Dropping out of Warp in the Furibundus system, my stomach lurched. Lady Cassia may have made this journey the smoothest I had experienced in recent years, but the translation to real space was nonetheless rougher than it needed be. All bridge stations reported nominal: another success. Her Ladyship's first journey through the Sea of Souls had gone well, and I wanted to take this as a good omen for her lord-captaincy.
And we fell in a pirate ambush. Void take these outlaws! In the months since we left the Koronus expanse, the situation has obviously taken a turn for the worse. There is, after all, a permanent Imperial Navy outpost at Furibundus, but they didn't appear to be deterrent enough. They also were several light-hours away from our position.
Space battles, in popular imagination, are always full of bright explosions and daring manoeuvres. In truth, to the naked eye even the most epic fights would be little more than specks of light travelling at speed against the empty backdrop of space.
The lord-captain left her command chair and walked to the navigation station, where a green hololithic map of the system hung over us — our foes lit in red. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she asked a status report. Two enemy vessels, some sort of modified clippers judging by their speed, were targeting us.
'Aren't clippers famously poorly armed?' asked Her Ladyship. I nodded — she may be a groundling, but she had done some homework. The lord-captain then asked Vox Master Vigdis to open a ship-wide channel. Lady Theodora would never have deigned to communicate with the masses for two puny clippers, but I suppose one's first space battle is a special occasion. Lady Theodora would also have let me deal with it.
'Everyone, this is your lord-captain.' Her Ladyship held the Vox-box with ease, ambling slowly around the holo-map — checking, I noticed, the battle stations as she went. 'We have successfully completed our first Warp journey under Lady Cassia Orsellio's guidance. A well-deserved shore leave at Footfall awaits you; it shall be my thanks for the bravery all aboard displayed in those last few weeks.' Light from the holomap played on her face, shone on her dark hair. She gave a wry smile to no one in particular and continued. 'Unfortunately, some pirates appear to think positioning themselves between us and our port of rest is a good idea. Let them rue the day they decided to take arms against House von Valancius! To gunners: put the fear of our macro-cannons in their hearts! May the spirit of the Emperor's mercy heed the enginseers' prayers — we are slower, but mightier, and as their hull tears, letting in the cold Void, let their empty cries of help fade into nothingness! For the Emperor's glory, we shall prevail!'
The lord-captain handed the Vox-box back to Master Vigdis under a round of applause from all present on the bridge. I caught an appreciative glance from van Calox — but Her Ladyship either didn't notice or was indifferent to it. Sister Argenta congratulated her on such a short, but efficient, speech; Her Ladyship simply said the Schola Progenium teaches rhetoric as well as military tactics. I loudly commented that, under the lord-captain's leadership, her regiments must never have lacked martial vigour — the Sororitas, obviously, had no use for Commissars, and I felt necessary to inform Sister Argenta of some of their duties.
'Thank you, Abelard,' said Her Ladyship. 'Now, to business. Shall we attack the one while distracting the other with torpedoes?'
'A sound approach, lord-captain!'
'You know you can call me Katov, don't you?'
I choked on my own saliva. The lord-captain hit me square in the back, which alleviated my sudden cough.
'That was a joke, Abelard.' Turning to the rest of the bridge crew, she started giving orders around. As I write these lines, I am still not sure that I care much for the lord-captain's humour.
Footfall was much as I remembered. It should have been a beautiful place, a tribute to the Emperor's glory on the edge of the wilderness that was the Koronus expanse. A statue, representing Him in all His radiant glory, had been carved from an asteroid, and held in His hands the chains that linked dozens more of these floating rocks — all made into cathedrals of order and light. Well, that had been the plan of its architect, the Rogue Trader Parsimus Dewain, who a few centuries ago had more money than building experience. While still grandiose on the outside, Footfall is often derelict on the inside and houses more unsavoury characters than law-abiding citizens. While I would have, in my Navy days, had strongly opposed having any dealing with the Cold Trade and such, by lady Theodora's side I had grown to appreciate the equipment they were able to provide.
The current Liege of Footfall was one Vladaym Tocara, a ruthless former thug who was also the local representative of the Kasballica Mission. He was a most useful interlocutor, and the lord-captain intended to meet with him as soon as possible, so as to enlist his help in finishing to fix the Emperor's mercy. Her agenda was quite full already: Sister Argenta also wished to ask the Drusian chaplain leave to continue her pilgrimage along with us. The lord-captain had requested we docked incognito, to make the most of her yet relative lack of fame, and so we did. Those in the know, of course, wouldn't fail to recognise the von Valancius flagship.
As soon as our shuttle was safely in dock and we set foot on the station — stale recycled air an assault on our nostrils — a bunch of lowlife assaulted us. We made little work of them and then could get to the event of the day, the one that brought solace to my jaded heart: saying goodbye to Master van Calox, that impolite young man who wasn't so young. He was splendid in his dress uniform, rosette bright on his pauldron, stern chiseled face, and a good enough parade rest for one who hadn't served. Customary polite thanks for help both received and given — if a bit on the icy side — were exchanged with Her Ladyship, who wasn't too bad herself in her Commissar-like outfit trimmed in von Valancius blue. And she had perfect posture. At last, van Calox saluted her with the Aquila; she replied in like, and we were free of the master Interrogator. It is my opinion that the Holy Inquisition is better respected from a distance.
'He does have a nice backside, doesn't he?'
The silver voice startled me — our Navigator, lady Cassia, who had evidently spoken aloud a thought intended to remain private. She became beetroot red and clasped her hands over her mouth in horror.
'The cape hides most of it,' I replied with a bow. Teenagers.
From dock to walkway, from market to slums, we progressed through Footfall. Everywhere was this jarring contrast between what could have been grandiose, and the grim reality of current life. Alleys were rife with evidence of gang violence in its crudest, most anarchist, expression. We passed the Adeptus Amasecus, Footfall's most iconic watering hole; they must have raised their standards, for there was a line outside of people rejected from entering. One of them, as we walked by, suddenly called: 'Commissar Leifnir? Commissar Leifnir! Is that you?!'
Her Ladyship stopped in her tracks, searching the crowd with inquisitive eyes. With impatience, she waved away a few passersby and a man shouldered others aside until he reached our little group. He was on the older side, although probably not that old without having had access to rejuvenat treatments, but life certainly had been unkind to him. Cheap augmentics replaced both his hands — the whole of his right arm, in truth — and a side of his face and head. There was, however, no mistaking his expression: the man was beaming as he came to as proper a salute as he could muster. The lord-captain interrupted him with a clasp to the shoulder and pulled him into a strong embrace.
'Sergeant Traigg,' she said. 'Wonder finding your worthless hide here!'
'Ah, Commissar, I'm embarrassed,' replied the man, a tear in his remaining eye. 'I thought for sure they'd have made an example out of you by now.'
'You know I'm tougher than that. What happened to you, after Galmon Epsilon?'
'My second twenty-year contract was coming to an end an', well, without you it wasn't the same. No disrespect, but your replacement was a proper bast… pain in the ass. So I asked to go take care of my remaining limbs instead of going for a third term. The colonel even came to my retirement party!'
The lord-captain looked around, appeared to think, and asked me if the Adeptus Amasecus happened to serve anything drinkable. Of course, I replied, as long as one hasn't too refined a taste. We elbowed our way through the crowd — lady Cassia shivered doing so — and were let in. Our little Navigator grabbed my sleeve in despair.
'This is my first time outside the station. It's so… so bright, here. Instead of a palette, it is a horrible smear of colours.'
I patted her poor, deformed hand and tried to reassure her. She had been the one to insist on coming to Footfall, but I feared the experience was overwhelming. Thankfully for her, the lord-captain and that Sergeant Traigg steered us to a quiet table in the corner. Once we were seated, a servitor came to take our orders. I ordered a nice glass of fruit juice for lady Cassia. With a shade of embarrassment, Traigg thanked the lord-captain for footing the bill, and asked if it were possible to get something to eat, too. Two plates of cold meat joined our order.
'The Amasecus is one of the last places in Footfall where you can find proper food,' he explained, very apologetic. So that explained the queue, because my beer was just as insipid as it had used to be. And then he asked the lord-captain what she had been up to lately, and who we were.
'Oh, I'm a trader of sorts,' she replied airily. She introduced me as her ship's First Officer — the truth, I suppose — and Sister Argenta and lady Cassia as friends who had business in Footfall. Again, a technical truth. She then proceeded to grill her old sergeant for information about Footfall. The picture he painted was grim. In between Winterscale and Chorda power struggles — those had been going on for a while — House Chorda had all but cut food shipments to press the Liege into giving them preferential commercial treatment. An epidemic of something was decimating the poorest of the poor; there were rumours of mutants building a conspiracy. Even the black markets were suffering. The station was breaking down in more ways than usual. All those who could tried to leave, keyword here being could. Very few had the means to book passage aboard a passenger ship. The Imperial Navy only recruited the able-bodied. This left the majority of the population at the mercy of whatever the fates would throw towards Footfall.
A large flat bread, fresh from the oven, topped with melted cheese and several savoury ingredients, was delivered to our table beside the charcuterie. Lady Cassia tasted a small slice with extreme caution and immediately cut herself another one with the dainty manners that were hers. Sergeant Traigg made less fuss and, after wolfing down a first slice, proceeded to sing to me the lord-captain's praise.
'As long as you'll travel with her, you'll be safe. I swear, I've never seen an officer take that much care of us dirty grunts. Of course, she'll shoot you if you don't shoot at the enemy, but that's a given. You should have seen her when she gunned down that summabich of an… that arsehole. Brain matter all over her uniform, an' cool as a cucumber she looks me dead in the eye an' says Traigg, sound a retreat. She got us out of the meat grinder of Galmon Epsilon all right, an' on our way back we even got to regroup with some artillery lads an' helped them rain the Emperor's wrath on a bunch of heretics. Lived to fight another day, ya can't serve the Exalted One if you're dead. Finest tactical mind you'll find she 'as, Commissar Katov Leifnir.'
Her Ladyship remained silent the whole time. Her eyes were lost in the haze of memory — an unpleasant one, by the somber look on her face. Still, Traigg continued.
'I told her, I told her to blame enemy snipers. Wouldn't have been the first higher up to be done so, but no, she wanted to shove the… these fuckers' collective nose in their own shit, pardon my language. They shouldn't have sent a penpusher to do a soldier's job, she said.'
'After that,' cut Her Ladyship, 'it was all politics. But Traigg, I never got the chance to thank the regiment for the formal protest you filed when I was indicted. It could have cost you your lives.'
'Pscha! If they'd sent us to a penal regiment, I bet you'd have asked to come with us instead of bein' shot in a basement. It would've been grand, I tell you, Commissar Leifnir and the 12th Fusiliers of Nihra IV 'aving a last stand against an army of Chaos Marines! Legendary, even!'
Her Ladyship chuckled and drank some of her amasec. 'It would have been. Say, Abelard, don't you think we could have use on board for a plucky old sergeant?'
Once I had agreed, she turned to sergeant Traigg. 'I take it you've seen the pretty frigate that arrived yesterday and is, as we speak, being towed to dry dock for repairs?'
The man whistled. 'That's yours? Everyone's seen her, she's a beaut', fit enough to be some Rogue Trader's ship! It'd be a pleasure as well as an honour to serve under you on something like that.'
'I want you to report to Void dock Alpha Rho, where the shuttle is. It's the Emperor's mercy, by the way. Tell the man on duty the lord-captain wants you to be put in High Factotum Danrok's care.'
'The lord-capt…' Sergeant Traigg stared at Her Ladyship with eyes wide as saucers. 'Some sort of trader you are!'
'I go by von Valancius, now. My mother's name.'
After a time, our little impromptu party dissolved. We were still, after all, expected by Liege Tocara.
Alas, fate had sworn we would be even more terribly late to our appointment! The Atrium — a rich plaza that boasted a golden statue of the Emperor, marble floors, water fountains and even some greenery, the ultimate luxury aboard a station — was chockfull of irate men and women. More than a crowd, it was a mob, and their target was a small group of harried-looking people. Some had bleeding faces, as if they had been hit by heavy projectiles. And the mob was calling for blood, shouting their ship should never have been allowed to dock, that all were stricken! Cut their throat, some said. No, burn them, others retorted — their blood was impure, it would taint the (presumably) healthy would-be murderers. Servo-skulls, hung with banners of the Imperium and playing popular hymns of the upbeat kind, hovered over the whole thing without a care. It was clear the manifestation was about to become a lynching.
The air, pregnant with barely contained violence, felt electric, a thunderstorm waiting to be unleashed. And then a priest, clad in a simple black raiment, cut through the crowd like a voidship crossing the sky. To all he shouted to be quiet. In great strides he walked, the ribbons of his mitre flowing with his anger.
'You dare pass judgement on others?', he bellowed. 'What arrogance, to think you have the right!'
A woman tried to explain him something about a ship from the depths of the Koronus expanse, and a plague of heresy. The priest scowled, upper lip curling in disdain. His gaunt face — paper-thin skin drawn over sharp bones — was lit by the unblinking eyes of a bird of prey.
'Silence! You must be completely out of your minds. A band of woefully dim-witted reprobates who think themselves bringers of justice! Who are you to pass judgement on anyone? All you ought to be doing is suffering and repenting till the end of your days!'
Ah, the loving arms of the Ecclesiarchy are everywhere the same, but the Reverend Hieronymus — for it was he in the flesh — always had more than average kind words for his parishioners. In the new silence, a man shuffled his feet and asked meekly what was wrong about putting heretics to death. No one answered. It emboldened one of the refugees to protest they were not, in fact, heretics, but faithful servants of the Imperium who had found themselves stranded before nightmares of the archenemies of Mankind, and had been lucky to make it out alive.
Now, the mob had noticed us — and directed menacing glances towards lady Cassia's obviously mutated face. Beware the psyker and mutant, says the Creed, and to these uneducated masses there would be no difference between such a noble Navigator as herself and a low, traitorous, misbegotten wretch putrid with hidden heresy. Lady Cassia's indifferent look glided over them; her clear voice spoke with intent and fascination.
'The motley sea of colours that fills this restless crowd is hard on the eyes. So many hues, but most of them are acid yellow streaks of fear, their red buds swelling, ready to burst and paint all who are gathered here. As for the hearts of those who have been forced to defend themselves, they are shrouded in purplish black grief, but their words are as transparent as the ice that lies atop a glacier. Commoners are always deaf to others' suffering, for such is their nature. Interfering in their affairs in hardly worthy of you or me, Katov.'
Where the Reverend's words had calmed the crowd, lady Cassia's brought fear to them — an insidious, subtle fear that seeped through their minds like an oil spill. One left, and then another, and after a few minutes the plaza was empty save for us and the priest, whose glares had sped up the mob's flight. He tut-tutted and had strong words, directed at no one, about the self-righteousness of malefactors. Then he turned to us and saluted our group: 'The Emperor protects. Welcome back to Footfall, Sister, Seneschal. Rogue Trader, well met.'
