suspiciously, but so far, at least, the two forces were keeping well apart. 'Can we trust them now we don't have an enemy in common?'

  'For the time being, at least/ Amberley said. She might have said more, but we were interrupted by a sudden shout from the direction of the ruins.

  'They've found some survivors!' Kasteen hurried off, to where a small knot of figures was emerging from the wreckage of the palace. Amberley and I exchanged glances, an unspoken presentiment sparking between

  us, and trotted after her as best we could. Now we were safe the exhaustion of our exertions had crashed in on us like a landslide, and I felt my calf muscles cramping as I tried to keep up.

  Even before we reached them I caught a glimpse of red hair, so it was little surprise to me when the search team (one of the squads from Sulla's platoon, I seem to recall, but I couldn't tell you which one) parted to reveal Velade and Holenbi, each supported by a trooper with an arm around the shoulders, holding hands like a pair of courting teeners. It's no exaggeration to say they both looked like hell, but that's precisely what you'd expect I suppose, their uniforms ragged, and bandages leaking blood where the squad medic had applied field dressings to the worst of their wounds. Holenbi stared at me in numb confusion, but that was nothing new.

  'Where did you find them?' I asked the sergeant in charge, and he saluted me smartly.

  'Down in the tunnels, sir. Lieutenant Sulla told us to spread out and secure the perimeter below ground, and they were about half a klom in. They must've been in a hell of a fight, sir/

  'Velade?' I asked gently. She turned her head towards me, her eyes unfocussed. 'What happened?'

  'Sir?' Her brow furrowed. 'We were fighting. Tomas and me/

  'They were everywhere/ Holenbi cut in, his voice distant.

  'Then the roof came in, and we lost the others. So we fought our way out/

  'I see/ I said, nodding slowly, and glanced across at Amberley. The same doubt was clouding her eyes, I could see. I turned back to the bedraggled troopers, then brought up my laspistol and shot them both through the head before either of them had a chance to react.

  'What the hell…?' Kasteen shouted, her hand moving instinctively towards the bolt pistol on her hip until common sense reasserted itself and aborted the gesture. She glared at me, her jaw tight, and the troopers around us froze in shock, anger and confusion in their eyes. I had a sudden flash of deja vu, an unbidden memory of the mess room aboard the Righteous Wrath. For a moment, I was horribly unsure of myself, afraid I'd made a terrible mistake, then I glanced again at Amberley for reassurance. She nodded, a barely noticeable acknowledgement, and I felt a little better. At least if I was wrong, an inquisitor was, too, which wouldn't help much with rebuilding morale in the regiment, but at least I wouldn't be the only one left feeling embarrassed.

  'I've seen this before/ I said, addressing Kasteen directly, but keeping my voice loud and clear enough to be heard by everyone. 'On Keffia/ I took the combat knife from the sergeant's harness and knelt beside Holenbi's body, ripping one of the dressings away to reveal a small deep wound slanting up under the ribcage. I sliced it open, ignoring the horrified gasps from those around me, and felt around with blood-slick fingers. After a moment I found what I'd

  expected to be there, and yanked out a small fibrous bundle of organic material.

  'What the hell's that?' Kasteen asked, over the sound of Sulla being violently sick.

  A genestealer implant/ Amberley explained. 'Once it takes root in a host, it gradually subverts their own genetic identity, turning any offspring into hybrids. A generation or two after that you start to get pure-strains showing up, along with hybrids almost indistinguishable from humans, and the taint continues to spread/ She indicated an identical wound on Velade's torso. 'They were both infected when the 'stealers overran them/

  'The disorientation was the real giveaway/ I added. 'The implant messes with the brain chemistry, so the host remains unaware of being infected. All they recall is a confused impression of fighting, and assume they've escaped/

  'It's often mistaken for combat fatigue/ Amberley finished. 'Luckily, the commissar could tell the difference, or your regiment would have been leaving hidden stealer cults behind wherever you were deployed/

  'I see/ Kasteen nodded once, crisply, and turned to the sergeant. 'Burn the bodies/

  A wise precaution/ Amberley said as the three of us turned away, and the sergeant went looking for a flamer.

  'Colonel! Commissar!' Broklaw was waving from the ramp of a command Chimera. 'One of our patrols found some tau down there too. They're on their way back to the surface now!'

  Amberley and I looked at one another, and went to meet the survivors of the shas'la we'd met in the tunnels. Trepidation churned in my gut as the little group, reduced to three now, staggered into the sunlight. One had lost his helmet, and squinted at the sudden brightness. I shivered, finding myself plunged into shadow as a Devilfish troop carrier swept overhead and grounded to receive them. They looked disorientated, it was true, but they would have been as exhausted as we were, and I just couldn't be sure what the cause might be. These were xenos, after all, and I just couldn't read them the way I could my own kind.

  So I stood there, paralysed with indecision, while they staggered up the ramp and into the transport, aided by their fellows, and by then it was too late anyway. As I turned away, sick with apprehension, I found Amberley watching me with what I can only describe as a smile of satisfaction.

  For some reason, that failed to raise my spirits. If anything it had quite the opposite effect.

  Editorial Note:

  Once again we need to turn to other sources for a wider perspective on the aftermath of the affair than Cain's typically self-centred account gives us.

  From Purge the Guilty! An impartial account of the liberation of Gravalax, by Stententious Logar. 085.M42.

  And thus it was that the world we so dearly love was saved from the depredations of the alien by the heroism of the warriors of His Divine Majesty and the martial fortitude of heroes whose names live on in the glory of their deeds. Even those of the calibre of

  the celebrated Commissar Cain, who, though his own contribution to this campaign was never more than peripheral, was no doubt proud to have been associated with so noble an endeavour. It is indeed a pity that, like most of the Imperial Guardsmen deployed in this most glorious of enterprises, he was able to do no more than remain on the sidelines, but he was at least in at the death, so to speak, having been present when the treacherous Governor Grice at last met deserved retribution at the hands of the Inquisition. Indeed, some even assert that he witnessed the celebrated duel to the death between the wretched traitor and the inquisitor herself, although like most conscientious historians I must reluctantly concede that this is, in all probability, nothing more than a charming myth. After a thorough examination of the evidence, it seems far more likely that an officer
of his calibre would have been in the thick of the battle for control of the palace, especially once the perfidious tau had moved in to try to protect the puppet their insidious rogue trader accomplices had installed on the throne there.

  Be that as it may, the Battle of the Palace was undoubtedly the true turning point in the history of our fair globe, when the grip of the xenoist interloper was finally broken, and the relieved and grateful populace brought back at last under the protection of the Divine Emperor and his tireless servants. Broken and dispirited, the tau departed,

  slinking away like the vagabond thieves they were, having failed to seize the fair world of Gravalax for their own. Within hours of their defeat at the hands of the Imperial Guard, they withdrew, not only from the city, but from the planet itself. One by one they fled aboard their starships, retreating back into the hinterland of space from whence they'd come, never to trouble us again.

  For you can be sure that we, the generations that followed, have been careful not to make the mistakes of our ancestors, and remain ever vigilant against the hour of their return. Even now, our PDF units stand ready, at a moments' notice, to defend the sacred soil of His Majesty's most holy dominions to the uttermost drop of their blood, and it is our most fervent hope that one day the cream of these doughty warriors may be found worthy to take their place in the blessed ranks of the Imperial Guard itself.

  As to the rogue traders, we must be equally on our guard, for they remain among us, spreading their insidious web of treachery…

  [And so on, and so on…

  From which you might fairly deduce that the genestealer infestation remains a secret known only to a few; and since those few are either servants of the Inquisition or members of an Imperial Guard unit never likely to return to tfie wretched place, it's a secret which wild remain secure. As to why this should be so important…]