Lord Solar Macharius Station, Seidenglatz System
+++ VERBIT-LEVEL SECURITY BREACH DETECTED +++
Petty Officer Kawa Tanasa dragged his office chair over to his second cogitator. He tapped the Return key. More text spooled across the screen.
+++ User credential input at 6.1 post CCM Sector Kilo Nova 757-752 +++
+++ VIOLATION SPECIAL ORDER 937 +++
Special Order 937? Kawa unclasped his laminated General Service pass from his breast pocket and held it up to a scanner screwed to the top of his primary monitor.
… Access denied. Minimum Verbit-level security clearance required.
Throne. Kawa wheeled his chair over to his office's public service unit and dialled his immediate superior.
"Yes, Kawa?"
"Sir, my machine has detected a Verbit-level security breach. Violation of Special Order 937."
"937…"
"Sir?"
"Thank you, Kawa. Print the details out and bring a copy up to my office."
"Aye, sir."
A printer barked out a short ream of thin paper shiny with black ink. Kawa laid the original printout alongside a second copy and slid it inside a paper folder and clipped it shut. He reattached his pass to his pocket flap, got up, caught himself and lunged for his mug. "Mm." Lukewarm recaf soured his throat. Urgh, cigarettes.
A wand hoved across Kawa's shoulders and ran down his back. The helmeted Armsman holding the wand stepped back and waved him through the security gate. A harshly-intoned woman's voice blared from loudspeakers.
"Ensure all passes are openly displayed on your person. LSM Security are authorised to perform stop and search actions at any time on station grounds."
Kawa jogged up a flight of stairs to R Wing on the eighth floor of the Navy's headquarters building and pressed a buzzer beside a door with a glazed window marked with his superior's name; Cmdr. I. Barakat.
"Come!" Commander Barakat's voice crackled over an intercom.
"Sir." Kawa entered the commander's office. "Apologies for the disturbance…"
"Quite alright, Kawa." A white-haired officer with dark circles beneath his grey eyes dimmed the cogitator he faced at his wide, office desk. "I'll take that."
"Yes, sir." Kawa laid the folder on the desk.
"Here, please." Barakat stretched his arm between his monitors.
"Sir." Kawa fed the folder through the gap.
"Now, Kawa…" Barakat set the folder on his desk and straightened it.
"Sir?" Kawa clasped his hands in the small of his back.
"I would like you to purge your machine's alerts and incinerate the other copy you printed out. Incinerate. Do not bin or shred."
"Er, yessir. Purge, incinerate."
Barakat dug his hand in to his trouser pocket. "Get yourself a proper recaf, not the brand that tastes of cigarettes God-Emperor, forbid." Imperial Thrones clinked on the polished surface. "Purge and incinerate first. Dismissed."
"Sir, aye-aye, sir." Kawa swept the Thrones in to his palm. He about-faced and marched out of Barakat's office with a bulging thigh pocket. Barakat lifted a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and hooked the arms around his ears. The blurry text sharpened in to readable words. User credential input. His stylus edged along the blocky lettering on the printout. Special Order 937. The nub tapped the number.
"Verbit…" Barakat tapped out a search function on his secondary monitor.
Verbit-level security clearance required.
"Yes, yes." Barakat touched his ID to the security scanner. The warning disappeared and a table of Imperial Navy special orders appeared. "Nine three seven." Barakat swept the printout over and ran his finger down it. Whose credentials?
+++ User IGOR5 SN81576820 personal identity compromised +++
IG OR-5 – a sergeant in the Imperial Guard. Barakat copied the individual's service number on to a piece of note paper then scanned it off to A branch; the administration branch covering personnel.
"Good God." The reply came back within ten minutes. "Good God-Emperor Almighty." Barakat pinched the grey hairs on his chin.
SN81576820 – Larn, A. J. Imperial Guard Ret.
Sub-Lt. Imperial Naval Reserve.
"James Larn." Barakat tapped Page Down on his cogitator and scrolled through the special orders to 937. He highlighted 937's row and expanded it, revealing page after page of text. Red text covered a report's heading – RESTRICTED. Oh, I remember now. Barakat rested his chin on his fingertips and ran through the twenty-eight-page report.
Barakat laid a fingertip on the printout and slid it over. Sector 757-752. He picked up a receiver lying in the personal machine on his desk and spoke to his secretary. "Leila, job for you. Star charts and shipping timetables, Sector Kilo Nova 757-752. Pass the data on to my machine when you have it."
"Yes, Commander."
Barakat unlocked a drawer by his knee and brought out a cigar case. Abelinos. Shame you're not here to share, Richard. They were your favourites.
Barakat's machine buzzed a little later. "Leila."
"Sir, charts and timetables have been sent to your machine."
"Thank you."
"Sir."
Barakat closed the report down and called up his personal inbox. Caira's Rift, Momot Sub-sector. Not too far out of the way from UEC Station. Barakat spread the star chart and the shipping timetable across both of his monitors. Not too much activity, this week. Barakat plucked his stylus out of its cradle and traced a route through the Rift a mobile processing platform had plotted for. Couldn't have been any other vessel. Nothing else that large. Only commercial and charters. The search had to have come from that processor. Barakat tracked his stylus down the shipping timetable. Processing Platform HX-119. Amro-Konovalov owned. Outbound from planet Necrula, bound for Quintus Decimo Station, Tyrus System. Barakat chewed his lip. We'll see about that.
"Leila, draft up a TS-19 for the shipping company Amrokon and a quarantine order for processing platform HX-119, would you? Have it on my desk by eighteen-hundred standard."
"Aye, Commander. TS-19, quarantine order HX-119, eighteen-hundred standard."
"Thank you, Leila." Barakat took the receiver away from his ear. "Oh, one more thing."
"Sir?"
"Reschedule my four-thirty meeting. Inform Lieutenant Commander Wojminek I want to see him at that time. I have just seen a ghost."
"Aye, Commander."
Barakat replaced the receiver and angled his chair backwards. His Abelino, now soggy, nestled between his fingers. Six years. It's a little late to start haunting me now, Richard.
UEC
Seventy-five hours after my jump from the turbolift shaft, I pattered around UEC's comms array, barefoot once more and cradling a fresh recaf. My blanket wafted behind me and steam rose from the AdMech mug.
"Hello?" A woman's voice crackled in the intercom beside the door to the turbolift chamber. "James, it's Lusia."
"Mm—" I set my mug down and shambled over to the intercom. "You on your own?"
"I'm bringing a few menials up. C—Can I explain when I'm up there?"
"Menials…"
"I'll explain when I'm up there. See you in a sec."
Menials? I wandered in to the chemical cupboard and dropped my blanket in the restrung hammock. What sort of party are you planning? Clothed, I sunk in to the swivel chair in front of the cogitator array and tipped my mug back. My fingers played across a keyboard. Asterisks filled a login bar. I hit Return and laid my feet on the desk.
Incorrect login. Please contact your nearest Adeptus Mechanicus representative.
Blast doors rumbled apart. Wheels squeaked. Cases rattled.
"My man in the chair." Lusia, bulked up in her hooded AdMech robes, laid a full backpack on the floor beneath my outstretched legs and dumped a leather satchel next to my mug. She swept her hood back and swooped at me.
"Lusia—" I caught Lusia's shoulders. Her lips landed on mine. "—Ermph, Lusia I don't think—"
"Brought your stuff up from the station." Lusia's pointed toe prodded my backpack. "Jacket, jumper, wallet."
"You're a diamond, lovely. I don't think we should—"
"—Look inside."
"…The pack?"
"Oh, no-no, the satchel."
Beneath the leather flaps nestled full-colour posters. I wet my thumb and forefinger and slid the top poster out. Gigantic UEC-SEC helmets with glaring eye-slits and slobbering tongues were arranged in a row above a mass of faceless workers on a pale-yellow background. "Tyranny." I slid other posters out of the satchel and arranged them on the desk. "Oppression, exploitation. Didn't know you were an artist."
"Thought somebody should start making a stand. How better to do it than through art?" Lusia's fingers massaged my shoulder. "D'you like them?"
"Yeah, uhh, why?"
"I'll show you why." Lusia opened a smaller pouch and produced a wadge of black and white picts bound by an elastic band. "What do these all have in common?"
"A photographer too." My eyes ran over picts of ferrocrete pillars, stone walls and iron skeletons.
"Look, look." Lusia's finger hammered on the picts. "I have been all over the station photographing these. From the sub-level foundries up to the highest penthouses. Cracks in the ferrocrete, rot in the stone, fatigue in the metal. The very stanchion holding this array to the station has so many cracks in it, it's a wonder it doesn't tear off and float away!"
"So, your maintenance guys aren't putting in the hours then, is that it?"
"Yes—yes!" Grinning, Lusia brought a knee up and settled on the desk. "Neither the Administratum or those UEC pigs are putting in the effort to maintain this station—it's falling apart and it's not even five years old at this point!"
"These posters, they're gonna open up people's eyes then…"
"Well, they'll annoy UEC security. If they're annoyed, they'll bring the boot down harder on the station, stirring discontent and inciting insurrection." Lusia picked up a poster of a hobnailed boot collapsing on a man's face. "Push a man so much, don't expect him not to push back at some point. It's in our nature to resist servitude, slavery. It's the human way."
"Is that your political endgame then? Sounds like the road to anarchy."
"Freedom, James."
My hand slid down Lusia's arm, inside her wide sleeve, and found her fingers. "You and I are due a very important chat."
"Oh, the menials don't listen. We can say anything."
"Alone." Lines creased my forehead. "Us, Lusia."
"Mistress, we are ready," a menial said.
"What's that about not listening?"
"Er, coming." Lusia hopped down, straightened her robes, and went over to a long, green blanket standing upright like a veil. Bright spotlights, bolted to long-necked tripods, face the veil. A single chair sat in front of it. "James, can you do me a favour?" Lusia pointed at the foldout chair.
"May I ask what sorta film we're making?" I plonked myself in the chair beneath the harsh lighting, stretched my legs out and stuck my hands in my trouser pockets.
"No moving pictures." Rapid-fire clicks came from Lusia's camera. "You are now my poster boy."
"Hunh." I straightened up, laid my chin on the webbing between my thumb and forefinger, and cocked an eyebrow.
"Sensible, James."
"Picked the wrong character for that, my darling."
"Please, James! I need you to look solemn. You're the veteran cruelly kicked about by society."
"Ahhh, I see." I waggled my toes inside my shoes. "You're not wrong, I suppose. Though I myself am not entirely blameless for my own misery. Imperial Navy veteran spreads sedition among recruits, brings shame upon the Service."
"Alright, all done." Lusia peeped at me around the camera and gave a thumbs-up.
"Can I see?"
"Oh, no. They'll need developing first."
"Oooh…" I rose from the chair and rolled my back. "…Aagh."
"Thank you, James."
"Feel like a bottle after that." I rounded the camera and dipped my mouth close to Lusia's ear. "Let's have the room."
"Okay, gimme a sec." Lusia clapped her hands. "Menials, give thanks to the Omnissiah. We are done. Let us return this equipment to its owners."
Stolen, is it? I put my back to Lusia and the menials and slotted the posters inside the satchel. Bound with its elastic band, the picts slipped back in to the pouch.
"Thank you, James." Lusia drew the satchel's strap over her shoulder. Crinkles appeared in the corners of her eyes. "I'll be back soon." She squeezed my arm.
"Want a wet?"
"I'd love one, yes."
Under Lusia's direction, the menials wheeled the rattling crates out of the array. Lusia turned back to me and blew a kiss right before the doors sealed. Oh, Lusia. I settled down in the chair. Please, no tears.
Two AdMech mugs, one red, the other blue, gave off steam. Brown rings coated the desk they sat on. Fist sunken in to my cheek, I twiddled a pen through my fingers. My half-closed eyes fixed on the turbolift icon, frozen at the bottom of the shaft. Hurry up, Lusia. Char's getting cold.
"Hey. One tech-pirate comin' up!" Lusia's voice burst from the intercom. I peeled the wrapper away from a packet of salted biscuits and tipped them on the desk. Crumbs spilled over the edge.
"Aw, biscuits!" Lusia trotted up behind me and jumped on to the desk. I nudged the red mug over to her and dipped a biscuit in my own brew. Both of us munched in silence.
"Pax Imperialis."
"An Imperial peace?" Lusia's eyebrow rose.
"Delivered by the falling of the baton upon the body and the stamp of the boot upon the face."
"Hmm…" Black fingernails tapped the mug. "I like it. Did you come up with it just now?"
"No…" I set my empty mug down. "Ten years ago, I met a man on Grendel doing much the same as you're doing now. Anti-imperial he called himself. Tacked his posters up around the city just as you intend to do. They weren't keen on lost soldiers back then but despite that, the fella took me in. He sheltered me, he fed me without thought to consequence, without thought of the dangers this posed to his wife and child; his family. That is the human way."
"Did he…? Is he…?"
"Alive. Because he thought of his family. You must think of your family now, Lusia. They cannot come to harm over some silly, seditious material."
"Seditious material—?"
"—Lusia, if you think you can better anyone else's lot, you're wrong. Dead wrong. A human can hope to better him or herself through persistent, hard work. Humanity has no hope."
Lusia's eyes dropped to the ring-stained desk. She wrung her hands in her lap. "And us?"
"I hurt you."
"Th—wh—there are ways I could accommodate your—you. Methods, medical procedures…" Lusia picked beneath her fingernails.
"Lusia." I reached for Lusia's hand. "I made you cry."
"James."
"I want to remember you as the innovator, the pirate, the firebrand in my life. I pushed the boundary with you down in the factory, pushed too hard and that hurt us both. I can do no further hurt—will do no further hurt to you." I squeezed. "You helped me out of that pit, Lusia. It's time for me to find my own way."
Lusia's chin dipped. She met my eye. "Thank you for your honesty, James. I'll be happy to help see you wherever you want to go."
"You can be my woman in the chair now." I vacated the chair and carried the two mugs in to the kitchen. God-Emperor… I laid a palm over my gurgling stomach. That was easier than I thought it would be. The mugs clinked in the sink. I spread my hands around the rim and let out a long, slow breath.
Glass of water in my hand, I wandered over to the cogitator array. Lusia's fingers danced across a crumb-infested keyboard. Pulverised biscuits spilled from the open packet next to her wrist. "Nice thing about being up here is you've got a front row seat for all the juicy gossip flying through the channels. This one's marked high priority."
"That's a naval security code. Not supposed to be able to unzip that communiqué."
"With the right tools…" The zipped message expanded in to viewable text. "Haha!"
"I'll be turning you over to the authorities, then."
"Ha! Shuddup…"
I leaned over Lusia's shoulder. "What's it say?"
"Quarantine order for a processing platform bound for QDS. Your guys have ordered it to berth here."
"Not my guys, Lusia. I'm out of the Service."
"Yeahh, the Navy took an interest in this one. Hope it's not carrying a plague."
"Plague?"
"All that shit that's spread across the galaxy after Cadia fell…"
"What, like Warp storms?"
"They call it the Cicatrix Maledictum."
"Nobody calls it the Cica—that outside the Administratum. Ask a person on the street about it, they'd think you were mad!"
"Well, it's serious enough to twist the Navy's knockers. There's been a lot of back and forth between their brass recently."
"Can I see?"
"You want to see the whole list…?" Lusia tabbed in to a mailbox packed with inbounds.
"Catch up on these last few years, yeah."
"Okay."
"When you're living in the underbelly, time seems to have arguments with itself."
"Oh, you're not wrong." Lusia got down from the chair. "There's been some serious errors in star navigation recently. Whole flotillas are going missing for weeks then popping up in random locations."
"Hunh." I settled in the warm spot Lusia had left. "Not a word of it in the papers."
"Nah, not one. Everything's hunky-dorey at UEC."
"Not just UEC. Everywhere." I scrolled down the list of naval communiqués. "What are these red asterisks next to them?"
"That means our security filters originally rejected the message. This imposes a quarantine rule for around twenty-five to fifty hours before it admits the message through. It's most really, seeing as so much of our hardware is running on obsolete firmware. It takes a bit of back and forth until the message gets through."
"Quarantine…" I settled the cogitator's cursor on an inbound message. The original sender's name caught my eye. "I knew this officer."
"Who?"
"Barakat, Innes Barakat. I served under him on Haven six years ago."
"Okay, so what's he doing imposing a quarantine order then?"
"TS-19…" My fingernails played across the palm wheel's body. "The Navy's taken possession of this processor. I know the code."
"Could be something they picked up in the Rift…"
"Like…?"
"Political dissidents, prisoners of war, general undesirables, xenos."
"Xenos…" I brought my palms together and rubbed them up and down. "Can I send a message to him?"
"To whom—Barakat?"
"Mm."
"Err… one sec." Lusia called up a blank message template and input Barakat's address. "I think that came from the Seidenglatz System. Not too great a hop from here. Relatively clear of Warp disruption too."
"Dear Sir. Please reply to my message soonest. Sincerely, A. J. L."
Lusia's arm shot across me. "Oh, you spelt sincerely wrong!"
I hammered Backspace and retyped. "Happy?"
"Hmph." Lusia's forefinger came down on Return, whisking the message away. "How about another of those famous Navy brews?" She clinked the two empty mugs together.
"Your brews…" I hooked my fingers around the mug handles and bore them over to the kitchen.
"What's that…?" Lusia clambered back in to the chair.
"Tap-water and microwaved milk, you madness!" The mugs clunked next to the sink. "Bad habits. I'm saving you from them."
"Ha-ha!"
"Tap-water… huh-huh." I thrust the kitchen's kettle beneath the jetting water and set it on the worktop. Microwaved milk. Hisses escaped the kettle's mouth. I found my stretched reflection in the shiny surface. Sorge. Steam spat from the kettle. Richard Sorge. A shriek filled the kitchen. I clapped my hands over my ears and fell to my knees. My nose touched the cupboard door. Warmth surged up my back.
You're like a son to me, James.
I drew air in to my lungs, held, then exhaled. My temple rested against a cupboard door. Above me, the kettle stood silent. Heart thudding, I rose to my knees and stood up. Lukewarm water filled the mugs and dripped on the worktop. Eyes on the floor, I trudged out of the kitchen.
"Thank you very much, James." Lusia pinched my sleeve. "Talk to me."
"Uhh…" I perched on the desk. "Not sleeping well." I ran my finger through my unwashed hair. "I'm—I was having a drink before every bedtime. Calms me down. Puts me to sleep. I'm smoking again. Running through me tobacco."
"Can I…?" Lusia leaned away from her chair and stretched her arm out. Her fingers ran down my sleeve and squeezed my wrist. "You need a change of scene."
"I need a change of scene." I closed my hand around Lusia's fingers and moved them away from my hand.
"I have just the thing." Lusia extended her arm at the holo-projector. "It's for you."
"What's for me?" I rounded the cogitator screens. Green shafts lit up the depression and sprung outward. Glowing rings circled a large orb with a single, beady eye in the centre. "Lusia…?"
"Say hello, James," Lusia said.
"Hello, James." The orb reverberated. "It has been five years, eight months, thirty days, nine hours, seventeen minutes, and thirty-eight seconds since we last spoke."
I leaned around the shimmering orb and gawked at Lusia. "Lilli," she mouthed.
"Lilli…" I frowned at the floor. "No, it was longer than that."
"Interference from the Immaterium at play, I think."
"You're a hundred per cent right, Lilli. Everyone's chronometers have been thrown up in the air, these past few years." Lusia brought my mug around to me.
"How are you, James?"
"I was just saying to Lusia how hard—" My tongue caught in my mouth. I closed my hand around my neck and pinched my Adam's Apple. "I—I'm in good health, Lusia. Thank you for asking."
"Hey." Lusia pushed my mug in to my hand. "Lilli has kindly offered to take you aboard."
"Take me…?" My head swivelled between Lusia and Lilli. "You should know, I am averse to women onboarding me against my consent."
"Hahaha!" Lilli's orb bubbled. "You are always welcome aboard Mellenova, James."
"Mellenova?"
"It's what Lilli named the Inquisition cruiser."
Zarkaniy. My heart lurched. I ran my tongue around my dry mouth. I can't. I can't. Tea flew over the rim of my mug. I dropped to the floor and sat cross-legged.
"Are you well, James?"
Lusia's mug clacked on the floor next to me. "Bad memories, Lilli. We carry them with us to our grave."
"You cannot remove them? I just obliterate mine when my memory banks become full."
"Thank you, Lilli." Lusia sat beside me. "Any system, any planet. Where do you want to go?"
Arms wrapped around my knees, I cocked my head. Lilli's unblinking eye fixed on me.
Tight knots creaked above my head. Buried beneath my blanket, I dozed.
Let me offer congratulations, Second Lieutenant. You were a good soldier, but I made you better. You are like a son to me, James. This message will repeat in thirty seconds.
Sweat dotted my brow. I clutched my warm blanket to my chest. Light from the array filtered in to the cupboard. A man's voice spoke. "This is Commander Innes Barakat, Imperial Navy, to unknown entity—"
I swung out of the hammock. My foot landed on a stool and shoved it across the floor. Mops tipped out of buckets and crashed in to cleaning chemicals stacked on shelves. Hopping out of the cupboard, I hauled my blanket around my shoulders and rushed over to the array.
"—This message will repeat in thirty seconds."
"Hello?" I hit Accept. "Commander?"
"James? I can't see you." Innes Barakat's voice warbled from within the holoprojector. "—Coming through faint."
I wheeled the chair around to the array's viewport and swivelled it to face the projector. "No visual feed on this end, sir." I pulled my legs up under me and drew my blanket tight around my shoulders.
"I see. How were you able to view the contents of the communiqué?"
"I've been well these past two years, sir. Steady work, clear career progression. How 'bout you?"
"There was Amberite-class encryption in place, James. How did you crack it?"
"I have satellites growing outta both ears, sir." I wiggled the top of my ear. "My own comms array. The domestic model."
"I see that Guard sense of humour still persists…"
"Navy, sir. You guaranteed I had a nice time aboard Campanula. Now, I'm having an even nicer time up this commo array."
"You hacked a communication array…"
"Well, I'm sitting in the watchman's chair with my feet up on his desk. Even been drinking his recaf."
"And at present, unaware of how much trouble you are in."
"Ohhh, trouble finds me no problem. Cyrano Semirechye was compromised by those UEC muscleheads—"
"—Wait, say again. You are at UEC—Ursarker Edgar Creed Station?"
"I am. Sadly, a difference in perspective has placed Cyrano Semirechye in jeopardy."
"Kill him."
"Say again your last, sir."
"Kill Cyrano Semirechye. That is an order."
"I don't work for you anymore."
"But you are still Imperial Naval Reserve, James. Until you are age forty-five, you can be called back in to active service, and you are a long way from forty-five."
"Oh, I feel it…"I picked at a spot on my knee. "Two years I've been Semarek, Private Investigator."
"Well, you're Sub-lieutenant Larn again, and that's how it's going to stay."
"No, sir."
"What?"
"I'd rather just be James."
"Very well, James, we can talk about your impending court martial or we can turn our attention to the processing platform bandying your name about, Sub-lieutenant."
Leather creaked beneath me. "You called TS-19."
"They called out your name. Somebody aboard will be answering for that."
"Roster? Crewmen by that name?"
"None with your first or second name. Compromising your identity constituted a breach in a special order covering every serviceman involved in the Orsolyan Crisis. A violation of anonymity is a very serious matter. We shut the book on Haven and the xenos six years ago, now someone is digging their claws in to it. You are in a position of significance, the right position, to see this case is properly buried."
"How much are you offering?"
"Come on, James, you know how this works!"
"Hur-hur." I wiggled a fingernail in to a gap between my teeth.
"Bloody mercenary. I want you back in the officer's mindset. My man will be arriving at UEC in forty-eight hours to brief you."
"Too good for fieldwork now are we, sir?"
"And I will be following on afterwards. Shave off and scrub up. There'll be a uniform waiting for you."
"You know, they're looking for me down there—my face in particular."
"No-one will look twice at you. It's the uniform they see, not the man wearing it."
"How you gonna find me, sir?"
"You know where I work. We will find you when we need you. Barakat out."
The projector dimmed. I scratched at stubble on my cheek. Finally grew a spine and started thinking for yourself, Commander. Still, you're two years too late.
UEC Level 3
Two Days later…
Clawed feet dug in to the ferrocrete beneath the iron bench Lusia and I sat on. Tubes coiled away from the heavy rebreather digging in to my cheeks. Thick crimson robes piled on my shoulders.
"Stop jiggling!" Lusia hissed.
"Can't help it." I dug my nails in to the worn folds above my left knee.
"Are you sure it's here?"
"Course. You saw the printout. UEC Level 3, 88-73 East, Polikov's plaque, 13:30."
"Who did they say it was?"
"I dunno. The commander said his man was coming, so I guess we're looking for a bloke in grey."
"Bloke in grey…" Lusia brought a leg up on her knee and fiddled with the clasps on her boots.
"Posh part o' town this. All sortsa parties going on up here. Not that I'm ever invited to any of 'em."
"It's fairly middle-class…" Lusia rolled her ankle. "The only real problem is that bloody great cathedral looming over everything. All we get is a tumbledown temple down on Four."
"Hey…" My elbow prodded Lusia. "In the Navy, you know exactly how it feels to be poor."
"The AdMech is not poor! We own Mars." Lusia dug her own elbow in to my ribs.
"So? We've had Holy Terra longer than you've had Mars. Once in your lifetime, go see the sights on Terra. No-one bothers with sightseeing on Mars."
"Hurgh…" Lusia planted her chin in her hand. "Let's give it another ten minutes. I'm hungry."
"Here. Fruit and nut…" I took a half-squished fruit bar from inside my robes and pushed it at Lusia.
"I'm fine, thanks." Lusia slipped her hands inside her sleeves.
"Said you were hungry…" I lifted my mask up and munched the warm pastry. "Might even be actual fruit in this one." Empty wrapper in my hand, I wandered across the street to a bin. The wrapper hit the wide mouth and fluttered down to my feet. "Ahh, c'mon." I scooped up the sticky foil and shoved my hand through the mouth. The wrapper landed on a brown paper package stuffed inside. "Lusia." I hooked my fingers around string binding the package together and lifted it out.
"Devious bastards, aren't they?" Lusia came over.
"Either that or I've dug out someone's leftovers." I shook the package.
"Speaking of lunch…"
"Yeah?"
"I know a restaurant."
Trousers around my ankles, I perched on the lowered seat inside a cubicle in the men's toilet of Clemal's and listened to the sole other person emptying his bladder in to the urinal. Hurry up, damn you. My knee began jiggling. The paper package crackled in my lap. A fly zipped up and feet passed by my cubicle. Wash your hands then! I picked at the knots and unwrapped the package. Paper fell away from a naval officer's cap sitting on a folded, stone-grey tunic. A nametag attached to the tunic's breast read Larn.
Cap clasped beneath my arm, I wove between tall plants and the wooden lattice panels separating each table. Old books packed shelves and brick arches. A wide-mouthed, stone chimney loomed above the table Lusia sat at.
"Oh, James…" Lusia's lips parted and she leaned back in her chair and laid her fingers on her cheeks. "That is such a big improvement."
"Did I just grow a pair o' tits or something?" I tossed my cap on the table and seated myself opposite her. The package bulging with my AdMech robes landed at my feet.
"Ooohh…" Lusia wafted a paper menu at her neck. "Nothing sexier than a man in uniform."
"Or a woman."
"Were there many of those aboard your ship?"
"None that I knew of." I picked up a menu and opened it. "Thrown a few salutes their way, once or twice when I've been ashore."
"Hm, very nice of you." Lusia buried her nose in her menu.
"Trust me, there is nothing sweeter than receiving that salute back from them. Didn't even have to look me in the eye. It's just that acknowledgment, that respect." My eyes roved down the menu. God-Emperor, that's expensive.
"I know," Lusia said. "Surely an officer of the Imperial Navy can afford to eat at Clemal's."
"Lusia, I told ya. We're poor." I dug my fingers in to my tunic pockets. "Can't even afford me own tobacco now." I worked my hands in to my trouser pockets. "Ah, hold on…" My finger closed around a folded piece of paper. "The next piece o' the puzzle." I unfolded the note and passed it over to Lusia. "Who's Asheyla Bentos?"
"Not who—what." Lusia flattened the paper, folded it in to an arrow shape, and threw it back across the table. The point bounced off my tunic and crumpled. "Heh—let's order."
After lunch, I said goodbye to Lusia and wandered through the wide streets up to the hotel. Few of UEC's citizens walked the stone cobbles. I ducked away from the crunch of hobnails every time they drew near and hid in alleys waiting for them to pass. Stone lions flanked wide steps climbing up to a colonnade screening the hotel's façade. Hotel? I strode across a plaza towards the tall front doors. Looks more like a palace.
"Good afternoon, sir." A doorman, masked and dressed in loud colours, opened one of the hotel's double doors ahead of me. "Allow me."
They take professionality seriously enough to wear masks? Spikes hanging from chandeliers pointed down at me. No good reason hiding a man's face like that. Past the cavernous entrance hall, a concierge manned a long, wooden desk. A mask covered his face, this one with sealed lips and a nose moulded in to it.
"Sir, you may find Room 1147 to your liking." The concierge leaned forwards slightly. "It is on the house." A white glove indicated the hotel's grand staircase climbing up from the ground floor. "Please, sir."
Facemasks leered at me from wall-mounted plaques. Stuffed animals, species I had never seen before, occupied plinths set in recesses in the walls. Black eyes glinted at me. Not a sound. I slipped a finger inside my tunic's collar and threw a look over my shoulder at the long corridor stretching further back than I could see. Could lose yourself in here. Alone with those masked creeps.
A flat sensor pad sat in the wall beside the door to Room 1147. I laid my fingers on the gold-plated door handle and twisted it downward. Tied-off drapes clung to a wide four-poster bed. Golden taps glinted inside a bathroom. A tall-backed armchair faced a window looking out at the steep, tiled rooftops and spires crowding Level 3. Smoke clouds drifted up to the window.
"Take that cap off your head." A hand wearing a naval academy ring rested on the arm of the chair. A long cigar, clasped between fingers, gave off smoke. "I don't know where you think you are, young man."
"You know exactly where you are don't you, James?" A long, tree-trunk arm hooked around the door and pushed it shut. Wide lips peeled back from a scarred, sunken-eyed face. Not a single hair covered the crown of a broken-nosed man in navy grey. He wore three rings on his sleeves.
"Cunt corner." I swung my arm at Estoc.
"HA!" Estoc caught my hand and squeezed. Wide gaps showed in his teeth. "Always the Guardsman."
"Commander! Show the sub-lieutenant in," the officer in the chair barked.
"Sir." Estoc pushed his arm, palm-open, at the senior officer. "James, Commander Barakat."
"He damn-well knows who I am." Innes Barakat, fully-white and bearded, peered around the armchair. "Surprised he remembers you at all, Estoc. Most people seem not to."
"Six years." Estoc leaned against the door; his arms folded. "I'd remember someone after six years. He and I were at Grendel, you know."
"Yes…" Barakat's cigar waggled. His eyes flicked over to me. "Come here."
"Full commander, then." I sauntered over to Barakat's chair.
"Hand out of your pocket. Junior officers present themselves shaven."
"Confiscated razor, sir. Thank UEC's meatheads for that."
"Straighten that spine when you address a senior officer."
"Talking about spines, sir…"
"You're an insolent oik, Larn. Sorge was a fool to place his trust in you."
"You're like a son to me, James." I eased myself down on to the foot of the four-poster and clasped my hands in my lap. "He said that." I looked between Estoc and Barakat.
"Damn you, Sub-lieutenant. Stand up straight in the presence of a senior officer!" Barakat growled.
"There is nothing you can do that hasn't already been done to me, Commander. Everything that comes out of your mouth, came out of Sorge's first. You are not my boss. I am a civilian in a uniform, vying for the freedom of retirement." I caught Estoc's eye. A little grin tugged at the corners of his mouth.
"And staining it with a court-martial this late in your career would be most unfortunate for you."
"Commander, were there any possibility of a court-martial falling on me, I'd be long gone from UEC by now. No, let's bring this on to the real reason I came here. On my own. Of my own free will."
"If you've learnt anything during your time in both services, Larn, you'd know nothing of the sort exists. Not now, not then, not ever."
"Oh, there you are wrong, sir. Much has been made clear to me, these past two years. Free of rules, free of regulations."
"Down in that stinking hive? Surprised you're not concealing a third arm inside those greys."
"Friends, relationships, freedom, all down in that stinking hive. And no, I never considered a career in your military, sir."
"Disgraceful," Barakat muttered. "Brief him."
"Aye, Commander." Estoc reached for a brown leather folder leaning upright in a vacant chair beside a tall mirror. "You're aware of the violation of Special Order 937, Lieutenant?"
"Of a special order. None in particular spring to mind."
"Last week, there was a retrieval action carried out by a mobile processing platform. They picked up a fighter, one of ours, drifting on the far side of Caira's Rift. A xenos was in the cockpit." Estoc unzipped a compartment and brought out a cassette player and set it on a long mantlepiece. "This was not brought to the captain or to any officer aboard. Some crewmen took the xenos hostage. Things got out of hand and four of them lost their lives. Eventually, the crew cornered the xenos in a crusher. Damned thing set fire to the bodies in there, brought the crusher to a standstill."
"Bodies."
"Er, dead bodies, James. They're processed in to foodstuff."
"What did you think the Navy's been feeding you with?" Ash trickled from Barakat's cigar. "Continue."
"When I interviewed the captain, he told me he heard three spoken words from the xenos when it regained consciousness in the medbay."
"Find James Larn," I murmured.
"Get James Larn." Estoc's fingers drummed on the cassette player's housing. "This tape may help you understand."
"It's okay." I bit down on my thumbnail. "I understand."
"No. You don't," Barakat said. "Play it."
"This is part of a recording taken from one of the holding wings. The captain keeps tapes of prisoner chatter." Estoc pressed the Play button. Weedles and whines screeched from the tape. Rasps flew at me. A low, somewhat husky voice, faint at first, sharpened.
"…Blood flows among the roots, the roots of all your happiness…"
I know that voice. My ears warmed. Bumps peppered my forearms.
"…Only the dead are there to listen. You made them." White noise crackled. "…You did that. Those bodies in the pit. You made them."
God-Emperor. My head sunk.
"You made me—YOU MADE ME!"
Estoc's finger came down on the cassette. The unwinding tape froze. I linked my fingers behind my head and rested my elbows on my knees.
"James. James, look at me." Estoc cocked his head. "I am sorry you had to hear that."
Barakat nudged an ashtray across a table beside his chair. "In the long run, it appears men can change but xenos cannot. Izuru Numerial has regressed to her Lutufeyo mindset and, quite clearly, these murderous urges have proven too strong for her to control. She has gone insane."
"I'm sorry, James." Estoc switched the cassette player off and stowed it in the folder.
I sucked air down my tightening throat. A tremor stole through my chest. Blood surged in my ears. I clamped my hands over them. My feet drummed on the carpet.
"James, James." Estoc dropped the folder and rushed in to the bathroom. Water gushed from the taps. A clear glass wobbled beneath my chin. "Here, lad." I seized the glass and drank. "Alright, alright, that's enough." Estoc squeezed my shoulder. "There."
"Now, you listen…" Barakat rose from his chair and rounded it. His cigar aimed at me. "Do not deny this, Larn. You've been inside Izuru Numerial, you've been inside her mind. You parted on favourable terms. She left with her people and we closed the book."
"Sir, can we have a moment? Let James get his head together."
"You've had six bloody years to get your head together! God-Emperor, forbid there be another Lutufeyo." He clawed at his collar. "Wasted enough damned time and resources cleaning up Orsolya. Xenos and man, never a worse combination."
"Disappear her."
"What?"
I lifted my head and stared at Barakat. "You disappeared Sorge." My eyes roved between him and Estoc. "Make her disappear."
A lump bobbed in Barakat's throat. He brought his shaking hand to his brow and scratched it. "The Navy has not acknowledged the incident aboard Processor HX-119, nor will ever. Neither Lieutenant Commander Wojminek or myself are here in an official capacity. This remains a closed-doors affair."
"You're afraid of her."
"No human being alive can strangle an abhuman with their bare hands, mutilate and murder four strong, young men!"
I wrung my warm hands. "She is punishing those she believed have wronged her and her family."
"What the hell do you mean punishing? There's no deeper reason for this."
"You asked for me to come here. You want to know why, don't you?"
"Grendel," Estoc muttered. "Two little xenos."
"She has two sons—twins. Both wrongfully torn from their mother's arms by the father, no less. This is a family matter. Always has been. Her mixed ancestry and absence of a mother growing up only widened that rift between her and her kin. I don't think she ever felt like she belonged."
"Can that explain Lutufeyo?"
"Maybe. Maybe because of her uncle. You remember the older xenos with her?"
"The cripple from cold storage, yes."
"I wonder…" I scratched the bristly hairs on my jaw. "She had two little girls to take care of."
Barakat thrust his cigar in my direction. "Liaise with the xenos through Commander Wojminek, if you must, and get her to stand down. Talk sense to her."
"Talk sense to an insane xenos? I can just see that tiny back-page column with my obituary."
"Hrgh. You think you deserve an obituary?"
"I think I deserve an exit without a court martial."
"That is not your decision to make—"
"—Oh, I can resign my commission any time I want—"
"—Like hell you can, laddie—"
"—THAT IS MY PRIVILEGE!" I flew to my feet.
"Okay, James." Estoc caught me by the shoulder and stepped between me and the red-faced Barakat. "That's a very wise decision to make, isn't it, sir?"
"Always the Guardsman." Barakat sunk back in to his chair and flipped open a cigar case. "Take your fucking discharge. You can sort this out as a civilian."
"Thank you, sir," Estoc mouthed at me. I set my jaw and glared at him. "James is most grateful for the time spent aboard ship, and the privileges he received as a junior officer. I would be grateful too to assist in the relocation of the xenos to friendly space."
"Alright, Commander, I will see you are booked in for long-term leave. You have executive authority over the xenos. See there are no more upsets. Good afternoon."
"James." Estoc kept a hand on my shoulder and guided me out of the room.
"God, I hoped he'd turned a new leaf," I hissed at Estoc out in the corridor. "He's just as bad as Sorge was. See what the uniform does to a man!"
"Alright, alright, alright." Estoc held up his open hands. "James, you will never have to speak to Commander Barakat again, that is a promise."
"It's not the commander." I pushed past Estoc and headed off along the corridor.
"Okay, I can help." Estoc's heavy footsteps followed. "I am more than happy to help."
"Forget it."
"Help with that thirst maybe…" Liquid sloshed behind me. "Question, James. How long have you been dry?" A thin hipflask nestled in Estoc's paw. My greedy eyes fixed on the shiny steel.
Pale green umbrellas shielded a terrace from the filtered sunlight pouring through the giant, arched windows. A stooping flower stood inside a tall glass next to the umbrella's shaft. Glasses and an uncorked bottle crowded the table. Estoc, his knees spread wide, hunched over his glass.
"We owe you for Grendel, James. What happened to you afterwards was a disgrace. That's on us." Estoc slung his glass back. "With your permission, I would like to act as a go-between. Your presence will not be revealed to Izuru Numerial."
"Not my permission you need." Searing liquid enflamed my throat. "We're not lovers."
"No, but you were closer to her than any other human has ever been."
"What's the point of me being along for this, then? I've briefed you. That's all I can give."
"You're the expert. You know her, how her mind works."
"Knew her."
"Knew her better than me, Barakat, Sorge, even."
I swiped the bottle and refilled my glass. "What ever became of him?"
"Suicide."
"Suicide. Is that the official story?"
"It's the only story."
"Hm. Buried with full military honours and fifty-gun salute?"
"All that and more. Full column for the obituary."
"Well…" I raised my glass. "Richard Sorge, the undeserving bastard."
"Commander Sorge." Estoc lifted his own glass.
"Uh-uh." I tipped my glass over. "I never drank to him before, I won't now. May your resting place be one of eternal discomfort filled with the dying screams of the people you betrayed, human and Eldar." Liquid pattered the tiles. Estoc's glass wavered and he set it on the table.
"He wasn't always like that. I spent eighteen years working under him. He loved it, you know. Loved acting, playing his characters; Veen and the like. His wife drew him to the stage. It was after the bombing at Grukan Barracks. Sorge was on extended leave after his operation. This performer dragged him from the front row up on to the stage for some sort of comedy skit." Estoc ran his thumb across a drop inching down the side of his glass. "They were married within seventy-two hours."
"And this makes me feel sorry for him?"
"She was a poorly woman. In and out of Medicae units on every station, every planet she followed her husband too. Sorge received the news of her passing…" Estoc's finger tapped upon the table. "It was right before the Battle of Calogero. Sorge's first engagement as a commissioned officer. After the victory, he only had room in his heart for the Imperial Navy. It became his life."
"At the expense of others." I eyed the aquila on Estoc's breast. "That's the problem."
"Yeah." Estoc looked down at the grey wings above the skull. "You're right, James. It was the uniform that made him the man he was."
"Any uniform, any insignia. I was wrong about him seeing me as the son he never had. I was supposed to pick up where his nephew fell short." I picked up my glass. "Now, that I will drink to. The death of tyrants."
"The death of tyrants."
Our glasses clinked together. "Show me to the slaughterhouse." I tipped my glass back and downed it in one.
Mobile Processing Platform HX-119, UEC Quarantine Arm
Chains bound Izuru's wrists together. Manacles clasped her bare ankles. Bolts held her seat to the floor. Two faceless humans stood in the corners of the cell, short-barrelled scatterguns held against their body armour. Thuds sounded on the bulkhead door and it squeaked inwards. In stepped a tall, broad-chested human male in a white sweater and dark blue greatcoat. Scar tissue bridged his nose and discoloured his hairless head. The guards retreated from the cell and sealed the door behind them. Izuru raised her bound wrists. The human sat himself in the only other chair in the cell and laid a dataslate and a stylus on the table.
"My name is Wojminek. I am a civil affairs representative overseeing your repatriation." The chains around Izuru's wrists clinked on the eyes left the big human and strayed to a blank viewport embedded in the cell wall. The human's words muffled and his voice faded. Are you there, James?
"Ma'am? Ma'am, I'm sorry, did you get all that?" The dataslate lay on Izuru's side of the table. "Does that make sense?"
Izuru's eyes remained fixed on the viewport. "James Larn."
"Ma'am, I require this agreement printed and signed by your hand. You must not attempt to escape or inflict bodily harm upon Imperial citizens. Any aggressive action taken against my people will see you suffer the harshest of penalties. This agreement guarantees your safety up to the borders of Imperial space." The human reached for the dataslate and stylus. "You may ponder on this awhile."
Izuru seized the stylus and scribbled her name, left-handed, and followed up with a signature. "James Larn."
"Thank you, Madam…" The human took the dataslate and swivelled it around. "…Numerial." He stowed it in a folder and rose. "You will not have to wait much longer, Madam Numerial. I shall return at present with a ship vectored to the nearest friendly outpost."
"Do you—do you know him? He's, err…"
"I am sorry, ma'am. I do not." The human tucked the dataslate in a folder and rose. "Thank you very much." He nodded at Izuru and knocked on the bulkhead door. The guards filed back inside and he stepped out. Heavy steel clanged shut. Izuru's shoulders slumped. Her eyes crept across the table and over to the viewport. Are you there?
A fist tightened around my throat. Bells filled my ears. Piercing eyes roved up the two-way screen and found mine. I clapped my hand over my mouth, stifling a choke. God, you haven't aged a day. Ridges creased Izuru Numerial's white forehead. Two sharp lines cut between her thin eyebrows. Greasy hairs, spung loose from her bun, curled over her ears. Tubes ran down the arms of a ragged pressure suit covered in dark stains. Black-soled feet sat flat on the deck.
"Looks like death, doesn't she?" Estoc rounded the corner.
Blood filling my head, I wrenched my eyes away from Izuru's stare. "How many did she…?"
"Four members of the crew. An abhuman too. Doesn't look capable of it, does she?"
"Did I look capable, doing the things I did?"
"Hm, no."
"Look past that face. Inside, that burning passion to eradicate all that threaten her and hers. Compassion too. Burning for her sons and her uncle. I suspect he passed away recently. Maybe she lost the Zalileans too. They weren't her people, after all. They had to move on. I guess she could not. Now, her problems are ours."
Estoc produced the dataslate Izuru signed and passed it over. "Printed and signed."
"Right."
"It won't do, trying to understand that xenos mind, y'know."
"She is a mother first and foremost. And I know you do not stand between her and them. Human, Eldar, they've all tried, and there's not a being alive that can talk about it."
Estoc lifted the flap on his folder and slid the dataslate inside. "Well, that's why you're along. She won't inflict harm upon you."
"No, but I am to be invisible." I bit a fingernail. "Look at her. She senses a familiar presence."
"Can they do that?"
"Those bonds are a temporary means of restraint. Should she wish it, they would swiftly be rent and those meatheads a pair of stiffs. No, she is nervous, uncertain of her immediate future."
"The sooner she is reunited with her sons, the sooner we can fully demobilise you. Think of that."
"She might not be the best thing for them."
"For her sons?"
"I do believe some parents are wholly unsuited raising their own young. Whether it is their own upbringing affecting their parenting, or they do not have their offspring's best interests at heart."
"Well, that's as may be but how a mother nurtures her children is of no concern of ours. Humanity's best interests determine Izuru Numerial's immediate and unconditional repatriation lest we risk another Orsolya." Estoc clapped me on the shoulder. "Let's see about requisitioning us a ship."
"Leave that to me." My gaze returned to Izuru. She sat upright, shoulders back and chin up. Her eyes bored through the screen.
Two hours later, a uniformed Estoc and me stood before the AdMech temple's front gates. I struck the brass knocker against the gate. Hurry up, Lusia. Hinges groaned and the doors swung inward. Estoc followed me around the fountain and up the stairs to the landing.
"Let's wait a mo'. Someone will be out." I planted my elbows on the parapet and leaned through a gap in the pillars. "Bastards broke my pipe, took my gun, stole my Marsay." I patted my empty thigh pocket. Estoc grunted and held out a cigarette. "Nah, pipe or nothing. I do miss my old Marsay."
Bolts rang and the Magos stepped out on to the landing. "Now, what are two strapping gentlemen in grey doing in the house of the machine-god?"
"Madam Magos." I took off my cap and tucked it beneath my arm. "Allow me to introduce my superior, Lieutenant Commander Wojminek."
"Oh, my. My, my, my." Magos Kinnaird shook Estoc's hand. "And here, I thought you a rogue, James. Hello, Lieutenant Commander."
"Estoc. Pleasure."
"An officer in the Imperial Navy. Lusia will be thrilled to see you in that uniform."
"Er, Imperial Naval Reserve, ma'am, and not for much longer."
"Oh, no…"
"I would better serve Yours and Him an ordinary citizen. I wondered if I could see Lusia?"
"Of course. Do you know where the juniors' mess hall is? I'll send Lusia over there as soon as possible."
"Thank you, Madam Magos."
"Always a pleasure to see you, James."
Orange embers snapped in a fireplace overflowing with ash. Empty benches surrounded Estoc and me. Two AdMech-branded mugs sat on worn coasters. Estoc flipped the leather cover from his chrono and pressed the shoulder buttons. "Surprised you had fingers in the AdMech's pie, James. They're normally so tightknit, insular."
"Not just fingers…"
"Tssh—Hrgh-hrgh!"
"James?" Lusia trotted in. "Wasn't expecting to see you so soon."
"Ma'am." Estoc stood and tugged the hem of his tunic down. "Lieutenant Commander Wojminek. I am Sub-lieutenant Larn's superior."
"Hello." Lusia shook Estoc's hand and lifted her leg over the bench in the spot beside me.
"Was wondering if we could have our discussion over lunch."
"Oh, we had lunch earlier. Interesting means of communicating—waste bins."
"Dead drops, ma'am." Estoc sat. "Do you mind if I call you Lusia?"
"Enginseer, please." Lusia fished in a leather pouch bulging on her belt. "Coordinates, hailing frequency, and codewords." A folded-up piece of notepaper slid across to me.
"Thank you, James." Estoc laid his hand, palm-upwards, on the table.
"This is for James, Commander." Lusia's eyes remained on me.
"Very well. Do I have your word your vessel is Warp-capable and outfitted with a functioning Gellar Field?"
"The word of the Adeptus Mechanicus."
Estoc laid his hand on the Aquila on his breast. "The Imperial Navy thanks you for your cooperation, Enginseer. Your assistance will be of great benefit to the defence interests of the Imperium of Man."
"Sir? A moment."
"Alright, I'll be outside. Many thanks, Enginseer." Estoc squidged his cap beneath his arm and left the mess hall. Lusia lowered her hood and laid her hand on my wrist. My head drooped. My nails scratched my scalp.
"I have something I've got to say."
"I have something I wish to give." Lusia patted the back of my hand and rose. "You'll like it."
Narrow bunks, stacked four high, filled the dormitory. A crushed pillow and a thin blanket sprawled on the bottom bunk I perched on the edge of. Lusia kneeled on the floor and dug her arms beneath the bunk.
"I've never been one for pomp." A rectangular, wooden box slid out. "Ceremony." Lusia perched next to me and offered the box. "Procedure. I just do." My fingers curled around the rough edges. I worked a nail in a crack and lifted the lid. Smooth, velvet cloth embraced a long-handled pipe stained brown. A metal tip shone on the end of the stem. Tiny letters ran down it. With love, L.
"Premature inscription, on my behalf." Lusia's cheeks darkened. "Will you accept it?"
My fingers played through the silky cloth. "I accept this gift as a token of your devotion, your support, your kinship." I set the box on the blanket and drew Lusia in to a hug. "God-Emperor, light my way. Ghosts from my past threaten all we have built and hold dear."
"Pray with me." Lusia's nose touched my ear. "Don't say anything. Let us both pray in our own way."
I withdrew my arms and leaned back from Lusia. Words spilled forth. My gaze remained on the pipe. Great, choking sobs burst from my throat. Lusia's hand slid up to my shoulder and squeezed.
"James, you are doing everything right. Letting the commander handle the xenos, keeping your distance. You have done all you can in this situation. This is your opportunity. Start afresh, just like Dio. There will be no-one to tell you what to do."
I wiped my thumb down my cheeks. "Help me."
"I will."
"Come with me."
"James, my place is here."
"Lusia, I do not trust that uniform. Any man, woman, wearing that Aquila."
"It's not the uniform you should fear."
"The uniform, that insignia warps men's minds. It corrupts them and wrings all decency from their being."
"And on the other side, you have a reincarnated xenos who sounds like she's been possessed by a daemonic serial killer, James."
"I trust you. I need you to keep Lilli on the straight and narrow. What difference do you think you can make tacking up subversive posters around UEC? Let it—let the Imperium of Man collapse in on itself. It's had ten-thousand years to build itself back up, and all it's done with its time is breed a pestilence of ignorance and hate. Humanity has no hope."
Arms clutching her chest, Lusia rocked on the edge of her bunk. "Tobacco in there. Currock's Own."
I sifted through the cloth and found a sealed packet of Currock's tobacco. "Got a light?" I pierced the packet.
"Hah! Not on your life, sailor." Lusia brought a knee up and wrapped her arms around it. Her lips curled. "This is a no-smoking flight."
"Hurgh, shame…" My hand found a square bulge in my breast pocket. Out slid matches. "No smoking aboard ship either. No drinking, no swearing, no gambling, no sex."
"Ooh…" Lusia's face crumpled. "Horrible." A match scratched across the packet and a tiny flame danced before our faces. "James…"
"Nuh-uh." I filled my pipe and lit it. "You and I are sharing this." I placed the tip between my lips and inhaled. Warm, dry smoke filled my lungs. I tipped my head back and shot smoke clouds from my mouth. "Still working on my smoke rings."
A wry grin on her face, Lusia plucked my pipe and clamped her own lips around the tip. "Ah-huh!" Lusia's head shot forwards. Her cheeks ballooned. "Omnissiah, that's…"
"Hurgh-hurgh!"
"What, um—Hmph-hmph!" Lusia thrust my pipe back at me. "What time are you off?"
"Tomorrow." My knee jiggled. "Earliest. No-one's gonna be looking our way." I ducked out from her bunk and swiped my cap. One hand on the bunk above, I leaned down. "Tech-pirate, languishing in a factory?" My eyebrows jumped. "Nah. Your calling's out there aboard ship. No-one's ever found out who they really are churning out tractors in some manufactorum or firing little pipes in a furnace. When blades are bared and bullets begin flying, I want a real rascal there watching my back; a real pirate."
Lusia sucked in a cheek and chewed on her lower lip. Her eyes crawled across the blanket up to me. A smirk spread and her hand shot out. I seized it and pulled Lusia to her feet.
