Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

After a moment Pontius moved us into the shadow of the huge heavy lifter, within a score of metres of the slab-like hull, and my vision began to clear, although the air around me was growing noticeably thicker.

‘Is that safe, do you think, sir?’ Jurgen asked, looking a slightly lighter shade of grime than usual, and clasping the stock of his melta so hard that I half expected to see deformations in the metal beneath his fingers.

‘Pontius knows what he’s doing,’ I said, as reassuringly as I could without actually saying yes. Safety out here was a relative thing, and I was pretty sure he wasn’t about to bump into our colossal neighbour by accident. On the other hand I was still faintly surprised not to have been jumped by a swarm of eldar fighters or a squadron of Vypers the moment we’d cleared the hangar bay. I shouldn’t have been, of course; the hangars and docking ports all over the hive were well protected by overlapping defensive batteries and patrolling fighter planes, which accounted for the trouble the spaceborne invaders had had so far in establishing a foothold. The really hard part would come once we were negotiating the nebulous zone between the last wisps of atmosphere and the vacuum of space itself.

I glanced out of the viewport. Other shuttles were rising from landing platforms lower down the spire, or emerging from the layer of murk which hid the majority of the hive, spinning upwards like sparks from a forge to join us. Gradually they began to reach our height, taking up formation around us, leaving our gig162 at the centre of a loose swarm of cargo vessels. Some were as large as the one we accompanied, others a good deal smaller, but they all rose with the same grim determination. There seemed to be some activity going on around the nearest of the distant spires too, sunlight glinting on flecks of metal swarming about it, although I couldn’t make out anything more from this far away. Impelled by what was little more than idle curiosity – although under the circumstances anything which took my mind off the imminent prospect of being shot out of the sky had to have something going for it – I retuned my comm-bead.

‘Ciaphas.’ Kasteen’s voice had a distinct undertone of concern, which I suppose was quite flattering really. ‘Where are you?’

‘In one of the shuttles delivering aid to the orbitals,’ I said, more or less truthfully. An Inquisitorial warband was aid of a sort, I supposed, even if it wasn’t the kind the Skysiders were expecting.

‘Of course you are,’ Kasteen said, a trace of amused exasperation entering her voice. ‘Not nearly enough eldar down here to keep you occupied.’

‘I thought I ought to leave you enough not to get bored,’ I said, matching her bantering tone.

‘Chance would be a fine thing.’ Kasteen sighed. ‘The eldar are moving up hive faster than we expected. The planetary defence force is pulling back above the minefields, which ought to contain them for a while, but the levels just above the gates are being swamped with refugees from the underhive.’ There was a short pause, during which a faint voice which sounded like Broklaw said something I couldn’t quite catch, then she spoke again. ‘Oh, right, nearly forgot. You’ve had a message from General Porten, eyes only. Turned up in the despatch pouch163 a few minutes ago. Do you want me to hang on to it until you get back,’ meaning ‘if you get back,’ although she was too tactful to say so, ‘or just send it down to your quarters?’

‘Read it to me,’ I said. If this was a clue to whoever was pulling the heretics’ strings, it couldn’t wait.

To her credit, Kasteen didn’t waste time pointing out that technically this was information she shouldn’t be privy to; we’d been through enough together by this time for me to take her discretion for granted. There was another short pause while she slit the envelope, then her voice returned, tinged this time by puzzlement. ‘It just says “the governor’s office”. Does that make any sense to you?’