Ciaphas Cain: Choose Your Enemies

‘Of course, sir,’ my aide said, visibly inflating with pride at the honour being accorded him, any lingering queasiness instantly forgotten. He disappeared through the access hatch, leaving the melta where it was, but keeping his lasgun slung. Like any other trooper in the Imperial Guard, he’d as soon be parted from his right arm as the weapon he’d been issued with. Everyone instantly began to breathe a little more easily.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Pelton asked. ‘Find the heretics, and see what they want the spirit stones for?’

‘That works for me,’ Amberley said. ‘Vekkman can chase down the leads he’s got around the docking bays, while the rest of us stomp about being the big scary inquisitor and her retinue for the local authorities. There can’t be that many places on an orbital where a heretic cult can enact their rituals without being noticed, so if we start turning them over once we land we should shake something loose before too long.’

‘That might take some time,’ Mott put in, sounding even more dubious than he looked. ‘I’ve seen the schematics. To the best of my recollection, there are one thousand four hundred and eighty-two potential meeting places, assuming they don’t simply use a private home, the back room of a hostelry, or some legitimate social venue hired through an intermediary unaware of their true nature and purpose.’

‘We’ll need to narrow that down,’ Pelton said, paging rapidly through the data-slate the savant held out. ‘Some of these utility areas contain power-lines, toxic chemicals or other hazards.’

‘No one ever said Chaos cultists are big on self-preservation,’ I put in, ‘but I’d be inclined to put those at the bottom of the list anyway. How many does eliminating anything potentially life-threatening leave?’

‘Six hundred and seventy-two,’ Mott replied at once.

‘Then the best of luck,’ Inquisitor Vekkman said, clearly convinced that this approach was doomed to failure, but happy to have Amberley and her entourage out from under his feet. ‘I’ll keep you informed of anything my enquiries uncover.’

‘That would be greatly appreciated,’ Amberley agreed, being careful not to reciprocate the offer.

‘And I suppose I’m the Imperial Guard liaison again?’ I asked, already sure of the answer.

Amberley nodded. ‘I’m sure you can find some troops to inspect and make a speech to,’ she said. ‘Between the two of us, we’ll make Vekk­man practically invisible.’

Rakel raised her head, her eyes apparently fixed, as usual, on something several centimetres behind whatever she was looking at. ‘Something’s coming,’ she said, staring in my general direction. ‘It’s angry, and hungry, hungry and angry…’ She repeated the alternating phrases several times in a childish sing-song, before concluding, ‘…and it’s nearly really here.’

‘What is?’ I asked, and she stared at me as though having just suddenly become aware of my presence.

‘Not what, who,’ she said scornfully, before adding, ‘though she’s a what now too.’

Amberley and I exchanged no, me neither looks, but the psyker seemed to have said her piece, and we both found ourselves looking at Vekkman.

The brown-robed inquisitor shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me,’ he said, ‘she’s your acolyte.’

At which point Pontius voxed us again from the flight deck, effectively derailing any further discussion – which was a shame as it turned out, because if we’d had time to work out what she meant, we’d have avoided no end of trouble. ‘Just thought you’d like to know we’re on our final approach,’ he said.

I glanced out of the viewport again. Not much of the orbital was visible from this angle, since we were still far enough away from it for most of its bulk to be hidden behind the nose of the gig, but I could make out the blocky profile of Defroy’s commandeered heavy lifter coasting along in formation with us about a quarter of a kilometre away – a far more comfortable distance than the handful of metres we’d been apart at the beginning of our flight. Even from this distance I could make out a few blemishes on the side of the hull, where the eldar lasers had scorched across it, clawing their way through the outer plating. Further away, other motes of light were moving, though I couldn’t tell how many of them were making their way to the same destination. Some, I knew, were other orbitals, the vessels making for those, what was left of the system defence force patrolling the boundaries, or even eldar battleships prowling just beyond the range of the defensive batteries.

Abruptly, without any warning, a retina-searing flash burst somewhere just outside the area visible through the viewport, and I blinked, livid green after-images strobing across my field of vision.

‘What the hell was that?’ I demanded.

Editorial Note: