by Gav Thorpe
‘So, we attack, sir?’ asked Shaffenbeck.
‘You heard the orders, lieutenant,’ said Price. ‘With immediate effect. Damn straight we’re going to attack, and damn our souls if we let the coreward take the glory!’
Twelve
Terra – the Imperial Palace
‘Arrogant, like you said, sir,’ said Esad Wire, better known to Vangorich as Beast Krule. ‘Veritus has taken chambers in the Ecclesiarchy dorms on the Western Projection. Hardly any security at all. Thinks that being on Terra, being an inquisitor, makes him invulnerable. No doubt the Emperor will protect him. Van der Deckart and his interrogator, Laiksha Sindrapul is her name, they’re a bit smarter. They’ve holed up in the Senatorum Rotunda until the conclave. There’re more guards there than at the Ecclesiarchy holdings, but nothing that would present a problem.’
Vangorich held up a hand to stop his Assassin’s report. Through the narrow window of his chamber – relinquished from the grasp of a lower overseer in the Administratum a few days earlier – the Grand Master looked over the turrets and roofs of the Imperial Palace’s northern stretches. In particular his eye was drawn to the dozens of chimneys that sprouted from behind the crenellations that capped the Tower of Philo. Amongst the grey smog was a slightly darker smoke, reddish in colour. It was, Vangorich knew, caused by the burning of cachophite incense, and was the signal agreed with Wienand that the two of them should meet at the Sigillite’s Retreat.
‘In short, none of them are beyond easy reach?’ Vangorich asked, standing up. Krule stepped to one side as the Grand Master headed towards the door. His hesitancy in replying caused Vangorich to stop and turn a suspicious eye on the Assassin. ‘That is the case, is it not?’
‘Machtannin has… gone missing, sir.’
Though his temper was tested, there was no point in Vangorich berating Krule for what had happened. They exited the chamber and entered the disused room beyond. A score of clerks had been moved to another wing following the relocation of their overseer, leaving rows of desks, each with illuminatorum screens and digi-quills still intact. A hexabacus had been left behind on one of the desks and there were a few personal belongings: prayer books and beads; an etchograph of a paternal-looking figure; a pair of fingerless gloves remarkable by their gaudily knitted pattern; other odds and ends of no import.
Old bare boards creaked underfoot as they passed between the empty work stations.
‘And Hurashi of the Culexus has been informed?’ Vangorich asked. ‘She will be ready with an operative should we need it?’
‘Yes, sir, the anti-psykers are ready for your word. Veritus’ entourage seems to be mundane. Mostly ex-Guard and ex-Frateris as far as I can tell. Some augmetics and bionics, and quite an arsenal between them. The others have entourages with some muscle but mostly academic and administrative. According to Wienand’s report only Najurita is a psyker, and isn’t she on our side?’
‘Nobody is on our side,’ Vangorich said, more hastily than he had intended. He recovered his composure. ‘Not even Wienand. We are each striving for our own agenda. Never forget that.’
‘Of course. There is a rotating watch being kept on the others, sir. I’ll be handling Wienand myself.’
‘Good. Get some rest, your mark will be busy for the next hour at least, I would say. You’ll be able to pick her up again in the sub-basement beneath the Ice Conservatory.’ The knowledge that he had deduced the inquisitor’s route to the Sigillite’s Retreat gave Vangorich a satisfying warmth in his stomach. ‘Be ready for anything.’
Krule nodded and broke away, heading out of a side door while Vangorich continued towards the end of the chamber. The Grand Master waited at the door for a moment, listening intently. There was no sound outside. He opened the door and stepped out into the empty corridor. Crossing the wide passage to a nondescript door opposite, Vangorich let himself into the dormitories for the former workers of the scriptorium he had just left. Bare wooden cots, small side tables and foot lockers were where their occupants had left them, though the bedclothes had been stripped. The walls were tiled with white, as was the floor, giving the bare room a clinical, sterilised feel.
Vangorich moved aside the bunk at the far end and carefully pulled out a broken wall tile near the floor to expose a keyhole. Kneeling, he slipped a key from his waistband and turned the lock. Part of the wall shifted fractionally into the room. Shuffling back, Vangorich used the key as a handle to lift the hinged portal, exposing the foot of a ladder disappearing below the dormitory. Withdrawing his key, the Master of Assassins replaced the broken tile, ducked into the small alcove behind the wall and pulled the door shut behind him.
In gloom he descended the ladder, counting out ninety-three rungs. The ladder continued down all the way to the sub-levels, another seven hundred and eight steps; he had counted them himself. Still in total darkness he stepped out to the left, swinging himself out into what seemed like thin air. The tip of his boot scraped against a ledge no wider than his thumb while the fingertips of his left hand found a similar purchase just above head height.
He edged spider-like for ten feet, between what he had subsequently discovered were the walls of an Ecclesiarchy chapel and the robing rooms of the female clergy members. He wondered if the small hidden space into which he lowered himself had first been designed by a less-than-chaste preacher or cardinal. It mattered not; the small door that had once led to it from a trapdoor in the chapel had been blocked with ferrocrete.
From here, Vangorich was able to move, bent almost double, through the collapsed catacombs of the Shrine of Imperial Mercies, once the Palatine Tower that had guarded the inner western curtain wall of the Imperial Palace. Still without any light he counted the crab-like steps until he came to an empty tomb. Pulling aside the cover, he pulled himself into the sarcophagus.
Floorboards overhead turned into rafters, in a way only found in somewhere as labyrinthine as the Imperial Palace. Dropping down ten feet to a solid wooden floor, Vangorich straightened and dusted himself off. From here it was just a few feet to the rotating section of wall that left him looking through one of the archways leading to the Sigillite’s Retreat.
Wienand was already waiting for him, as he suspected she would be. The ruddy smoke had been their agreed sign for urgent action. She was bent over a digi-scroll reader.
‘Which one of them do you want dead first?’ Vangorich asked, stepping into the bare garden.
Wienand sat up and her head snapped round in shock. She took a deep breath, shook her head in disapproval of Vangorich’s theatrics, and stowed the scroll reader in a bag in her lap.
‘None of them,’ she said after a moment’s thought. ‘Tempting as it is, I don’t think I want to go that far, and certainly not using one of your operatives. You do know that your department is only meant to act with the approval of the High Lords?’
‘A technicality. The High Lords. A High Lord. Is there a difference? And, as a member of the Inquisition, you bear the Emperor’s sigil. Your voice is His voice. The whole of the Imperium is yours to requisition, should you wish. You only need to ask…’
‘It would still cause ripples. A tidal wave, in fact. Look, let’s keep this brief. I came to warn you that Veritus is about to bring together the conclave to judge my actions as Inquisitorial Representative. Even if somehow I manage to wriggle out of that, I will be suspended from my office for the duration. I’m sure Veritus has someone already in mind should the Senatorum be convened in the meantime.’
‘By which you mean that Veritus will ensure the Senatorum is convened in your absence and his man, or woman, will take your place as the Inquisitorial Representative?’
‘Yes, exactly.’
Vangorich paced along one of the paths, avoiding the cracks between the slabs, to test himself rather than out of superstition.
‘Which one will it be?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
Vangorich stopped, pivoted on his toes and looked at Wienand, his hands on his hips.
‘Which of Veritus’ followers is going to be replacing you? I could, you know, have them made unavailable.’
‘I don’t know. Besides, there are a dozen more inquisitors currently on Terra who might equally be in the frame for the position. I said no to any kill-missions and I mean it.’
‘So what do you propose to do about the situation?’
‘That is for me to worry about. In Lansung’s absence, thanks be to the Emperor for small mercies, it is possible for the Lord Commander to grant provisional first tier status to one of the other High Lords not in the Twelve. I have spoken with Udo, privately, and he is prepared to extend full senatorial rights to the Grand Master of the Officio Assassinorum. I need the Senatorum to convene before Veritus’ conclave begins so that Udo can forward the proposal and I can second it. You’ll need to be there too.’
‘All very good, but I fail to see why you needed to tell me this with such urgency.’
‘One of Veritus’ companions has gone missing.’
‘Machtannin? Yes, I know.’ As soon as he said the words Vangorich regretted his glibness. Before he could qualify his statement, Wienand was on her feet, pointing at the Grand Master.
‘Ah! So you’ve lost him as well!’
‘Momentarily misplaced, perhaps,’ confessed Vangorich, who didn’t like being caught in such an awkward position.
‘Find him,’ snapped Wienand. ‘You know he’s able to mask his true form, though to what extent we can only guess. Not like one of your Callidus Assassins, I’d wager, but certainly capable of mimicking anyone of the same basic physical structure. Veritus brought him here for a reason, to replace somebody, I’m sure of it.’
‘Replace whom?’
‘If I knew that I wouldn’t be here asking you to hunt him down, would I?’ Wienand flexed her fingers in agitation. ‘I consider Machtannin’s absence to be a paramount threat at this time. If you find him, try to take him alive.’
‘If that is not possible?’
‘Make it possible. Let’s hope he isn’t disguised as someone important.’
‘Very well. I assume I will receive no official notification of this mission?’
‘Your assumption is correct. I would certainly never condone the Officio Assassinorum being deployed against a fellow inquisitor, as I made clear at the start of this conversation.’
Vangorich smiled and sighed.
‘I do so like it when we are being absolutely clear. It makes my duties all the more pleasant. I shall deal with this bothersome shape-changer. Make sure you get me onto the Council of Terra again.’
‘Naphor incense when you’ve located Machtannin?’
‘As you say, Wienand. I look forward to a summons to the Senatorum Imperialis.’
‘And I look forward to a smudge of blue smoke.’
Thirteen
Port Sanctus – Vesperilles System
The politicking was, for the moment at least, forgotten. The endless charade of seniority and command had given way to a higher, purer purpose. Not in all his life as a Naval officer had Rafal Kulik witnessed anything as grand as he did the day the fleet of the Segmentum Solar fought the orks at Port Sanctus.
The reality of the situation was relayed by cold schematics on the main bridge display, but Kulik had seen enough battle that he could picture what was happening with his mind’s eye. The flickering runes on the massive screen were more than just blue and red symbols. Each was a starship of the Imperial Navy.
The smallest were the frigates, destroyers and other escorts, small clusters of sigils representing squadrons, three, four and five ships strong. Some were only a few hundred yards in length, just large enough to mount a warp engine, crew compartments and a lance turret or torpedo tube.
At the other end of the scale were the four battleships. Like the Colossus each was a fortress teeming with a crew of thousands, several miles long and laden with enough weaponry to raze cities and lay waste to continents. Colossus was not suited to the main line of battle, hence the flagship’s position with the other carrier assets at the heart of the fleet. Kulik’s role, along with the cruisers Majestic, Knightly Endeavour and Lasutia, was to provide fighter and bomber support for the rest of the fleet. From this position, Admiral Price would also be able to monitor the progress of the battle and make adjustments to the plan as required.
The massive Ascension-class battleship Honourable Destruction was leading the port line under the command of Captain Tiagus, while the Unfriendly Encounter and Bloodhawk, two Retribution-class vessels, formed the point of the starboard flotilla.
Behind the behemoths came an assortment of grand cruisers and cruisers, arranged as per the orders of Admiral Price to deliver a spread of torpedoes, weapons battery fire, lance shots and some minimal launch capacity.
Their plasma engines leaving trails across the firmament, the two lines of ships forged through the void towards the glittering spread of the ork-held asteroid belt. There were tens of thousands of individual asteroids in the field, millions probably, scattered across thousands of cubic miles. Many were chunks of ice no larger than fists – but on the larger and more stable asteroids the orks had built fortresses equipped with missile batteries, energy weapons and strange warp-powered displacement cannons. Added to this were the so-called rock forts – large asteroids fitted with engines and shields, turning them into crude starships.
More conventional ork vessels were loitering within the cover of the debris field too – blunt, gun-heavy raiders and larger attack ships the equivalent in strength to cruisers. For the moment they were trying to hide, lying dormant until the lead elements of the fleet came into range. However, whatever advances the orks had made in their gravity and warp technology, their discipline and radiation shielding had not improved with them. Flares of energy and sensor bursts constantly betrayed the orks’ positions to the more sophisticated scanning arrays of the Colossus. This information was relayed to the rest of the fleet as they continued to close with the enemy.
Thirty-seven ships of the line in total. Thirty-seven capital ships gathered in one place for a single purpose – to crush the ork outer defences. Along with the two dozen escort vessels that swarmed around them, these ships would have been enough to stir Kulik’s heart and fire his resolve. The fact that they were only a third of the Imperial Navy forces in the system almost made him burst with pride and excitement.
Sweeping on an arc a few hundred thousand miles in-system of the rimward fleet was Lansung’s immediate command – the expedition force of the Battlefleet Solar. There were no less than seven battleships among the eighteen capital ships in the taskforce: enough firepower to wipe out entire civilisations. Lansung’s ships would interpose between the rimward flotilla and the hundred or more ork ships in close vicinity to the attack moon in orbit around the sixth world.
Further out towards the system edge, a hundred thousand miles from the Colossus, Commodore Semmes was leading the remains of the Segmentum Solar coreward fleet. Under the tentative command of Acharya the fleet had lost nearly a third of its strength to repeated ork attacks, although it was still roughly equal to the rimward fleet in raw numbers. More damning had been the sapping of morale, Kulik was sure. He knew Raphael Semmes by reputation, and, although another of Lansung’s favourites, the commodore certainly was regarded as bolder and more decisive than Acharya. At the moment his flagship, the Torrent-class battleship Widow’s Grief, was leading the coreward fleet on a charge to unite with Price’s command. The two fleets would intersect the asteroid field from opposite directions roughly fifty thousand miles apart. At that stage the coreward fleet would come about alongside the rimward fleet and together at last they would turn and rendezvous with Lansung in preparation for the next phase of the attack.
Such was the plan, at least. It was, on the face of it, a
sensible strategy. The vagaries of warp travel meant that any fleet travelling as a mass would be scattered to some degree, and it was standard Navy protocol for fleets to rendezvous at a predetermined point in the target system. Acharya, for reasons neither Kulik nor Price had been able to fathom, had been so intent upon striking a blow against the orks as soon as he arrived, possibly to ensure Price gained no share of the glory, that he had not allowed for fleet consolidation and had jeopardised the entire endeavour. The dramatic but drastic measures now required were the consequence of that headstrong action.
The strategic display was orientated with the Colossus at the centre, so that the two lines astern of the rimward flotilla stretched up and down the main screen, the clusters of escorts at set intervals along their length. Kulik stood in his usual spot, hands clasped behind his back. Price was just to his right, arms crossed as he stared at the range counter on the display. When it reached the agreed limit, the admiral spoke up.
‘Captain Kulik, please signal the fleet to assume ascending line by echelon to starboard.’
‘Aye aye, admiral.’ Kulik turned and nodded to Shaffenbeck, who passed the order to the communications officers. ‘Ascending line by echelon to starboard.’
The manoeuvre was basic but no less impressive because of that. Over the next few minutes, starting with the rearmost vessels, the two lines of capital ships started to drift up and to starboard, while the front ships drifted down and to port. This created two parallel diagonal lines, slightly overlapping on one plane, but with the tail of the port line several thousand miles above the front of the starboard line. In this formation the prow weapons of every ship could be brought to bear, and Price wasted no time taking advantage of this fact.
‘Fleet to fire torpedoes, full spread, three salvos.’
The order repeated down the ranks and a few seconds later the main display bathed the bridge with yellow light. The screen was filled with the registers of nearly a hundred plasma, atomic and cyclonic torpedoes surging towards the orks. Kulik followed their progress, followed by the second salvo, and then the third was on its way before the first wave of torpedoes had hit.
