Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

In the next few minutes the gig lurched, bounced, juddered, flipped, stood on its nose, and would probably have turned inside out if the pilot could have managed it. Preoccupied with hanging on, and trying to keep my last meal where it belonged, I saw little of the battle around us, which was probably just as well. As I’ve remarked before, the sensation of being unable to affect the outcome of events has never sat well with me, particularly when that involves sitting in a pressurised can surrounded by vacuum while somebody uses it for target practice. What little I was able to make out came in glimpses through the nearby viewport, supplemented by occasional helpful remarks from our pilot, such as ‘Three Nightshades, closing fast,’ ‘The Lightnings just got one,’ or ‘Evade, evade, evade!’

One thing I could tell without difficulty was that the sky outside was gradually shading from purple to black, interspersed with motes of light, many of which seemed to be moving fast and in random directions – although which were ships locked in a lethal gavotte, which were the larger orbital structures, and which were the stars themselves skidding across my field of vision as Pontius twisted and turned, I was soon too disorientated to hazard a guess at. Flashes of light flickered in the distance, either the discharge of powerful weapons or the death throes of a vessel caught in the crossfire, and I found myself vacillating between guilty relief that it hadn’t been us and apprehension that we’d only delayed the inevitable and would be the next to be hit.

After a while, however, the ride steadied down a bit, and Pontius came back on the vox-circuit sounding a little less tense. ‘That was the worst of it,’ he assured us. ‘We’re under the guns of the orbital defence batteries now. Which ought to keep the fleas off our backs.’

‘What about Defroy and his people?’ I asked, partly out of habit, as I was supposed to be concerned about the welfare of others, and partly because if he was the traitor we were looking for the prospect of his flash-frozen corpse incinerating itself in the upper atmosphere would definitely get my vote, even though the inquisitors would probably disagree.166 ‘Did they make it too?’

‘They did,’ Pontius assured me. ‘The freighter they’re aboard took a bit of damage, but those things are robust. A single fighter can barely dent them, unless it makes a sustained attack run, and the Lightnings held the pointy-ears off nicely.’

‘Good to know,’ I said, reflecting that if I’d realised that before we set off I’d have found some excuse to join the household guard for the trip. ‘What’s our ETA?’

‘About seventeen minutes,’ Pontius said, and cut the link, no doubt ­hoping to find a stray eldar Nightshade to pick a fight with.

‘Well, if that’s the excitement over for a while, some of us have got work to do.’ Yanbel unbuckled his harness and rose, heading towards the door leading to the cargo compartment. ‘That suit of armour won’t sanctify itself.’

‘You think you’ll need it?’ I asked, and Amberley nodded.

‘Oh yes.’ Then, taking in my expression, she chuckled throatily in the manner I’d always found particularly bewitching. ‘Don’t look so worried. How much firepower’s a rabble of cultists likely to have?’ In my experience, more than enough to spoil the day if you found yourself standing in front of it, but saying so wouldn’t sit well with my reputation for dauntless courage, so I just nodded judiciously, which I’ve always found safer than actually saying anything at moments like this. Amberley went on. ‘Defroy will have told the authorities on Skyside Seventeen there’s an inquisitor coming, so let’s put on a bit of a show.’

‘Good idea,’ Vekkman agreed. ‘Distract their attention, so I can pursue our enquiries without disclosing my own identity.’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of scaring them witless,’ Amberley said, before adding, somewhat grudgingly, ‘but I suppose that might work too.’

‘I’d better break out the torque dampers and the incense, then,’ Yanbel said, and disappeared into the hold. A moment later his head ­reappeared. ‘I could do with an extra pair of hands here, by the way.’

‘Lets me out,’ Zemelda said, holding up her bandaged arm, and wincing theatrically.

‘Jurgen,’ I said, ‘do you think you could assist?’