Devourer Dropship, Henna-Morata Orbit
The tremble in his seat diminishing, Richard Sorge unbuckled his harness and sat upright. "Fancy a brew, Innes?"
"Ohh, I need one after that lift-off." Barakat saw to his own harness and followed Sorge aft. At the Devourer's stern, a companionway led to up to the bridge. Occupying the bridge was the Obrist, Kernow and three other acolytes of the Inquisition.
"Ah, glad to have you, Commander." Kernow spun around in his seat.
"Are you alright to fly?" Sorge approached the Obrist. "If there's anything you require of us, please do say."
"Pfft, they wouldn't let me near the controls." The Obrist threw up his hands. "We're in their hands."
"We're all passengers, Commander." Kernow leaned back in his seat and planted his feet on the console.
"And… do you normally deface Inquisition property, Mister Kernow?"
"Nar-ha-ha!" The Obrist slapped his knee.
"Call my supervisor, Commander." Kernow put his arms behind his head.
James's cheek there. Sorge leaned over the navicom and brought up the plotted route. "ETA?"
"One hour, eleven minutes, sir. I'm Whiterock, by the way."
"Oh!" Kernow's feet left the console. "That's Dashiell, and over there is Spane. Take a bow, lads."
"Take a raincheck, Garv," Dashiell said. Most of the hair on his scalp had been burned away and grubby bandages buried his right ear.
"Did my master's hound board, Commander? I don't recall seeing him embark."
"Your master's property is down in the hold, in the care of my lieutenant."
"No issues?"
"Both are snatching forty winks."
"Both? Wish I knew the secret." Kernow stretched his good arm. "My gratitude to your lieutenant for taking Triptolemus in to his care."
"Mmm. The enemy?"
"We don't know. We'd have to talk to Zarkaniy. They'd run a deep scan for us."
"Can you?"
"Not while Zarkaniy's running silent I'm afraid, Commander. We're blind out here."
"And how are the tea-making facilities?"
"Ooh, abysmal. There's a catch aboard Zarkaniy, and it's you must take your tea without milk."
"I see. Slam the bulkhead, Innes."
Innes slammed the side of his fist against the bulkhead. The Obrist laughed. "No milk-drinkers aboard your boat then?"
"Ship, Obrist."
"Planning on surprising us with your recaf?"
"Recaf…" Kernow's eyebrows jumped.
"Commander?" The Obrist held out a small flask. "To a successful operation."
"And to future successes." Sorge tipped the flask up. "Aaahh. Thank you for letting those Satwa go as well. You'll be paid compensation for that."
"Yes…" The Obrist slipped the flask away. "We'll talk about that later, Commander."
"Of course. Let's find solid ground first."
"Belis Corona, Commander?" Kernow turned in his chair.
"One step at a time, Kernow. Let's just make the rendezvous." You don't need to know that yet, old man.
"Your infirmary is a well-stocked affair, I hope," said the Obrist.
"Zarkaniy houses the finest ICU in the Imperium, Obrist."
"Interesting." The Obrist flicked the wheel of his lighter.
"Oh, no smoking on the bridge please, Obrist."
"Uh?"
"Sir?" Sorge pointed to a sign screwed to the bulkhead.
"Ahh, shit." The Obrist leaned forward and rose from his seat. "Euurgh."
"Abelino, Obrist?"
"I could stoop…"
"Mm. Innes?"
"Er, no thank you, Commander. I'll, um…" Innes sat down in the Obrist's seat and rested his hand against his forehead.
"Sir?" Spane opened an infantry small pack by his foot and brought out bottled water.
Sorge sat down on a footlocker at the foot of the companionway with the Obrist. Smoke corkscrewed towards the ceiling. Sorge's chrono beeped. "Useless now anyway. What time does it feel?"
"Time does it feel? Early morning, I suppose. These old bones don't feel as much as they used to."
"Messes you up, doesn't it? Breaks the bodyclock."
"Recaf and stims, my lad. All the fuel I need."
"Hah. Look forward to an early death then."
"Well…" The Obrist brought his knee up. "Seems to have eluded me. Now I can only get slower."
"Done well for yourself. Urgraf know their trade."
"We are not the Guard, Commander."
"No, better. The Imperial Guard has rules."
"Doesn't seem to matter much to your Tross, does it?"
"Oh?"
The Obrist flicked his cigarette. Ash flew across the deck. "The boy. Ne'er a worse ragamuffin these cataracts ever saw."
"Cadia, Obrist. Give it a few weeks and he'll be back to normal. It's nothing to concern yourself about."
"Assault and threats against an officer's life. Nothing to concern myself about, Commander?"
"I spoke with my officer on the matter. Once we're on solid ground, Lieutenant Larn will tender a letter of apology. He won't be going anywhere with only one good arm, Obrist. You have my word."
"Break him to the ranks."
"I cannot revoke his commission. Had he assaulted an officer of the Guard or the Navy, he'd never wear pips again, that would be a guarantee."
"Commander—"
"Obrist! Lieutenant Larn will be writing that letter. Included will be his and my signature. I ask for yours as well."
"Not enough. It's not enough, Commander. Our signatures will not be enough to becalm my CMO." The Obrist scratched an eyebrow. "I am already picturing the hell she will raise."
"It's not all, Obrist. Lieutenant Larn shall be including a formal invitation to dinner as well."
"Brazen, Commander, brazen." The Obrist pressed his palm against his eye.
"He will show Captain Bukharin, you, and I that he is an officer and a gentleman, or he'll lose those pips."
"Officer and a gentleman! No jumped-up Tross could ever rise to such heights and stay there. Officers are born to hold the rank and the honour. It's in the blood."
"And men are born on the battlefield, Obrist. I'd take men any day."
"Pfft! Nothing but a petulant child. He has nothing, Commander."
"He has potential. As do all men. It's what my nephew saw. Remarkably insightful for the oaf."
"Nephew?"
"Whom the men on the bridge served under. Lieutenant Larn assisted in removing him from office, for which I am indebted."
"Ahh, another pawn. I face my enemies head-on, Commander. No subterfuge in Urgraf, just honesty, loyalty, and respect."
"We will talk about your payment once we are aboard the ship, Obrist. Compensation for the hostages will be on the cards too." Sorge dropped his cigarette and stretched. "Do I have the Urgraf Quenets?"
"In writing first. Confirmation that you owe us for our services."
"Mm, very well. We wait for the changeover in the meantime."
"Agreed."
A rushing waterfall filled Gwyn Ulman's ears. Water crashed against rocks. Head leaning against the back of his seat, two wires trailed down from Ulman's ears and inside a pouch attached to the back of his vest. The occupant to his right, his head also against his seat, slept. The hound, curled up at his feet, slept too. A few of the lads came and went along the aisle stretching their legs and looking for friends.
Lieutenant Larn's chest trembled and his head jerked forwards. Ulman unhooked an earbud. "Hey. You alright?" The hound lifted his head. His tail thumped against the deck.
"Ugh." The boy pattered at his right arm. "W—w—where…?"
"We're aboard a ship en-route to safety, sir. Henna-Morata's behind us."
"Where we going?"
"Beats me. Hope it's a warp-capable ship."
"Why… why sir?"
"You're an officer. Commander Sorge and Barakat?"
"Hullo, Trip." Larn rubbed the hound's cheek. "Do us a favour, don't call me sir."
"What was that?"
"Don't call me sir."
"The commander's not gonna like that."
"I don't give a shit what the commander likes."
"No… he likes you though. Enough to hand you out a commission free of charge."
"S'all bollocks."
"Hm?"
"They want you dead or living their lie. The Crotch is never gonna let me go."
"Here." Ulman got up and pinched the 24-hour ration from Sorge and Barakat's place. "Don't know about you but I'm feeling peckish. Biscuit?"
"Nah." Larn drew his feet up and wedged them underneath his body. His black leather boots, now thoroughly browned and cracked, poked out.
"Okay…" Ulman peeled the seal from a packet of ginger biscuits. "What do I call you if I can't call you sir?"
"James."
"I'm Gwyn. Just call me Den. Least the parents had the good grace to give me a better second name, ha-ha!" Ulman nibbled on a ginger biscuit. "Anything you need, let me know."
"No." Larn turned his head away and closed his eyes. Ulman replaced the bud and shifted in his seat. The waterfall returned. "What's that then?"
"This?" Ulman held out the bud. "Sorry, hold on." Ulman wiped the bud off on his sleeve. "Listen."
Larn took the bud and pressed it in to his ear. After a moment, Larn took the bud out. "Where's it coming from?"
"Have you never…?" Ulman grinned and felt around his back. "This'll be a treat." He undid the popper and brought out a rectangular box with a tape inside. The wires running from his ears ran down to a port on the side. "Cyvox voice-caster."
"Yeah?"
"See that tape inside? This allows you to record voice and music and play it back later."
"You—you recorded the water and…"
"Ha! No, I bought a sixty-minute recording."
"Why water?"
"Calms me down." Ulman placed the ginger biscuits on the arm of his and Larn's seat.
"Cy-vox?"
"Cyvox, yeah. A very kind merchant on Alleline sold it to me. Worked a treat so far." Ulman rummaged through the ration. "Bet this one's cursed with mint-choc. I hate mint-choc. What d'you think, dog?"
"Trip."
"Hm?"
"He's Trip."
"Fudge." Ulman balanced the fudge bar on the biscuits. "Thank the Emperor, eh, Trip?"
"Can you…?" Larn tapped the fudge bar.
"Oh, sure." Ulman broke open the wrapper. "Take it. It's yours."
"Ta."
"How do you do it? Sleeping through the exfil, I mean."
Larn bit in to the fudge and chewed. "Wasn't asleep. Don't do that much now."
"I see." Poor lad. Wonder what he went through on Cadia?
Trip sat up and looked at the food hopefully. "Don't think you're getting anything, me laddo."
"Nice guys don't beg."
"Nah, the Crotch pokes 'em with the shit end o' the stick."
"Hey, you're with us. You're alive. You did good getting away from Satwa. Even better stopping the Obrist bombing them with white phosphorus. We all knew what that shit could do but nobody spoke up. Well done."
Larn left the fudge bar and turned his head away just as Captain Bukharin walked past.
"Captain." Ulman smiled and nodded.
"Trabant."
"Ginger biscuit?"
"Catch?"
"No catch. How are Korne and Haber?"
"Good." Bukharin's eyes moved across Ulman and settled on Larn. "Watch him, Trabant."
"He's in good hands. Don't worry, ma'am."
"Keep him away from that weapon, please." Bukharin scowled at Ulman's Merotech lascarbine leaning against the back of the seat in front.
"It's alright, he's not violent, just… tired. We're all tired."
"And that… thing. Bloody wild animals!"
"Oh, Trip's been well-behaved. He's no feral. Definitely not a feral."
"Mmm, just keep him away from my unit."
"Yes, ma'am."
Bukharin moved away. Larn sat up. "Has she gone?"
"Yeah. You've got to face up to the captain some time y'know."
"Errr, commander said I had to write an apology. Get it proper signed by the Obrist and that…"
"…Makes sense. You're taking it through the right channels. That's good."
"And I've got to ask her out to dinner. Formal bollocks."
"At the commander's suggestion?"
"Yeah. I never asked someone out. Now I've gotta do an officer."
"Well… you could wait 'til things have died down a little and we've settled in. Look, Captain Bukharin is a very nice person. Heart of gold. She'll make her own decision. If the offer is rejected—"
"Sorge'll put me back inside."
"Inside wh—oh. Oh, I see…" An ex-convict? What did he do to put himself behind bars? He can't be twenty yet.
Larn reached for his breast pocket and unbuttoned it. A torn pict caught Ulman's eye. "You and the Cadian?"
Larn's hand closed around the pict and held it against his chest. "No."
Alright. None of my business. Ulman reached down to his Merotech and removed the clipped power packs. Trip's dark eyes followed his every move.
"Hello, Zarkaniy, we are on final approach to your beacon. Request docking clearance."
Behind Kernow's seat, the Obrist chewed a nail. "There's nothing out there, Kernow."
"On the contrary, Obrist, we are exactly where we need to be."
"Doesn't look like it. Commander, what's your input?"
"My input?" Sorge drew up the Devourer's vector. "It's out of my hands, Obrist. Though I dare say that sector off our bows looks a little blacker."
"Hidden in plain sight," Whiterock muttered.
"What is it, some sort of cloaking array?"
"That's classified, Obrist," Kernow said.
"Haven't seen one of those since the Great Crusade."
"You were there, were you, Obrist?" Sorge smirked.
"Uh-hurgh. Long before you were born, Commander."
"Please don't touch that, sir," Spane said to the Obrist. "That vents the hold."
The Obrist withdrew his hand. "Ahh, better not then."
"We're backing in to Zarkaniy's belly, Obrist. ETA is fifteen minutes."
"Ever witnessed a psy war-op, Commander?"
"Is this an offer of a field demonstration, Obrist?"
"It's half the fight."
"Masks and cowls?"
"Like I said…" The Obrist grinned. "Half the fight."
"Um, Obrist, there'll be no welcoming committee. Zarkaniy only has a skeleton crew aboard," Kernow swivelled. "There won't be any shooting, will there?"
"If you have spoken honestly, no." The Obrist patted Kernow's shoulder. "Be a good toe-licker and inform me the moment the skids are on the deck. Ready, Commander?"
"And eager. Innes?"
"Right." Innes stumped after Sorge and the Obrist. Down a deck, Innes fell in to his seat and propped his head against his hand.
"Sleep tight, Innes. It'll be clean sheets and tall blondes very soon."
"Eurgh…" Innes rolled his neck. "I'll wake up with Ann's fist down my throat if I even think about that."
"Hahaha! Trabant, all secure?"
"Sealed and bolted, sir."
"Enjoying the compo then?"
"Yeah. What's the order? Are we moored?"
"Stand down, Trabant," the Obrist said. "Major, round up three DA teams. Psy War-Op One."
"Commander, what's going on?" Ulman stood up.
"The Obrist is handling it, Trabant. Please keep Lieutenant Larn company." Sorge took off after the Obrist.
"Er, sir?"
"Wait for the all-clear, Trabant. We don't know what's out there."
Three eight-man teams assembled on the cargo deck and unloaded storage chests from a Fireback. Folded robes and wooden masks sat inside the chests. "Strecker, your team will hang a sharp left out of the ship's bows. Saratov, your team heads right. Any shooters with bangs take point. Kapler, hold back in reserve. Any questions?"
"Major, what are we engaging?" An Urgraf said through his mask.
"Inquisition. Your rules of engagement are as follows. Lethal force is authorised only if you encounter a target carrying a weapon in their hands, not on their body. It's isn't much to go on, but I trust you team leaders to employ good judgement here. They won't be expecting such a show of force so surprise is on our side. The worst is long behind us. Do your Obrist proud and carry our family these last few steps."
Sorge, Innes, and the Obrist watched the teams assemble on the far side of the cargo bay. "That's right. Maximum noise and aggression, boys." The Obrist clenched and unclenched a fist.
"Lethal force without being fired on first, Obrist?" Innes shook his head. "A little ruthless, don't you think?"
"No, Commander."
"Innes, it's Inquisition."
"Can't you—?"
"It is not the business of the Obrist to micro-manage his teams, Commander. Have faith. I trust my team leaders to do a good job without officers interfering which I imagine happens in your Imperial Guard all too often."
"Innes, leave it please."
The twenty-four Urgraf donned robes and masks, loaded Merotechs, and stacked up just behind the mandibles' hinges. The Obrist touched a comm bead in his ear. "Roger. Major, you have control."
Up by the bows, the major gave a thumbs-up to the Obrist and smacked the hatch release. A red light flashed and a klaxon blared. The two pointmen hooked thumbs through pull-rings and tightened their grip around grenades. The mandibles widened and a telescoping ramp extended from the Devourer's chin. Innes put a finger in one ear.
"Go, go, go!"
Pull-rings clinked on the deck and levers flew off. The pointmen moved to the gap between the widening mandibles and threw their grenades sideways. "Flashbang!"
"Hard and fast." The Obrist pummelled his fist against his palm. Sharp cracks boomed throughout the hangar. Urgraf stampeded down the ramp and swung left and right. The Obrist hurried over to the major.
What's that about not micromanaging? Sorge and Innes followed.
"Anything, Major?"
The major held up his hand. "Two targets incapacitated. Both male. No aggro."
No shooting. Good. Sorge glanced at Innes. Don't need any more bloodshed.
"Deck secure. Strecker's team is heading up to secure a balcony overlooking the deck. Shall I stand Kapler's team down?"
"Keep them on standby 'til we've secured a foothold."
"Roger."
Lights came on in the hangar. The major whistled at Kapler's team. "Stand by, stand by."
"If they've lied to us…" The Obrist pried a Merotech from a storage crate.
"Obrist… Strecker's team just secured a control room overlooking us."
"Any—?"
"Two Inquisition detained. No aggro."
"I'm going." The Obrist switched his beret for hard cover and strode down the ramp, his Merotech clamped under his arm. "Little pigs… little pigs…"
"Kapler, with the Obrist!"
"Roger. Moving." Kapler's team rushed past the Obrist and spread out.
"Commander, I advise you remain aboard until we confirm secure."
"Yes, that would be wise, Major."
Ten minutes later, an Urgraf stumbled around the portside lower mandible. "Major?"
"Soldier?"
"Major." The Urgraf clicked his heels. "Beg to report, hangar and control room secure."
"Affirmative, soldier. Well done for bringing it via word of mouth."
"Thank you, sir."
"Is that Hollweg?"
"Yes, sir." Hollweg drew his hood back and removed his mask. Short red hair stood up straight on a very pale face. "Can't see a thing in this mask."
"Scares the hell out of the enemy though, and that's half the battle already won."
"Yes, sir." Hollweg folded his robes and packed them and his mask away.
"Major, permission to disembark?"
"Hollweg, can you accompany Commander Sorge?"
"Sir."
Sorge's heels squeaked upon a clean white deck. Grey panels leading across the hangar to sealed blast doors reflected the harsh lighting shining from the ceiling. Could fit a Reaver in here with room to spare.
"You could park a titan in here," Innes said.
"Ah-ha! My thoughts exactly, Innes."
"Look at those bays. This ship could have a whole squadron for close protection."
"Commander!" The Obrist waved the four over. He held his Merotech against his hip and grinned. Urgraf stood guard over two Inquisition lying on the deck with their hands bound behind their backs. More Urgraf moved around on a gantry against the far bulkhead and thirty feet above the deck.
"A welcoming committee?"
"An old man and a… is that a servitor?" Innes rested his hands on his knees and bent over a thickset, bald human with a chunky steel box grafted in to his lower face.
"Thank you for showing restraint, Obrist." Sorge squatted over the old man. "Hello, Augustus." Sorge snapped his fingers beside the old man's ear. "Augustus Eli Croziere. It is Commander Sorge."
"He's deaf, sir. Bangs did his ears," an Urgraf said.
"Give him some time to recover, Commander." The Obrist prodded the servitor with his toecap. "Doubt this thing even cares. Ever been banged, Commander?"
"Can't say I have, Obrist."
"That shit stays with you for weeks." The Obrist pointed a finger at his ear. "Eeeeeeee."
"Obrist?" The major touched his comm bead. "Inquisition are hailing the control room. Strecker's asking for orders."
"Give no reply. Commander, can we have Kernow down here?"
"I'll go, Commander."
"Thank you, Innes." Sorge danced backwards.
"But…"
"You're concussed." Sorge hastened inside the Devourer's maw and climbed up to the bridge. "Kernow, we're being hailed."
"Already… yeah, already on it, Commander." Kernow leaned an elbow on the console. "Bridge, this is Kernow. We have docked and disembarked safely. My party has come back alive with guests in tow. Mm-hm, we are. Thank you. Out."
"Was that it?"
"Welcome aboard Zarkaniy, Commander."
The four Inquisition men in tow, Sorge left the Devourer. "We're in the clear, Obrist. The—er—the crew extend their welcome."
"W—wait, I know that voice." Knotted sinew stood out in the old man's neck.
Sorge got down on one knee. "Can you hear me, Augustus?"
"That voice…"
"Commander Reichert Sorge. Imperial Navy."
"The master's uncle!"
Urgraf and Inquisition eyes turned to Sorge. "Obrist, I would speak with my nephew's major-domo man to man."
"Any weapons on his person?" The Obrist said.
"Nothing in his robes, sir."
"Get him up."
A spring-loaded blade sliced the major-domo's bonds. "Argh… Throne of Terra, you—" The major-domo, assisted to his feet, swayed.
"Augustus?" Sorge took the major-domo by the shoulder and walked him away.
"Where is the master?"
"I'm he will not be joining us."
"Oh!" Augustus's knees gave out.
"The master fell on Cadia. His sacrifice was not in vain, I assure you. Cadia stands, Augustus."
"Cadia stands." Augustus made the Aquila. "I—I read the tales of valour in the papers. The Angels of Humanity and the Cadian Shock Troops standing valiantly shoulder to shoulder at the Cadian Gate. The—the coming of the Despoiler's Thirteenth Black Crusade—"
"You weren't hurt, were you, Augustus?"
"Hurt? No, I saw a flash and I have these bells chiming in my ears. I thought the Feast of The Emperor's Ascension wasn't for another two months."
"That's… Sanguinala, Augustus."
"Oh, oh I forget what's when and how…"
"Your fellow servants. Where are they?"
"Manning their stations. The pilots are on the bridge, Techpriests are in Engineering, and the kitchen staff are in the…well."
"A skeleton crew? I'm surprised—shocked—my nephew's vessel is so severely undermanned. What ever happened to the rest of the crew?"
"Many took separate charters. Our rendezvous is the naval base at Belis Corona."
"Is it? Well, we must make for BC Naval Base will all haste."
"Who—who are these men? Men in robes and masks! Cultists and ruffians."
"A mercenary organisation who call themselves Urgraf, Augustus. Dear Kernow and I had the fortune of falling in with them on Henna Morata. An agreement was struck, and now we are here. I apologise for getting off on the wrong foot but Urgraf are cautious. Will you grant us lodgings for the duration of our journey?"
"A blood relative I cannot refuse."
"Emperor's blessing upon you."
"Er, just how many are you exactly…?"
APCs trundled down the ramp and drove in to fighter bays and parked nose-first. "Anything I can do?" I said to Ulman.
"Hm? Oh um… er, not really, James. You'd best join up with our walking wounded and follow them. Nothing you can really do with one arm I'm afraid. If you'd like, I can watch Trip seeing as he won't be allowed in the med unit."
"Nah, I'll keep him thanks. Oi, cheers for the scoff."
"No problem. Hey, that one was on the navy. Anything to one-up the Skates." Ulman winked.
"Yeah. Ta." Trip and I disembarked the lander by the side hatch. Rows of white lights bored in to the back of my neck and shone off grey panels on the deck. Urgraf wheeled stretcher cases out of the APCs and across the deck after one of Kernow's men. Urgraf, these ones with chest, arm, and head wounds gathered in the centre of the hangar and milled around doing nothing. Trip's ears pricked up and his nose wrinkled at the sight of a stretcher case in khaki. Susannah!
"Oi, no!" The Urgraf pushing the end of the gurney waved me away. "Walking wounded wait your turn."
"She's my friend."
"Yeah, look her up later, pal. She's not going anywhere." The gurney rattled over to an open blast door behind the lander's stern and rolled through.
"Walking wounded follow me."
Oh, no. I ducked behind the wounded Urgraf. Trip pressed himself against my leg. Captain Bukharin, a lasgun slung across her chest and a black ceramite on her head, left an APC with her surgeons in tow, Korne and Haber among them. What sort of a doctor carries arms?
"Where'd that dog come from?" An Urgraf frowned at Trip.
"Muzzle that blasted mutt."
Trip's ear twitched and he sat down and scratched at his neck. Uh, oh. You'd better not have fleas, Trip. Would Urgraf even have anti-flea treatment for you? I lagged behind the walking wounded and tacked on to the end of the pack, putting myself as far away from the captain as I could.
Fibre-thin holographic panels glowed, displaying a two-dimensional map of the cargo deck. I waved my hand through the panel and touched the matte white bulkhead behind. How does that work? Ahead of me, Urgraf moved along a corridor with storage rooms on both sides. Frost coated the inside of the windows. Human-sized containment pods sat unoccupied.
Welcome to Station A-2. The sign glowed a cold blue above an empty tram line. Now what? I leaned against a steel pillar a little down from Urgraf and the surgeons. Good boy, Trip. Nice and quiet now. I squatted and rubbed Trip's chin. Trip licked my fingers.
A hand came down on my back. My shoulders hunched and I thrust my head forwards. A bareheaded Captain Bukharin smiled at me. "Lieutenant."
I sucked in on dry lips and stood up. "Hullo, Captain."
"Where are we off to with that beast?"
"Well… he's got nowhere to go, ma'am. You wouldn't have any flea treatment for him, would you?"
Lights approached the station. "I'm afraid not, Lieutenant. Will that be all?" Bukharin's hand moved up my back and pushed. A tram roared out of the tunnel. My heels shifted on the smooth floor. Trip bared his teeth and barked.
"Trip! What are you barking at?" Garvin Kernow, grinning, swaggered on to the platform. "Don't believe I've had the pleasure, madam."
Bukharin's hand withdrew and found the grip of her lasgun. "You're Inquisition, am I right? Never had a spy in my theatre before."
"Well, hahaha! I wouldn't call my job spying, just admin, and admin makes the Imperium go 'round of course—heh-heh."
Trip growled at Bukharin. I shifted away from her and tapped my thigh. Trip backed away but kept his eyes on her and his ears back.
"No, it's all just little grey, middle-aged men sitting together in a room. No glamour."
"Mm-hmph. Okay." Bukharin left and headed over to the far end of the platform. The tram, a two-carriage affair, came to a halt and opened its doors. Urgraf boarded and sat down.
Kernow turned to me. His smile had gone. He leaned in and touched my shoulder. "Stay away from her."
Just how am I supposed to do that? I sat down with Trip near the front of the first carriage. Bukharin kept to the other end of the second. Kernow took a seat opposite me. "Straight to the infirmary for you, I think."
The doors hissed shut. "Could you mind Trip for me?" I said. "Please."
"Trip chooses his companions, young man."
"They won't allow him in the medbay though, will they?"
"Point. I'll take him while you're on the mend." Kernow clicked his tongue. "I was going to mention, Trip needs two walks a day and feeding twice."
"Right." Lights flashed past the widows.
"I'll let you know once your arm has healed. Could be good, you know. Bit of responsibility. Take the mind off things."
How much does he know? I leaned forwards and pressed my warm hands together.
After a five-minute ride, the tram stopped at an identical station and Urgraf debused. "After you," Kernow said.
"Trip?" I hovered by the door.
"The infirmary's in this section, James. I'll hold on to Trip for now."
Trip padded over to Kernow and sat by him. "Bye, Trip." I waved.
"Be seeing you."
Where's he off to on his own then? I stepped on to the platform and followed the wounded. Medical L – 01. Black letters stood out on the white bulkhead. A shimmering screen rolled backwards and forwards over Urgraf heads. What's this? I held my hand over my eyes and squinted. A rectangular glass pane several inches thick separated us from an observation chamber. A dark-skinned man in a white suit and orange facings monitored the newcomers. Once the screen had finished rolling back and forth, a door at the end of the chamber unlocked and parted.
"Here we go, boys. Bring on the nurses." A few Urgraf laughed at that. Sparkling panels, orange and white, shone in the light. Rubber heels squeaked on the deck. Disinfectant tickled my sinuses.
"Greetings, guests of the Inquisition." The dark-skinned man, smiling, left the observation chamber and approached the captain and her surgeons. "Can I ask for the officer in charge?"
"I am," said Captain Bukharin. "Captain Bukharin, Chief Medical Officer, Urgraf Quenets."
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Captain. Baskar Beyts, Chiurgeon-Colonel." Beyts shook Bukharin's hand. "Very happy to accommodate you and your soldiers. I must apologise in advance. It's just me and a few servos in-house currently. Shall we see to your wounded?"
"That would be welcome, Colonel. If we could get changed, we'll start with the critical cases and work down from there."
"Of course. If you follow this corridor and take the third door on the right, you'll find storage and changing rooms. If I could have the walking wounded, I'll see them clothed and bedded."
"Thank you, Colonel. Walking wounded, follow the colonel."
"Through here, please." Beyts led the walking wounded to the left down a corridor and in to a ward. Beds with smooth, blue mattresses sat beneath odd semi-circles. Ten feet separated each bed from the next. Blank and flat cogitator screens extended via articulated arms from the bulkheads. "Now, those that can strip do so and place your articles in the blue hamper as provided. Any whites place them in the bucket beside the hamper. Any personal weapons on you, place them on the table in the centre there."
Urgraf began divesting themselves of their grey battle fatigues. Rubber-soled boots, shorter than mine, came off smelling. The socks beneath them bore dark stains and in many places skin showed. Buddies helped each other out of trousers and shirts and bent down to undo bootlaces. I sat cross-legged on the deck and fiddled with my laces. Sand nestled between my toes.
"What's this?" A pair of white shoes stopped beside me.
"Oh, sir…" I grabbed at the side of a bed and pulled.
"No, no, I've got it." Beyts swooped down and set about my laces.
"Sorry, sir."
"Never if you're wounded. You've nothing to be sorry about." Beyts' fingers pulled at the criss-crossing laces and jerked them loose. "You've nothing to fear asking for help. It's not weak."
"I'm not one of 'em though…"
"Hm? You're not one of them? I beg to differ, young man. A uniform is a uniform. All men are equal."
"Thank you, sir." Sand fell from my socks. I perched on the edge of the bed and rolled my feet.
"Ah, don't worry about that. Sore?"
"Yes, sir."
"Need any help with that jacket?"
"Please."
"Right then. Hold still." Beyts ran through the buttons on my jacket.
"Erm, sir?"
"Yes?"
"D'you have anything for fleas?"
"Ah, now your clothes will be cleaned and given proper a de-flea. Don't worry, we won't incinerate them."
"For a dog, sir."
"Dog?" Beyts' black brows rose. "Ah, the master's hound, you mean?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm sure I have something for it. Hold still, I'll take off your sling."
The sling passed over my head. I clenched my jaw. "Mmmph."
"Shirt now."
"Okay…"
"There. Well done, lad. Once you're done, sort your whites out and places them in the bucket. Anything else goes in the hamper. I'll just… retie your sling."
"What about personal items?"
"Like what?"
"Inside my…" I pointed at my jacket.
"This?" Beyts fished out my pict. "Stick it under your pillow."
"Thank you, sir."
"See those men at the far end of the ward? Line up and follow them for a shower."
Naked, I threw my clothes in the hamper and my undershorts in the bucket and joined the end of the line of Urgraf. "Bloody meat parade, this…" An Urgraf said. Brown water ran around my feet and drained away. Soaped-over, I sponged behind my ears and inside my armpits. Urgraf laughed and sang. Steam rose from shining bodies.
Blue garments, pressed and folded, lay on a long table outside the washroom. Barefoot, I carried the shirt back to the bed where I had left my boots and sat down with my back to Urgraf. Where's Susannah? I rubbed a finger beneath my damp bandage. Oh, God, the captain. I twisted my neck. Urgraf pulled on their medical garments and chattered to one another.
"Names please, gentlemen." Beyts came back in to the ward with a tablet and stylus. "Once you're on the system we can start with the scans."
"Sir, I've got a friend. He's a VSI case," an Urgraf said. "What's happening with the VSI?"
"Your CMO and her team are prepping for the first operation. Head-wounds come first."
"Can we see our friends?"
"I'm sorry, soldier. It's best we leave the worst cases alone for now. Can I take your name?"
"Larn, Arvin J," I said once Beyts came around.
"I guessed you weren't affiliated with Urgraf but I've marked you as one of them seeing as you're the only non-Urgraf here."
"Hold on, you've got a Cadian stretcher case. Susannah Senf."
"Thought I recognised the uniform." Beyts scrolled across his list. "Heard the Cadians gave a poor account, what with the withdrawal and evacuation. Shame that."
"Is she awake?"
"Sergeant Senf will be treated once the very seriously injured have been operated on. Could I have your rank, please?"
"…Private."
"Blood type?"
"Err, I dunno."
"Should be on your identity disks."
"Don't have 'em anymore."
"You don't have them anymore? Hmm, alright then." Beyts' stylus wiggled. "Need a hand with that?"
"Oh, cheers." Beyts helped me in to the shirt.
"I'll fetch you a fresh sling too. How does that sound?"
"Yeah, don't give me the favourite treatment 'ere, Colonel. There's loads what deserve this more than me."
"That's no way to think. You didn't have a say in it."
"I fell down a fu—fell down a hole. It weren't the enemy that did it."
"Well. Take this time to rest and recuperate. You're safe now."
I reached under my pillow. There's nowhere safe for me anymore. My lips touched the pict and I held it against my chest.
"Sir, someone on the platform!"
"Hold." The Obrist planted a hand on the window and leaned on it. Garvin Kernow waved. The Inquisitor's hound sat beside him. "How the hell did he get here before us?"
"Well, he knows the ship better than any of us, Obrist." Commander Sorge swept his hand across his chest. "After you, sir."
"How in blazes did you get ahead of us, Inquisition?" The Obrist stamped out of the carriage with three of his Close Protection detail in tow. Ulman hung back with Sorge, Innes, and Augustus. Operations L – 01, the sign read.
"By the tram system, Obrist. I went ahead with the walking wounded. Kept you waiting, h—"
"Yes, yes. Take us up to the bridge." The Obrist glared down at Trip. "That blasted hound."
"Beg pardon, Obrist. Triptolemus is the property of my master."
"Who, thank the Emperor, is no longer with us. Get moving." A CP trooper flicked his Merotech at Kernow.
"You alright, sir?" Sorge helped Augustus across the gap.
"A little dizzy thank you, Commander. Avoided a heart attack at least, ha-ha."
"Innes, you feeling better?"
"Soon as I can get my head down, Richard, the better." Innes rubbed at his temple. "They love these spotlights, don't they?"
The same white corridors on the cargo decks led away from the tram station. Sorge, Innes, and Augustus fell behind the Obrist's party. Blood red banners hung from the ceiling of a thirty-foot-high chamber with holo-maps of Zarkaniy's decks in the centre. Black letter I's on the banners stood out on a white background. "All this wasted space," Innes said. "Admiral Curzon would flip."
"You know what, I'm actually enjoying being out from under the admiral's monocle."
"Not doing any favours for our careers though."
"Mmm." Sorge stopped by the 3-d map. "Impressive."
"Been here before, Richard?"
"A social gathering. Haven nobility. Hundred or so turnout."
"Hurgh! I'd rather not tender a refusal to come to a party hosted by the Inquisition. That'll be two knocks on your door at three in the morning, sir. Breakfast is on us."
"Don't—don't joke about that, Innes. That happens every day in the Imperium, be it Hive, Agri, Fortress, or Forgeworld. And my nephew had a hand in it."
"Dissidents and heretics, Commander," Augustus said. "Cultists and the unclean."
"So proclaims the dotted line. A strike of a quill and the click of a key turn citizen traitor."
"It was for the good of the Imperium, Commander."
"The deeds my nephew committed were never in the interests of the Imperium."
"Kept a close eye on him, did you, Commander?"
"Two eyes when possible. And I knew my nephew. What lay beneath the charming membrane and behind the flicking, forked tongue."
"The master was—"
"I knew my nephew."
Dim lighting and shadows filled Zarkaniy's bridge. Is that lavender? Sorge held his hand over a small vent. Cool air tickled the hairs on his arm. "Lovely."
"Commander?" The Obrist and his detail stood behind a depressed section of the bridge where the cockpit was. A tail thudded against the deck. Each of the three pilots wore a full-face helmet, leaving only the mouth exposed. Cables fitted to jacks in the pilots' arms and a central interface ran from the back of their helmets.
"Visitors!" The pilot in the centre removed her hands from the glowing panes and retracted her visor.
"Permission to enter, Captain?" Sorge slipped between the Obrist's bodyguards.
"Captain? Never had the pleasure of being called that." Cables popped from the pilot's arms. "One moment." A hiss, and the central interface unlocked from her helmet.
"Identify yourself."
"Obrist, allow me please," Sorge said. "Permission to enter the bridge, Captain?"
"Permission granted." A rebreather withdrew across a smiling face. "We heard about the commotion in the hangar. One old man frightened to death and a servitor knocked silly."
"Oh no, let's stroll in to territories unknown with arses wide and flapping in the wind!"
"Obrist, we're guests here." Sorge kneeled on the edge of the depression. "Richard Sorge. The gentleman in flak and cover is Obrist Robert Holbein of the Urgraf Quenets."
"Pleasure, Commander." The pilot reached up and shook Sorge's hand. Her eyes lingered on the dirty bandages. "We've not had guests in a good long while."
"This is Innes Barakat, my deputy."
"Hello, Captain."
"Hello. Marais Chen-Ye. My fellow pilots, Yulia Singh and Palla Tsyan."
"Can they hear us?"
"They are convening with our navigator, Commander."
"Is it just the three of you up here?"
"Yulia, Palla, me, and Cento."
"Your—your navigator?"
"We're a small family, Commander."
Kernow patted Trip's head. The Obrist pushed past his bodyguards. "So, your destination is Belis Corona, pilot?"
"BC Naval Base, yes Obrist."
"Any news from there?"
"Nothing. We've been dark this past week. Now that Garv and the others are back we can get underway. Commander."
"The Obrist has staff with experience aboard ships of the line, Captain. Would you accept their assistance?"
"Obrist?"
"Are you offering placement?"
"Secondary roles would be welcome on the bridge as long as you leave the helm to us."
"Fine, fine. Inform us when you're entering the Warp too."
"A ship-wide announcement is broadcast beforehand, Obrist," said Marais.
"Mmm… acceptable." The Obrist led his party off the bridge.
"Sorry about that," Kernow said.
"Doesn't matter. I'm so pleased you all came back." Beaming, Marais rubbed Trip's chest. "And you, you rascal."
"Little bit worse for wear, but we're all intact."
"Any news of the master?"
"He fell in battle on Cadia. It's up to us now."
"I see. A toast this evening to his lordship."
"I'd like that."
"Might I inquire of the time, Captain?" Sorge pressed the shoulder buttons on his chrono.
"We keep to ship standard, Commander. That's fourteen eleven on my unit."
"Not a bad idea. Could we make that a late lunch, Richard?"
"Any chance of a sandwich, Kernow?"
"Shouldn't be a problem. We've seating for eight-hundred. Shall we?"
"Mmm, lead on, MacDuff."
"Er, who?" Kernow wiggled a finger in his ear. "There's not still sand in my ears, is there?"
"Think we all need a shower." Innes loosened his collar. "Bloody sand."
Kernow leading, Sorge, Innes, and Augustus left the bridge and crossed the map chamber. "My good man." Sorge planted his hand on Augustus's shoulder. "I have a need to visit my nephew's quarters. My sister must be informed of her son's passing and I would have custody of any valuables left behind. Security, I fear, would take issue with any entry."
"Oh, of course, Commander." Augustus handed Sorge a red keycard. "This shall permit you access to the master's office. His private quarters are still off-limits I'm afraid. Vocals and retinal scans."
"Much obliged." Sorge smiled and pocketed the keycard.
"This is the one. My lord."
"Wake him. Gently."
A hand squeezed my arm. "Lieutenant? James, it's Seroni."
"Captain?"
"How's your arm?"
"Erm…"
"Let me just apologise for before. I had no idea what you had been through on Cadia."
"Cadia took from us all." A shadow rose above my bed. Lips stretched back from perfect white teeth. The Inquisitor leaned down. "Hello, James."
My chest shook. Sweat dampened my pillow. Trapped beneath my body, a numb arm tingled. Where is he? I sat up, a lump pulsing in my throat. Urgraf lay on their beds. Snores and snorts drifted through the ward. I kicked the warm covers back and dragged my boots over. Laces flapping, I hobbled towards the end of the ward. The double doors parted and an Urgraf crossed in to an office beyond the ward. I lurched against the wall and flattened. A cogitator screen bathed the office in a green glow. I peered around the corner. A male Urgraf, neither Korne nor Haber, sat in the office. Voices came from a corridor out of sight. I inhaled, held, then emptied my lungs and crept out of the ward. The deck rubbed through the thin material of my trousers, warming the skin on my knees. To my left and down the corridor, a pair of Urgraf surgeons trotted from a ward. I shimmied forwards and rose once out of sight of the office. Doors parted before me. "…James? Off for a stroll, are we?"
"Den, Den you've gotta help me."
"Wha—of course, I…" Ulman sidestepped, blocking me. "James, what's the—?"
"She tried to kill me—push me off the platform!"
"Stop. Stop. Stop." Ulman shifted his lasgun around to his hip and planted both hands on my shoulders. "What happened?"
"I—I dreamt…"
"Okay, you had a nightmare. I know how that feels. The fear and the bad dreams come long after the shooting stops. It's normal, James."
"No—No! This was real. We was waiting for the shuttle and Captain Bukharin comes up behind me and she pushes me in the back right as the shuttle's coming in."
"James, James, stop. Do you have your pict?"
I thrust my hand in to my trouser pockets. "Oh no…"
"Come on, let's head back."
The Urgraf manning the cogitator rose from his chair and stuck his head out of the office. "Trabant, where's that patient going?"
"Nowhere. I'm surprised he was able to sneak past you so easily, Jan. You making sleeping sounds in your box there?"
"I'm on duty, Ulman." The Urgraf sealed the door and popped open a window. "Don't need you sweating up the air here."
"Don't mind Jan," Ulman said. "He'd have let you out if you'd asked, y'know."
"The—the captain." I sat down on the edge of my bed and wiggled my boots off.
"Don't worry about the captain." Ulman lifted my pillow and passed my pict to me. "Hm, looks like you and…" I snatched the pict from Ulman's fingers and slipped it inside my breast pocket. "Sorry, that's…"
"None o' your business." I swallowed. "Go away."
Colonel Beyts approached Ulman. "Hello, soldier. Can I help you?"
"Yes, can you let Lieutenant Larn know how long he will be staying here, please?"
"…Lieutenant?" Beyts frowned at his dataslate. "I'm not sure I…"
"Second Lieutenant Larn?"
"I have a Private Larn here."
"James?"
"Nrgh." I lay on my side and folded my arm behind my head.
"Why did—?"
"Can you amend that please, sir? If you need further verification, you can check with his commanding officer. He'll confirm the rank."
"Hmph. Never heard of an officer impersonating an OR." Beyts' stylus scribbled. "Usually the other way around."
"Sir, can I see Susannah?"
"Susannah?"
"The Cadian, sir," said Ulman.
"She hasn't been seen to yet, Lieutenant. Just, give it a day or two and she'll be in a fit state to talk."
"Is that you, Den?" An Urgraf five beds down from me sat up and lifted part of his dressing out of his eye. "Where've you hidden the nurses? C'mon, I'm dying here."
"They're locked up for their own protection." Ulman sauntered down to his friend. "Just so you know."
"Where's Captain Bukharin?" I said to Beyts.
"Operating. Progress is slow right now, but it's all in hand."
"Tell me when Susannah's up and about."
"Err, it will be a good few says or so before Sergeant… Senf is lucid. She will receive the best possible care, Lieutenant."
Ulman returned. "He's still chipper as ever."
"Er, yes." Beyts slotted his stylus in to a port on his dataslate and left.
"So, I'm stuck 'ere for what, two months?"
"A month maybe." Ulman peeled open the flap covering his Cyvox pouch. "For the duration, this is yours." Ulman laid the Cyvox and four tapes on the sheets. "I gave the ears a clean too. Take good care of it."
I propped myself up on an elbow and shifted across to Ulman. "Got any Rezin?"
"Uhh, no. This side's got Grausome Tusks on it. D'you like the Tusks?"
"Yeah."
"Sinna on both sides of this one and the other has Rogue Servitors on one side. The other's blank. Sorry, but it's all I've got apart from the waterfall, and I figured you didn't really want to listen to that."
"Cheers, Den."
"Take care, James."
"Can I come with you?"
"No, you're convalescing."
"But, she'll—"
Ulman, walking backwards, aimed a finger at me. "Rest! You'll miss this when you're back on your feet."
"Eurgh." I flopped backwards. My fingers crawled across the sheets and found the edge of the Cyvox. A month. A whole bloody month.
Richard Sorge's heels trod soft carpets of the same shade as the crimson banners hanging from the ceiling. A door bearing the Inquisitorial seal rose before him, revealing a large room with a bar firepit in the centre and pillars surrounding it. Model warships sat on a mantlepiece and polished busts stood upon plinths. Not a single speck of dust occupied the finery in the Inquisitor's quarters. Sorge approached a glass cabinet and opened it up. Amasec, sacra, brandy, Gorsk, Slithering Serpent! Sorge picked out a bottle throttled by a serpent and removed the stopper. Sharp fangs surrounded the neck. Of course, only you would have access to this. Sorge replaced the Serpent and closed the cabinet doors. Elitist swine, living in decadence while citizens perish daily at your cohorts' hands.
Sorge fitted the keycard in to a slot beneath the fingerprint and retinal scanner. The card slid inside then pushed itself back out. Sorge inverted the keycard then tried again. A skull split in half and cool air tickled Sorge's eyebrows. A Greenskin's head snarled at Sorge from a wooden mount on the wall. Polished mahogany shone. Splendid bit of woodwork. Sorge ran fingers along the table's curved edge. Can't imagine there are any trees with wood like that left in the Imperium.
A wooden chest with brass fittings held bottles in foam inserts. This is on me, dearest nephew. Sorge pried a cork out with his teeth and spat it across the desk. "Ahh, Archaos." Reddish-brown liquid spilled in to a glass. Red leather creaked beneath Sorge. His fingers drummed upon keypad attached to a cogitator. A green screen blinked on. Enter Password.
Of course. Sorge sipped from his glass and leaned back in the chair. An oil painting hanging from the wall caught his eye. Sorge found hinges and pulled the painting outwards, revealing a safe. A door stood ajar. Sorge pushed a finger inside and nudged the door open. "Kernow."
Wisps rose from the slot of an incinerator beneath the desk. Sorge's hand closed around a wodge held together with a paperclip and slid it out of the safe; its only contents. Picts, black and white, showed the Inquisitor's conquests in various compromising positions. Dolled-up, bound, abused. Sorge fell in to his nephew's chair and shoved the picts in to the incinerator one by one. You did not deserve this life, nephew.
The Obrist sat alone at a long table in one of Zarkaniy's mess halls with a tin mug. His three Close Protection detail stood by the doors and another Urgraf worked the galley. "Halt!" The bodyguards turned Merotechs on Sorge.
The Obrist raised his hand and waggled his fingers. "Enjoy your bimble, Commander?"
Sorge sat on the opposite side of the table. "My nephew's man is moving fast."
The Obrist's mug clinked on the table. "What can he do? We have the guns. We're four-hundred, he's forty-odd."
"He burned the sensitive documents in my nephew's safe. I have no means of accessing the personal cogitator too. I'm worried he may trigger a full-flush of system data at some point."
"D'you like eggs, Commander? I can have another done if you'd like."
Sorge pinched the skin on his brow. "Tonight, Obrist. It has to be tonight."
The Urgraf cook left the galley with egg and bacon on a plate and laid it on the table. "Thank you, Killick," said the Obrist. "Commander?"
"Recaf, please. Milk, no sugar."
"Recaf, milk and no sugar, Killick."
"Sir." The cook retreated.
"Expenses first, Commander." The Obrist's knife and fork clinked against the plate. "4000 for every man and woman under my command. Those with ongoing medical prescriptions will be paid by your bureau too. Liaise with my Chief Medical Officer for details on costs."
"Is that all?"
"Is that all? That's two million plus credits, Commander."
"Most of that's in my nephew's quarters."
"Oh-ho! Off to auction, are we?"
"Throne, yes. All that's being carted off to market. One single art degree and he thinks he's a damned connoisseur of the arts. No, dear nephew, that's going straight back to the museum where it belongs."
"So, we are in agreement then, Commander? 4000 for everyone."
"You and your staff?"
"The same. Let me write this down…"
"Sir?" Killick approached with the recaf.
"Good man, Killick." The Obrist scratched on a notepad with a pen.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, thank you. 447 of us multiplied by 4000 is…" The Obrist bit the end of the pen. "Hrrgh. Used to be able to do this in seconds."
"Well, what's 447 000 multiplied by four?"
"Uh-hunh, you're stretching this old man to breaking point here, Commander." The Obrist scratched white stubble. "Need to shave sometime…"
"Hold on. Let me…" Sorge's eyes turned towards the ceiling. "Actually, I'm going to need to write it down. Do you mind, Obrist?"
"Pfft, do your worst." The Obrist passed Sorge his pen and notepad and returned to his eggs and bacon. "What is it, Trabant?"
Ulman, hovering at a distance, nodded at Sorge. "Sir, could I speak with Commander Sorge, please?"
"This is a private meeting, Trabant. Help yourself to recaf or tea and Commander Sorge will be with you."
"Thank you, sir." Ulman headed through the hatch and in to the galley.
"1,788,000 credits, sir." Sorge slid the notepad back over. "My signature too, Obrist."
"Obliged, Commander." The Obrist placed his knife and fork together over a clean plate. "To future collaboration perhaps?"
"I was certainly impressed by Urgraf's performance, Obrist. I shall pass word of you up the chain."
"To Admiral…?"
"Vice Admiral Curzon. He answers to the Lord Commander of Segmentum Obscurus."
"Excellent." The Obrist shook Sorge's hand. "Those ones need changing, most certainly."
"Yes, yes, I'll make sure they're seen to. Maximum pain, minimum mess, yes?"
"We strive to be as clinical as possible, Commander. I wish you not hold it against me, but I was doing my job."
"If you'll excuse me, Obrist." Sorge picked up his mug and stood.
"Commander? Before you go."
"Yes?"
"If you wish to enact a purge, you'd better see it through to the very end."
"Half-measures are not in the bureau's interest, Obrist."
"I'll warn you first, there is not a man or woman among my company with prior placement on a bridge of a warship. Please take that in to consideration before anything goes off half-cocked and we find ourselves adrift and lightyears from help."
"Through belief in the Emperor, we will persevere."
The Obrist leaned back and spread his arms. "Against what? I'm not about to make more enemies, Commander. Urgraf won their fight and you're leading us in to another. I've spent a lot of my life listening to the ranting and prattling of zealots impressing ignorant and narrow-minded views upon the young. That boy you're breaking down. He'll never see my age. And now you after the lives of the pilots, the cooks, the doctors and the techs. What a ruthless bastard you are. And you object to me—me—using chemical weapons."
"What's this? Doubt!" Sorge lifted a foot on to the bench and leaned on his knee. "I can't imagine Urgraf got to where they are today if their commander suffered such a weakness as doubt. A sickness of complacency befell you the second you left the field."
"Inquisition aren't my problem, Commander."
"Money is. You know what, take 6000 each. I want your guns, not your morals."
"Write that. Write it!" The Obrist thrust the notepad across to Sorge.
"There. Six… thousand. That pays for your guns, not your morals. I'll leave you to calculate that, Obrist."
"Commander?" The Obrist twisted. "Remember, this enemy did not exist until you looked for it."
Cream tiles lined the galley's walls. Steam drifted from the spout of a kettle sitting on a stove. Ulman sat on the edge of a worktop tossing a fresh apple up and down.
"Fresh fruit, veg, eggs, proper meat as well, sir." A lit cigarette sat inside an ashtray by Killick's left elbow. "More than enough to feed us all for a year, I'd say."
"More than enough secondary smoke too, would you say?"
"Hurgh-hurgh!" Killick stubbed out his cigarette. "Begging your pardon, sir. First fag I've had without tasting sand."
"Yeah, maybe save it for off-hours, Kil?" Ulman sucked on a peach.
"Mm, I'm done anyway." Killick undid his apron and hung it on a peg. He poked Ulman on the way past. "Off the worktop."
"Just ripe, sir." Ulman tossed a stone in to a bin.
"Mm-hm. More where that came from too." Sorge pulled the lid from a plastic container. "Green apples sat inside.
"There's one of those machines that squeezes the juices from fruit back there, sir. I imagine if you mix some fruit and veg up, you'd get quite a mix."
"Well, if anyone deserves it…" Sorge fitted the lid on. "What was the problem, Trabant?"
"I found Lieutenant Larn wandering around outside the medbay mumbling about Captain Bukharin trying to kill him."
"Nightmare?"
"Er, he said this was before he boarded the tram. Captain Bukharin came up behind and tried to push him or so he says."
"What, was it a proper shove with both hands or a gentle push?"
"I don't know, sir. Frightened out of his mind, poor lad. He—he gave his rank as private as well."
"Ignore it. I'll give him a few days to unwind first. See how he is then."
"Could he be moved to isolation?"
"Isolation? He needs company. Something to occupy his thoughts."
"You're his CO, sir."
"And I've decided he needs some alone time. Stay away for now, Trabant. Pray your wounded comrades pull through."
"I trust Korne and Haber. And I absolutely trust Captain Bukharin." Ulman tossed another peach up and down. "Been a funny week, this." The peach flew at Sorge.
Sorge caught the peach against his chest. "Learned a few things here and there. Honestly though, I do believe the worst of our obstacles are now behind us." Sorge turned the peach over and bit down.