Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

‘We should,’ I agreed, reluctantly, as in this sort of situation it was pretty much what we always did, however much I might have preferred to head in the opposite direction as rapidly as possible. In my experience it’s what you don’t know that can kill you, or at least put a considerable crimp in your day, and it’s always safer in the long run to take the immediate risk of finding out precisely what it is you’re up against. I tapped the comm-bead again. ‘Jurgen and I are moving up to take a look,’ I told Grifen. ‘Give us a couple of minutes, and follow up if you don’t hear anything.’ I paused, just long enough to make my next remark sound like a joke. ‘Feel free to follow up at once if you hear any shooting or screaming, though.’

‘Will do, commissar. Good luck.’ And that sentiment sounded gratifyingly genuine. Truth to tell I found myself thumbing my palm50 as we set off, despite the conviction that Him on Earth probably had a great deal more to worry about than keeping my miserable hide unperforated.

Though Jurgen was undeniably less stealthy than I was, and a good deal easier to keep track of in the dark, he’d had enough practice at sneaking around over the years to be almost as good as me at avoiding the notice of people determined to kill us, and we were soon some distance away from Grifen and her command squad. From the pattern of his breathing, which always deepened when he was carrying something unwieldy, I was fairly sure he was holding the melta ready for immediate use, which was both comforting and vaguely alarming. I immediately resolved to make sure I remained slightly behind him, just to be on the safe side.

The faint glow I’d noticed from further up the corridor was intensifying as we got nearer the source, but somehow remained diffuse, striking soft-edged shadows from the jagged and broken walls, tinged with delicate pastel hues which seemed to shift subtly every time I felt on the verge of identifying their colours. It was oddly relaxing, only my itching palms and well-developed sense of paranoia maintaining the level of alertness the situation demanded. I felt a flash of déjà vu: this definitely reminded me of something, but the memory remained elusive, skittering for cover as I tried to bring it to mind.

Jurgen sniffed. ‘Something smells a bit funny,’ he said, oblivious as always to the irony. I inhaled cautiously through my nostrils, suddenly aware that my usual method of keeping track of him in low light was no longer working. He was right; the air was freighted with a faint and subtle fragrance, which, once again, seemed maddeningly familiar but which my memory refused to pin down. ‘Can’t quite place it, though.’

‘Do you think you’ve smelled it before?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice as casual as possible.

My aide nodded, his silhouette now a thickening shadow in the twilight surrounding us. ‘Can’t think when, though. Nowhere good, mind.’

‘I think I have too,’ I admitted, fighting off an entirely inappropriate sense of wellbeing. The scent had a faintly narcotic effect, which would have been pleasant under most other circumstances, but which was potentially lethal crawling around an underground labyrinth stuffed with enemies; anything which dulled the senses and slowed our reaction times was a clear and immediate threat. There was nothing I could do about it, however, not having had the foresight to bring a respirator with me, so I contented myself with breathing as shallowly as possible through the mouth, and hoped that would be enough.

‘Anything yet?’ Grifen asked, after another couple of minutes had ticked past on my chronometer, although it could have been twice or half that to my subtly befuddled senses. I shook my head instinctively, before reason reminded me that she couldn’t see the gesture: another bad sign. Returning the laspistol to its holster for a moment I removed my sash, and retied it around my nose and mouth – probably a futile gesture, but better than nothing. ‘Should we move up?’

‘Hold position,’ I voxed back, drawing my sidearm once more, feeling a sudden rush of relief which surprised me with its intensity as soon as the weapon was back in my hand. My paranoia was definitely stepping up a gear, and I found myself wondering if the peculiar scent, which my makeshift mask had now muted a little, had some psychotropic qualities – perhaps it was even a weapon of some kind. Well, if it was I’d already been exposed to it, so there was no point worrying too much about that, but there was no telling what effect it would have on the troopers, and the last thing I needed was a bunch of disorientated Guardsmen with lasguns standing right behind me if things were about to go ploin shaped. Friendly fire most definitely isn’t, despite the name.

‘Holding,’ Grifen said, her tone making it abundantly clear how much she didn’t like the idea, so I thought I’d better be a little more forthcoming.