4
'I saw what horrors man can become
I saw tentacles, fangs, wings and claws
But worst of all, I saw what lay in their eyes
I saw Damnation, sire. I saw the terrors of the warp.
I am no coward, sire, but I would not return to those streets
Not even if you put your own gun to my head.'
(Captain Clucion Haldaster, of the Angapolis Uprising)
Brenson Haldigar was in a rage. Shemar Lucas had worked alongside the captain for nigh on four years now, and it didn't take a psychic to pick apart the man's tells. There was the knotted brow, the red face, the bunched fists... most telling of all, however, was the look. Every good officer and official had a look, it was essential equipment for dealing with incompetent and insubordinante underlings. But no-one had a look quite like Chief Haldigar. It was the kind of look that said 'I can't believe you're actually capable of breathing and thinking at the same time, you're such a frekking idiot' with a not-too-gentle overtone of 'Just lean in a little closer. Look at me funny. Breathe out of turn. See what happens'
Shemar was not currently the recipient of the look – that honour was Captain Baritime's. It was early days yet, though – she had just walked in through the door, after all. Baritime had worked for Haldigar even longer than she had, and even their close relationship wasn't protecting him from this chewing-out. No doubt Haldigar had some choice words lined up for her when he had finished with his current victim.
"Three squads, Baritime" The Chief's voice was terse with controlled anger.
"Three. Frekking. Squads."
Shemar quietly moved to stand in a corner, out of the way. The best thing for both her and Baritime would be if she didn't get involved in this discussion.
"Do you want to explain to me, Baritime, how in the Emperor-Blasted Hells of the Warp didyou manage to cost this city more than thirty of her best officers in a pre-planned raid on a piss-ant group of less than a hundred cultists!"
Baritime shifted uncomfortably and muttered something so quietly that even with her usually acute hearing, Shemar couldn't make it out. The Chief had no such trouble.
"I know about the shitty armour, Baritime. We all knew about the shitty armour. There's gonna be a frekking Inquisitorial ass-rape over the shitty armour, Baritime! But the armour's only there as a back-up when the commander cocks up, Baritime. And guess what? That commander – that frekking retard of a commander, Baritime, is you! So I ask you again. How in the Emperor's name did you cost me three frekking squads worth of men!"
Baritime was running his hand through his light-brown hair, a habit he had when he was nervous.
"Well chief" he mumbled "We did it all as planned – teams through the tunnels, heavy squads through the doors, it was just... shitty, chief. They got their shit together too fast for us, and then there was that frekking monster..."
The Chief pounced, a wild gleam in his eye.
"Ahh yes. The frekking monster. The ten-foot-tall mutated frekking monster that you allowed to escape into my city! Regale me with that story again, Baritime? I'm sure i'll need to have it fixed in my memory for when I go to see the Lord-Governer this evening. He'll want to hear every detail while he's sipping his wine and watching his servitors cut my balls off for this warp-damned fiasco!"
Baritime said nothing. It seemed like a good response, considering.
"And that's not the best of it! Do you realise what the sensor sweeps picked up earlier? Heat signatures moving away from the chamber through the old sub-access tunnels!"
Apparently Baritime hadn't heard this yet. His face was a picture of shock and alarm, quickly sinking into a gloomy mask as he realised what this entailed. Shemar knew that if she was to reach out and brush his mind at this moment, she'd find that he was awash with a sense of failure. This was a harsh blow for a career officer like him, but Haldigar didn't relent.
"That's right, Baritime. The frekking cultists got away. So not only do I have to all but enforce martial law while I hunt down that goddamn piece of the warp you let escape, I still have to clean up your mess and hunt down those cultist filth. This was meant to be clean, Baritime! Snip up the bastards in one swoop and have two years purging the mute's and tidying house so we look nice and pretty when the Expedition gets here! You, in one ass-mangle of a blunder, have cost me months off the Lord-Governer's schedule, Baritime!"
Baritime bowed his head.
"Alright then. I'm sick of the sight of you. Get out there and start making the rounds for the funeral. Emperor help you if some sod's widow gets into the armoury again"
Baritime near-enough leapt for the exit, nodding quickly to Shemar as he passed. She could feel the relief washing off him like a physical force. As the door closed, Haldigar turned on her.
"Ahh, Aide Lucas" he said, in a beguilingly pleasant tone. "Take a seat, why don't you?"
She looked fleetingly at the seat Baritime had just risen from.
"I, er... I'd rather stand, chief, if it's all the same"
He smiled in a very forced manner. And blinked. Oh no.
"Sure, Shemar – doesn't matter what I order you to do, does it? Wouldn't like to inconvenience you in any way, would I?"
Oh holy crap. This was going to be bad.
"If you'll just please answer a few teensey questions for me, then, Miss Lucas, I'll let you be on your way, then. I know you have such a busy schedule."
Shemar bit the inside of her cheek to brace herself.
"Perhaps we'll start small. You are, Miss Lucas, a psyker?"
Unclench jaw. "Yes, sir" Reclench jaw.
"Oh good – just checking that you hadn't been misleading us, you see. If I may pry a little, is it not true that psykers like yourself are sensitive to the activities of the warp?"
Unclench jaw. "Well- ah... yes, sir"
"Okay, I have to check these things, you see. Now, if psykers are sensitive to the activities of the warp, and you yourself are an Imperium-sanctioned psyker – you are sanctioned, aren't you?"
She nodded.
"Good to hear you got that far. So, if you are a sensitive psyker, Miss Lucas, I must conclude that you had some inkling that the men of my hive-police squads were being roasted to death by warpfire and torn apart by a warp-spawned monster in the early hours of this morning. This fact didn't escape your notice, did it, Miss Lucas? You weren't, perhaps, staring at your shoes the whole time?"
"No sir, I-"
"Good. Now if you may explain to me, Miss Lucas, why it is you were not there to lend your support to these men as they were being butchered? Did you perhaps decide that your considerable psychic arsenal would not have been a welcome addition to the assault-squad? Were you having an 'off' day, Miss Lucas?"
Actually, she wasn't sure she would have been much use against what had happened in the raid. But saying that was likely to send the Chief's blood-pressure through the roof.
"Sir, I was – ah -"
"Late! The word you are searching for, Miss Lucas is late!"
"Yes sir" she finished lamely.
"You were told to be present at the assembly point at 0100, Miss Lucas. I know this because I was the one who told you. Personally insisted on it, if I remember correctly?"
Silence was probably something to cherish right now.
"Seeing as you have yet to demonstrate an ability to turn invisible-"
Oh how she wished!
"- I believe I am correct in saying you were not in fact at the assembly point at 0100, Miss Lucas?"
A very small nod.
"Well then, that begs the question, Miss Lucas, Where in the seven hells of the frekking warp were you?!"
Crapocrapocrapocrap.
"I was, ah... en route, sir"
"En -frekking- route, Shemar, are you FREKKING kidding me?! You didn't turn up until 0230, you worthless pile of bones! Baritime might have frekked everything up, but at least he frekked it up ON TIME!"
Shemar's pulse was racing. Emperor help her if he found out why she had been late.
"So why were you still dragging your ass through the streets of our fine city at 0200, Shemar? Spot an interesting mutation in the crowd perhaps? Decide to do a bit of shopping?"
Shit.
"I – ah... slept in, chief" she invented desperately. There was a clang. Haldigar had punched the table next to him. There was a dent.
"YOU FREKKING SLEPT IN!?"
It was mostly true. She was neglecting to mention that she hadn't been alone in the bed. There had been a nice guy from the bars, they'd got together... she had all but forgotten about the raid until about 0130, when the buzzing from her vox had reminded her and she'd pulled off a blazing retreat and dashed madly for the assembly point. Lost the guy's number, too.
Haldigar was now kicking the table around the room violently, shouting incoherent insults. Shemar stayed very still. Some of the collisions were producing sparks. Finally he let the battered furniture rest and and turned on her. She was receiving one of the worst of his looks now– at the level where you started to worry that the Chief was capable of actually killing you by wishing it hard enough. She wouldn't want to touch his thoughts right now.
"I really want to fire you, Lucas" he said, settling to a low menace "In fact, I really want to do a lot of things to you right now, most of them far less legal and a lot more sadistic"
She gulped.
"But unfortunately, I need you. We have a goddamn monster to track, cultists to wipe up, and eventually we're going to have to find this 'Under-King' the proles and muties keep alluding to, and burn him. You happen to be the better half of the shit that makes up our sanctioned aides, Shemar, So you keep your job"
Some sort of celebration was in order for that sweet mercy. Later. When she wasn't in danger of being torn limb from limb.
"But I swear, for every minute you're late from now on, I'm gonna cut a finger off your bone-idle hands, Shemar"
Wasn't it odd how she immediately started to wonder what he'd do after she ran out of fingers? Toes, perhaps? The worst seemed to be over now, anyway. Her pulse was returning to normal.
"Right. Seeing as you missed the fun this morning, I want you on the search teams crawling through the sub-accesses after those cultists. With any luck we can get hold of them sharply enough. Get out front and find Sergeant Alixar, you'll be advising his squad. I want this mess cleared up."
Shemar nodded and saluted.
"Thank you, sir" she managed.
"Get out."
***
Mentai Shurlan was getting rather irritated with the men around him. They kept lagging, falling behind, getting in his way, and, most of all- arguing. They were bickering like drunks in a bar, and none of them even seemed to have a valid complaint. The only one who hadn't mouthed off so far was the psyker, who had stayed quite silent throughout the escape. If he had been shot, like Mentai had initially suspected, then he hid it well. He seemed to be carrying something, though, so maybe that was the explanation for his hunched posture. Whatever it was, Mentai felt like suggesting he drop it – the psyker was the slowest-moving of them all, but he didn't dare leave the man behind. As another punch-up broke out between two of the more aggressive cultists, he turned to regard the man, who was staring at something beneath his robe. His face was bathed in odd colours.
Whatever. Mentai had decided some leadership was needed here.
"Psyker" he called out. The man looked up and shielded whatever the source of the light was. Mentai gestured at the rabble in front of him. Weary understanding seemed to cross the man's features. Obviously he too had had enough.
"My name is Kenthus" the psyker addressed him, before stepping forwards to the others.
"Stop this foolishness!" he snapped "We follow Tzeentch, the Great Schemer, not Khorne. Pointless bloodletting will end only in our deaths"
There was silence as the men stared at him. They were a rag-tag bunch, most of them ex-brawlers or sadists drawn by the promise of power and group violence. Some were injured, others were healthy. Some were unarmed, having lost their weapons during or after the raid on the ceremony, while others had mysteriously full clips. All of them were on edge, and it appeared that until now none of them but Mentai had realised that the sorcerer was even there.
"We need to head for the sewage levels" Kenthus stated firmly, apparently oblivious to the hostile atmosphere. No-one moved.
There was a long, awkward, silence.
"Well come on!" tried Kenthus. It was unfortunate for him that his voice squawked slightly as he said it. A hulk of a man, named Gen because it was assumed he was genetically enhanced, took his cue to take a step towards Kenthus.
"It's your type that got us all into this" he said belligerently "You got my mates killed with your sneaking and your sorcery"
Kenthus looked alarmed and intimidated. Obviously he hadn't been one of the higher-ranking psykers in the cult, or he'd have this under control by now.
"You need to respect my authority" he said. Mentai winced. That was an incomprehensibly stupid thing to say to a usurptious brute like Gen. The follow-up was no better.
"Only I can bring our plans to fruition now. The Changer of Ways has me as his sole agent. You must protect me at all costs"
Gen sneered at the smaller man, a combat knife appearing in his hand.
"I don't give a shit about your plans, shitface. And I reckon there ain't gonna be a whole lot of protecting you when I start cutting your flesh"
There were a couple of chuckles at that. Kenthus stepped back. This was getting out of hand. Mentai needed to do something or everything was going to fall apart. He was not going back to pretending he believed in the power of a dead man. Nor was he going to the Inquisition's cells.
"That's where you're wrong, Gen" he said, laspistol trained on the big man's shaven skull. Kenthus looked horribly relieved.
Gen frowned at Mentai.
"You don't want to do this, Ment' – I ain't gotta quarrel with yah"
It was odd how free of fear he felt – normally he would be crapping himself facing off against a guy like Gen, but he was disconcertingly calm.
"We'll have a problem if you touch the psyker, Gen, we need him"
There was a murmur of discontent from the crowd. Gen took his cue from them.
"Come off it, Ment'. You saved our asses back there, don't go making me gut you now."
Mentai said nothing, keeping his aim steady. It would be tempting to side with his fellows if it wasn't for the fact that he knew there was no hope for the cult without the psyker. Again he mused on how oddly free of fear he felt. Perhaps the battle had hardened him – he had killed his fair share of dangerous men, after all. Was this what it felt like to have confidence?
Gen sighed and lowered his knife. Mentai lowered his weapon as well. The others looked on. Gen made to sheath his knife.
"Fine, then, if you-"
It was remarkably simple to step away from the sudden thrust and bat Gen's arm away. Mentai wondered how the man had ever killed anyone with the clumsy move. His laspistol burned a crispy hole right through Gen's chest. The crumpling cultist just about had time to gasp with pain before he expired. The shaven head lay at Mentai's feet.
Everyone was very still. This was one of those moments where it could all go either way.
He put the pistol away. They had seen him use it, and he couldn't shoot them all if they turned on him.
"Sorry, Gen" he said. "I warned you"
It seemed to work. Kenthus stepped forward again.
"The sewer level accesses are on our left at the next turn" he stated, obviously somewhat shaken. There was a shuffling of feet, then people started to move.
The old Mentai would have sighed with relief. This one didn't need to. It was starting to bug him.
***
Kenthus kept them on track using some sort of unnatural internal compass. It was somewhat unnerving to hear him shouting out directions before they even came on the turns, but they soon got used to it. They had picked up the pace, too – sounds echoing from far down the abandoned tunnels seemed to indicate they were being pursued.
"Left!" came the call. A few seconds later they found the turn. The walls down here were worryingly alike – if you weren't careful you could easily get lost and just wander the miles of sub-access tunnels that wove under the city, until you eventually starved to death in some forgotten corner.
The pong of the sewers was getting closer, so it seemed that Kenthus knew what he was talking about. Mentai had heard it said that these tunnels ran everywhere in the hive, from the sewage-processing levels where it was rumoured the great Under-King of the mutant sub-humans reigned, to the Governer's palace. It was merely speculation, of course, no-one really knew how far these old construction tunnels went. Presumably there was an old plan of the city that detailed the tunnels, but Mentai had never heard of anyone who'd seen it. The cultists had used these tunnels before, to stay out of sight, but it was with the help of the sorcerers like Kenthus that they got their directions. Criminals of other natures occasionally cut through or hid out here, but only along the paths they had uncovered themselves, with generations of careful exploration feeding the construction of sketchy underground maps.
They raced on, jogging quickly in order to keep a strong, maintainable pace. The stench of sewage was rising to intolerable heights, and Mentai began to wish he could cover his mouth to halt the smell. Eventually, they reached a small opening, barely large enough for a single man to pass at a time. As one man, the cultists paused and glanced at Kenthus, who had fallen to the back of the group during the flight. He was bent double, apparently struggling for breath.
"Through there" he confirmed between gasps, pointing at the opening. There was a general sense of hesitancy from the men. Mentai could understand that – they had no guarantees that they had been heading in the right direction, or even that Kenthus had a specific location in mind. The hole stank, and a sense of claustrophobia was beginning to settle even on Mentai. They were very deep below the city now, and the physical weight above them seemed to be becoming a psychological one. Kenthus seemed to grasp the situation quickly this time.
"That hole leads to a sewer inlet for the processing engines" he explained to the reluctant group. "From there we can reach the lower tunnels and the mutants who dwell there. The upper echelons of the cult maintain a certain... relationship... with the mutants. They should shelter us for the time being"
People looked at each other
"Mutants?" one of the cult queried. "Like the Under-King?"
Kenthus sighed. "That is the name of their leader, yes. We have arrangements, business dealings – I promise you, we will be safer there than anywhere on the surface"
Mentai was sold. The hive-police could find you anywhere in the city, that was well-known. If the mutants would shelter them, he wasn't going to get picky over physical appearances. After all, he was in no place to judge. His soul was probably as least as 'damned' as theirs in the eyes of the Ecclesiarchy.
A buzzing sound suddenly resounded in the confines of the corridor.
"Drone!" someone shouted urgently. Mentai spun to see a hive-police hunter drone hovering in the corridor behind him. The drones were rarely used on normal occasions, as the city's Adeptus Mechanicus adepts felt it disrespectful to trouble the machine-spirits for the purpose of pursuing of lowly criminals. But every citizen knew their deadly efficiency – you would see them, from time to time, zipping through the streets in pursuit of some dangerous or high-profile suspect. Through the wonders of Imperial technomancy, they somehow acted as eyes for the hive-police. If they saw you, the hive-police saw you. And that was not all. Each drone was armed.
The group reacted quickly. Within seconds, a blister of las-beams and bullets had torn the thing apart. But even in that short space of time, it had spat a number of low-caliber bullets into two unlucky men, now lying still on the floor. Their blood seeped out of them and began to pool. Given a minute more, the drone's mounted gun could have sawn the whole close-packed group apart with as little effort and no remorse. Even now angry sparks flew from its remains, forcing the men to step back. But the thing's death didn't mean they were safe.
"Through the hole" Mentai commanded. Some were already rushing to it anyway, having figured out what the drone meant. The hive-police were closing on them. The only way out was forward and downward.
***
"Sector 145/A" droned the tech-adept assigned to Shemar's squad, massaging a hand-held control. The drone accompanying them began to move, though not at the hurtling pace the first one had raced off at. The intention seemed to be that they follow. Alixar communicated the information over the vox and got the squad moving while Shemar reluctantly fell in step with the adept, sheltering behind the hulking forms of the armed officers.
Technically, she supposed that they were in the same boat – both she and... him? It? -Both of them were additions to the squad simply because of their unique talents. Her own psychic potency, and his... She found herself struggling for a way to describe it. It wasn't as if the Mechanicum were entirely abnormal in their mechanical augmentations. Many high-ranking government officials and functionaries had similar adaptions. Even the commanders of the Guard regiments were augmented. Yet there was a difference. The other people she had seen with augmentations were just that – people. Altered and sometimes a bit disturbing, but still recognizably people, with human attitudes and emotions. The devotees of the Machine-God, however, were something else. She let her gift wash out to touch the silent, hooded adept. His mind was cold. Cold and unbelievably free of emotion, creativity – only the barest sparks of humanity seperated this man from the machines he controlled. Still, it must have its benefits. The other men in the squad were nervous and pent with tension as they hurried after the drone – she didn't need to pay any particular attention to their thoughts to pick that up. Some of the more experienced, like Alixar, had their emotions under control, choking rash thought-processes with discipline. The adept seemed to have no need of discipline. He was not afraid, not apprehensive, not even excited. He was simply not affected by the tension, and that was an oddly chilling thing for a telepath such as Shemar to discover.
"I thought these tunnels were unmapped" she said to him, to distract herself. His mind danced in an oddly unreadable way as he processed what she had said.
"Expand" he said in a metallic rasp.
"You quoted a map-reference, didn't you?" she asked. Again the frustrating dance. Synapses firing in on/off pulses rather than cross-connecting. This man didn't think like a human.
"We make use of an artificial grid for the purposes of drone location" he explained.
"The downed drone is at grid location 145/A. There is no need for a topographical map"
"Ah" she replied "That makes sense, I guess"
There was no reply. Apparently he didn't do small-talk.
"I'll just.." Seeing no resistance, she moved away from the adept, pushing through the squad to find Alixar and some more human company. A couple of the men smiled at her as she passed them and she was careful to smile back. They saw her girlish smile and regarded her as a weak woman-figure, to be protected. That she would need their help was absurd, in reality, but always an image to be cultivated when going into a firefight. No matter how confident of her abilities she was, it always payed to have six or seven heavily-armed men looking out for her. And then there were always the romantic possibilities of the 'save me' image...
She drew level with Alixar just as he finished with a vox communication.
"The other squads are converging behind us" he said to her "We should have support a couple of minutes behind us if we run into trouble"
"Good to know" she said, smiling at him extra-sweetly. Alixar had been proving a bit of an intrigue over the past few months – she knew he liked her, and he was unattached, but he never let any sign of it slip, though he must know that she could pick the thoughts out of his mind. However, it was oddities like that that kept her interested.
He glanced back at where she had been by the tech-priest.
"Bit creepy, isn't he?" he stated. She nodded and shivered.
"You don't know the half of it" she replied, noting the protective overtone to his thoughts provoked by her reaction.
"At least he's getting us there, though" Alixar said, inclining his head toward the drone which was slowly leading the squad through the labyrinth of underground tunnels. Shemar was prepared to admit that the tactical advantage was worth a little creepiness. Without the drone's discovery, this search could have taken weeks. Now they had the cultists' trail, they could be on them in under an hour. Then again, the squad was barely moving above a walk at the moment. Who was to say the trail wouldn't be cold by the time they got there?
"Say" she called back to the adept, affecting a casual attitude "Isn't there some way we can speed this thing up?"
There was a squadwide grumble to the effect that this would be desirable.
"Complying with your request" came the reply a moment later. The drone paused momentarily, then started to move at an increased velocity. Vastly increased. Cursing, the squad hurried to keep up as the machine whizzed down corridors and off at tangents. Irritating as it was trying to catch up, they were certainly making good time.
They reached the downed drone in under ten minutes. The second drone moved to hover over its companion, circling it lazily, as if it was mourning the loss of a brother. Two cultists lay dead nearby, a slick of blood joining the two bodies. The air was pungent, and not just with the scent of blood.
"Sewer entrance" said Alixar, pointing at the opening. The sound and smell from within supported his statement. There were three main sewage lines that ran under the city, mostly inaccessible from the surface. It was said that the only sure way to lose something in the city was to flush it – the pipes all just fed these antiquated sewage lines, which in turn ran to the reprocessing plants and back up to the city as drinking water. The whole thing was operated and maintained by an automated system – the only time Shemar had seen anything come out of the sewers was when Mechanicum adepts had called up the repair-servitors for maintenance. But it seemed obvious that the cultists had gone through here. Which meant that they had to follow.
Everyone was looking at the hole dispassionately. Trudging through sewage was not what they had envisioned when they signed up. Shemar damn well hadn't, at any rate.
"No sense putting it off" Alixar decided aloud, moving to the entrance. "At least this way chief can never claim we're not committed to the job"
A couple of people chuckled. Shemar concentrated on making sure her leggings were securely tucked over her boots while the carapace-armoured men clambered through. The tech adept sent the drone surging through the gap after the men, then followed without hesitation. Shemar clambered after him with more reluctance. The opening proved to be something of a short pipe, and the slick metal was coated with some foul-smelling substance whose origins she preferred not to think about. Undoubtedly she'd need a new outfit after this.
The other end of the pipe opened into the sewer. Shemar wasn't sure what she'd expected, but this wasn't it. Sewage flowed like a canal through the centre of the huge pipe-like tunnel. To either side, accumulated muck and dirt had formed an almost-natural looking bank of earth, beneath which the original metal plating was barely visible. Luminous fungal plants provided a surprising amount of light to see by. The squad stood around in various stages of bemusement.
"Hey, sarge" one of the men said, approaching one of the glowing mushrooms. "This looks like it might be made of squidi, don't yah think?"
Alixar examined the specimen. "You might be right, Jarren" he replied. "Aide Lucas?"
Shemar brushed some of the muck off her blouse and wandered over. It didn't take long for her to reach a conclusion.
"Looks like it to me" she agreed. Squidi was a popular narcotic among the proles, and, if they were honest, the upper classes too. It was mostly attractive because it enduced a relaxed sensation while summoning otherwise-terrifying hallucinations. Shemar had tried it a few times. The first time had had her laughing at some monstrous construct her imagination had put together. The second time, she had accidentally broadcast the image to the minds of others around her, and there had been a small panic.
"Looks like a few squidi farms' worth" she commented, pointing to where the tunnel curved and the glow could be seen from behind the bend.
"Could be a fortune's worth down here" breathed a younger recruit. Shemar snapped her head around as she caught the train of his thought.
"Don't even think it" she advised him silently, watching the shocked double-take he did and nodding at him to show that she had indeed sent that message. He gulped and she could sense he was overcome with a shocked guilt. She was inclined to let the kid off for the thought– a fortune like this was a massive temptation for someone so young. She wasn't completely sure she hadn't been headed down that path herself.
No-one else seemed to notice, which was a bit of a godsend for the kid. Alixar had lost a good few friends to addicts and dealers – if there was anyone more likely to bust your ass over dealing than him, it was Haldigar himself.
"No time to stop and smell the roses" Alixar snapped. "Let's get on that trail"
***
By Mentai's reckoning, they were only a few hundred yards from the sewer entrance when they were confronted. He had been aware of a presence in the sewage alongside for a while, but he had thought it merely some kind of mindless fish or ampihibian. When the filth suddenly surged and a human-like figure emerged, he was almost as surprised as the rest of the cult. When thirty or so other creatures appeared from the roof, floor and walls around them, he was exactly as surprised, and somewhat impressed. The cultists were surrounded in one swift, well-executed move, their devolved opponents rearing up on mutated limbs to weild pieces of piping and menacing claws.
Mutants. Everyone had heard of them – or knew someone who knew one personally, or had seen something they would swear was one, but very few people had ever been in a situation like this, face to deformed face at five paces. Men swung their guns up, ready to fire, but Mentai knew it would be too late to tumble the odds here.
"Do not shoot" snapped Kenthus. The situation seemed to demand compliance, so Mentai added weight to the order.
"The first man to shoot, I shoot" he threatened, glaring at those around him who looked most edgy, his laspistol primed to fire. He had no idea how much charge the cell in the weapon had left, but it seemed likely he had at least one. People withered under his gaze. Odd how that was all it took, a threat and a look. His new-found confidence was doing more to advance him than any amount of ability ever could have.
Seeing that everyone was at least holding their fire, he turned to the front, where he could see Kenthus approaching the hunched human figure that had burst from the sewage. From somewhere, the creature had produced a knocked-together device that was immistakably a home-made flamer. As he watched, the pilot light flickered on. Around them, the other creatures stood ready, apparently awaiting an order to attack. Not that it would be necessary. With one gout from that flamer, most of the closely-grouped cult would be down.
"Why do you come here, humans" spat the figure in heavily accented Low Gothic. "This is not your land, down here"
Kenthus pushed himself clear of the cultists.
"We are emissaries of the cult of the Changer of Ways" he said, bowing deeply. "We come to you in friendship, to invite you to share in our glories. Your Under-King has had many fond words and gifts from our leaders, and we beseech an audience with him"
The creature hissed.
"Your kind has only been allowed here fleetingly, cultist, and then only one man at a time. What makes you think that these arrangements have changed? Are your minds rotten from the sorcery? Or are these others offerings for us to snack upon?"
Kenthus turned to look at the group behind him, a calculating look in his eye. 'He's wondering if he can afford to get rid of us' Mentai realised. Gently, almost without moving, he shifted his weapon so that it was pointed directly at the sorcerer's back. If nothing else, he would end the man's life if he betrayed them all. Was it his imagination, or did Kenthus' gaze flicker to the pistol for a second before he turned back to the mutant leader.
"We bring a most valuable artifact to the Under-King" he replied "As part of the new arrangement our leaders seek to strike with our mutated kinsmen, these men come as an honour-guard, to fight alongside you in the coming Days of Change. Our prize is so great that we have had to battle our way here – but now we are battle-weary and our pursuers draw closer. If you do not take us to seek audience now, the Days of Change may never come"
A convincing lie, to Mentai's ears. It explained why they were armed, and also why they were wounded and tired, and would hopefully see them clear of their pursuers. But whatever else the hunched mutant guardian might be, it seemed a fool it was not.
"Show me this artifact you claim to bring" it said, a line of spittle dangling from a deformed mouth, the nozzle of the flamer not twitching.
Kenthus carefully reached into his robes, provoking hisses and warning movements from some of the mutations around him. The noises faded as he produced what he was carrying.
It was an ovoid of pure beauty. Smooth to the point of perfection, it seemed to distort the colours of the world around it. Blues and greens, purples and reds, they all rippled across its surface, accompanied by colours that seemed only to exist on that perfect surface. There was an intake of breath from everyone as it pulsed, gently. Croaks of wonder came from the mutants, and some of them slithered and limped closer to the artifact.
Mentai could understand their need – he himself wanted to be closer to it, to wrap himself around it and feel its colour wash over him. Kenthus must have been carrying it since the ceremony, the selfish fekker. He should have shared it – he should have shown them all the glory of what he carried. That would have stopped all the bickering and violence along the way – they would have gladly followed him anywhere, if they had known about... this.
The flamer-bearer was gawking openly.
"You will take us to see the Under-King?" asked Kenthus. The creature nodded, seemingly hypnotised by the pulsating colours.
"Yes, Sire... I -"
A series of loud blasts interrupted him. Gunfire. Mentai spun and saw that several mutants and cultists were down. Hive-police had found them. Ten armoured figures, and two others. He shouted a warning as he began to return fire. At this range, his las blasts simply hissed off the men's armour. Another volley hammered into them. A man right next to Mentai was torn apart by sucessive blasts. Mentai bent to pick up his autogun and felt shells shoot over him, missing his back by inches. Other cultists were returning fire now, forcing those assaulting them to pause and take cover. Kenthus was muttering something, gesturing in the air, the egg-like artifact returned to his robes. Flames seemed to grow out of nowhere, congealing around his hand. With a brushing gesture, the fire shot from his hands and towards the men further down the pipe. Mutants, hissing with blood-frenzy, raced after it, blocking the result of the spell from his view. Mentai found that someone was tugging on his sleeve.
"You come" squeaked a runtish creature with puffy lips and an axelike bone protruding from its skull. It pointed to where the flamer-creature was leading Kenthus and the other cultists away from the battle. It seemed that they were to be saved. With a last crackle of gunfire. Mentai followed them. The mutants remained behind, hurtling towards the new intruders.
***
Shemar had felt the attack coming before she had seen it. The sorcerer down the tunnel hadn't even attempted to mask his spell – it seemed he hadn't expected any of his foes to be psykers. Nonetheless, it had not been an easy matter to counter the fireball. She could have shielded herself from the fire with the minimum of effort, and let the men around her whether the attack on their armour, but she knew that recently the carapace armour they were issued with had been displaying numerous fagilities. Not that that was the only reason. She might be self-involved, but she liked to think that she did care for those around her. Okay, maybe not the adept, but he was stood right next to Alixar. She had forced her way to the front the moment the attack had been unleashed, and raised a psychic barrier against it. It took a great deal of effort to maintain a barrier of this size, especially when she had to contend with the lasblasts and autogun fire that was also coming this way. But she was one of the best. Once the firey attack had been safely deflected, she shattered the barrier into shrapnel-like balls of psychic energy, sending them flying into the crowd of mutants that was fast approaching. Heads and twisted torsos exploded. Limbs were torn from bodies. The charge faltered. Shemar smiled evilly. People never saw her coming.
Something was pushing the horrific mutants on, however. Somehow they regrouped in the face of the sustained fire from Alixar's squad, and pushed closer. Quickly, she drew her pistol and fired into the onrushing mass at the two closest targets. One one-eyed creature choked and gargled blood as her bullet hit its throat, but the other, a tentacled mass on hairy, stumped legs, seemed unbothered by the impacts, and barrelled right into her, its hooked tentacles grasping at her legs and flipping her over. Her intention was to shoot the beast from the ground, but it seemed she had misjudged her position, as she plummetted further than seemed right, and when she landed, it was not on anything solid.
Thrashing, she managed to keep her head above the sewage, and watched helplessly as the battle played out around her. Less than half the mutations had made it to attack range, but that might well have proven enough if it wasn't for the tech-priest. The hovering hunter drone spun through the battle as men wrestled with abhuman opponents, spitting fire into heaving backs and splitting. The tech -adept followed, lashing out with a razor-edged mechanical arm to sever thrashing tentacles. Men unloaded their shotguns into opponents at point-blank range, spilling blood and ichor on the crud-stained walls. Shemar saw Alixar stave in a dwarf's head with the stock of his gun, then unload it into the squidlike maw of the next beast. A man cried out as a bony claw pierced his chest armour, only to have the tech-adept slash the offending limb in half. The men managed to group together to finish the last of them off. Very quickly, as with all close-quarters combat, it was all over.
And then she had to get them to get her out of the damned sewage.
***
She had expected Haldigar to be mad, to rant at her about incompetence and failure. But when she eventually dragged herself out of the shower room and down to his office, he seemed in quite a good mood.
"Good work out there, Shemar" he said, having dropped the formal 'Miss Lucas' act. He stood from his desk and clapped her on the shoulder, smiling at her confusion and then wrinkling his nose at her odour.
"You've not only chased them into a hole they can't bolt from, you've led us right to that self-styled mutant King as well, Shemar – I was expecting a long chase for this result, but you go and hand it to me on day one. So good work, I say."
It was really tempting to let that appraisal stand, but...
"Well it was really the drones that found them, chief, not me – I just kinda got kicked in the shit, chief"
He rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, i'll be sure to thank our friends at the Adeptus Mechanicum, Shemar – they're always so cheerful when they hear about a job well done"
She smirked uncomfortably. Haldigar sat back down.
"Take it as a free ticket back into my good books, Shemar. And go have a shower. I'm moving you off the cultist search now we've got their location pinned. It's just grunt work now anyway. I want you tracking that damned warp-beast. Seeing as you have such an appreciation for their abilities, i'll be having the tech-men assist you in the search."
Shemar groaned, the beginnings of a plea forming on her tongue.
"No protests. Governer's instructions – the best we have, Shemar. And seeing as I haven't got a spare psyker-aide to read my tarot by, you'll have to do"
"But chief-"
"Don't want to hear it, Shemar. You get to work with the metal-men. Now get out."
--- Author's Note ---
Reviews! I must feed on reviews!